Picture Promt ~ Tuesday's Tales

Welcome to

Tuesday's Tales 

Once again, many thanks to all those who drop by each week. I also appreciate, and often act upon comments and suggestions left.  Many thanks.

This week's snippet is from my paranormal WIP ~ He's My Husky

“I noticed some woods at the edge of town. Do you ever walk in there?”

“I used to with the dogs, not so much lately.” Emma reached out, hesitated then chose a chocolate chip cookie and began to nibble, keeping her eyes on him all the time.

Was the minx trying to seduce him? It wouldn’t work. Not yet, anyway. 

“Would you walk through them with me tomorrow?” He held her gaze and waited. When she remained silent, he continued. “Is it a popular place for walkers?”

“In the summer it is. Now? Not so much as the days are getting shorter and tomorrow…” her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Tomorrow the weathermen predicts heavy rain in this area.”

“A little rain has never put me off.” His voice earnest now, Max shifted on the settee; followed her action but choose a cupcake. Not that he was hungry but it gave him something to hold and hopefully hide his shaking hands. “We need to talk, but before we do, there are things you need to know.”

“We can do that here.”

True, he thought, but for what he wanted to show her the wide open space or even the confined space of woods would be preferable to possibly freaking her out in her own home. He shook his head.

“It’ll be better if we take this away from your home, so that if things don’t work out, there’ll be no association with me if you don’t like the outcome of our talk.”

“You’re scaring me, Max.”
 
 How could he blame her for feeling scared when he was facing the biggest challenge of his life and everything would rest on the outcome? “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise you,” he said, and hoped it would be the last lie he ever told her.

Thank you for reading this week's offering, there are

 lots more free reads at  Tuesday's Tales

Tuesday Tales - 6th March - Life

Another week spins round and here we are again ready for a fresh Tuesday Tales offering.  This week's promp is 'Life' and since I am offering short snippets from my experimental Regency romance, No Job For A Woman, elsewhere I thought I would continue from my two posts on Saturday & Sunday
My thanks to everyone who stops by, I appreciate your support.

Anger and frustration ripped up from nowhere, she wanted to lash out, to hurt someone in return for the injuries sustained by her husband. “Now if you are staying here, make yourself useful and sit with Julian, while Nurse and I get some air. We have seen no more than our beds and the sick room for seven days now, and it is hard on Nurse, she is no longer as young as she used to be. I want to ensure she takes a break.”

The doctor had shared their vigil for several hours on the first two nights before apologising for the need to return home to get some sleep. “For I have several patients to visit on the other side of the village tomorrow morning,” he’d explained.

Soon after the doctor’s departure she’d persuaded Nurse to rest on the truckle bed she’d set up for herself, in the room.

She did not attempt to explain how they’d both sat through those first nights with Julian until his fever broke. Nor of the struggle she had to administer his medicine. As the fever rose so the task became harder until it took both women and the doctor to hold him, while one handed, Deb trickled the medicine between his parched and split lips.

So the burden had lain on her shoulders to nurse him through the ravages until his fever broke. Not to anyone had she spoken of her fear that in return for his support he might lose his life.

And for what?

If Julian died, Ned Grainger would take up where he’d left off. No one had given any thought or time, since the tragedy, to search for whatever the Graingers’ were looking for.

Julian’s life was worth more than that.

Freddie may harbour guilt, but none more so than her own. After all she had agreed to their suggestion that she marry Julian before Ned Grainger’s deadline.

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Tuesday Tales 28th Feb

Tuesday Tales word promt this week is 'Dress'.

Thanks for coming by and I'd love to hear from you, too. You'll find plenty of other talented authors at TUESDAY TALES.
*Note - changed Rosamund to Rosemary.*

Rosemary studied her son, Callum Hamilton. Eight years old, and the love of her life.

“You know,” he said, rising to his knees on his bed, “you look like a princess in that dress.”

“Oh!” Shocked almost speechless, Rosie swooped down and hugged Cal. “What a lovely thing to say. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

Quickly knowing how much she’d embarrass him if she held onto him any longer than a couple of seconds, Rosie moved back and made a play of studying herself in the mirror.

“I lack the crown, don’t you think?” Angling her head from side to side, she met her son’s reflected grin in the mirror.

“You don’t need a crown when you wear that dress.”

The floor length pleated skirt of her diamond blue satin gown billowed round her legs when she turned. She still wasn’t sure about the single flowered strap that led the eye to the snug fitting bodice that hugged her curves and emphasized her slender waist, but had to agree it looked good on her.

Instead of her son’s voice, the words triggered the memory of his father’s voice when she’d joined him at the Estate’s church alter on their wedding day. On that day, she wore cream Nottingham lace over satin, with long slender sleeves ending in a ‘v’ on the back of her hand. The woman at the bridal gown shop gave it a fashionable name, which she’d ignored. Love at first sight, first with her almost husband, then with her wedding dress, and finally with her son the moment the nurse placed him in her arms.

And now…

Now nothing! Liam’s brother Sacha, didn’t mean a thing to her, how could he?

She’d met him for the first time at the Valentine day bash, Melanie and Monica held every year to raise funds for their riding school for disabled children—well partly her riding school since she’d bought into the business and virtual taken over Monica’s role since she’d returned to her new home with her fiancé and heir to the tiny European kingdom Henri would one day inherit from his father.

If she ignored the punch to her gut the first time she set eyes on him, the feeling would disappear in time. If the look he’d given her earlier this evening set the blood pulsing though her veins almost causing her heart to leap out of her chest with delight, so what? He was a handsome man. A stunningly good looking man, she corrected.

It was over eight years since her husband of six months had died from injuries sustained from a rampaging stag during the deer-rutting season, and she still missed him, still mourned he’d never met the son who mirrored his image and many of his mannerisms.

“You don’t need a crown to be my queen.” He’d whispered when he placed his ring on her finger that day so long ago. With a shake of her head, she smiled back at Cal.

“It would probably fall off if I had to wear a crown, so I’m thankful I don’t have one.”

Something in her son’s eyes dimmed her smile and silenced her laughter.


