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Starting out the day with a sweet Christmas romance from my backlist. It's appropriately named A Romance for Christmas.
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"Mommy?" Christine's young voice broke in on her thoughts.
Dara put down the romance she'd been re-reading, the favorite she'd had since she was sixteen. She'd sold all her others at a yard sale the previous week. "What is it, sweetie?"
"Why don't we has a real tree for Chribmas?"
"Why don't we 'have'," she corrected. "Come sit by me." Dara patted the couch and tucked her chenille robe closer around her.
One arm around Matilda, her cloth doll, Christine climbed up and cuddled.
Matilda's going to need stuffing before long. Her head flopped forward, face against her flat chest. When did the lace on her dress get so ragged? Dara smoothed the doll's dress. "Remember when Daddy went home to heaven before Christmas last year?"
Christine knuckled her eyes and yawned. "I 'member."
"And then Mommy got hurt in the car accident and couldn't go to work?"
"Uh huh."
Dara took a deep breath. "Well, it meant there was no money for a real tree this year. But I'm sure Santa will still bring you presents." Gifts Dara bought by selling her entire collection of romance novels at a yard sale at her friend Sherilyn's house. "And we drew a tree, right?" She pointed at the crayon-bright drawing taped to the wall. Construction paper ornaments decorated each branch.
"But it doesn't smell like a Chribmas tree."
Dara hugged her. "I know, baby. I know."
"How will Santa leave his presents?" Christine pulled away and got on her knees. "He can't put them under the tree, Mommy."
"Oh, honey!" She ruffled her daughter's hair, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Santa will find a way." She leaned forward and kissed her little girl. "We should get you in bed so he can come. He can't leave presents while you're awake."
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A Romance for Christmas
This is from The Cowboy's Little Surprise, the first book in my current series, The Hitching Post Hotel:
Outside, Cole squinted against the blinding sun hovering at eye level. The strong rays showed up every faded patch of paint on his road-worn truck.
“I’m over there.” He gestured to the lone vehicle.
“Come on, Scott,” Tina said. “Let’s get you into your seat so you can go and have your dinner.”
As they walked ahead of him, the sun highlighted the silky length of dark braid hanging almost to her waist. He’d always wanted to unravel that braid and run his fingers through her hair. She hadn’t allowed him that pleasure the one time they’d been together….
He ran his hand over his face, wanting to wipe away the memory. She wasn’t the only one to blame for what had happened that night. Or the only one responsible for what had come of it.
Why hadn’t she said something years ago?
At the truck, while Tina strapped his nephew into place, he turned away to plant his butt against the side of the pickup. He tugged his battered hat down, blocking the sun from his eyes.
He didn’t want that glare to keep him from getting a good look at Tina’s face while they talked. Didn’t want her finding a way to hide anything from him.
*Anything else* from him.
Irritation and resentment roiled inside, tightening his chest.
He looked over his shoulder. Tina must have caught the movement through the cab window. She looked up and stared right at him, her mouth closed in a firm, straight line, as if telling him she didn’t plan to say a word.
No problem. He had enough words for them both.
The Cowboy’s Little Surprise
www.BarbaraWhiteDaille.com
The Daille-y News (Blog)
Mariah's Marriage is my first published novel and this snippet shows Toby's character, I think.
Mariah's Marriage Anne Stenhouse
John stepped sideways at such vehemence and took out his pocket handkerchief to
wave in front of Tobias. “Come, come, Toby, my lad. Where is the characteristic
Mellon coolness in the face of adversity? I know your mama is desperate for you to
become leg-shackled, but she cannot have in mind a drab little teacher who works
among tanners’ brats.”
“No, she does not have anyone in mind apart from the entire crop of beauties
being paraded at Almack’s for their first, second or, in some desperate cases, third
Season,” Tobias said with just a touch of asperity. “My father did not marry her until
he was well into his fortieth year, and yet she hounds me virtually every day.”
http://goo.gl/zeiOMR amazon UK and http://goo.gl/JjY907 amazon US
This is from my menage medieval, Their Lady Gloriana, from Black Velvet Seductions.
Lady Gloriana could barely draw in a breath. Her life with Geoffrey had done this to her. He’d battled down her self-worth, her dreams of having a happy family, and her natural zest for life. She needed to find the strength to face this new marriage to this war-hardened warrior. She had to make him respect her. Most of all, she had to endure relations with him until he got her with child.
The great hall rang with the sounds of joyous reunions. She heard the deep tone of an unfamiliar voice. It rang with authority, with power, much like Geoffrey’s voice had. Yet something about it drew her instead of repelling her. Something about it called to her woman’s place and she felt warmth spreading there. The reaction surprised her.
Her focus moved to the raised dais. Two such different—and yet the same—men stood there drinking cups of ale. Neither smiled. Both seemed to study her.
Gerald guided her to the dais. “Lady Middlemound, my lord.” He nodded toward the two powerfully built men. “Lord Montrose, my lady. And Sir Montgomery, his first knight.”
“Thomas,” Lord Montrose said and stepped down in front of her. He towered over her by at least a foot. His breadth and brawn made her heart race. Yet she didn’t feel intimidated by him.
Then the other man stepped down. As she glanced up, he gave her a crooked smile. “And you may call me Rowan.”
