GRANT ME THE MOON by Caroline Clemmons in Come Love a Cowboy Anthology

All Tory Fraser intended was to show her high school history club students a local archeology dig. How could she know the excursion would involve a murder? Or that one of her students would be suspected as the killer? And she had no idea she would meet the man of her dreams.

Grant Grayson has taken over management of Grayson Ranch near Post, Texas to give his grandfather a less arduous schedule. A flash flood washed away an old talus slope on the ranch to reveal a prehistoric cave that is a Clovis site. Being a good citizen, he invited the nearest large university archaeology department to excavate the cave. When a gorgeous blonde high school teacher asks his permission to take her students to the site, how can he deny her? Especially when he is instantly attracted to her as he’s never been to anyone.

Tory and Grant are drawn in to the investigation to clear her student but unintentionally make themselves a target. Now they must evade the killer to celebrate their new found love.

Excerpt

This evening, she’d traded her business suit for a blue sundress and left her golden hair down, which he liked much better than the bun-like twisty thing she’d worn this afternoon. Instead of the killer heels she’d worn earlier in the day, she wore low-slung white sandals.

The forty-mile drive to Lubbock passed quickly with talk of archaeology and travel to ancient ruins.

As they entered the city, he asked, “Do you have a food preference?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want liver or Brussels sprouts. Anything else is fine.”

A laugh erupted from deep inside him. “I don’t like liver either. How about a steak house with a variety of food?”

“Your call, Grant, because I’m not familiar with what’s available. I’ve been reclusive this year. Except for school functions, I’ve spent evenings and weekends with Grandma.”

He chose a restaurant on 82nd Street and pulled into the parking lot. “Monday evenings are not especially busy, so we shouldn’t have trouble getting seated.”

He guided her inside and they were shown to a table.

After they’d placed their orders, he asked, “Your grandmother, is she all right?”

“Grandpa died last spring. She’s not ill, just frail and deeply in mourning. I was lucky there was an opening in the school.”

“Where did you teach before?”

She offered a wry smile, almost as if embarrassed. “Assistant professor at Texas A&M.” She shrugged and tilted her head. “I realize it appears I took a backwards step, but I was the one who could rearrange my life to move here. Fortunately, I genuinely enjoy teaching high school history.”

“So your grandmother is sad rather than ill. Does she get around well?”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded. “In fact, she can keep up with me. After Grandpa passed away, she was so heartbroken that we were afraid her health was deteriorating. Actually, it was. She wasn’t eating properly and not sleeping well. Or, she was staying up most of the night and sleeping most of the day. With me here, she keeps regular hours and we have breakfast and supper together.”

He reached across the table and laced his fingers with hers. “But not tonight.”

She met his gaze and smiled before she slid her hand to her lap. Disappointment claimed him at the loss of her touch.

“I stopped by the store on my way home and bought her a chicken pot pie in a brand that’s healthy. I only hope she’s doing as I asked and having that and a salad for dinner.”

After they’d eaten, he drove under the speed limit on the way back to Post. Her company fascinated him and he wished he could prolong the evening. When they reached the edge of the Caprock above Post, he pulled over at a wide space on the shoulder and opened the sunroof.

“I love this spot. You can see the lights of our little town below and the stars above.”

She relaxed against the seat and head rest. “The almost full moon tonight obscures many of the stars. This is a beautiful vantage point, though. As if we’re divine and are hanging above the world. I could almost reach out and touch the moon.”

He reached for her hand and entwined their fingers “Should I grab it for you?”

She offered a whimsical smile. “Let’s leave it there so everyone can enjoy the moonlight.”

COME LOVE A COWBOY

Eight stand-alone Contemporary Western Romance novellas from Bestselling and Award Winning Authors. From firefighters, bronco busters, and wealthy ranchers to bad boys, we have them all for you!  If you've ever wanted to fall in love with a sexy, alpha cowboy of today...now's your chance.

FREE SAMPLER BOOK:
Please download FREE your COME LOVE A COWBOY Sampler with Recipes, Blurbs, and Excerpts at http://digioh.com/em/21875/75252/rfwtugbtpk?demail=[email]

CAROLINE CLEMMONS’ BIO AND SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Caroline Clemmons is an Amazon bestselling and award winning author of historical and contemporary western romances. A frequent speaker at conferences and seminars, she has taught workshops on characterization, point of view, and layering a novel. 

