​
​Her Timeless Gamble came about after an author-friend and I took a riverboat cruise on the Mississippi. The trip was so colorful and informative, we knew we had to write a book about it. The book turned into an idea for an entire series of novellas.
 
Originally published in a much shorter form as A Miracle Through Time...way back in 2008, Her Timeless Gamble has been totally re-written, updated, and expanded.
 
Unfortunately, the series itself never got off the ground because my friend lost her battle with cancer before we could complete the project. That was in 2014 and since then I’ve been working diligently to bring our vision to life.
 
With two additional books completed, and two more in the planning stages, I look forward to bringing the tales of a post Civil War south to life.

Oh, goodness. This must have been a labor of love you and probably brought back memories of your friend. I'm sure she's glad you've brought it back to the shelves. Do you have a favorite part?

My favorite part of the story is anytime my hero and heroine butt heads—which is often. Because my heroine is a twenty-first century woman out of place in the 1860’s south, she has a tendency to say things that she shouldn’t. Which, of course, angers and frustrates the hero.

​Oh, my gosh! I can already hear the sparks!

Can you share an excerpt?

​Kate moaned softly, and lifted a heavy hand to her aching forehead. “Where am I?” she wondered aloud.
 
“Just rest. You’re safe, everything is fine.”
 
The muffled sound of a man’s voice penetrated the throbbing in her head and she struggled to open her eyes, to identify the source. A dim light shone on the man’s handsome features and Kate realized she’d come face to face with the devil. His intense expression, an expression she felt certain could stop rush hour traffic in Times Square, seemed to mock her. Haunt her.
 
I must be dreaming. That’s it, I’m dreaming. I didn’t really drown, I’m just asleep.
 
Kate closed her eyes and waited, certain that at any moment she’d awaken. Until then, she’d allow this ridiculous dream to run its course. She’d let this man who looked suspiciously like Matthew McAlister sit at her bedside without so much as a single complaint. After all, it was only a dream, a dream most likely resulting from the trauma of her father’s death. A dream in which her subconscious had conjured up a man who’d been dead himself for nearly a hundred years.
 
Cautiously, she reopened her eyes and met the man’s darkened gaze.
 
“Oh my gosh, it is you. And just like my father’s sketches, and the way he described you, right down to the scar above your left brow.”
 
Unconsciously, Kate suspected, he reached up and ran his finger across the scar. “Someone described me?”
 
As soon as he spoke, Kate recognized the voice from her dreams. Either she had totally lost her mind or, like Matthew McAlister, she was dead. “I’ve got to be dreaming. This can’t be real. And, you can’t possibly be Matthew McAlister.”
 
Nervously she scanned her surroundings, taking in the beamed ceiling, the heavy wooden furniture and the brocade coverings. The dim light, she realized, came from an oil lamp on the bedside table.
 
“Lady, I don’t know who you are, or where you came from, but I can assure you, I am definitely Matthew McAlister.”
 
She shook her head in disbelief, regretting the quick motion when a shooting pain radiated from back of her head forward. “Where am I? Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m dead. I must be dead because that’s the only way I could be seeing you.” She scrambled for the edge of the bed, saying, “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t…”
 
Rather than free herself, her legs tangled in what seemed like yards of bed linens. In her haste to get away, Kate slipped unceremoniously off the edge of the bed and landed flat on her backside, the thick carpet cushioning her embarrassing attempt at escape.
 
“Are you all right?” he asked.
 
Bracing himself on the foot rail at the end of the bed, he reached out and offered his free hand. His gaze settled on her bare legs. A man’s shirt, most likely his Kate realized, rode high on her thighs, exposing far more than she was willing to show.
 
“All right?” she repeated nervously. If being insane is all right, then I’m fine.
 
“Are you hurt?”
 
“No, I’m not hurt. I’m just in a room that looks like something off the set of Maverick, and any minute now a young and rakish Mel Gibson will burst through that door with someone shooting at him, and I’m talking to Matthew McAlister. Other than that, I’m fine.”
 
Matthew McAlister looked positively baffled by her insane rambling. Yet, when he spoke, his voice held firm conviction rather than confusion. “First of all, you are not dead. And second, who is this Mel Gibson fellow who’s going to burst into my stateroom at any moment?”

I love it!!! Already the sparks are flying! Thank you for sharing HER TIMELESS GAMBLE with us!

