Cliffhanger from Everlasting Love

          

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  Cliffhanger from Everlasting Love by Rosemary Indra.

            In a small town he had to be cautious. Driving too close to his intended victim would be obvious. He’d lagged back allowing more distance between his car and the one in front of him. When several vehicles exited the highway, he hung back even farther. His prey was no longer insight but he knew the Chevy was still there. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and tried to be patient.

            As the city gave way to the mountainous forest, he saw his opportunity; pressing on the accelerator he started to close the space between them. Now, in this isolated wildness, he needed to move in for the kill.

            No one would find a body or the missing vehicle for some time. This was the perfect setup. No witnesses. No surveillance cameras. For once and all, he could loosen the chain around his neck and live a carefree life again.

            He sped up and still no sign of the other tail lights. The driver must have turned off to another road. He’d passed countless roads since entering the highway. Finding which road the other vehicle used would be impossible.

He wiped his hand across the back of his neck. Pulling over to the side of the road, gravel crunched beneath his tires. He pounded his fist on the steering wheel. He’d quit his search for now. He’d find his victim another time. Then he’d free himself from his burden.

               

Excerpt from Everlasting Love

      

     Everlasting Love is the third in the Forest Ridge Series by Rosemary Indra.

     Miranda Cummings inhaled the fresh fir scent the moment she opened the door of her Chevy Impala—the fragrance of freedom. The cold, crisp air bit at her warm cheeks yet she felt exhilarated. Gravel and slushy snow crunched under her shoes as she hurried around her car. Opening the passenger door, she picked up her overnight bag and her computer bag. Not wanting to make another trip out in the cold, she hooked several grocery bags on each hand. With one swift hip movement, she closed the door.

     Gingerly she walked up the three snow-covered, wooden steps to the deck. Focusing on her weekend of solitude, she quickened her pace to the cabin on her right.

     “Can I help you?” a deep baritone voice startled Miranda, causing her to fling her arms out and drop one of her grocery bags.

     Intent on carrying her belongings into the cabin she hadn’t seen or heard the man behind her. Turning around, she froze. Reclined in an old-fashioned, white cast iron bathtub with claw feet, the man appeared relaxed, content and not at all perturbed as he bathed on a deck outside.

     Steam rose from his warm water into the cold air. Water dripped from his short brown hair and glistened on his muscular torso. She suppressed the desire to caress the breadth of his wide shoulders. Stubble darkened his face with a day’s growth of beard. His rugged good looks caused her heart to flutter.

     “I must have made a wrong turn…” She couldn’t tear her gaze from his broad chest. As the water droplets traveled down his body, her gaze followed suit. Miranda realized the hunk of a man was not only tranquil but also very naked. His muscular arms, which rested on the edges of the tub, could easily wrap around her. She wanted to feel his strength, his support from those strong arms. “…somewhere,” her voice squeaked.

     He reached down and picked up a can of beer, which sat on the deck. Tipping the can back, he took a swig then set the beer beside the tub. “Where were you going?”

     His pecks rippled when he moved. Look at his face not his chest, Miranda scolded herself. “A friend of mine has a cabin up here.”

     She glanced at the A-frame structure to her right nestled in a grove of fir trees where she’d intended to spend a couple of nights off the beaten path. Flower boxes below the two paned windows held browned plants from winter’s frost. The plumbing’s primitive her friend had said, which would explain a bathtub on the deck. The cabin in front of her fit her friend’s description.

     “Abby Denton, I mean Chambers. Abby Chambers said I could stay at their cabin for a few days.” Confident she’d found the right place, Miranda met his gaze.

     She shifted the packages to her left and pulled a GPS device from her coat pocket. I was a little confused on which road to take at the bottom of the hill.” She couldn’t stop rambling in her attempt to hide her obvious desire for this man.

     Miranda looked toward the front of the cabin again. When she heard water splash, she stole a quick glance in his direction wondering if he’d gotten out of the tub.

