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Sunday, May 30, 2010

Memorial Day

We know Memorial Day as a day off work, a time to grill our favorite foods, get together with the family, or maybe even take a vacation, but that isn’t the way the way things were in the beginning. Memorial Day, which was previously called Decoration Day, began as a way to honor those who died in the defense of their country during the Civil War.

Many different places take credit for establishing Memorial Day, but I think maybe I’ll give credit to Southern ladies who were decorating the graves of loved ones before the Civil War even ended. In 1867 a hymn titled Kneel Where Our Loves Are Sleeping by Nella L. Sweet carried the dedication “to The Ladies of the South who are Decorating the Graves of the Confederate Dead.” (Source: Duke University’s Historic American Sheet Music, 1850-1920.)

Probably a great many cities had their version of Decoration Day, and over time there were so many that the movement culminated in 1868 when General John Logan officially proclaimed Memorial Day as a time of reconciliation, a time of coming together to honor those who gave their all. Johnson was the commander of the Grand Army of the Republic In his General Order Number 11 he ordered that flowers be placed on the graves of the Union and confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery.

New York was the first state to recognize the holiday, and by 1890 it was recognized by all the Northern States. The South didn’t come on board until after World War I when the holiday changed from honoring just those who died in the Civil War to honoring those who died fighting in any war.
Since 1971 Memorial Day is celebrated in every state on the last Monday in May.

If you have a deceased veteran in your life, why not take a moment to place a flag or a flower on his or her grave. It was thanks to their sacrifice and the sacrifice of others like them that we enjoy the freedoms and personal liberties denied to many in the world.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Thursday Thirteen

Have you ever heard of Thursday Thirteen? It's a neat idea. You pick a topic and then tell thirteen things about it. I thought I'd give this a try for awhile and see if I like it. I'll continue to do regular posts as well, probably on Sunday.

So what's my first topic? Thirteen of my favorite things. I liked doing this one, and I found that I have more than thirteen favorite things. Here goes. In no particular order, my thirteen favorite things are:

1.birdsong at dawn
5.Banner Elk, NC
6.the sound of rain on the roof at night
7.the scent of newly mown grass
8.daisies husband's car as he turns into our driveway after a long day at work
10.the Twilight Series
12.flying over Los Angeles at night
13.nice department stores

What about you? What are your favorite things? Leave a comment for me, and next Thursday one of the commenters will win an electronic copy of Grandfather's Legacy.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Welcome to Jean Hart Stewart's Blog Tour

Readers, please join me in welcoming Jean Hart Stewart, author of The Third Rose. I hope everyone is following Jean's blog tour. If not, you can find the schedule at Jean's offering a nice contest too. She's giving away a The Third Rose T-shirt to one randomly drawn commenter from the blog stops on her tour. To enter, leave a comment on her blog stops. Enter at every stop each day to earn more entries! The Third Rose is now available at Red Rose Publishing.

Jean, welcome to the blog. Can you tell us how you became a writer?

How I became a writer? I think I’ve always been one. In one of my bios I mentioned I wrote my first story when I was twelve. I thought it was wonderful at the time, but then that’s an author for you. Love most everything they write. Wish I still had it so I could laugh at it now. My father was a writer, I majored in journalism at OSU, have always dabbled in it. Even as a real estate broker I published a newsletter. I finally reached the point I simply had to devote more time to it, so gave up a good job and concentrated on writing. Kids were educated so I could do so. Fortunately I have an understanding husband who’s my biggest fan.

Tell us about Jean the person, not Jean the author, if indeed you can separate them.

Hard to separate the real me from the writing me. I’m
generally in both places at once. Always laying up ideas, character tidbits, etc. I know I’m basically shy and my heroines are usually defiant and independent. I try to emulate them more as I grow more confident. Takes a lot to make the real me mad, and I’ll forgive any supposed sin against me. But not my husband or children. Step carefully there!

Has being an author made you feel any different about yourself? If so, how?

Definitely being an acknowledged author makes me feel more at ease. And awfully, awfully good! Also it’s helped me stand up for myself a little more.

Since you are a historical writer, if you could visit one past era which one would it be?

What past era would I like to visit? Wow! Almost all of them, but since my two newest books are in the 1815 period I’m currently fascinated with the Regency years. Although my books are definitely not regencies, I just draw on the history of the period. My stuff is way too sexy to call them regencies.

What makes a book a page turner?

