Today is April 6th, 2018. Sunday would’ve marked my mother’s 63rd birthday. The 23rd will mark the one year date of her passing. Needless to say, April is a tough month.
Add to it the fact that my spine decided now was as good a time as any to have a permanent flare and I’m feeling pretty low. But I knew that I would be, and I planned ahead. Last September, when I was making my schedule for April, I planned one release, Courting in Custer. I knew I’d have the Timeless Love collection as well and that would keep me busy. But, perhaps not busy enough.
God knew I would need more. He knew that one wouldn’t be enough to keep me busy, to keep me from sitting at my desk thinking of what “could’ve been”, “if only”. In December, my Cutter’s Creek group decided to box up all of our books. I got April. Get your copy HERE. Temporarily just $.99.
Then, a book that I’d been farming to agents and editors just came to the end of it’s road. So many professionals love the story, but there is just no room in traditional publishing right now for another pioneer/western author. At least, not one with a backlist as extensive as mine. So. That makes three.
Timeless Love features my novella, Teach Me To Love
You can find out more or order your copy from AMAZON
or Books2Read can take you to your preferred retailer.
I’ll have more on that third book next week. In the meantime, here’s a little tease for An Imperfect Promise:
A door behind him swung open, then closed with a soft click.
“Might I help you find something?” asked a soft voice from behind him.
He jumped at the intrusion and the woman’s proximity, slamming his head on the open cabinet door. He flung it closed, swallowing the harsh words that came too easy these days. Who in blazes could that be? White stars danced in front of his face, obscuring his vision. The brighter they flared, the more his head screamed at him.
He blinked the bright flashes and moisture from his eyes to reveal a young woman. Her hair was either the brightest red he’d ever seen, or the glow around her meant she was an angel. She stood maybe five foot, short for a full-grown woman. He felt as cumbersome as a giant next to her. She paused by the door, a small basket clutched close. Now that the stars were clearing, he could make out her pleasant smile and pale-green eyes framed by a mass of curly red hair, smothered by a great yellow bonnet he’d mistaken for a halo. He wanted to smile back, if only the pain in his head would let him.
The subtle tightening in his chest brought back thoughts of Margot, the woman he’d left back in Kansas, with dark hair and blue eyes. Remembering her would get him nowhere but angry, and he turned from the girl, scrubbing a hand across his face to erase both images. No sense living in the past. A man wasn’t a measure of what he carried with him, but he’d learned from it.
“I don’t think that’ll help.” She stepped farther into the room and he glanced at her as a smile flickered across her face. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. Too gentle. He pulled away. He wasn’t there for kindness. He was there to work, and to forget.
“Would you like a cool rag? I could get one for you. You might get a bump on your head.” Her voice was soft and coaxing, like she was speaking to a wary child, not a grown man.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and used the motion to wipe the water collecting there. “I can get a rag all on my own.” His tone was more abrupt than he’d meant, and when she stepped back from him with hurt in her eyes, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Who are you, and what’cha doing in my kitchen?” He pressed his palm to his forehead against the pain, praying the little angel would get what she needed and move on. If she asked where Martha was, he’d be in an awkward place, since she hadn’t shown herself yet.
Her smile faltered. “Your kitchen? Oh, you must be Martha’s brother. I didn’t realize you’d arrived. She’s been waiting for you for so long. I’m Gini. Martha lets me trade eggs for milk.” She set the basket on the counter and held out her hand to him.
He stared at her for a minute while he found his voice. The girl certainly wasn’t afraid to face a stranger. He reached for her hand, small inside his own. He’d never thought of himself as peculiarly large, but she made him feel so. Her hand was soft, though calloused with work, and she took it back as quickly as she’d offered it. A nervous smile bloomed and fell from her face.
“John. I’m John. Do you need me to get the milk for you?” He should just slug himself. Could he sound any more daft?
Was he imagining that slight smile or just seeing what he wanted to?