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Another Fantatic Design

by Karen Cote. - It's Only Make Believe

When Michele Markey is forced into marriage to the son of a long time firend, the only stipulation she makes is he remain faithful. 

Brad Lawson agrees, but faithful is one thing, celibate is another.
Too bad Brad's assistant is determined to break up the marriage. Is Brad keeping up his end of the bargain on those extended business trips and late night appointments? Or has he taken up with his sexy assistant again? 

Available from Amazon

Friday Freebit

From Designed for Love available from Amazon

“What the hell?” My carry-on bag slid across the floor and slammed into the wall. My feet slipped out from

under me, I landed flat on my back, and someone fell on top of me, pinning me to the floor. The breath knocked out of me, I lay still a moment.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I finally caught my breath and pushed him off. “Everyone’s always in such a big hurry.”

“Why’d you slow down? You darned near stopped in front of me.” He stood up, brushed himself off and held out his hand to help me up. “Sorry.”

I knocked his hand away, got to my knees and stood. I didn’t need his help. Not his or anyone else’s for that matter. What I needed was to find my bag and get on to my gate.

“Look, I’m sorry. It was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.” He held his hand out to me again, but I ignored it. “Here, let me get that for you.” He hurried to pick up my bag, but I grabbed it first.


“Look, Mister, I have a plane to catch, so excuse me if I don’t have time to chat.” I straightened up my bag, grabbed the handle and started toward my gate. Good looking in a rustic sort of way, I had to admit. Probably worked outdoors or at least spent a lot of time outside. Not that it made any difference. I didn’t have time for him. Or any man for that matter. I had a career to build, and men didn’t figure into it.


For more Friday Freebits go to: http://mizging.blogspot.com

Friday Freebits

FROM TWO LOVE AGAIN - two stories one book

Christine

Christine stood on tiptoe, peering over people’s heads as she hurried down the long corridor through the crowded airport. Pushing the shoulder strap back up, she readjusted her overnight bag. She should have taken Lisa’s advice and borrowed her pilot’s bag; at least it had wheels. She hated this, hated traveling, and crowds, but she was down on the ground in one piece. Worst part of flying, taking off and landing. Vacations were great, but whoever said there’s no place like home hit the nail on the head.

“Mom!” Lisa’s voiced carried through the crowd.

Christine spotted her daughter, and hurried toward her family, smiling. Her grandchildren’s faces looked like breaths of fresh air among the busy travelers.

Hello, who’s that tall, handsome man next to Lisa? Not another fix-up, she hoped. She let out a low groan. When was her daughter going to learn she didn’t want a mate? Her life was fine.

His salt and pepper hair curled around his ears, and the way his graying mustache drooped about his mouth caused Christine’s heart to flutter. She always was a sucker for a man with a mustache. Probably because her father had one. The slow, easy smile that started with a twitch of his lips sent a quiver in Christine’s stomach. His smoky blue eyes captivated her.

Jenna and Richard raced toward her. Christine hugged her grandchildren but maintained eye contact with the man, curious about the stranger. “Gram, we missed you!” They said in unison. 

Elizabeth

Swaying to imaginary music, Elizabeth held her sundress out to the side and imagined the long flowing gown she’d wear at the ball. Bowing and smiling at an invisible partner, she twirled around the gazebo floor. Her long dark hair fell forward, covering her face. Tossing it back, Elizabeth laughed aloud and batted her long lashes, pretending to flirt with her imaginary partner.

“May I have this dance?” A masculine voice startled her into awareness.

“Um… uh. Oh shoot.” Heat burned her cheeks. A tingling swept up the back of her neck.  Elizabeth lowered her eyes, turned and ran.

 “Hey, wait.” He ran after her, caught up, and grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Elizabeth stopped, the light pressure of his grip sent a tingling sensation through her. Gathering her composure, she remembered her manners. “You must be new to Lakeview?” Her gaze caught his blue-green eyes and locked.

“Just arrived.” A smile twitched on his lips, as if he wanted to laugh but thought better of it. “Never been to a resort before. I’m staying with my aunt, Melissa James, maybe you know her?”


Available from Amazon

For more Friday Freebits go to: http://mizging.blogspot.com

Only Ninety-nine Cents

for a limited time Geriatric Rebels from Amazon. 

Who says life begins at forty? Life is wonderful at any age as long as you're willing to live it and Mike and Elsa prove it.
Seventy-two year old Mike Powell refuses to get out of bed or cooperate with the nurses, until he meets  seventy year old Elsa Logan. The tiny spunky Elsa sparks new life into him.
Elsa's son puts her in the nursing home while he takes a family vacation. She joins forces with Mike, setting the home on its heels and later discovers deception and fraud. Can they find happiness together?

Exceprt:

Peeking around the corner into the dimly lit halls, Mike watched the pretty silver-haired lady slip into a dark room. What was she up to? He looked up and down the hall to make sure no one was around and followed her. Next thing he knew, he ran smack into her.

“Whoa,” she whispered. “Who are you^? What are you doing here?”

“Maybe I should ask you that question,” Mike answered. “This isn’t your room.” A tiny little thing, she 

barely came up to his shoulders. She put her hands behind her back, and Mike chuckled. What was she

hiding? “I’m night security,” he lied. “What’s behind your back?”

She lowered her head and brought out a water pitcher. “It was only a joke.”

Mike took her arm. “You better come with me.” He led her to the hall after a quick check to make sure it was still empty. “So you’re the one stealing the pitchers.”

She shivered and for a moment he felt sorry for her. What a mean trick, 

but he couldn’t help himself. He pushed open the exit door.

“Where are we going?” Elsa stiffened and tried to pull away. “Where are you taking me?”

 Her timid tone melted Mike. Time to confess. Damn, too late.

“Wait just a dog-gone minute.” She pulled away from him. “How do I know who you are? Where’s your uniform?  Show me some identification.” Although she spoke in whispers, the tone of her voice showed Mike she wasn’t buying his act.

Surprised by her sudden change of attitude, he stopped, raised his hands in surrender, and grinned at her.

“Who are you? Where do you think you’re taking me?” She glared at him with the lightest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Eyes that right now, he swore pierced into his.

 “You’re a burglar, aren’t you?” She tapped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you think for one minute, I’m going out that door with you, think again, buddy.”

Mike stifled a laugh, finding her amusing, obviously she didn’t trust him. Not that he blamed her, he did lie to her, and she didn’t know him from Adam. What did he expect?

“What were you doing in that room, buster, and if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to scream for help.”

“Okay, okay, quiet down.”  Hell, she meant business. “I was following you.” He tried to sound serious, but he couldn’t. He found the whole situation humorous. “My name is Mike Powell, room 110, but I don’t belong in this home.” He held out his hand toward her.

“Yeah, none of us belong here,” she scoffed. “Why were you following me?”

Since she ignored his outstretched hand, Mike lowered it. “I was curious to see where you were going in the middle of the night.”

“Humph.” Elsa tapped her foot. “So why are you here?”

“I fell and there wasn’t anyone to take care of me. My wife passed away three years ago, and I don’t have any children. So they threw me in here for therapy.”

“I never see you in therapy.”