BUY HER TIMELESS GAMBLE

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RZBYQZV
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Print Link:  https://www.amazon.com/Her-Timeless-Gamble-Nancy-Fraser/dp/B08SFVPT7K/
BookBub:  https://www.bookbub.com/books/her-timeless-gamble-love-s-a-gamble-book-1-by-nancy-fraser
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56564895-her-timeless-gamble

HER TIMELESS GAMBLE
Historical Romance

​When Matthew McAlister pulls a nearly-drowned woman from the murky waters of the Mississippi, he has no idea what's in store for him. Or, how easily he'll willingly give up his carefree, love-em-and-leave-em lifestyle for a chance at real happiness.

Kathryn (Kate) Lowell can't believe her bad luck. Or the fact she's somehow been transported from the twenty-first century back to the post Civil War south. Worse yet, into the arms of the one man she grew up hating. The man she blames for her father's recent demise.

Can these two off-kilter and infinitely stubborn individuals fight their mutual attraction? Or, will they give in to the inevitable? And, when the time comes, will Kate choose to stay with Matt in the past, or return to her former life?

Bio: Nancy Fraser

NANCY FRASER--Jumping Across Romance Genres with Gleeful Abandon--is an Amazon Top 100 and Award-Winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.
 
Like most authors, Nancy began writing at an early age, usually on the walls and with crayons or, heaven forbid, permanent markers. Her love of writing often made her the English teacher’s pet which, of course, resulted in a whole lot of teasing. Still, it was worth it.
 
Nancy has published over thirty-five books in full-length, novella, and short format.
 
When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.
 
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I got on the bus one afternoon with a knifing pain in my side. When it came, I doubled over, holding my stomach.

I laid down on the seat, knowing Maria watched me with wide and fearful eyes. I didn't know what was wrong, so I couldn't ease her worry.

The pain came and went, came and went. I huddled in the seat, praying to God to make it go away. It didn't.

Somehow I walked home. I don't remember the trek.

When we arrived, I stumbled into the house and fell onto the couch. I begged my mother to take me to the doctor. The shock on her face was comical, but I was in too much pain to enjoy it.

She put me in the car and drove me to see our doctor. I don't remember the examination. I only remember lying in a ball and working through the slicing pain -- my eyes squeezed shut, my teeth clenched tightly.

​
I fell asleep.

I don't know how long they allowed me to sleep. I woke up on my own, still in the room. When I went outside, I saw the doctor sitting in chair close by.

"You're awake?"

I nodded.

"How do you feel?"

I waited for the pain. "Fine," I finally answered.

He smiled at me. "I think you can go home. I'll fetch your mother for you."

He called it atypical appendicitis. I call it ulcers. I'll explain later.

I'm so excited to tell y'all about my latest release, The Editor's Kisses! I really enjoyed writing this book because I got to delve into one of my favorite families in Pike's Run -- the Forresters -- a family of 5 -- Yes, FIVE -- daughters.

Plus, we get a "true love's kiss" moment! And I adore those so much! (Find out my other favorite "true love" moments here.)

I had to do a lot of research for this book. I had to learn how to operate a printing press, which was quite interesting. I also learned that the type -- or letters -- are contained in a case. The capital letters were stored in the upper section and the non-capital letters were stored in the lower section. 

And this is how we began dubbing letters "upper-case" and "lower-case". Isn't that cool??? I loved learning that!

Writing historicals can be a lot of work, but it's like going on a scavenger hunt and at the end you find out some very interesting facts.

The Editor's Kisses is a story of heart and courage. Of risk-taking. Stephen and Constance take risks in love and in life. And they become better people for it....
​

THE EDITOR'S KISSES: A "TRUE LOVE'S KISS" MOMENT

Setting: The Talbut Parlor
The Problem: An annoying parlor game
 
Madeline’s spinning of Constance was a little rough, but Stephen held his tongue. When their hostess let go, Constance fumbled for a moment before Stephen raised himself up and yanked her into his lap.

The shouts of excitement and delight that went around the room nearly deafened him. People playfully called out “cheater”, but Stephen didn’t care, especially when Constance whisked off her mask and looked immensely relieved to see he’d successfully caught her.

They headed to the closet without fuss. Constance almost looked as if she was dying to climb inside. She probably wanted to get the farce over with.

Once they were squeezed into the confining space, with their chests pressed together in a way Stephen had only fantasized about, she said, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done—”

He covered her mouth with his hand, having dislodged it from his side. Then he leaned near her ear. “They might be able to hear us,” he whispered.

She flinched.

He lowered his arm, and she let out a slow breath. He wished he could see her face. For more reasons than to satisfy his worry she was all right.

He did everything he could to ignore the touch of her body along his front. He tried not to remember how she looked, how her eyes lit up, how her expression sharpened when she was interested in something. Why had he watched her all night?

But he knew. He knew very well. She was captivating. Intriguing. And so damned lovely.

