​REINVENTING RILEY: AN EXCERPT

He walked her to the door and waited while she unlocked it.

She looked up. “Do you want a glass of wine?” While being alone seldom bothered her, the evening ahead looked long with only Hagar for company. “Maybe watch a movie? I start watching Christmas movies on Thanksgiving night, so I guarantee you’ll have plenty of opportunity to roll your eyes.”

He hesitated long enough for it to hurt, and she drew back. “Never mind. You don’t have—”

“I want to,” he said. “Maybe a little more than is good for either of us. I don’t want to let you in for the gossip that often goes along with dating a single pastor.”

The relief made her feel a little silly. “Probably not as much as if I dated a married one.”

But who was talking about dating? He was a dedicated minister with little left over to offer to a relationship. Besides, the sudden appearance of the boy called Griff was enough for him to have on his mind. Not that Rye didn’t want to spend time with Jake, but dating and depth didn’t go together for her. Sometimes, when she allowed herself to worry about things, she worried that she wasn’t capable of depth.

She wasn’t going to think about that now. She was going to think about wine and cheese while watching the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol. If a handsome man sat on the loveseat beside her, that was all right. That’s all, just all right.

“So?” She hated the breathiness of her voice that made her sound like the stereotype of a beauty pageant winner. She wasn’t the breathy type. Breathiness went with depth, didn’t it?

“So, would you like me to open the wine? I’m good with a corkscrew.”

They still stood inside the door, the lights on the Christmas tree she’d put up the night before lending ambiance to the little house. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll slice some cheese. Do you have a favorite?”

“White kinds. I might not be too knowledgeable about cheese.”

“Do you like Christmas songs?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

Rye’s list of holiday music played softly as they worked together in the tiny kitchen, bumping into each other every minute or so and laughing each time. It wasn’t self-conscious, the laughter, and she reveled in it. How long it had been since she shared that particular kind of joy with a man she…liked? Yes, liked. No more, no less.

After the third clashing of elbows, Jake set down the glasses he’d taken out of the cupboard and took the knife from her hand. “Let’s do this,” he said, and took her into his arms. Not close or tight, but warm, and danced with her through the kitchen and hallway, ending in the glow from soft light from the tree in the living room. They stood, swaying together.

“Your eyes,” he said, “are extraordinarily blue.”

“Yours are extraordinarily green.” His sweater, the same color as his eyes, was soft under her hands, covering shoulders and arms more muscular than she had expected. He was just the right height to dance with, too. Looking up didn’t hurt her neck, but he was enough taller than she to reduce her tendency to lead. “Is this our first date?”

He looked thoughtful. “No. Actually, I think we’ve had several. We’ve just kind of avoided calling them that.”

“That’s good then.” She sounded breathy again, but the truth was, she was feeling a little winded by his proximity and how it made her feel. “Because, I wouldn’t want to be known as someone who…you know…would kiss on the first date.”

“No, that wouldn’t be good, would it?” His arms tightened. “But maybe after several dates it would be okay?”

“I think so. A nice kiss goes well with wine and cheese and Ebenezer Scrooge’s story.”

“Does it?” His lips, warm and firm, met hers then. Searching. Tasting. Releasing. For a moment. “If one goes well, how would they be with two?”

“Oh.” She raised her hands, threading them through his thick, soft hair. “I think they’d be even better.”

The wine, cheese, and movie were wonderful after four kisses, splendid after five. The wine had had plenty of time to breathe and the cheese had warmed so that its flavor was rich and its consistency creamy.

Kind of like the kisses. Not the creamy part, but warm and rich and leaving her with a wish for more.

BIO: LIZ FLAHERTY

USA Today bestselling author Liz Flaherty started writing in the fourth grade when her Aunt Gladys allowed her to use her portable Royal typewriter. The truth was that her aunt would have let her do anything to get her out of her hair, but the typewriter and the stories it could produce caught on, and Liz never again had a day without a what if… in it.

She and Duane, her husband of at least forever, live in a farmhouse in central Indiana, sharing grown children, spoiled cats, and their grandkids, the Magnificent Seven. (Don’t get her started on them—you’ll be here all day.)
To find out more about her, stop by http://lizflaherty.net/ or sign up for her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/df7dhP. 

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I'm about to be nine years old. I made it through third grade and multiplication. And now........

IT'S SUMMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Like any other kid I'm now spending countless hours outside with Kirk and Scotty. Bill is outside, too, toddling around because he's only three, but no one could keep him inside. Maria and Wendy are inside probably playing school. (Insert eye roll.)

