How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
Fred’s Team/Julia Timpf
I happened to see on one of the news shows I watch that Kat Timpf’s sister would be running the New York Marathon (https://www.fredsteam.org/juliatimpf) to raise money for cancer research in honor of Kat. You might not know Kat Timpf. She’s a comedienne and unabashed independent thinker. She’s very funny. Read more about why Julia is running for Kat on the site.
Julia says supporting Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center is deeply personal to her. Supporting cancer research, particularly for breast cancer is for me, too. Both my mom and her twin sister had mastectomies because of breast cancer and my mom eventually died of it. It’s a terrible scourge but we are better now than we were years ago, and part of that reason is due to research at places like MSK. Please comment on this blog and I will happily donate to this worthwhile cause. Thank you!
The Sisters O’Ryan
Anya is the second in The Sisters O’Ryan series. In the first book, Regan marries and leaves home to find her future in Oregon. She loses her husband on the way but continues to start a new life in the wild new territory. Siobhan marries twins and takes herself to San Francisco.
In the fourth book, Maire strikes out to join a group studying tribal languages in the Arizona territory where she gives her heart to both a cowboy and an Indian. All of the sisters found love except Anya. She married an abuser and barely escaped the marriage with her life. As Anna, she lives in Missouri, in love from afar with the local sheriff, when a stranger wanders into town. A stranger who’s hunting for someone. And now he’s found her.
Now is a great time to take a few minutes to read a great book—or start a new series—before the hectic holidays arrive. Enjoy!
Excerpt: In the attic where she had a cot set up, Anna paced half the night away. She bit her bottom lip, trying to decide if Bran Monroe had intended his innuendo to pierce her defenses or if she was letting her imagination run away with her. If indeed he had come to Brompton looking for her, she had to make plans right away to move on. She took an accounting in her head of the money she had saved in the bank. She added to that rather small sum the amount Monroe had paid in advance for the room. He could have the room and be damned in it, but he couldn’t have her. She would never go back, never. Atlanta was no longer home. The city held no one and nothing she cared to go back for.
Sadly, she thought of leaving Brompton. If it came to that, she would, but not without heavy regrets. Not the least of which was Lowry. She loved him. She had loved him for a year or longer but until tonight had always kept her distance. The mess into which she had gotten herself was not his to fight, and she wouldn’t subject him to it, even knowing he would do anything in his power to protect her. He was a lawman, after all.
Lowry, more than anyone she’d known, believed in the power of the law—she’d never known him to do even the smallest thing against his principles. Everyone in town knew they always could count on him to do the just thing, to know what was right in any situation and follow through, regardless of who was involved. An association with her would put all of that at risk. She would never do that to him.
She slumped on the cot and covered her face, willing herself not to cry. If she was wrong about Monroe and his arrival in town had nothing to do with her, everything would be fine once he left. But if not, what could she do?
Only what she’d done before. Run.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
Future Founders
While watching the news this past week I learned a bit about a group that was new to me: Future Founders. The feature had three young people (by “young” I mean seniors in high school. When I think of the things I was doing as a senior… Well, let’s just say I wasn’t starting any businesses!) who had an idea and developed it. They found that by the time kids today were taught about finances and business they’d already missed so many opportunities to expand their futures. So, they started Future Founders. ”Future Founders is building the nation’s largest inclusive community of intentional young entrepreneurs and entrepreneurial-minded leaders. To us, “entrepreneur” isn’t a job title. It’s a mindset. One that allows you to take control of your future and pursue what matters most to you. To be an entrepreneur is to be a leader. To raise your hand. To solve the problem. To take the initiative. And when done correctly, to leave the world a little bit better than you found it.” Big goals but they seem to be achieving them.
As a former teacher, I’ve moaned, complained, and screamed over our educational system these days. Kids should be taught less about being an activist and more about how to read, write, and become a contributing member of our society and culture. If things don’t change, I shudder to think where we’ll be in ten years. Future Founders is a bright light in a dark tunnel. Thank you for commenting. I’ll be sending a donation for each one.
Speaking of goals for the future, here are two novellas about just that! Your Desire
Blurb: Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold and the fantasy is fulfilled? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town…?
Excerpt: Your Desire. The name was painted on the door in simple block print. She pulled the handle and stepped into the cramped store, where she came face to face with an older, prim man in a well-worn suit. Gray touched his temples but not his thin moustache. His dark brown eyes warmed her to her core, and she felt immediate trust in him.
The shop didn’t inspire such trust, however. It was on the shabby side of shabby-chic, and like the man’s suit, had seen better days. That explained why she hadn’t noticed the place before—it wasn’t the sort of establishment in which she usually shopped.
“May I help you?” the man asked.
She turned toward the window display. What the hell! The effect remained the same. The satin seemed to change shades of purple depending on her position. One way she noticed the beads, another she saw the pearls. Now she saw barely visible lines of sequins between folds of the skirt. Although there was no breeze, the skirt seemed to shift, and tiny shards of light shot from the sequins otherwise hidden in the yards of material.
“Yes, that dress in the window, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It is unique, part of our special collection.” He sounded proud. “May we make one like it for you?”
“Make one?” She stepped forward and reached out. The touch of her fingers caused swirls of violet to run through the fabric from waist to hem, and she gasped as she jerked her hand away. “No, I need the dress for tomorrow night.” Curious, she faced the man. “I can’t believe you made this. It’s wonderful!”
He closed his eyes and graciously nodded his acknowledgement.
The mannequin in the window drew her attention again. She’d never owned anything so soft and feminine. Suddenly her black pantsuits seemed totally unsuitable for the office party, dull and lifeless, even when she imagined them paired with a bright scarf or lacy camisole.
“How much for this dress?” Damn! She’d failed to keep intense interest from her voice. If she were the salesperson, she’d immediately jack up the price.
“Oh, you don’t want that. It’s only for display and very old. I can’t guarantee your satisfaction.”
Slowly Derica turned to the man, her mind turning over possibilities of why he wouldn’t want to take advantage of a sale. Did he think to haggle and increase the price, now that she’d shown her excitement? Well, if that was his game, she could play, too.
“Perhaps you’re right. I have a formal affair tomorrow night. Do you have anything else?” Casting a glance at the drab interior, she carefully kept her expression neutral. “I’m a size eight,” she offered, seeing him give her an appraising look.
He nodded. “That’s exactly what I would have said. If you’ll follow me, I think we have just what you’re looking for.”
They walked to the back of the store and through a curtained doorway. There she found a softly lighted alcove with two stuffed chairs on either side of a dark-stained piecrust table. A cup of steaming tea and a plate of shortbread were on a tray. She examined the room in amazement, not having expected a showroom. In fact, she’d barely expected curtains on the dressing rooms, based on the appearance of the shop.
“Just make yourself comfortable, and we’ll see what we have, shall we?” He waved her into one of the chairs then turned toward another, smaller doorway to her side. “Edwina, we’re ready.”