Caroline and her husband live in the heart of Texas cowboy country with their menagerie of rescued pets. When she’s not indulging her passion for writing, Caroline enjoys time with family, reading, travel, antiquing, genealogy, and getting together with friends. 

Find her on her blog, website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Google+, and Pinterest. Subscribe to her newsletter here to receive a FREE novella of HAPPY IS THE BRIDE.

Bad Boy, Big Heart by Andrea Downing in Come Love a Cowboy

When New Yorker K.C. Daniels heads to Wyoming for a summer job, she wants nothing more than to fit in with the staff of the Lazy S Ranch. Yearning to be independent of her mom and dad, and have a taste of the west before she starts her Master's degree, getting involved with a cowboy is the last thing on her mind—especially when she’s greeted with warnings about ‘Bad Boy’ Chay Ridgway.

High school dropout Chay Ridgway sees summer as his time to be a rodeo star and win a girl in his life, while facing the responsibilities he has for his father. Although working to bring in cash to help his dad, he's never had a problem finding a woman who's happy to be that summer love—until K.C. Daniels appears on the scene.

As two different worlds collide in a season that will end all too soon, is this going to be another summer romance or a love that will last for years?

Excerpt:

K.C. was licking her lips over a piece of cheesecake when Breezy ambled over.

“I heard,” she said in an undertone. “I’m so sorry, K.C. I really didn’t know or I certainly would have told you. All I knew was Jamie could be very unpleasant but nothing like that. You know, spoiled brat unpleasant.”

K.C. gulped down another mouthful. “Well, he certainly was ‘unpleasant’ and a ‘spoiled brat.’”

“Are you all right? You know if you ever want to talk about it or need a shoulder, mine is at the ready. And you know where to find me, though I suspect you have another shoulder in mind.”

She tipped her head toward Chay, who had just come in and was chatting with one of the guests.

K.C. glanced across as he squatted down to speak with a little girl, tilting his hat back off his face and giving the child a wink as he rose again. Her stomach did a back flip.

“So how do you like the cheesecake?” Breezy was saying. “It’s my own recipe—chocolate mocha cheesecake. You seem to be doing pretty well with it but, of course, you may only be eating it to be polite.” She sauntered off in a stream of giggles.

And then a second fork was coming from above into that cheesecake.

“Do you always just take what you want?”

“Oh, shit, I’m supposed to ask! Sorry.” Chay slid into the chair opposite her at the long refectory table. He looked her in the eye. “May I please have a bite of your cheesecake?”

“Why don’t you get your own? In fact, shouldn’t you be starting with lunch and then dessert?”

“Had a sack lunch and got in earlier than expected.” His fork dangled threateningly over the waiting slice before he swung the fork like a pendulum.

“Oh, go on then. I guess you deserve it.”

Chay shoved a forkful into his mouth, having obvious difficulty chewing as he was smiling so much. Finally he got it down, stretched to grab a napkin from another clean place setting, and gave a wide grin to K.C. “Am I your hero, then? Riding in to save the day? How are you?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Fine, but reluctant to keep telling everyone I’m fine.”

“Okay then, message received.”

K.C. studied him for a moment, melting at his pale green eyes. She suddenly reached across and gently poked the small dimple in his chin. Oh dear, what was she going to do about this man?

“You’re supposed to ask, aren’t you? You can’t just go around poking people in the chin, can you?”

“Golly. What have I started?”

“I don’t know. What have you started?” The smile was replaced by a very direct look.

“I…I’ve been told things about you. I don’t want to be a summer romance. And I do have to leave at the end of the summer, and the summer is fast fading.”

“It’s only June, K.C.” He hesitated before, “What sort of things were you told?”

K.C. looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “That you like to…to date the girls who work in the office because we leave at the end of the summer, and it makes for a clean break.”

“True.”

K.C. blinked at his honesty.

“But it doesn’t mean it will always be the case.” Chay fidgeted on his chair. “What time do you get off? Let’s go for a ride. You do ride, don’t you?”

“I ride…English.”

“Oh, yeah. Bob said something about that. That can be fixed. So what time?”

“Five-thirty weekdays, Saturday noon as long as the check-outs are complete. Sunday is hit or miss; I work virtually all day until all the check-ins are done.”

“Hmmm. I’m taking out a pack trip tomorrow, back Friday. Meet me down at the barns as soon as you’re off Saturday.” Chay swung out of the chair and stood, then leaned in and stabbed one more bite of cheesecake. “Saving you calories,” he said. “You’d be amazed at what goes into this.” And with that, he stuffed the piece in his mouth and was off.

