Whether its a current work in progress, a specific scene we love, or a that moment when the hero and heroine first meet, everyone loves a sneak peek or a refreshing reminder now and again!
We invite you to sample these tasty excerpts!
MR. DECEMBER
by Amanda McIntyre
A Last Hope Ranch novel
THE
MISTLETOE MISTAKE
A man with a badge.
A woman with a past.
An arsonist on the loose.
Things are heating up in End of
the Line.
Her mother’s stroke a little
more than a month ago had precipitated Olivia’s return. She refused to leave
her bed, despite the number of urging of her doctors in Billings. She’d refused
going to the End of the Line care facility for physical therapy, instead
demanding services at home. Not surprising. Her mother been a prisoner, of
sorts, for as long as Olivia could remember.
Olivia glanced at the portrait.
In the shadows, his face appeared even more menacing. Perhaps she could burn
it. Certainly, it wasn’t worth a dime. Even the bank where he’d been president
for the majority of Olivia’s teenage years wasn’t interested in keeping it.
Breathing a sigh, she knew her mother would forbid it. What would the home
health care nurses say were it to suddenly disappear from the house?
Appearances were, and always had been a priority to Camille Evans.
She looked again at the boxes
staged by the door. With any luck this bevy of antiques and collectibles would
bring a little in to help with expenses. Olivia closed her eyes pushing down
the frustration that her father had brought to their family. Not only hiding
his abusive behavior from the community—but discovering he’d left them with
enormous debt, proving his selfishness, even from the grave.
A sound outside caught her
attention, causing her to straighten. Her ears perked. Her photo-journalistic
work had taken her around the world, given her many experiences. Flash images
of a particular night in the dark Serengeti caused a rush of tingles to skitter
across her shoulders and down her arms.
A soft tap sounded on the front
door. Frowning, she glanced at her watch, realizing how late it was. The
sidewalks in End of the Line rolled up no later than seven on a week night.
A second rap, slightly stronger
issued again. She reached out, her eye still on the door and grabbed her
father’s brass-knob cane. Flipping on the porch light she peered through one of
the two narrow beveled windows flanking the solid oak door. Her breath caught
at the sight of a man with broad shoulders turned away from the door. Olivia
spotted the Sheriff's insignia on the truck in the drive. What on earth would
he be doing here?
She lifted the tarnished chain
latch, wondering if it would even hold up to a stiff wind. Just one more thing
falling apart in this old house.
The formidable figure turned
toward the door and her heart came to a standstill. It couldn’t possibly be—
She slipped the lock fully from
its mooring and opened the door. “Jacob Nash? Is that you?” Olivia took him in
from his closely cropped dark hair and shadow casing of a beard to the width of
his shoulders encased in an old gray varsity T-shirt and faded blue jeans.
Lord have mercy.
“Olivia.” He response was
clipped.
Aware that she’d forgotten her
shower, forgotten many things, having gotten side-tracked in cleaning her
father’s den and likely looked a mess only highlighted the very vivid memory of
the last time she’d seen Jacob Nash. Shoving away the image of the back seat of
his old Camaro on prom night, she glanced at her watch. “Are you aware of the
time?”
He rubbed one eye, ignoring her
question. “Our dispatcher received an emergency 911 call from this residence.”
He leaned forward slightly to
peer over her shoulder. Olivia noticed his brow lift on seeing the boxes
stacked by the door.
“Just dropping by to make sure
everything’s okay.”
“Well, I certainly, didn’t
call—” Her confusion cleared and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “It must
have been my mother.”
“Dispatch felt perhaps she was
in distress,” he said. “Have you checked on her?” There was a judgmental tone
in his query that smacked all too familiar to her upbringing.
She knows to text my phone…”
Olivia reached inside the strap of her sports bra where she kept her cell
phone. It was gone. “Shoot. I must have laid it down someplace.” She glanced up
catching his gaze on where her hand had been. His, too, for the briefest of
moments. But that was long ago. Two young kids. Caught up in a rush of
emotions. Both needing connection. Never thinking about the next moment.
