Join romance readers around the country for some of the best games and prizes available from romance authors during the month of March. Each day in the month a different author will offer prizes such as ebooks and more. All you have to do is play the games to win!
Mark your calendar for March the 17th. Up for grabs on my page will be the first book in The Loflin Legacy, Comanche Haven. Enter for your chance to be a winner. Here’s the link.
Morgan Latimar seeks a nanny for his children. Being a Creole and a shifter makes the search hazardous for him as well as his family. The woman who accepts the position can never know his secret. Yet, despite his Wolfen wisdom, Morgan falls for the passionate, Laura Sinclair.
Laura Sinclair answers the post from the mysterious man from Louisiana. Soon she’s thrown into the world of Voodoo magic deep in the heart of Creole New Orleans in 1872. How can she perform the job she was hired to do when she’s falling in love with the handsome Morgan Latimar? Will he want her once he knows her secrets? Where can she turn for help?
It’s been five years since I began writing. Sometimes, I wonder what I’d have done if I hadn’t found writing as an outlet for my thoughts, concerns, ideas, creative energy.
Lately, I enjoy writing in a historical setting with paranormal elements such as wolves and werewolves. The mysticism allows my mind wander and ask ‘why not?’
There are times I sit and simply read through the story in my head. Getting to know the characters and their personalities, quirks and talents always prove to be a challenge I love tackling.
What would you say, if I told you, the next book will include the 3rd great granddaughter of Laura Sinclair as well as an ancient sorcerer’s nephew? ‘Magic Man’ is the latest work in progress based on the adventures of the sexy seer, Aubry Slone, and devilishly delicious, Logan Latimar, 3rd great grandnephew of Morgan. Can he shift? We’ll see. So many ways the story could unfold when you write by the seat of your pants, a.k.a. – a ‘pantster.’
In case you are interested, I have ‘Desire’s Embrace’, ‘Comanche Haven’ and ‘Casey’s Gunslinger’ on sale at Smashwords.com and AllRomanceEbooks.com at least until the end of November. Just my small way of saying thanks for all your support. Here’s an excerpt from ‘Desire’s Embrace.’
Morgan could still feel her touch. The burn ran along his skin in a most enticing way. He straightened his back, giving the steam buggy a good surge forward. Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel. Mind on Miss Sinclair. Damn it! Who was he kidding? The woman had somehow gotten past his guard. A quick glance in her direction and he had to grin. The whole episode in his room earlier was totally inappropriate. Every ounce of blood in his body had surged right to his groin with the feel of her hand on his neck. Who knew a fool thing like a collar could be useful in sexual arousal. Irritation rippled along his backbone. Again, he reminded himself he did not need the added weight of yet another problem. An affair with Miss Sinclair would be a problem. Truth!
Morgan lost the rest of her sentence as her scent came to him like a siren calling his name. Stepping toward her, he grappled with the beast for control. The creature within him growled. Morgan pulled her close, crushing her against his chest. Laura’s eyes grew wide. The kiss stole her breath as he molded his mouth over hers. Rough and callous, he forced her lips open. His tongue tangled with hers. She tasted as sweet as honey.
Laura shoved. A faint whimper escaped. Struggling, she managed to reach up, raking her nails across his neck in one violent sweep. The attack was like cold water sluicing over him. Howling in pain, he fell back. She stood, feet planted. Fury etched her face.
“How dare you?” Her words were breathless yet deadly calm. “How dare you, sir.” Her chest rose and fell with the effort.
Wiping the blood from his skin, Morgan stared as if for the first time. A silence fell between them. Morgan wheeled away. The silence continued. He glanced out the library window. Needing a bit of time to harness the beast, he supposed. Finally, composed once more he turned back. “Forgive me. I…I shouldn’t have done that.” The jut to her jaw said she doubted his sincerity. Why had he allowed the beast such leniency? When she was near, Morgan couldn’t control his urges. The beast reigned superior it seemed. Rather than endure her stare of contempt any longer, Morgan sidestepped her and reached for the cigar box. “I will not discuss my daughter with you unless the subject involves her lessons. Is that clear?”