K.C. sat there, turning over Chay’s words in her mind: ‘It doesn’t mean it will always be the case.’ Yet the fact was, her Master’s degree meant two years…oh, what was she thinking? That was way ahead and, while she knew she was deeply attracted to Chay, it didn’t necessarily mean…. She stared at the remaining cheesecake on her plate, then pushed it away. 

What was ‘the case’?

 

Andrea Downing has spent most of her life in the UK where she developed a penchant for tea-drinking, a tolerance for rainy days, and a deep knowledge of the London Underground system. In 2008 she returned to live in the city of her birth, NYC, but frequently exchanges the canyons of city streets for the wide-open spaces of the West. Her love of horses, ranches, rodeo and just about anything else western is reflected in her writing.
Links to Social Media:
WEBSITE AND BLOG:  http://andreadowning.com
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/writerAndreaDowning
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AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  http://www.amazon.com/Andrea-Downing/e/B008MQ0NXS/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

 COME LOVE A COWBOY
Eight stand-alone Contemporary Western Romance novellas from Bestselling and Award Winning Authors. From firefighters, bronco busters, and wealthy ranchers to bad boys, we have them all for you!  If you've ever wanted to fall in love with a sexy, alpha cowboy of today...now's your chance.

A savings of more than 75% if the books were purchased separately.

Luke’s Fate by Kathleen Ball
Meg O’Brien hoped never to lay eyes on the one man who broke her heart. To her dismay, Luke Kelly arrives at her ranch a much different and broken man. Can Meg ever forgive his callous treatment of her and help Luke become the man he used to be?

Grant Me The Moon by Caroline Clemmons
All Tory Fraser intended was to show her high school history club students a local archeology dig. How could she know the excursion would involve a murder?

Three for The Win by Keta Diablo
Hollis should have known better than to fall for a bone-melting man like Stede. He’s gone now and Eli is left to pick up the broken pieces of her life.

Border Affair by Hebby Roman
When his partners’ daughter is kidnapped in México, a self-made millionaire must confront his feelings about their affair and the future of their relationship.

Leaving Necessity by Margo Bond Collins
Mac has one week to convince his ex-girlfriend Clara not to sell his oil company. In this high-pressure reunion, can they strike love again?

The Shape of Destiny by Julie A. D’Arcy
A young male shape shifter. A beautiful female ranch owner. Can love be born in a web of deceit?

Bad Boy, Big Heart by Andrea Downing
She’s a New Yorker escaping her parents.  He’s a Wyoming cowboy supporting his dad. One summer, two young people—three months to find love.

Desert Heat by Patti Sherry-Crews
A single mother struggling to keep her guest ranch puts her own desires on hold. When a handsome and persistent fireman sets his sights on her, she must decide how much she’s willing to give.

Border Affair by Hebby Roman in Come Love a Cowboy Anthology

Camila Villarreal has had a crush on Rusty Douglas since she was twelve years old. And no matter what she does she can’t stop caring for him.

Rusty, a self-made millionaire and a partner in her family’s ranch, is recovering from a messy divorce and facing a mid-life crisis. He’s not eager to become involved in a serious relationship.

Despite Rusty’s doubts, their mutual attraction blazes into a sizzling affair. But when Camila is kidnapped, Rusty is desperate to rescue her. Will he get her back unharmed? And if he does, can their affair develop into a lasting relationship?

Excerpt:

I worked my ass off, getting him to canter,” Rusty said. “And you can’t be bothered to watch.”

“I was watching,” Camila protested.

“No, you weren’t. What’s so damned interesting in the dirt? Mining for gold or something.”

“Oh, Rusty, get over it.” She wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and do you mind catching him before he gets tangled in the tether and manages to lame himself.”

“I can see being your assistant is going to suck,” he muttered loud enough to hear. “And we can’t keep calling this horse ‘him’.” He stretched his arms wide and cracked the switch again, driving the sorrel into a corner of the corral.

He bent over and grabbed the rope.

The breath stopped in her lungs. Por Dios, was he one gorgeous hunk of man. Forget his age or that he’d lost too much weight. Just looking at Rusty made her heart go pitter-patter. So much for a girlhood crush that refused to go away.

“What are you going to name him?”

“Huh?” She’d lost the thread of concentration, wishing she and Rusty were in bed together, rather than hollering across a dusty corral. “Oh, name him. Hmmm. How about Calypso?”