“That’s ’cause I don’t need it anymore.”

“Humph. So how come you’re still here?”

“Nothing to go home to. I have more fun here. They don’t know I can get out of bed.”

“And just how did you pull that off?” Elsa seemed surprised to hear he had fooled the nurses into thinking he couldn’t get out of bed.

 “Simple, I refuse to get out of bed. Of course….” He combed his fingers through his thinning white hair and laughed. “They don’t know about my night time escapades.

“Ah, I know who you are. You’re that difficult man. I hear them talking about. You don’t eat, refuse to take your medicine, or even get out of bed. They call you the ‘Geriatric Rebel’.”

Mike chuckled. He liked the sound of her voice, musical, not raspy or whiney like the other women here. “So why are you here?” he asked. “You don’t seem like the typical resident.”

“Humph, kids are on vacation and don’t want to bother with me. I’m Elsa Logan, by the way.” Elsa turned away. “I better get back. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” She left him standing in the hall.

A quiver of something familiar went through him as she disappeared down the hall and into her room.

Design by Karen Cote

Another great design from Karen Cote

During the renovations of her Queen Anne Victorian home, Anna Hughes discovers a hidden room, complete with furniture, a trunk full of treasures – including a diary – and shadows hovering over it.  Available from Amazon.

Excerpt:

Whack! I swung the hammer, and the hole in the attic wall widened. Even through the plaster dust, I swore I smelled flowers. Roses and something else—lily of the valley—that was it. One more whack and a section of the wall collapsed.

"Ben, look!" I stepped through the opening and stared into the room. A dusty, women's antique French desk stood in the center of the large room. The wall behind it held book shelves still lined with books. Two chairs grouped, in front of the window, around a table that held a tarnished silver tea set.

I spun around the room. "My God, what is this?" Pictures hung on faded rose wallpaper. Dim light, from the dirty, stained glass window in the alcove, cast eerie shadows. "This is unbelievable."

Shadowy figures in the corner of the room beckoned to me. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Between the dust and the dim light, but no, the shadows were there, plain as day. They hovered over a carved trunk.

"Ben, do you see that?"

"See what?" Ben brushed the dust off his hands.

I held back a giggle. I couldn't help it, he looked so uncomfortable. This wasn't Ben's cup of tea. I was still trying to figure out why he helped me. He stepped through the opening and looked at me.

"Shadows over that trunk." I held back, dying to know what was in it, but half afraid to go near it.

"Probably cobwebs."

I sighed. The look on Ben's face said it all. "Cobwebs, right."

"There you go again. You and that overactive imagination. I suppose now you're going to go ahead with the renovation." He took a couple steps into the room, stopped next to the desk, and opened a drawer. "Hm, Look at this." He pulled a sheet of stationary out of the drawer. "Mary Elizabeth Gilbert, wonder who she was."

I took the stationary from him. A bouquet of lily of the valley embossed the top of the page. Again, the shadows appeared and beckoned to me. "Those aren't cobwebs, Ben. Look."

 Like I didn't know the difference between shadows and cobwebs. Definitely shadows. Willowy figures hovered over the trunk. Come open it, they seemed to say. There was a sense of urgency about them, yet I didn't feel threatened. Giving in to the urge, I hurried to the trunk and lifted the decorative lid. "Oh, look at this!" I lifted a pearl handled hairbrush out of the trunk. "It's beautiful." A shadowy figure floated above it. Then, I lifted out a corset and held the tiny form in front of me. One of the shadowy figures moved closer, almost on top of me.

"Ugh, I can't imagine having to wear one of these." Suddenly, my stomach and chest tightened. I lost my breath, gasped, and sunk to my knees. The corset fell from my hand. The shadows backed off. I was finally able to take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

When I opened my eyes, Ben stood over me. "Are you okay? What happened? You looked like you were going to pass out."

"I...I don't know. I couldn't breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing the life out of me." I looked at the corset lying on the dusty floor. What just happened here? A shadowy figure lingered nearby. What was it trying to tell me?

"I think we better get out of this dust for a while, get some fresh air." Ben helped me to my feet. "You can come up later. I know how anxious you are to go through that trunk. There's no stopping you now, is there?"

I hated to leave, but Ben was right. I had inhaled an awful lot of dust. "Ben do you smell flowers—roses or lily of the valley?"

"All I smell is plaster and years of dust. Roses, are you sure you're okay?" He furrowed his brow and gave me one of those disapproving looks that said I was nuts. I hated that look.

"I'm fine, just a little woozy. You're right, probably from all the dust." So Ben hadn't seen the shadows, and he didn't smell the flowers, so what. I looked back through the opening, and they were there, big as life. I sighed and reluctantly followed Ben downstairs.

After a quick lunch and something to drink, I stood, anxious to go back to what I now called my treasure trove. I love old things. That's why I bought this old Victorian house. Sure, it was a fixer-upper, but that was part of the charm and fun.

 I needed a quiet place to write. Someplace I could retreat while work was being done on the rest of the house, and the attic fit the bill. Besides, I needed a place of my own, away from Ben.

Ben had noticed the stained glass window from the outside a couple weeks ago. I hadn't noticed it when I bought the house. I'm sure Ben was sorry he mentioned it to me. Not that it mattered; I was still planning on renovating the attic. The window was the only reason I managed to talk Ben into tearing down the wall. Not that he believed me. He thought someone just covered over the window from the inside. He only went along because he thought it would prove me wrong. Ben liked to do that. But I knew I was right this time, and I took great satisfaction in proving him wrong for a change.

I had been drawn to the attic ever since I first saw it, even without knowing about the window. And I wanted to help with the renovation, but it didn't take a brain surgeon to know there was a lot I couldn't do. Electrical work for one and the whole house needed rewired. Thank goodness, Connie told me about Chad. Hopefully, he was still interested in doing the work, and Ben's rudeness hadn't turned him off.

Downstairs, Ben dusted off his clothes. "I hope you're going to hire someone to finish this. You know I'm not cut out for this kind of work."

I sighed. Luckily, Ben had helped this much. "You know I'm going to hire Chad, if he's still willing to do the work, that is. You were awfully rude to him."

"I think you should find someone else. I don't like that guy."

"He comes highly recommended. Connie says he's tops in his field." Of course Ben was going to give me a hard time about Chad. His dislike was evident right from the beginning, and he didn't do a thing to hide it. "Besides, I liked him. He didn't have to suggest we knock down the wall. He could have charged me for it. I think he's honest."

"I don't like this, Anna. This whole renovation thing is crazy."

"Come on, Ben. Just help me finish knocking down that wall. There's not much more to do. I'll call the contractor later."

I didn't like the way Ben looked at me. Like he was sorry he offered. He hated dirt. Besides the fact he was sweating and the plaster dust mixed with the sweat probably made him feel gritty. He was going to back out and leave me to finish the job. I wasn't sure I could handle it. "Please, I really need your help." Begging usually worked with Ben. He loved to hear me beg.

"Oh, what the heck." He shrugged. "You're right, there isn't much more to knock down. Guess that's the least I can do. Besides I'm already dirty. Once we get that wall knocked down, I can take a shower and call it quits. Okay, I'll help with the rest of the wall, but that's it."