He cleared his throat and it
brought her back to the present. Eyeing her as though he’d been reading her
mind, he sighed and looked away before he spoke. “Maybe we should go check on
her.”
It was more of an order than a
suggestion. At least to her ears, which admittedly were burning with her
previous thoughts. Olivia stepped aside and allowed him to walk inside. Closing
the door, she ushered him to the stairs. “She’s in her room. Starting up ahead
of him, she glanced over her shoulder to find his gaze on her running tights.
“I was out for a run. The nurse
was just leaving and indicated that mom was sound asleep. I guess I didn’t want
to wake her and I got busy with--"she paused --“other things.”
“Did you happen to be near
downtown on your run?” he asked.
The odd tone in his voice
caused her a moments hesitation. “No, prefer taking the old mine road and go
east. It’s quiet,” she said, pausing at her mother’s bedroom door.
“I realize End of the Line is a
small town,” he said, his low-timbered voice causing all manner of unexpected
tingles. “Still, it’s not wise to go jogging alone at night on some desolate
road.”
Her mouth curled in a grin as
she turned to face him. He had no idea how many unsafe places she’d been over
the past several years. “Thanks, I appreciate your concern. What are you the
jogging police?”
“Sheriff,” he stated, his gaze
unwavering. “County Sheriff.”
“Oh, I see. That explains a
lot,” she muttered, and gently pushed open the door.
Her mother with a look of
terror in her eyes held her arms out to Olivia.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” Olivia
rushed to her bedside and handed her the white board that had fallen to the
floor.
“I tried calling you, but there
was no answer. I tried and tried. Then I heard noises downstairs. I didn’t know
it was you…” Her
penmanship, usually one of her proudest attributes, was sloppy in her haste
causing her greater agitation.
“Mom, it’s okay It was me
downstairs doing some cleaning,” Olivia cupped her mother’s shoulder and eased
her back on the pillows. “It was only me, mom. I’ve been right here since Nadia
left.”
Her mother sighed and closed
her eyes. She looked up then at Olivia, a mixture of sadness and fear in her
eyes. She grabbed Olivia’s hand and squeezed it. Her chin quivered. It was that
look at the age fifteen, that would change Olivia’s life, sweeping her into the
veneer her parents had painted over their marriage. One that caused her to
become a protector and shield for her father’s violence.
Coming from Amanda McIntyre for the holidays 2019.
~ * ~
A BRIDE FOR BRYNMOR
by Jacqui Nelson
Book 1 in the Songbird Junction series
a Llewellyn Brothers Western Historical Romance Adventure
Book 1 in the Songbird Junction series
a Llewellyn Brothers Western Historical Romance Adventure
Denver, Colorado
January 1878
Alone in the shadows of the alley, Lark scanned the sunny street filled with city folk who might help or hinder her pursuit of freedom for her family if they— She shook her head, rejecting her doubt. If wasn’t acceptable. She couldn’t fail them again.
They had to make it to this pre-arranged meeting spot.
Oriole, sweet as she was savvy, had chosen the location. But two years earlier when Oriole’s violin required repairs, Oriole had been the only one allowed to enter Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s Music Emporium.
Lark had been disappointed not to view the treasures inside. Today, she cared only for what she might see outside—her sisters, who’d agreed to meet here if they were separated fleeing Cheyenne. After fourteen years together, the last twelve days apart made her heart ache unbearably.
She searched for Wren’s timid form. So easily lost in a crowd. And smothered there as well. Wren was the best singer in their three-woman songbird troupe, but she only shone when she performed in the circle of their act. Wren would suffer the most on her own.
How could she have lost them? Now? After all this time? She’d lied and schemed and surrendered everything—including her liberty and the man she loved—to keep their trio together. How had it all gone so wrong?
Because Beelzebub wouldn’t let his pawns go without a fight.