Why was he having feelings for her? Wasn’t his love for Madeline strong enough to withstand attraction for another woman? But if it was, he would be in the closet with his hostess and not the lady he pretended to the world held his fancy.

He had to kiss her. He had to discover if this attachment was real. Besides, if he didn’t kiss her, everyone would wonder why. And for some strange reason, he needed every fellow out there to understand Constance Forrester was his. He closed his eyes and realized his attitude was no better than a caveman’s. But the need to possess and brand raced through him without pause, and he couldn’t fathom how to check it. Except to kiss her and get her out of his system once and for all.

“Constance,” he uttered. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

She flinched again.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear it. But if I don’t kiss you…they’ll all question us and our…attachment.” He was an ass. He was using their agreement to coax her into acquiescence, and while he knew it, and was ashamed of it, he continued. “It will only be for a second. I’ll just brush my lips with yours.”

In the darkness, he felt her slight nod against his chin. His heart pounded at her quiet surrender.

When she pulled back as far as the space would allow and lifted her head to his, heat slashed through him. He’d never needed a kiss as much as he needed hers.

Madeline had kissed him. Once. Behind the schoolhouse when they were sixteen. And that moment hadn’t caused nearly the anticipation this one did.

He lowered his head and swallowed her gasp. It wasn’t a brush, even though he only set his lips on hers. It was a fire. A shot of whiskey that whipped through him and pooled in his gut. He deepened the connection, and she let him, sighing and sinking into him despite already being as close to him as he could get her.

He melted. He needed to move to the ground and cover her, press her down and make her his. He used his tongue, tasting her. She capitulated instantly and opened her mouth under his. He took what she allowed without hesitation as his free hand came up to grip her waist.

The damn closet was too small. His left hand was wedged between her side and the slender door. But though he couldn’t get his arms around her, he didn’t stop the kiss. It went on and on, stealing his breath, tightening his chest and making him doubt everything he’d ever known about his heart.

Rapid footsteps had him surging backward, and he knocked his head on the wall.

The door flew open, and cool air blasted his cheeks. He and Constance fell out of the space, their limbs tangling as they tried to right themselves.

Peals of laughter rung around them as Stephen reached out a hand to balance her. She latched on as if she didn’t want to let go, and his muscles vibrated with hope she had enjoyed the moment as he had.

It had taken less than a few seconds for him to realize kissing her had been the wrong thing to do. But also the most right, most perfect, most sound judgement he’d ever made in his life.

As those who’d crowded around the entrance to the kitchen went roaring with laughter back into the parlor, he gazed at Constance. And his world tilted.

Her flushed cheeks and bright eyes made his heart constrict with an emotion he was too afraid to name at the moment. But he knew what it was. He knew.

How in the devil had it happened? Was he a fool? A fickle man?

He swallowed. “Do you want to leave?”

And before his eyes, he witnessed a transformation that set his blood on fire. Determination changed her expression, and she lifted her chin.

“Certainly not. I’m quite all right, I assure you.” She gave a shake to her skirts. “We’ve a job to do, Stephen Dawson, and I’ll not let you down.”

She exited the kitchen with a swirl of satin, and he followed with less sure steps. She wouldn’t let him down, he knew it. But he feared he might disappoint her, for if she knew the direction of his thoughts, she would never forgive him. Constance Forrester had no time for any man. She had plans. Plans that didn’t include caring for the heart of the newspaper editor.

Hi, Kara! Thank you so much for having me as your guest. I’m thrilled to tell you about my new release.
 
Matt’s Pregnant Runaway Wife is a married second chance contemporary romance set in Sicily and the UK. Sabrina Newton-Giordano is an award-winning pastry chef and Matteo (Matt) Giordano is a successful Sicilian-born restaurateur. Sabrina comes from a large close-knit family who means everything to her, and she’s always wanted a large family of her own. When she met and fell in love with Matt, she thought she had it all...until he refused to introduce her to his family. Sabrina, being the feisty woman she is, decides to take control of the matter and runs off to Sicily to meet the in-laws.
 
All she wants is for their baby to have the kind of love she had growing up with two sets of devoted grandparents and she doesn’t understand why Matt is so reluctant to give that to their child. But Matt has a deep, dark hurt he’s keeping secret from Sabrina and he knows his parents would only cause her heartache. Now he’ll do whatever it takes to protect the woman he loves and their unborn child.
   
I have many favourite scenes in this book, but the one that tugs on my heart is the scene where Matt turns around from leaving Sabrina and gets back to find her asleep. From this point, he’s so different and he melts me.

This story sounds like it's filled with emotion. And yes, Sabrina sounds quite feisty! I'll enjoy getting to know her!