A young woman dramatically swept aside the material covering the entryway and emerged wearing a pink chiffon formal with a fitted bodice and long sleeves. What caught Derica’s attention however, was the woman’s shape. She could have been Derica’s body double with her long legs, narrow, rounded hips, and tiny waist. The woman’s breasts would have nicely filled out Derica’s own B-cup bra. The difference came in her beautiful violet eyes and heart shaped, Kewpie doll lips, painted bright red.
And also in her short spiked hair that was a most interesting shade of yellow. Derica was so taken with their similarities in shape, it didn’t occur to her to wonder why the woman was poised and ready to model formal gowns.
“This is my granddaughter, Edwina.” The man beamed at Edwina then turned his warm smile on Derica. “And I’m Nigel Brown.”
“I’m Derica Meadows. That’s a lovely gown, Mr. Brown,” she said, as the woman twirled to show off the flow of the skirt. “But it looks like something for a prom.”
His smile fell ever so slightly. “Oh, dear. Well, Edwina…” He shooed her behind the curtain.
After what felt like only seconds, Edwina came out again, wearing a lime green skirt and white ruffled blouse.
“No, that’s not right at all. I need something for a company dinner, and I want a gown that will knock everyone back on their heels.”
She’d barely taken a sip of tea before Edwina left and came back, this time in a sleek black sheath that displayed too much leg on one end and far too much cleavage on the other. Derica cringed then smiled, thinking of the reactions of The Wives if she wore this dress to the party. But a sexy little number wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted mystery underlying a thoroughly feminine sophistication.
She wanted the dress in the window.
Nigel looked at Edwina and opened his mouth to say something—probably to tell her to try something else—but Derica stopped him. “Mr. Brown, let me speak frankly. You’ve shown me lovely dresses but the only thing I’ve seen that interests me is the dress in the window. If you’re not prepared to let me buy it…?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then I’m afraid I have no business here. So, will you entertain a purchase, or not?”
Pursing his lips and tapping his mouth with his forefinger, Nigel stood silent. Edwina disappeared behind the curtain and then moments later passed through the showroom and into the shop, dressed in heeled, dark brown leather boots, a mid-calf length brown suede skirt and high-necked white blouse. How does she do that? But Derica didn’t have time to ponder the question further.
“Would you be willing to pay two hundred dollars as a deposit? As I mentioned, it is one of a kind and I’d hate to lose the only pattern I have.” Nigel spoke without a trace of indecisiveness. Derica admired a person who took the bull by the horns once they’d made a decision.
“Two hundred dollars as a deposit? That amount won’t give me ownership?” Two hundred was a steal to buy the thing, but to rent it? He was a canny businessman after all.
“Let’s call it a lease. If you return it undamaged by the end of the month, and you’ve been satisfied with the results, your money will be refunded.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never heard of any store doing this kind of thing.”
He waved his hand. “We’re not like any other store you’ve frequented, Ms. Meadows. Can’t you tell that?”
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
It doesn’t take a war for service members or officers to be ill or injured. Having family nearby can make all the difference in recovery time. That’s where Luke’s Wings can often help.
“Luke’s Wings provides emergency travel planning services and airplane tickets for the families and loved ones of wounded, ill, and injured service members, Veterans, and fallen officers, during hospital recovery and rehabilitation. … Luke’s Wings was founded in 2008 after learning that the government only provides a very limited number of flights for loved ones to be bedside after a service member is injured. This is where Luke’s Wings steps in to fill the gap for the months and years ahead.
“Families are completely on their own to travel back and forth between their everyday lives and their new reality. Luke’s Wings provides complimentary airfare to wounded, ill, and injured service members, veterans and their loved ones keeping military families connected during recovery and rehabilitation. These flights bring mental, physical, emotional, and financial support, empowering wounded service members to overcome challenges they face every step of the way.”
The average commercial flight ticket is $350. Please comment on this blog post and I will contribute to help keep this worthy cause going. Thank you!!
May I tell you about Naval Maneuvers? Three novellas tell the stories of three servicemen and their loves. I dedicated the book to my dad, who proudly sailed the seas for 24 years and for my second father, who believed “once a Marine always a Marine,” and who demonstrated the finest qualities of the Corps in love of his country and family.
Blurb: Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.
Excerpt: Carie made her way around the side of the building and nearly ran into Todd, who lounged against the weathered wood siding. He looked better than good in a pale blue polo shirt and jeans. Top-Sider boat shoes with no socks gave him that naturally casual look that no model could successfully carry out.
“I was hoping you’d come,” he said.
“You were pretty obvious,” she said dryly.
“I knew you were smart enough to catch the hint. I just didn’t know if you’d follow it.”
How could she not? The moment she noticed him she’d remembered the feel of his being deep inside her. But that didn’t change a damn thing. They shouldn’t be here, not together.
She held her head high and tried to look down her nose at him—nearly impossible since he was taller than she, but she had perfected the attitude long before meeting Todd Baxter. Senior Chief Todd Baxter. “I wanted to walk the beach while I was here, that’s all.” Todd grinned and Carie melted inside.
“Lucky for me, I wanted to walk the beach, too,” he said. “Quite a coincidence, huh?”
She snorted in disbelief and slipped off her sandals. Brushing by him, she was glad he didn’t try to kiss her or hold her. But then she frowned. Why didn’t he try to kiss her? She’d wanted to jump his bones right there in that Norfolk hallway. They had to maintain propriety then, but here, no one would see them. What held him back? She knew an unfamiliar sense of self-doubt. Had she mistaken his feelings before?
Nonsense. Carie knew what they’d had was more than mere lust. It had been lust of stupendous proportions, far beyond a few days of burning out. Then what held him back? Knowing the military regulations preventing officers and enlisted personnel from having a relationship, you idiot.
Damn. She finally found someone she clicked with, and he had to be an enlisted man in the Navy.
The sand felt good between her toes, cool and squishy. Gulls screeched overhead and on the sand, where they snatched up sand crabs and poked around for scraps sunbathers might have left. Surf pounded to the shore and then surged forward, the sharp white of its foam sharp against the dark, wet sand before the water was absorbed. The sun beat down, making her wish she’d worn her bathing suit under her jeans and tank top so she could take a quick dip, and remembered to bring a floppy hat to shield her face.
Suddenly, something was plopped on her head. She dragged it off to look at it. SFC Baxter was stamped on the inside of a white sailor hat, brim folded down.
“I kept it for sentimental purposes when I made chief,” Todd said. When she raised her brows, he continued. “I brought it in case you came without a cover. I remember you were sensitive to the sun when we went to pick up your clothes.” He smiled. “And I know you’re quick to freckle. Not that I don’t like your freckles a great deal. Ma’am.”