Striking the match, he lit the cigar. His hands shook. Inhaling Morgan waited until the trembling subsided before facing her again. “In the future, Miss Sinclair, you’d be advised to stay out of things that aren’t any of your concern. Is that clear?” He peered at her over his smoke.
Laura nodded. “Will that be all, sir?” Glacial in tone, her words rang in his ears.
Rigid and regal, she turned on a dime. The cool click of the door’s latch echoed in the room as she disappeared into the hall.
Silently, he watched her go. Her lovely backside swayed in cadence with the pounding of his heart. “Damn it all to hell!” Dumping the cigar into the coffee cup atop the desk, he leaned in on the walnut wood. With his eyes closed, Morgan surmised he had a problem. The beast raged within. Morgan slammed his fists on the desk. How would he manage to share an entire evening with her? His ill-conceived idea would surely kill him. Raking a hand through his hair, Morgan sought the whiskey bottle he kept beneath the interior wall of his desk. He needed a drink. Throwing the first one back, he pondered the dregs in his glass. Perhaps David was right. Miss Sinclair’s presence wasn’t helping his situation. However, Sara was blooming into a bright and talented child with Miss Sinclair’s help. Despite her burgeoning transformation, Laura was good for the girl.
“Do not grieve over that which is past. The day dawns new with every sunrise – a gift for our pleasure.”
Jacquie Latimar – Desire’s Embrace
Morgan Latimar, a decorated Civil War veteran, and shifter seeks a nanny for his children. The woman who accepts the position can never know his secret. Yet, despite his Wolfen wisdom, Morgan craves the passionate, Laura Sinclair.
Laura Sinclair answers the post from the mysterious Louisiana widower. Soon she’s thrown into the world of Voodoo deep in the heart of Creole New Orleans, circa 1872. How can she perform her duties when she’s falling in love with the handsome Morgan Latimar. What secrets will she reveal and who will she believe?
“Gotta love a cowboy,” right? I wonder sometimes what you envision when the word cowboy is mentioned. Everyone’s ideas are different. Mine is of a rough, tough, no excuses kind of guy with a no-nonsense attitude about life. If you’ve ever tried to get close to somebody like this, you know how “hard” it can be. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Anyway, I want to share an excerpt from my novel, Comanche Haven. Given twelve years apart, Seth Loflin has a difficult time deciding how Celia, the woman from his past “fits” into his well-ordered life. You decide if he’ll succeed or not. Have a scintillating Sunday and enjoy a little cowboy heat.
Oh, by the way. Check out the interview I did with Celia back in the day. Click on the book cover below to be transported. Cheers!
Seth sank into the steaming tub of water the housekeeper had prepared for him, almost immediately, after reaching his room. Steam rose in a cloud around him. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The numbing power of the hot water was doing a fine job on the aches and pains in his body. What the water couldn’t fix, the whiskey in his hand could, so he closed his eyes and tried to forget the trouble brewing around him.
Dark hair and cool green eyes appeared in his mind’s eye. Ty and he had traveled hard to make it back by sunset. He hadn’t wanted to leave Celia alone any longer than was absolutely necessary. Jake’s report on her activities had him wishing he’d sent the foreman to Tyler in his stead.
While the bath and whiskey did their job, Seth had time to consider what Jake had told him. Celia had slipped out and gone to meet Red Bear. It didn’t set well. But the fact she’d gone alone and told no one was more disturbing. Right now, he was in no mood for deceit under his own roof.
The knock at the door startled him. Seth sloshed water as he sat upright in the tub. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Celia… ma…may I come in?”
“Wait a minute,” he snapped, more harshly than he had intended. It took a moment of stretching at the low-slung table just out of arms reach, but Seth managed to retrieve and strategically place a towel over the tub for her sensibilities. “Come on in. It’s open.”
“I didn’t get a chance to speak to you when you arrived,” Celia said as she slipped into the room. Her polite but prim demeanor faltered when she spotted him in the hip bath. “Oh! Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were bathing. I’ll come back later.”