“What?”

Rosie crossed the room and sat beside Cal when he sat back on his heels and looked down at his hands resting on his lap. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you ever regret walking away from Dad’s inheritance? I know you did it for me.”

“Sweetheart, I loved your father not his lifestyle or his estates. Yes, I did do it for you, and your uncle is prepared to talk the whole situation through with you whenever you want to.”

“I know that.” Cal raised his gaze to meet hers, anxiety darkening the heather-coloured eyes so like his father’s.

“But?” She knew what was coming, the guilt the fear, and the sense of failure and her heart wept for the son who wanted to emulate his father and couldn’t because of the circumstances in which that father had died.

Six Sentence Sunday

Where has the week gone?  Here's another six sentences, from my my latest release, His Chosen Bride, for this week's SSS.
Thanks to everyone who passes by and to those who leave me comments.  I appreciate you all


Normally quiet-spoken, the snap in her voice startled him to immobility.

She stood back while he hefted the bale onto the high stack against the wall, and stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets. Judging from the glittering anger in her eyes, he reckoned she’d done that to prevent her fists from connecting with his chin.

Not just anger burning in her eyes, he decided, and gave in to his need to touch. He reached out, skimmed a knuckle down her cheek, and let his hand drift round to the back of her neck. His thumb traced the racing pulse at the base of her throat. So the lady was not as cool as she’d have him believe.

Sweet Saturday Sample 25th Feb

I don't know about you, but I just don't know where the time is going to.  Sweet Saturday Samples rolls round again, and today I am continuing from where I left off in His Chosen bride, my Valentine story and the 2nd book in the Gasquet Princes series, in the Six Sentence Sunday snippet last week.
Thanks to everyone who comes by to read and to those who stop long enough to leave a comment .  I appreciate you all.

Prince Henri, heir to his father's throne, has been banished from carrying out his royal duties until further notice, by command of the King.  now he'sd having to adapt to a new way of life...

An emotional hole he hadn’t known existed opened up in his heart while he watched. Would the woman his parents chose for him have the same empathy with children as Monica? He clamped down on the question and went in search of his brother.



A new life opened up in front of him, one he could never embrace, but to which he knew he could escape occasionally, for long or short breaks, whenever he wanted to.


He began spending more and more time around the stables and if, while helping with the usual outdoor chores and seeing to the animals’ welfare, his gaze strayed to where Monica worked, he refused to acknowledge it beyond noting how she removed her glove to tuck her hair back behind her ear every time the wind whipped it round her face.


He denied the increased heartbeat that thrummed within his chest in time to a mantra he tried to ignore.


Liar, liar, liar.


He watched as, with graceful efficiency, Monica moved on from one task to the next. Her appearance of fragility was deceptive, Henri discovered, when he caught her hefting a hay bale and rushed over to take it from her.


“It’s okay,” she said, “I’ve got it.”


Ignoring her protest, he grabbed the pitchfork carrying her bale and followed her instructions. “You shouldn’t be lifting these.” He indicated the floor-to-roof stack of bales.


“I’ve been doing ‘this’ for many years, Henri, and just because you suddenly ‘see’ me at work doesn’t change my reality.”


From the beginning she’d ignored his title, and to start with he’d assumed she did it to annoy. But he soon realised it was her way of according him the same sense of belonging and family she offered Liam. So he ignored the warmth surrounding his heart that her actions triggered.

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http://www.amazon.com/His-Chosen-Bride-ebook/dp/B0079A7V9W/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_6/190-6871302-0103505

http://www.amazon.co.uk/His-Chosen-Bride-ebook/dp/B0079A7V9W

From Now Until Forever (Book 1) is available here  ~~

http://www.amazon.com/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322854797&sr=1-1-spell

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nook http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=ebook

Sweet Saturday Sample

Thanks to everyone who visits me on Sweet Saturday Samples and I truly appreciate your comments. 
After diverting further into the story to give you a real Valentine smaple last week, I am hopping back to Henri's reappraisal of his enforced holiday at his brother and sister-in-law's riding school for disabled children.

The simplicity of Christmas at the farm had appealed to Henri. The joy of seeing it through the eyes of his three-month-old nephew, Jonathan, intrigued him, and brought a new magic and meaning to the day. Yes, they’d exchanged presents and stuffed themselves motionless with the awesome food Melanie prepared. It was, he knew, a Christmas that would ever remain as one of his most precious memories.

He’d expected to chafe at the lack of a filled schedule. Had wondered what he’d do with himself during this enforced period of inactivity, and laughed at the absurdity.

True, for the first few days, the disruption of his life, coupled with the re-entry of Monica into his orbit, stoked both his fury and sense of disconnection. Used to a life of routine with every moment accounted for, it took several days to acclimatise to the rhythm of the farm.

The sight of his brother’s joy filled him with an unknown sense of yearning he couldn’t identify. Heck, his life was all mapped out for him. One day he’d step into his father’s shoes, marry the woman his parents chose for him, sire the required heir and a spare, and—

His steps faltered, and he reflected back over the last few weeks, since his arrival.

Six Sentence Sunday

12th Feb
Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week. I truly appreciate your company. 

To celebrate Valentine's Day on Tuesday, I am again sharing more from of my Valentine Story, His Chosen Bride, coming soon from Astraea Press, about Henri Gasquet, hero in the second story of four about the Gasquet Princes.

Today's six follows right on from yesterday's offering...

Her hands moved from Henri’s hair to roam over his back; raking, pulling, pushing. Emotions she never suspected herself capable of coursed through her. While Henri’s lips moved from her throat to the swell of her breasts, her hand began tugging his shirt free.

Something changed. Cool wind blew over heated skin, Henri’s hands dropped away, fisted and disappeared into his pockets. And so far he’d not spoken one single word.

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

I hope your Valentine's day is everything you wish for.

Char Chaffin Meet the Author ~ Day 1

My Bio:
Char Chaffin started reading romance, science fiction and horror at a very young age. Her love of books is directly responsible for her overflowing bookcases, and the bounty stored on her new Kindle threatens to eclipse her entire paper collection. Char currently writes mainstream and contemporary romance filled with family, rich characters and engaging plots. For her, it all comes back to the love.


