Charity Sunday: St Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital

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 talk about St Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital located in Memphis, TN. I have always associated St. Jude’s with pediatric cancer, but after a little research found that they treat other catastrophic diseases in children, too. I also recently learned that donations also cover travel, housing, and food—huge costs for families whose children are far from home to receive the specialized care they need.

I know about part of this personally, in that my parents always had to travel a long distance when I was in the Shrine Hospitals. In addition to the trip, staying for any length of time was all extra, and my folks did not have much money. Getting help with travel, food, and housing is a tremendous thing.

In addition to the good work St. Jude’s does, I appreciate the amount of each dollar donated goes to the hospital and its work—82 cents of every dollar. That’s a great percentage of return that has earned it a 4-star rating from Charity Navigator!

I don’t have children, so I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like to have a child in great need. But I have written characters with children, and I hope I’ve imbued some sense of the love between child and parent, especially between single parent Sara Richards and her daughter Paula in Burning Bridges.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the landline. “Good morning. Beauty by Beaufort.”

“Mom?”

With only one word spoken Sara knew something was wrong. “Good morning, sweetheart. Aren’t you at work?”

“No, I took a sick day.”

Sara’s brow creased with worry. “Paula, what’s wrong?”

Her daughter’s voice caught. “Mom, I feel so silly but I had to talk to you. I was cleaning up the apartment last night and I found an acceptance letter from Northwestern for Dan.”

“Northwestern? That’s in…uh, it’s in—”

“Chicago.”

“But I thought he was going to attend law school at South Carolina, in Columbia.” Sara took a breath. “Chicago is a very long way. Did Dan say he wanted to go?”

“I didn’t tell him I found the letter, but I know he does.”

“Oh, Paula. How do you feel?”

Paula’s tone tightened as though she held back tears. “I don’t want to go. Mom, he’s had the letter for two or three days I think, and he hasn’t said a word.”

“Maybe he’s thought about it and decided to turn them down.”

“I don’t think so. He talked about it months ago, about how great the Northwestern program is. I got upset that he was looking into a school that far away, and he hasn’t brought it up since. But I know he hasn’t forgotten.”

“So, you’re not certain he’s chosen Northwestern. The law school at Carolina is excellent, too.”

“I know, and so does Dan. But lately he’s been restless. I think he wants a change.” Her voice broke. “I think he wants a change in more than where he attends school.”

Sara couldn’t contain a soft gasp. “Paula! Has he said anything, done anything?”

“No, but for the past few weeks he’s been really quiet. Oh, I don’t mean he acts mad or nasty, he just seems…uncomfortable around me. And the fact remains that he didn’t tell me about the acceptance from Northwestern. I only found it because it fell out of a book when I was dusting.”

“You have to talk to him. Believe me, I know the dangers of not communicating when things don’t seem right.” The bell over the front door rang and Sara stood to see who was entering. She was surprised to see her mother, but a quick glance at her watch showed that the morning was nearly gone. “Do you want to come home this weekend?”

“No, but thanks.” Paula gave a nervous laugh. “I’m half afraid if I leave for any length of time, I’ll come home to find him packed and gone. You know, he hasn’t proposed. He hasn’t even suggested I go with him to Chicago.”

Sara lowered her voice. “Honey, I’m so sorry. But Dan loves you. You need to talk to him, let him know how you feel.”

Her mother entered the office and set a bag from Bay Street Deli on the desk. “Paula?” she mouthed. Sara nodded. “Let me say hello to her.” Her mother held her hand out for the receiver.

“Paula, your grandmother is here and wants to say hi. But call me tonight, will you?”

“Sure. I feel better just telling someone about what’s going on. I love you, Mama.”

Hot tears stung the backs of Sara’s eyes, a reaction she experienced whenever Paula reverted to Mama. “I love you, too, pumpkin.” She handed the phone to her mother.

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Comfort and Joy–Red hot holiday romance from Lisabet Sarai!

COmfort and Joy by Lisabet SaraiMistletoe kisses, Yuletide passion and a sprinkling of kink

Holiday erotic romance boxed set
38,000 words, 135 pages
Amazon and Kindle Unlimited
MF, MFM, MM, Five flames – HEA/HFN

Blurb:
Kick off the festive season with this red-hot celebration of holiday love. An aging author of kinky romance surrenders to the charm of her rock star neighbor. A selfish, cynical stock broker finds himself rescued by a spunky homeless girl. On her Dom husband’s orders, a devoted submissive provides Christmas service to his best friend. A gay grad student moonlighting at a sex shop discovers it’s definitely worthwhile to stay open on Christmas Eve.

Let Lisabet warm you up with a generous portion of comfort, joy and sensual pleasure.

Buy Links:
Kinky Literature –
Amazon  US –  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08P2CM6KL
Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08P2CM6KL
Add on Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/56030561-comfort-joy

Online Excerpt:
https://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/2020/11/charity-sunday-shelter-and-more-for.html

Comfort and Joy by Lisabet Sarai

Excerpt (from “Cherry Pie and Mistletoe”):
“Wait! Just a minute. This is silly. We’re not teenagers. We need a bed.”

He chuckled. “There’s a sleep cubby behind the cab of my rig, but we’d be packed in like sardines. I actually think the booth’d be more comfortable.”

I giggled. “I did have sex in the back of an eighteen wheeler once, when I was hitching to the West Coast. A long time ago… Anyway, that won’t be necessary. Come home with me.”

“Huh? What about the truck?”

“Leave it here. My house is just down the road. An easy walk.” I clambered off the bench. “Give me a sec to close things up here and we can go.”

Bushy eyebrows knotted together, Dave looked doubtful. “You sure, Marnie? You wanna bring a total stranger into your home?”

“You’re no stranger,” I replied, turning off the coffee machine and flipping light switches. “You ate my pie.” I stepped into the kitchen to lock the back door and grab my jacket. “And I ate you,” I added , when I’d rejoined him in the main room of the diner. “I’d say we were pretty well acquainted.”

I left the little Christmas tree on, its lights twinkling through the fogged windows, but shut down the main sign. The neon Indian chief above the steel plated roof faded into darkness. Hand in hand, Dave and I stepped out of the vestibule, into the calm, cold night.

The wind had died and, as predicted, the messy precipitation of earlier had turned to snow. White flakes tumbled around us like feathers after a pillow fight. They landed on my cheeks, each one a tiny, icy prickle on my warm skin. I filled my lungs with the clean, frigid air, feeling more alive than I could remember.

A couple of inches had already accumulated, on the ground and on the hood of Dave’s shiny green cab. He was right; the tractor-trailer took up the entire parking area. I squeezed his fingers, then brushed my other hand across his groin. “That’s a big rig you have there,” I commented. “Must be hard to handle.”

“I’ve never had any problems,” he replied, reaching around my back to palm my breast. He grinned down at me, his curly hair dusted with glittering snowflakes. “Now where’s this house of yours? Or should I ravish you right here in front of your diner?”

Comfort and Joy by Lisabet Sarai

Lisabet SaraiMeet 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

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:
Kinky Literature 
Amazon US 
Amazon UK 
Smashwords
Barnes and Noble 
Kobo 
Add on Goodreads

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