He ran one hand over the stubble on his jaw. And she wished she could run her tongue over his jaw and neck and lower. Wished she could explore every inch of him with her mouth and tongue.

“Not bad. I like it,” he said.

“I’m glad you approve.”

He pulled the gelding forward by his halter, stopping on the other side of the fence. “Calypso, meet your new trainer.”

She fished a slice of apple from her pocket and handed it to the yearling. “Never too soon to start rewarding him for good behavior.”

Calypso lipped the apple slice and crunched it. She stroked the white blaze running from his forehead and tapering off at his muzzle. He had three white socks, too.

Rusty hooked his free arm over the fence post and gazed at the yearling. He stood within inches of her but towering over her by a half a foot. He was so close to her, she could smell his perspiration and the earthy man-smell of him. His down-to-earth scent was far more arousing than the expensive cologne he usually wore.

He patted the horse’s neck and said, “Well, what do you think? Does he have possibilities?”

“Yeah, sure, but he’s too young to pigeon-hole as a barrel racer or cutting horse or whatever yet.”

He pursed his mouth. “You’re probably right. Hard to tell until they’re under saddle.”

She gazed at the thin line of his pursed mouth. Hard and masculine, just the way she liked a man’s mouth. All these years of dreaming about kissing him and they’d shared nothing more than pecks on the cheeks.

He was looking straight at her. Did he feel the same pull, the same attraction as she did? Or did he still see her as a child?

He stared at her for a long time, his gaze riveted on her mouth. Was he thinking about kissing her, the way she’d been thinking? She hoped so.

He patted her hand on the fence rail and said, “I’m going to walk him around ‘til he cools down. Chuy will help me get him settled in his stall. You should get some rest, put your leg up. Okay?”

She nodded and closed her eyes, wanting him so bad, she hurt.

Available at Amazon 

 Hebby Roman is the multi-published author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her first contemporary romance, SUMMER DREAMS, was the launch title for Encanto, a print line featuring Latino romances. And her re-published e-book, SUMMER DREAMS, was #1 in Amazon fiction and romance.

Hebby is a member of the Romance Writers of America, and the past president of her local chapter, North Texas Romance Writers. She was selected for the Romantic Times "Texas Author" award, and she won a national Harlequin contest.

She graduated with highest honors from the University of Texas in Austin with a Master's Degree in Business Administration. She was selected for inclusion in the first edition of Who's Who in American Women.

She is blessed to have all her family living close by in north Texas, including her family's latest edition, her granddaughter, Mackenzie. Hebby lives in Arlington, Texas with her husband, Luis, and maltipoo, Maximillian.

Hebby’s Social Media Links:
Website: http://www.hebbyroman.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorHebbyRoman
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/callofmuse/
Amazon Author Page:
http://www.amazon.com/Hebby-Roman/e/B001KI1L0O/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1456359596&sr=1-2-ent

Interview with KAT HENRY DORAN, Author of VENGEANCE IS MINE.

What made you decide to be an author? I think the desire was always there, probably as far back as grade school. I didn't really act on the urge till I was in my middle 30's when, after reading enough Harlequin and Silhouette romances to fill a paper grocery bag I knew I could write as well as many and better than a few of the authors. Much better. 

What do you like best about being a writer? Using my imagination and responding to the age-old question, 'what if?'

What do you like the least? Lack of time.

How do you think your life experiences have prepared you for writing? Oh, baby. I've been there and done that, several times over. Except for divorce. Haven't done that one yet. The day is still young. Heh heh.

Have you ever felt as if you were being dictated to while you wrote a book--as if the words came of their own accord? Oh yes, beginning with my first novel, Captain Marvelous. It's has happened with each story. 

I've written around 20 novels, though not all have been published. Many were utter dreck. I am working on my 21st. It's not dreck.

What’s your favorite time management tip? Prayer. Adequate sleep. Having a husband who can cook for himself—and doesn't mind doing it. Having the kids grown and gone and giving me plenty of fodder in the form of grandchildren and animals.

Are you a plotter or a pantser, i.e., do you outline your books ahead of time? I do a basic outline of conflicts, occupations and setting before I start the story—but I'm not afraid to slip in a random thought or two as the writing progresses. That's when my personal experiences come to the surface. I recently had a total hip replacement which went very well. At or around 3 weeks post-op I realized I was 'liking' the narcotic pain killers too much for my own good and tapered them real fast. So... I decided to give my current hero, who has a past history with dry goods, a hard struggle coping with pain management after major surgery to repair injuries incurred during a vicious physical assault. Making people suffer is one of my better talents. I'm a retired nurse. Heh heh.