She felt her heart race even more.
Amazon http://amzn.to/29LtJte
Starla Kaye http://starlakaye.com/
From my first novel, The Fever. Sam is served a dish of Huevos Rancheros Especial at his favorite West Texas cafe ...
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Melted cheese ran over thick layers of green and brown gooey goodness with bright bits of yellow egg yolks peeking out in places. This was supported by a platform of classic West Texas stacked enchiladas. At this point, Sam could only imagine their own sauce-laden layers of tortillas, cheese, and onion. Generous helpings of refried beans and chunky potatoes arranged on the periphery of the plate seemed superfluous. He smiled up at the dark twinkling eyes of the still grinning Smidgeon. He hoped he was up to the task of completing the massive dish.
...
The combination of sauces so overwhelmed his palate he had to stop to catch his breath, forcing air through his mouth in an attempt to settle down his smoldering taste buds. At that moment, Smidgeon returned with the coffee pot and a glass of water.
“You must have been reading my mind,” he said as he grabbed the glass and immediately took a large sip of the cold water.
“This ain’t my first rodeo, sweetie,” she said, laughing, and he realized that she was even prettier when she laughed.
“Yes, this is wonderful,” he said as he prepared to dive in for another bite.
“Now you’re getting to the best part, the eggs,” she said with an air of anticipation.
Following her lead, Sam looked down and saw one of the egg yolks peeking out from the edge of his last bite. He pierced the yolk and lemon-colored goodness oozed down the side of the stacked enchiladas. He cut into the stack with his fork, trying to incorporate all of the components into one mouthful. He paused for a few seconds to savor the flavors before chewing and eventually swallowing. Then he greedily dug back into the dish for another bite.
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The Fever is available for free downloads all month. See http://thefensk.com for links and details.
ALSO, in a bit of art imitating art imitating life -- the host of a popular online cooking show read the book and was inspired by the description (there's a bit more to it) and created her own version for a video. See that here: http://hilahcooking.com/huevos-rancheros-especial/
This is going way back to 5th grade and the first thing I ever wrote. My teacher liked this poem so much, she had me copy onto a card to give to her husband for their anniversary. LOVE IS TRUE -
Love is true. It always has been, and it forever will. There may be hate or dislike, but still, Love will aleays be true.
I have two books of poetry and one Inspirational novel available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Kimberly+Westrope+
I haven't played for a while and it's fun to be back. This is from my 2013 Time-travel, Lightning Only Strikes Twice.
A young girl stepped into view. Her faded blue cotton dress didn’t quite reach the tops of her black button boots. “Is she sick? It sort of smells like throwup.”
“I think we oughtta git the doc,” the older boy spoke again. “Willie, you stay with her.”
The boy holding Annie’s hand looked up. “Me? Whadda I do if she dies?”
The girl leaned over and stared at Annie with solemn eyes. “Don’t die,” she whispered. “Willie’s afraid of dead people.”
The absurdity of the girl’s comment brought a smile to Annie’s lips. Unable to speak, she nodded her head, which seemed to satisfy the girl. She turned and chased after the older boy.
Annie’s gaze returned to the youngster still holding her hand. He scowled at the retreating children and then looked at her. “I ain’t afraid.”
Still available at http://www.amazon.com/Lightning-Only-Strikes-Twice-ebook/dp/B00AD4V8X6/ with over 50 great reviews!
For additional buy Links, visit http://www.stanaleifletcher.com/.
This is from the first full length novel I had published, Murder in Devon. Journalist, Casey Rowan's best friend has been murdered.
Casey dressed with care, taking a few extra minutes to soften the shadows under her eyes from a restless night. She had no time to wrestle with her hair, so she pulled it back in a ponytail and chose a cream turtleneck sweater with brown pants and boots. Tightening the belt of her tweed wool coat tight around her waist, she felt a welcome kick of adrenaline.
It was still very cold outside. Strong winds whipped the clouds into great drifts across a violet blue backdrop. As she tied her scarf, her mind traveled back to the clear blue skies of the Florida Keys. It struck her again how carefree she’d been, wandering around barefoot, the sun beating down on her head and the raw, salty smell of bait emanating from the fishermen along the wharf.
First to arrive at the Richmond cafe, she chose a table overlooking the river and the diners at the tables on the foreshore. It always amused her how the English seemed determined to eat alfresco, despite the weather. The café was in a picturesque, late seventeenth-century Georgian building. In happier times, she’d enjoyed its ambiance, but today she felt unmoved. Some of the joy had gone from her life with Don’s death.
She saw Carlisle come through the door, pulling off his dark gray overcoat. More than one female head turned to follow him as he walked towards her.
“Miss Rowan.” He took a seat. “May I call you Casey?”
“Of course.”
“Rod.”
“Rod,” she repeated. “Are the police looking into the possibility that the murderer might be one of Tessa’s clients?”
“We haven’t discounted it.” He leaned back in the chair.
There came a pause she refused to fill.
He angled forward and placed his arms on the table. “Casey, I understand your impatience. The processes of the law can sometimes move slower than you might expect.”
“Meanwhile the killer is free to strike again? It doesn’t seem right.”
http://amzn.to/29LnVlH
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