She cringed at his use of “Ma’am,” though it was the proper term for him to use when a superior officer was a woman. But she smiled inside that he’d remembered such a small thing like the sensitivity to the sun suffered by all redheads. Chagrined, she put the hat on and pulled it forward, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“After all that time in North Carolina, how in hell did we never mention what we did for a living?” She couldn’t believe her stupidity. Martha had nothing on her for not asking the right questions.
“In Carolina we had lots of other things on our minds. I knew you’re a lawyer. When I thought of you, I never wondered how you spent your time at work. I just thought of how you spent your time with me.”
“That’s pretty shallow.”
Todd laughed. “Not to a man.”
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
My charity this moth is Folds of Honorin honor of Memorial Day, which was last weekend here in the States. The mission of Folds of Honor is: “To provide educational scholarships to spouses and children of America’s fallen and disabled service-members. … Honor their sacrifice. Educate their legacy.” So this charity helps two ways that are near and dear to my heart—it helps give people who need the boost an education they might not be able to afford, and it honors those who have given so much. Please comment!
A woman who has traveled thousands of miles searching for a tall man with brilliant blue eyes. A man she’s been dreaming of for months.
A man whose life is in danger—or so the screwy woman having dreams and visions says—but who doesn’t believe for one minute in the occult.
A man who has been thought dead for two years and who disappeared with a bundle in stolen cash.
How will these three come together? And who will be left standing at the end of their encounter?
Without waiting for an invitation, Dan turned a chair around and straddled it, his arms resting on the back. He called out a request for sweet tea to the woman behind the counter, who seemed to know him and was unsurprised by his manner of ordering.
“Please join me,” Cassandra said dryly, though she might as well not have said anything for all the attention he paid her words.
“So, when are you leaving?” He smiled tightly, and his voice was anything but friendly.
Cassandra responded in kind. “I’m not sure yet. But if you’ll leave me your number I’ll be sure to call when I’m ready to go. You’ll be prepared then to start the celebration.”
“What, is the town in one of your hocus-pocus dreams, too? Is that why you’re hanging around?” He took a sip of his tea, which the waitress had just set in front of him. “Thanks, Mindy,” he said.
“I fail to see why that’s any of your business.”
“Look, you told me you have a dream where you see me die. Seems to me that makes it a personal issue and my business. I’d just prefer not to have you hanging around spreading tales that might get some people upset. This is home to me, not some research location for a parapsychology experiment.”
“Mr. Morgan, I have no idea why you’re being so rude.”
He snorted at her comment.
“But I can assure you that I have no intention of talking to anyone in Greenwood about you, or harming your reputation in any way. I also had no intention of speaking with you again and thus taking the chance of piercing your obviously very thin skin, but since you have invited yourself to drink tea at my table, the least you can do is be civil. I was sitting here minding my own business and enjoying the peace of your town when you forced yourself on me. In a manner of speaking.”
His eyes took on a darker glint.
“I know you know how to carry on polite conversation, since you did so Saturday night. If you choose not to prove that you can do it again, please drink your tea in silence. Or better yet, go somewhere else and drink it.” She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and shifted her gaze across the street.
Dan took a sip of tea and looked at her over the glass. His gaze, in fact, proved so intense that she squirmed involuntarily. She glanced down to make sure she was dressed appropriately, and of course, she was. She had on jeans again and a white blouse that had small sprigs of flowers stitched on it. The sleeves just covered her shoulders and the band collar stood up high on her neck. What was it with this man that threw her so off kilter?
“Well in fact, Ms. Hudson, I can be civil when I choose to be. That’s a very pretty blouse you’re wearing. See?”
“Thank you.” She directed her green gaze back to him. She could almost see the strain it took him to sit there speaking to her in a normal tone of voice.
“I like all of that fine embroidery work.”
“I did it myself.”
“All of it?” He sounded surprised. “It’s very nicely done. We pride ourselves here on knowing something about textiles and good work on fabric. It’s been the lifeblood of this part of the South for a long time.”
“I know that. I’m interested in textile work.” Cassandra sighed. “Mr. Morgan, why are you sitting here talking to me? It’s plain that you’d rather be anywhere else. Don’t you have a root canal or some other minor torture you’d rather be off to?”
“Why, Ms. Hudson. Beautiful and astute.” He grinned as she straightened in her chair and once again directed her attention to a storefront across the street.
More quietly he said, “I don’t know why I’m here. There’s something about you that has me intrigued, I guess. I drove past the motel half a dozen times yesterday trying to decide why I was even on that side of town. I kept hoping I’d see you out and have an excuse to ‘happen’ into you. But I didn’t. So I drove home and used up frustrated energy in the shop. Messed up several good boards before I finally wound down. Lucky I didn’t cut off a damn finger in the process.”
Cassandra snapped her head around. She hoped the astonishment she felt wasn’t plain on her face.
Dan faced her directly. “So, is that civil enough for you?” He took a big gulp of tea. “I suddenly wish this was something stronger. Now that I’ve found you, I can hardly wait to get away.”
“Flatterer.”
About me:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. She is the primary persona of three pen names—triplets, if you will: Dee, Anne Krist, and Jenna Stewart.
As noted above, Dee S. Knight writes erotic romance—emphasis on the romance! She was part of an anthology named a Top Pick in Romantic Times magazine (Resolutions) and the sole author of another Top Pick designation, for the paranormal erotic romance, Passionate Destiny.
“Sister” Anne Krist does not write erotic romance. Her book, Burning Bridges, has received high praise and multiple 5-star reviews because of the depth of the romance and emotion.
Third of the triplets is Jenna Stewart. Jenna has tried her hand at ménage—in both historical and shifter books. She wrote the Sisters O’Ryan series set during the westward migration in the U.S., the Great Wolves of Men-Edge, and Unlikely Bedfellows.
Regardless of the name she uses to write during the day, their dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy. What happens during their nights are their secret.
For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join the girls on Nomad Authors. Once a month, look for Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on the Charity Sunday blogs, the author will donate money to the charity named. We’re all different, so please check each of us out.
This month (February) is slightly different in that the group is keeping last month’s blogs posts available. Both Lisabet Sarai and I have charities, one for wildlife protection and mine for the Shriner’s Hospitals. I also have a new one for this month, K-9s for Warriors that I hope you will check out below.
Thanks for your help and your participation!
The mission for K-9s for Warriors is so worthwhile: “Determined to end Veteran suicide, K9s For Warriors is the leading nonprofit organization that provides trained Service Dogs to military Veterans nationwide suffering from PTSD, traumatic brain injury, and/or military sexual trauma — at no financial cost to the Veteran.” And an even better outcome is that the dog helps save the warrior while the warrior helps save the dog. “Beyond our dedication to serving Veterans, we go the extra mile by rescuing dogs and giving them a second chance and new purpose as life-changing Service Dogs. Our innovative, research-backed program enables both the Veteran and Service Dog to build an unbreakable bond that fosters mutual healing and recovery.” What could be better than providing love and support—and new life energies—on both ends of the leash?
Please comment on my post and I will send a donation to K-9s for Warrior in all of our names. Thank you!
