Blurb:
Megan Hampton is a professional dog-walker whose clients love and adore her. Steele Gage has been knocked out by life, suffering a career-ending knockout in a title bout. Told he would never fight again and dropped by his managers, Steele is forced to find work for the first time in years. Megan takes pity on the shy, wounded boxer and enlists his help in walking some of her overflow clients. Steele takes to the job with enthusiasm. 

Megan is in for a big surprise when she misinterprets his friendliness for affection. When Steele says he wants to be “just friends,” Megan retreats from romance altogether. That is, until Steele realizes the mistake he’s made and sets out to woo Megan once and for all. Fur flies and paws pounce in this sweet, cozy, sexy adult contemporary romance novella perfect for anyone who’s ever found love when they least expect it! 

Excerpt:

Megan Hampton reached instinctively for the vast leash collection she kept on a paw-shaped (natch) wooden hanger by the front door of her two-bedroom apartment. Then she realized… her first “client” wasn’t until after lunch!

Sighing contentedly, like a kid who wakes up to a sunny snow day and no school, Megan grabbed her umbrella and walked out the door alone. Blissfully, completely and happily alone.

It felt strange not having up to half-a-dozen dogs tugging her along, holding her back, tugging her this way, yanking her that way, to say nothing of the snuffling, wheezing, yapping, nipping and barking that was the soundtrack to 90% of her life.

Instead she walked out the front door of apartment 2-B in the Jamestown Arms and past the empty pool, turning right onto Summer Street on her usual route to Sunset Park a few blocks away.

It was a cool, blue spring morning, the sun freshly risen over tiny Palmdale, California. Not quite vineyard country, not quite Hollywood, Palmdale was a pretty, scenic town, home to the Palmdale Plastics Company Headquarters, four Hamburger Huts, three Taco Teases, two Smoothie Shacks and one movie theater.

Still, it was home and had plenty of parks, tree lined sidewalks big enough for plenty of dogs and, oh yeah… plenty of dogs. And thank goodness, seeing as Megan was founder, CEO and sole employee of Megan’s Mutts, a “premiere dog walking outfit” – or so it said on her business card.

But today she was just Megan, civilian, citizen and stroller, quietly drifting through downtown Palmdale in her favorite pink and grey running shoes and matching yoga pants and hoodie. Her brown hair was up in a ponytail, simple and efficient as it swung left, then right, with each healthy stride.

Megan didn’t necessarily need to walk for exercise. 80% of her day was spent up and down these same streets, shuttling all varieties of furry mutts around town, but it was kind of a habit now, her day plotted out in hour-long blocks, with half-hour breaks in between.

8 AM was usually her first “shift” and so, dogs or no, her legs were ready to move. And move they did. Past the Cappuccino Café, the News Hound Bookstore, the bodega on the corner and the hardware store, Megan was just turning on to Archer Avenue when she nearly conked heads with Mr. Muscles.

Well, that’s what she called him anyway – and for obvious reasons. Dude was built like a walking gym ad, not an ounce of fat on him, muscles lean and tight and covered in rough, black in tattoos. Usually he crossed the street to avoid riling up whichever dogs she was walking, but he must have been in a hurry because today he nearly knocked her on her

“Sorry!” he said, voice surprisingly gentle for someone so lean, cut and menacing. “I… I was trying to avoid you but my body wasn’t cooperating.”

MY TAKE ON THE BOOK ( Two Thumbs Up)

This is a debut novel by a new voice in the romance world. Olivia Mercer has cobbled together two of my favorite elements, dogs, and love. She goes one step better by making her characters likable. Megan Hampton is a dog walker, who befriends a down and out boxer, Steele Gage. What starts out as friendship doesn’t necessarily turn into the romance. The novel isn’t just about two people meeting, but about facing your fears and following your dreams. It is a heart-warming novella that is sure to delight anyone looking for a fun, cozy read.


I was given the book in exchange for an unbiased review. I thought I’d like it, but hadn’t realized how much I would.


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Author Bio:
Olivia Mercer is a romantic at heart, author of contemporary romance. When not writing, Olivia savors great coffee, weekend jaunts to local vintage markets, as well as the not so occasional glass of chardonnay.


Social Media Links and Buy Links:
Amazon buy Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B011YLL34K

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Quick summary: Donna is a no nonsense nurse who purchased an vacant Victorian to turn into a B & B. First day of ownership, she discovers a dead stranger in her upstairs room. The police have taken the body. She agrees to meet her brother for breakfast and discuss the development. Her brother had the nerve to suggest the middle aged detective, Tabor, interviewing her took a non-professional interest in her.


Chapter Four

Tabor? No way. She squashed the idea before it could take form. Daniel couldn’t stop himself from being nice. It was who he was. A parade of women from girl scouts to grandmothers congregated around the rare creature, a pleasant man with a devastating smile.  Maria, since marrying her brother, often referred to him as too nice and cautioned him against letting people take advantage of him.  The same advice she used to give her brother before she realized he enjoyed playing the hero. “See you at the restaurant,” she shouted over the noise of squad cars leaving the scene.

She watched one police sedan make a leisurely turn at the corner before opening her own car door. No rush, no urgent matter to attend to, just time to move on. Apparently the entire force wasn’t need for the issue of an unknown dead man. A quarter of a mile later, the sight of a smiling, oversized egg perched on the edge of the restaurant roof confirmed her destination. As a kid, she used to confuse The Good Egg with Humpty Dumpty.

Daniel stood by the entrance holding the front door open for two blue-haired ladies. One even patted his cheek. Donna chuckled at the action, knowing it would annoy her brother.  She turned off the ignition, cutting the singer off in the middle of a word. Weird, she didn’t even remember turning the radio on. Her chaotic thoughts, including a mysteriously murdered man and the possibility Tabor found her interesting, made enough mental noise to drown out anything else.

“C’mon slowpoke.” Her brother gestured in her direction. “I’m not going to hold this door open forever.”

Actually he probably would, but the diners inside wouldn’t appreciate the inflow of frosty air. Donna jogged to where her brother stood, but pointed the key fob back in the direction of her car. The horn beeped indicating the doors had locked. Good. She didn’t need any more surprises today.

They grabbed a table in the back that had an empty table between them and the next diners. A young family battled with three youngsters under three. Their primary goal consisted of keeping the children seated as opposed to being under the table. No worries about the parents eavesdropping, the harried parents would be lucky to eat.

A bored teenage girl brought them water and laminated menus. She muttered something about a breakfast special before pivoting away. Didn’t quite catch the special, but she did notice Daniel’s expression. Oh yeah, a female he didn’t impress. That happened now and then. The menu hid her amusement. Could be her handsome brother had reached an age cut off where he no longer appealed to current tastes.

“Lesbian.” Her low-voiced comment reached her brother as she had intended. He nodded once, concurring.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.” Daniel worked his chin to one side, then to the other side. “I’ve noticed there are more and more of them.”

Faded color photographs of huge breakfasts complete with hash browns and pancakes absorbed her attention. Usually, she told them to hold the pancakes, not feeling the need for such a substantial meal, but the unexpected murder had a way of working up an appetite. Probably would go with the pancakes, then. Sure, she was feeding her anxiety, but it was hers. Made sense that she’d feed it.  Her brother grumbled about something. “Un-huh,” Donna acknowledged, without listening.

“Yeah, you see it too. I wonder what the numbers are.” Daniel squirmed in his chair craning his neck to view all the diner’s occupants. “What do you think the statistics are?”

“What statistics?” She didn’t have a clue what Daniel was yammering about. “Dead men in vacant houses?”