Their troupe manager, Ulysses T. Stone—who some called Tombstone, was both a devil and a dog. He had a hound’s nose for finding people he could bamboozle into giving him what he craved most: fortune and fame. He coveted an audience’s attention as much as their money.
How he’d found them at the church mission in the Qu'Appelle valley, far to the north of here, had become a tangle of lies peppered with just enough truths to keep them under his power.
Anger stirred the turmoil in her heart. He may be the maestro of manipulation, but she was the granddaughter of Cree warriors. She would not fail Oriole and Wren. She would find them and take them far away from the man who’d vowed to never let them go.
Coming from Jacqui Nelson in September 2019.
~ * ~
CHRISTMAS COMES
TO APPLE GROVE
by C.H. Admirand
Small Town USA Novella
Joe
Mulcahy’s Second Chance at Love…or is it?
Now
that his three daughters are settled and busy with families of their own, he’s
ready to declare himself to the lovely widow, Mary Murphy. But timing in life
is everything…and Joe’s plans go awry...but...
Christmas
is a Time for Miracles
Joe
drew in a deep breath and opened the door to the Apple Grove Diner. With a nod
to the sisters behind the counter, Peggy and Katie McCormack, he strode over to
the picture window facing Main Street and stopped next to the booth where Mary
Murphy sat drinking coffee with Miss Trudi Philo.
They were deep in conversation and
didn’t notice him approaching their table.
“I heard that Deputy Jones’ sister-in-law
is praying Sgt. Jones makes it back in
time for Christmas.” Before Miss Trudi could comment, Joe cleared his throat.
That got their attention.
“Why Joseph,” Miss Trudi said with a
smile, “how nice to see you in the Diner at this hour.”
A shaft of sunlight surrounded Mary. She
smiled at him and just like that, he knew it was a sign that he was right not
to wait until they’d figured things out. Who cares how many houses they owned,
or how many couches they had between them?
He dropped to one knee and reached for
Mary’s hand. Her eyes widened and her hand fluttered in his grasp.
Determined, he cleared his throat a
second time, and conversation in the diner came to a halt.
“Mary Murphy, will you marry me?”
Her mouth opened and closed twice, but
not a sound emerged. She reminded him of that trout he’d snagged a few months
back.
The silence grew awkward, and he’d later
swear not a soul in that diner drew a breath during those agonizing minutes
Mary kept him waiting.
His heart picked up the beat as he
started to sweat. Why did he have to
kneel down? He couldn’t trust his bad knee not to give out on him.
Wouldn’t
that just cap off the silence, having Doc Gannon running into the diner to help
him to his feet?
Before Mary found her voice and added
insult to injury by telling him no, Joe lifted her hand to his lips, brushed a
kiss across her knuckles and stood.
Without another word, he nodded to Miss
Trudi and Mary, spun on his heel, stalked to the door and jerked it open. He’d
parked next door behind Mulcahys. The short walk didn’t release any of the
tension building inside of him since he’d hit the floor on one knee
and…nothing.
“I’m too old for this!”
Coming from C. H. Admirand.
~ * ~
by Angi Morgan
Book 4 in Texas Brothers of Company B
(formerly Ranger Warrior)
Just another two-for-one
long neck Friday special. Wade sat on the same bar stool he’d ended his nights on
and had claimed for years. This particular stool was the last one next to the
wall, located where no one could catch him by surprise. Only his right side was
open to patrons. Better for his vision, especially now that it got fuzzy from
time to time.
He should be somewhere
else.
Maybe
somewhere more respectable for a Texas Ranger. That wasn’t here. Someplace he
could share that he was a ranger. Or maybe with his friends. But they all had girlfriends.
Heath was back home with his wife. Slate might as well be married. And Jack—his
so-called partner—was engaged.