I smiled and kissed him. "Thank you." How Ben was going to survive here with all the renovation going on, I didn't know. Even as a kid, he said he hated getting dirty. While the neighborhood kids played in the dirt, he sat in the air conditioned house, reading. I could picture him. Serious-minded Ben didn't like things other boys enjoyed, like sports. He still didn't.

 He followed me up the steps. "Let's get this done."

Back upstairs, we knocked down the rest of the dividing wall. All the while, I watched the shadows move back and forth between me and the trunk. What was in there? I couldn't wait to find out, but I continued to help Ben. He'd have a fit if I quit.

"Why do you suppose someone sealed up this room?" I tried to ignore the shadows flitting in and out of my vision. They definitely wanted my attention.

"I have no idea." Ben knocked down the last of the dividing wall. "There, we're done. Now let your contractors finish the job." He brushed off his hands. "Why I offered to help you is beyond me. Can I leave now?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it, he looked so pathetic. Pathetic and so dirty. I appreciated the fact he helped me. Really I did. Ben didn't particularly like the old Victorian and couldn't understand why I insisted on buying it. Oh, well, he'd get used to it. He'd have to if we were going to get married. This was my home, and I was in it for the long haul.

 "Maybe someone was hiding a past." I ignored Ben's question. Seldom did he ask permission for anything, and staying dirty a few more minutes wouldn't hurt him.

"It's like someone walked out of this room and built the wall. They left everything just as it was." Again the shadows appeared and disappeared. Maybe they held the key. I was dying to dive into that trunk.

With the last of the wall down, I began the clean up. Ben stood by while I put chunks of plaster and pieces of lathe into an old box. I could see all Ben wanted to do was jump into a shower.

Finally, he apparently couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm heading for the shower." He turned and hurried down the steps before I could answer. Not that I cared. Right now I was better off without him. I barely glanced at him. "Go ahead. I can clean up."

Now available

Two for Love is now available from Amazon as a paper book. 

Peviously published as A Second Chance and May I Have this Dance 

CHRISTINE Two years after a bitter divorce Christine Rollin resists the efforts of her daughter's matchmaking until she meets her son-in-law’s uncle, Steven Payton. Confirmed bachelor, Steven Payton agrees to help bring Christine out of her shell, but never expects to fall for her. Things are going great between them until Christine's ex- husband shows up, asking for a second chance. Will Christine choose her ex or her new life with Steven? 

ELIZABETH Forty-two years ago, Elizabeth Ashley fell in love with a boy her stern father disapproved of, and their life takes different paths. Now, returning to the place they met, she sits in the gazebo watching her granddaughter and a young man, who resembles her first love. Her memory takes her back. Back to a time when life was fun and carefree.

 Review of May I Have this Dance by Ladybug Lin Reviews: 5 out of 5 stars:

 Well done Ms. Dowell, and thank you for letting those of us with snow coating our roofs know the racing tattoo we still feel from time-to-time in our blood will always keep us young at heart. 

Review of A Second Chance by Ladybug Lin: 5 of 5 stars: 

Roseanne Dowell is a very prolific author of romance for those of us who've lived life, been through the ups and downs of its many pitfalls, and still have hopes for tomorrow's brightest horizons. Ms. Dowell gives us that and so much more in A SECOND CHANCE. She gives us a healthy dose of down-to-earth-reality too. BUT just when you think we're going to get a smooth sailing Happily Ever-after, she brings back the hubby who walked out before the story starts, finally realizing just how good he really had it...and now he wants it all back. What will our heroine do? Take a chance on the promise of the unknown, or take back the familiar even though the familiar let her down? I LOVED this story, and read it all in one sitting. (I put my cellphone on SHUT UP! Cellphones can be SOOOO annoying!) I am so pleased to see authors writing for the generation that is beyond the pale of first blush. Ms. Dowell is one of its best. 

4.0 out of 5 stars Happy And Short March 19, 2013 By Madeleine McLaughlin Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase 

Roseanne Dowell must have a happy outlook on life, and it's good she wants to share it with readers. Her characters resonate with the troubles of any one of us and her outcomes are what we all need in our life. If you like feel-good romance, this short book is for you.

Another Fantastic Design

from my talented friend Karen Cote.

Fate, kismet,  or whatever you want to call it, it turned Interior Designer, Wendy Seidel's world upside down. From a chance meeting at the airport to Florida and back to Ohio, she can't believe the strange circumstances that throw her together with Bill Johnson, after he literally knocks her off her feet at the airport.   

Available from Amazon

Excerpt:

What the hell?” My carry-on bag slid across the floor and slammed into the wall. My feet slipped out from under me, I landed flat on my back, and someone fell on top of me, pinning me to the floor. The breath knocked out of me, I lay still a moment.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I finally caught my breath and pushed him off. “Everyone’s always in such a big hurry.”

“Why’d you slow down? You darned near stopped in front of me.” He stood up, brushed himself off and held out his hand to help me up. “Sorry.”

I knocked his hand away, got to my knees and stood. I didn’t need his help. Not his or anyone else’s for that matter. What I needed was to find my bag and get on to my gate.

“Look, I’m sorry. It was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.” He held his hand out to me again, but I ignored it. “Here, let me get that for you.” He hurried to pick up my bag, but I grabbed it first.

“Look, Mister, I have a plane to catch, so excuse me if I don’t have time to chat.” I straightened my bag, grabbed the handle and started toward my gate. Good looking in a rustic sort of way, I had to admit. Probably worked outdoors or at least spent a lot of time outside. Not that it made any difference. I didn’t have time for him. Or any man for that matter. I had a career to build, and men didn’t figure into it.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like men. I did. Even dated occasionally. Eventually I’d like to have a relationship, even get married. But relationships and marriage took time, not a priority right now. My career came first. Something about him, though.

I couldn’t resist looking back. Great. He stood watching me with a silly smirk on his face. Nice eyes, soft gray.  I loved gray eyes. Maybe because my grandfather had gray eyes. He lifted his hand and waved at me. Heat burned my face, and I hurried off in the direction of the gate, looking at the signs above. Only at Gate 2. Not even close. Of course my gate was at the farthest end of the airport. Thankfully, there was plenty of time to get there.

I avoided a heavyset man, hell bent on his mission. I hated this time of year. Everyone was in such a big hurry.

To make matters worse, my butt hurt but I resisted rubbing it. Didn’t need to look like any more of an idiot. Ah, Gate 11, finally. Now I could sit down and relax, since there was still forty-five minutes before my flight. I took a book out of the side pocket of my carry-on and settled back to wait. Not that I could concentrate, anger at my boss raged inside me. Who in their right mind set up a meeting with a client right before New Years? And in Florida, no less. Obviously, Nick didn’t care that I had plans for New Year’s Eve.

So I was getting out of Ohio, big deal. Sure, my friends thought I was lucky, especially with the predicted snowstorm. Didn’t make any difference to me, I liked snow.

 I glanced out a window. Already it was coming down pretty heavy, and there was still a good half hour before my flight.

Damn it, I hated flying. I could have sent the samples just as easy. What was so important they required me to personally bring them?  I thought we’d settled everything before the client left. Why the sudden change? They could have at least waited until after the holidays.