     He tilted his beer back for another drink then returned it to the deck. “You found the right place.” His angular features appeared stern and unyielding.

     “Oh good.” Her shoulders lowered, relaxed. “How long until you leave?” Miranda’s gaze held his. She’d planned a quiet weekend which did not include a ruggedly, attractive man. Even with the snow falling around them she felt overly warm and knew the man in front of her caused her flush.

     “Lady, it took me half an hour to fill this tub. If you don’t mind, I’m staying in her till the water’s ice cold.” The man’s rich voice drew her attention to his firm chin and broad, enticing smile which reflected in his eyes. “Then I plan to have a good night’s sleep in there.” His toned arm lifted as he pointed toward the cabin.

     The man’s brows rose suggestively and Miranda wondered if he knew she found him appealing in a primitive, sexual way. He winked. He knew.

Rogues Angels Present: Check In Day

It's Check In Day.

Time to pay the piper! How did you do? How much did you write? Did words explode on your WIP?

This is the Rogue's Angels weekly check-in. Every Thursday we encourage the Angels and visitors to let us know how their writing is going.

How well are you doing?

Had problems this week? That's ok. Just sit down this coming week and write. Whatever you do, don't let difficulties from the week before get in your way this week.

Every word is one word closer to the finished product.

I've had a good week. I finished chapter six of my WIP Storm's Passion and hope to finish chapter seven by the end of the day Friday. My Beta reader has read two chapters and likes it.

How was your week?

The Angels Present * Blue 52 by Elaine Cantrell

Please welcome Elaine Cantrel author of Blue 52.

Elaine will be awarding a free ecopy of Return Engagement to a randomly drawn commenter at every stop and a Grand prize of a $50 gift certificate for Amazon or B&N to one commenter during this tour and the Review Tour. A randomly drawn host will be awarded a copy of both Return Engagement and Blue 52. If the winning host reviewed Blue 52, they'll get a copy of The Enchanted instead.

In order to win you need to use the rafflecopter below and leave a comment.

Blue 52

by Elaine Cantrell

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"First Lady Kills President Lovinggood"

December 29, 2018

Thirty years later Hank Lovinggood embarks on a quest to prove his mother's innocence and punish the killers who took his family from him. Together Hank and lovely physicist Kathryn Sinclair confront an implacable, twisted, merciless enemy who'll do whatever it takes to hide the truth forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elaine Cantrell and Blue 52

1. What or who inspired you to start writing? Oh, I have to give my son credit for that. While he was in school he won a writing competition, and shortly after that he came to me and said that he’d written a book and wanted me to read it. Can you imagine a mother’s pride? I guess I was insufferable. For days I went around telling everyone I met about my talented son, even those who really had no interest in books or writing. I knew he got his talent from me-his father can’t spell cat or tell a story if his life depended on it-so with the encouragement of my friends, I decided to give writing a try myself. 

That first book sat on my computer for ten years before I sent it out into the world to find a home. A New Dream is its title, and I believe I’ve sold more copies of A New Dream than I have any other book. 

I wasn’t idle in that ten year period, though. My second book won the 2003 Timeless Love contest and was published in 2004 by Oak Tree Press. 

My son who really is talented decided not to write after all. He became a musician instead. He and his group are in great demand for dances and festivals.

2. What elements are necessary components for this genre? Blue 52 is a mainstream romance so of course we have a beautiful heroine and a strong, handsome hero. What’s a romance without characters to drool over? In addition, the supporting cast has to be either sympathetic or unlikeable, depending on whether they’re the good guys or the bad guys. I also think that in a mainstream romance, a big external conflict is necessary. In the case of Blue 52, the external conflict comes from an evil man who’s trying to keep his role in the assassination of the president a secret. If my hero and heroine can’t defeat him legally, they’ll have to kill him or he’ll murder them first.

And of course we need some internal conflict, something that will keep the characters apart for a time. Blue 52 is bursting with internal conflict, a lot of which stems from my hero’s insecurity. In fact, that’s one thing I love about the book: Hank’s transformation from a mourning dove to a hawk. 