He held out his flat palm next to his face shielding his words from the nearby lively children. “Lesbians. There’s a lot more than there used to be.”

Her eyebrows lifted as she realized she lost the conversational thread somewhere. “Daniel, I don’t think there are any more or any less than previously. People are just more open.” What did this have to do with anything?  If she were a cartoon character, a lightbulb would materialize over her head and flicker to life. Her casual comment meant to save his ego started it all, but she was unwilling to admit it.

Her brother would be forty-three in two months, not old, especially to someone who just turned fifty. His job and a gym membership kept him in shape. As a natural blonde, the gray wouldn’t show as much. As for his skin, a little weathered, probably didn’t use sunscreen as much as he should have. Still, he carried it well and it gave him some rugged appeal. He had a good five to seven years before most women saw him too old to be interesting. Would it devastate him when his good looks no longer merited superior service or enhanced opinions? The halo effect, where people assumed attractive people were smarter, kinder, just better people than the average looker. She remembered reading about it. At the time, she wondered if ugly people were meaner, more stupid, and more vicious. Didn’t seem fair considering that neither group could determine their parentage.

“What?” Daniel swept a hand over his face. “Is there something stuck to my face? Toothpaste, a bit of shaving cream?”

Shaving cream? The man actually shaved before he came. No wonder he was late. “No. I was just admiring how handsome you are.” Good thing she wasn’t Catholic. That whopper would be a confessable sin.

A huge smile stretched his lips and reached his eyes.  Her off-handed comment made him happy. Maybe she should lie more often. This might be the secret to getting along with people. Besides, it wasn’t a real lie. The server came back while Daniel was still beaming, but she kept scowling down at her pad. “Whaddya have?”

Another flunkie from charm school, at least she wasn’t the only one.  Her brother gave his order while inserting an inquiry about the server’s well-being. She ignored it. Daniel’s smile slipped a little. The waitress turned to her.

“I want the lumberjack breakfast. Want my eggs over easy. Sausage, wheat toast, grits, and pancakes. Bring hot sauce too. And a coffee pot, while your at it.”

The server scribbled down the order and turned without a comment. Daniel watched her go with a perplexed expression. “She must not be feeling good or she’s still asleep.”

Was he still stuck on why he didn’t get his usual response? Seriously. “Dead man in my upstairs room, remember?”

He shook his head vigorously as if shaking off his funk. “Of course, I remember. Difficult to overlook the police cars and the medics wheeling out a body bag.”

“Wish you would have got there earlier.”

“Me too. “ He reached for her hand covering it with his warm one. “It must have been hard for you seeing the body.”

She kept her hand under his, which reminded her of their connection. Often as the older child, she thought of her brother as a guest, an interloper, not part of who she was. Her role was to look out for him, not terrorize him. Still, she managed a few practical jokes, but that was the extent of it, especially when all he did in return was idolize her.  Geesh, no wonder people liked him.

“The body wasn’t the problem. I see dead bodies all the time.” The mother who had wrestled her toddler back in his high chair gave her a startled look that had her amending her statement. “I mean, occasionally people don’t survive the surgery. A few stroke out in recovery.”  She sure didn’t sound like a stellar endorsement of the hospital.

Chair legs screeching and childish laughter heralded the departure of the nearby family. One child escaped his parents and ran around their table screaming in the process. The curly headed boy smiled as he lapped their table. Cute, probably another Daniel, who’d already discoverd the power of good bone structure and great hair.

The mother with one child planted on her hip managed to snag speed racer about the same time Donna replied. “It’s not the dead body that’s the issue. It’s the location of it.”

A small gasp drew their attention to the mother who held the toddler against her body with wide eyes as if she and her brother would turn into brain-hungry zombies. Daniel, always faster on people skills, remarked, “She’s a mystery writer.”

“Oh.” The woman’s arm banding her son against her lower body relaxed as the hunted look left her eyes, replaced by interest. “What have you written? Maybe I’ve read something of yours. I’m a big mystery fan.”

Yeah brother, what have I written? Daniel recovered well, never letting his distress being caught in an out and out lie. “Oh, nothing’s published yet.  Still, I’m sure an agent will pick up her latest book.”

“Oh.” The minor excitement at meeting an author fizzled out of her as quickly as air escapes an untied balloon. Her husband called, giving her the excuse to leave without any more conversation.

Donna watched the little family leave and head for a minivan; she’d be willing to bet it had a stick family on the back window complete with a dog or cat. “Couldn’t you have made me a successful author?”

The server returned with two thick white stoneware cups and an insulated coffee carafe. She placed them on the table without pouring as she headed off toward an arm-waving patron.

Daniel angled his head in the direction of the server. “I love it when waitress fuss over me.”

“Yeah, you probably do, but I’m more concerned about the dead man in my inn.” It was hard to solve issues if you couldn’t stay on topic. She picked up the coffee pot and filled both cups, leaving about a half inch from the top for the insertion of sugar and cream. Some sweetener packets laid on the table, but no cream was to be found. A saucer of creamer pods sat on the table the family had abandoned. Using a bent index finger, she pointed to the creamers without speaking. Daniel retrieved them, proving their connection.

Daniel stirred the cream into his coffee. “Did you get a good look at the man?”

“I did.”  The man’s pale face with open bloodshot eyes transposed over her brother’s, making her shudder. “Even attempted CPR. Yeah, I got a good look at him.” The stranger’s face faded leaving behind her brother’s contemplative one as he sipped coffee.

“Was it anyone you recognized?”

He sounded like the police. “Of course, it wasn’t anyone I knew. I could have ID’ed the man if I knew him. No one I knew.”

Just as well, too. If I had known him then I’d have a possible motive. Her brother glanced over her shoulder causing her to turn as the server arrived with their breakfast.

Daniel’s plate landed with a clatter. Luckily, the eggs had congealed enough not to slide off the plate.  Her plate received equally rough treatment along with the added benefit of a glare for each additional side dish. Bowl of grits, stare, pancakes, even more put out, and the bottle of hot sauce, which came with a I hope you choke on it look.

No stranger to snarky attitudes, Donna smiled sweetly. “It all looks so good. Thank you so much for your excellent service. It was a delight being served by you.”

The waitress slowly backed away, picked up her round tray and headed for the kitchen. She threw a backward glance as she went.

“Donna, that was mean. You messed with her head.”

“Yep.” She started at her hash browns, then the table. “No ketchup.”

Daniel reached over to the other table and retrieved a bottle. “Doubt that the server will come back now. She’ll probably have someone else bring us our bills.”

“I wasn’t scary.” She chewed on the mouthful of sausage savoring the spicy pork patty since she had lost the conversational thread once she started eating. Fixing, eating, even analyzing food numbered among her favorite activities. Lucky for her a fast metabolism and being on her feet all day counteracted her hearty appetite. Lately, she’d noticed a tightness in her uniforms that hadn’t existed previously.

“Un-huh.” Her brother took a bite of his eggs before continuing. “Even though you were smiling, you had that don’t mess with me look in your eyes. The one that lets people know you’ll rip their arms off if you cross them.”

 She gave the ketchup bottle a vigorous shake without any result. “I think you got me a dud bottle.” Continual shaking didn’t help.

“Use your knife.”  Her brother waved his knife as if she couldn’t figure out what a knife was.

Her hand grasped the knife as if it belonged to a chimpanzee in some nature video about apes using tools. The knife served as tool, but not in the usual fashion. After several scrapes against the glass, ketchup trickled out in red splotches. It was almost as if the bottle exhaled, spitting out a bit with each breath. She looked at the red dots coating her potatoes. “No blood.”