Can you share an excerpt with us?

She kept him on his toes, he’d give her that. From the moment he met her he’d known she was unique to any other woman. The first hint was when he’d arrived unexpectedly to check on his London restaurant. Everyone, except Sabrina, had nervously tripped over themselves in his presence. She’d simply continued to work as though his arrival was as insignificant as a dust mote drifting past her head. The second hint had knocked him the moment she glanced up and locked eyes with his. Something he’d never experienced before had happened. His body had responded to the instant connection in a way that had been shocking and potent. He’d decided right then to make her his. Even then, she hadn’t made it easy for him. She’d resisted their attraction, had flat-out refused to have drinks, dinner, or—her words--anything else with him. To say that she’d become a challenge he’d fixated on was to understate the level of his attraction for Sabrina.

Then one day, after weeks of him putting his best moves on her and about to admit defeat, a delivery arrived at his office. It was a beautifully presented slice of his favourite dessert along with a note that read: if you want more, come and get it! He was pretty sure the soles of his handmade Italian shoes left scorch marks on his office rug in his haste to get to Sabrina. The rest had been white-hot sizzling sexy, whirlwind, and incredible. And now here he was, fighting to keep his marriage from falling apart only after eleven-and-a-half months of wedded bliss.

Matt washed his hands at the kitchen sink, then rummaged in the under counter fridge.

He chuckled. “Surprise, surprise, nothing but dessert and fruit.”

Yep, one thing he could be sure of was that he’d always find some sort of dessert in their fridge at home, thanks to Sabrina’s never-ending effort to create new and exciting after-dinner treats. And, oh look, she had his favourite dessert sitting in a small yellow and white cake caddy, as though she’d somehow been expecting him. When he grabbed the container his gaze landed on the four red apples in a bowl on the shelf below, so he snagged one of those, too. 

Oh, good gracious! I like Sabrina A LOT! I love it when the heroine gives the hero a hard time! And just dessert and fruit?! Ha! She's awesome.

Matt's Pregnant Runaway Wife
Second Chance Contemporary Romance

​This might be the biggest risk of her life.
 
When her whirlwind romance with gorgeous Sicilian-born restaurateur Matteo Giordano culminates in marriage, award-winning pastry chef Sabrina Newton-Giordano thinks she has it all...until Matt refuses to introduce her to his family. Sabrina desires their baby to have the same love she knew from her grandparents, but Matt’s outright rejection of his family could result in their baby never knowing his or her paternal grandparents, something Sabrina will not accept. Until that is, she hits on the perfect solution—run away to Sicily to meet the in-laws! 
 
Matt wants only one thing—to keep his wife and unborn child safe. For a man intent on never allowing anything to stand in his way, it should be an easy task. But Matt hasn’t bargained on how stubborn his irresistible, runaway wife can be. Despite his stern objections, she’s determined to form a relationship with his family. He knows, from past experience, they’d never accept her or the baby. Now Matt is torn between the urgent need to protect his wife and fear of causing her undue stress in her pregnancy. 

BUY MATT'S PREGNANT RUNAWAY WIFE

​

Bio: Monique DeVere

Monique DeVere grew up on a plantation on the beautiful island of Barbados, where her childhood was all about exploring and letting her imagination run free. She moved to the UK as a teen and soon fell in love at first sight with her amazing, strong-silent-type husband. They have four beautiful children and four incredible grandchildren.

Monique writes sweet ‘n’ spicy romance, and when she isn’t working on the next novel or movie script, she can be found spending time with hubby and family, armchair travelling, creating recipes, reading about health and nutrition, or working on her spiritual growth. She enjoys going for walks, gardening, or simply crazy-dancing around the house. Monique loves to hear from her readers. You can email her at monique@moniquedevere.com, or contact her by visiting her website: www.moniquedevere.com or blog: http://moniquedevere.blogspot.co.uk to learn more about her books.
​You can also visit her Facebook author page:
https://www.facebook.com/moniquedevere or follow her on Twitter: @MoniqueDeVere or Instagram: authormdv

​Get The Forever Deal FREE when you sign up to Monique’s New Release Newsletter.

Thanks so much for having me as a guest today, Kara! I’m thrilled to talk about my new book, Fated Hearts, A Love After All Retelling of the Scottish Play.

Last year I was invited to be part of a group project with other Regency romance authors, the Love after All Tragic Characters in Classic Lit project.

Or should I call it a  “challenge”?! Here’s the official description:


With complete artistic license, and an abundance of hubris, a group of Regency romance authors are retelling some of the great stories of literature, setting them in Georgian England, and giving these tragic heroes and heroines a happily-ever-after.