Char began her writing odyssey as a poet, crafting Victorian-style poetry, then went on to writing short stories. She found her niche when she began writing longer and longer short stories, until she wrote her first novel. It might never see the light of day, but writing it taught her a lot. Over the years she worked a variety of jobs, from farm hand to costume designer to fiscal accountant, before deciding a writing career was her true focus.


A native New Yorker, Char lives Upstate on a sixty-acre farm with husband Don, rat terrier Daisy Mae and two barn cats who constantly slack off on the job of keeping the barn free of varmints. The Chaffin extended family is scattered all over the United States and Alaska.




When she’s not pounding away at her keyboard or burying her nose in books and Kindle, she tends a huge vegetable garden and helps Don maintain a sixty-acre farm.


Book Blurb:
Annie Turner has lived in small-town Thompkin all of her life. Her family is poor but she and her siblings have loving parents and a roof over their heads. As far as she’s concerned, she’s a lucky girl.


Travis Quincy’s ancestors founded Thompkin, deep in the Shenandoah Valley. He’s known immense wealth from birth, and for him that wealth is a part of his life that he’s never had to question.


While still in grade school, Annie and Travis meet and fall in love. Neither understands why they’re drawn to each other, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Like two halves of a whole, they’re only complete when they’re together. And nothing is more important than the vow they make to someday marry.


Growing up together, the rich, privileged boy and the girl from the wrong side of town find that when it comes to keeping their pledge, it's easier said than done. Travis's mother, Ruth, has plans for her son and they don't include his marrying a Turner. Her painful and secret past gives her an unwanted connection to the Turner family and a reason to hate them all. With cold determination she sets out to destroy the bond between her son and Annie.


Love is magical at any age … and a promise is forever.


Isn’t it?


Excerpt (Chapter One):
Shenandoah Valley
June


Annie Turner fell in love with Travis Quincy on a hot summer day, over a tangled fishing line and a bucket of night crawlers.


From the moment he walked up to her in the sunlight and smiled at her, nothing else seemed to matter. Her frustration, as she struggled with the twine attached to the end of her homemade bamboo pole, wasn’t important. Anger over wet knots that resisted all her tugging, irritation because her brother Mark hoarded his new rod instead of allowing her to borrow it . . . . All magically gone, the very second Annie looked up into blue eyes as warm as the sky above, and lost her heart.


“Need some help?” He squatted down next to her on the ground.


She nodded, a flush heating her cheeks. Stop staring at him, Annie. She couldn’t get any oxygen into her lungs. Breathe, Annie . . .


After what seemed like an eternity of gawking at him, she cleared her dry throat. “I—my line got tangled, over in the reeds. I don’t think I can fix it. There’s not enough weight on the twine.” Her pulse sped up when he leaned in for a better view of her mangled pole. There were glints of blue in his thick black hair and his eyelashes were longer than hers. He’s so cute. She barely kept from sighing in his face.


He carried a small oblong box, which he set on the ground as he reached for her pole and examined the knotty lumps of twine. “Did you make this? I’ve never seen a homemade fishing rod before.”


“It’s not a very good pole,” she admitted. “I’ve made better ones, really.” For a few more seconds, she stared at him. “You live in that big, pretty house on the hill.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could have snatched them back because they sounded so dumb.


“Yeah. That’s where I live.” He shrugged. “It’s just a house.” He cocked his head as he looked at her. “What’s your name?”


She tried hard not to blush. “Annie Turner. And you’re Travis Quincy. I see your daddy in town once in a while.” More dumb words. She wanted to kick herself.


But Travis nodded and replied, “Yeah. He’s got an office on Market Street.” He gave up on the mangled pole, and tossed it down. “It’s too messed up to fix. You got any more twine? Maybe you could make another one.”


“I only took one piece. I didn’t think it would tangle like that.” If she’d been alone, she’d have stomped on the broken pole and tossed it into the pond. Now she’d have to give up trying to fish, and go back to the house. She’d been cooped up all week in the kitchen, helping her mama put up jam and chutney. Finally able to escape, Annie had run all the way to Bogg Pond, clutching her battered old beach bucket that she’d crammed with worms and wet leaves. She couldn’t wait to get her hook into the fattest night crawler, and catch her first bullhead of the morning.


She’d wasted too much time goofing with the knotted twine. And as soon as she returned to the house, Mama would grab her and drag her back into the hot kitchen to work. She’d miss out on a prime day of fishing . . . not to mention a chance to talk to the cutest boy in town.


Sighing, she got to her feet. “Thanks for trying to fix it. I’d better get on home.”


“You can still fish if you want. Use my fishing rod.” He reached for his oblong box and flipped back the lid. Inside, a rod, reel and some sinkers and hooks nestled in molded foam. He pulled out the sections and screwed them together, then threaded the line and attached the reel. He held it out to her and she reached for it, but changed her mind and pulled her hand away.


“I can’t. What if I break it? I break stuff all the time. My sister says I’m a klutz. I’ve never seen a rod like this, anyway. It looks like it cost a lot of money.” Annie’s fingers itched to give it a try.


He shrugged again. “I guess. I got it for Christmas last year and this is the first time I’ve had it out of the box.”


With the toe of his sneaker he rattled her dinged-up beach bucket. “Tell you what. I forgot to bring worms, and you need a rod. Why don’t we share? We’ll take turns. Maybe we could have a contest, too. See who gets the most fish. Winner takes all the fish, all the leftover worms and the fishing rod.”


“That wouldn’t be right; you said it was a gift from somebody. Anyhow, I break things, I already told you.”


“Who says you’re going to win, huh?” He gave her a challenging look as he dug in the bucket for a worm. “Maybe I’ll win it all. I’m a very good fisherman.” He hooked the worm and stood, holding the baited rod out to her. “Besides, I have other rods I fish with. So even if you do win, I don’t mind giving this one away.”