Nick, my boss, promised I’d be home by New Year’s Eve. Yeah right. I knew how these things went. First this problem, than that one. I’d be lucky to be home in time for my nephew’s birthday on the sixth.  Nick better not have any funny ideas. This was strictly business. I’d heard about his reputation with women. So far he hadn’t shown an interest in me, and I certainly didn’t have a problem with that. Good-looking though Nick was, nothing about him attracted me. Definitely not my type. Not that I had a type.

“Looks like we’re on the same flight,” a masculine voice said.

I looked up and almost groaned out loud. This couldn’t be happening. What were the chances we’d be on the same flight? I tried to ignore him, but something drew my eyes to his.

“Bill Johnson.” He extended his hand toward me. “I really am sorry about knocking you down.”

I shrugged and shook his hand. “No problem.” A quiver started deep in my stomach when he held my hand a bit longer than necessary. Rough, calloused hands. Does hard work. Maybe construction. I pulled my hand away and turned my attention back to my book. I hated talking to people at airports. Lord, please tell me he doesn’t have the seat next to me. I couldn’t be that unlucky, could I?

Of course I could.

Taking a peek at the ticket sticking out of his coat pocket, I groaned. Seat 16A. No way, what were the chances? I hoped he’d take the hint and leave me alone.

“Are you staying in Fort Myers?” He sat down next to me.

Figured, no such luck. I nodded. Maybe if I didn’t contribute to the conversation, he’d go away. I kept my eyes on my book but couldn’t concentrate. I had the irresistible urge to look at him, but ignored it. What was it about him?

“Visiting or business?”

I looked up from my book. He just wasn’t going to quit. “Business, no time for pleasure.” Maybe that would shut him up.

He smiled. “Everyone has time for pleasure. All work and no play...” He let the rest of the saying hang. 

I put the book in front of my face. “I guess I’m a dull boy then.” Why didn’t he just let me read in peace. I couldn’t be much ruder. Some people just couldn’t take a hint.

Bill laughed. A big hearty laugh that caused people to stare.  I wanted to crawl under my seat. “What’s so funny?”

“Honey, you look like anything but a boy.” His gaze took me in from top to bottom and came to rest on my breasts.

Okay, I’m well endowed and wished I had left my jacket on. Not that there was much to see through my bulky sweater, but enough. Heat rushed to my face again. Crap, why did I blush so easily? My face was probably as red as my hair. “Okay, so I don’t look like a boy. Just finishing the saying. And DON’T call me honey!” I put the book in front of my face, turned away from him, and tried to read. Lord, spare me friendly people. Especially men.

 The last thing I needed was a man trying to pick me up. I wished he’d just go away.  I could call airport security, but didn’t want to cause a scene. He’d done enough of that.

“Since you won’t tell me your name, I don’t know what else to call you.”

“Don’t call me anything.” I slammed my book shut, stood, and walked to the window. What more did I have to do to let him know I wasn’t interested? I stared out the window. Things didn’t look good outside.

“Full blown blizzard.” Bill’s deep voice came from behind.

I felt his breath on my neck and shivered from the warmth of it. Or was it from his nearness? Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.  I looked at my watch. Still almost a half hour before take off. So far they hadn’t cancelled the flight.

As if my thoughts magically conjured it up, a voice came over the PA system. “We regret to inform you that all flights to and from Cleveland Hopkins Airport have been cancelled until further notice.  New flights can be rebooked as soon as we resume our schedule. Sorry for the inconvenience. Airport shuttles are standing by to take you to a hotel. If you can’t get a room, you’re welcome to stay at the airport. Concession stands and restaurants will remain open for your convenience. 

Coming Soon

I'm working on two previously short stories and combining them in one book called Two Love Again.  I'm going to self publish this one, just for the experience of self publishing. Plus it's still a short book. I designed the cover and my husband made the it in photoshop from pictures he took many years ago. I'm very excited about the cover. 

CHRISTINE

Two years after a bitter divorce Christine Rollin resists the efforts of her daughter's matchmaking until she meets her son-in-law’s uncle, Steven Payton.

Confirmed bachelor, Steven Payton agrees to help bring Christine out of her shell, but never expects to fall for her. Things are going great between them until Christine's ex- husband shows up, asking for a second chance.

Will Christine choose her ex or her new life with Steven?

ELIZABETH

Forty-two years ago, Elizabeth Ashley fell in love with a boy her stern father disapproved of, and their life takes different paths. Now, returning to the place they met, she sits in the gazebo watching her granddaughter and a young man, who resembles her first love. Her memory takes her back. Back to a time when life was fun and carefree.

Happy Valentine's Day

I hope everyone has a wonderful Valentine's Day. Did you ever wonder how this day got started? 
It actually began as a Roman pagan holiday where males sacrificed animals, cut the hides into strips and ran through the town naked and playfully hit women with the hides. Women often jumped in

their way because they thought it would make them more fertile.
Eventually Pope Gelasius changed the holiday called Lupercalia from Feb. 15th to St. Valentine's Day on Feb. 14th.
It ws firs associated with romantic love in the middle ages. In the 18th century lovers presented flowers, candy and greeting cards to celebrate the day. In the 19th century professionally produced greeting cars replaced handwritten ones.
It's become a big holiday for florists, confectioners and the greeting card industry. 
I hope all of you have a wonderful day. I'm celebrating by cooking a special meal. 

My books can be found at Amazon

*the rose picture is copyrighted by Roger Dowell

Romantic Suspense

 Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have expected my life to change so much just by accomplishing my dream. If someone would have told me a year ago, even two weeks ago, that my life would become so complicated, I would have laughed at them. Seriously.  Maybe I should start from the beginning. My goal in life was to become a topnotch journalist. I loved writing. Always had. Ever since I can remember that’s all I ever wanted to be. Suddenly, the goal was at hand. Within reach. I got it. My first big byline! I beat out all the other reporters at the scene, and the paper printed my story. MINE!

I was ecstatic. So… there I was drinking a cup of coffee and reading my story, relishing the moment. My headline! GEORGIE PORGIE PUDDING AND DIE by me, Susan Weston. Word for word just the way I’d written it. Not one word changed.

I’d been first on the murder scene the night before. Got there before the cops, so I got a pretty good look at the body. Turned out to be a guy I knew from the neighborhood. Pretty gruesome, too. Not a sight I’m likely to forget.

So like I said, I was drinking my coffee and reading my story and Okay, gloating a little bit. It made me feel good that for once my story got printed and not those other guys. This was it. I knew it. My big chance. Things were going to change now. No more fluff pieces for me. Nope, now the boss would have to assign me to some good stories.

That's when everything went haywire. The phone rang. Nothing unusual in that. My phone often rings, although not that early in the morning. Of course I answered. 

The voice on the other end sent goosebumps up my arm, down my spine, and chills down to my toes. It still does. Just thinking about it.

I could hardly hear the caller. His raspy voice faded out, and I only caught a couple of words. Something about liking my story and strawberries. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. I figured it was a crank call. Reporters got them all the time. But something about that call bothered me. Nagged at me.