But Kirk, Scotty and I are across from our houses in the lot building a big ol' ditch. We are deep in the dirt and then comes the devastating news. The horrible, gut-wrenching news. The "woe is me", "what am I gonna do", "maybe I can hitch hike away from here" news.

It's Music and Arts week at church. Which means I will be spending a week at church doing arts and crafts, learning songs, dances and listening to adults talk and talk and talk until we get to the finale, which is a concert.

Now this Big Idea isn't a new one, however, it will still be -- to keep us on track -- Big Idea #11. This Music and Arts weeks is actually the second one. The theme was "Down By The Creek Bank".

I don't remember most of the songs -- which is odd for me. Because I sing all the time and can catalogue my life through song. But for some reason, I couldn't hum a single measure of anything save for one.

I loved the tune because Wendy loved it so much. And she was so cute when she sang it. It was called, "Germs, My Invisible Dog". She loved animals. And she was so sweet to our own dog, Misty.

But that was the only redeeming moment during this week.

Oh! And ANOTHER thing.....

My mom cut off my hair.

She had three daughters and didn't have time to do all that washing and drying and combing and braiding. Honestly, I wasn't too bothered by it because I hated sitting through all that. However, looking back on the pictures now, I cringe.

Oh, well!

Thankfully, this being "down by the creek bank" mess was only a week long. Once it was done, I was free to get back to digging the ditch with Kirk and Scotty.

Until, we had to go to the "Armpit of the South" for two weeks and get swimming lessons. Which I'd already done at least twice.

Ugh!

Why do Moms always have to be planning something?

Here they are.
​The "Big Idea" ladies. They don't look scary, do they?
In all seriousness, they are the ladies that raised me, my siblings, their own children and a whole slew of others.
They are something.
​

​Sundaes on Sunday: An Excerpt​

Lisa sat alone at a table for two. Seaside Scoops had been their special place every week for the last four years where they could relax and gear up for the week ahead. She smiled in spite of her sadness when she thought of what Brian used to call their standing date, sundaes on Sunday. A year ago, he would have been sitting across from her in the quaint seaside town, wearing a silly grin with a dab of whipped cream on his nose, all in an attempt to make her laugh. It was corny but what she wouldn’t give to see it one more time.

The last time they had been there he’d had a hot fudge on coffee. It’s funny how some things just stick. Like the fact he always took her cherry since she hated them and he loved them which is why she always ordered one. It was one of the small ways they fit together like two halves of a whole.

She looked across the narrow strip of sand to the Atlantic Ocean. Traffic was almost nonexistent on this early Sunday afternoon. The mid-spring sun was warm without the need for the pink and white umbrella to be raised. Few people were sitting outside; tourists hadn’t started to show up yet, but it was just a matter of time, and then she’d adjust to coming just before dinner—that too had been Brian’s suggestion.

As she spooned the last of the now-melted strawberry ice cream from the silver dish, she noticed a man and a little girl sitting two tables over. She was wearing a sweet yellow jumper and a white shirt with bright-red Mary Jane shoes. She couldn’t have been older than four if Lisa had to guess. She was younger than her first-grade students.

Her sweet voice caught Lisa’s attention; it held a soft Southern drawl. “Daddy, how come we can’t have ice cream every day? It’s so good. I really like strawberry ice cream the best, even better than hot dogs.” She looked up at him with big cornflower-blue eyes and her medium-length dark hair was pulled to the side of her face with a butterfly barrette. She was adorable but looked nothing like her dad except her deep dimples; she must favor her mother.

Her father smothered a chuckle. “Ice cream is a treat, Allie, which is why we have it on the weekend.”

He lifted his eyes and gave Lisa a smile and half nod. She quickly looked away, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. If only her life had turned out differently.

A short time later the dad wiped his daughter’s hands on a napkin as best he could and placed the dishes in the container on the metal stand. Lisa held an open book in her hand but wasn’t reading it. Instead, her eyes were closed as she listened to the soothing sound of the waves crashing on the shore.

“Daddy?” Allie whispered loudly. “Do you think the pretty lady is sleeping?”

Lisa opened her eyes and gave her a small smile. “No. I’m listening to the ocean.”

Her mouth dropped open, and then she walked over to where Lisa was sitting and climbed onto a chair next to her as if they had known each other forever.

“If I close my eyes, can I hear it too?”

Her dad said, “Allie, let’s leave the lady alone; she seems to be enjoying her day.”

Lisa’s heart cracked a little. Every Sunday was the same, as if on repeat like an old movie. “I’d like the company if it’s okay with you.”