I am not super well-read in tragic fiction, so I settled on a story I do know: Macbeth. The real Macbeth was a relatively successful (though bloody) ruler of Scotland for about ten years in the eleventh century. Shakespeare’s Macbeth and his lady are tragic characters indeed, their stories ending in death! Quite the challenge.

As I plunged into planning this story, I quickly decided that the action would begin twenty years after their “demises”—when a failed lawsuit, allegations of unfaithfulness and a disastrous divorce send Macbeth off to bloody war and his lady into a tailspin of depression. Older and wiser, they meet again in London in March 1815 during the worst of the Corn Riots.

This being much more of a Romantic Suspense, there’s danger from an old villain plaguing them. Writing this, I often had to wrest my hero back from the darkness of his story. Or, as my editor gently suggested, I had to “moderate his fatalism”.

All-in-all, it was a very fun story, requiring a deep research dive into the Peninsular campaign, the Corn Riots, and best of all, men in kilts.

Other heroes being reformed in this series include Frankenstein, Colonel Fitzwilliam, the Sheriff of Nottingham, and Heathcliff. 

This is just such an awesome idea! And yes, men in kilts are always a plus!!!!

Do you have a favorite part?

I had fun writing the opening scene where Macbeth first sees his ex-wife, as well as his encounter with Lucie, the daughter who he believed was the product of his wife’s alleged infidelity twenty years earlier. Lucie was one of those characters we authors often encounter, a young lady who insisted on leaping from the page and surprising me.

I also loved writing the epilogue, which takes place in June 1815 in Brussels, after the Battle of Waterloo. This being a romance, our hero and heroine are together. But there’s a secondary couple whose story is yet to come.

Oh! I love it when secondary characters get a story!!!

​Can you share an excerpt with us?

​A crush was what they called these suffocating occasions, and the term was apt.

Major Finnley Macbeth, Scottish baron and late of his majesty’s Highland Brigade, shifted his weight from the leg that still ached like the devil, and scanned the room for his quarry, an undersecretary in the Home Office who he’d met at the army’s winter quarters in Frenada.

From his spot near a damask covered wall, he measured each breath, trying to calm his rising unease. The heavy scent of perfume mixed with fine beeswax and hothouse florals unsettled more than his stomach. The shimmering silks and waving plumes threatened to stir the disquieting visions plaguing him lately.

Fire, explosions, rain, the screams of men and horse.

He squeezed his hands into fists. These were not the hellish memories of the recent past, dammit, but rattling visions of some battle yet to come.

Or not. Foretelling the future was for Travellers and crones, wasn’t it? Not battle-hardened men like himself.

He inhaled slowly, holding the breath for a count, and then eased the air out. Best keep his purpose in mind—he was here to track down Sir Thomas Abernathy, lately arrived in London, and rumored to be attending this rout.

His gaze swept the room, seeking the distinctive bald pate. In spite of his own forty-three years, his eyesight was still keen enough to make out a sniper or spot the dust of a fleeing stag. Keen enough as well to relish the deep décolletages and clinging, delicate, almost transparent skirts on display this night, a vision far more cheering than the one the Sight was showing him.

A more modestly clad woman stood alone halfway across the ballroom, her back turned to him, surveying the room as he was doing.

A memory stabbed him, laced with an old shame. He’d once known a lass with hair like this, so abundant, so near to black. The lady tonight had crowned all the loveliness with dark feathers, like a glorious cormorant. His hand itched to pull out those feathers and rake his hands through the tumble of hair, as he’d once done…

He caught a steadying breath. It couldn’t be her. He’d simply been without a woman too long.

And these visions plaguing him of he knew not what? That foolishness grew from naught but fatigue, the wages of war, and the steady company of too much death. Napoleon had been defeated. He must put the memories of battle and that more distant passion aside. The lovely lady with feathers atop her head was only a stranger wondering where her man had got to.

Yet he couldn’t turn away. As he watched, she pivoted one way, and then the other, allowing a glimpse of dangling earbobs and a firm chin.

Drawn to her, he stepped out on his bad leg just as she turned.

Pain shot through his hip. The room threatened to fall away but he held onto the pain, let it shore him up whilst he swore a silent curse.

It was her.

I am sooo hooked!!! I can't wait to delve into this story! Is the book dedicated to anyone?

More than once during the writing of Fated Hearts, I worried about taking on one of the Bard’s famous tales. But I took heart from the fact that Shakespeare made free with the facts for the sake of a story. Here’s my dedication:  
​
With grateful thanks to William Shakespeare, the master at adapting history, myth and legend to meet the requirements of his audience.

Thank you, Ms. Field! And thank you for writing this romance. It sounds so intriguing!

Fated Hearts
Regency Romance

Plagued by hellish memories and rattling visions of battle to come, a Scottish Baron returning from two decades at war meets the daughter he denied was his, and the wife he divorced, and learns that everything he’d believed to be true was a lie. What he can’t deny is that she’s the only woman he’s ever loved. They’re not the young lovers they once were, but when passion flares, it burns more hotly than ever it did in their youth.

They soon discover, it wasn’t fate that drove them apart, but a jealous enemy, who played on his youthful arrogance and her vulnerability. Now that old enemy has resurfaced, more treacherous than ever. When his lady falls into a trap, can he reach her in time to rescue this love that never died? 

Bio: Alina K. Field

​Award winning and USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature, but prefers the much happier world of romance fiction. Though her roots are in the Midwestern U.S., after six very, very, very cold years in Chicago, she moved to Southern California, where she shares a midcentury home with her husband and a spunky, blond rescued terrier. She is the author of several Regency romances, including the 2014 Book Buyer’s Best winner, Rosalyn’s Ring. Though hard at work on her next series of romantic adventures, she loves to hear from readers!

Website: https://alinakfield.com/ 
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Hello, um, my name is Curtis McClain. (Nervously brushes dark hair from forehead.) You can meet me in the book MEG, book 20 of the Angel Creek Christmas Brides. I’ve been paired with Meg Todd… McClain. Let me tell you about our story:

Meg Todd is tired of putting her happiness on hold. When she learns her bullying brother-in-law has horrifying plans for her future, she asks an attorney family friend for help escaping. Meg wants her own husband and home and is willing to move over halfway across the country to achieve her goal. Along the way she agrees to take two children for their dying mother. Is she too impulsive? Did Meg think she and I and the children could become the happy family of her dreams?

I have to be careful with what’s left of my small savings or it won’t fund my dream of a successful newspaper. I’ve wanted a wife—and I’ve needed someone to help with the newspaper. I figured if I could combine the two, then I’d be all right. In a few years, we can start a family. Would a woman move to the middle of nowhere on those terms? Would she grow to care for me in spite of my… um, reserved nature?

Yes, I was slightly annoyed when Meg showed up with two orphaned children. Whew, when I learned the amount of her inheritance, I decided she wouldn’t be content to stay with me in spite of her assurance to the contrary. The boy and girl are well-behaved but I’m still not certain of my feelings for them. That is, until a terrifying event occurred that forced me to make a decision and take quick action.

Now that you know something about my story, I’ll elaborate. You’ve probably guessed that I live in Angel Creek, Montana Territory. The Angel Creek doctor, Nick Walker, and I have been friends since we were kids in Massachusetts. Nick knew I wanted to relocate and suggested I move to Angel Creek.

You see, I wanted to have my own newspaper instead of working for my father or older brother. Moving the printing press and equipment here was a chore. Now that it’s all set up in the print shop, I’m enjoying Angel Creek. I love owning the newspaper even though it’s not making much money now.

Most people say I don’t talk much and that I’m a bit of a grump who doesn’t like people. That’s not true. I envy those for whom casual conversation comes easy. It sure doesn’t for me. I don’t mean to be thoughtless but a lot of things don’t occur to me.

For instance, the first time I met Meg, she had two orphaned children with her. I don’t dislike children, but I don’t know how to talk to them. I couldn’t believe that a woman as beautiful and graceful as Meg was my wife. I couldn’t help being a little annoyed that she had agreed to take on responsibility for the children. One reason is because I like to plan out everything. I don’t like surprises. There I was, feeling lucky to have such a beautiful wife yet upset because my plans were shot to pieces.

Meg was cheerful and complimentary about the house. I bought the place because of her and the children. She seemed willing enough to be my wife but I still had reservations. When I discovered how much money she’d inherited when we married, I was shocked. Why would a woman like her want me? I couldn’t imagine her settling for me and Angel Creek.

Meg is quite a woman. In addition to being pretty, she’s a good cook and good with the children. She must be the smartest woman I’ve ever met. She caught on to everything I showed her and is even more help with the newspaper than I’d hoped. What I like most about her is that she is always cheerful. Seeing her smile lifts my spirits.

I don’t know why but she says she likes that I’m dependable and take care of the family. I try, of course. She said the children look up to me, which was a big surprise.

Angel Creek is a small place but it’s growing. I figure this will be a good place for us to raise our family. I don’t believe I’ll ever want to live anywhere else. Fortunately, Meg seems to share that opinion. We joke about neither of us wanting to ride the stagecoach again.