My life hasn’t been the same since. To find out what happened, you’re going to have to read my book, Ring Around the Rosy available from Amazon. http://amzn.to/PjLvDp

Excerpt:

Susan propped the News Gazette on the counter and focused on the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack. .”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

The phone rang, startling her. “Who the heck is calling at this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs, waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the bowl, and set it on the floor.

“Hello,” she repeated, ready to hang up if no one answered this time.

The evil, raspy voice on the other end sent goose-bumps up her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.

The voice mumbled something she could barely hear.

“Strawberries? What are you talking about?”

“Just for you,” the garbled voice continued.

“I can’t hear you. Who is this?” What kind of sick joke is this?

She caught the words, “loved your headline,” more garbled words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.

Susan grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her hand trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this? Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.

He said he liked her story. That shouldn’t bother her. Something about that voice, so harsh, so evil. It gnawed at her. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

After pouring a cup of coffee, she read the story under the headline aloud, trying to keep her mind off the phone call. “Police are investigating the death of thirty-one year old George Lucas, whose body was found last night in Lagoon Park near his west side home.” The sound of her shaky voice surprised her.

What was the matter with her?  “Get a grip, girl.”

Must be the effect of seeing the lifeless body. The way George Lucas’s eyes stared into space. What was he thinking when he looked into his killer’s eyes? The distant street lamp didn’t help. It cast an eerie shadow on the victim. His face frozen in terror, lips parted in a silent scream, and his head tilted to one side as if it was too heavy for his neck. The way one hand clutched at his throat and the other gripped the note, fingers frozen around it, sent icy chills through her, even now. She shuddered.

Thank God there wasn’t any blood, since the image would forever be embedded in her mind. Susan rubbed her arms to warm them.

Picking up the paper, she continued to read. “The coroner will determine the cause of death, but early reports indicate that Mr. Lucas was strangled. Lipstick was smeared across the victim’s mouth, and he clasped the nursery rhyme, ‘Georgie Porgie,’ in his hand. The teen who discovered the body reported seeing a man carrying a bag and wearing a gray shirt running from the park moments before. Police have no suspects at this time.”

Bella brushed against her legs, jumped on the counter, and snuggled against her.

Susan’s heart pounded. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So much for the thrill of seeing her name on the front page. The image of the body filled her mind. Her hands trembled while she held the paper and reread the headline with her name below it. It was exactly as she had written it — not one word changed, short and to the point.

George Lucas lived in her neighborhood. She’d seen him a few times in Meliti’s Market talking to old Mrs. Meliti. Although they never spoke, they had nodded and smiled hello. Nice-looking guy, about her age. What a shock seeing him dead. Another shiver shook her body. Seeing a dead body was bad enough, but knowing the victim threw her for a loop. Made it personal.

Arriving only a few minutes before the police showed up and ordered her to leave, not that they had to tell her twice, she had viewed the crime scene and then skedaddled lickety-split. She knew enough about crime scenes to maintain a distance, knew if she got too close, she’d compromise the scene, maybe even leave trace evidence of herself behind. She didn’t need that. But she’d been close enough to read that paper in his hand, a nursery rhyme. She’d seen every gory detail.

The nursery rhyme letters, cut out from newspapers and magazines, and bowl of chocolate pudding and the strawberry pie that had been dumped on the victim’s head would stay in her memory for a long time. Of course, the police requested that information not be printed.

Requested, hell. Demanded was more like it, but Susan understood. Those were facts only the killer knew, and it prevented crank confessions. Couldn’t give the public too much information. After waiting behind the crime scene tape long enough to hear the possible cause of death, she hurried home to write her story before the deadline.

Susan walked around the kitchen. To sweeten the deal, her colleagues hadn’t shown up until well after they’d taped off the crime scene, hadn’t seen what she’d seen. So Ernie printed her story. Her first big byline!   Even that cocky reporter, Dan Hill, hadn’t beat her out this time.

Staring at the large headline, she sipped her coffee. The words from the phone call rambled around in her mind.

“Strawberries. The voice on the phone said something about strawberries. Strawberry Pie dumped over the victim’s head.” Her voice cracked at the memory.

Only the killer knew about the pie. Her body shook. Had she been talking to the killer? What else had the caller said? Jack be nimble. Another nursery rhyme.

Grabbing the counter to steady herself, she repeated part of the nursery rhyme “Jack be nimble…”

Her mind raced. She pushed away from the counter and paced the kitchen, trying to remember the rest of the rhyme.

“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candlestick. That’s it!”

What the heck did it mean? Was he going to kill again? Was there a serial killer out there?

She grabbed the phone and dialed the police department. Maybe it was nothing, but she needed to report it. Something didn’t sit right.

Available Now!!

Ring Around the Rosy available at Amazon

Harassing phone calls from a killer terrify journalist, Susan Weston after her first big byline.

Detective David Morgan investigates the calls and the fact Susan’s bracelet was found at the murder scene. Sparks fly between them in more ways than one.

 To make matters worse, someone is leaving roses in front of Susan’s door.  Is she being stalked by a killer?

Excerpt:

Georgie Porgie pudding and pie kissed the girls and made them cry — now it’s time to die.

He released his hands from the victim’s neck, and the lifeless body slumped to the ground. He stood back, and stared at it in disgust.

“You thought you were so cool, didn’t you, George? Playing all the girls like that. You could’ve had anyone you wanted, but you weren’t satisfied with one. You wanted them all. Then you broke their hearts and left everyone else to pick up the pieces.”

He stooped down, lifted George’s head, and propped it against a rock, then pulled a tube of lipstick from his pocket and smeared it across the victim’s mouth. How many times had he seen George wipe off his lips coming out of the locker room? “You won’t wipe it off this time, Buddy.”

He stuffed a paper into George’s hand and tightened his fingers around it. “You don’t look too cool now.” He laughed and pulled a container of pudding and a strawberry pie out of his knapsack, opened them, and dumped them over George’s head. The gooey mixture ran down George’s face.

He licked his lips. “You poor, pathetic bastard.”

Gathering up his knapsack, he took one last look at the body, then turned and ran from the park. His job was done.

***

Susan propped the News Gazette on the counter and focused on the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack. .”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

The phone rang, startling her. “Who the heck is calling at this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs, waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the bowl, and set it on the floor.

“Hello,” she repeated, ready to hang up if no one answered this time.

The evil, raspy voice on the other end sent goose-bumps up her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.

The voice mumbled something she could barely hear.

“Strawberries? What are you talking about?”

“Just for you,” the garbled voice continued.

“I can’t hear you. Who is this?” What kind of sick joke is this?

She caught the words, “loved your headline,” more garbled words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.

Susan grabbed the counter to steady herself. Her hand trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this? Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.

He said he liked her story. That shouldn’t bother her. Something about that voice, so harsh, so evil. It gnawed at her. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Something about it seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

After pouring a cup of coffee, she read the story under the headline aloud, trying to keep her mind off the phone call. “Police are investigating the death of thirty-one year old George Lucas, whose body was found last night in Lagoon Park near his west side home.” The sound of her shaky voice surprised her.

What was the matter with her?  “Get a grip, girl.”