A couple of patrons turned their heads and Daniel kicked her under the table. “Lower your voice.”

A spark of anger flared. She had a strong desire to tell Daniel what he could do with his foot and advice; she tamped it down once she realized a diner was not the place to shout her murder observations. In a sotto voice, she leaned across the table. “There was no blood. Nothing to indicate homicide, but they still put it down as a homicide. The body was still warm when I touched it.”

The fork dropped from her brother’s hand. “I lost my appetite.”

She hadn’t. Picking up the syrup dispenser that the server actually brought, she doused her hotcakes. Something was missing. Apparently, the medics had come in and noticed it was a murder immediately. Open bloodshot eyes, pale skin. That could just be the blood leaving his skin. “Poisoning.”

Their server who had been almost at their table, stopped, and headed back to the kitchen. Daniel picked up the coffee pot and swished it demonstrating its almost empty state. “I think you scared the server away again. I could do with more coffee.”

“Me too.” She took the coffee pot from her brother and held it in the air as she counted under her breath. An older server showed up with a fresh pot when she’d hit thirty-one, placed it on the table, and then scurried away.

“Nifty trick. Got service without saying a word.” He reached for the new pot, refreshed his cup, then hers.

The stench of burnt toast drifted on the air causing her to flip over her toast. Nope, not burned, someone else was the unlucky one for a change. Just as well, she didn’t feel like dealing with Miss Sullen right now. Her mother probably owns the place and routed the teen out of bed when short a waitress.

“It’s attitude. People give you what you expect to get. You are the absolute king of this method.” Did he even realize he got different treatment or did he just assume everyone was treated the same?

“Okay. I agree.” He waved his bare fork for emphasis. ”I usually get good service, but not today. Can you explain that?”

  “Nothing is 100%. Trust me, I didn’t expect a dead man in my house, but I got one anyhow. Not sure how long that will keep us out of the house or even if I’m a suspect.” Her fork cut into fluffy pancakes as her brother choked on coffee when she mentioned being a suspect. She knew he would. Predictable.

“You. A suspect!”

“Technically, yes.” The mix of buckwheat and maple syrup satisfied her need for comfort food. She chewed slowly and swallowed before answering. Her mother made have despaired of teaching her social skills, but table manners she got. It didn’t stop her from talking about medical procedures while dining, but she kept her mouth shut while chewing, which is more than some people. “Anyone who is at a crime scene must be investigated. I don’t think Tabor believes I’m a killer. I called, volunteered too much information, even let him take my handheld recorder. Then there’s the fact I didn’t know the man, tried to save him with CPR. It doesn’t sound very killer like.”

“Hmm.” Her brother nodded as he chewed, demonstrating similar good manners. Most people didn’t mind his construction talk while chowing down either. “You could be an incredibly smart criminal. If doing all those things would throw someone off the scent. Still.” His eyes narrowed as he paused. “I think you’re right about Tabor not taking you seriously as a suspect, but not for the listed reasons.”

“Okay. Why?” This should be interesting.  She moved the empty pancake plate to the center of the table while eyeing the grits and eggs. Neither one tasted that good while cold.

“Tabor’s a seasoned veteran cop. Couldn’t get where he was without experience. He has an instinct about when someone is telling the truth. Also knows when someone is holding something back. He felt that with you.”

“All good. It makes sense.” She had a similar instinct. Knew when people were lying to her. Especially when she confronted the spouse of a patient who denied sleeping beside her husband when the impression of her body remained on the sheets. Despite it being against hospital policy, she didn’t make a big deal out of it.   The sense of the familiar calmed the patient. Occasionally, she felt a twinge, especially with an older couple when one of them confessed they’d never spent a night apart since they were married. “Thank goodness, you didn’t bring up any of that nonsense about Tabor wanting me.”

“He does.” Daniel shoved in a mouthful of hash browns as his eyes twinkled at her.

She shook her head, unwilling to entertain the topic. “It couldn’t be poisoning. I thought it was at first, but there was no vomit near the body.”

“Donna.” Daniel’s forehead furrowed with his complaint. “Usually I can take your medical, small talk, but I am eating here.”

“Me too. I’m trying to figure this out. The sooner the killer is caught, the sooner the suspicious shadow hanging over my inn disappears.” At least that is how she hoped it works. There’d still be people in the neighborhood willing to rehash it, but they weren’t her future customers.

The ping from the fork hitting the platter drew her attention. Her brother regarded her with a resigned expression and folded arms.  “Go ahead. Tell me why it couldn’t be poisoning. I’m done eating anyhow.”

“I bent over him to administer CPR. As you may know, it’s CPR only as opposed to mouth to mouth when you’re unaware of what caused the person to be unconscious.”

“No, I wasn’t aware.” He circled his hand for her to continue.

“As I leaned over him. There was no smell of poison.” Her brother’s eyebrows shot up. She continued before he could ask. “Arsenic smells rather like garlic. Cyanide has the aroma of bitter almonds. Diethyl glycol smells like maple syrup, even though it’s in everything from cough syrup to toothpaste. Enough of it can kill you.”

“He didn’t smell like any of these?”

“No.” Her eyes rolled upward as she gathered her impressions from the unknown stranger. No splotching on the faces or sallowness that would be indicative of various poisons. “At first, I thought he was some homeless guy sleeping off a drunk, but then I noticed the quality of his clothes, the expensive haircut, the Rolex. When I rolled him over, I caught the scent of a high-end cologne, a complex one with notes of musk and citrus in it. At the time, I thought he was the type I wanted to visit my inn, preferably while not inebriated. I didn’t know he was dead then. When I put my head near his face to see if he was breathing, he smelt fresh like mouthwash or toothpaste, not like alcohol at all. Instead of being a drunk, he was more like a man on his way to a secret tryst. Hadn’t thought about it before, but what if he were there to meet someone, a romantic rendezvous?”

Her brother’s lips turned down, but his gaze went past her shoulder as he spoke. “If it were romantic, then it ended badly. Makes you wonder why the secret meeting place? Better yet, how did he get in?”

How did he get in? With everything going on, she hadn’t even considered this. When she opened the locked back door this morning, no sign of tampering had existed. He could have come through the side or front door. Before she could relate this information, a red-faced, middle-aged woman appeared at their table. The hairnet along with the oversized apron indicated she might be the cook or owner, or possibly both. The woman pursed her lips, fisted her hands on her hips, before giving them each a baleful glare.

“I don’t appreciate all this talk about poisoning and dead bodies in my restaurant.”

Donna rather admired the show of indignation. Couldn’t have done better herself. Her brother smiled up at the woman, expecting the woman to soften toward him. She didn’t. He hurried to explain, “We weren’t talking about you personally poisoning people.”

The woman’s lips grew into an even tighter line that Donna would have sworn five seconds ago wasn’t possible. Waving a chipped nail index finger in Daniel’s face, she announced with venom dripping from her words. “I know your type, pretty boy. Think a smile and a wink will get you out of trouble. Not here. Probably think it's funny ruining the appetites of my customers. Get out. Don’t worry about paying. Your money isn’t welcome here. Take your floozy with you.”

The woman’s face reddened as she held a rigid arm in the direction of the door rather like the angel with the flaming sword barring the entrance to Eden. Yep, not hard to read that message.

Donna unhooked her purse from the back of the chair and favored the grits with a longing look before she stood. No one had to tell her twice. Daniel got up slower, probably not sure what happened. Definitely his first ejection from anywhere, especially by a woman. Not as if she were expert on getting the bum’s rush, but she had more of a tendency to rile people up.