What makes a page turner? Excellent writing above all. Readers will forgive a lot if it’s well-written. Dilemmas that appear to be impossible to solve always help. Writer Mary Balogh once said that if you’re stuck on a scene, just make the situation worse. As of course, sex and more sex.

What's your favorite scene from The Third Rose?

My favorite scene from The Third Rose? You ask the tough questions, don’t you? That’s like picking your favorite child. Impossible. However I love the opening chapter when Sara hides in Wolf’s bedroom with a gun. She intends to shoot him in the groin so he can never rape another female. How’s that for a grabber?

Well, it grabbed me. Everybody will want to know how that turns out. What do you want people to be saying about your work fifty years from now?

Fifty years from now I hope they say my writing is fascinating and well-researched. In fact I hope they say that now.

Where can we find more information about you and your work? Please share your links with us.

You can reach me at I also have two e-mails, and I have excerpts and reviews of all my books, plus a little biographical data on my website. I’m also on Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace and would love to be friends on any (or all) of these.

would you give us a blurb and excerpt from The Third Rose?

Share an excerpt… Of course, love to.

When Sara Coverly hides in Lord Wolverton’s bedroom to avenge him for the rape of her friend, she is determined to shoot him so he can never ruin another female. Instead she finds herself wondering if she’s picked the wrong man! Wolf decides he needs a token fiancĂ©e to cover his tracks as he searches for a spy, and soon Sara finds herself helping him. And falling deeply in love.

Wolf’s espionage duties bring danger to them both. When he
decodes a message threatening the assassination of Wellington at Waterloo, they both set out for Brussels to catch the villain.

Can their growing love endure through war, a desperate villain who is out to stop them, and Wolf’s determination to save Wellington at any cost?

This is from halfway through the book when Sara and Wolf marry for security reasons, on the understanding the marriage be platonic. Of course we all know that won’t last long but Sara holds out for quite a while. She calls him Josh, incidentally. Doesn’t want to think of him as a wolf.

“I love the room, Josh. I can see why your mother loved it, also. It’s truly charming.”

“As are you, my new wife. I’ve promised not to force you, but that does not include never kissing you. Come to me, Sara.”

Wolf took her and turned her into his arms, lowering his head to hers. Her lips were soft, incredibly soft, and warm as honey standing in the sun. He’d meant to only give her a taste of the joys of loving, but he found he could not possibly stop at just one kiss. He gathered her closer, pressing his body against her, wondering if she noticed the arousal she so quickly caused.

She gave a little gasp, and leaned into him, returning the kiss in an untutored but most pleasing manner. The lady had definite possibilities as a seductress! He sucked at her lower lip until she slightly opened to him, and then he plunged his tongue in, fully tasting her sweetness. Her flavor was indescribably satisfying as he kept exploring her mouth. When he found himself looking at the bed, and judging how many steps he’d need to reach it, he woke to the fact that he was about to break his word and carry her to it.

He set her from him, reluctantly, but with a smile at the shadow of regret in her eyes.

“I am not given to ravishment, my dear, as I once told you, or I would carry you over to the bed and have my wicked way with you.”

When she still looked bewildered, he gave a little laugh. “I’ve told you, I’ll not take you until you are fully ready. You are closer than you think, you know. Come to me soon, Sara.”

He gave her one last soft, lingering kiss, making her cling to him and bury her face in his chest. Well pleased with her reaction, he turned abruptly and strode to the door.

She might not yet know it, but she’d soon be truly his. It would put a strain on the lustful side of his regrettable nature to wait, but wait he would.

“Till tomorrow, wife,” he said huskily, and left her standing in the middle of the room, her lips slightly parted.

Jean, good luck with The Third Rose. It sounds delicious.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Elaine Cantrell and Grandfather's Legacy

I'd like to thank the fine authors who've shared excerpts with us these past few weeks. All of your books sound wonderful, and I promise I'll be reading some of them over the summer. I thought I'd finish the excerpt series with an excerpt from my own Grandfather's Legacy. If you'd like to get a copy of Grandfather's Legacy email me at


Aleisha Kincaid has a terrible choice to make. Thanks to her miserable, controlling grandfather she must marry by Christmas Eve or lose the entire legacy which he bequeathed to her, and the legacy isn't a small one. She needs the money too. Without substantial capital her new business venture is doomed.