She wheeled and her hand was already on the doorknob when Seth called out to her, “No, wait. It’s okay. I’m covered.” His wry smile topped off the smoothing of the cloth over the big brass tub.
Slowly, Celia turned.
He had to chuckle to himself. It was admirable she didn’t turn scarlet or wave away the vapors or some such nonsense at the sight of a half-naked man. He reminded himself of others who would do just that when presented with a bit of male anatomy. Satisfaction surfaced. Probably seen all there was to see in the surgery theater, Seth mused. With a waving of his wrist, he motioned her in as his smile became wicked. “Come on in and keep me company. I might even get you to scrub my back later.” He took a deep swallow of the whiskey before setting his glass on the stand beside the tub. The dark liquor burned all the way down and still didn’t numb the feeling of need growing in him. He watched her out of eyes gone to slits. For the life of him, he couldn’t seem to curb the irritated bend to his mood.
Cutter got up from his post near the hammered brass tub and wagging his tail, before sashaying over to greet Celia as she neared the bed.
Traitor, Seth mused as the dog thumped his tail with affection for the room’s newest member.
Lighting on the bench at the foot of his bed like a butterfly, Celia relaxed fractionally and let out an exaggerated breath when she noticed the hint of mischief in his expression. “I never know how to take you.” Trying to get her bearings back, she reached out and rubbed the cow dog behind the ears. “I wanted to ask if you’d heard anything about the… the… about my father’s murder while you were in town?” She finished in a rush. “You went to the sheriff, right?”
Nodding, Seth cupped water in both of his big hands and splashed it into his face. He was in no hurry to respond as he wiped the back of his hand across his face and then shook his head like a dog sending droplets of water in all directions. “I went to alert Sheriff Cole and Major Chance at the Fort like I said I would.” Seth reached for the bar of soap and began to scrub. “We checked the tracks leading away from Lone Eagle’s campsite. They headed north into Oklahoma territory. We lost them not too far from the boundary to the reservation.” He shook his head. The ponies still carried Army issue shoes. The riders are either U.S. Army or somebody with balls of steel. They left a lot of signs and discriminating evidence. I’m thinking they did it on purpose. Whoever is responsible wants it to look like the army did it.”
His gaze met and held hers for a minute. “I spoke to Jake earlier.” He waited a beat. “How did you like your ride?” Watching her closely, Seth waited.
Celia looked away, “Fine.” She worked her hands in her lap. The knuckles she gripped turned white under the pressure. “Your place is so big. I still have trouble with how vast it is.”
Seth watched as Celia placed her hand on her stomach and rubbed.
“We spent most of the day seeing a great deal of your place. It’s beautiful,” Celia concluded quickly.
Too quickly, Seth thought, Nerves – not a good sign.
“Jake said we’d only skimmed the surface. He mentioned how far away the outlying line shacks sat. He reminded me the Shooter Creek remained the northern boundary of your spread. He said you own everything almost to the Oklahoma territory.”
Seth watched her and only nodded. His expression remained benign.
Celia responded with her hands moving to grip the bench on either side of her. “Do you need help with your back?” She rose.
The question came unexpectedly. To his surprise, Celia got up and walked toward the tub. Leaning over the squat table to retrieve the soap, she began to lather his back.
What was she up to? Seth stalled in the water. His next thought had nothing to do with the cooling temperature of the water. He realized the true reason he’d been driven to get back to the ranch so quickly, which had nothing to do with her safety and everything to do with her.
The stroke of her fingers along his back had him tensing and sent blood rushing to his shaft. Seth closed his eyes and willed himself to focus on something else. His back muscles twitched as her hands glided up and down in a slow, rhythmic dance along his backbone.
“Seth, I wanted you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me.” Her voice sounded like distant music. “I don’t think I would have made it without you.”
Trying valiantly to regain his composure, Seth sat in the water in silence for a time. Her words sounded sincere. Then as if driven, he slowly leaned back in the tub. He had to admit, if she was toying with him, she was damn good at deception. “No need to thank me, Celia. You’ll always be able to count on me.” Seth took mental stock one more time and assured himself he was in control. But the need churning inside him had other ideas. One look into those emerald green orbs and his heart gave a little lurch. His mind simply stopped working.