He pulled out a chair. Taking his daughter’s hand, he relented. “Just for a minute, and then we need to go.”

She couldn’t help but notice his soft-brown eyes and thick dark hair, cut short for what she guessed was ease of maintenance. He wore khaki shorts and a faded blue tee and flip-flops. Sitting across from her, he was taller by a full foot. But it was his warm smile that made her heart rate tick up in an unexpected way.

She held out her hand to the child. “I’m Lisa Peck.” Her eyes drifted to the dad.

“I’m Allie and this is my daddy.”

He gave her another warm smile. “Hunter Adams, father to a very precocious daughter.”

“It’s nice to meet you both.” She focused her attention on Allie. “Close your eyes and really think about listening to all the sounds around you. I’ll bet you can hear the waves crashing on the shoreline.”

She immediately closed her eyes and her dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks, so sweet and trusting.

“Tell me what you hear.”

Her eyes popped open, and she said, “You talking.”

Lisa laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s try it again and I’ll close my eyes too.”

Allie tipped her head. “You too, Daddy. You wanna hear the waves, right?”

He was still holding her hand. “I do but don’t let go of my hand, okay?”

“I won’t.”

Lisa set the book down and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m closing my eyes now.”

“Me too.”

They sat there quietly and the waves continued their steady rhythm of kissing the shore and slipping away.

“Daddy, do you hear it?”

Lisa opened her eyes and was surprised to see Hunter watching her.

“I do.”

“Can we go see the ocean, pretty please?”

Her big blue eyes were open wide and if she were Lisa’s daughter, it would be tough to say no. But Hunter must be used to it.

“How about we agree to walk along the sidewalk on the way to the car and we can see the waves. I wouldn’t want you to get your pretty dress all sandy before we get to Grandma’s house.”

She looked down and nodded. “I can’t get my Dorothy shoes dirty.”

Hunter leaned across the table. With a conspiratorial wink, he said, “Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.”

“I see.” She gave Allie a smile. “You look very pretty to go see your grandmother.”

“Thank you.” She slipped off the chair. “Come on, Daddy.” She gave Lisa a little wave. “Bye, Lisa.”

“Bye, Allie.” She smiled at Hunter. “She’s adorable.”

“Thanks for indulging her.” He scooped up Allie in one arm. “It was nice meeting you.”

Hunter left the ice cream shop and as promised, he carried Allie across the narrow two-lane road to the sidewalk.
She raced to the rail and climbed up on it. “Look, Daddy. The waves are huge. Can we play on the beach today?”

“Not today, peanut, but someday soon we can.” He looked over his shoulder but he couldn’t see Lisa from this vantage point. She had looked isolated; that was the only way he could think to describe it until Allie interrupted her day.

She had a sixth sense when someone needed to be comforted. It had been like that from the time she was little, long after her mom had died. Allie didn’t have any memories of Judith even though she had a framed photo of her mom next to her princess bed.

After a few more minutes, he said, “Ready to go to Grandma’s?”

“How many days before you come home?”

He held up two fingers. “We’ll mark it on the calendar, okay? It’s just two overnights at Grandma’s this time.”

He loved being a pilot. It had been his passion for fifteen years, but he hated leaving his little girl. What choice did he have unless he wanted to step out of the cockpit permanently and train for a different position within the airline industry? But giving up seniority was tough to swallow and it had its perks. He liked flying in and out of Logan and it had a more flexible schedule along with making an excellent living. It had been especially tough when Judith got sick, but the cancer took her quickly. It wasn’t like he had time to adjust to being a single parent. She made it look easy, taking care of Allie while he jetted off to the next city, state, or even country. Moving back to the Northeast had been the right thing for both of them.

“Daddy, I don’t want a trip gift this time.”

He smiled. “You don’t want me to bring home a little something?”

She shook her head. “Nope, just you.”

That melted his heart. “I promise I’ll be home as fast as I can.”

She put her tiny hand in his. “That lady was pretty.”

“Who?”

“The lady eating ice cream. I wonder where her little kids were.”

“I don’t know, honey. Maybe she doesn’t have any.”

 “I bet if she has kids we could play together. She was nice.” Allie frowned. “We should have asked her to come see the waves with us.”

“I’m sure she had other things to do.”

Allie looked up. “Daddy, she was taking a nap.”

He laughed softly. “She was enjoying her afternoon and there is nothing wrong with relaxing after a busy week.”

She squinted her eyes and tipped up her chin. “How do you know she was busy?”

“Most adults are; it’s just how we roll.” He scooped her up and tickled her until she squealed, causing a flock of seagulls to take flight. 