That's where Bart Ridgeway comes in. Bart agrees to marry her for a share of the money, but the money isn't his real motivation. he's been in love with Aleisha for years, and he won't miss this chance to make her fall in love with him.

Together they find happiness, but a terrible secret from Bart's past emerges to threaten the life they've made together. Can any marriage survive such a shocking blow?


Bart got up and reached around Aleisha to open the cabinet for her, but she never got that
glass. His eyes found and locked with hers, and one hand came to rest gently on her shoulder.

Aleisha gasped, but Bart soothed and gentled her much as he would a frightened child.
“Shhh, it’s okay. Everything’s okay, baby. Be still. I won’t hurt you.”

Aleisha started to tremble. She took one step backward and pressed against the cabinet
with no place to go. “Aleisha, it’s okay,” Bart soothed. “Shhh, be still, it’s okay.”

Gently, he pulled her against him. “Honey, put your arms around me and hold me,” he
quietly urged.

Aleisha started to speak, but Bart cut her off. “Be quiet, sweetheart. It’s okay. Don’t
worry. Nothing’s going to happen to you. Hold me, Aleisha. I’ll feel good in your arms. Hold me. Shhh. It’s okay. Hold me.”

Aleisha’s arms crept around his waist, and Bart had to remind himself to breathe as her
hands stroked his back. He allowed her to touch him for a minute before his mouth sought and found hers. Bart’s heart pounded, and the blood roared in his ears as Aleisha responded to his warm, gentle kiss.

By the time he raised his mouth from hers Aleisha trembled so violently that Bart snuggled
her even tighter against him and settled her head on his shoulder. He ran his hand through her hair and whispered, “Your hair feels like silk on my arm.”

Aleisha raised her head from his shoulder, and Bart kissed her again, a deep, intense kiss
that left her clinging to him much as a drowning man would cling to a rope.

“Honey, let’s go to bed,” Bart urged. “We both want each other, and we’re getting married
in just a few days.”

If he had thrown cold water over Aleisha her reaction wouldn’t have been any greater.
With a sob she shoved against Bart’s chest with all her strength. “Get away from me,” she cried. “Don’t you dare touch me again!”

“What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“I’m not sleeping with you, Bart. I made that mistake once before, and I’m not a fool. I’ll never put myself in that position again.”

“You want me, Aleisha.”

“So what?” inquired Aleisha cuttingly. “I’m not going to do anything about it. Not
tonight, and not ever. Just leave me alone.”

Bart took a step toward her, and Aleisha held up her hand to ward him off. “Don’t come
one step closer to me, Bart. I mean it.”


Aleisha had heard enough. History was repeating itself tonight. The only difference was
that she had a longer walk home this time.

She ran from the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door behind her. Feverishly, she
jerked on her clothes. She hated to ruin her high heels, but she absolutely would not stay in this house with Bart Ridgeway. The man had the morals of an unprincipled savage!
Bart was still in the kitchen when Aleisha tore by and grabbed her coat from the chair in
the living room. “Where do you think you’re going?” he sharply demanded.

Aleisha didn’t bother answering. He didn’t deserve an answer, not after what he’d tried to
do. She thrust her arms into her coat and gingerly made her way onto the porch which wore a solid coat of ice. Actually, it was sleeting right now. The little pellets of ice stung her cheeks and froze her toes.

She finally made it down the steps and started the long walk home. Surely she could walk
ten miles or so, and she should be home by morning. She made it to the edge of Bart’s yard before she fell down. The bruising, heavy fall rattled her teeth and made her see stars. Never mind. She preferred falling down to spending the night with Bart.

This time she reached the highway before she fell down. Resolutely she picked herself up
and continued. It was so cold! Her wet pants legs clung to her like a sheet of ice, and her feet had gone so numb she couldn’t even feel her toes.

She fell down again when Bart unexpectedly grabbed her from behind. “Let go of me,”
Aleisha shouted. “I’m going home.”

Bart gave her arm a little shake. “No, you are not,” he coldly informed her. “Stop acting
like a child and come back to the house before you get frostbite. Don’t you know that you could lose some fingers and toes tonight? You could even freeze to death if you fell down and hurt yourself too bad to go on.”

“Shut up,” Aleisha screamed. “I hate you, Bart! Now let go of me.”

“Stop screaming,” Bart quietly retorted. “I don’t want the neighbors to be bothered.”
Aleisha jerked her arm, but Bart had a tight grip on her, and he refused to let go. “I told you to come back to the house. If you won’t do it willingly I’ll make you. You decide.”