If you had one take away piece of advice for authors, what would it be? Listen to what the pros tell you. By pros, I mean authors who are published in your genre. Authors of books you have personally read and whose style matches yours. If four out of five 'pros' suggest you make changes in your manuscript, they're not saying it to hear the sound of their own voices. Listen to them.
On the other hand, just because your bingo buddies/coffee pals/mah jong mates swear your story is the most perfect piece of writing they've ever read, RUN VERY FAST IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION. THESE FRIENDS WILL NOT HELP YOU BECOME A BETTER WRITER. TRUST ME, I KNOW.

Did music help you find your muse with this book? Funny you should ask about music. The WIP is set during the late 80's—early 90's and golden oldies always figure in to my books. I grew up in the 60's so rock and roll will always be here to stay. 
 

If yes, which song did you find yourself going back to over and over again as you wrote? Twist and Shout, the version by the Mamas and the Papas. It is slow and sensuous and absolutely marvelous for the scene I used it in. 

Tell me more about Vengeance Is Mine. It is the story of three people who, through a variety of reasons, find themselves compelled to return to their 25th high school reunion. Reviled by classmates and townspeople throughout their school years, they view the reunion as an opportunity to exact revenge on those who wronged them. But as often happens, events and people are put in their paths so that vengeance is no longer a primary motivating factor.  

Blurb Ever fantasize about going back to study hall to confront the school bully? The mean girls? The brainless jocks who made your life miserable? For Dru Horvath, former gypsy orphan turned Pulitzer Prize winner; Rafe Archangeli, the Scourge of Summerville who is the recently appointed head of a multi-million dollar trust; and Fiona “Fat Aggie” Thorpe who recreated herself with an A-list modeling agency, the opportunity to exact vengeance  is too good to pass up. Will they find vengeance against those who tormented them?
Or something more important?    

Excerpt 

Frustrated with the holdup, Fee glanced around for points of entry, hoping she'd be able to spot Dru the second she entered the ballroom.

A hand on her arm claimed her attention; Rafe Archangeli leaned close. “Here comes someone you should meet.”

Without taking her eyes off the main entry door, she murmured, “Who?”

"Last year's Eastman winner and a helluva of a nice guy.”

“Where?”

“There. Coming toward us.”

One nano-second later all thoughts of revenge left Fee's mind like steam escaping a kettle.

The weathered appearance of his face announced he'd lived ten times over. Thick gold hair flecked with gray grazed the collar of his suit jacket. Broad through the shoulders and chest, narrow at the waist and hips, he had the long legged grace of a broken field runner.

Moving across the parquet floor as if born to a runway, he carried himself with an innate confidence. Without disrupting that fluid stride, he undid his tie before shrugging out of the suit jacket which he slung over one shoulder with the tip of his index finger.

She'd almost given up finding a man so perfect.

This one had The Look.

Buy LinksCreate Space: www.CreateSpace.com/5939143
Amazon: US www.amazon.com/dp/1522757694
Canada  www.amazon.ca/dp/1522757694    

UK   www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1522757694
Germany  www.amazon.de/dp/1522757694  

Spain   www.amazon.es/dp/1522757694
France   www.amazon.fr/dp/1522757694  

Italy  www.amazon.it/dp/1522757694

Over the years Kat Doran has had the honor to work at a number of occupations: nurse, malpractice insurance investigator, forensic examiner, victim advocate, wife and mother.
Even if she sometimes wishes they'd remain in the closet, the years that she spent in the OR and labor floor, and later advocating for victims of sexual violence, contributes significantly to the voice of her writing. You don’t spend thirty years serving as loyal hand-maiden and mind reader for egotistical surgeons, then twelve years haunting police stations, Emergency Rooms, and criminal courts without developing an internal alarm system for overt misogyny, rampant apathy, and overwhelming bigotry.
She retired her stethoscope and speculum a few years ago but continues to advocate, quietly, for marginalized populations through Amnesty International and Doctors Without Borders.

Where can readers find more about your stories, books and you on the Internet?
Email:   WildWomenAuthors@yahoo.com
Blogs:    WildWomenAuthorsx2.blogspot.com
               ApronsWithAttitude2.blogspot.com
Goodreads:    Veronica Lynch
                      Kat Doran
Facebook:    www.Facebook.com/profile.php?id=100007251675720

Three For The Win by Keta Diablo in Come Love a Cowboy Anthology

Hollis should have known better than to fall for a bone-melting man like Stede. She knew one day he'd leave and she'd be shattered. That day came and now Eli is left to pick up the broken pieces of her life.