Annie rose as well and flashed him one more uncertain look, before her own competitive nature kicked in. She took the rod from him.


“I’m a better fisherman than you are.” She stuck out her free hand to shake on the deal, and he grasped her fingers firmly.


She swung her arm back to cast out, already anticipating a pile of bullheads so heavy, she’d need a wheelbarrow to carry them all home.


*******


“I guess you’re a pretty good fisherman after all,” Travis commented, a few hours later. He poked at the string of fish Annie finished tying to a clump of marsh grasses. Eleven fat bullheads flopped around in the shallow water. He sighed. “I only caught three.”


“Some of yours are longer than mine.” She stood and brushed dirt off her knees. “But I did tell you I was better.” She smirked up at him in the afternoon sun and he elbowed her in the ribs. Her grin widened. In one short afternoon, they’d become friends.


She didn’t want to go home yet. This was the most fun she’d had all summer, away from her snotty sister, her dumb brothers and all the work she got stuck with during canning season. She didn’t really mind helping out; sometimes it could be fun. But hanging out with Travis Quincy was a whole lot better.


She held out his fishing rod but he waved it off. “You won fair and square. Keep it.”


“I can’t.” When he looked puzzled, she tried to explain. “My folks wouldn’t let me . . . it’s a fancy rod, right? They wouldn’t let me keep something so expensive.” She didn’t want to make him mad, but taking that rod would probably hurt her parents’ feelings. They couldn’t afford to buy her anything half as nice.


“Well, if you’re sure,” he replied. She nodded, relieved that he seemed to understand. He took the rod and started to break it down so he could store it back in its box. “You can borrow it anytime you want, okay?”


His generosity surprised her. “Okay.” She waited until he stood, then shyly offered, “You can have some of my bulls, Travis. If you want them, that is.” The smile that spread over his face was worth losing a few of her catch. Thrilled she could give something back to him even if it was only some fish, she busied herself with using the remainder of her twine to string the biggest fish they’d caught. She’d keep the small ones for herself.


As they trudged down the narrow path leading toward Boggy Creek Lane, he said, “If you don’t have to go home yet, you could come over to my house for a while. Maybe have some lemonade. I’m thirsty; aren’t you?”


She glanced at him, startled at the flush riding high on his cheek. He sure looked hot and thirsty. Come to think of it, so was she. But, go to a boy’s house? Annie hesitated, unsure. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of cicadas and an occasional cricket.


Be brave, Annie. It’s only lemonade. Still, she stuttered when she agreed.


As they got closer to his house up on Thompkin Hill, nerves churned in her stomach. His folks might kick her out for smelling like worms and fish. By comparison, Travis looked as if he’d lounged by some expensive pool all day. She envied him his spotless tee shirt and pressed jeans. Dirt was probably afraid to jump on his clothes. She sighed in resignation. Dirt always seemed to come looking for her.


A wide, white porch wrapped around the front of the house. Beyond double doors, the hallway they stepped into had a crystal chandelier that hung from what looked like the tallest ceiling in the world. Tables covered with vases of real flowers and silver-framed photos sat in the corners. She swore she saw her own reflection in the floor. She didn’t know where to look first.


As she paused in the massive hallway, sweaty with nerves, a low, cultured voice floated down a curved staircase. “Travis? Is that you? Where have you been? You were due home an hour ago.”


The voice grew clearer and Annie saw a tall, thin woman descend the staircase, one hand trailing along the polished banister. She couldn’t help but stare. This was someone’s mother? She looked like a model or a movie star!


Thick, black hair, drawn back into a smooth bun, crowned her head. She wore a sleeveless dress formal enough for somebody’s wedding, and dainty pumps in the same shade of pale blue. As she moved closer Annie saw her eyes were identical to Travis’s, but there the similarity ended, for there didn’t seem to be a drop of warmth in them.


“Travis, you smell of the pond. Your sneakers have dirt on them. And who is this—child—you’ve brought home?” The woman’s voice spiked sharply.


Travis wiped his feet on the thick runner in front of the door, before he caught Annie’s hand and pulled her forward. “We’ve been fishing. Annie, this is my mother, Ruth Quincy.” As he spoke Travis inched her closer to his mother and her silky perfection. Annie saw her shrink back to avoid their grimy hands.


She stammered out a breathless, “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Her voice echoed around the elegant hallway.


“Indeed.” With one word, Travis’s mother dismissed her and frowned at her son. “You are late for your riding lesson. Desmond can’t wait forever; he has other students to see to.” She eyed the string of bullheads he carried. “I suggest you dispose of those horrid fish and prepare for your lesson.”


“I can’t dump our fish. They’re some really large bulls. I’m going to give them to Martha, and—”


“You will not bring those foul things into my kitchen. Martha has more important tasks than dealing with slimy fish caught in a nasty pond. She’s already preparing dinner. Councilman Cabot and his family are dining with us tonight. I repeat: throw them out and attend to your lesson.”


Annie cringed to hear the way this woman spoke to her son. Her mama would never talk to her and her brothers and sister like that, even when someone broke a glass or one of her brothers walked through the house in muddy shoes.


She knew Mama would pull her into a hug or tickle one of her ribs when she came home with her load of tasty bullheads. Even when Mama made her help out in the kitchen, she found ways for everybody to have fun. This tall lady with the silky dress and the perfect hair probably didn’t know what the word “fun” meant.


Just before Mrs. Quincy turned away, Annie said, “It was nice meeting you, ma’am,” which she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore. Her back as straight as a steel pole, Travis’s mother walked toward the staircase. She paused when a side door opened and Mr. Quincy walked out, his pipe in hand and a folded newspaper tucked under his arm.


He reminded Annie of her daddy, tall and lean with twinkling eyes and gray speckled through his dark brown hair. He wore slacks and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When he spotted her he winked, then turned to kiss his wife’s cheek. She smiled slightly but her eyes narrowed as she looked pointedly at his wrinkled shirtsleeves.


Mr. Quincy murmured, “Don’t fuss, Ruthie. It’s Saturday, remember?” To Travis he added, “Now, what’s that I see, Trav? Bullheads! My favorite fish in the entire world. I bet if you ask Martha nicely, she’ll cook them up for us later, what do you think?” He sent another wink at Annie.