3. Do you belong to a critique group? If so how does this help or hinder your writing?  I don’t belong to a formal critique group, but I have some readers I use as a sounding board, especially my friend Jennifer who’s an English teacher and a writer. I once belonged to a critique group, but two people could read the same passage, and one would love it and the other would hate it, so I was constantly confused.

4. Do you outline your books or just start writing?  A little bit of both, I guess. I have a general idea of where I want to start and where I want to end up. I also have a vague idea about how I might get from point A to point B, but no I don’t outline.

5. How did you come up with your idea for your novel?  Everyone always asks me this, and sometimes I don’t know; the idea just comes out of nowhere, but this time I do know. Blue 52 is a sequel to Return Engagement which is also published by Whiskey Creek Press.  I loved my characters in Return Engagement so much that I was toying with the idea of a sequel when I read an article about the Enigma code that was used in World War II. I liked the idea of a secret code, and that gave me the idea for a sequel in which a code plays a major role.

6. What expertise did you bring to your writing?  Not one thing except that thanks to my mother I’ve been a reader my entire life. I guess I absorbed some techniques without realizing it. 

7. How do you maintain your creativity?  I still read. I watch TV. I listen when people speak. I’ve found that it isn’t something I can force. If I’m open to new thoughts, ideas, and people, creativity flows more freely.

8. As far as your writing goes, what are your future plans?  I have three revised manuscripts ready to send to my publisher, but so far I haven’t done it. I need to get busy on that. I’ve also started work on Book 3 in my Lovinggood trilogy. Return Engagement is book one. Blue 52 is book two, and the yet unnamed manuscript will be book three.

9. Who is your favorite character in the book. Can you tell us why? My absolute favorite is my hero Hank Lovinggood. I like Hank because even though he’s born into a family that’s as close to royalty as America gets, he’s still vulnerable, kind, and has problems. I like watching him come out of his shell and gain the confidence to do something no one has ever done before, not only do it, but do it well and with style. I like watching his transformation into a man his father would admire. 

10. What would you want your readers to know about you that might not be in your bio?  I’m passionate about animal rights. I’m always shocked and amazed at man’s capacity for cruelty, and I try in whatever small way I can to educate people and to help the animals.

The backhoe roared to life and started to dig. Hank stoically thrust his hands into his pockets and stood ramrod straight. He felt like sitting down and crying, but he’d be damned if he would. Nobody ever told any stories about his father whimpering and crying, and he wouldn’t do it either. His father wouldn’t know one way or the other, but he’d know. If he didn’t behave with decorum and restraint, it would haunt him until the day he died.

It seemed to take forever for the first coffin to see the light of day. Hank watched as cemetery workers placed the coffin on a dolly that carried it to the back of a hearse. He had no doubt in his mind that he had just seen his father’s coffin. For some reason he had thought it would be bronze colored, but it wasn’t. It was gray.

Unconsciously, he had moved a few feet toward the hearse. His stomach quivered when he saw the presidential seal emblazoned across the top of the coffin. It was his father, all right.

It didn’t take as long for his mother’s coffin to be removed. The two coffins looked identical, which surprised him. I thought they would be different.

Seeing this coffin brought goose bumps to Hank’s arms. If the history books had it right, he would soon come face to face with the woman whose vicious act had caused them to be in this awful place on this nice, sunshiny morning.

If she hadn’t murdered his father, they’d be like any other normal family, planning a menu for Thanksgiving, putting up their Christmas tree, and doing their holiday shopping. They might even be happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elaine Cantrell was born and raised in South Carolina where she obtained a master’s degree in personnel services from Clemson University.  She is a member of Alpha Delta Kappa, an international honorary society for women educators, Romance Writers of America, and EPIC authors.  Her first novel, A New Leaf, was the 2003 winner of the Timeless Love Contest.  When she’s not writing or teaching, she enjoys movies, quilting, reading, and collecting vintage Christmas ornaments. 

