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Lost Letters, lost love #MFRWhooks

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist

Blurb:

Consider the role of strangers in our lives. An unknown postman in Virginia hides a bag of mail one day. His simple action set in motion untold consequences for many others—strangers—all over the country. How many bridges were burned in that forgotten mail pouch?

Sara Richards’s world is rocked when three love letters from 1970 are delivered decades late. The letters were written by Paul Steinert, a young sailor who took her innocence with whispered words of love and promises of forever before leaving for Vietnam. Sara is left behind, broken hearted and secretly pregnant, yearning for letters she never received.

Then Paul died.

Now, years later, she discovers the betrayal wasn’t Paul’s, when her mother confesses to a sin that changed their lives forever. How can Sara reveal to Paul’s parents that they have a granddaughter they’ve missed the chance to know? Even worse, how will she find the words to tell her daughter that she’s lived her life in the shadow of a lie?

Picking her way through the minefields of secrets, distrust, and betrayal, Sara finds that putting her life together again while crossing burning bridges will be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

Release date: January 20, 2020
Buy link: mybook.to/BurningBridges
Price: $2.99 (for eBook), $9.99 (for paperback), KU

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Excerpt:

Sara unpacked the sandwiches and drinks, half listening as her mother launched into a description of the bazaar her church was planning for the upcoming holidays. It was only mid-October, and her mother was thinking ahead to Christmas. What will I be doing by Christmas? Making a move to a new location for the new year or wondering what to do with the rest of my life?

She stepped to the doorway and looked at the paintings lining the walls. The cozy shop had been her focal point for more years than she cared to count. Everything would be different by the first of the year, here at the gallery and maybe at home, too. Like the leaves being whipped from the trees by the wind, the landscape of her life would look quite different in a few weeks. She only hoped it wouldn’t be as barren and cold as she feared right now.

Dan had been accepted at Northwestern! She was happy for him, but what if he wanted Paula to go with him? Paula had attended school in Charleston and then been offered a job there. Except for brief vacations, Sara and her only child had never been farther apart than those seventy miles. Charleston was far enough for Paula’s independence, yet close enough for quick visits, lunches, plays, overnight gab fests. Sara had devoted her life to her daughter and reaped the reward of knowing her child as a friend.

Oh, she was blessed, and she knew it. Blessed and spoiled. How could she bear Paula’s move to Illinois if it happened? And what if Dan and Paula decided they liked Chicago and wanted to settle so far away? A sob welled in Sara’s throat and threatened to burst. She sucked in a breath.

Right now, those were ifs not certainties. She could talk to Dan, remind him how hard law school would be with an additional person to consider. Paula could help him, sure, but she would also demand time he wouldn’t have to give. And though Paula could teach there as well as here, the expense of a second person, added to that of graduate school, could be overwhelming. Surely Dan would see the logic of Paula’s waiting for him in Charleston. He was a reasonable man.

Hearing her mother’s chuckle and response to something Paula said brought Sara to her senses. She had never purposely avoided acting like her mother. In fact, she’d often sought her mother’s advice, especially when Paula was a child. But knowing what she did now, having learned in the past twenty-four hours the heartache meddling could bring about, Sara knew she wouldn’t interfere with Dan’s and Paula’s decision.

If Paula needed arms to shield and shelter, Sara would always be there, but she would not become her mother. And today she fully realized just what that meant.

Her mother hung up the phone and settled in one of the chairs facing the desk. Sara sat in her chair behind the desk. When they had their food set out and she had taken a sip of her drink, Sara dropped her bombshell.

“I’m making reservations to fly to Iowa as soon as possible. It’s long past due for Paul’s parents to know they have a granddaughter.”

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New release!! Burning Bridges by Anne Krist

Did you ever tell a lie for so long that even you believed it? And then got caught? Ah… Then you understand Sara in Anne Krists’ Burning Bridges.

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist
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.

Publisher: Nomad Authors Publishing
Release date: January 20, 2020
Buy link: mybook.to/BurningBridges
Price: $2.99 (for eBook), $9.99 (for paperback), KU
Word count: 83,000

Years ago, while visiting my mother in Virginia, I heard a news story. Up in Lynchburg, a mail carrier had died. When his family was cleaning out the property, they discovered two bags of mail decades old thrown into the back of his garden shed. The story was, maybe the man hadn’t felt like working one day and stuffed the bags into the place where they’d lain all this time. I immediately wondered how lives had been changed because one man decided not to do his job that day. Had people not received bills? Birthday cards? Expected packages?