Excerpt:

A familiar voice near Eli’s truck broke her reverie—Ned’s, a voice she hoped she wouldn’t hear again tonight or ever. “Like I said back there, we came to settle the score.”

Stede looked at the ground, the words soft and low. “Jesus, some mule-headed assholes never learn.”

“Maybe not but Jasper and me talked it over.”

“Yeah,” Jasper said with the crooked smile of an idiot. “We never got to ask Eli our question, the one we gotta know the answer to.”

Silence descended. No one moved except Hollis. She hugged her waist, panic invading every cell in her body.

Ned turned his reptilian eyes on her before focusing on Eli again. “See, me and my brother been wonderin’ if you get sloppy seconds when Stede’s done with her.”

Someone sucked all the air from night. Like the predatory stealth of a cat, Stede stepped forward…and then he charged, taking Ned down at the knees. Eli jumped Jasper, and with a swift uppercut, sent him spiraling backwards. His hand covered his nose, thick, red blood oozing between his splayed fingers.

Ned and Stede rolled and tumbled through the dirt like rabid dogs, with Stede gaining the upper hand. Straddling the stout man with his knees, Stede raised his fist, prepared to crush his face.

Eli scrambled toward him and grabbed his forearm. “Don’t, Stede!”

“Get off me, let go of my arm!”

“Don’t do it, man; he’s not worth it.”

Regaining her senses, Hollis rushed forth and knelt beside Stede. “Look at me, right here, look into my eyes.” She shuddered from the lethal look in his when their gazes locked. “Trash, Stede, that’s all he is. Eli’s right; he’s not worth it.”

Eli pulled him off Ned but not before he leaned down and whispered in Ned’s ear, “You even look at her again, I’ll kill you.”

“That a threat, Marrow?”

An arctic chill crossed his features. “No, a promise.”

“Come on,” Hollis said grabbing Stede’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

They left Jasper and Ned on the ground and climbed into the truck, Eli’s heavy foot on the gas pedal churning up dirt as they roared out of the parking lot.

 Available April 1, 2016 on Amazon

Keta Diablo lives in the Midwest part of the United States on six acres of woodland. When she isn't writing or gardening she loves to commune with nature. She adores animals and has made it her mission in life to help feed hungry children in the USA. Greatly disturbed by the statistic that one in every five children goes to bed hungry, she donates her time and support to local food and animal shelters.

A multi-published author in both erotic romance and gay fiction, her erotica novel Decadent Deceptions was a finalist in the MOLLY contest sponsored by Romance Writers of America and has been nominated for a Red Carpet Award in 2014. Her paranormal novel Where the Rain Is Made has been nominated for a Bookie Award by Authors After Dark. Her historical novel Sky Tinted Water has been nominated for a RONE Award by Ind'Tale Magazine. Keta's books have received numerous Top Pick, Book of the Month, and Recommended Read awards from the top professional review sites.

Find her on the NET:
Twitter: @ketadiablo
Blog: http://ketaskeep.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KetaDiablo.Author?ref=tn_tnmn
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/ketadiablo/

Book Spotlight: Her One True Love by Rachel Brimble

She Can't Forget Him…

Jane Charlotte Danes has loved the squire of her idyllic country town for as long as she can remember. He is good, kind, and alluring beyond words… and he chose to marry another. Tired of dwelling on her futile longings, Jane plans a move to Bath, where she dreams of a new beginning. But the man who has so imprisoned her heart is only a few steps behind…

He Can't Let Her Go…

Until now, Matthew Cleaves has endeavored to meet the responsibilities of his position with dignity and good spirits--including his dutiful marriage. But when his wife leaves him for another man, Matthew is at last free to pursue his one true love. Only one vital question remains: will the captivating, stubborn, beautiful Jane allow him the challenge, and the pleasure, of winning her back?..


Excerpt

Matthew turned and faced Jane. “When are you leaving for the city?”

She took another step back, her gaze darting over his face. “The day after tomorrow. Why?”

“Because I will escort you. We can travel together in my carriage.”

“No, I do not need your––”

“I will be going anyway. I planned to visit some contacts in the city in the hope of securing guaranteed trade for Biddestone in the coming year. It seems unnecessary for us to make the trip separately when I have a carriage plenty big enough for us both.”