Celia’s fingers continued to glide over his soap-slicked skin. With each stroke, her fingertips were sending molten heat straight to his loins.
They reminded him of satin. He wanted more.
Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and clasped the nape of her neck. Feeling her start to pull back, Seth whispered, “Relax girl, I won’t hurt you.” With his eyes on her lips, Seth hesitated briefly, searching for something – anything, which would let him know how she would react. Then he reached up and took her mouth with his. The hunger breaking free had nothing to do with sensibilities. This time he coaxed her mouth to open and let him taste the sweetness of her tongue. Seth’s pulse hummed as her lips gave warm and tender under his. She opened for him like a flower and Seth tasted the warmth of her lips, which were pliant against his. He groaned softly. She tasted like honey and the line of her throat like cream heated by the sun. He thoroughly explored the inside of her mouth and then the slender neckline she offered when her head lolled to the side on her own gentle moan. Slowly he discovered every slick, wet curve of her mouth. His teeth grazed her lips and tasted the salt of hunger in her response. Did she want him as much as he wanted her right now?
Celia exhaled and her eyelids fluttered shut.
The hunger growing inside him knew only one end. Long agile fingers sank deep into the silken strains of her hair as he levered himself up the side of the tub angling for a better hold on her warm skin. Cupping her head in his big hand, he kissed her again. This time it was with the fever of need. A need he’d, long ago, locked away. It surged up from the cold depths of his own desire and rocked Seth with its intensity. Taking her mouth in an attack meant to capture and possess, Seth realized too late he was losing the battle with reason, but he’d lost the will to care. She tasted so good. Her head fell to the side on another soft sigh of pleasure. Seth found himself trailing long wet, ardent kisses down her neck. The soft dip of her collarbone was a perfect place for him to linger. He could feel the blood pulsing there, just under her skin. Her smell, the smell of roses was all around him. Another soft moan escaped. So full of life, a life he’d thought he’d never hold in his arms again. The warning bells were going off in his head by then. His blood was roaring in his ears. He was in too deep to heed any of it. He felt like a drowning man with no desire for rescue.
It took a moment for it to register. She was saying something and the air around him was cooling as she drew back.
“Seth…” Her voice was a fragile murmur as she pushed gently at his chest. “I think I better go and let you get out.” Celia shifted and disengaging his hands. She slowly rose from the edge of the tub.
His eyes were on hers, those deep green orbs, pulsing with a thinly veiled need. He could see it lying there in their depths, a molten-hot, burning fire. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone – snuffed out like a candle flame. Logic reined once more.
“You better get out before you turn into a prune,” she said primly. The words, spoken so plainly, sounded strange coming from the swollen mouth Seth saw was bruised red with passion. Her lip quivered before she bit down on it.
He noted a small mark along her neck where, he surmised, he’d used his teeth. Some base demon urged him to pull her back and take what was so close. He simply stared. Unable to say anything, Seth watched her cross her arms over her breasts in a protective gesture. There was no question in his mind she’d been affected by the kiss. She ran her tongue over her lips again and looked away. Seth watched her as she brushed deliberately at the front of her day dress before she spoke again.
Long, sooty lashes rose and Celia looked once more into his face. “I better go,” she whispered. Quietly heading for the door, she quickened her pace when, she heard him sloshing water as he rose.
The title had me hooked and I enjoyed talking with the author so much I invited her to be on my blog. Here’s our conversation about Freckled Venom Copperhead with the lovely and talented, Juliette Douglas.
What inspired you to write your first book?
I’m not sure, all I know is that I kept waking up with these goofy westerns percolating around in my head. I guess I was going through a mid-life crisis or God was trying to tell me something. I just know as I would scrub boats I would write dialog and scenes in my head. I didn’t even own a computer or have internet when I began writing six years ago. Wow! Things have come a long way since then.
How did you come up with the title?
A very dear friend has a cousin who is a retired publisher. Not only did he love the rough, raw version I presented, he offered two titles, to replace the one I had. I chose Freckled Venom.
Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
That when life dumps a wagon load of lemons on you and you don’t have ‛nuff sugar to make lemonade, Just keep plugging along, you will survive.
What are your current projects?
Finishing the third book in the Freckled Venom series: Freckled Venom Skeletons to be out in 2014.
Perfume, Powder & Lead
The tale of three floozies who leave the red-light district, heading for the goldfields and stumble upon four dead Nuns and decide to change their habits…so to speak and begin robbing banks masquerading as Holy Sisters.
Bed of Conspiracy: Fiction based upon fact, The Knights of the Golden Circle and Jesse James, President Grant.
And whatever else pops into my little pea-picking brain.
Can you share a little of your current work with us?
Excerpt from Freckled Venom Copperhead
Soft light began to fill the barn while he looked around, noting the three horses watching him with mild interest, There were three doors in the stable, the one behind him, and on the opposite wall, a single sliding door with another smaller one next to that. Turning slowly, he took a good look at the Dillard boys. The three boys looked to be in their late teens to middle twenties, maybe a little older. Lanky to husky builds. Rawley had seen nasty looking hombres before, but these boys looked like sod busters, not killers. Tilting his head, he spoke to Lacy, asking, “You sure these are the Dillard brothers?”
Lacy nodded, pointing to the first one they’d brought in the barn, “That’s Aubrey, the youngest. That one is the middle brother. Name’s Keller. The dead one is the oldest, Ed.”
“Where they from? They look like sod buster.”
“They are, were, from Missouri. They’ve killed in every territory, well, almost every territory west of the Mississippi. Like I said, ‛Satan’s own spawn’,” Lacy finished, pressing her lips together.
Hearing a groan, they both turned toward the sound. Aubrey was beginning to awaken, after being smashed in the head by Lacy.
Anger began a slow burn deep inside of Lacy. She walked over to the boy and stared at the two-legged monster. This one had the scratches on his face from the Clancy woman. That made Lacy’s temper rise to a slow boil.
Aubrey looked up to see the purtiest l’il gal he’d seen in a while, flaming hair and big brown eyes you could melt into. He could feel himself rising.
Lacy’s anger continued to grow as did the bulge in his pants. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
That flaming temper overrode whatever sense Lacy had. Straddling the boy, she whipped out her knife. Bending over, she stuck it against the boy’s throbbing neck. His eyes quickly went from lust to fear.
Lacy whispered with deadly calm, “How ‛bout I do you like you did your last victim?” She asked, sliding the knife lightly drawing blood.
The boy blanched with fear. “Or better yet…” she began, brandishing the knife at the fly on his britches. She used it to pop off the buttons. She watched as the boy pressed himself against the post. “How ‛bout I just slice off your…,” her hand laid the edge of the blade across his bulge, then lightly sawed the blade back and forth, its edge beginning to cut through the material.
The bulge suddenly wilted. He looked at the knife, then, back up at her. The boy’s eyes wide with fear, he mumbled something against the bandana, shaking his head vigorously. Lacy’s eyes dripped venom as she added, “So you can’t play no more.”
She whisked the knife away only to continue her threatening attack on his torso. “How “bout…” as she sliced the buttons off his shirt and slit his underwear, exposing his gut. “How ‛bout…” she began as she slowly and lightly, sliced his skin upward. “I gut you like a hog at killing time, but I’ll leave you alive. Take your innards out.” Dark eyes never left the boy’s face. Lacy waved at the barn rafters. “Throw them up over those beams there, so you can watch your guts swinging from the rafters. Like sausages hanging from the beams of a smokehouse. How ‛bout that?” Lacy finished quietly.
Shocked at what he’d been witnessing, Rawley couldn’t move. His boots rooted to the dirt floor like a big oak. He’d never seen a female act like that before. Regaining focus, his ground eating stride placed him at Lacy’s side in seconds. He grabbed her wrist, swinging her around as he wrenched the knife out of her hand, scrutinizing the girl’s eyes. Lacy had traveled to somewhere deep within her soul. Moments later, her eyes came back into focus, fixing a deadly stare on him.
“That’s enough, Sunshine! I’m the law here. From now on you’ll do as I say!”
Freckled cheeks scorched with anger, she blasted the lawman, “I ought to whittle your ears off for that! Sides, you ain’t the only law around,” she told him through clinched teeth. Pushing around, him she moved toward the two boys, angrily tearing the guns out of their holsters. She shoved the pistols into his belly when she walked past him. Rawley caught them, barely. His eyes followed Lacy as she struggled to slide open the barn door. He didn’t even bother to help, she’d pissed him off. The door continued protesting as the rusty wheels screeched from lack of use along its track. At last it slid open. She disappeared into the darkness.
Excerpt 2 from Freckled Venom Copperhead
Rawley’s eyes turned the color of a polished barrel,blue steel. He continued striding towardthe barn.He did not like what he saw, but kept his mouth shut as he loaded up Ed. Walking over to Aubrey, his hand grabbed a handful of hair, pulling up the boy’s head. Rawley looked into a purple and black swollen face, He was in no condition to walk. The boy needed to ride.
Lacy turned in her saddle to address the lawman, “Mount up. We got a good three days’ ride.”
Rawley advanced toward the girl, his anger flaring from beneath black lashes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Aubrey can’t walk! He’s too badly hurt! Thanks to you! He needs to ride!”
Lacy leaned down toward the marshal, her eyes narrowing into slits, color brightening freckled cheeks in anger. “You listen to me good, Lovett. I’m not all brawn and muscle like you, so…” taking a finger and tapping her head, “I have to use my l’il pea-picking brain. Making my prisoners walk fifteen to twenty miles a day leaves them too tuckered out to argue with me at night, allowing me a little sleep. Keeping the food and water away, makes ‛em real tame. Now, mount up!”
“Is it? I call it self preservation. No one gets killed. No one gets hurt and we all arrive alive! Mount up!”
“You can’t keep taking your anger and your hatred out on the fugitives you catch, just because you don’t have the guts to confront your grandfather for what he did to you!” His eyes already frosty with anger, turned to diamond chips. “How many times do you have to kill your grandfather, before you give it up?”
Lacy recoiled as if she had been slapped.
“You have all the warmth and welcome of smallpox when it comes riding into town! You know that? He snapped. “I don’t know where you were in line when they passed out hearts. But, you sure as hell didn’t receive one!”
He saw Lacy drop her hooded look back into place, hiding her emotions, again.
Rawley spun angrily, walking back to Aubrey. Cutting enough rope to tie the boy in the saddle, he helped him up, eased him over to the horse, supporting him as he mounted. “I’ll get you to a doctor, soon as I can, son,” Rawley stated, finishing the knots.
Hearing the metallic click of a hammer being pulled back, Rawley stiffened, continuing to face the boy as he waited.
“The boy walks.”
“No. He rides,” he said. His already deep voice dropped lower. “Go ahead. Shoot me in the back. You do, I’ll see you hang,” Rawley threatened.
It seemed like ages before the marshal heard the hammer ease down with a soft click, a gun whispering back into its holster, leather creaking as horses moved off. Turning his head, his eyes followed the girl as she moved out. Keller, his hands tied by a rope half-hitched to Lacy’s saddle horn, struggled to remain on his feet as he was pulled along.
Rawley slowly expelled the breath he had been holding, “Damn kid. I’ve had enough,” he muttered. Whipping out his knife, he ran over to Keller, cleaning slicing the rope with a down turn of his wrist. The boy fell with the sudden slack.
Feeling the taunt rope go slack, Lacy spun around in the saddle, “Lovett! You bastard!” She yelled. Whirling Fancy around, she aimed the big grey on a collision course with the marshal. At the last second, Fancy swerved, throwing Lacy out of the saddle. She landed on top of Rawley, knocking both into the snow. Keller saw his chance. Scrambling up, he ran toward the nearest horse, his teeth chewing on the rope tying his hands. At last the knots loosened enough to where he could slide out his hands. Grabbing the reins, he mounted the big grey. Kicking heels into her ribs, he rode past the two still thrashing about in the snow.
“You damn little…she-devil!” Rawley grunted, taking another blow to his ribs.
Lacy scrambled out of his grasp. Standing, she locked both hands together, straightened her arms and swung, like an ax aiming at a large tree. The movement caught Rawley across his back, surprising, him and driving him to his knees. “That did it,” he mumbled, rising again.
Lacy had whirled, watching Keller ride off on her horse. Taking a few running steps, she suddenly landed face first in the snow. Rawley quickly grabbed both ankles lifting them up so the little hellion didn’t have any leverage. Lacy twisted. Turning and flopping like a hundred and fifteen pound catfish. “Lovett! I’ll kill you for this! I swear…I’ll kill you!” She yelled.
Rawley dragged her, sliding on her belly, pulling snow with her, like a plow, over to where Keller had dropped the rope. Bending down, he picked it up. Kneeling, he not so gently put a knee in her back. “Oww! You bastard! That hurt!” He trussed up her ankles, bending legs at the knees.
Lacy kept twisting, squirming, her body digging a hole in the snow, as she struggled to break the grip he had on her. Holding her kicking legs down with one hand, Rawley’s other hand, at last caught an irate arm, pulling that behind her, adding that to the ankles. Catching the other wrist, he added that to the three making a foursome. Breathing hard, he stood and surveyed his handiwork. Lacy twisted her neck. Seeing nothing, but snow covered boots and pants, she rolled on her side. She gave him the dirtiest look she could muster, “Lovett, you’re an ass! You let Keller get away!” She declared hotly.
The marshal heaved in more air for his starved lungs. Damn kid is quick. It had taken everything he had to subdue her. Fingers brushing his hair out of his eyes, he said, “Maybe that cold snow will cool down your temper some, Sunshine.”
Turning, he walked over to his hat. Picking it up, he brushed the snow off before resettling it back on his head. He threw one more look at the trussed up girl, then mounted. Two fingers brushed the brim of his hat as he nodded toward the girl, riding past her, heading off down the hill after Keller.
“Lovett?” Lacy yelled. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t leave me like this! Lovett? Lovett…,” she yelled, dragging his name out to four or five syllables instead of the two. His name echoed against the granite backdrop of the mountains.
Who designed the covers?
We wanted striking, different covers to draw the readers eye right away. Cover photography is licensed from JC Leacock Photography out of Crested Butte, Co. His work is stunning. Bearhead Publishing LLC designed all the graphics and fonts found on the cover and inside under each chapter.
Who is your publisher and what are a few things you like about their business platform?
Bearhead Publishing LLC out of Brandenburg, Kentucky, a small press publishing company that is family owned. I liked the fact that they want their authors to retain their own unique writing voice. They offer all the same things a big company offers, but on a more personalized level. We have become good friends.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
I hope you have as much fun reading these western adventure/romance tales as I did writing them. Enjoy the ride!
I’m Juliette Douglas, new western author. I live in Kentucky where in real life I wash boats for a living. Yes, you read that right. I’m just a crusty, rusty old fart of a boat washer who has stories percolating around in my head as I scrub boats.
I live on an old farm with a passel of kids…uh…critters. Why do I write western action stories with a little romance thrown in…Go figure! I like to say it is a God thing. I have already published two western novels in 2013. Freckled Venom Copperhead and Freckled Venom Copperhead Strikes. Both receiving the 5-star rating from Readers’ Favorite. I am working on the third sequel in the Freckled Venom series, now. Titled: Freckled Venom – Skeletons making its debut summer 2014.
Take time to visit http://www.facebook.com/author.juliette.douglas for updates and events. I love to hear from fans of my books. Email me or friend me on facebook. Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/Freckled-Venom-Copperhead-Juliette-Douglas-ebook/dp/B00IEUXBV8/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1398947507&sr=1-1&keywords=freckled+venom
Genre: Western adventure/romance Publisher: Bearhead Publishing LLC