A sailor’s heart is hardened by betrayal. A woman wonders how things went so wrong. Burned bridges can’t be rebuilt. Or…can they?
“I loved it, just loved it! I was going to take it with me on vacation but I started reading and didn’t want to stop. It was addictive.”
Blurb: Winner! Coffee Pot Book Club awarded Burning Bridges the Gold Medal for Best Romance 2020!
Not your typical “secret baby” book! This Southern romance packs in the emotion.
Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she’d given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.
Excerpt: Sara calls her mother after receiving a package of letters, decades old
“I thought it would be you. Have you read the letters?”
“No. What happened, do you know?” Scattered on the table, the three packets drew her gaze and she stared as though trying to read their meaning through the sealed paper.
“Only what the Department of Navy letter said. Some bags of mail were lost. I suppose if I weren’t still receiving part of Dad’s retirement, they wouldn’t have found me.”
Sara closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. “I mean, do you know what happened to the rest of the letters?”
“What?” There was no mistaking the naked fear in her mother’s voice.
“The envelopes are numbered. I have twenty-eight through thirty. What do you think happened to the others?” Tension radiated through her shoulders and neck. Her mother was about to say something she didn’t want to hear, she knew it.
“Sara, you have to understand, Dad and I only wanted what was best for you. You were a child, a high school senior with a wonderful future in front of you. You’d been accepted at William and Mary. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up with a sailor who would love you and leave you. Which, I might add, is exactly what he did.”
Sara could barely suck air into her lungs. Her fingers whitened with the hold she had on the phone cord. “What did you do, Mother?”
“More than anything, we didn’t want you hurt.” Moments passed. “Your father made the decision, but I was in favor of it, I want you to know that. He’s not here, so if you’re going to get mad, I suppose it will have to be at me.” She ended with a sigh. “After—that man—left Virginia Beach, we determined it would be best for you to make a clean break. We never had any doubt that he was wrong for you. So, we intercepted the letters.”
The blood drained from Sara’s face and she pulled over a chair. If she didn’t sit she’d fall. “You did what? How could you do that?” Her voice broke.
“You put your letters in the mailbox and I took them out after you left for school. And his…”
All too well, Sara remembered days of rushing into the house to sort through the stack of mail on the hall table, never finding a letter from Paul. Each day with no news added a stone to her wall of doubt that he loved her and depleted her store of faith that he’d stand by her.
Sara moaned. “Do you know what you did with your meddling?”
“Sara, you were seventeen, a child. Do you know what that means? He could have gone to jail. Your father was in favor of going to his commanding officer—even to the police. It was fortunate for your friend that his ship left.”
Sara envisioned her mother sitting alone in her living room. About this time each afternoon, a gin and tonic sat on the table beside her. She’d wear a skirt and blouse and her hair and make-up would be flawless. Sara also didn’t doubt that her mother’s posture was rigid and that her thumb rubbed the tips of her index and middle fingers. Those were indications her mother’s emotions—anger, frustration, fear, whatever—were threatening to override her normal control. Today she deserved every terrible, panicky feeling she was experiencing.
Mary Ellen sighed. “Try to see it from our point of view. You were a good girl with a good future. He destroyed all of that in a matter of weeks. You were our responsibility and we protected you the best way we knew how.”
“Protected me!”
“Yes, protected you. We loved you more than anything on earth.” She quieted, as though considering the next bit. “He died in service to his country. That was at least an honorable thing.”
A sob broke from Sara.
Her mother softened her tone. “I have no doubt he might have been a good man, but not for you, and not at that time. I don’t regret ending the relationship, whatever else happened.”
“I can’t believe you did this. I don’t even know what to say to you.” A headache inched its way forward to throb behind her eyes. She used her free hand to block the light coming through the kitchen windows. “The horrid things I thought about him, the certainty I had that he’d forgotten me…all wrong. I mailed the first letters from school. I wish I’d kept on doing that and asked him to write me at Cindy’s house. Who knows what might have happened?”
“Sara, it’s been so long. I thought you’d be able to understand after all this time, but maybe I was wrong. Put the whole episode with that man behind you, darling. Just throw those letters out. What difference could they possibly make now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Darling? We shouldn’t talk about this over the phone. I can be there in a few minutes and then—”
Sara’s eyes shot open. “No! I may never forgive you for this, Mother. In fact, I’m hanging up before I say something I probably shouldn’t.”
“Sara, let me—”
Sara pressed the end icon and dropped her phone onto the table. Vaulting from the chair, she paced around the kitchen table. Squared stopped eating and turned to watch, his Siamese-blue eyes following her path. In agitation, she picked up the letter from the Navy, glanced unseeing at the words then tossed it back. Stomping to the sink, she poured a glass of water, then drank it all without taking a breath. Finally, she turned and stared at Paul’s envelopes.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.https://nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
<a href=”https://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=294166&type=basic”>Click here</a> to see the list of other authors participating in today’s blog hop! I hope you’ll visit them too, to find out about the charities they are supporting.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
I recently heard of a fairly new (less than 10 years old) charity that started with two brothers wanting to spread a little kindness in their corner of the world. Weren’t they surprised when their goodness became noticed and their efforts expanded internationally! You never know, do you? Their charity is called Blankets of Hope and every $5 buys one blanket.
In 2016, brothers Nick and Mike Fiorito quit their jobs in Brooklyn. While looking for something more, they started a Go Fund Me page to collect money to buy blankets to distribute to the homeless. Their program attracted the attention of a venture capitalist on the west coast, and their good deed became their jobs and their passion. Since their beginning, the program has expanded to include participation with schools. Taking part teaches the kids about helping those less fortunate and (hopefully) inspires the next generation of givers.
Two things particularly appealed to me about Blankets of Hope. One, 100% of donations go towards success of the program—administration costs are handled separately. Two, Blankets of Hope proves that the efforts of two individuals can make a huge difference in the world. I’ve always believed that if we each made our own corners of the world a better place, soon the whole world would be better. Nick and Mike Fiorito demonstrate this in the very best way. Please comment and I will donate to this worthy cause. Thank you!
One Woman Only Blurb: As one of a set of triplets, Jonah Goodman has always stood out as the least academic—and the last one to take the world, or commitment, seriously. Thing is, that’s not really who he is. But who can he convince of that? Not his family, who see him as they always have. And maybe not his one love, the sweetheart he left behind in high school but with whom he is now sharing an erotic holiday. Will he get his second chance to prove to Kelly that he is a loving man who wants more than a sensual few days, but a real relationship with the woman he lost once and doesn’t want to lose again? With that chance and Kelly’s love, Jonah knows that a “good man” can become even better.
Teaser:
Jonah perched on the arm of the sofa. As if he felt her gaze, he lifted his head and caught her eye. Then he smiled, a slow, sexy smile that sent her mind whirling with images of his smiling at her like that in bed. Give it up, girl. Been there, done that. Wasn’t much fun.