“There is absolutely no need. Jeannie will be coming with me.”

“My offer still stands.”

She glared. “It’s my intention to start on the path of independence, of finding out what the world has to offer me on my own merit. I will hardly be carving out my own path when at the first step from my home, I lean on you.”

“You are being stubborn.”

She pulled back her shoulders. “And you are not?”

The longer he looked at her, the more Matthew saw the quiet beauty he’d desperately tried to ignore.

He took a steadying breath. “Please, Jane. Let me escort you to Bath.”

The seconds passed, but Matthew held his tongue. It was imperative she spoke next, that she understood he didn’t mean to bully her but wanted to ensure her safety to a city ravaged by danger, as much as opportunity.

She sighed. “Fine. On one condition.”

He held her gaze. “Which is?”

Her eyes softened, slowly lighting with mischief. “You smile. Now. You smile at me like you did before she left.”

Heat rose to his face. “You want me to smile?”

“Yes. Smile for me, Matthew.”

Empathy and passion swirled in her eyes, but they also bore a deep, painful awareness that scratched hard over his heart. The longer he stared, the more he wanted to make her happy.

He smiled, his gaze on hers…and was surprised to find the trade no effort at all.

Buy Links:
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Rachel Brimble lives with her husband and two teenage daughters in a small town near Bath in the UK. After having several novels published by small US presses, she secured agent representation in 2011. Since 2013, she has had five books published by Harlequin Superromance (Templeton Cove Stories) and recently signed a contract for three more. She also has three Victorian romances with eKensington/Lyrical with a fourth due for release in March 2016.

Rachel is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association and Romance Writers of America, and was selected to mentor the Superromance finalist of So You Think You Can Write 2014 contest. When she isn’t writing, you’ll find Rachel with her head in a book or walking the beautiful English countryside with her family. Her dream place to live is Bourton-on-the-Water in South West England.
She likes nothing more than connecting and chatting with her readers and fellow romance writers. Rachel would love to hear from you!

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In Honor of Deaf History Month: Wordless Love

Sharon, Age 3, with Cousin Gloria

In 1954, at the age of three years old, my mother put me on a plane in Washington, D.C., and sent me to Connecticut to live with my deaf, non-speaking grandmother, my aunt, uncle, cousin, two Chihuahuas, and a parakeet. At night, I would cry because I missed my family. As I sobbed, my grandmother would take me in her arms and hug me, making grunting noises. I’d fall asleep to her wordless lullaby of love, wondering if I’d ever see my family again, not knowing that my parents were divorcing.

A year after being shipped north, I was reunited with my family. Another year later, we moved out of my aunt’s basement and into government subsidized housing. Now when we visited my aunt’s house, I had to share my grandmother with my siblings. On birthdays and graduations, she created scavenger hunts for us, leaving a trail of written clues. She must have spent hours planning the hints, writing them out in her beautiful calligraphy, and placing them throughout the house.

As I grew older and wrestled with the demons of poverty and abuse, my desire to break away from my home life dwarfed my relationship with my grandmother. Opportunity arrived in the form of a large scholarship to a university in Texas, over a thousand miles away from my mother. During the first semester of my freshman year, my grandmother became ill and died at home at the age of eighty-nine. Claiming that she didn’t want to “disrupt” my studies, my mother withheld the knowledge until I came home months later. I was devastated. I never had the chance to say good-bye to the woman who loved me unconditionally.

As I hit my fifth decade, I began to reflect on my life and lack of closure regarding her death. I felt compelled to research my family tree, beginning with my grandmother. My only clues were embedded in childhood memories of kitchen table conversations between my mother and aunt. The family legend, told and re-told, with hand-signed consultations for verification, was that my grandmother was born hearing and healthy to a wealthy family.

“Oh yes, her people were landowners,” my aunt said.

“She had pet peacocks,” my mother added, “and a pet pig that came when she clapped her hands.”

“She came down with spinal meningitis when she was three. If her parents hadn’t been so rich, she would have died,” my aunt said between puffs on her cigarette.

“Grandma’s parents sent her off to a boarding school for ladies,” my mother recalled. “She was too wealthy to be with the other girls, so she stayed with the teachers.”

As I searched for family records, calling my sister and brother for confirmation, tantalizing tidbits emerged.

“After she graduated, she went to work in Washington, D.C., addressing envelopes for a Congressman because she had such beautiful handwriting,” my sister said.