Find Elaine at the following locations.

http://www.elainecantrell.com

http://www.elainepcantrell.blogspot.com

http://www.facebook.com/elainepcantrell

http://www.twitter.com/elainecantrell

http://www.pinterest.com/elainecantrell

http://www.goodreads.com/elainecantrell

Buy Links:

 http://www.amazon.com/Blue-52-Elaine-Cantrell-ebook/dp/B00H1MHC24/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388763664&sr=8-1&keywords=blue52+by+elaine+Cantrell

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/blue-52-elaine-cantrell/1117552083?ean=2940148981893

http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=1171&zenid=07435ca83ccdf8de84ac176bb0022c8a

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/386031

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"They say it's your birthday....."

 

 

Once upon a time....



 

 

 

 

 

In a land far, far away with a Native American name of Florida, lived a very happy young woman.

 

It is my birthday and as much as I wish I looked like this, I don't anymore. I've moved many miles and gone through lifetimes of experience. I've married and divorced, a couple of times, and have inherited an amazing family of children and grandchildren. I won't divulge my chronological age but leave this tiny hint... my first live concert was Jimi Hendrix.

 

I went through the names and pictures on the Classmates.com site for my high school. Most folks would shrug their shoulders and say -- "So what?" Well, I went to high school in Southern California in a desert town known for its military base. It was surprising the images the names conjured.

 

When I checked with the recent photos some left the difference was amazing. How they had changed in the umpteen thousand years since we graduated. Isn't it wonderful? Some were very successful: one of our classmates went on to play professional football and made quite a name for himself; others went through college and pursued professions in the medical and business fields. Many stayed in our hometown.

 

Would I trade my experience to look like the picture? Tough call. How about you? How have you changed since your High School graduation or college?

 

 

 

 



Leprechauns and four leaf clovers

Okay so it's a leprechaun dragon and the cliffs of Moher in Ireland. They both struck my fancy.

In keeping with the St. Patrick's Day theme, I'm going to post part of my story from the St. Patrick's Day Anthlogy--Meadows of Gold. It's the beginning of the story for the magical inhabitants of the Valley outside Eugene, Oregon.

A gentle breeze sighed, undulating the meadow grass lazily and whispering past the forlorn figure slumped on the tree trunk, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Thomas, a forest leprechaun, released a long melancholy breath between his cracked, dry lips. A single plump tear meandered down his stubbled cheek.

Sunlight sent bright shafts of light through the pine boughs and around the wooden pedestal upon which the morose figure resided. Ignoring the dancing beams, the leprechaun pulled a shuddered breath into his lungs and stared at a spot in front of the stump where a crumpled daisy chain necklace lay withering in the warmth of the afternoon. Another plump tear snaked down his unshaven face.

In the distance, a lone figure scuffed up the lane, which crossed in front of the tree stump. Thomas paid no heed to the approaching form, pulling a thin silver flask from inside his rumpled vest. He blindly opened the lid, placed the opened top to his lips and pulled a deep draught from the container. Refitting the cap to the top, he slipped the silver spirit holder back into his vest. His next shuddered breath was interrupted with a hiccup.

The figure on the road drew closer. Thomas raised his head and squinted his eyes. Was it his love coming back? He hiccupped and straightened up. Maybe she had been teasing him when she ran away and now she realized how much he cared for her. His eyes brightened and a smile began to touch his lips.

The figure came around the bend and toward him. The last he’d seen her, she was wearing a diaphanous, thin dress. Had she changed? The form nearing him was clad in leather breeches, a braided leather tunic, knee-high, soft leather boots, A sword blade strapped to the figure’s back flashed in the sunlight. Was Cary so angry she meant to cut him in little pieces? His heart began to pound in his chest and inside his mouth his tongue stuck to the roof.

The figure stopped two lengths from him and raised a hand to shade its eyes from the brightness of the day.

Thomas realized he was shaking. This was it… his life was over. He hung his head.