Must be the effect of seeing the lifeless body. The way George Lucas’s eyes stared into space. What was he thinking when he looked into his killer’s eyes? The distant street lamp didn’t help. It cast an eerie shadow on the victim. His face frozen in terror, lips parted in a silent scream, and his head tilted to one side as if it was too heavy for his neck. The way one hand clutched at his throat and the other gripped the note, fingers frozen around it, sent icy chills through her, even now. She shuddered.

Thank God there wasn’t any blood, since the image would forever be embedded in her mind. Susan rubbed her arms to warm them.

Picking up the paper, she continued to read. “The coroner will determine the cause of death, but early reports indicate that Mr. Lucas was strangled. Lipstick was smeared across the victim’s mouth, and he clasped the nursery rhyme, ‘Georgie Porgie,’ in his hand. The teen who discovered the body reported seeing a man carrying a bag and wearing a gray shirt running from the park moments before. Police have no suspects at this time.”

Bella brushed against her legs, jumped on the counter, and snuggled against her.

Susan’s heart pounded. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So much for the thrill of seeing her name on the front page. The image of the body filled her mind. Her hands trembled while she held the paper and reread the headline with her name below it. It was exactly as she had written it — not one word changed, short and to the point.

George Lucas lived in her neighborhood. She’d seen him a few times in Meliti’s Market talking to old Mrs. Meliti. Although they never spoke, they had nodded and smiled hello. Nice-looking guy, about her age. What a shock seeing him dead. Another shiver shook her body. Seeing a dead body was bad enough, but knowing the victim threw her for a loop. Made it personal.

Arriving only a few minutes before the police showed up and ordered her to leave, not that they had to tell her twice, she had viewed the crime scene and then skedaddled lickety-split. She knew enough about crime scenes to maintain a distance, knew if she got too close, she’d compromise the scene, maybe even leave trace evidence of herself behind. She didn’t need that. But she’d been close enough to read that paper in his hand, a nursery rhyme. She’d seen every gory detail.

The nursery rhyme letters, cut out from newspapers and magazines, and bowl of chocolate pudding and the strawberry pie that had been dumped on the victim’s head would stay in her memory for a long time. Of course, the police requested that information not be printed.

Requested, hell. Demanded was more like it, but Susan understood. Those were facts only the killer knew, and it prevented crank confessions. Couldn’t give the public too much information. After waiting behind the crime scene tape long enough to hear the possible cause of death, she hurried home to write her story before the deadline.

Susan walked around the kitchen. To sweeten the deal, her colleagues hadn’t shown up until well after they’d taped off the crime scene, hadn’t seen what she’d seen. So Ernie printed her story. Her first big byline!   Even that cocky reporter, Dan Hill, hadn’t beat her out this time.

Staring at the large headline, she sipped her coffee. The words from the phone call rambled around in her mind.

“Strawberries. The voice on the phone said something about strawberries. Strawberry Pie dumped over the victim’s head.” Her voice cracked at the memory.

Only the killer knew about the pie. Her body shook. Had she been talking to the killer? What else had the caller said? Jack be nimble. Another nursery rhyme.

Grabbing the counter to steady herself, she repeated part of the nursery rhyme “Jack be nimble…”

Her mind raced. She pushed away from the counter and paced the kitchen, trying to remember the rest of the rhyme.

“Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack jumped over the candlestick. That’s it!”

What the heck did it mean? Was he going to kill again? Was there a serial killer out there?

She grabbed the phone and dialed the police department. Maybe it was nothing, but she needed to report it. Something didn’t sit right.

Susan showered while she waited for Detective David Morgan. The Desk Sergeant had connected them when she explained the strange phone call. Detective Morgan of Homicide, in charge of the case, told her he’d come by within the hour to take her statement.  Just what she needed, a detective coming here. Why couldn’t he take her statement over the phone? Yeah, right. She knew better than that. That wasn’t the way it worked.

A few minutes later, someone pounded on the door. “Hold on, I’m coming.” Good grief, couldn’t they knock like ordinary people. Scared the bejeebers out of me.”  Susan opened the door a crack. How the heck did he get past the security door?

“Detective Morgan.” He flashed his badge. “You called me.”

Susan pushed the chain aside and opened the door. He brushed past her and walked into her apartment.

Taken aback by the tall, strikingly handsome man and his rude entry, she caught her breath. Here was Rhett Butler, from Gone with the Wind, reincarnated. He towered over her five-foot-eight height. Yet, she wanted to wipe the cocky grin off his face. Now she knew how Scarlett felt the first time she met Rhett.

But darn it, what gave him the right to burst in here like that? His coppery brown eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief, mesmerizing her. What a hunk of a man. Too bad rudeness got the better of him. The citrusy scent of his after-shave tickled her nostrils. His unruly, silky, black hair begged her to push it back in place. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through it.

Good lord, she needed to get a hold of herself; he was just a man. Oh, but what a man, not to mention, a cop. Susan fidgeted with her coffee cup, sipped occasionally, and paced while he questioned her in a quiet, but firm voice.

She stopped pacing and studied him, guessed him to be a few years older than her, maybe 35. Just because he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring didn’t mean he wasn’t married. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she tried to concentrate on the phone call. “I could hardly hear him.”

A quivering sensation ran through her when she stared into the detective’s eyes. This man had the power to seduce her with just a look. “He sounded all garbled, like he was talking through water, or something.” Even her voice trembled. 

Shadows in the Attic

In the process of renovating century old, Queen Anne style Victorian home, author, Anna Hughes decides to convert part of the attic into a quiet place to write. Her fiancé points out a window on the outside of the house that doesn’t show in the attic. It’s only natural, she’d insist on knocking down a wall. Once the wall is down, they discover a room, complete with furniture, a diary, trunk full of treasures, and shadows hovering over it.

Ben Curtis, Anna’s fiancé hates getting dirty but agrees to her harebrained scheme, hoping to prove her wrong. Maybe then she’d give up the idea of writing and get a real job. Once she discovered the room, there was no stopping her. Worse, she insisted she saw shadows.

Chad Andrews was thrilled when Anna hires him to renovate the attic once the wall was knocked down. Too bad she was engaged, he was attracted to more than her house.

Do they hold the answer to secrets of why the room was hidden?

Available at Amazon

Welcome, Sydell Voeller

Summer Magic by Sydell Voeller, available at Amazon Kindle

Published by Books We Love Ltd:  www.bookswelove.net

             When her fiancé calls off their engagement, veterinarian assistant Lisa Prentice joins the circus in hopes of escaping the everyday grind. But life under the big top isn't quite what she expected. None of the veterinarian's former assistants managed to please their short-tempered boss, and Lisa fears that her days are numbered, too. Michael Figaro, a dashing young trapeze artist, is also cautious about whether Lisa can stay, and keeps his distance. Still, Lisa finds herself overwhelmingly attracted to him. Although Michael is the aerialist, it is Lisa who is flying on an emotional high wire. What happened to her safety net? Will their love survive?