But he sure had kept in shape, and Lord in heaven, the man was sexy. He’d had years to practice his moves, and surely he was better at sex now than he’d been eighteen years ago. There would be no fumbling now, no pain from its being the first time, no quick release on his part before she even knew what was happening. No pure silk dress to be ruined. Man, she’d loved that dress.
Kelly turned at the sound of Jonah’s voice behind her. Dinner had ended. All three of the boys had given best man speeches and Eve had even given a very creditable matron of honor speech, considering she had only known Marilyn and Caleb a short time. Lots of toasts had been raised and finally the live band had struck up the music. Caleb led his bride onto the floor for a foxtrot—a dance more than half of the guests had no idea how to do, including her.
Facing Jonah she sighed inwardly at how scrumptious he looked. Sure, his face was pretty much displayed on his brothers’ heads, too, but there was something different about Jonah. His nose was just a little crooked from when Bobby Hendricks had broken it in ninth grade and his eyes held an especially bright sparkle in his eyes when he smiled. Maybe… Well, she didn’t know what caused the difference between Jonah and his brothers. Whatever it was, she had never been fooled by the so-called identical nature of the identical triplets. She’d wanted to be his girl since elementary school. Thought she would be in high school. And then forced every last thought of him from her mind from senior year on.
Until now.
“I don’t know how to foxtrot.”
He shrugged. “Who does except those over fifty?” He glanced at his folks, still alone on the dancefloor, although a few couples were wandering out to join them now. “We can pretend.”
She mentally compared standing on the sidelines alone now that Mama Rio left the party, or being held in Jonah’s arms. Smiling, Kelly held out her hands. “Just don’t step on my toes, Jonah Goodman, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Together they walked onto the dancefloor. He took her right hand in his left and placed his right hand on her waist. Fortunately for them, the music changed to a slow tempo. Kelly laid her head on Jonah’s shoulder, and he tugged her closer as they swayed to the music.
“This is nice,” he murmured.
“Yes it is,” she replied. So very nice. He smelled good. Beneath the light citrus fragrance of his aftershave was a slight whiff of pure man with maybe a twinge of motor oil or something so Jonah it brought tears to her eyes.
He rubbed a path up to her shoulder blades and gave a squeeze. “You fit me perfectly, Kelly.”
“I do?”
“You sure do. I think our hearts can feel each other beat.”
Kelly chuckled. “Smooth talker. Face to face like this our hearts are on opposite sides.”
“Hey! I’m trying to be romantic here.”
She sighed. “Keep on. It’s appreciated.”
“You smell…good.”
She felt his smile. Raising her head she gave him a mock glare. “Watch it with those pregnant pauses, buster.”
He used his hand to press her head back to his shoulder. “You do smell good, though. This isn’t the same perfume you wore in high school. That was—”
“Lilac,” they said at the same time. Once more she raised her head to look at him. “How did you remember that?”
“I remember much more than you might think.” He turned her and moved her closer to the door onto the patio. “Each spring when lilacs are in bloom memories come flooding back. Does that surprise you?”
“More like shocks me,” she said, grinning. And then she laid her head on his shoulder once again, finding she liked it more and more there in his arms. She stepped slightly closer and his arm tightened about her.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
<p><b>Powered by Linky Tools</b></p><p><a href=”https://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=318400&type=basic”>Click here</a> to enter your link and view this Linky Tools list…</p>
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
I just learned of this charity last week and the work they do sounds amazing. I hope you agree!
The mission statement for Spring Lake Hope Foundation: “Spring Lake Hope Foundation pays for the medical and related expenses, not covered by insurance, for children with rare illnesses and special needs.”
As someone who went through long years needing medical care (and for which we never could have afforded if not for Shrine Hospitals), I can understand the families who need this special help. Please comment and I’ll certainly donate!
The Girl with the Brass Balls (it’s a pawn shop–get your mind out of the gutter :). Or maybe not–it’s erotic romance.)
One girl, two guys: one related to organized crime and the other (wouldn’t you know it?) a cop. Far from Evelyn to choose, she wants both…
Blurb:
As family wage earner and pawn shop manager, Evelyn Collins thinks she’s kept a good watch on everything in her corner of the world. That is, until Harve Liddell, son of a local crime family, and Detective Joshua Rosen step up to show her just how much she’s missed.
Evelyn Collins inherits the family pawn shop and thinks things are starting to change for the better. Now, if she could keep her younger brother out of trouble, and handle two surprising suitors, things would be great.
Harve Liddell suffers from the reputation of his family’s involvement in organized crime, but Evvie Collins has always treated him as a friend. Far from friendship, he wants to set her blood afire with passion. When Harve’s ready to move, he finds Detective Joshua Rosen is, too.
For years Josh Rosen has wanted Evelyn in his bed, but stayed away because Jews were second class citizens in Minneapolis. He’s no longer willing to wait. The only thing blocking him is Harve Liddell, and the trouble Josh is sure he’s embroiled Evelyn’s brother in. He must find a way to trap Liddell without causing Evelyn pain before he can claim her.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go in and have a drink. Our dinner reservations aren’t for half an hour yet.”
The valet opened her door and extended his hand to help her out. Then Joshua was at her side. He slid his arm around her waist and led her inside.
At a desk near the front door, a man in black tie looked up. “Rosen,” Joshua said. “We have reservations for eight, and we’ll be in the bar.”
“I’ll let you know when your table is ready.”
“Thank you.” Joshua guided her to the right, into a room lighted with candles and low illumination from wall sconces. The only point in the room with decent lighting was behind the bar, where two men busily mixed drinks for the many people seated at the oak bar and tables scattered across the floor. Joshua pointed out an empty booth against the far wall. “If you’ll wait there, I’ll order for us. What will you have?”
Evelyn rarely drank, but this evening’s adventure called for something celebratory. Her dad drank whiskey, but that was too strong for her. “A screwdriver, please.”
He nodded and turned to the bar.
The walls were a mosaic of the cities’ skylines, done in silver against black—sleek but comfortable somehow. A stage and dance floor were at the far end of the room. She didn’t realize Harve offered dancing, too, and live performances. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never come to his restaurant. It was far too pricey for her, but now that she saw the place, she realized that it said a great deal about him. Sleek and modern. Relaxed and comfortable. Efficient yet personalized. So many contrasts all rolled into one establishment, into one man.
She looked around. People were having a good time, laughing, talking. Drinks and cigarettes were in handy supply. She almost wished she smoked so she’d have something to do with her hands. Then Joshua came and slid in beside her. Taking one of her hands and thus ending her dilemma, he rested their hands on her thigh.
“The waitress will be here in a minute with our drinks.” He looked around, too. “What do you think of the place?”
“I like it. It’s relaxed and yet modern. I’m not sure how Harve pulled it off.”
“Yeah, old Harve is a real wunderkind.”