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Loreen Augeri and Tormented Hearts

You'll want to put May 28 on your calendar, folks. That's the day Loreen Augeri's Tormented Hearts will be released, and I don't think you'll want to miss it. Here's her excerpt.

As she stalked past him, his fingers grazed her shoulder to halt her. A sizzling warmth pierced her skin and swirled throughout her body. Catherine restrained the gasp that fought to break from her lips. She’d prayed the sensations she experienced last night resulted from the lingering effects of the dream and lack of sleep, but they seared her again.

Brett jerked his hand back as if she scalded him, and it hovered in the air above her shoulder. Unsure, she turned to him. The pulse in his temple beat at a frantic rate, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. It affected him, too. She delved deep into his eyes, and the turmoil that appeared to tear him in different directions caught and captured her.

She yearned for the heat of his fingers to engulf her again, to feel his body pressed against hers like last night, the whisper of his breath on her cheek, the exquisite thrill of not being alone. Her gaze fell to his appealing, moist lips. Not thin and dry like Lord Wallingford’s.

Brett leaned toward her and then withdrew. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed before he cleared his throat. “You can stay here with him.”

She blinked as the strange immediacy to be embraced faded away. What had she been thinking? She never wanted another man to touch her. Ever. Especially not one of his station.

Buy links:


Loreen's website:


Monday, May 10, 2010

Tori Richards and The Cowboy Way

For those of you who like a little sizzle in your reading, you'll like this author. Here's Tori Richards excerpt from The Cowboy Way.

Lacey was humming softly to herself when she bounced down the stairs the next morning, anxious to get in an early-morning ride. She just might ride out to the old Cooper ranch and see what was going on. It had been abandoned for years.She rounded a corner and was forced to come to an abrupt halt when she almost collided with a horse and the cowboy working over its bent leg. “Oops! Excuse me.”

The cowboy straightened slowly and Lacey’s stomach did a somersault. It was Chase.They faced each other silently for a moment before his eyes dropped to her breasts. Lacey knew she must look like a twelve year-old. After her shower that morning she’d thrown on the same jeans and boots from the day before. Yesterday’s T-shirt was replaced with old denim that was missing some buttons, so she’d tied the loose ends beneath her breasts. She resisted the urge to reach up and pull the material together where it gaped.

“You’re going riding like that?” His hawklike eyes traveled over her, stripping the clothes from her in much the same way he had the evening before.

Lacey’s fingers curled, her nails cutting into her palms as she struggled to hold on to her temper. “I dress to suit myself and no one else, Mr. Saunders.” She held her ground when he straightened to his full height. He thought to intimidate her? “I earned that right when I became an adult. And I’d say by the way you’re looking at me that you like how I look.”

“I like what you’re wearing all right, ma’am.” His arrogant gaze moved over her once again. His mouth twisted. “And so will my men.”

They were so close Lacey could feel the heat from his body.Smell the familiar scents that branded him a cowboy, and unfortunately made him appealing. “So?” She slapped her hands on her hips. “Do your men have such questionable reputations that a woman needs to fear for her safety? I met one of them yesterday and he was a perfect gentleman.”

“I have at least thirty hands scattered all over this ranch. You’re bound to meet up with one or two of them.” His jaw was set in a hard, unyielding line. “I’m not worried about the men who have been here for a while, but we have a few new boys who might not care that you’re the boss’ daughter.” His expression took on an even harder quality, his eyes crystallizing. “And that reminds me, stay away from my brother. He’s married.”

“I know Brian’s married—”

“Is that what turns you on?”

Lacey’s jaw dropped. “You have a colossal nerve, Mr. Saunders.” She was mad enough to spit, or slap his face. Only she didn’t give in to the urge because she wasn’t sure how a man like him would retaliate. “Brian and I are both adults, or hadn’t you noticed?” Lacey could tell by the way his eyes went over her, darkening, that he noticed all too much. “I suggest you remember that you work for my father and keep your opinions to yourself.”

Lacey intended to stomp past Chase, but his large hand shot out and caught her around the upper arm. She was jerked back in place, and a shocked gasp escaped her parted lips. Her eyes grew round and shot up, seeking his.

“Take your—”

“If all you’re looking for is a little action while you’re home, I’ll be glad to show you the cowboy way. If you go around here asking for trouble, you’ll get it. You’ve been warned.”