They both walked out without comment under the silent scrutiny of the handful of diners who remained. No doubt, they’d burst into conversation as soon as the door shut. Outside in the cool air, she winked at her brother. “First time I’ve ever been a floozy. I think I like it.”

“I don’t.” His grumpy tone and woe be gone expression made her laugh.

“C’mon Dano, get in my car and we can finish our conversation, which was so rudely interrupted.” Instead of answering, he went to the passenger door of her SUV and waited for the unlock click before trying the door.

Once in the car, she debated turning on the engine, but decided only to fire it up when it became too cold. “I guess what I want to know is how they knew it was murder. I saw no visible signs of poison. Most of the time, they have to do a toxicology report to find that out anyhow. “

“Do you think they may have said that to cover all the bases before they determine the cause of death?”

Weird. Normally it would be the opposite. “It wouldn’t make sense. Not sure, who the guy was, but obviously he had money. Possibly someone important. Would the police call it murder if he weren’t?“

Daniel’s phone chirped. He palmed it and read the text before replying. Donna knew who it was without asking. Sunday morning, probably the only day off he had to spend with his wife and she was hogging it all. Maria would be demanding details on when he’d be home.

 “That was Maria.”

Pretend surprise. Her hand landed on her chest as she made an O with her mouth. “Really?”

“No wonder you never got the lead in any of the school plays. You’re a lousy actor. She wants to know when I’ll be home. “

Reasonable question. “Nothing more you can do here. Maybe you can make it home in time for a second breakfast.”

“Very funny. I’m not a hobbit.” His hand was on the door handle as a familiar sedan pulled in the empty space between her car and Daniel’s truck.

Tabor unfolded himself from the car, threw a wry smile seeing the occupants of the SUV, then walked over to the driver side. Donna motored the window down.

“Hello. Imagine seeing you here. How can I help you?”

“A call came in from the owner of the diner.” He angled his head back in the direction of the building where the apron wrapped woman stood, legs apart, arms akimbo, itching for a fight. “Suspicious characters in the parking lot. Same two she’d thrown out for making remarks about killing people and poison and frightening her customers. She was afraid they might be concocting some type of revenge, even robbery. Typically a squad car would handle it, but I was in the area and thought the description fitted you.”

Description, huh? Had the bitter server describe her as a tall woman with a commanding presence? A handsome woman on the upside of fifty? “What did she say?”

“Pink work boots and an attitude.” His demeanor remained sober while the corner of his eyes crinkled a tiny bit.

Damn. She’d hope for something a little more elaborate or even flattering. “I can see how you thought it might be me.”

He nodded. “The yakking about a possible murder was a tip off too. Do the two of you even know what discreet means?”

Daniel looked down at his hands acting properly chastised. Donna wasn’t having any of it, wasn’t everything happening to her? Wasn’t she getting the sharp end of the stick?  No one had it worse, well, except for the victim. “We weren’t talking all that loud. I know one diner had a recent hernia operation. Another one is checking her husband’s texts to see if he’s cheating on her. The family next to us had no control over their children and the husband was no real help either. The only difference between them and us was our conversation was more interesting. Besides Daniel told him I was a mystery writer.”

“Oh, what an inventive excuse.” He exaggerated his eye roll. “That one has never been done before. How many police dramas do the two of you watch?”

  Daniel looked up suddenly recognizing an opening. “I need to go home. My wife needs me.” He held up his blinking cell phone as if that were evidence.

Tabor nodded, which was all Daniel needed to escape from the SUV, jump into his car and take off.

Thanks a lot, brother. “Coward,” she muttered the word as she watched her brother drive away, careful not to speed out of the parking lot, but wanting to all the same. The owner watched the car leave but switched back to stare at Donna.

Tabor’s hand passed through the open window and nudged her shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on your brother.” He glanced back at the diner. “What did you do to get the owner so riled?

“Who knows? I think this time it was actually Daniel. She had called my brother a pretty boy and me his floozie before she kicked us out. I’d say she’s a bitter divorcee who caught her handsome husband cheating. Now, she’s suspicious of all handsome men.  The break is rather recent, which explains her attitude or she keeps the pain alive by reliving his betrayal.”

A long whistle punctuated the air. “You’re good at this. None of the new detectives would have summed up the woman so concisely, with her only uttering a few sentences. I’m betting you’re right. A regular Sherlock Holmes.”

An unaccustomed sense of pride swelled up in her chest. Most everything she did was right, professional, and to the letter, but people seldom praised her for it. Instead, they just expected it rather like the sun coming up every morning. They’d be upset when it didn’t happen. “I have a knack for observation that serves me in my work.”

His hand moved over his face, lingering on his beard stubble. “I can see that. Apparently, you’ve been talking the case to death. Remember anything else?”

“I did.” She volunteered quickly, sounding a bit like the girl detective from the Saturday morning children’s show that honed her observational skills. “Smells actually.”

“Smells?” His lips pursed, then relaxed. “Like what?”

“Not any obvious poisons.” He held up a hand, stopping her.

“How did you know so much about poison and should you be confessing it to me.”

“Seriously.” She wrinkled her nose and caught herself smiling. “I’m a nurse. It’s my job. I did two years in the trauma unit and we had our share of poisonings, accidental, and intentional. I realize some don’t leave a scent. I didn’t notice any of the obvious ones or skin mottling. A high-end cologne aroma hit me went I bent to check his airway. Still strong as if it had been applied recently.  The scent of mouthwash or just brushed teeth, the smell of a fastidious man or one whose plans centered on more than conversation. Knife sharp crease lines remained in his khakis.  He looked and smelt more like a man expecting a romantic assignation. He may have just showered too. Hard to say, since I was freaking out a little.”

Tabor had pulled out his pad. His pen poised over the tablet, he asked, “Could you name the cologne?”

“Not off hand, I could go to a department store and sniff what they had and maybe come up with a name. But if you know who he is, then it’s a moot point.”

“You’re right. Still call me impressed. Well, you’re free to go. Remember to call me if you think of anything else. Your observations are gold. I need to go talk to the owner. Lucky for me, I’m no handsome face.” He flipped his tablet shut and shoved it back into his inner jacket pocket.

The desire to correct his statement stalled before it could take shape in her mouth. Good thing too because he’d know it to be false and would consider it fictionalized flattery. She didn’t want that.  The engine turned over with a slight cough. Didn’t need car problems when every dime she had in the bank had gone into purchasing the inn. A loan for rehabbing the property would be easy to obtain, but not as long as it was a crime scene. Supposedly, people’s memories for sensationalized stories were short. This factoid she needed to be true. 

Setup: Donna has purchased an old Victorian home with the purpose of tutning it into a Bed & Breakfast. Even before she gets the place fixed up, she discovers a well-dressed dead stranger in one of her upper rooms. The police investigate while Donna waits outside in the frigid cold along with her curious neighbors.



Chapter Three

 An errant cold breeze tugged at the ends of her hair, blowing a lock across her face as she stood beside the car looking up at the crime scene she’d transform into The Painted Lady Inn. Initially, she thought the name provocative since it could have several meanings. The exterior would sport varying hues, of lavender, pink, and blue similar to the homes she saw when she visited Savannah.

The dropping temperature and gathering clouds heralded a weather change. Perfect, exactly what she needed to make her day complete. The way her luck was running today, it would be a blizzard. Curious neighbors drifted back indoors due to a combination of falling temperature and no immediate scenes of blood and mayhem.  Only a few gawkers remained, as she noted the non-athletic ball throwing, but no good at catching father herding his prodigy into the house. Pajama pants might be good for a casual looksee, but didn’t make the long haul. A blonde in full makeup attired in a tight sweater, jeans, and stiletto heel boots kept Daniel from making his way to her side.

