This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!
Blurb:
Dr. Margaret Amis-Hollings, professor of women’s studies at a small New Jersey college, is a woman who confidently knows who she is and what she expects of life. Until she loses her teaching position and her well-ordered life gets turned upside down. Then, in a subtle stroke of whimsy, fate tosses her a gift in an historic home and property in Virginia.
Harboring visions of Gone With the Wind, she determines to use River Peace as a temporary reprieve from her troubles. Images of Tara quickly evaporate when she arrives to discover the reality of her inheritance, however.
River Peace has history, grace and style going for it. After only one night, Margaret discovers that it also has a ghost. She’s visited by a male spirit from the time of the War Between the States, who knows how to make a woman feel special. And very loved.
Aaron Belton meets Margaret when she first arrives in Virginia. He’s renowned for historic renovations on a multitude of properties, but he’s got a special place in his heart for River Peace. He and his family believe the property always should have belonged to them. In fact, Aaron will do almost anything to make that happen. When his passion for the house changes to a passion for the house’s owner, Aaron’s as surprised as anyone. Can he gain both, the woman and the house? To do so, he’ll have to face a spectral being.
And his own destiny.
Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited
Excerpt:
Among the standard collegiate notices and envelopes, she found two official-looking envelopes. Both had been signed for by the department secretary. Using her letter opener, she cut a slit along the flap of the larger brown envelope marked Personal and Confidential.
The letter she pulled out was notification that the papers making her divorce from Jackson Hollings final and official—sanctioned and approved by the state of New Jersey—were ready for her to sign.
Funny, she had just commented to him a few minutes ago that the papers were due any day, and they had been sitting in her briefcase, waiting for discovery.
Although she had initiated the proceedings and had fully expected the paperwork, actually seeing the words in black and white caused her stomach to drop and tears to come to her eyes. For six years she and Jackson had shared their lives. But for her eye-opening visit to his office one afternoon last fall they might still be. He was basically a good man, although not a particularly faithful one, and at one time she had loved him fiercely. But now she needed to move on with her life.
She put the letter aside and picked up the second envelope. It was addressed using her full name. Very formal. She glanced at the return address: Ronald Gibson, Esquire, Palmyra, Virginia.
Wrinkling her brow, she tried to figure out who she knew in Virginia. She slid her thumb under the flap and slipped out the sheets of paper. Her eyes widened as she read that she had been named sole beneficiary in the will of one Maude Rawling. Margaret looked at the second page of the notification. She had apparently inherited an antebellum house, with all furnishings and one hundred fifty-three acres, in Virginia.
Images of Gone with the Wind sprung to mind. She pictured a large, columned home commanding an expanse of lawn edged with azaleas and magnolias, and a circular drive around which carriages drove to discharge hoop-skirted passengers. With a grin, she shook her head to dismiss the illusion.
Mr. Gibson urged her to contact him as soon as possible to discuss disposition of the property. Whether she planned to sell or live in the house, he advised, repairs had to be made. He recommended a contractor named Aaron Belton for the work, both for his expertise and knowledge of authentic reconstruction. Margaret reread the letter, wondering who Maude Rawling was, and why Maude would leave anything to her. She almost wished Jackson had come over after all, to sort through this with her.
Picking up the phone, she dialed her mother.
Patricia Ackerman, a vivacious, beautiful woman, was a most unconventional mother. Only eighteen years older than Margaret, she had just turned fifty-one at the end of the previous month. Married three times, although never to Margaret’s father, Patricia had shared their various homes with several lovers. Living what she laughingly called an eclectic lifestyle, she’d built up quite a large bank account, as well as a strong network of friends. Although she was currently unmarried, even now she had a man firmly in the palm of her hand, and Margaret fully expected to be invited to another wedding in the near future.
When she promised to love Jackson until death, Margaret had tried to keep the specter of her mother’s love life out of mind. Then, after the separation, she had hoped more than anything that the inability to have a truly loving relationship wasn’t a part of her genetic makeup. Or at least that the inability to find a true man wasn’t. But she somehow thought it was. She’d never had a relationship last. Jackson had been it, the longest, the one she’d committed to, and still she’d been disappointed in love.
About Dee:
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! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.
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My mother-in-law once told me that she never considered divorcing my father-in-law until they renovated their home. She also commented that she would never (ever, ever) go through another renovation, even if she had to live in a hovel without one. I thought she was exaggerating until we recently renovated our master bathroom.
next week. No return call. We called again, leaving messages. We texted. Finally, because we had been given the contractor’s name by the plumbing company, we called them and asked that if they had contact with him to please ask him to call us. The plumbing company called back and said that the guy had another job and couldn’t do ours. Fortunately, they gave us another name and he worked with us. There were some other quirks and blips in the installation process, but at long last, by the end of October we had our shower. And it’s beautiful and wonderful. Having it is akin to giving birth in that all the pain of getting it here and installed is forgotten now that it’s over. Maybe all renovations are like that…?
I have a confession to make. I am old enough to remember when most people received news through…what were those things? Oh yeah, Newspapers. Most also watched the evening news on television at six o’clock, but newspapers delivered national and local news in one place and in more depth. My parents used to read every page of the daily papers. I was more receptive to television. One thing is certain, where people get their news has changed dramatically over the years.
her iPhone and I thought she was crazy. Who could enjoy reading anything in depth on that little screen? Well, I’ve found out. I was one of those people who said I’d never use a smart phone for anything. Now I pick it up all the time for one thing or another—including keeping up with news practically as it happens!
This is a blog hop. Be sure to check the link at the bottom to see posts from other authors!
This week’s blog question is whether there are any topics you won’t write about. Sure. I won’t write about politics, religion, or another person’s spouse. One of my earliest pieces of advice came from my dad who lived most of his adult life in close quarters with a bunch of other men on naval ships. He said those three things were topics no one should ever discuss. I assume because they were hot buttons that would cause fights. I’ll take that to mean I shouldn’t write about them, too. They’re nothing but trouble.
great romances in that genre. But I know my limitations and I would not be able to write a same sex romance that would be good enough for anyone to read. This is also a problem with stories that have strong animal characters. I love dogs and cats but I don’t have all that much experience with them, sadly. Would I be able to portray them as main assets in a book? I fear not.
I suppose if you knew that I’d been a long-distance trucker it wouldn’t surprise you to know that I’d rather drive then fly whenever I can. Flying used to be fun—back when there were fewer travelers, when I was in college and could still dash from one gate to another, and when a size 10 still fit the seats. Need I say that none of those things work for me anymore?
to be relaxed in the west of the U.S. than in the crowded east, but even there I just like having some control over my life with my hands on the wheel. I try not to let people push me. I find a comfortable speed and hang in there. If someone wants to go faster, there’s usually a way to pass. Mores the pity, though, because I’m watching the signs, wondering where the people in all the cars are going, and who lives in that pretty blue house on the right side of the road. Life is good. Oh yeah, and I might spend a passing moment following the contrails of a jet overhead.
Ah! Winning the lottery Who doesn’t dream of this happening? I’ve dreamed of it so often, for years I considered it my Retirement Plan. No. Really.
show it off to Jack. Scotland is one of my favorite places on earth.
aren’t so many changes marked by editors now. Impatient Passion was the first time I’d ever been edited, excluding school where “editing” meant being graded. I didn’t view it as a fun experience then. Since then I’ve come to accept that it’s a part of the writing process—a good part!