Letters of love?

The Post Office did their best to deliver the lost mail, but what life went one direction instead of another because of that one slip of fate?

Thus came the story of Burning Bridges, where Sara Richards’ life changes not only because of letters she didn’t receive but because of the letters she did, decades late.

Burning Bridges is a true love story, begun in Virginia Beach as the Vietnam War is winding down—though no one knew that at the time—and ending in the Lowcountry of South Carolina, where two soul mates find each other again. Do they stay together?

Ah. I’ve already said it’s a true love story, but sometimes, even true love has a way of not quite holding on.

I hope you enjoy the book of my heart, Burning Bridges.

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist

Excerpt:

Sara stared at the letters arranged before her in numerical order. The moment in time she and Paul shared was long ago, yet her dream had conjured his presence as though she’d just seen him. In her mind, his blue eyes darkened with passion before his lips captured hers, and he moaned his appreciation when their tongues met. She tasted his sweetness and knew the steel of his arms as he held her. How many nights had she put herself through hell reliving those memories?

Too damn many.

After the concert, they’d met clandestinely on weekends, mostly at Sandbridge, where they could walk and talk undisturbed. With each meeting, stirrings built deep in Sara that pushed her to want more, but Paul insisted they restrain themselves because of her age.

Then the weekend before he shipped out, she’d planned a surprise and her life changed forever.

The kettle screeched, bringing her back to the present. Sara prepared a cup of tea and then picked up the envelope marked twenty-eight. At one time, she would have given her right arm to hold this letter. Now, curiosity and the desire for a brief escape drove her more than the passion of youth. Blind love had faded when she’d had no word to bolster her during the long weeks after the ship left.

First had come the waiting. No letters arrived, even though she wrote him daily. There were no phone calls, no notes, no anything, for days that dragged into weeks then crept into months.

Anticipation morphed into anxiety. She worried he was sick or hurt and unable to write.

One day she admitted that Paul must be afraid to write for some reason, and she feared what he would say if she did receive a letter. That their time together had been a mistake, that she was too young to be in love. That he really loved someone else and Sara had been only a stand-in while he was in Virginia. Perversely, she began to sigh with relief when she arrived home and found no word.

Now, knowing why she hadn’t received mail, what would she feel if she opened this letter and her old fears proved to be true?

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Paul’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.” At the very least, his letters might allow her to put his ghost to rest. For that reason alone, she had to read them.

She slid her thumb under the flap and ripped the envelope open. A single sheet held his hurried scrawl.

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist

Some reader comments about Burning Bridges:

“I loved it! And now my daughter’s reading it.” Sherry, a reader

“I just finished reading BURNING BRIDGES. Thank you for writing such a powerful story about how real love can overcome all obstacles. I appreciate the fact that Sara and Paul were imperfect and made mistakes. They needed each other to polish off their rough edges and make them complete. How nice that characters of middle age were written as attractive and sexual human beings.” A reader, Virginia

“I give Burning Bridges 6 stars out of 5!! A true love story…I’m ready for more.” – A reader, Byron, TaylorMade Bod

“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.” – Chiara, a reader

“Loved it. Just loved it.” – Beverly, a Beaufort reader

Burning Bridges by Anne Krist

Author Anne Krist:

 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. Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Contact Anne at annekrist@nomadauthors.com.

Website: https://nomadauthors.com/annekrist/index.html

New release! Lust in Dalat: Lisabet Sarai

Lust in Dalat by Lisabet Sarai

LUST IN DALAT Asian Adventures, Book 6 
Lust can be a revelation.

The woman in the window seat to my right had more flesh than I’d usually find attractive, and most of it was on display. But she wasn’t trying to tease. Every detail—the silver hoops in her earlobes, the teakwood clasp in her hair, the anklet decorating her high-arched foot—broadcast confidence and a healthy disdain for anyone else’s opinion. A woman alone, on a public conveyance, in a foreign country, Helen nevertheless looked thoroughly at home.