The thick sarcasm threw her for a minute, and then she laughed. “You two are like oil and water. Is there anything you agree on?”
He faced her. His black eyes glittered like polished onyx. She blushed under the intensity of his stare, but she couldn’t turn away. His hand tightened over hers, and he rubbed the backs of his knuckles on her dress, at her thigh.
“I’m pretty sure there’s one thing.”
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
The Navy SEAL Foundation swim was held just a couple of weeks ago. If you don’t know about it, it feels like an unattainable challenge—yet hundreds of SEALs and others do it every year, to honor our country. “The event starts at the Empty Sky Memorial in Liberty State Park in New Jersey and ends at the World Trade Center in Manhattan, NYC. Participants will enter the Hudson River at Liberty State Park, NJ, and swim to the Statue of Liberty, where they do 100 honor pushups and 22 pull-ups for our nation’s freedoms and civil liberties. Participants then swim from the Statue of Liberty to Ellis Island, where they do 100 honor pushups and 22 pull-ups for our nation’s diversity and all those who came to our nation seeking a better life. Participants then swim across the Hudson River to Battery Park, Manhattan, NYC, where they grab American Flags and run to the World Trade Center in Manhattan, NYC. At the World Trade Center, participants do 100 honor pushups and 22 pull-ups to honor all those who lost their lives on 9/11, Extortion 17, and all Americans who put it on the line for our nation.”
The Navy SEAL Foundation provides for some of our most elite military forces through the Five Pillars: Strength (Building capabilities and reducing stressors), Resilience (Addressing tragedy and aiding recovery), Health (Enhancing physical and mental wellness), Education (Providing scholarships and developmental opportunities), and Community (Empowering connections and preserving legacy). Charity Navigator gives the Navy SEAL Foundation a 4-star rating, with $.94 of every dollar going directly to their funds or is reserved for future missions.
“America remains safe and secure thanks in large part to the Naval Special Warfare (NSW) community. But this is not without significant sacrifice from these warriors and their families. The Navy SEAL Foundation is here to address the unique needs that arise as a result of these sacrifices, with over thirty programs under five Pillars of Support.”
Please comment and I will donate to this very worthy organization!
The Girl with the Brass Balls blurb:
As family wage earner and pawn shop manager, Evelyn Collins thinks she’s kept a good watch on everything in her corner of the world. That is, until Harve Liddell, son of a local crime family, and Detective Joshua Rosen step up to show her just how much she’s missed.
Evelyn Collins inherits the family pawn shop and thinks things are starting to change for the better. Now, if she could keep her younger brother out of trouble, and handle two surprising suitors, things would be great.
Harve Liddell suffers from the reputation of his family’s involvement in organized crime, but Evvie Collins has always treated him as a friend. Far from friendship, he wants to set her blood afire with passion. When Harve’s ready to move, he finds Detective Joshua Rosen is, too.
For years Josh Rosen has wanted Evelyn in his bed, but stayed away because Jews were second class citizens in Minneapolis. He’s no longer willing to wait. The only thing blocking him is Harve Liddell, and the trouble Josh is sure he’s embroiled Evelyn’s brother in. He must find a way to trap Liddell without causing Evelyn pain before he can claim her.
Excerpt: “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go in and have a drink. Our dinner reservations aren’t for half an hour yet.”
The valet opened her door and extended his hand to help her out. Then Joshua was at her side. He slid his arm around her waist and led her inside.
At a desk near the front door, a man in black tie looked up. “Rosen,” Joshua said. “We have reservations for eight, and we’ll be in the bar.”
“I’ll let you know when your table is ready.”
“Thank you.” Joshua guided her to the right, into a room lighted with candles and low illumination from wall sconces. The only point in the room with decent lighting was behind the bar, where two men busily mixed drinks for the many people seated at the oak bar and tables scattered across the floor. Joshua pointed out an empty booth against the far wall. “If you’ll wait there, I’ll order for us. What will you have?”
Evelyn rarely drank, but this evening’s adventure called for something celebratory. Her dad drank whiskey, but that was too strong for her. “A screwdriver, please.”
He nodded and turned to the bar.
The walls were a mosaic of the cities’ skylines, done in silver against black—sleek but comfortable somehow. A stage and dance floor were at the far end of the room. She didn’t realize Harve offered dancing, too, and live performances. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never come to his restaurant. It was far too pricey for her, but now that she saw the place, she realized that it said a great deal about him. Sleek and modern. Relaxed and comfortable. Efficient yet personalized. So many contrasts all rolled into one establishment, into one man.
She looked around. People were having a good time, laughing, talking. Drinks and cigarettes were in handy supply. She almost wished she smoked so she’d have something to do with her hands. Then Joshua came and slid in beside her. Taking one of her hands and thus ending her dilemma, he rested their hands on her thigh.
“The waitress will be here in a minute with our drinks.” He looked around, too. “What do you think of the place?”
“I like it. It’s relaxed and yet modern. I’m not sure how Harve pulled it off.”
“Yeah, old Harve is a real wunderkind.”
The thick sarcasm threw her for a minute, and then she laughed. “You two are like oil and water. Is there anything you agree on?”
He faced her. His black eyes glittered like polished onyx. She blushed under the intensity of his stare, but she couldn’t turn away. His hand tightened over hers, and he rubbed the backs of his knuckles on her dress, at her thigh.
“I’m pretty sure there’s one thing.”
“Your drinks, sir.” The waitress bent low, showing off a generous cleavage. To Evelyn’s surprise, Joshua seemed not to notice. He tipped the woman, handed Evelyn her drink, and focused on her once again.
“To many more evenings,” he said.
“I’ll go along with that,” she replied. The vodka burned on the way down, but the orange juice sweetened the sip. Her second taste was smoother, and the third, downright refreshing.
“What happened to that pin you had in the case yesterday?” Joshua asked.
The alcohol spun through her system, made her settle into the soft leather banquette seat and feel warm all over. “What pin?”
“The one in the front display case. The circular one with the stones set into it. It wasn’t there when I stopped by earlier today, and I just wondered if the owner came back for it.”
Evelyn took another sip and then examined her glass. It was nearly empty. How had that happened? She blinked and focused on Joshua. “Circular stones pinned in my display case?”
Joshua smiled and removed her glass. “You don’t drink very often, do you?”
She plopped her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. “Nope. Maybe if I had a friend to drink with.”
“I’ll be your friend, Evelyn,” Joshua said quietly.
She swiveled her chin in her palm and squinted at him. “I like that, Joshmea.”
He brushed a tendril of hair from the corner of her mouth to behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Evelyn.”
She started to giggle. Good God! When had she ever giggled? No one with brass balls giggles. And she giggled again.“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Oh, Joshea, I’m just avmerage. You are handsome, though. You and Harve both, just damned handsome.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops! I said damn.”
Joshua started laughing. “Wow. You’re in trouble. Shall I go and find some soap?” He looked over her shoulder and then nodded at someone. “Our table’s ready. Are you able to walk, Evelyn?”