“Grandma and Grandpa were fixed up on a blind date. He was a wild young man with a motorcycle, a graduate of Gallaudet University. He was deaf from scarlet fever.” My brother, the oldest child, recalled vividly. “They fell in love and married against her family’s wishes. She was supposed to go back to Kentucky and marry a cousin, but she wouldn’t leave her gardener.”

Oral history wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. It helped that I recalled the name of the town where we’d visited another uncle, aunt, and cousin on the way to Texas: Stanford, Kentucky. Using an online genealogy site, I was able to see U.S. Census records dating as far back as the 1700’s. I rooted around in the 1800’s with no luck. One night, I received an excited call from my best friend from high school and genealogy genius. By searching in an online National Society Daughters of the American Revolution registry, and entering two of my family names, Engleman and Harris, my friend found my Stanford, Kentucky ancestors and my family lines tracing back to the Revolutionary War. Thanks to the DAR, I had the first clues in my very own family scavenger hunt.

The elusive “ladies’ school for the deaf kept me awake at night. More weeks, more digging, more walls. After months of research, I was ready to quit. But I kept feeling as if my grandmother was standing behind me at the computer, smiling and urging me to find her. At last, I found the Kentucky School for the Deaf (KSD), in Danville, Kentucky. It was the first public school for the deaf in the United States, originally called the Kentucky Asylum for the Tuition of the Deaf & Dumb when it was built in 1823. I emailed the school, asking for information on a possible alumna named Bessie Engleman.

In the meantime, I kept mousing around in the 1900 Census files for Danville and randomly selected Enumeration District 88 (ED 88). When I retrieved the image, I discovered that the majority of people counted in ED 88 were enrolled at the Kentucky Institute for Deaf Mutes. My eyes adjusted to the old-fashioned script of the census taker, and there she was on line 19: Engleman, Bessie, White, Female, born in 1883. Within days of that find, a KSD staff member sent me an email telling me he had found her original admission card.

Bessie Engleman was student number 933 admitted to KSD. The daughter of George and Susan Harris Engleman became deaf from meningitis at sixteen months, not age three, as the family legend told. The middle child in a three girl family, KSD admitted her from Lincoln County, Kentucky when she was eight years old in 1889 and graduated her in 1902 when she was twenty-one years old. Nine years later, she married Carl E. Rhodes on September 20, 1911 and lived in Washington, D.C. in 1918.

I now had enough information to find my great-grandparents, my great-great-grandparents, and beyond, because all my grandmother’s “people” lived in Lincoln County, Kentucky—and married their cousins. In some census records, I found Harris and Engleman in-laws, brothers, sisters, and cousins, all living in the same household.

My curiosity was piqued. If the oral history about my grandmother was fairly accurate, why wouldn’t the part about my grandfather be true, too? Gallaudet University’s alumni office found my grandfather’s records on microfilm. According to the Secretary of the Department of the Interior, my grandfather, Carl E. Rhodes, was deemed a “…proper person to be received into the Columbia Institution for the Deaf and Dumb, and to be instructed and maintained therein at the expense of the United States…” The same department responsible for the welfare of Native Americans in the 1800’s was responsible for my grandfather’s education. He attended the Kendall School from 1892 to 1903, but did not attend Gallaudet University, contrary to family stories. And, he wasn’t deaf secondary to scarlet fever. Congenitally deaf, a midwife home-delivered the sixth child, Carl E. Rhodes, to a grocer named James H. Rhodes and his wife, Elizabeth Cockrell Rhodes: my great-grandparents.

Despite their incredible obstacles in life, my grandparents attended school, graduated, obtained good jobs, weathered the anger of my grandmother’s wealthy family, and raised six hearing and speaking children to become productive members of society. During the depression and beyond, my grandfather was employed by the federal government as a gardener, often tending to the roses and other plantings at the White House. My brother owns a book, handed down from my grandmother, with a photograph of my grandfather working as the Assistant Head Gardener in the U.S. Botanical Gardens.   

What predicts who will be disabled in life? What foretells if a disability will cripple an individual emotionally? When I was a little girl and refused to cave in under my mother’s abuse, she would say I was stubborn, “just like your grandmother.” Instead of being humiliated, I was proud to be linked in some clear way to the woman who raised me, who loved me, and whom I adored. Today, looking back across half a century, I have a few clues to her inner strength and resilience. When I think of her, which is often, I thank her for teaching me that having a disability does not mean inability and for holding me tight and rocking me to sleep with her lullaby of wordless love.