And me? Traveling outside of the U.S. for the first time in my life, I was nervous, inexperienced, awkward and excited. Especially excited. With Helen in the next seat, who wouldn’t be?

Buy Links:

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Excerpt:

She was practically naked.

I tried not to stare as I clambered barefoot onto the bus that would take us from the steamy, crowded streets of Saigon to the Dalat highlands. My sandals stuffed into a plastic bag provided by the management, I peered at my ticket and tried to locate the corresponding seat. Well, “seat” wasn’t exactly the appropriate word. Three double-tiered racks of padded, bed-like recliners ran from the front to the back, one on each side of the bus and one down the middle, with narrow aisles between them. This was a “sleeping bus”, designed for the twelve to twenty hour overnight trips common in Vietnam.

“A or B?”

“What?” She was obviously talking to me. I had to look at her.

The woman in the window seat to my right had more flesh than I’d usually find attractive, and most of it was on display. Her light, floral-patterned sundress had spaghetti straps, one of which had slipped down over her smooth shoulder. Her massive breasts shifted underneath, every time she moved. The short hem rode up to expose her big but surprisingly firm thighs. She was fair-haired with a peaches-and-cream complexion—her accent suggested she was a Brit. The dress was thin enough, though, that I could make out darker patches surrounding her nipples.

“Your seat number.” She gestured at the ticket dangling from my fingers. Her lush tits swayed. “A is down here; B is on the upper level.”

“Oh—um—A. 12 A.” Geez. Working on my PhD and I couldn’t manage a coherent sentence.

“That’s right here, next to me.” She flashed me an easy smile, pointing to the middle row. “A pity, you won’t have as good a view. Of course, if you have any tendency toward motion sickness, the middle is better.”

The other strap flopped down her arm. Idly, she pushed it back into place. “I’m Helen,” she said, sitting up a bit, so that her breasts bounced. She offered her hand—short fingernails, clear lacquer, a silver ring on the thumb.

Her skin was as soft as it looked. “Geri,” I replied, struggling to ignore the accelerating pulse between my legs.

About Lisabet:

Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website, along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance, she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here.

Writing Programs? #MFRWauthor

PlottingI really don’t know any writing programs, so I suspect I don’t use them. Or maybe this means writing tips and suggestions? Those I use—on and off.

For instance, I have The Plot Doctor (I think that’s the name but I can’t find it anymore on Google). I tried using it, but it had too many things for me to do before I start writing. I did pick up the character sheet idea, though, and continue to use it. Sometimes.

Another tip I picked from The Plot Doctor is the idea of dividing the book into parts. I loosely (very loosely) break the plot into six parts and determine what will happen at each part. I’d never done that before, and found that the beginning of the story might take up more space than the midpoint. Now I control that better.

I’ve looked into the Snowflake method and a few other plotting ideas, but Snowflake method of plottingnothing works for me except what I use—which is nothing like a plotting program! Sometimes I start a book with only a kernel of an idea, and that’s kind of too little to use in a plotting program.

Kayelle Allen shared a program with members of MFRW last year. It’s really more of an organizational tool, called Archivos. It’s not a plotting tool exactly, but I can see where it would help in plotting. I’m planning to use it for the series I’ll be starting shortly.

What do you use to organize your plots? If you have a program that works for you, I’d love to hear about it!

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
One Woman Only: The Good Man Series, Book 2 Jonah’s story! Can a simple mechanic rekindle with his high school love? She says no, but Jonah loves a challenge!

Mystic Desire
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Out Now! Moonstone by Lucy Felthouse

Moonstone by Lucy Felthouse

Moonstone (@cw1985)

Do you love reverse harem romances? Love Christmas books? Then check out Moonstone!

Moonstone is a standalone, contemporary, reverse harem romance, which is part of the Jewels Café series—all of which can be read as standalones.

Blurb:
Christmas gifts aren’t the only surprises Ginny is going to get this year.
Moonstone Guinevere ‘Ginny’ Miles is in Silver Springs visiting her parents for the holidays. They moved to the town five years ago, and adore their new life here. Used to the hustle and bustle of London, England, Ginny isn’t convinced at first—what’s so great about a small town in Upstate New York, anyway? Despite her own opinions, it’s clear to Ginny the move has done her parents the world of good—they look years younger. There’s clearly something magical about this town.