Introduction to the Story 

            The year before, while the circus was on a 6-week lay-over at Madison Square Garden, Lisa Prentice had met dashing aerialist, Michael Figaro. There she’d also unexpectedly helped save a critically ill Arabian horse, Ebony, and she’d immediately fallen in love with the horse. Michael was more than a minor attraction too--and now that Lisa’s back, his charisma is once again working its magic on her.  Michael has just met her at the airport, brought her back to the circus grounds, and introduced her to his family-- also circus performers.  His twin sister, Estelle, welcomes Lisa with open arms and invites her to stay  in her trailer, and Lisa accepts.  Michael’s second sister, however, gives Lisa a frosty reception, and Lisa can’t help but wonder why.  Nonetheless, Lisa is eager to watch Michael and his family perform, and now she has the opportunity to do so: 

Partial Excerpt from Chapter 2 

Inside the coliseum, Lisa found an unreserved seat and sat down.  The band was playing a lively tune.  Vendors selling popcorn and cotton candy worked the side aisles.

As the lights dimmed and the music swelled, a rainbow of colors filled the arena.  Lisa's meeting with Claudette soon forgotten, new anticipation flowed through her.  It was time for the Spectacle to begin.

With rapt attentiveness, she clasped her hands together. Animals in bright head dresses and performers wearing sequin-spangled costumes paraded by.  Then came the first act, which soon gave way to the next.  Lisa laughed with the crowds at the chimps bouncing on pogo sticks, clapped for the tiger jumping through a ring of fire, and gazed in awe at the red-sequined showgirls performing an aerial ballet.   

Next the Flying Figaros emerged.  Dressed in glittering silver capes, holding hands and smiling their most dazzling smiles, they sprinted into the center ring.  In seconds the troupe was ascending the high rope ladder, Estelle sitting on Michael's shoulders.  While Claudette began to swing from a trapeze, Michael and Rudolph, perched on high rungs, balanced poles from their foreheads.

In an instant, the blue spotlight shifted back to the two young women.  Lisa watched first one, then the other spin through the air, skillfully performing their famous double somersaults.  The most difficult trick--Michael's triple--was only seconds away.

"And now ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages,”  the ringmaster boomed, "world-renowned Michael Figaro will perform one of the most daring acts in circus history!  The triple somersault!"

A hush blanketed the coliseum.  The drums rolled.  From somewhere overhead, the spotlights dimmed, casting a dramatic hue over the performers.  Lisa's heart pounded.  Every nerve in her body stood on end.  Oh, Michael.  Please be careful, she silently pleaded.

Michael dusted his hands with resin.  Then he began to swing.  The intensity was etched clearly on his face.  His taut muscles revealed the strength in his torso and upper arms.  Last year when she'd witnessed Michael's performance, she'd secretly vowed he was the most gorgeous man alive. Tonight was no exception.

Higher and higher he arched.  With a quick thrust, he tucked himself into a ball and whirled through the air.

The drums stopped rolling.  Lisa felt her hands grow clammy as she braced herself on the edge of her seat. Suddenly Michael's body straightened and his hands connected with the catcher's.  The applause exploded.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the ringmaster hollered, "you have just witnessed the most important feat on the face of the earth!"

While the crowds went wild, Lisa went limp with relief.

Oh, Michael, no wonder you came back, her heart cried out.  His performance was commanding.  Michael Figaro was destined for stardom.  How easy it would be to fall in love with him--only to end up heart-broken once again.  There must be at least a hundred women, watching him this very moment, who would give their souls just to touch his hand.  She could no more hold onto Michael than she had Charles.

One by one, the flyers dropped into the safety net, then onto the floor.  The crowd rose from their seats and cheered louder as the troupe took sweeping bows, then disappeared behind a royal blue curtain.

Suddenly the beating of hooves sounded.  The air stirred as three gorgeous black horses without riders or reins streaked past.  The ring seemed charged with their electrifying energy.

Lisa blinked twice.  Ebony!  The leading horse had to be Ebony!  In the center of the ring stood Mr. Figaro dressed in white and grasping a long whip.

The blue spot lights shifted to red.  While the other horses took their places opposite each other near the edge of the ring, Ebony cantered gracefully to the center.  She reared up.  Like a magnificent mystical creature, she pawed the air.  The other show horses immediately followed Ebony's cue.

Step-by-step she led them through one trick after another.  Then the lights dimmed as the horses made their exit...

Partial Excerpt from Chapter 3

"You still want to see Ebony tonight?" Michael asked as they strolled down a wide sidewalk that fronted the circus grounds.

"Oh, yes!"  Lisa smiled up at him.  The pale glow from a streetlight illuminated his profile.  Overhead, a spattering of stars winked in the cobalt blue sky. A balmy summer breeze lifted her hair.  Until just a few moments ago, Michael had been unusually quiet.  Lisa suspected he was pondering his father's leaving and the added responsibilities that entailed.  Or was it something more?

They crossed the north side of the lot, then threaded their way among the animal cages, trucks, and horse trailers.  In minutes they came to the horse tent and ducked inside.

The sweet smell of fresh hay filled Lisa's nostrils. A horse nickered.  She followed Michael past three black stallions and a Shetland pony that were switching their tails as they munched hay.

"Oh, Michael, there she is!" Lisa cried as she pointed to the end of the row.

"Yep!  Isn't she a beaut?" he asked, beaming.

As Lisa hurried up to the horse and began stroking her mane, Ebony lifted her head and stared back through half-lidded eyes.

"Ebony, you're beautiful!  Just as I'd remembered." The horse's ears twitched.  Lisa reached down, picked up a fistful of hay, and offered it on her opened palm.  Ebony's snout was velvety soft.

"Instant bonding," Michael said.  He grinned approvingly, rocking back on his heels.

"Oh, I hope so.  In fact, I'm looking forward to working with all the horses."

"Good.  I may need some help."

"How are you feeling about that?" Lisa asked as she stooped down to pick up more hay.  "About taking the responsibility for the show horses?" She straightened again, then turned to look up at him.  She watched his grin suddenly fade.

He glanced away.  "Scared.  Very scared."

“I doubt your father would've asked you to do it if he didn't think you were capable."

"It's expected of me, Lisa.  That's what being in the circus is all about.  Most of us, sooner or later, have to wear more than one hat. Pop would still be flying, too, if it hadn't have been for his accident.  And Uncle Rudy...he not only works as our catcher, but oversees the side show most of the time too."

"And here I'm feeling overwhelmed!  All I have to do is assist Dr. Woodstock and pass my probation."  A ripple of excitement overshadowed Lisa's uncertainty.  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd finally set out to accomplish what she'd come for. "Back home, my best friend Melanie and I go riding almost every weekend at Doc Largent's stables," she went on. "Will you let me ride Ebony sometime soon?"

"Maybe tomorrow.  If you can find a minute or two to spring free, just check with me or one of the stable boys first."

"I will."

"Let's tell this critter good-night and split." Michael's voice was laced with impatience.

"What's the big hurry?"  She met his gaze and chuckled.

"I...I just thought you might be hungry.  There's a deli not far up the street that makes a mean grilled pastrami sandwich."  He shrugged.  "Besides, as far as I know, you haven't had anything to eat since this afternoon back at the airport."

