Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Wednesday's Romantic Snippet

Her brow furrowed with curiosity as his features took on their own tortured look. The pinch of his brow, the sag of his mouth, the wounded look in his eyes as if she had shot his horse. Hope rose in her breast. “Ty, is there something you want to tell me?”
          He stood and walked toward the window. Her heart skipped a beat. Turning, she placed the cup on the nightstand, then rose, pulling the sheet behind her and wrapping the cotton cloth around her naked form. As she moved, the cotton let out a sad sigh as it pulled along the wood. Lily made a knot of the excess material around her small breasts and stepped behind him.
Her body pressed against his back, Lily slid her arms beneath his and encircled his chest. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against the roughness of his red bib yoked button shirt.
          “Yes, Lily, I got something to tell you. Something I-” his words seem to choke.
          Her hand opened and pressed against his chest. She held him close, praying that her body could melt into his and they’d become one. Her lips pressed against Ty’s back. Her hands moved up toward his shoulders. Beneath the folded back edge of the bib on the left side, Lily’s hands ran into a point of metal.
          Her fingers stopped. A sudden rush of terror poured into her belly and swirled. She lifted two fingers, then three, and touched a cold star-shaped marker. A cold hand wrapped around her heart and crushed the small bit that was left. When she remembered to breathe, the gasp rushed in with a shutter.
Ty’s hand clasped over hers and held her fingers against his chest. Lily could feel the tense tightening of his muscles. With his hand against hers, he slowly turned to face her. Lily couldn’t look at him. The thought of the pain searing across her features would reveal too much of her feelings.
          “Lily,” his voice grew husky.
          “No,” she whispered. Her hands sought the flap and pulled the bib away.
There, on his chest, a silver metal star cut from the circle of metal proclaimed the horrid truth. Lily took her finger and traced the letters, Texas Ranger.

To purchase your copy of Incident At Cold Creek Tejas Conspiracy book 1 for $8.99  and now in print for $14.99 please follow the links below.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

Saturday Afternoon at the Westerns

Welcome to Saturday afternoon at the Westerns. Grab a cup of coffee or a glass of ice tea and enjoy a chapter of Eight Seconds to Glory a contemporary western romance set in Colorado on the Glory B Ranch.

“Go on now with the both of you.” Alma shooed them from the kitchen.

He waited outside while Glory picked up the laundry basket containing the sheets and
three sets of towels. Hearing the screen door slam, Travis looked back. His hands
tightened on the head of his walking stick. This spoke of being wrong. He couldn‟t rein in
the feeling of uselessness that followed. It should be him. He should be the one carrying
the basket. Yet, he didn't trust his own unsteady steps. She must have sensed his
dilemma. She looked up and smiled.
“It's not heavy.”
Travis brushed off her words and asked, “Which way?”
“Just this way.” She gave a nod toward a small, single-story bungalow painted a
sunny yellow similar to Glory‟s home. The little house was tucked beneath two tall oaks
and behind a small shelter that led to a pasture full of yearly cattle. Great, he thought to
himself. Then pushing the negativity aside, he realized that seeing the steers each day
might lessen the fear that seemed to brand him a coward. He fell in step beside her.
“Alma has a unique accent,” Travis said, as they walked beneath the shade of the old
oak trees that bordered the lawn. “I can't quite place it.”
“It's Cajun,” Glory responded. “Alma and her husband were from a small island just
off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina.”
He felt his brows arch. “Colorado to South Carolina, it's quite a haul.”
“Alma's husband, Jim, was in the air force with my dad,” she replied pushing an
errant strand of hair back behind her ear. “When her husband was stationed here in
Colorado, Alma moved onto the ranch to help my mom and she's been here ever since.”
“Nice. Her husband work around here?”
“No, Jim died oddly enough in a hurricane. He'd gone back to Charleston to close the
deal for the home they sold there when Hugo roared through; he didn't get out in time.
She's never wanted to go back. She says the ocean took her life that day, so she will stay
here and make a new one.”
“I'm sorry,” Travis whispered, wishing he hadn't pried so hard into her business. “I
didn't mean to—”
She stopped and shifted the basket on her hip. “You weren't prying, Travis. It's a
natural question. I am glad that you asked me and not Alma though.” Her fingers found
his arm and beneath the cotton of his shirt, Travis felt his skin warm. “Alma still gets
misty-eyed when she speaks of Jim.”
“He was a good man?”
“The best.”
She drew her hand away and disappointment swept over him.
“Let me open the door,” she murmured. Bending her knee, she balanced the basket
and stuck the key into the lock. A smooth turn of her wrist and the lock tumbled. “Here
you go, keys to the mansion.”
Travis scooped the house keys from her hand, stepped out of the way so she might
enter, and followed her inside. While Glory teased about the small home being a
mansion, to him it seemed just about right. After living in an efficiency apartment with room enough for a bar stool and a bed, the large living area felt like the Taj Mahal. A
sofa, chair, TV—by golly he‟d hit the big time—even a fireplace complete with a mantel.
He thought perhaps he‟d stepped into one of Norman Rockwell's paintings. Stepping to
an end table near the arm of the sofa, he picked up a framed photograph of two men in air
force uniforms standing in front of a jet. One black, one white, but their arms were tossed
around each other signaling a deep friendship.
“My dad and Jim,” Glory whispered. “They were the coyote and roadrunner.”
She caught his bewildered look and smiled. “My dad was the coyote, the cunning
hunter. Jim,” she pointed to Alma's husband, “he was the fast one. He would swoop in
and cover my dad's back when they flew missions in Nam.”
“Ah,” he replied, the light dawning on him.
“In the background you might catch the two characters from the cartoons they painted
on the plane.”
Travis turned it toward the light and caught the outline of the bird, his feet a whirl of
circles as the coyote leaned toward him. “You miss him?”
“Yes, I do.”
Her soft voice was honest, yet the way she spoke indicated a recent hurt. Curious,
Travis wanted to ask her about her dad, but when he turned around and caught the slight
shimmer in her blue eyes, he stopped. Now was not the time to bring up her sorrow. He
watched her shake off the melancholy and step away.
She took a deep breath and continued on. “Alma keeps some chairs in the pantry. You
can use them on the porch.” Her voice echoed as she walked toward the rear of the house
and placed the basket down on a chair. “It's a very compact home, but you'll find
everything you need.” Glory moved toward the archway against the left wall. “Your
kitchen and pantry are through here,” she backed up three steps and opened a door. “A
full bath and shower. You know, of course, laundry is done at the main house.” Then
moving toward the last door against the back wall she pushed it wide. “Bedroom.”
Travis ambled over and stood beside her, peering into the large room that contained a
bed, dresser, and small table. “Very nice,” he nodded.
“There's a double closet over there,” Glory leaned in and pointed along the back wall.
He stepped closer to take a look and felt her shoulder against his chest. The warmth of
her body moved through his shirt to saturate his skin. Travis's heartbeat quickened
against his chest. A soft rush of air moved from his lungs as certain regions that had so
long been ignored stirred to life. Her head turned toward him. Those sapphire eyes gazed
up into his and showed no fear.
Close up she was more beautiful than he could ever imagine. The scent of her hair
filled the space between them with the hint of honeysuckle. Without thinking, Travis
lifted his hand and pushed a streamer of gold behind her ear. “Just like silk,” he heard
himself whisper aloud, and for good measure he grazed the edges of his knuckles down
her cheek. His knees nearly gave way when she closed her eyes and leaned into the stroke
of his hand.
Threading his hand along the back of her neck, he gave merely a hint of pressure and
her head tipped up. Her eyes opened; he could see the blue turn to velvet as she
dampened her dry lips with the edge of her tongue. With a slow, steady measure, he lowered his mouth toward hers, watching, waiting for any sign of protest. Just a whisper
away and with nothing to stop him, Travis's lips brushed hers.