Following some exploration of her own, Ginny discovers Silver Springs has its charms—Jewels Cafe is amazing, for starters, as is its pumpkin spice latte. Ginny’s drunk a lot of lattes in her thirty-three years, but nothing quite like this.

Her taste buds are still tingling from the tasty treat when she comes across a broken-down truck on the way back to her parents’ place. And when she spots the three gorgeous guys with the vehicle, it’s not just her taste buds that are tingling.

Is Ginny’s vacation in Silver Springs about to get a whole lot more interesting?

Buy now or read in Kindle Unlimited
Add to your Goodreads shelves
Add to BookBub

Moonstone by Lucy Felthouse

Excerpt:
Moonstone Guinevere Miles—known as Ginny to people who didn’t want to incur her fierce and everlasting wrath—heaved her suitcase off the luggage reclaim belt with an “Oof!” and placed it on the floor, a sigh of relief escaping her. At least the thing had wheels—she didn’t really have the energy for carrying a heavy suitcase all the way through Customs and out to Arrivals. The long, tiring flight had seen to that. No matter how much she tried, no matter how exhausted she was, she simply could not fall asleep on a plane. Ever. Eye mask, ear plugs, meditation, bloody whale music—nothing helped. She’d long since resigned herself to staying awake while snores from other passengers emanated around the cabin. At least it had only been about seven and a half hours since taking off from Heathrow—she couldn’t imagine what state she’d be in if she ever flew any longer than that—to Australia, New Zealand or somewhere.

Doubtful that would ever happen, though. It had taken long enough for her to get her backside out to the east coast of America, where her parents had been running a retreat since retiring five years ago. But then, things were different now, weren’t they? Which was why she was even here in the first place—it wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.

Thinking of her parents brought an inevitable smile to her face, and inserted a little more spring in her step. Despite the energy and mood suck that had been the flight, she was excited to be here. She was eager to see her parents, and to find out exactly what they’d built up over the last five years. She’d seen photos and videos, but it wasn’t the same as actually being there.

When they’d first announced they were using their retirement nest egg to open a retreat in Upstate New York, she’d been floored. Who the hell retires, only to take on a massive project like that? Surely the whole point of retiring is to wind down, enjoy some free time, relax? But no, her mum and dad—who, to be fair, had never been what one would call conventional—had set their hearts on it. They’d had a huge purge of their belongings, sold their cars and house, and jetted off across the pond, leaving Ginny shocked and not a little bereft. She’d been so used to having them close by and had quickly realized just how much she’d taken that for granted.

At the same time, her own career had taken off and she’d become so busy that her parents’ sudden distance hadn’t made the blindest bit of difference. She barely saw the inside of her own flat, never mind her friends and family. This was the first Christmas she’d had off work since then, too, and she was looking forward to spending it with her parents more than she could put into words. They’d been big on the festive period ever since she was a baby, and as such, Ginny’s brain was stuffed full of warm, fuzzy memories of Christmases past. They’d been useful to get her through the last five crappy ones, too, where a microwaved ready meal was the best she could hope for, if she hadn’t managed to wangle a free meal from the place she’d been working at at the time.

Her smile widened, and she walked faster still—God, just how big was this bloody airport?—desperate to see her mum and dad and start the Christmas holiday with a bang. Anticipation rushed through her. They’d have turkey and roast potatoes, pigs in blankets, mounds of vegetables, desserts laden with enough calories to last them until Valentine’s Day, Christmas carols, amazing decorations, a beautiful tree, fairy lights…

And Santa Claus. Two of them, in fact, jumping up and down enthusiastically and waving wildly at her, with not a rotund belly in sight.
Ginny was so excited, she couldn’t even be bothered with the embarrassment she might have felt at being greeted in a public place by her parents dressed up in Santa outfits. Plus, nobody knew her here anyway, so who cared?