She sat up straight and waved her hand. “Oh sure. I learned how to walk a long time ago.” He laughed again. What had she said that was so funny?
She scooted to the edge of the banquette, but somehow her legs didn’t obey the command to stand. Joshua held out his hand, the sweetheart, and she grabbed hold. Rising to her feet, she wobbled in her heels for a second or two and then steadied herself. How far was it to their table? She’d stay on her feet if it killed her. With great confidence, she stepped off.
And fell flat on her ass.
Author Dee S. Knight:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. Thanks for your help and your participation!
Please join me in highlighting the work done by U.S. Vets (USVets.org). We’ve all heard of the difficulties faced by veterans returning home after having been overseas, and especially of the numbers of veteran homeless. The mission of U.S. Vets is: “…the successful transition of military veterans and their families through the provision of housing, counseling, career development and comprehensive support. We believe all veterans deserve every opportunity to live with dignity and independence. It is our duty at U.S.VETS to deliver on our promise to always serve those who’ve served.” I so agree with this mission and I hope you will also!
Blurb: Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.
Weighing Anchor (allowing a ship to move forward by retrieving the anchor): A professional woman sworn to avoiding all things military finds herself in love with a lieutenant commander in the Navy. Love won’t conquer all if she allows her childhood memories to eclipse future happiness. Dropping Anchor (securing movement by dropping the anchor): Two people find (surprisingly) that they are both in the Navy and love their chosen professions—until one turns out to be an officer but not a gentleman and the other is a gentleman but not an officer. Anchor Home (safe, smooth sailing): When two former lovers find each other after more than a decade, will a long-hidden secret threaten the course of a rekindled romance or be the cause of it?
Excerpt: Carie made her way around the side of the building and nearly ran into Todd, who lounged against the weathered wood siding. He looked better than good in a pale blue polo shirt and jeans. Top-Sider boat shoes with no socks gave him that naturally casual look that no model could successfully carry out.
“I was hoping you’d come,” he said.
“You were pretty obvious,” she said dryly.
“I knew you were smart enough to catch the hint. I just didn’t know if you’d follow it.”
How could she not? The moment she noticed him she’d remembered the feel of his being deep inside her. But that didn’t change a damn thing. They shouldn’t be here, not together.
She held her head high and tried to look down her nose at him—nearly impossible since he was taller than she, but she had perfected the attitude long before meeting Todd Baxter. Senior Chief Todd Baxter. “I wanted to walk the beach while I was here, that’s all.” Todd grinned and Carie melted inside.
“Lucky for me, I wanted to walk the beach, too,” he said. “Quite a coincidence, huh?”
She snorted in disbelief and slipped off her sandals. Brushing by him, she was glad he didn’t try to kiss her or hold her. But then she frowned. Why didn’t he try to kiss her? She’d wanted to jump his bones right there in that Norfolk hallway. They had to maintain propriety then, but here, no one would see them. What held him back? She knew an unfamiliar sense of self-doubt. Had she mistaken his feelings before?
Nonsense. Carie knew what they’d had was more than mere lust. It had been lust of stupendous proportions, far beyond a few days of burning out. Then what held him back? Knowing the military regulations preventing officers and enlisted personnel from having a relationship, you idiot.
Damn. She finally found someone she clicked with, and he had to be an enlisted man in the Navy.
The sand felt good between her toes, cool and squishy. Gulls screeched overhead and on the sand, where they snatched up sand crabs and poked around for scraps sunbathers might have left. Surf pounded to the shore and then surged forward, the sharp white of its foam sharp against the dark, wet sand before the water was absorbed. The sun beat down, making her wish she’d worn her bathing suit under her jeans and tank top so she could take a quick dip, and remembered to bring a floppy hat to shield her face.
Suddenly, something was plopped on her head. She dragged it off to look at it. SFC Baxter was stamped on the inside of a white sailor hat, brim folded down.
“I kept it for sentimental purposes when I made chief,” Todd said. When she raised her brows, he continued. “I brought it in case you came without a cover. I remember you were sensitive to the sun when we went to pick up your clothes.” He smiled. “And I know you’re quick to freckle. Not that I don’t like your freckles a great deal. Ma’am.”
She cringed at his use of “Ma’am,” though it was the proper term for him to use when a superior officer was a woman. But she smiled inside that he’d remembered such a small thing like the sensitivity to the sun suffered by all redheads. Chagrined, she put the hat on and pulled it forward, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“After all that time in North Carolina, how in hell did we never mention what we did for a living?” She couldn’t believe her stupidity. Martha had nothing on her for not asking the right questions.
“In Carolina we had lots of other things on our minds. I knew you’re a lawyer. When I thought of you, I never wondered how you spent your time at work. I just thought of how you spent your time with me.”
“That’s pretty shallow.”
Todd laughed. “Not to a man.”
Stupid answer. But it had been his very maleness that captivated her. Well, and orgasms. Who’s shallow now?
“Look,” he said, his hand out in a request for understanding. “It isn’t as though I didn’t want to get to know you better. I did. I do. But when we’re together I can’t keep my hands off you. I can’t stop thinking how I want to touch you, kiss you, do other things to–”
“When were you going to tell me you were in the Navy?” she asked.
He sighed loud enough that she heard it over the sound of the waves. “I don’t know. I guess when we slowed down enough to talk. There wasn’t much time.”
There hadn’t been. In Asheville, if they hadn’t been eating or sleeping, they busy in other ways. And there hadn’t been much eating or sleeping going on.
“I think they should put a plaque on the outside of that room for the fewest number of times the occupants left in four days. I couldn’t get enough of you.” Carrying his shoes in his left hand, he stuck his right hand in his pocket and strolled along beside her, barefoot. “I still can’t.”
“You didn’t exactly write and tell me that.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to assume too much, not knowing if you wanted me again as much as I wanted you. Call me shy.” He grinned, and she burst into laughter. “Besides,” he continued, “you’re the one who left saying, ‘It’s been fun.'”
She dipped her head, acknowledging the fact. “And you agreed.”
“Carie, I was scared.”
He sounded sincere, but really? He stopped and stared out across the breakers. She stared along with him, wondering what he saw out there. “I’m pretty set in my ways,” he said, and she had to strain to hear him, he spoke so low. “I’ll be honest, I haven’t been a monk, but sex with you was different. You made me think of things I’d never considered before.” He studied her face. “Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she said softly. “I wanted you more than anything. I’ve never had time or energy for a relationship. I’ve given all I have to my career. But I think I want more now.”
Todd reached to cup her cheek but then dropped his hand. “Like I said, I’m not a monk but there’s been no one since you.”
She wanted him. More, she needed him. “Nor for me. It wouldn’t have been the same. Nothing before you was ever that intense. Nothing else has ever touched me.” Pain struck her heart. “I want to kiss you so damn much.”