BIO: LUCINDA RACE

Award-winning and best-selling author Lucinda Race is a lifelong fan of romantic fiction. As a young girl, she spent hours reading romance novels and getting lost in the hope they represent. While her friends dreamed of becoming doctors and engineers, her dreams were to become a writer—a romance novelist.

As life twisted and turned, she found herself writing nonfiction but longed to turn to her true passion. After developing the storyline for The Loudon Series, it was time to start living her dream. Her fingers practically fly over computer keys she weaves stories about strong women and the men who love them.

Lucinda lives with her two little dogs, a miniature long hair dachshund and a shitzu mix rescue, in the rolling hills of western Massachusetts. When she's not at her day job, she’s immersed in her fictional worlds. And if she’s not writing romance novels, she’s reading everything she can get her hands on.

​This collection of novellas by nine Regency romance authors is a perfect opportunity to sample some new-to-you storytellers. The stories are set around a central premise, a family of all daughters, left destitute by their late father, the earl of Seahaven.

Desperate Daughters: A Bluestocking Collection With Friends

The Earl of Seahaven desperately wanted a son and heir but died leaving nine daughters and a fifth wife. Cruelly turned out by the new earl, they live hand-to-mouth in a small cottage.

The young dowager Countess’s one regret is that she cannot give Seahaven’s dear girls a chance at happiness.

When a cousin offers the use of her townhouse in York during the season, the Countess rallies her stepdaughters.

They will pool their resources so that the youngest marriageable daughters might make successful matches, thereby saving them all.

So they start their adventures in York amid a whirl of balls, lectures, and al fresco picnics. Is it possible each of them might find love by the time the York horse races bring the season to a close?

But it’s not just daughters finding romance…

​Not everyone who finds love is a daughter. The earl’s young widow finds her own happily-ever-after. And my heroine, Lady Twisden, is a widowed aunt who learns that following her passion for painting doesn’t mean sacrificing love.

BIO: ALINA K. FIELD

USA Today bestselling author Alina K. Field earned a Bachelor of Arts Degree in English and German literature but prefers the 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 a golden-eyed terrier. 


​
 
Website: https://alinakfield.com/ 
 
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I could hardly wait for the second book in my Gamblers and Gunslingers series – FELICITY’S FORTUNE – to release!

​When we visited St. Joseph, Missouri, we had to stop at Jesse James’ house. While I was walking through those rooms, I wondered about his wife.
 
She’d set up a house, cooked meals, raised children…and her husband was an outlaw. She knew what he was, and that surprised me. Of course, who knew how she felt about his choices, and I’m sure it was hard to leave him since she loved him.
 
But I thought…what if she hadn’t known? What if a woman had married a man who was an outlaw, and she discovered it…
 
And turned him in.
 
So…FELICITY’S FORTUNE was born.
 
I had to give her a mighty hero, and so Butch Wilder grew in my mind’s eye. And he’s a good one. He had to be a little sinful, though, but he’s got a big, big, big heart!
 
I loved writing this story. Felicity’s daughters are the cutest little things.
 
I also enjoyed sending Felicity to Hell’s Half Acre, because God bless Texas, but that place was scary. It belonged in a book.
 
You know, that’s the best thing about being an author. You get to put cool places, events and people in your books.
 
I hope y’all enjoy Felicity and Butch’s story as much as I did! Happy reading!
​

FELICITY'S FORTUNE: AN EXCERPT

When Butch reached Rickman’s office, he tried to see through the windows to the inside, but the grimy panes allowed for nothing. Cautious but unafraid, he walked in without hesitation.

But when he found who had come calling, he about swallowed his tongue. He stopped short, his hand on the knob, his mind devoid of all thought.

“Are you Mr. Wilder?”

Her honey voice poured through him, grabbing hold of his senses.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, sir, but I’m looking for Mr. Butch Wilder. Are you he?”

Snap out of it, man! Butch blinked then cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m Butch Wilder.” He shut the door.

She looked him over.

He steeled himself against the fear he might see in her eyes due to his size, but when her gaze touched his face, what he found was desperation. Confused and a little nervous, he wrapped his thumbs around his suspenders.

“Do you know who I am?”

Would it upset her if he did? But he couldn’t lie to her. Somehow she’d know if he did. “Yes.”

She twitched her lips as if frustrated by her infamy. He couldn’t blame her.

After letting out a slow exhale, she said, “My home, and by that I really refer to my children, my housekeeper and myself, has been under attack since my former husband was arrested and tried.”

So…she had gotten divorced. Or was it an annulment? He stayed quiet, not knowing what she wanted or if he was allowed to respond.

“We need constant protection until this is settled.” She waved a hand in the air. “Until either the…the hanging or…” She paused, and her gaze went distant.

He narrowed his eyes slightly. What bothered her? The event she hadn’t mentioned or the hanging?

She shook her head. “I apologize. The last weeks have been rather harrowing.”

He could imagine. From the arrest, to the trial, to now…

A portion of what she’d said registered in his mind. “I’m sorry, ma’am. But why are you here? You mentioned…protection?” Hell. Was she going to ask him to…

“Yes. The sheriff’s office can’t provide anyone, so he suggested I hire you.”

Butch’s mind whirled with the implications.

“I will pay you well, plus meals, because I would prefer it if you moved into my home. People come at all times of the day and night. I’m fearful of what has occurred in my absence for the last few hours.” She pressed two fingers to her temple and rubbed. “Not that I can do anything about it,” she muttered. She let out a weary exhale.

While she struggled with exhaustion, he tried to make sense of what she was offering. It was ridiculous. Him? Butch Wilder? Protect her? And her family?

Hell. That was damned laughable.

PURCHASE FELICITY'S FORTUNE

​

My small town near the San Jacinto River didn't have much in the way of commerce. A few restaurants, a Weiner's, Michael's, and...um...

Well, I can't really remember anything else. Oh! There was a hardware store called "Handy Dan's". I can't remember if the movie theater was already here. We sure didn't have a mall. And we really only had one grocery store.

But, I have a VERY vivid memory of one place. It's called Cloth World. And you can probably tell by its name what it was.

In case you can't, let me paint you a picture...

Fabric. Everywhere. Lace everywhere. RIBBONS everywhere.

Drawers and drawers and drawers of patterns. Books upon books upon books of different styles of dresses, rompers, pants, vests...

Good gosh, the list goes on. And on. Forever. Neverending.


​
It took sooooo long to find the style, then she had to find the pattern, and then the material, and then the notions.

Do you know what notions are? Hmmm? I do!

Notions are the buttons and the zippers and the ribbons and the trim.

And do you think it stops there?

No, it doesn't, because guess what? We still have to buy the right thread!

We spent hours and hours and hours there. Life whittled away. Daylight turned to dusk. It was agony. Like nails being driven into my forehead. Or math drills.

And let me tell you something else...

My little town is kind of big now. We have a mall and multiple movie theaters and lots of restaurants -- we actually have the most Mexican restaurants in the state of Texas -- and two Walmarts and two Targets and, well, you get the picture. Businesses have come and gone. They've moved to bigger buildings. They've gone belly-up.

But NOT Cloth World. It's still there. In the SAME PLACE. It's called Joann's now, but it's STILL there.

Thankfully, the "Big Idea" girls can't drag me in there anymore. I have my own car. And I DON'T sew. I refuse. They can have their Crochet Club, their Wine and Knitting Club, their Stitch and B@#$! Club.

Me...I'm good. I sit on my couch...NOT sewing.

CLAIMS OF THE HEART: AN EXCERPT

Across the theater from Lucie, a braw, dark-haired man, as tall and straight as the duke, stood in his grace’s box, a young lady upon his arm.

Drawn like a giddy moth, she lifted her chin and met his gaze, bridging the yawning space, watching his mouth soften into the quizzical half-grin he displayed to such advantage.

Tristan Hamilton Howton, Major Lord Rudgwick, was, in fact, in London, in the flesh. He was here and looked ready and willing to annoy her. He looked hearty, healthy and well too; not at all impaired. As fully recovered from his injury as a man who’d lost a hand might be.

She let out a breath. She’d wondered how he’d fared after she and her parents left him in Brussels. Mother parsed the news she received in letters from Lady Rudgwick, and Lucie was too proud to ask after him.
She was glad to see him looking so well. Now she must simply keep the chasm between them as wide as the pit of this theater. Easy enough to do, given their different social circles.

He wasn’t in uniform tonight, yet he’d still make hearts flutter, and the cocky smile said he knew it. Wide shoulders filled out the elegant dark coat, and strong thighs the legs of his trousers. He was, after all, a horseman, a cavalry officer with a stable of the finest horses.

With a quiet breath she attempted to quell her pounding heart, to blot out the seductive smile that she saw over and over in stirring visions of a future that could not be, that must not be.

​She mustered a bored, how-annoying tone. “Rudgwick is here.”

PURCHASE CLAIMS OF THE HEART

​