​What I’ve learned is that I can’t control everything. In addition, Meg has taught me a lot. My family never showed any affection, but I’ve learned to be more open and loving. To be truthful, I am a mighty lucky man.

Meg: An Excerpt

When he stepped forward, he was wearing a frown. “I’m expecting Meg McClain.”

He was tall with dark brown hair and startling bright blue eyes. Not Greek god handsome, he was ruggedly attractive. His posture gave her the impression he was ill at ease.

“Hello, Curtis. I’m Meg and these are now our children. Penny is four and Tom is six. How they came to be ours is a long story. Perhaps it can wait until we’re somewhere warm.”

Poor little Tom’s face clouded with worry. “I sure hope you’re not gonna be mad at us or our new Mama, sir.”

“New Mama?” Curtis’ eyebrows raised.

Before she could add anything, Tom added, “We’ll be real good and I’ll do all kinds of chores and help you. I reckon I look small but I’m strong.” He raised his little arm as if he expected Curtis to test it.

Curtis’ gaze turned to Tom and his frown softened. “You’re a hard worker, are you? I can probably find things that need your help.”

“You won’t be sorry, sir.”

Meg cuddled Penny’s head on her shoulder while she repeated her request. “I wonder if we can get inside? I’m sure we’ll become able to tolerate the weather, but we’re not yet used to the cold.”

He handed Tom the valise and then picked up the two suitcases that belonged to the children. “I’ll arrange to get the trunks later. Looks as if there are several.”

Carrying Penny, she followed, glancing at Tom to make sure he could keep pace. “I brought as much as I could. I didn’t know how much in the way of household supplies a bachelor would have. Plus, many are family things I wanted to save.”

“The answer to the first is not much. I only brought a few personal items and the rest was newspaper equipment. It’s heavy and cost a lot to ship.”

“I imagine that was complicated as well. Is it far to your house?”

He actually chuckled. “Across town, or what there is of Angel Creek. I bought the house from folks who were moving to the southwest.”

“The town is smaller than I expected but looks as if there’re enough businesses and homes to make a nice place.”

He led them to a pleasant looking house constructed of squared logs and opened the gate. “Here we are.”

Meg stopped to look at the house. In spite of the construction, a wrought iron fence wrapped around the spacious yard. Several types of trees grew inside the fence. Meg recognized pine but wasn’t certain of those that had bare limbs. The enclosure appeared neat

To her right at the equivalent of what would be a block in Charleston, a bridge crossed a creek. 

​He climbed the steps and set down the suitcases to open the door. “After you, Mrs. McClain.”

Bio: Caroline Clemmons

Through a crazy twist of fate, Caroline Clemmons was not born on a Texas ranch. To compensate for this illogical error, she writes about handsome cowboys, feisty ranch women, and scheming villains in a tiny office her family calls her pink cave. She and her Hero live in North Central Texas cowboy country where they ride herd on their two rescued indoor cats and dog as well as providing nourishment outdoors for squirrels, birds, and other critters.

The over sixty books she has created have made her a Top 100 historical author, a bestselling author, and won awards. She writes sweet to sensual romances about the West, both historical and contemporary as well as time travel and mystery. In addition to her series she has written single titles and contributed to multi-author series and box sets. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, reading her friends’ books, lunching with friends, browsing antique malls, delving into genealogy, checking Facebook, and taking the occasional nap.

Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Pinterest.

Join her and other readers at Caroline’s Cuties, a Facebook readers group for special excerpts, exchanging ideas, contests, giveaways, recipes, and talking to like-minded people about books and other fun things.
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Click on her Amazon Author Page for a complete list of her books and follow her there.

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To stay up-to-date with her releases and contests, subscribe to Caroline’s newsletter here and receive a FREE novella of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE, a humorous historical wedding disaster that ends happily—but you knew it would, didn’t you? 

Today we welcome Linda Nightingale, and her paranormal romance, Sinners' Opera. She shares pieces of the amazing setting and history behind the story. Let's hear from Linda.....

​Sinners’ Opera is set in Charleston, South Carolina, one of my favorite cities in the world (that I’ve visited).  It’s beautiful and on the ocean—two requirements of being a favorite. I’d simply love to live in one of the Antebellum mansions along the Battery. If you ever visit Charleston, take a buggy tour around the historic sights.
 
Charles Towne was founded in 1670, during the reign of Charles II of England.  This is important in the book because Morgan (the hero) became a vampire in 1659, and in 1670, the King sent him to the new colony to inspect its progress. Later, he returns to watch over a baby girl (the heroine) as she grows to womanhood.
 