Before he could say anything, she turned and began walking again, sticking her hand in her pocket so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach for his hand. She’d had to hold herself back from stepping into his arms in the hallway on base. Here, on a near-empty beach, she had to exert even more will power. “That was then, and this is now. Vacation and real life seldom mix.”
“Funny,” he said. “Given the chance, I’d mix vacation and real life in a New York minute”
“Me, too,” she admitted. “But we can’t now. You’ve ruined everything.”
She felt him stiffen beside her. Idiot! You make a living saying the right thing to sway people’s opinion and you screw up like that?
“This is my fault how?” he asked quietly. She hadn’t seen him angry, but she had an idea this quiet voice was the prelude.
“You’re in the Navy but you’re not an officer.” It might sound petty, but regs were regs. “Why aren’t you an officer?” Okay, and that sounded whiny. But damn it, she felt whiny. “That attorney friend of yours said you were a mechanical engineer. Weren’t you offered OCS?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. After I received my BS and again after I earned my Masters. I didn’t accept because I didn’t want to be an officer.”
“Why not?” She spun to face him, the arm holding her sandals outstretched in confusion. She’d never met anyone who would turn down the chance to make more money and have more prestige.
“I like working, using my hands, being with my men—on the job and off.”
She started walking again. “Well, too bad you like sleeping with me. Or you seemed to. God knows, I loved being with you. And now it’s all over.”
“I’m surprised at you, counselor. The regulation obviously was written for two people who work together. It’s to keep one from having undue power over the other. We don’t work together.”
“It’s military regulations. You don’t mess with them. I don’t mess with them. I work to uphold them, not bend them to suit my desires.”
“I love your desires.” He pulled her hand from her pocket. Linking their fingers, he stepped closer and they continued their stroll across the sand as though the world hadn’t just turned on its axis. “Right here, right now, it feels like we never left Asheville. The view is different but we’re the same.”
Carie opened her mouth for air, suddenly needing more than she had a moment ago. But she couldn’t gather the strength needed to take back her hand. “The view isn’t the only thing different.”
He frowned. “Was I the friend you had planned to surprise this weekend?”
“Yes.” She sighed.
He laughed out loud. “You succeeded wildly.”
Reviews:
An I Heart Indie Finalist
“These short stories have made me remember the passion between a woman and a man. Inspiring and heartfelt. A true gift this author has for sharing the beautiful relationship between a man and a woman.”
“Naval Maneuvers is plural because there are three erotic love stories included in this amazing trilogy by talented author, Dee S. Knight.
“Sexy, witty, and fun.”
A little about me: A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.
After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
This month I’d like to tell you about Project H.O.O.D., a program in Chicago determined to change lives and stop violence. “Our mission is to end senseless violence, end recidivism, and build communities, one neighborhood at a time. Project H.O.O.D.’s programming equips youth, adults, and families with the resources, skills, tools, and experiences that are needed to be successful, healthy, and upwardly mobile members of society.”
We used to live near Chicago and loved going into the city for events and to visit family (who still live there). It’s heartbreaking every Monday to watch on the news about the lives lost and the violence that ravages the city each weekend. Such a great city, in need of some love and care, and common-sense governing. Project H.O.O.D. has a plan and the dedication to help make the violence stop. I wish them all the success and am happy to contribute to the cause, with comments from you!
Blurb: For me, Cowboy Desire is the best BVS anthology yet—14 compelling stories that are all different and (what else?) include cowboys. Damn good writing!
Bird that Sings—Dee S. Knight Is reincarnation a myth? Maybe so, but something strange is happening to Owen Gilchrist on his Montana ranch.
Owen Gilchrist stared up at his horse from the ground. The two were atop a hill surrounded by green pastureland. If he twisted, he could see the house and barn, a mile away. But he wasn’t supposed to be on a hill a mile from home. He was supposed to be mending a section of fence line near the road, a quarter-mile from the house. How the hell had he landed here, on his butt, while his horse lazily munched on grass and stared at him as though he had two fucking heads?
Gingerly, he checked his limbs to make sure he hadn’t any injuries, though he wasn’t in any pain. Nope, nothing wrong that he could tell. So, he hadn’t been thrown from Goldie’s back. He must have set himself on his ass with the view of the surrounding hills and grass.
His two hundred head of Limousin cattle were in the far distance. In summer, the high pasture area was lush with grass, and the streams that supplied Cottonwood Creek provided plenty of water. Owen could see the ranch Jeep headed down from checking on the cattle. Calving season had ended only a couple of months ago, and this was a critical time for the young critters. Jerry would laugh his ass off if he found out that Owen had had another “episode,” so he’d better get himself in gear and get back to that fence.
Owen stood and slapped at the back of his Wranglers before taking Goldie’s reins and climbing back in the saddle.
“How’d we end up here, girl? Huh?” Goldie kept her own counsel and chose not to answer. She was Owen’s favorite female for that reason. He could say anything to her and she wouldn’t get pissed. He could go out with the hands and blow a hundred bucks on beer and poker and she never sulked. She never tried to trap him with that age-old trick question of whether her butt looked big in that dress or those jeans or those slacks. And best of all, she never brought up the subject of marriage or moving their relationship to the “next level.” He and Goldie enjoyed their relationship just as it was—he brushed her down and fed her oats, and she didn’t throw him.
He urged Goldie into a lope down the hill and across one of the lower pastures toward the section of fence where he’d been working. A few minutes later, Goldie was once again feeding on the rich grass their spring rains and warm early summer days had provided. Fortunately, he’d pretty much finished the repairs before he’d lost contact with reality, so an hour had him gathering his tools. Jerry would come and get them in the Jeep. He jammed his work gloves in his back pocket and hoisted himself into the saddle for the ride home.
Suddenly a sense of unease struck him. The hair stood up on his nape and a frisson of fear skittered down his back. His head snapped around to the hill where he’d been sitting earlier. A figure stood there watching him. The shape was so amorphous he couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. Goldie whinnied and took a step back. Did she sense something on the hill too, or just his fear?
“Whoa, girl.” He stroked her neck and made calming sounds. As he watched, the figure turned and struck off down the other side of the hill.
“Come on, Goldie!” Owen dug his knees into Goldie’s side and she took off at a gallop. In less than a minute they were again atop the hill. Owen jumped off and ran to where he’d seen the figure.
There was no one in sight. No one. In any direction.
These were pasturelands, damn it. There were trees in bunches on some of the far hills, but this was not forested acreage where a body could run and hide. The vista was vast—northeast toward the grazing cattle, south to the house and barn, north to the Yellowstone River, and west, well, to not much until you reached the interstate highway, and that was a long way off.
Crossed between frustration and relief, Owen slapped his hat against his legs and swore. “That wasn’t my imagination, Goldie. No sir, it wasn’t.” But there was nothing for him to see now, so he huffed out a breath and let Goldie take him home. This was the third incident in a week. What should he do about it? What could he do?
Author Dee S. Knight: After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.