For more info on Tory and her books visit her website at:

Debbie Wallace AKA Tory Richards

Author of sizzling romances!

Friday, May 7, 2010

Donna Parker and The Cameron Connection

Welcome, Donna. Thanks for sharing with us.

An average, everyday kid in the Missouri Ozarks develops a new respect for family connections when Scottish history and myth meet and clash with his real world.

"...the Clan Cameron Association of North American heartily endorses The Cameron Connection." --Thomas A. Cameron, Commissioner

D. H. Parker

Fifteen-year-old Robert Bruce Cameron's summer "vacation" isn't. His Scots-born history teacher, a.k.a. his dad's best friend, Macrath, is working him to death getting ready for the town's first "Scottish Gathering and Highland Games". Robert B. is sick of it and sick of his family's obsession with its ancient Scottish roots. To top it off, he's worried about his sister, who has taken up with creepy Val Sheridan and gets more depressed and distant every day. Then a fierce, kilt-clad stranger materializes in the Cameron kitchen wall. Ghost? Time traveler? Or worse?

The guy in the wall, the invisible girl, the Stone of Choosing.... Something weird and dangerous is going on in Sheehan, Missouri. Robert B. and his best friend, Clem (short for Clementina), must help stop it before the whole Cameron Clan is zapped out of existence.

Andrew’s eyes sparked fire and he gave Karl a glancing look. “Ah,” he said, “but then I am not without a few tricks of my own. Well, they are Oran’s tricks, but he has given me the use of them.”

He pulled from under the neck of his t-shirt a thin leather-like thong. At the end of it hung a small cloth pouch. Andrew opened it and dumped onto his palm a rough, gray stone, unshaped, unpolished.

It lay flat in his hand looking dead and uninteresting. Always eager to discover something even remotely edible, Dougal opened his eyes and moved his nose toward the stone.
And suddenly he was on his feet, stiff and silent and all the hair along the ridge of his back standing straight up. He did something then that I’ve never seen him do before or since. He laid back his ears, stretched his muzzle skyward and let out a blood-congealing, bone-dissolving wolf howl.

Nobody moved.

Dougal, who had caused the wiggly gelatin feeling in my knees with that unearthly howl of his, recovered first. He shook himself, turned around three times, lay down with his nose on his paw and closed his eyes. Like nothing at all had happened.

I looked around at the others. Andrew, a gentle smile on his mouth, was watching Dougal. Rose had a hand over her mouth as if to keep herself from howling. Clem’s face was white, but she didn’t look scared, just startled.

Only Karl was not watching the dog. His eyes were on that gray sliver of rock that Andrew was holding. What was he seeing in it? His face registered fear and anticipation, and it scared me silly.

What did we know about Karl, anyway? Clem had never seen him before her family had gone to fetch him. Maybe he wasn’t really her cousin at all. Maybe he was one of the shape-changers.
His gaze moved up from the rock to Andrew’s face and Andrew looked back at him, still smiling that gentle, sweet smile. Slowly Andrew extended the stone toward Karl. “It is the Stone of Choosing,” he said softly. “Do you know it, young Charlie?”

Karl stood slowly and backed away one step. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, his own hand reached out toward the stone. He began to move forward.

That piece of gray, dead rock in Andrew’s hand started to change. I thought it was a trick of the light, at first. But the movement wasn’t a light trick. It was in the stone itself. Solid as a rock. I’d heard that all my life. Well, this one wasn’t solid.

As Karl approached it, it began to blur. With each unwilling step closer he came, the rock changed more. It began to glow, first a delicate shade of lavender, then a colder and colder blue.

Karl’s hand was within six inches of the rock when it happened. Like a high-powered laser beam, the blue glow focused on his hand, changed to brilliant green and discharged. For half a second, Karl himself glowed blue-green. Then it stopped. Karl’s arm dropped limply to his side.

He looked totally unhurt, only slightly dazed. Slowly Andrew replaced the stone in its pouch and hung it once more around his neck. My heart rate began to slow down a little.
Rose glared at Andrew. “What did you do to him?”

“It was not of my doing at all. It was himself who drew the power, as I suspected he would.” Andrew sounded almost as shaky as Karl looked.

“I’m not hurt, Rose,” Karl said. “I’m not hurt at all.”

Clem glanced at me and licked her lips. “What happened?”