To read more, follow the links below to purchase your copy of Eight Second to Glory at Barnes and Nobel, Amazon, or from Crimson Romance. Be sure to check out their subscription service.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Sunday Sweet Snippet.

Excerpt from Incident at Cold Creek Tejas Conspiracy

Lily watched the men draw into the yard. A lump rose in her throat. She recognized the two as the men who brought Frank’s body back. Her hurt and anger returned. Wiping her hands on her trousers, she moved to the edge of the porch and waited for them to stop before she spoke.

“Gentleman,” she called out.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Prentiss,” Silas nodded. “We come by to see if there was anything we could do?”

Lily gave them an icy glance. “I’d say you’ve done enough.”

The coldness of her tone made the cowboy who spoke shift nervously in the saddle. A creak of leather drew her gaze to the other cowboy. The look he gave her made Lily’s skin crawl. She rubbed her right hand up her left arm for warmth. It was the first time all day she regretted not having her skirts or corsets.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Dirk as he shifted his body to dismount.

“Crawl right back up there on that horse, mister.” Lily’s voice rang out with authority that surprised even her.

“Now, Mrs. Prentiss, where’s that southern hospitality you Virginia ladies is known for?” Dirk’s mouth widened to a leer.

Lilly stepped back.

“Dirk,” Silas warned, throwing his right hand out to stop his companion, but he was too late.

“Those pants sure do fit you nice, ma’am.” Dirk’s eyes focused on her legs. “I like the way they come up and cup your-”

“Lily, any problems?” The voice came from behind her.

She heard the hinges creak as Ty came on to the porch. Relief washed over her, yet, she still felt the terror of being under Dirk’s scrutiny.

“Some men from town,” Lily explained, yet she didn’t take her eyes off them. Ty’s boot steps came nearer. “These are the men who brought Mr. Prentiss home.”

Dirk moved toward his mount’s head. “Yeah, terrible thing that.”

Ty’s arm caught her peripheral vision. She gave a quick glance. His eyes jerked toward the doorway. He was telling her to step back. Lily did. He crossed in front of her, placing his body as a shield.

“You ain’t from around here, are you?” Silas asked.

Lily could see the muscle in Ty’s jaw twitch. “That’s none of your business,” he replied.

Dirk took a step forward. Lily raised her hand to grab Ty’s arm, but before she could reach out to him, his right hand cleared the holster, gun drawn. Her eyes widened.

“I believe the lady said, don’t dismount.”

Dirk stopped, his eyes large as he stared at the barrel gun.

"You’re mighty quick with that shootin’ iron.”

Ty leveled him a dark glare and Dirk grew silent.

“Take your hands away from your sides,” Lily heard him speak to Silas. “I find it mighty interesting that you would call on her now, and not when she needed help with the burial. That’s right, raise them high.”

Incident at Cold Creek Tejas Conspiracy is available at Amazon, Barnes and Nobel, and All Romance Ebooks. This western romance, adventure is 313 pages. Ebook retails for $8.99 and a print version for $14.99.