Her brother didn’t seem to be trying too hard to get away. His natural charm insisted he spoke to everyone he talked to him, which made it difficult to go anywhere with him. The majority of the people eager to exchange a word were women. His wife, when she accompanied her husband, could stop female traffic with a single icy look. Maria knew their initial meeting happened because of an inane question she posed. Not surprising she questioned other women’s motives.  Difficult to get the women away when her brother seldom wore his wedding band due to being construction. More than a few man lost a finger and even life when a ring caught while using power tools.  Maria accepted his explanation but didn’t like it. Donna suspected the truth had more to do with he liked the attention.

Tabor promised to retrieve her purse and coffee.  So far, nothing, which indicated an interruption in his search. A couple police officers jogged from the impromptu gab huddle on her front lawn and headed for cruisers. The whine of the siren indicated the possibility of crime somewhere else. Yep, the party’s over. A lone person attired in a parka with a trailing crocheted black muffler shuffled along the sidewalk with the help of a cane. Could possibly be out for an early morning walk since people do that even when a murder doesn’t happen in the immediate vicinity. Whoever was dressed more appropriately than the woman talking to Daniel. She kept dancing one foot, and then the other until her brother, predictably offered his jacket. A sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head. Yeah, her brother meant well, but sometimes he just didn’t get it.

Like a good sister and even better sister-in-law, she’d have to intervene before the woman invited him in for coffee and a pastry on the side.

“Looks like Delilah has located another good looking sap.”

Her indignation at her brother’s insulting summation, despite she’d mentally already done the same, heated her blood. She threw the newcomer a setup down glance, noticing the parka and the cane. The man marched right up to her, didn’t bother pretending to do something he wasn’t. Had to admire such forthright behavior.

“That’s my brother you’re talking about.” Her declaration didn’t have the desired effect on the man. No excuses, apologies, or general bluster, instead, it had no effect. He kept talking.

“Best save him now. Before she pulls him into the house and throws him out a few days later, just a shell of a man after she’s done with him.” His rusty laugh sounded more like a cough than humor, only his twinkling eyes announced he found some humor in his statement.

His words created an image of a pale Daniel with sunken eyes and beard stubble staggering out of one of the surrounding houses. His shirt would be misbuttoned and untucked. An angry Maria would be at the end of the walk casting daggers with her eyes, not at Daniel, or the floozy that lured into her home, but at her.  As the oldest, the responsible one, her parents informed her it was her job to look out for her older brother.

“No worries, he’s married.” She hoped her words would reinsure her as much as the man.

His eyebrows lifted high disappearing behind a thick wedge of white hair peeking out beneath the rim of his fur-lined parka hood. “She’s lured more than one married man inside her house. I’m not even sure she’s above using a stun gun to immobilize them when her surface attraction doesn't do the trick.”

Would the man ever shut his yap? His constant commentary annoyed her, especially when she wondered if there might be a grain of truth in any of them. The idea of her brother wandering wasn’t one she wanted to examine. It took forever for him to marry after having a buffet of potential mates thrust upon him. Her mother gave up on her early, but Daniel she had hope for grandchildren. She just wanted the man to leave her alone, but an idea occurred. The man knew the neighborhood and its occupants. Had time to spy on them if he could detail the goings-on. Might be able to get her some history on the house and even the dead guy.

She thrust out her right hand in the man’s direction. “Donna Malone, your new neighbor.” He took her hand in his glove-clad one and gave it a surprisingly firm shake.

“Herman Fremont. I see you overcame your desire to throw me off your property. Was it my sparkling repartee that did it?” His eyes danced above his drooping mustache as if he knew that his conversation didn’t entertain.

“Ah, thought it would be good to get to know my neighbors.” His snort and crossed arms demonstrated his disbelief.

“Okay, Donna Malone. You strike me as a woman of sense and determination, which should make you stick out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. Nothing but frivolous females more concerned about looking good than contributing anything while on the right side of the ground. Oh and there is one bitter, old biddy who’ll sue the pants off anyone who crosses her.”

“So I heard.”  She recognized Tabor’s voice as he talked to the few remaining officers who stood nearby. He’d be here any minute ending her conversation with Herman and any chance of getting needed information. “I’d like to know more about the neighborhood and its history.”

“Uh huh.” He cut her a sly glance before continuing. He gestured to his face. “Saw all the snow on the roof and decided this old geezer probably knows a thing or two.”

Donna stretched her lips into what she hoped was a smile. Normally, she didn’t do it all that much. The fact that it felt strange and awkward meant it resembled the desired expression.    “Oh no, I noticed you were a keen student of human behavior.”

“Knock off that fake smile.  Looks more like you’re constipated and trying to pretend you aren’t. Live over that way.” He thumbed in the direction behind him. A perfect location if he had any need to spy on her house.

Her smile faded. Did she ever think the man attractive? No, never, she just wanted to stroll through his collective memories.

“Better. I like an honest female. None of this fluttering eyelashes or phony expressions. What is it you want to know?” He shoved his gloved hands in pockets, shuffled his feet, and hunched his shoulders.

Tabor would arrive in second. So much, she wanted to ask, but one question would have to do.  “Do you know who owned the house?”

His eyes rolled upward as he worked his jaw side to side, popping it once. “Hard to say, lots of people owned it, passed through hands several times. A few folks were attracted to the legend. A couple like you had hopes of making it into a B & B.”

How did he know what her plans were? She’d told the realtor who initially walked her through, who must have mentioned it to some else. The gossip train must make a regular stop at Herman Fremont’s place. Legend, there was a legend. “What legend?” Her imagination raced ahead creating romantic triangles, suicides, and consequential hauntings, and even disappearing residents. Such things could either hurt or help her business. It’d be best she knew the story too.

“Temp sure is dropping.” Herman used his gloved hands to slap at his arms. “It’s more of an urban legend, a rumor that stuck around a long time.”

She’d doubt the man would stay considering how cold he was. “I want to hear it!” The words came out more as a demand than a polite request. Still, Herman didn’t act offended.

“It was the start of the century, not this one, but the one before it. I don’t know around 1910 or 1912. Construction had started on your house. A sea captain commissioned the house for his beloved wife. He wanted to broadcast his financial success in the form of an elaborate home. People at that time didn’t live in McMansions they couldn’t afford, but manage to finance. Nope, people, had to pay cash for homes, primarily to build one. Loans existed but weren’t common to finance homes. People had a peculiar belief that you shouldn’t live in a house you couldn’t afford.”

Donna nodded her head while she fisted her hands inside her jacket pockets. What she really wanted to do was shake Herman and yell Get on with it!  No history of the home loan wasn’t wanted.

“The construction foreman had a brother. A dashing fellow who always had plenty of money, looks, and charm. The prevailing gossip was he was a jewel thief. Squired all these wealthy old broads around and their diamonds vanished. None of them would point a finger at him although most people though he helped himself as payment for his services.”

Herman stopped, punctuating the story with a large wink. “I got it.” She volunteered that she understood that the jewel thief brother doubled as a gigolo to prevent him explaining what services the jewel thief offered. Ick.

“At the time, a major crime occurred in the nearby city.”

Tabor joined them holding out the coffee cup to Donna. “It’s probably cold now. You could nuke it when you get home.”

Herman looked at the detective, then back at her, then around her, pointing. “Look there he goes!”

The three of them watched Daniel follow the blonde with more wiggle in her walk than gallons of gelatin poured into a pair of pantyhose.

“No!” The word exploded out of her mouth as she darted across the lawn.  Her hand had landed on Daniel’s arm before he reached the porch stairs. “Stop. I need you.”

The frustrated woman put both hands on her hips and glared at both of them.  Oh, the annoyed stare. Really, she thought that would work on her. Think again, sister. She stepped in front of her brother, cutting off his view of the siren, channeling her disdain into a freezing look directed toward the female. “My brother needs his jacket back too. I imagine a turn in the washer will eliminate the stink of cheap perfume.”

“Donna!”  Her brother’s use of her name reminded her once again she stepped over the line of polite behavior.

Here she thought she could run a B & B.  “Daniel,” she snapped back. “What were you doing marching into Delilah’s house?”

He blinked a couple of times. ‘Delilah, who’s Delilah?” He angled his head in the direction of the house the blonde slipped into. The front door opened and his jacket flew out. “You must mean Deidre. She had a creaky door she wanted me to look at once I explained I was in construction.”

Her brother may have missed her eye roll as she reached for his jacket. “Daniel, I love you, but how many houses have you entered to fix lonely women’s leaky faucets, stuck windows, cabinet doors that wouldn’t stay close that resulted in something extra.”

   Daniel took the offered jacket and shrugged it back on. His habitual “aw shucks grin appeared that melted some of her ire. “I’ll admit I’ve had a few run-ins with the lonely women. A few might even rate up there as succubus status, but I’m married now.”

“Exactly.”  She held her hands in front of her making a chopping motion. He got it. Finally. “That’s why you don’t check out the various household problems.”

“Alright. You don’t have to go all big sister on me. I understand, but what if she really did have a squeaky door?” He shook his head as if she were somehow the person at fault.

 Everyone in their family readily accepted that Daniel received the looks and charm. That must have been all he got because his intelligence was MIA sometimes. That or he was thinking with a different head. “If the door bothered her that much there are plenty of people she could have called to fix it. She could have used a Youtube video to fix it herself. She could have gone to the hardware store and asked for help. All perfectly accepted ways of dealing with it. So much better than allowing a total stranger into her home.”

Her brother looked chastened, which didn’t make her feel any better, but somehow her point may have sunk it. All the same, why not hammer it home.  “Maria wouldn’t like you going into a strange woman’s home.”

A huge laugh exploded not from her brother, but from Tabor, who looked both silly and precious carrying her oversized handbag. “You’d be lucky not to be bunking on the couch for the foreseeable future,” the detective added.

Daniel acknowledged the detective with a nod. “You’re right.”

Really. He basically repeated what she said, although he used different words and suddenly it’s right coming from a man’s mouth. Maybe he needed someone different to point him in the right direction. Her brother did have a tendency to tune her out after years of helpful directives. Should know better than even to offer advice since unsolicited help is not welcome. It was a habit; one she’d honed over the years.

The two men conversed as if they were old friends. Donna’s lips twisted as she considered what they had to talk about. Murder. Mayhem. Her. Their laughter indicated it might be the latter. Yay. All of her neighbors disappeared, including the informative Herman.

“Where’s the old man?”

Tabor stopped guffawing long enough to answer. “He went home complained about it being cold.”

The wind chose that moment to expel an icy gust rattling the few leaves that stubbornly wanted to cling to trees despite being dead. Leaves staying on a tree signaled the tree was dead. Rather like a ghost, sticking around and unaware it was a ghost. Maybe the two weren’t the same. Her botany information might not be totally on the level either. The tidbit came from a man she went out with once on a coffee date. The tree tidbit served as the highlight of their conversation.

Great. Now, she’d never know about the legend. Wait. She knew his name. Shouldn’t be that hard to look up his address.  At his age, he wouldn’t be the type to have an unlisted phone number. The street name she knew. All she have to do is bake some of her trademark macadamia and chocolate chip cookies and show up with a plateful. The idea had merit. Her lips went up imagining the elderly men confiding all the needed facts to catch the killer. Of course, she’d be the real hero and would merit a small blurb in the paper mentioning her inn.

“Why are you smiling?” Her brother’s question alerted her that both men’s attention switched to her.

Smiling, well, she must have done it right that time.

Tabor stared at her, his hand resting on her purse draped over his shoulder. No reason to smile, especially in a murder investigation, it gives her the appearance of being some insensitive, macabre figure. “Ah yes, well honestly, it’s you holding my purse. You look so” before she could finish he pulled the bag off his shoulder holding it away from him as if he’d discovered an open vial of smallpox inside of it.

“Don’t drop it.” She darted toward her purse, snatching it by the shoulder strap. “That wasn’t a cheap purse, even on clearance.”  Hands wrapped firmly around the strap, she hoisted it to her own shoulder. “I was only joking.”

The detective nodded, and then winked. Was that a wink? Could have been a wince with those busy eyebrows. Could be the morning sun was too much. Something flew into his eye. Didn’t mean a thing. “Am I good to go?”

“Sure. I got your number and you got mine. Give me a call.” He lifted his eyebrows a tiny bit before adding, “If you think of anything else.”

“Will do.” She nodded, before stepping close enough to her brother to elbow him. “Let’s go, Dano. We can reconvene at The Good Egg while I explain to your incredible effect on women again as if you didn’t know.”

Her brother wrapped an affectionate arm around her shoulder. “I remember the lecture. Women expect ordinary guys to be friendly, polite, and helpful. They expect handsome men to be arrogant jerks when a woman encounters a handsome, charming man like myself they go a little bit crazy.”

“Ah, spoken like a condescending jackass, there’s hope for you yet. It would help if you managed to insert the word wife in every other sentence. My wonderful wife enjoys the sound of a squeaky door. My resourceful wife can fix a leaky faucet. I can’t wait to get home to my beautiful wife every moment spent away from her is agony.”

Daniel chuckled slightly as she knew he would. He tightened his grip, then relaxed his hold. “You’re right. I’ve been single so long I haven’t got the marriage behavior down yet.”

“Hmm, I noticed, as did Maria, I’m sure.”  His truck sat close to her small SUV on the crowded street. Parking would be the first issue for her end. A discreet parking lot in the back would be a necessity. Oh yeah, what was she saying? “Oh, just assume every woman is hitting on you because 99% of the time they are.”

“Will do. Do you assume every guy is hitting on you?” He made a wry face at her.

Daniel thought he made a funny. “Good one. Of course, not. I’m not you. Rumbled over the hill into fifty-one. No man looks twice at me unless he has a heart attack.” Nope, men, didn’t go for tall, intelligent women who spoke their minds, especially if they had some mileage on the odometer.  They preferred the petite fluffy females who flattered their fragile egos. It certainly explained why her covert attempts at online dating never resulted in anything. Never mentioned it to anyone in the family since they all feared she’d die alone and be eaten by her cats.  She’d have to have cats first for that to happen.

“Donna, I know I’m the little brother and you think I’m clueless. Sometimes, you’re the clueless one.”

A snort and a vigorous shake removed his arm. “Are you out of your mind?”

He laughed. “Maybe to disagree with you might be classified as insanity. I’m a man and you aren’t. I noticed plenty of men over the years giving you the once over. Only problem was you never stared back.”

The thought made her bark with laughter. Her laugh did resemble a seal’s somewhat, instead the usual ha ha most people had, hers always sounded like har, har, har, rough and discordant to the ears.  It made her self-conscious and unable to laugh at most things she even found funny. It also firmed up her reputation as a serious, no-nonsense nurse.

“Yeah right. What is this throw your sister a bone?  I know who and what I am. Name me what man who showed significant interest in me.” Her brother’s hesitation made her suspicious. “No making up people either.”

“Donnie,” the use of his childhood name for her surprised her. “For a smart woman, you miss a great deal. As for knowing yourself, you’re overlooking a great deal. As for men, that detective who just left had more than a professional interest in you.”

Ever wonder why some people prefer historical romances?  The complicated dance between the sexes tended to be more clear-cut.  There were societal rules for it too. Very specific rules existed, such as what behaviors were appropriate, for example the art of flirting with a fan.  Two dances with the same partner at one ball indicated extreme interest. Modern romance is an entirely new ball game, especially if you want to write about it.

Back in 1984, with the acknowledged spread of AIDS, romance writers had to decide if they wanted their heroes to don a condom during a sex scene.  Some writers firmly resisted this, claiming it wouldn’t be romantic. More than twenty years later, the male protagonist, who doesn’t don a condom, is thoughtless or the author has a pregnancy planned.

Even texting adds a new dimension to contemporary romance.  The death of a courtship can be explained in communications terms. He called every night, then he texted, but always typed I love you. His texts became infrequent, loaded with text jargon and ILY as opposed to spelling it out. Eventually, he quit texting altogether.

Michael Masters, author of TextAppeal -- For Guys! The Ultimate Texting Guide, states that the hotter a woman is, the less texting a man should do. Unnecessary texting makes a man look needy. Inappropriate texting such as in the early morning, late evening, even at work can be annoying.

With this in mind, your hero shouldn’t resort to texting unless it’s a Young Adult novel. The exception is if you want things to be cryptic or misunderstood. Then texting can be a great conflict device. Texting, like email, doesn’t reflect humor or sarcasm. It would be easy for the receiver to take it wrong. People often react depending on what mood they are in when they read the text. Want a guy to act like a jerk? Have him break off with his sweetie via text.

Sorry. It’s not working for me. This text guarantees to make almost any woman see red and consider methods of painful retribution. A decade back, the email was the tacky way to break up. It shows a lack of character not to personally talk to the person.

Over the years, men and women have found numerous ways of breaking up from dead roses delivery to faking their own death by drowning. The harsh factor is the unwillingness to face the person they claimed to love only days ago. All these breakup methods popped up in the last sixty years. Earlier in the century,  a woman or her family did  sue if she felt she’d been promised marriage only to be dumped. It was referred to as Breach of Promise suit.

This was because being a wife and mother was a woman’s occupation. Not only did she lose a job she thought she had, but also lost social standing and possibly the opportunity to marry elsewhere. The court could not force the man to marry her but usually levied a sizable fine. This made most men think very carefully before commiting. It was one of the reasons people avoided dating too much. Another reason was they married much younger and expected to stay married because their faith dictated it.

Modern romance and the predictability of failing at it added a new factor into the mix. A woman can’t overlook a divorced man as a potential sweetie. It would be easy as a writer to write a tale about a never married man who never had a sweetheart or a vengeful ex who falls for his female counterpart, but where would the conflict be?  Excluding victims of shattered relationships in a current romance would be the same as insisting gravity didn’t exist. People can identify with the woman whose guy dumped her via text message.

Even contemporary romances have changed in the last thirty years. In the earlier novels, a formula was used where the hero not only had to be taller, but older than the heroine. He had to be wealthy, handsome, and preferably foreign. The heroine was often described as being so breathtaking beautiful that the hero had never seen anyone so lovely. Ironically in the era of  PhotoShop, people prefer realistic characters. Author Lori Copeland crossed a line when she made a hero shorter than the heroine. Author Debbie Macomber broke ground when she put her hero in a wheelchair.

Even ideas about happily ever after are changing too. The old school story ended with an epilogue where the heroine is married to the hero and have a couple of adorable children. With the changing nature of relationships, current publishing houses are willing to accept a happy for right now scenario. There is no marriage, no promises to stay together forever, and apparently no need to not use those character names again.

In fact, I’ve read a series where the heroine starts the second novel by bemoaning the fact her last relationship didn’t work out. This happened to be the same novel I’d spent hours reading and rooting for the two of them to get together. Now, she’s off to a new story with a new man, and possibly his two best friends, but that’s a different blog.

What changes do you think technology has made in dating and relationships?

 

 

 

 

 

We recently went on vacation to San Francisco and I was amazed at all the people of different nationalities at our hotel. We were able to communicate reasonably well. Sometimes, they wanted to know what they could do that was traditionally American. It's almost too easy to say baseball, apple pire and Chevrolet. For a moment, I didn't answer as I searched my memory.

My childhood Fourth of July Celebrations were the best.My grandfather would let me help put out the flag while the rest of the family set up tables and chairs for the family get together. My uncles were in chargeof grilling meat while my cousins and I ran screaming through the yard often waving small American flags.

Later on, after consuming deviled eggs, potato salad and watermelon, we'd waited with baited breath. An older cousin would be in charge if supervising the sparklers. 

Thinking back on things I consider essentially American. I made a small slide show. Part of the celebration is sharing my all-American romance and giving away some special gifts to commenters. The Inheritance contains hope and the courage to take chances; two qualities I consider part of the American Spirit, although, they both translate across all nationalities too.

The unexpected bounty of the house and boat happened when she most needed it. Her luck tended to run to bill payments lost in the mail, which resulted in overdue charges. Even though she inherited the house, she expected the arrival of the soft-spoken lawyer every day, explaining it had all been a mistake, the unspoken reason behind why she never removed the plastic from the furniture. Her left hand worried the stiff covering as she contemplated where she’d go. If possession was nine-tenths of the law, then she wasn’t leaving. The high-handed Levi would find out she wasn’t a pushover.

I have more right than he does. Sure, I’m not blood, but I was there when Roy needed someone.

Running a restless hand through her hair, Melody sighed deeply. It was Sunday. One of the few times, she got an actual weekend off. Her free days disappeared under errands, laundry, and a stint at the animal shelter. The physical activity of bathing and walking the animals made her feel useful. It also undid some of the stress from dealing with mortality on a daily basis. Most patients were similar to Roy and made their departures with dignity. A few considered her the angel of death and treated her with a mixture of horror and contempt, often cringing when she came near.

That’s why a pet would come in handy. A pet would greet her with enthusiasm after a long day. She even had one in mind. A tan mutt about the size of a beagle, but with the long body of a basset, would be the one. He came through the dog drop window for cowardly owners who avoided any interaction with shelter staff when they deserted their pets. Melody nicknamed the dog Charmer because he stole her heart.

When you hear the term, writers’ retreat, what do you think of? Most people might imagine writers meeting to talk about writing. Makes sense, but a writers’ retreat is so much more. Writers need to write, even if they are never published. This need is something only other writers would understand. At its most basic level, a retreat allows a group of like-minded people to mingle. It also allows people who engage in a solitary activity to socialize. This is a snapshot of Crossroads Romance Writers 2015 Retreat.

A retreat is a chance to get away and refresh. A big part of this is preparing meals together. Sharing food, drink, and writing experiences bonds members. It also enlightens members that they aren’t the only person to struggle with challenges pertinent only to those whose secret fantasies involve New York Times Best Seller’s List.

In the ideal setting, a retreat is an opportunity for writers to help one another. It also allows more successful authors to encourage inspiring writers. It is a time to share motivation, experience, and the occasional rejection story. It is also a time to laugh aloud, fall asleep listening to friends tell ghost stories and wake up in the pre-dawn light with the soft breathing of fellow authors. This is what a writers' retreat should be.

All writers treated equally is the secret of a great retreat. Too often, writer retreats can be ruined by someone wanting to be a diva, or published author cliques that exclude non-published writers. I’m grateful to belong to Crossroad Romance Writers, who doesn’t do any of these things. Our 2015 retreat rocked. I can't wait for 2016.

What do you think should happen at a writers' retreat?

Writing is a solitary profession, which leaves writers with very little time to socialize and even learn about their craft. This is where conferences come in, but it is difficult to know how to pick the appropriate one. I’ve flown to conferences, spent the entire family’s vacation fund, and got nothing out of it, besides credit card bills. My criteria now is it as to be drivable and inexpensive. I’d also like to learn something, socialize, and sign books.  The Midwest Writers Conference held at The Clarion Northwest this past April certainly fit the bill.

The venue was easily accessible since it was right on the highway. This reasonably priced hotel and many amenities including a fitness center and bar on the premises. It also hosts a broad range of activities. While the conference was going on, there was a Toddler & Tiaras style competition and a Jamaican wedding. The staff handled all these events with ease. 


Ms. Littlejohn has some of the same issues I did with conferences and was tired of trailing across the country to attend them. Indianapolis is a decent-sized city with plenty of attractions and accommodations. Why not have a conference here?  Ms. LittleJohn had a vision and the extensive help of her family and friends to pull off such a large undertaking. Thank you, Ms. LittleJohn & Company.

There were workshops. I decided to downloadGrammarly as my first editor after listening to Alexa Grace stress the importance of editing. My husband, my second editor,  is glad,  as is my third and actual editor. From Catherine Castle, I learned the difference between sweet and inspirational romances. Shannon West reminded the group to keep on writing because a book has a six-month shelf life. There were so many other things I learned too.

Recently the topic of reader/writer conferences came up. Most authors/writers want to go conferences where they can meet readers, learn something, and possibly pitch to a publisher.  Unfortunately, many of the conferences advertised to do just that fail terribly.

Readers want to meet authors, converse with them, possibly eat with them, and get their books signed. Prizes, costume contests, and giveaways just make it that much more fun. There isn’t any place that I know about that provides all of these options for readers and writers better than Lori Foster’s annual Reader and Author Get Together at a relatively inexpensive price.

The boardrooms offer games, contests, oppotunities to converse with authors and chances to win prizes. Secret Cravings Boardroom had an amazing prize baskets for playing familiar games such as Monopoly, Password and Toss Across.

Readers win big with goodie bags stuffed full of books, along with various giveaways too. Several authors offered free eBook downloads. Some publishers gave discounted prices on books for those who were buying. Once again, registration provided you with a $10 gift card to use at the on site barnes and Noble book store. It doesn't get much better than that for a reader. 

The purpose behind RAGT, which is now in it’s eleventh year is to connect authors and readers. It gives new authors a chance to showcase their writing. In a glutted market, this isn’t easy.  It is one of the few face to face opportunities that authors have to sell themselves and their content. Although, the idea of selling can be off-putting to introverted authors, the atmosphere is low-key and welcoming. Conversations start organically between author and reader when in the food line or when commenting on raffle baskets.

Most conferences do raise money for different charities, but few raise the funds RAGT15 does. They collected $21,000 for One Way Farm, $2250 to Animal Adoption Fund, $3000 to Conducive Learning Center and $1200 to The Troop Project, which puts together boxes for our troops overseas. Several authors donated signed books to the troop boxes too.

In summary, I would recommend RAGT to both readers and authors. I’m already blocking out my schedule for 2016 conferences. RAGT was the first one on my list. To find out more, please visit RAGT.

Tagline:  Encountering ghosts and spirits is one thing, but what happens when you encounter love?

Blurb:

Shelly Barnes loved working for her father's business, Barnes Paranormal Society of qualified ghost hunters.  When the assignments began to be more than BPS could handle, they had little choice but to expand the business by hiring on other paranormal investigators.

Owner, Ed Barnes, prided his company for being  a successful, black owned business that started as a hobby and turned into one of the leading paranormal societies in the surround states.    When he hired, Kevin Bradford, he knew the man had years of experience under his belt and would make a great addition to the team.

When Shelly met Kevin, she was intrigued by him instantly and it had nothing to do with him being Caucasian.  After working assignments together, they meshed in every area of the job.  And for the first time in years, someone cared about her opinion, style and technique as well as her safety.

Until Kevin and Shelly hit a breaking point where the truth was demanded.  What exactly was this thing pulling at them?  Kevin wanted Shelly, But Shelly was hesitant to flaunt their interracial relationship status to the world, and she didn't know why.

Her insecurities from her past were threatening her future and she knew that  if she didn't overcome them, she'd end up losing the one man she'd ever loved.

In the world of Ghost hunting, they encounter ghost, spirits and possession, but no one expected to encounter and everlasting love.

Welcome LaNora, my personal friend & one of the busiest authors, I know.
Check out this parnormal romance, Love Encounters, you'll be glad you did. There is a direct Amazon link on the sidebar and below.

Morgan K Wyatt

Website:  http://jeanne1965.wix.com/finding-lanora
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLanoraMangano?fref=ts
Author FB:  https://www.facebook.com/LanoraMangano.Author?fref=ts
Twitter:  @jlm21965

Email address:  Lanora.mangano@yahoo.com

Melody’s work as a hospice nurse both gives her life purpose and rips her heart out when her patients die. Her latest client left her his lakeside home. After years of living in foster homes, Melody seizes the opportunity for a real home. 

Her happy residence comes to an abrupt halt when her benefactor’s missing nephew, Levi, shows up. A bomb shattered his leg and life, which left him in need of a safe place to figure out the rest of his life. The will leaves the house to both of them, but only if they cohabit for a year. Otherwise, the house goes to a third party. 

Melody detests Levi for never writing or visiting his dying uncle. Levi considers Melody little more than a gold digger similar to his ex-wife. There’s no way he’ll let her have his inheritance.

A rich baritone voice brought her back to the present. “Nice morning, isn’t it? The lake is smooth, making it perfect for an early morning row.” He nodded in the direction of the rowboat.

Melody automatically smiled back. “Yes.” The one word escaped her lips as her mind tried to translate what he meant. Was he going to row Roy’s boat across the lake? Did he invite her? The idea of sharing the close quarters of the boat tempted her, until she looked straight into his eyes. Her hand covered her racing heart. It couldn’t be, but she recognized the slate-color. Her breath hitched, testifying to his appeal, but if he knew who she was, he’d toss her overboard.

Turning up his smile a notch, he explained, “I was going out for a row and would welcome company.”

The idea tantalized Melody, but she knew better than to climb into the boat with Levi McDaniels.

Melody looked at his outstretched hand and took a step back even though something inside urged her to take his hand. She would have if he were someone else. Levi would push her out of the boat if he knew her name, though he’d have a hard time doing so. Being a strong robust female, as Roy like to call her whenever she swung him up out of his wheelchair, had advantages. Playing football with the neighborhood boys when she was younger, not only made her tough, but also willing to use any underhanded methods to secure the ball. A boy who cried foul when she bested him ended up ridiculed by his teammates. The brighter fellows soon learned to avoid her sharp elbows, gouging fingers, and troublesome knees.

Levi’s eyebrows winged upward at her refusal. His outstretched hand fell abruptly by his side.

Character Study

Melody has lived in a series of foster homes after her mother abandoned her.
She's found purpose in her life as a hospice nurse. She considers Levi's Uncle Roy as family. It's no wonder she's upset when Levi never visits his dying uncle.
She's grateful that she inherited old Roy's house, the first home she's ever had.
No way she'd give it up to a neglectful nephew.

Levi has had a close encounter with the gold digger type of female. The experience burned him good. When he returns home after his hospitalization, he finds his uncle dead, and a greedy female squatting in his uncle's house.  He's deteremined to move her out. The battle begins.