I shrugged. If Karl or Andrew couldn’t explain, we would all be in the dark.

Karl made an attempt. “It was as if... as if I were being tested,” he told us. “And then it recognized me, almost as if it were a living thing. I don’t understand it at all. I felt as if I’d been given a welcome, as if I had come home. The light was not harming me. The light was... registering me, accepting me, drawing me in. I felt as if I became part of it for a moment, and that in some way, I am still a part of it and it of me. Yet, if I had not been who I am, if I had been the evil instead of the good, or if I had been threatening Andrew--”

“You saw that as well?”

Karl nodded. “It is an awesome thing you hold, Andrew Cameron.”

“It is that. A Stone of Choosing from the Heart of Power at Callanish, Oran was calling it.”
“Will it destroy? Can it truly kill as I saw?”

“It would depend on the strength that met it. In danger, it will counter strength with strength so that the holder will not be harmed. If necessary, it will kill. That is what Oran was telling me.”

available in e-book formats (including Kindle-compatible Mobipocket) and trade paperback from the publisher:

Donna's website:

Monday, May 3, 2010

Linda Banche and Lady Of The Stars

It's a rainy Monday morning in SC, but maybe this nice excerpt from Linda Banche will brighten up your day. Enjoy.

Web Site:

Buy Link:


A legend spanning time and the man and woman caught in it.
Caroline knows something is wrong the instant she steps from her holiday cottage into that unusual gazebo with two doors. But when a man she knows she will never see again appears outside the gazebo, she flings caution aside and plunges through the back door, crashing into the man--and 1817.
A voyage through time? Impossible. Richard refuses to believe the strange woman's outlandish tale. Still, the lady is lost and alone, and he helps the stranded wayfarer.
But as attraction flares between these two lonely people, Richard's family legend grinds to its ultimate fulfillment--will it bring them together, or tear them apart forever?

Caroline followed him into the room she knew was the kitchen and he stepped up to the banked fire.

Fire? Where were the stove and refrigerator? And all the chrome and stainless steel of the ultramodern kitchen she had seen only this morning? This kitchen contained a scarred wood trestle table with several chairs pushed under it. Pots and pans hung on wall racks and reflected the dim firelight. A cupboard stood against the far wall, next to a sink with a pump. A pump?

With shaking hands, she set the lantern on the table and pulled out one of the chairs. She was in trouble, very deep trouble.

As she sank into the chair, she turned her stunned attention to her host.

Unaware of her gaze, he busied himself at the fireplace. His back to her, he placed the candelabrum on the mantle above the hearth, then drew the fire screen to the side of the grate. Dropping onto his haunches, he pulled several logs from the nearby basket, then arranged the wood in a neat pile on the smoldering embers. Almost at once, the flames blazed to full roaring life.

Silhouetted against the light, he straightened, replaced the screen, then removed his hat and tossed it on the table.

Her jaw dropped. Good heavens, the aggravating man was gorgeous. Tall and slim, his broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips and long legs. But where had he found that outlandish outfit? He wore a top hat, out here in the middle of nowhere. His shirt collar was turned up and he wore a huge white tie. And his waist-length, double-breasted jacket had tails, like the one an orchestra conductor wore. Muddy black boots with the tops turned down came up to his knees. Skintight trousers, or were those breeches--of all things?--emphasized every well-formed muscle.

Now if his face matched his form . . .

What was she thinking? She hadn't felt anything for any man in a long time. Not since . . .

He turned, and for the first time that night she fully took in his face. She gasped. Had she seen a ghost through the gazebo's back door? "Richard?"

Puzzlement spread over those chiseled features she now saw only in her memories. "How do you know my name?"

Saturday, May 1, 2010

We've Got Our Blogmania Winners

First of all, I’d like to thank everyone who stopped by the blog during Blogmania. I hope you’ll all visit again to check me out. Several of you left your blog addresses, and I’ll be visiting you also. I wish all of you could have won, but unfortunately, only four could. My grandson printed all of your names and put them in a hat. Then, he drew the winners. Here they are.

Winner of the jewelry: Susan at

Winner of an electronic copy of Purple heart: lovelyritaann at sbcglobal dot net

Winner of an electronic copy of The Welcome Inn:

Winner of an electronic copy of The Best Selling Toy Of The Season: Colleen Turner at

The prizes will be in the mail or sent via download by Monday. Again, thanks everyone for stopping by. I appreciate your taking the time to check me out.