He should
find some other friends. Maybe some who liked to…to what? Watch a game? Play
trivia over some chicken wings? It didn’t matter where he went or what bar stool
he ended up on. He’d still be looking at every dark-haired woman who walked in
the door to see if it was her.
Dammit. He couldn’t keep this up.
Six weeks was long enough visiting bars on lower Greenville Avenue. His search
for Agent Therese Ortis needed to end.
Soon. No.
Tonight. He’d shown his face once too often in other dives. Earlier the
barkeeps had waved him past their place, in a hurry to get the discouraged
ranger on his way. His badge was far from good for their business.
So here he
sat. His go-to joint that knew him from way back. The one place where they gave
him a pass for having a badge.
Twisting the
rest of his lime slice into his Mexican beer, he studied the peel—more
interested in the citrus than in anyone around him. He needed to take Jack’s
advice. If Therese wanted to get in touch… Well, she knew how. She’d done it
before to save Megan and a second time to save his hide before Rushdan Reval
blew him up inside a building.
Across the
room, the door banged open. Heads— including his—turned toward the noise.
What the hell?
“Wade!” The
woman who had haunted his dreams crossed the sixty feet, dodging drunks and
other happy-hour patrons who had quickly returned to their conversations.
“You have
got…” she began too loudly before nervously looking around and landing next to
him at the bar. “You’ve got to stop your…your inquiries. Are you listening to
me? I’m furious.”
No, he hadn’t
been listening. She was dressed in the smallest bright yellow dress—more like a
piece of a dress that could still be respectful—and he barely noticed anything
else. The color set off her dark brown hair.
The bling
around her neck drew his eyes straight to the diving-low plunge between her
breasts. How the hell was she walking in those heels?
Shoot. How
did the dress stay in place?
The woman
who’d actually 100 percent saved his life licked her lips and drew a deep
breath. Trying to ignore her, he looked down at the bar, stabbing the three
lime slices with a plastic sword.
“Hey, Wade,
hon?” Her erotic voice whispered close to his ear while her feathery touch on
his hand shot all sorts of feelings through him.
Six weeks
without a word.
And she was
mad. At him?
Even though
she’d been caught working with crooks last year, he’d never believed she was on
the wrong side of the law. Something in their sparse conversations had
forbidden him from thinking badly of her. Then six weeks ago he’d found out—like
a kick to the head—she was working with the FBI or something. Nobody talked.
Lots of secrets. Had he forgiven her for taking away a major case?
Probably not.
There was no
mistake who she spoke to. She’d stopped so close her breath of air brushed his
bare neck, encouraging him to act. But he wouldn’t. He didn’t have the right.
Even if she had called him hon.
“I like you
in a T-shirt. It shows off these strong arms. But this button-up looks great on
you, too. It brings out the steel blue in your eyes.”
He could
tell her he liked her dress. Or not.
Yeah, she
squeezed his biceps. Yeah, she puckered her lips together like she waited for a
kiss.
“No.”
“Are you
sure?” She eased onto the stool next to him, her long legs reaching sideways
under his. Damn, that yellow silky thing climbed up to her hip. “I haven’t even
asked anything.”
Wait. Were
they talking about a kiss or the favor he thought she was about to ask? He
should consider himself lucky that the stools weren’t close enough for him to
pull her onto his lap to find out. Lucky?
Therese
twisted away from him to face the opening door and back again with a blank
look. A big fella walked inside, propping the door open with his foot and
calling to a buddy on the sidewalk. They both entered, finally shutting the
door to keep the cooler air in and the blistering summer heat outside.
Everything
about her demeanor changed. Where she’d been full of anger she was now soft.
She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath through her nose and making her
breasts swell in the tight dress. Then she wet her lip gloss with the tip of
her tongue. To stop his drool, he tipped the beer to his mouth, drinking her in
with his eyes.
The fresh
burst of lime made him lick his lips, or was he mirroring the seductress beside
him? Then her dark red lips parted ever so slowly. Slower than necessary and
very practiced. Hell, he could give in right then, doing whatever she asked,
having no idea what it might be.