“Thomas?”

The voice was familiar but it didn’t sound like Cary. If it wasn’t her…

“Thomas! What are you doing?” Tiamoon, a warrior gnome of the valley clan, stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart, in her full leather armor on the roadway to her home. She’d just reconnoitered the meadow area for evidence of the marauding night elves. The local hill clan had been raiding the gnome settlements and wreaking havoc on the inhabitants. The gnome community was rallying together to protect their families against further damage.

Thomas narrowed his eyes and looked through his veil of tears.

“Oh, Tia (hic) moon, itsch you.”

Tia rolled her eyes heavenward and leaned toward the wobbling leprechaun, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the sour smell of alcohol surrounding the disheveled lump occupying the tree stump.

“Thomas? How long have you been sitting here?”

“Dunno. What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Really?” Thomas lifted rheumy eyes to meet Tiamoon’s clear blue ones.

“Yes, really. So how long have you been here, Thomas?”

“Uhm, (hic) since Saturday.”

“Saturday!”

Tiamoon stepped to the stump, in the process crushing the daisy chain necklace. She reached out to grab the leprechaun as he dissolved in tears.

“You (hic)… you stepped on (hic) the necklace. (hic) Just like she (hic) stepped on my heart.”

“Good heavens, Thomas, pull yourself together. She who?”

She wrestled the drunken leprechaun to his unsteady feet. His weight surprised her. He was sturdy and muscular beneath the rumpled clothing.

“Cary, the love of my life.”

“Heavens be cursed. Thomas…”

“Wha-a-a?” He turned red-rimmed, green orbs her direction.

“You fall in love with every female who crosses your path.”

“Do not!’

“Really? Okay let me guess… she flirted with you and teased you until she got you out here at the edge of the meadow where you promised to tell her where your secret stash of gold was hidden if she’d kiss you and be your mate.”

His eyes ricocheted in the sockets making Tiamoon’s head hurt.

“You were (hic) sshpying on ussh.”

Tia got her shoulder under his armpit and hoisted him up. She wrinkled her nose at the stale body odor emanating from his clothing.

“No, Thomas. It’s a pattern everyone in the woods knows. Come on. You need a bath, some food and sleep.”

“But what if (hic) she comesh back?”

“Thomas? I can guarantee that won’t happen today. Come on.”

She dragged him along the road. His head was slumped on his chest and his leather shoes were dragging, toes down, in the soft dirt of the two-lane thoroughfare. After a mile of struggling with the leprechaun, she turned down a single file path winding through the trees. Thomas had hiccupped in Tia’s ear through the entire journey, his head lolling from side to side.

She’d reached the end of the path as well as the end of her patience. When the path stopped abruptly at the river’s edge, so did Tia. She allowed the momentum of her pace to transfer to the inert leprechaun.

The moment the figure hit the icy water, he screamed.

“You’re killing me! Gods in Heaven! You’re trying to kill me!”

“For crying out loud, Thomas. Just dunk your head under the water and quit yelling. Maybe if you bathed more often, you wouldn’t chase away the ladies.”

The figure floundered in the icy stream.

“I can’t swim! Tia! I’m drowning!”

“Thomas?”

“Help! I’m drowning!”

“THOMAS!”

The roar echoed through the woods.

“Put your feet down!”

Blustering until his face was crimson, the drunken man splashed furiously. His head went beneath the water and he rose up sputtering, unconsciously standing on the stream’s bottom. He quit flailing his arms.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Tia drew her sword and pointed it his direction. “Now get yourself and your clothing sopping wet. If you even think of getting on the bank without attempting to wash off some of that stench, I’ll split you from gullet to gizzard.”

He glared at the gnome warrior until his head started pounding.

“Fine.”

She stood pointing her sharpened blade at him until he and his clothing were sufficiently soaked.

“Now, let’s go. My mom will have some stew to put into your stomach.”

“But I don’t wa…”

Thomas stopped his whine at the glare he was receiving from Tia.

“Lead the way.”