Charleston boasts cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages, and pastel Antebellum houses, particularly in the elegant French Quarter and Battery districts. The Battery promenade and Waterfront Park both overlook Charleston Harbor. Fort Sumter, a federal stronghold where the first shots of the Civil War were fired, lies across the water.
 
Two beaches, Folly Beach and Isle of Palms, are near Charleston. Another requirement for a favorite of mine.
 
In nearby Mt. Pleasant, you can visit Boone Hall plantation. Some of the tours they offer are, "Exploring The Gullah Culture", House Tours, Plantation Coach Tour, Black History In America Exhibit, Slave Street and History Presentation, Garden Tour, and a Butterfly Pavilion.
 
My personal favorite is the Dock Street Theater, America’s first theater. On February 12, 1736, the Dock Street opened with The Recruiting Officer. Flora, the first opera performed in America took place at the Dock Street. Now, the Dock Street is owned and managed by the City of Charleston. I was enthralled by it when I went for a concert. The Dock Street looks like a 17th century playhouse with rows of wooden benches in the orchestra seating. The boxes overlooking the floor are draped in dark green, almost black velvet. The stage backdrop is an antique tapestry of Charleston Harbor. Photo Credit:  By Frances Benjamin Johnston
 
The Battery is a street along the seawall on the Atlantic Ocean. The pastel and colorful Antebellum mansions cost in the millions. When I was writing Sinners’ Opera, I drove up and down the Battery until the residents must have thought I lived there…or was a stalker. I finally chose a house for my hero. It’s Roper House, a brick structure with green shutters and a Greek portico to the left. A beautiful house, but because the main attraction, the portico, is on the side, it looks like the house has its shoulder to the sea.  A house with secrets.
 
I’ve driven those cobblestone streets in my little red Miata, eaten at some good downtown restaurants (never made Magnolias for shrimp and grits), and have gone to the Dock Street for a piano concert.  Morgan is a concert pianist, an English lord, and a vampire.
 
If I haven’t yet inspired you to visit Charleston on your next vacation, what can I say?  Real movie stars are moving to Charleston, and it is one of the most concentrated centers of wealth in this country. It’s also famous for art (Spoleto), culture, and history—and entertainment galore.

A Peek Into Sinners' Opera:

​Kirsty fanned with the program.  “However, I’m delighted to inherit his seat.  Culture, especially in the form of a rich bachelor, is something sadly missing from my life.  How does Lady Kirsty D’Arcy sound?”

“Like a tongue-twister.”  She tapped her friend’s arm with the heel of her hand.

Isabeau wasn’t looking when Morgan D’Arcy mounted the stage.

She turned.  Her smile solidified.  Applause erupted as the pianist glided to the piano.  The way he moved, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the floor, was hauntingly familiar.  He ducked his audience an elegant bow, the spotlight haloing golden hair.  Isabeau’s heart kicked her ribs. A trembling hand shot out to grip Kirsty’s arm.

“What’s the matter?”  Her friend passed a hand before Isabeau’s eyes.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Staring at the man on stage, Isabeau nodded. I’ll be darned.  Here’s your ghost again.  And here I am one heartbeat away from another heartache.

“His hair is tied back with a black velvet ribbon,” Isabeau breathed, and a man hissed for her to be quiet, but she didn’t spare him a thought or a glance.

An invisible chord drew her forward in her seat, her hands clasped beneath her chin, her heart in the grip of impossible dreams.  A hush fell over the audience as Morgan D’Arcy drifted leaf-like, angel-like, to the bench and adjusted the height.  He closed his eyes, tilted his head back and flexed his long fingers.  The pianist extended exquisite hands over the keys.  Emeralds winked in his gold cufflinks.  Isabeau couldn’t peel her gaze off him.
Morgan D’Arcy was the spitting image of Gabriel.

He bent low over the keyboard, holding a thunderous chord.  A wisp of hair escaped his ponytail to brush the keys.  Eyes closed, he straightened, fingers blurring over black and white notes.  In the timeless vacuum of beauty, an hour sped by.  The last trill of Gaspard de la nuit died.  A collective sigh swept the dark theater.  Isabeau exhaled a pent-up breath.  A wave of applause washed the audience to their feet.

​Morgan D’Arcy rested his hand on the piano’s glistening wing and gave his fans a dazzling smile.  To the standing ovation, he folded his hands in front of him.  His bow was as elegant as the man himself.  The wayward gold strand drifted over his eye.  Isabeau remembered a child’s hand…her little hand…brushing back hair like that, hair as silken as the shiver gliding over her.  He straightened, swept the audience with an enchanting gaze.  Radiant blue eyes captured hers.  The foundations of her carefully ordered life shook.

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