Instead he
broke off his stare and looked around the intimate, off-the-beaten-path bar. Mostly regulars with the exception of the last two men. Every corner was
shadowed and filled with secrets, but he didn’t butt his nose in. He knew the
ins and outs. Knew what to expect. He’d been coming here since college and it
didn’t hurt that no one broadcast that he was a Texas Ranger. He’d never had a
need to show his badge. Not here.
“I know it’s
been a while since I’ve called. Please don’t be annoyed with me.” She swiveled
on the stool, reaching for his limes, daring him not to look down the low-cut
dress she flashed under his chin.
“I’d have to
care to be angry. Or annoyed,” he lied. He didn’t know the reason for her
personality switch, but he’d play along.
“There’s
just been a lot going on, hon—” She pouted.
Pouted? Therese Ortis didn’t seem
the pouting kind.
What the
hell was going on? She knew he’d been looking for her and seemed pretty doggone
upset about it less than five minutes ago.
“So you aren’t
angry, annoyed or even a little hurt, baby?” she smiled with a knowing smile,
circling a deep red nail around the back of his hand.
Hon? Baby? What was she trying to pull? She reached out, taking
his extra lime and swiping her tongue across it. She knew exactly how to make him nervous. But
she was the one shaking like a leaf in a windstorm—the only thing that kept him
from showing her just how angry he wasn’t.
Yeah, he was
succumbing to the seductress line. What man wouldn’t? But it was the trembling
that got him.
Her eyes
darted in every direction, checking for trouble. The bartender walked to the
other end of the room and she leaned in close.
“I need a
big favor. I can explain everything if you give me a chance.”
Even though
the intensity changed from flirtatious to urgent, he still answered, “I’m all
out.”
Explain? Nice fantasy. Therese
never explained. He poured more than a sip of beer down his throat. He tipped
the bottle toward her, politely asking if she wanted something. She shook her
head while he caught the bartender’s eye and ordered two more.
“I promise
not to land you on desk duty again. What do you say?” she asked in a low,
sensual voice he had fallen prey to a few times already.
Wade had
wanted to connect with her for over a year. Why the hesitation? Desk duty. Uncertainty. Tired of being
used. Downright irritation at being ignored.
“I say—” he
grinned way too big “—that you haven’t mentioned anything I haven’t heard
before.”
“I’m sure
that can’t be true,” she still whispered.
“Considering
I can recall all seven conversations we’ve ever had… Yeah, I’m pretty sure I
can clearly remember every word that you’ve said.” And exactly what you haven’t.
“I really,
really think you’re going to be interested in my favor, hon.”
“Nope,” he
kept his voice low, matching hers.
He was done.
Had nothing left. Finished. Kaput. Refused to get involved. Remember? And yet, completely curious.
“Is there
anything I could do or say to change your mind?” She drew circles on his
shoulder, dragging her long fingernail down his arm until she got to his hand.
She looked
innocent. If he knew her better he might think she seemed desperate. But he
didn’t know her better. She came to him when she needed something. Case or no
case, he didn’t like being used.
And he hated
giving in to her, to anybody.
Therese’s
eyes darted to the mirror.
The two large
men moved away from the opposite end of the bar and Therese stiffened. Obvious
to him since she held his hand. Probably not obvious to the men who had eyes
for no one else in the room. They looked like typical guys, with the exception
of the bulges under their jackets. Jackets worn for the simple reason of hiding
the weapons.
They were
there for her—obviously.
“Wade,” she
said way too loudly. “I’m so hungry.”
“What?”
She dropped
a finger across his lips to stop his next question. Her eyes moved to the mirror.
His hand gently tugged hers from his face back to the bar and slid a longneck
bottle into it.
“I guess I need to hear
about that favor after all.” He squeezed a lime slice and pushed it through the
sweating bottle.
Coming from Angi Morgan, Valentine's Day 2020
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