She scurried around the barrier, almost flipping her case in her haste to turn a corner, then covered the remaining distance between them in seconds flat and released the handle of her suitcase. A series of squeals and exclamations went up—from all three of them—and then everything went dark as Ginny was enveloped in a warm, fluffy embrace, her face crushed up against what she suspected was the white fur trim on her mother’s jacket, and kisses rained down on her. It was all she could do to suck in oxygen as she was squeezed and squeezed them right back. She was assailed by the scents of clean clothes, shampoo, perfume, and cologne—all perfectly lovely smells by themselves, but somewhat overwhelming all at once. Unintelligible murmurings reached her ears, but she didn’t bother to reply since she had no idea what was being said. And she didn’t need words, anyway. All she needed at that moment in time was to soak up the enormous outpouring of love she was experiencing.

She was so bloody happy, she thought she might pop.

Eventually, her parents loosened their hold enough so she could step back and actually look at them. She took in her father’s handsome face, his steel-gray hair—or what she could see beneath the hat, at least—his wide grin, and her mother’s long, light gray, waist-length plaits, the glint in her eyes and the glow of her skin.

“Guys, you look fantastic! If this is what retirement does for you, I think I might sign up now.”

Her mother, Deborah, gave a nonchalant shrug—which, given her attire, was way more amusing than it should have been. “What can I say, sweetheart? I feel fantastic. I’ve got so much more energy than I ever had in London, even when I was much younger.” She shrugged again. “It’s the retreat, I’m sure of it—the moment your father and I first set foot there all those years ago, I felt there was something magical about it. Silver Springs is the most wonderful little town, and we’re lucky enough to live and work in the most spectacular part of it—though it hardly feels like work.”
Ginny gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, then turned to her father, Charlie. “And you, Dad? You look twenty years younger, but how do you feel?”

His face took on a beatific expression. “The same as your mother, kiddo. Exactly the same. If I’d known just how wonderful it would be, I’d have thrown in the towel and moved out here years ago. Decades, even.” He grabbed the handle of Ginny’s case in one hand, then looped the other around her neck and pulled her in to drop a kiss on her chin-length blonde hair, which he then ruffled. “I’m so thrilled you’re here, Moony. You’re going to love it in Silver Springs. Just love it! Come on, let’s get going. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and the weather’s on the turn.”

Ginny bit back comments on both his use of her childhood nickname, and his messing up of her hair. She didn’t want to dampen the almost euphoric mood that seemed to float between the three of them—a combination of being pleased to see each other, and her parents’ obvious appreciation of their new home. Though five years was hardly new anymore, was it? She really should have visited before now, but the circumstances had been impossible. Now they weren’t, and she was here, in the bosom of her family, at Christmas time, and it was going to be magical.

And, at some point, she’d enlighten her parents about the fact she had nothing in particular to rush home for, either. But that could wait. No need to burst the happy, everything-is-perfect bubble just yet. She’d let them all enjoy their first Christmas together in years before thinking about that.
They made their way out of the airport building. The cold air slapped Ginny in the face, momentarily taking her breath. Her slight gasp drew her mother’s keen eye. “I hope you listened to me, sweetheart, and brought warm clothes with you. It’s even colder up in Silver Springs, you know.”

“The car’s not far,” her dad piped up. “I’ll get the heating on as soon as we’re inside, and we’ll soon have you snug as a bug in a rug.” He tipped her a wink, and warmth flooded her veins. She hadn’t realized until now just how much she’d missed her wacky yet lovable parents. They might be unconventional, but they’d given her a wonderful childhood. When she’d reached adulthood, they’d remained incredibly close, with them managing to achieve the perfect balance of loving and supportive without being controlling. They’d let her forge her own path, make her own mistakes, and had been there to help pick up the pieces without uttering so much as a “I told you so.”

They’d definitely earned this idyllic new life they’d carved out for themselves, and she couldn’t wait to experience it for herself, if only for a little while. Though she wasn’t sure how much fun there was to be had in the back end of beyond. It was hardly going to be lively. Perhaps it was a good thing she was only here for an extended holiday.

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Moonstone by Lucy Felthouse

Author Bio:
Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight and The Heiress’s Harem series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here.

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Snowy, blowy days #MFRWauthor

SnowSince it’s snowing as I type this and is supposed to be for part of every day for the next 10 days, I feel qualified to describe what I could do on inclement days like these. I could paint a masterpiece, sew a glimmering ball gown, sculpt a museum-worthy bust of Alfred E. Neuman, or compose an opera in Italian.