"Thanks, but I'm still too keyed up to eat any more.  I should really turn in."  She gave Ebony one final pat, avoiding Michael's gaze. Though a late snack with Michael was more than tempting, she knew she mustn't.  Already these few short hours with him had stirred too many confusing emotions within her.

Michael reached out and cupped her chin with his hand, gently prodding her to look at him.  "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"All right, then.  I'll walk you to Estelle's trailer, but I doubt if she'll be there for another hour or so.  She usually goes to my folks' motor home to have a bite to eat. Most likely Mom will save something for me, too."  He chuckled.  "She always thinks if I'm left to my own culinary devices, I'll waste away."

The air was heavy with the scent of sawdust and animals, mingled with mesquite wafting from someone's small propane barbecue alongside one of the trailers.

As they started out, his arm brushed her shoulder. Though the contact was fleeting, she was acutely conscious of his nearness.  A shudder rippled through her.

"Chilly?"

"Yes...no."  She felt like a silly school girl, unable to know her own mind.  Though the earlier rain squalls had been warm and humid, now the air was much too balmy to explain her physical response.  How could she admit to Michael, much less to herself, that his magnetic presence was hopelessly unraveling her?

But in the wake of that awareness her memory instantly sharpened.  The groupies.  That showgirl.  How could she ever compete--even if she did desire a relationship with Michael?  No, they might as well have come from two distinct planets on the opposite sides of the galaxy. She was definitely an outsider to Michael's tightly knit world.  She would remain that way no matter how long she stayed.  And even if she let down her guard and allowed him to capture her in his spell, how long could it last?  Would he soon move on to someone more enticing?  Just as Charles had?

"Michael?"

"Hmm?"

She hesitated before going on.  "Who was that show girl you were talking to tonight?"

"Her name's Rita and she's new here.  She used to be an aerialist with another circus.  I hear she was pretty good. Claudette wanted me to do Rita a favor today--give her a lift--but, I managed to get out of it.  I went to the airport to meet you instead."  He edged away slightly, letting his arm drop to his side.

 Lisa pushed back the fleeting thought that Michael's purpose in meeting her might've been simply to avoid giving in to his twin sister. "I bet that ticked off Claudette," she said.

 "She'll get over it," he answered, his expression unreadable.  "Besides, there was no reason why Claudette couldn't have played chauffeur to Rita.  Rita's great- aunt Mildred--or whoever she wanted to see--apparently lives on some dude ranch near the north end of the county."  They side-stepped a wardrobe trunk someone had left near the door of a fifth wheeler.

"The way I see it," Michael continued in an offhand manner, "Rita is fun to joke around with it, but that's about it.  If Claudette wants to buddy up with Rita, then fine.  She doesn't need to involve me too."

Lisa shot him a questioning glance.  Wasn't Michael aware of his charismatic appeal?  Even something innocent like joking around might give Rita reason to believe she stood a chance with him.

"So are you trying to say Claudette's playing Cupid?" Lisa asked.  "Your sister wants to bring you and Rita together?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"It all goes back to her fear of me leaving--just like we talked about earlier.  Claudette figures if I end up marrying another flyer, then I'll stay with the troupe forever."

"And what do you think?"  She stopped walking and swung around to look at him.

"I'm going to stay, no matter what," he ground out. "I've tried it on the outside.  I'm back where I belong."

"Of course.  Your performance tonight made that more than obvious."

Michael’s message had come through loud and clear.  He could never make a life for himself anywhere other than the circus.

As they started walking again, a picture of Rita returned to her mind.  "Any special reason why Rita decided to join Jessell and Stern?" she asked.

He chuckled.  "So what's with this Rita bit?  You certainly seem more than mildly interested."

"Just curious, that's all," she replied with a shrug, though she could feel her face growing warm with embarrassment.  They passed two keepers carrying buckets of water.

"Rita's troupe broke up so she decided to move on. According to Claudette, when Rita came to Jessell and Stern, she said she needed a change and wanted to work as a showgirl instead.  I guess my sister's made an extra effort to welcome her."

"How accommodating," Lisa said in a low voice.  Actually, it was difficult to understand how Claudette could make anyone feel welcomed.  But maybe she wasn't being fair. Maybe she'd judged Claudette too hastily.

"What was that?"

She flushed again.  "Nothing.  I...I didn't mean that the way it probably sounded.  I guess I'm more tired than I realized."

"Which means I'm doing the right thing by making sure you turn in now."  He grinned again.  "Not that I particularly want to, mind you."

She peered down the row of RVs.  They'd almost come to the end.  "Where are you staying?" she asked.

"Three doors down."  He nodded to a small eighties-vintage trailer.  His pick-up was parked close by.  "It might not be the Taj Mahal, but it gets me by."

"And Claudette?  Where's her place?"

"We passed it already.  Back this side of the costume trailer."

Outside Estelle's RV, Michael dug into his hip pocket and pulled out a key.  "Here.  Take this.  It's a spare and Estelle said for you to hold onto it."  He pressed the key into her palm, prolonging the contact.

"Thanks, Michael."

"Uh...a couple of more things.  Estelle also said to tell you the bottom bunk is yours.  And don't mind her little poodle.  His name's Rags.  Used to be one of Mom's show poodles, but Estelle's let him get soft.  Anyway, he might just decide to give you an overly enthusiastic welcome.  He tends to get a little carried away at times."

"Thanks again.  I'll like that."  She locked her gaze with his.  "Sleep well, Michael."

"You too."  He gave no indication of leaving, but rather leaned closer and settled his hand on the back of her neck. A suggestive smile hovered on the corners of his mouth.  His lips were only a fraction away.

"Lisa?"

"Yes?"

"It's kind of weird, isn't it?  I mean...I never expected to see you again.  When I met you last year, I figured you were just another townie who wandered through."

"Well, I guess I was then.  But I'm not anymore.  I'm here to stay."

A shadow of doubt passed over his face.  "Just hang in there, okay?  Things are gonna be different here.  I guarantee it."

"I realize that, Michael."  She offered him a hesitant smile.  "Truth is, I never expected to sign on with Jessell and Stern either. Serendipity, I guess.  You're right.  Life can be kind of weird sometimes."

"Uh-huh."  Weird and scary, he thought.  His stomach knotted.  He felt as if some bozo had just kicked him in the gut.  Hold on, Figaro. Get a hold of yourself... Yet being close to Lisa, touching her like this...

His voice was ragged as he dropped his hand.  "See ya...see you around."  He hesitated, then reached for her hand and gently pressed her knuckles against his lips. "You'd better get inside.  Now."

"I will."

He turned on his heel and without a backwards glance strode quickly away.

She couldn't go in.  She had to keep watching him. Slowly, gradually his retreating figure faded into the night. Michael, come back! she yearned to call to him.

No! her better judgment ruled.  You don't fit in.  You could never be his.  And even if you could, he'd only end up hurting you.  Let him be.

What was the matter with her? she wondered miserably as she turned the key in the lock.  Why had she allowed her heart to take this crazy roller-coaster ride?  And now, foolish woman that she was, she wanted him more than ever...

Link to Amazon purchase site: 

http://www.amazon.com/Sandcastles-of-Love-ebook/dp/B004X6Z9RQ

Author’s website:  www.sydellvoeller.com