His wife glared at him. “Don’t encourage your son in his uncivilized behavior. Martha is not cooking a mass of vile fish. Travis, do as I say and throw them out.”


“Now, Ruth. Bullheads are to be savored, not tossed out with the garbage. I’m sure Martha won’t mind cooking them. And if for some reason she can’t, well then, Trav and I will man the kitchen and the fry pan. Won’t we, son?” Travis nodded eagerly at his father’s suggestion, while Annie offered a smile.


Ruth Quincy didn’t seem to find the idea worthwhile, though. To her husband she accused, “You let the boy run wild in the summer, and I won’t have it. Spending a valuable Saturday flipping about in a dirty pond isn’t part of his weekend schedule. Desmond has now waited thirty minutes and Travis has yet to clean up and present himself for his riding lesson.”


She might have said more, but when Mr. Quincy laid his hand on her bare arm and squeezed gently, she stopped talking. The tight look on her face was probably due to lots of anger.


“Ruth, this is Thompkin, not Newport News,” he admonished. “It’s summertime and of course a boy wants to hare off and have some fun, especially when he has a cute little friend like—I’m sorry, we weren’t properly introduced. I’m Ronald Quincy, Travis’s father.” He held out his big hand to Annie.


She grasped his fingers. “I’m Annie Turner. I really like your house.” Her admiring words just popped out, but Mr. Quincy just chuckled.


He whistled at the number of fish Travis still held. “Fishing must have been good today. I used to go all the time when I was your age, Annie. Sometimes I’d catch the biggest, wiliest old bullheads. And the ones that got away? Why, they were huge!” With both hands he measured a longest bullhead anyone could imagine, and made Annie giggle over his silliness.


She smiled at him happily. “Can I go fishing with you someday?” Ruth Quincy gasped in horror. Annie winced at her own boldness, but Travis and his father laughed, sounding almost identical.


It was obvious to her Travis had inherited his father’s easygoing personality. Mr. Quincy beamed. “Well, of course. Nice to meet you, young lady. You come back anytime. Travis, take those fish into the kitchen and clean them for Martha, there’s a good boy. And don’t worry about Desmond and your lesson. I’ll call down to the stables and send him home.”


When Travis’s mother growled under her breath, his father continued, “Ruth, before I dress for dinner, I need your advice on a very urgent matter.” He took her arm and led her away.


Travis let out a relieved sigh. “I hope Mother didn’t upset you. She can be sort of strict. And Dad likes everyone; he’s really friendly. Let’s go get some lemonade now, and then we can gut and clean the fish before I give them to Martha. She’s our cook,” he explained.


Annie’s nerves, having melted away during Mr. Quincy’s reassuring presence, flooded back with a vengeance at the word “cook.” God, it was like another world here. A huge, fancy house, a fancy mother and now a cook. Riding lessons, too. Annie trailed along after Travis as he headed toward the kitchen.


How on earth they could ever be friends when their lives were so very different?


My Website: http://char.chaffin.com
My Blog: http://charbchaffin.wordpress.com/


Soul Mate Publishing: http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/promises-to-keep/


Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Promises-to-Keep-ebook/dp/B00695RH4M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1326559313&sr=8-1


Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/promises-to-keep-char-chaffin/1107756848?ean=2940013543355&itm=1&usri=char+chaffin

Don't miss the chance to ask a question tomorrow when Char Chaffin returns for an interview

Six Sentence Sunday ~ 29th Jan

Thank you to everyone who leaves comments, and visits every week.

Today I am sharing more from of my Valentine Story about Henri Gasquet, hero in His Chosen Bride.



His father’s bald statement rocked Henri back on his heels. “You?”

“It is a year since my heart attack,” the king said again, “and for the most part I have accepted the dictates of my doctors and advisors, and am now taking a leaf out of my son’s book before my heir drops dead from physical and emotional exhaustion.”

With a snap the king closed Henri’s diary, leaned back in his chair. Instead of pushing it towards him, the king slipped the diary into one of the desk drawers his gaze still focussed on his son.

“So you, my son, are on leave until I say otherwise.”

Please hop on over to SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY to read more fabulous snippets on offer this week.

Please welcome author Ann Montclair

So Many Opportunities: Only One Story
By Ann Montclair

So, you’ve written a book. It’s completed, polished, and ready to be shopped. You’re excited, right? After all, this is the moment you’ve been awaiting. You’ve composed your two page synopsis and one page query letter, and are ready to make the biggest decision of all—to whom do you send your inquiry?

Traditionally, you’d query a list of agents and hope one requested a chapter, but with the advent of electronic books, many publishers will accept direct inquiries from un-agented, first time authors. What do you do?

Figure out your intentions and form a plan.

Writers must decide if they want to pursue print or electronic publication—knowing one takes a long time and the other might nibble within weeks. Authors should decide if they want to work with a small or large press. And don’t forget to consider if your career might benefit from securing an agent. Once those decisions are made, writers must be prepared to wait accordingly. You have one story to sell, and you want to make sure it gets into the best position for that sale; that’s why planning is essential for a prudent business move.

I took an academic sabbatical from my position as a tenured college English professor to pursue my writing. I desired publication as quickly as possible, so I decided to query electronic publishers as well as traditional venues. Within a month, I had been offered a contract with Soul Mate Publishing.

A contract! My first novel, The Billionaire’s Bauble, sold! And fast…

I barely had time to utter a prayer of thanks before I received two more offers for my Bauble. Then an agent I’d queried wanted to read it, and months later, a giant in the romance industry expressed interest.

I am thrilled to have The Billionaire’s Bauble with Soul Mate Publishing; as I am equally pleased to have two more contemporary romance novels, One Wet Summer and Good Things Come in Tall Packages, forthcoming in May 2012 and August 2012 with Musa Publishing. My dreams have come true, and I hope to entertain readers for years to come with romance novels yet to be penned.

The lesson that I hope to share is this: as an author, you need a plan. You need to understand that there has never been more opportunity or access to publication, but if you want to press with the traditional publishers, like St. Martins or Harlequin, you need patience. Those large houses don’t have the turnaround small houses have. Agents take months to respond and big publishing houses can take up to a year. I don’t regret the decisions I made to get my stories to press. Soul Mate Publishing and Musa Publishing have proven wonderful venues for my novels—rich with learning opportunities, willing to help me grow as an author of contemporary romance. I trust I made the right decisions for my stories and for me.

And you need to make the right decision for you. When that first novel (or that next novel is ready to send), know this: writers have choices. Plan to succeed and you will!

***

Ann Montclair’s first contemporary romance novel, The Billionaire’s Bauble, is available as an electronic book at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/The-Billionaires-Bauble-ebook/dp/B006QQWY42/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1326811080&sr=8-1

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-billionaires-bauble-ann-montclair/1108117604?ean=2940013699595&itm=1&usri=the+billionaire%27s+bauble

and Soul Mate Publishing http://www.soulmatepublishing.com/the-billionaires-bauble/

You can also visit her at http://annmontclair.com/

The Billionaire’s Bauble blurb:
Sloane Porter arrived at Grant Oil knowing if she didn’t land the executive assistant position, she would have to leave Fairbanks and return home to New York. To a life she’d thought she’d left far behind. She hadn’t spent years earning her degree and becoming her own woman just to move backwards. But when Sloane enters the CEO’s office and realizes he’s the same man she’d kissed in a Fairbanks bar two years earlier, a man she couldn’t forget, she discovers running away isn’t always the best option . . .

Excerpt from Chapter One:

"I'll be all yours in a moment, Ms. Porter," David said absentmindedly to the final interviewee entering his plush Fairbanks office. The walnut and steel door swooshed closed as the woman approached his desk. He didn't glance up from his paper pile, but he could smell a hint of Chanel perfume, and he already liked the confident click clack of the candidate's heels across his tiled office floor.

"Yes, sir. Take all the time you need," the applicant purred, and remained standing, waiting for David to ask her to be seated.

He enjoyed making his prospective employees squirm—just a bit—as they waited to find out if their futures would be linked with his Fortune 500 company. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie, but only one person would be hired to become the newest administrative assistant to the CEO and owner of the billion dollar enterprise.

David Grant required a team of personal aids to scurry after him and keep things running smoothly so he could wrangle the S & P and rough up those big city corporate honchos. He smiled to himself. The new figures looked strong, and Grant Oil was set to double up.

David slowly lifted his eyes to observe every detail of the young woman.

He started at her shoes, a serviceable pair of two-inch heels. Check. She wasn't wearing stilettos, a sure sign of self-indulgence if worn to the office. Good.

Her legs were lean but strong; he could see calf muscle but no knee. Check. Modesty was key to creating a productive workplace. He didn't want to see thighs at Grant Oil. He demanded a focused environment, and that meant no glimpses of distracting flesh.

As his inquisitive eyes moved to the woman's hips, he noted she was full figured despite her athletic legs. Her blue wool pencil skirt did little to hide her feminine curves. Wool was a smart choice because June could be quite cool in Fairbanks, despite the sun's bright glare.

Her arms were to her sides and her fingers hung loosely. Light pink paint adorned each small nail. No wedding ring decorated her slim pale fingers, though she had quite a nice ornament on her left pinky finger. A 2-carat diamond sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine coming through the giant paned window above his desk. Terrific. She didn't have a husband to keep her home. David needed assistants who moved as quickly as he did.

The woman's matching suit coat jacket was finely tailored, and the small leather covered buttons were undone so David could see the crisp white silk shirt that almost disguised a full bosom.

Her throat was long and he could see a pulse. Good. She was nervous, despite her calm demeanor. A few wisps of auburn hair had escaped from her chignon, but they curled artfully along her neck, just touching her suited shoulder. David appreciated the softness a few misplaced hairs could lend to a businesswoman. A woman should be soft—even in the rugged oil business. He wanted a woman to be a woman.

As he continued his deliberate perusal, he noted her dimpled chin, full pink lips, and pert nose. When he finally arrived at her eyes, he almost lost his composure.

"It's you," he managed as his throat clamped tight. If he had been kicked in the gut, he couldn't have been more affected.

A quick flash of recognition quickly became all business as her brilliant green eyes smiled at him, twinkled even. She extended her hand across his glass-topped desk and said, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Grant. Thank you for the opportunity."

David felt her small hand go instantly hot. He stood then, and she stepped back, pulling her hand from his strong grip. He could see a flash of confusion and then determination well up in her remarkable eyes.

"I understand you are here for a position in my company," he assuaged. He read her name from the top of her resume again: Sloane Porter. "I apologize for my familiarity, Ms. Porter, but you are the woman I danced with a couple of years ago at Hal's. Right?"

Today Elaine tells us how Matt Gets Jilted

Matt Gets Jilted

Welcome to Sherry’s blog! My name is Elaine Cantrell, and I’ve been blogging for Sherry for the last two days. If you’re interested in me and my writing, check out my website at http://www.elainecantrell.com. I have some nice free reads there.

If you’ve been following for the last few days, you know I’ve been talking about people who get jilted-just like my heroine Marley Matthews in The Table in the Window. The book is coming out in the next few days and can be purchased at http://www.astraeapress.com. Continuing with my jilted theme, I’d like to talk a bit about my other Astraea Press release A New Dream.

Here’s a blurb about the book.
What do you do when you lose everything?

After an auto accident destroys his NFL career, Matt McCallum struggles to find a new dream for his life, but nothing engages him the way football did. After a stint in rehab, he takes a job managing a grocery store where he meets Violet Emerson.

Violet works in the bakery department, but her dreams carry her far beyond the doors of Chef’s Pantry. As soon as she can save the money, she plans to open a catering business. And she thinks the new manager’s broad shoulders and blue eyes are simply divine.

Thrown together at work, Matt and Violet find a common dream for their lives, but a loose end from Matt’s past returns to jeopardize their future. Will love be enough to save their new dream before it turns into a nightmare?

Of course, before Matt meets Violet he had a fiancée, Stacey Thomas. In this excerpt from A New Dream Stacey agonizes over the accident that took Matt’s football career away.
~~~

Stacey shuddered and splashed some more water on her face. The nausea had passed now. She staggered back into her bedroom and threw herself across her bed. Matt’s legs looked horrible! She’d give anything not to have been at the hospital when the bandages came off. It had been bad enough when a sheet covered Matt, but to actually see his mutilated legs turned her stomach and made her feel faint.

She knew one thing, though. Until this afternoon she hadn’t really understood that Matt’s football career had ended. Oh, she realized he had lost a leg, but somehow it hadn’t been real to her until she saw it for herself. Rolling over, she curled into a tight, little ball. She had had such fun going places with Matt. People always recognized him
and wanted his autograph. He had plenty of money too, and he wasn’t stingy with it. The fame and money had thrilled her, but it was all over and done with now. No more autographs or big money.

Her stomach lurched again. She had more than just fame and money to worry about. Matt had wanted to kiss her this afternoon. In fact, when the doctor came in to take off Matt’s bandages he had caught her sitting on the edge of the bed kissing Matt. The doctor had kidded him about it, but she hadn’t minded being interrupted at all. She…didn’t like to touch him too much now.

Her thoughts drifted to the afternoon of their accident. Their parents wouldn’t approve, but she and Matt had gone to Greenville and checked into a luxury hotel that morning. They had spent his last day of freedom in bed together. She drew a deep, shaky breath.

The day had been everything she’d dreamed it could be. Her body tightened with the faint echo of passion. Matt was a good lover.

Oh, why did they have to have such a terrible accident? What would happen to Matt now? Her engagement ring winked and twinkled as it caught the light. She stared at it for a moment and began to cry.

~~~
Pretty bad, huh? Yeah, she jilted him the next day. She didn’t have the nerve to do it face-to-face. She returned her engagement ring by messenger. What a witch! Oh, well. If she hadn’t jilted Matt, he never would have met Violet. In my story Violet works in a bakery before she opens her own catering business. If you’ll leave me your email address in a comment I’ll email you a PDF copy of her favorite dessert recipes.

Can I brag for a minute? Romance Junkies gave the book a 4.5 out of 5 stars and said, A NEW DREAM is a wonderful contemporary romance with heartwarming characters and heartfelt moments. Elaine Cantrell creates a beautiful, believable relationship with old fashioned values that adds sweetness to the story. All of her characters were likable with emotions and reactions that one can relate to. My favorite though had to be the hero Matt, who had to face a very difficult reality. His growth and the way Ms. Cantrell portrayed his struggles with coming to terms with the changes in his life was nicely done. This is one of the best inspirational romances I’ve read in a while.


Romantic Times gave it four and a half stars and said, Readers will love this touching and inspirational story in which a former football player learns to live his life under new terms after a tragic accident.

I’m also tickled pink to tell you that A New Dream is on the publisher’s bestseller list!


The book is available at http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=677872&mode=product&product=2676585 or at http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_12?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=a+new+dream+by+elaine+cantrell&sprefix=a+new+dream+

In a few days I’ll pick the winner of the contest I offered yesterday. I hope each and every one of you have the merriest holiday season ever, and don’t forget to give books to the readers on your list. Sherry, thanks so much for letting me come. I’ve enjoyed being with you and your readers.

Congratulations, Elaine, and best wishes with your new Christmas book, thank you, too, for visiting with us here these last few days.

Amber intrviews Grace and Jonathon

Setting: Sorry, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. All I’m allowed to say is that the humidity is like a layer of sticky lotion on my skin, the rum punch is excellent, the Caribbean is lapping against a white sand beach not far from where we’re sitting and the sound of steel drums blends perfectly in rhythm with the swaying of the palm trees.






Me: I’m sitting here this afternoon with Jonathan Alexander III and Grace Dupont, the stars of Kiss Me Slowly. Thanks for meeting me. I know it wasn’t easy getting here.

Grace: If it were easy, then it’d be boring, right?

Jonathan: And we’re definitely not boring.

Me: That’s an understatement. (Laughter all around as the waitress brings us another round of rum punch.) Tell me, Grace, what was it like seeing Jonathan again for the first time after he broke your heart years ago?

Grace: Ooo...you’re going there, huh? Okay. Well, it was like a sucker punch to the gut. A part of me enjoyed seeing him desperate and in trouble...on your knees, boy, beg for my help--

Jonathan: I never begged, by the way. She likes saying I begged, but that never happened. I asked. Politely.

Grace: He begged...I should have made him crawl, but I didn’t think about that until afterward. Anyway, there was another part of me that wanted to lash out, hit him maybe, have an all out argument and then spend the rest of the night making up. (She smiles and pokes the ice in her glass with a straw.) What’s that cliche? There’s a thin line between love and hate?

Me: What made you go to her, Jon? I’m sure you knew she’d feel that way.

Jonathan: I didn’t trust anyone around me. I felt trapped. Grace is and always has been the best at whatever she does, whether it’s sailing or forensic accounting. I had faith she’d put our history aside and prove my innocence.

Grace: For a pessimist, that was an awfully optimistic thing to do.

Jonathan: I guess it was, wasn’t it? How unlike me. (He laughs as he links his fingers through hers on the table.)

Me: Grace, did you ever consider the possibility that he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed?

Grace: Who is? We’re all liars in one way or another. There are more gray areas than not in life. At least that’s how I see it.

Jonathan: (rolling his eyes) Please, don’t get her started about justice and gray areas...she’ll get all worked up and not in a good way.

Grace: What’s that supposed to mean? Are you suggesting I have a problem with justice?

Jonathan: Not suggesting...stating.

Grace: Yeah, well, thankfully for you I question the black and white and believe in gray areas. It’s what I do...look beyond the obvious to what lies beneath.

Jonathan: Yeah...I’m thankful for that and many, many other things about you. (He smiles at her and squeezes her hand.) I would have crawled...if you’d have asked, I would have crawled.

Grace: I’ll keep that in mind for the future.

Jonathan: (Looks at me with raised eyebrows.) See what I’m dealing with? The Dupont ego is legendary.


Grace: You like my ego just fine. (She laughs.) And, for the record, I like it when you’re on your knees.

Jonathan: Oh, I know you do, babe. I know. Likewise.

A brief excerpt from Kiss Me Slowly below:
“I’d prefer whiskey.” He drank the water, but couldn’t take his gaze from the blood that stained her. His blood on her. “Dead or jail by Monday. I knew it.”

"You’re not dying.” She tugged his T-shirt over his head. Her eyes snapped with an inner fire that hypnotized him. “If you’re going to be teamed up with me, I need you to fake some optimism.”

Regret washed over him for the things he had never said, for not following through with their plans, for not being the man she had expected him to be, for years of wasting time with if-onlys. Bad timing for regret.

“Bloody mess,” she whispered.

He glanced at the blood dripping down his chest and used his fingers to find the bullet wound that had taken a good chunk out of the top of his left shoulder. He finished the water and carefully set the glass aside while avoiding looking at her face.

Her hands were on him, too, examining his shoulder. When she leaned across him, her breasts brushed against his face. Perfectly round and tan, barely concealed by the plunging green fabric.

God, what he wouldn’t give for a taste. God, what he would give for an ounce of his sanity to return. No time for this kind of thinking. No time.

Kiss Me Slowly by Amber Lea Easton

Available at http://www.amazon.com/
and, for all other PC and ebook formats, at http://www.bookstrand.com-kiss-me-slowly/
Also available at Barns and noble: http://bit.ly/vafDAb
Book trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wI89yCQHrHg

Sweet Saturday Samples 26-11-11

Welcome back to another  sample of my Thanksgiving story. 

All this month in celebration of Thanksgiving, I've been posting snippets of my short Thanksgiving story every Saturday and Sunday.  Today's is the penultimate offering.  The final coming tomorrow in the Six Sentence Sunday. So today I am carrying on from where I left off last Sunday.

Before I do, I'd just like to thank you to everyone who visits THoR , and leaves comments I apprecaite everyone of you.

He had to go to her. Had to find her. Until he did, his soul would never rest, never be whole again. He called his foreman and asked his wife to stay with his girls.

Luke edged his truck through the muddy water swilling across the access road to the house. The curtain of rain obscured her vehicle until he almost ran into it. His headlights shone on the flat tyre, but failed to reveal any sign of the driver. Fear drove him from his truck to the car, and relief buckled his knees when he saw her curled up on the back seat. Alseep.

He yanked her door open, hauled her from the car and wrapped her in his arms, and vowed never to let her go again.

"I'm so sorry. So Sorry. She tricked me into thinking Alice was you, and all I wanted was to marry you and make you mine. I thought it was you with me when we ran away."

He didn't know whether Alex heard or understood. "She tricked me! And I've had to live with that for all these years. I thought I'd never see you again, never hold you in my arms. Do you understand? I love you.  Have always loved you. Only you. Can you ever forgive me?"

Alex groaned, shivered and moved in his arms.  When he looked into her face she gave him a radiant smile.

"Luke? Luke?  Is that really you?  I thought I was dreaming."  She raised one hand to his cheek and ran her finger over his stubbled chin.

To read more super samples head on over to Sweet Saturday Sample.

And please come back tomorrow for the conclusion of Thanksgiven

Day 1- Please welcome Joselyn Vaughn

It is my pleasure to welcome fellow Astraea press author Joselyn Vaughn, who will be with us for the next three days.

Author Bio:
I live in the Great Lakes State with my adoring husband, three energetic and ambitious toddlers, and two of the laziest beagles.
I believe there is nothing better than a warm hug, a good romance novel and chocolate.
When not changing diapers or removing a toddler from a precarious situation, I enjoy sewing, running, shopping at thrift stores and reading books longer than thirty pages.

Blurb:

When lost love shows up on your doorstep, what do you do?  Minnie Schultz slams the door in his face. She and Gordon Anderson have a history—close to ancient history, given the fifty years since their last encounter. After all that time, it might seem like water under the bridge. But the water pours from the plumbing in Minnie’s bed and breakfast, the Lilac Bower, uncovering all the secrets and heartache between them. With the help of some paranormal investigators, an Elvis impersonator and a couple of nosey friends, can Minnie and Gordon find the future they were meant to have?

Excerpt:
Edith smoothed down her more--‐‑salt--‐‑than--‐‑pepper coiffure and reached for the specials card clipped to the jellies. “I didn’t think he’d ever set foot in Carterville again.”
“Who?” Minnie asked, already knowing the name that would spill from Edith’s lips.
Edith slapped the menu down on the table. Her eyes slid both ways, then she leaned across the table. “Gordon Anderson.” She raised her eyebrows conspiratorially.
“I had hoped he wouldn’t.” Her stomach roiled. He’d been here sixteen hours and already she was jumping out of her skin at every sound, expecting him to appear whenever she turned her back. She attributed it to loathing, but it felt like a high school crush.
Rachel arrived at their table and flipped their sturdy brown coffee mugs over. “Just decaf today, ladies, or half--‐‑and--‐‑half?” She held the orange--‐‑rimmed carafe poised over Minnie’s cup.“It’s a half--‐‑and--‐‑half day,” Edith said. “Any day Gordon Anderson comes to town requires a dose of caffeine.”
Minnie snorted. “It requires Jack Daniel’s, but it’s a little too early in the day.”

http://joselynvaughn.com    Sweet, small town romances  Indulge your softer side

Buy Links:
Astraea: http://astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7355585

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Hauntings-of-the-Heart-ebook/dp/B005Z8WJRY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1319568032&sr=1-1

Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1106922258

Contact Links:
Email: jvaughn@joselynvaughn.com

Webpage: http://joselynvaughn.com

Blog: http://joselynvaughn.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/joselynvaughn

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/joselynvaughn

Please come back and read Joselyn's interview with Minnie