Actually, I couldn’t. Don’t know masterpieces from Paint-by-Numbers, or how to hem a skirt, much less sew a ball gown. If I tried to sculpt I’d probably cut my hand with the little thingy you use to chip the marble or make a mess of the clay, and it will make me sound kinda red-neck, but I’m a fan of George Strait, not opera. Realistically, I will write and read. Or maybe read and write. We don’t have children to blast out of bed or grandchildren to find entertainment for, and I don’t have to trudge through a foot of white stuff to get to work. The only thing I have to do tomorrow is prepare dinner, and even then, for a tip, Pizza Hut will trudge through the white stuff. So, I’m even off the hook for that.

Don’t judge me. 😉

I take heart in the fact that I’ve worked a bunch of years to get to this point, and I am going to enjoy it for all it’s worth. For many of those years, I didn’t get time off when it snowed, even though we lived in Virginia where whole towns shut down when a few flakes fall from the sky. And in all fairness, sometimes getting a couple of new chapters written feels like work, even though getting through them will be joyful. You know what I mean!

What do you do on those days when the white stuff is falling? Please don’tBaking say you do stuff like bake bread, organize a caroling group to appreciate the snow with song, or anything like that. You’ll just make me tired and I’ll have to slip in a nap between reading and writing.

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
One Woman Only: The Good Man Series, Book 2 Jonah’s story! Can a simple mechanic rekindle with his high school love? She says no, but Jonah loves a challenge!

Mystic Desire
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Staycation or Vacation? #MFRWauthor

StaycationMaybe because after eight years of trucking and never having a home, and then moving every couple of years while Jack consulted all over the country, I’m pretty much a homebody now. So, while even I have my limits as to how much I can stand being a hermit, chained to the house, I often vote for staycation over vacation. That’s not to say that we haven’t been out a bit in the past several years of living in the great American Northwest. We’ve been to Yellowstone and Seattle, and along the Columbia Gorge. I plan to see Glacier National Park this spring…maybe on our way to Alaska!!! But for the most part, I’m happy puttering in my own kitchen, sitting on my own couch, and sleeping in my own bed.

We have had some great vacations, though. Here are some highlights:

  • The two Yellowstone trips. The park is very different in late SeptemberYellowstone National Park than it is in January! Beautiful either way, but more bison that are also closer in winter, bubbling mud and fumaroles surrounded by snow, and frozen waterfalls. In September the trees had turned and blazing aspens stood out sharply on the mountainsides. We combined the September trip with family, by exiting the park at the east gate and driving across Wyoming and South Dakota to see my mom in Iowa.
  • San Francisco. Years ago—before San Fran lost its way—we spent a glorious week at a hotel at the Wharf. The location was perfect! The weather was perfect! The trip was… Yes, you guessed it, PERFECT! It was on that trip that I saw a man walk up to a corner café. They had pushed back the walls to allow the sidewalk tables access to the inside. He sat at a table and had breakfast and coffee while he read his paper. His sockless feet were in loafers, his shirt hung out, his hair was slightly mussed by the breeze. I wanted to be that cosmopolitan in the worst way, and sit at that café for coffee. Years later, when we lived in San Francisco, I did!
  • London. We spent an unforgettable week in London many years ago, doing a lot of the touristy things. But we also found the Old Bailey and made a virtual toast to Rumpole, stumbled around town until we happened on the Globe recreation, and visited the War Rooms before they were so popular. Such a great time!
  • Williamsburg, When you live in Virginia, you’re bound to have gone to Williamsburg. We have, many times. But seeing the historic, restored village is different when you’re staying in a Williamsburg, Virginiatimeshare. You can go to the restored area when the spirit moves you, and you can relax and nap the rest of the time. 😉 There are some great restaurants in Williamsburg (and lots of good pancake houses!), so it’s a wonderful place to experience history, to golf, to explore the coast, and to recharge.

Of course, while we were on the road, driving, it was almost like having vacation times. Once, in a 10-day period we saw the San Diego zoo and Disney World in Orlando because we could take a few days on each end of our trucking trip. The best part of all of it? We were together!

Which do you prefer: staying home or going away?

Wishing you a blessed 2020. May we all find health, wealth, and happiness, one way or another!

Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.

Dee
One Woman Only: The Good Man Series, Book 2 Jonah’s story! Can a simple mechanic rekindle with his high school love? She says no, but Jonah loves a challenge!

Mystic Desire
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Hearing your words instead of reading them–what a rush!

Good Girl Gone Bad PodcastToday I had the pleasure of being the featured author on Good Girl Gone Bad Podcast. I submitted my short story, “Invitations to a Wedding,” months ago for the owners’ consideration, and she thought it was sufficiently sexy to qualify. I’m thrilled with how it turned out!

Invitations to a Wedding

If you enjoy the story, please share it with your friends and followers!

Dee
One Woman Only: The Good Man Series, Book 2 Jonah’s story! Can a simple mechanic rekindle with his high school love? She says no, but Jonah loves a challenge!

Mystic Desire
Only a Good Man Will Do
Naval Maneuvers

Charity Sunday: A Tribute to Volunteers

Charity SundayHow Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to a charity found in this article. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the 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!

Note: I posted this first on Friday, December 20 because I couldn’t wait to say something. Please consider this an early Charity Sunday!

Fire in AustraliaVolunteer: a person who freely offers to take part in an enterprise or undertake a task.

Whether they volunteer with world-wide organisations such as Doctors Without Borders, environmental conservation programs, caring for refuges, wildlife conservation, local welfare groups and mums preparing lunches at the school canteen, we cannot put a price on their contributions to our communities. We thank our military, and now I’d like to thank our volunteers, also.

Never has that one word been as important as it is now in Australia.Firefighters
This week we said thank you and farewell to the New Zealand firefighters and welcomed teams from Canada and the United States. These wonderful people willingly travelled thousands of miles to join our firefighters battling massive blazes in New South Wales and Queensland. Approximately 1,618,700 hectares, or 4 million acres (give or take an acre) have been affected and more than 1,000 homes across NSW and Queensland have been destroyed. We’ll never know how many homes and lives were saved by the courageous dedicated fireys facing these massive walls of flames. In broad terms, each state’s Rural Fires Service is the volunteer arms of the Fire and Emergency Services. New South Wales Rural Fire Service is the largest volunteer fire service in the world, and right now they, and our interstate fireys are stretched to the limit by the enormity of this disaster. So, thanks again to our Kiwi mates and the Americans and Canadians for giving us their time and invaluable help.

However, these men and women couldn’t keep going without the back-up Fire Service volunteers, the Salvation Army, the Red Cross, the Country Women’s Association, St Vincent de Paul, and Lifeline, to name a few. In good times and in bad times, they are always here when we need them for financial help, food, clothing, household goods, emergency accommodation and trauma counselling. In every city and town, volunteers run Opportunity Shops (Thrift stores) selling second-hand goods for charities. One small Op Shop in Tuncurry, on the NSW coast, supports the local disabled children as well as the fire brigade, the rescue helicopter, the Royal Flying Doctor Service and other community services. This year they also donated $12,000 to Rural Aid to help drought-stricken farmers and water transport to country towns running dry. Multiply this by the countless donations and services provided by volunteers around the world and we must ask ourselves ‘where would we be without them?’

Fire rages in AustraliaVolunteers from WIRES (Wildlife Information, Rescue and Education Service) and other similar groups have been facing these fires to rescue our unique wildlife. Sadly, many of these defenceless animals have perished but a lot are now receiving treatment and care, often in volunteers’ homes. Bear the Dog, a canine volunteer, is doing his best to find and rescue burned and injured koalas.

So, to all volunteers, the words ‘thank you’ are very inadequate. Indeed, we’d be lost without you.

Before I close, I want to share this heartwarming news item from Queensland.

Wishing you all a very happy Christmas and a wonderful, safe new year. And… Please send rain!!

[Note: Jan wanted to share this post with us because her country is burning all around her. She is not asking you to contribute anything. However, should you wish to donate–whether to support the firefighters, to help groups who are helping those who have been left homeless, or to support wildlife rescue–I (Dee) ask that you please see the links in this article. And thank you! –Dee]

Jan Selbourne

Lies of Gold: SILVER medal for Best Historical Book of 2019!
The Proposition
Perilous Love
Behind the Clouds
Mystic Desire

I hope you will visit the other bloggers joining today’s Charity Sunday blog hop. You’ll find links to their posts here.

Thank you!

New release! Cherry Pie and Mistletoe: Lisabet Sarai

Cherry Pie and Mistletoe
A mature holiday romance

Cherry Pie and Mistletoe by Lisabet SaraiSome Christmas traditions improve with age!

Blurb:
At ten thirty on a stormy Christmas Eve, I really didn’t expect any business, but the sign for our diner out on the highway reads “open until midnight”, and I’m a woman of my word. Good thing I didn’t close; the half-frozen long haul trucker who wandered in really needed some hot coffee, not to mention a slice of my luscious cherry pie.

Something about the grizzled, bear-like man with the chocolate-brown eyes and ready laugh spun me back to my scandalous, sensual younger days. I hadn’t wanted anyone in years, but I wanted Dave Driver. Was I brave enough to act on my desire? And would he flee, screaming, from the amorous attentions of a white-haired little old lady?

Buy links:
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Excerpt:
Before he could mention it, I refilled his empty mug. What was it about this guy? Ants crawled along my skin. Butterflies danced in my stomach. My nipples felt heavy and hard as polished stones and a hungry void pulsed between my thighs.

Our eyes met. Heat flickered through me. I held my breath.

“You got any cherry pie?” he asked at last. Had he wanted to request something else?

“Um—yes, yes, of course,” I gasped. Disappointment and relief warred inside me. After all, I wasn’t a girl anymore. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. “Best cherry pie in three counties, in fact.”

“And would you happen to have something to do with that, Marnie?”

“I certainly would. It’s my mother’s recipe—by the way, what’s your name?” I winced at my own boldness. “Since you know mine.”

“Dave,” he replied. “Dave Driver.”

I giggled. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope. Guess I was fated to be a long-haul trucker.” Sadness tinged his smile. “Anyway, Marnie—how about that pie? It’s great talking to you, but I’ve got to be in Nebraska by Thursday morning.”

“Coming right up.” I cut him a more-than-generous slice and topped it with a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream. Ruby-red fruit oozed from the flaky crust. Fingers of creamy white dripped over the top and pooled on the plate. I garnished the whole thing with a sprig of fresh mint and presented it to him with a flourish.

“Very Christmas-y,” he said. “Looks delicious, too.”

“It is.” I watched him devour a big, gooey chunk.

“Wow! This is amazing!”

“Thanks.” It felt so good to be the cause of his innocent delight. “Glad you like it.”

“Why don’t you join me? Have a piece of your own?”

“I shouldn’t. It’s bad for my cholesterol.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, and you have to work. You deserve some compensation!” He held out a moist forkful of cherries and cream. “Here, take some of mine, then.”

Giving in to impulse, I leaned over the counter, opened my mouth and let him feed me. Flavors exploded on my tongue: the sweet-tart burst of the fruit, the richness of the ice cream, the buttery lightness of the crust. Dave scrutinized my face as I chewed and swallowed, savoring every moment. I couldn’t stop licking my lips. His eyes followed my every move. A blush climbed into my cheeks, even as I chided myself for being immature and overly sensitive.

“See?” he said gravely. “You should listen to me. Go get yourself some of your incredible cherry pie.”

I didn’t resist any more. I wanted the pie. I wanted him, too. Not much I could do about that second desire, but I could certainly fulfill the first. Hard as it sometimes was to believe, I was sixty four. Did I think I’d live forever?

With my pie and ice cream (a somewhat smaller piece than I’d given him), I perched on a stool inside the serving area. Facing each other across the counter, less than a foot apart, we ate in silence.

I tried without success to concentrate on the exquisite taste of the dessert in front of me, as Dave seemed to be doing. Instead, I was intensely aware of how close he was—and how paradoxically attractive. I watched his sensual mouth opening and closing around forkfuls of pie, the flick of his tongue over his lips as he gathered stray crumbs, the shift in his throat as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

He drained his coffee cup. He’d nearly finished. When he was done, he’d disappear into the winter night. He had a long way to travel before morning. His job probably depended on providing a reliable delivery schedule.

I was just a stop along the way.

About Lisabet:
Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh