Nancy Gideon's Blog, page 19

WeWriWa: A New Project Begins . . .

A new WIP was born while away last week at Lake Michigan with three author friends. In our rented house, without any distractions (excepted for a planned day trip to Lake Michigan and one of its very fine breweries/restaurants), I’d expected to be elbow deep into the story by the time we packed up to return to our daily lives. Here’s me hanging my head with only a Prologue and the first two pages to show for it. And then, a weeklong visit from my grandguy. No way I’ll feel guilty about sitting in a theatre with Vin Diesel and the F&F gang, going to the zoo to feed mosquitoes, spending a day in Lansing’s quaint Old Towne shopping and dining, or even watching Supernatural reruns for the __th time with him. But now, no more excuses. It’s back to work time with this first look at the second book in my as yet unnamed romantic suspense series.

They sprinted along the edge of the road, three young girls with hands laced over their heads against a long overdue downpour. Their laughter mingled with the sound of raindrops pelting dirt as hard as concrete. Bookbags flopped against their backs in time with racing footsteps.

They didn’t hear the vehicle’s approach over the rumbling thunder until it was almost upon them. Startled, the three leapt as one into the dry grasses on the shoulder as a cargo van rattled past, muffler growling like the heavens above. It slowed to a stop just ahead of where they stood frozen as startled fawns. Backup lights flashed on as the vehicle slowly rolled backwards until abreast of them.

When the side window rolled down, a strange man leaned out, the expression on his pale face one of concern.

“Are you girls okay?” he yelled above the storm’s mounting fury. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright.”

Looking forward to your comments to get me excited about this new project! And to seeing what you’ve been up to!

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

WeWriWa: Read to Me! . . . AN UNTARNISHED HERO

When I was a preschooler, I was always eager to have my mom read to me. And when she did, a magical story would unfold. That pre-lights out ritual taught me an important lesson: Words and imagination create a doorway to another world, one you can visit any time you open a book.

I was reminded of that lesson while struggling to get through a final edit of my W-I-P. When going over the document, I found that all I was doing was making changes, making it different but not better. With the keyboard in front of me, I couldn’t keep myself from playing with the words on the page. Eager to get on to a new project, I came up with an idea while the family was away for the afternoon. Instead of reading what was on the page, I let my computer read the words to me. I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and let the story unfold while listening. Eureka!! I was finally able to turn off that internal editor and discovered that my work was done. I’d finished the story I wanted others to read. Here’s a snippet . . .

“You are the only woman I will ever love, Willamina Redbone. That’ll be true ‘til the day I die.”

His abrupt confession wiped the playfulness from her mood. For a long moment, she studied his expression, seeking some chink in his sincerity. Finding none, she swallowed hard then gripped his face between her palms to challenge, “Prove it to me, Jim,” and hauled him down to her lips.

Their kiss expressed everything recent conversations hadn’t touched upon: The tortured longing, the aching loneliness, the desperation of need and lust and fear easing down to pure, heart-stripping devotion. Pausing only when they grabbed for breath, they leaned brow to brow, eyes closed.

“Need more convincing?” he whispered, voice low and gruff.

“Yes, I do, for as long as you can keep the conversation going.”

His eyes opened, stare locking on hers. “Even if it takes ‘til daybreak?”

“Even if.”

“Well then,” he drawled, “I’d best get started.”

About that new project . . .
I am so excited to be escaping for a 5-day keyboard retreat with three writer friends a stone’s throw from the shores of Lake Michigan. We’ve rented a two-story house with a patio and grill and lots of separate writing spaces. Of course, our Michigan weather has decided to turn cold and wet but that will keep us working instead of lingering at the lake. And if those clouds break, meandering along the shoreline, listening to the waves, is a wonderful balm to the imagination. Hopefully, I’ll have new words to share in the near future! As well as pictures.

Sorry to have missed the last few weekends. I’ve been out of town and out of time. But now I’m ready to settle in and get work done. I can’t wait to see what you’ve been up to!

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

IWSG: When They Pry my Cold Dead Fingers from the Keys!

Our Insecure Writers Support Group’s optional question for July is thought provoking: “What would make you quit writing?”

All of the road blocks that come to mind, I’ve already run into during my 30+ years as a published author (not to mention those that came before that first contract). To name a few of those Things That Want to Make You Quit:
Rejections – Check.Stalled projects – Check. Lose agent – Double check. Line you write for closes – Multiple checks. Genre you write for tanks – Multiple checks, which is why I’ve written in so many of them. New baby – Check. Book 3 due same day as son two, and both were early! Young kids at home – Double check. I wrote while they napped or were playing outside within earshot. Mom’s with kids can hear through walls! Lose editor – Check. Return to the work force (after 15 years of mom duty) – Check. Got up at 4:30 a.m. to get my pages in before the drive to my law offices where working the desk gave me plenty of new ideas! Divorce (after 24 years), sale of house and move into apartment – Check. Stressful but still doable. Surgery – Check. Carpal tunnel and two knee replacements. Lack of motivation – Check. Rx of sleep in, take a day or two off for whining, reading, binge watching, and relaxation then schedule a back to work date. Ideas swarming by then. Well of ideas runs dry – Naw! Never happen. All I have to do is look in my old idea file and I have enough storylines, series ideas, and character sketches to last two lifetimes. Technology – Check. My first books were written long hand then typed on a manual typewriter using correction ribbon! Eight books were saved on 5¼ “ disks! To reissue my first 20+ books, I’d have to have them professionally scanned. This old dog hates learning new tricks . . . but I do them. Self-publishing – Check. Thank goodness for my virtual assistant who handles conversions and my critique partner who is a phenomenal cover artist! I do love doing the promo! Lack of advances – Check. Going from five figure advances and multibook contracts to self-publishing really hit the savings account hard but it didn’t seem to make a difference to those stories that needed telling. I’ve come to terms with all of the above and they don’t deter me from sitting down at the keyboard. The one thing that I have a hard time getting past that takes some of the joy out of what I do has four letters – F-R-E-E. Working hard to produce the best possible product only to have the market flooded with an endless supply of horribly written, unedited dreck may someday be this writer’s final straw. When readers sniff at paying $0.99 for a book that should have sold for $6.99+ and say why pay when they can get books for free? . . . sigh! That’s a hard one to swallow. Readers who don’t value a professionally written book might be that bridge too far.

Here’s hoping a discerning audience will never become a thing of the past!

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer - aim for a dozen new people each time.The awesome co-hosts for the July 7th posting of the IWSG will be Pat Garcia, Victoria Marie Lees, and Louise – Fundy Blue!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Twitter hashtag is #IWSG

#WeWriWa: A Matter of Timing . . . An Untarnished Hero

Some heroes are forged by sheer determination. Jimmy Redbone is one of them in my Texas-set WIP, An Untarnished Hero. As a U.S. Marshal, he’s faced down crushing odds without a blink and he’s not about to let something as trivial as an injury keep him from protecting his wife and their future together in this week’s WWW excerpt.

It wasn’t fact, it was instinct that brought him here to the ranch and into the saddle. He was a hunter who understood his prey. Darkness and discomfort wouldn’t prevent his enemy from scouting this unforgiving terrain in search of a vantage point for both revenge and reward. Angel Soto wouldn’t place either thing in the hands of another. Neither would he. It was personal for Soto, not professional. For Jimmy, it was both.

He’d been a minute too late in the barn, a second too slow in that alley. Here, he was just days or even hours ahead of the one man who could strip everything from him. And by God, he’d be prepared and on time for that reunion.

Yep, still editing. Must get back to the basics of BICHOK (Butt in Chair, Hands on Keys)! I’m even more motivated now that a storyline for the next hero in this romantic suspense series has snuck up on me during revisions with a built-in opportunity to link back to one of my older historical series. Zayn Bass needs his own chance to make a name for himself in his family of legends.

Another thing that’s distracted me from the business at hand is exciting international news. Ireland has opened for vaccinated visitors! After three postponements since 2019, I’m like . . . flying high!


This girl has her packing list and passport ready to go!

But for now, my plan is to travel from this desktop to the one on the other side of my office where those revisions wait on my laptop. What are your plans, fellow Warriors?

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

#WeWriWa: A Fool’s Errand? . . . An Untarnished Hero

With the need to assure her safety more important than the injuries he’s hiding from her, Marshal Jimmy Redbone pushes the limits of his endurance to protect the woman he loves . . . no matter what the cost in today’s excerpt from my Texas-set romantic suspense. A fool’s errand or a hero’s obligation?

What damned fool thought a twilight ride in unfamiliar country would be a good idea with his perforated innards barely held together?

Oh, yeah, that damned fool was him.

About forty-five minutes into his scouting trip, the recklessness of his move was unavoidable. And nearly unbearable. The ride from their neighbor Roscoe Barrett’s had been on mostly flat surfaces, not up and over rocky hills that had him lurching in the saddle, teeth gritted to hold back curses and groans. But Jimmy knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d surveyed the perimeter for anything amiss. Not that he wouldn’t miss anything smaller than a city bus among the scrub-studded ridges and seemingly bottomless gorges. At least July had enough sense to pick his way cautiously to keep from breaking his own legs, never mind his foolish rider’s neck.

But the need to punish and protect overcame physical obstacles.

I’ve finally started my final edit, with the hope of having it completed before the end of the month so I can attend a weeklong Rest & Writing escape where I plan to start the next book in the series. I’ve already been on the patio for a brief coffee and cats moment, so now it’s down to keyboarding business, since it’s already creeping up on 90-degrees before 10:00 AM. In Michigan, that’s too hot to even think of going outside because of the humidity that comes with it. The only things that thrive out there today are my cactus gardens. They’re taunting, “Bring on the Heat!”

With the rise in temperature comes indoor binge watching. I’ve already devoured Mare of Easttown, City on a Hill, Pennyworth, A Handmaid’s Tale, The Son, and Halston, and am anxiously awaiting the return of Lupin (a fantastic French import!)and Bosch along with the premier of Loki. I’m mentally writing off sedentary time spent as a expense . . . my excuse and I’m sticking to it! What have you been binging? And more importantly, what have you been writing, fellow Warriors?

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

#IWSG: Letting that Draft Breathe

Our Insecure Writers Support Group question for June is a breath of fresh air:

June 2 question - For how long do you shelve your first draft, before reading it and re-drafting? Is this dependent on your writing experience and the number of stories/books under your belt?

In a perfect world, letting the first draft breathe like a fine wine would be a given. But the only thing that comes into play for me regarding timing is how MUCH of it I have available. I’ve always been a pretty clean first draft writer. I’m lucky to have fantastic BETA readers amongst my critique group who’ll provide a read thru before I go to final, and their allowed timing affects mine. But the biggest influence (and curse!) has always been the time line I give myself now that I’m self-pubbing. I have a (sometimes bad) habit of picking a release date and counting backwards to allow for first draft, clean up, BETA reads, and final. In a perfect world, all would run smoothly. But there’s always that unforeseen snag . . . the bane of a writer’s existence . . . that’s out of your control.

When I started writing, decades ago, the first books I wrote for Zebra went from typewriter first draft to final publisher edit to publication, so right from the start, I had hard and fast editing rules: First draft – 3 months, one week to marinate before on to read thru/first edit – two weeks, then to editor. Second drafts were for clean up and minor expansion, not major rewrites. There just wasn’t time. It wasn’t until I started self-pubbing that I had the luxury of letting words “rest.” I’d always tell myself to give it a month, or at least two weeks. But I never had the discipline to stay away that long. Ahhh, that siren’s call of my characters . . .

The BIG exception was the final book of 15 in my “By Moonlight” dark paranormal shapeshifter series. With ten years between Book 1 and Book 15, there were a ton of things to be knitted together to keep the whole from unraveling. I had to put together a list of plot dangles then create an elaborate timeline in which to link them all - an effort that took longer than writing the first draft! For the first time, I had to push a release date back, and in retrospect, I wish I’d taken another few weeks.

Of course the number of books written gives you a better handle on your own process, so you can cinch up that editing belt if you need to. That belt was pretty darn tight when I returned to the work force fifteen years after being a stay-at-home mom, but now my time is my own as a retiree, and is my own worst enemy as I putz along with my current Texas-set romantic suspense. Those first draft edits are sitting across the room but instead of compelling me, I’m finding it all too easy to put on headphones to binge watch Netflix. I’m blaming isolation brain. But really, there’s no excuse. Now that I’ve admitted that to everyone, it’s play computer off, work laptop on. Time to gitter done!

Right after I see what you’ve been up to . . .

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!

Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer - aim for a dozen new people each time.The awesome co-hosts for the June 2nd posting of the IWSG will be J Lenni Dorner, Sarah Foster, Natalie Aguirre, Lee Lowery, and Rachna Chhabria!
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Twitter hashtag is #IWSG

#WeWriWa: Truth or Consequences . . . An Untarnished Hero

Consequences . . . the pesky result of taking a hard stance. But in the case of our hero in my WIP, the risk is worth the result . . . or so he believes in this scene where he’s trying to find a place to fit into the life his estranged wife has returned to . . . without him.

“Matteo can find plenty for you to do.”

His side glance, a teasing bright break-of-day blue, suggested all sorts of mischief. “Nothing you personally need me to see to?”

“Can’t think of a single thing. Been seeing to them myself for a long while now.” With that clipped declaration, she pushed off the fence and marched back up the house, spine stiffening at the sound of his rumbling chuckle.

Watching her walk away, always a particular delight, couldn’t ease the knot of tension growing in Jimmy’s gut. Maybe Matteo was right. Perhaps he should come clean with his reason for being there. But part of his plan was for everything to look normal at TheCut Above, encouraging that trouble he was here to prevent to sneak up close enough for him to put a very final end to it.

(and the rest of the scene . . .)
But dangling the woman he loved as bait came a far second to keeping her safe from the threat sure to come . . . fast and hard from any unexpected direction. Him not being up to par was worrisome. But being a minute too late and a second too slow was not going to happen again. He knew what was out there, waiting to threaten his future at the cost of those here on this ranch. He had to be ready, without distraction, without mercy or hesitation. The next soul planted in the lovingly tended family cemetery, if he had any say, would be from old age, not his poor judgment or failure to act to the full limit of the law. And perhaps, this time, beyond it.

To hell with the consequences.

I wonder how that’s going to work out for him? While he’s trying to figure it out, I’ve been enjoying my final edit through AUH, smoothing out the bumps and raising the stakes. And I’ve even come up with a way to spin this book into a series by introducing a new character at the end!

Little by little, I’ve been taking baby steps outside my pandemic bubble, this time with a trip to the mall and dinner afterwards to celebrate my birthday. First stop – bookstore!! Then my favorite clothing store to actually try things on. Pleased to report no COVID damage to my regular size – in fact, things are a bit looser! But after taking no prisoners in my first forage into the real world of shopping in a year and a half (!), it’s still a case of I can get all dressed up and have no place to go other than a series of friend gatherings in the upcoming months. Still I’m planning to hit the gym to tone up this old sedentary bod starting tomorrow and am busy making playlists to put on my phone – if I can figure out how to do that.

After returning home like a band of pillaging pirates with all our mall bounty and leftovers, I find this lovely surprise waiting for me from my wonderful D-i-L:

I’ve decided that getting a year older is okay with me!

But I haven’t forgotten to appreciate the past and those who gave all so we could have so much.

Have a wonderful Memorial Day, hopefully with your families this year, but if not in person, then at least in your heart and in your memories!

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

#WeWriWa: A Dream Come True? . . . SWEET TEXAS DREAMS

If only life mirrored the fantasy found in books . . . Young Becca Bass, the sheltered youngest daughter of West Texas tracker Harmon Bass, has grown up surrounded by the daring do of others, but the idea of heroics simply terrifies her . . . until a handsome stranger shows up at the front steps needing to hire her father.

Her mother had always told her patience would bring her heart’s desire, but never had Becca Bass expected it to be delivered up to her front door.

“I’m looking for Harmon Bass and was told I could find him here.”

It took Becca a moment to remember how to speak, so lost was she in the staring. They didn’t get many visitors out in the emptiness of West Texas where their house nestled in against the foothills of the Chisos, but that alone wasn’t the reason for the fluttery tempo bumping within the cage of her ribs. It wasn’t any one thing that held her mesmerized; it was all of them together. The way the stranger’s shoes refused to let the thick dust conquer their determined shine; the way his beautifully tailored suit held to its arrogant creases; the supple driving gloves that most likely protected smooth hands untouched by hard labor; the fair unlined skin molded to the long angles of his face that spoke of the North as clearly as his crisp diction; the meticulously groomed brown hair trained by a professional barber’s comb instead of a pair of shears on a kitchen stool, and a mouth full of sensual curves that should have smiled more than it probably did and now was pressed with the look of serious business.

As Becca gazed down from the top step of her family’s porch into the sterling gray of his eyes, her every quivering instinct told her that this was the one; the man who lived in the fairytale world her mother described when she spoke of her years in the East, the one who would step from the pages of the love stories she treasured to become everything she desired and couldn’t find here in the sear of West Texas. Here was her dream come true. And all she could do was stare in entranced wonder.

(and a bit more . . .)
“Am I in the right place?” he prompted when she gave no response.

“Oh, yes.” That sighed from her dreamily.

“Is he here? May I speak with him?” There was a slight edge of impatience to his tone, the sign of a man who’d come a long way for a mighty important reason and didn’t fancy wasting any more of his time in the hot sun talking to a calf-struck girl. “Harmon Bass,” he repeated slowly as if to someone who didn’t have a good grasp of the language. “You do know him?”

That made Becca smile. “Everyone around here knows him. He’s my father.”

Unfortunately, the legend he’s looking for has been injured and is unavailable. But instead of sending her dream man away, Becca does the first bold thing she can think of . . . something that just might get the both of them killed! Pretending she can fill her half-Apache father’s moccasins, Becca dons buckskins and convinces New York investment banker Morgan Daniels to follow her into the searing landscape along with his prissy manservant, who thankfully knows how to make a fire. So far. So good, until they catch up with the trouble they’re looking for!

I had a great time writing this final chapter in the published Bass family series (and am thoroughly enjoying rereading it now!). The research it took to bring Becca and her family to take on the New York high society her mother escaped was loads of fun. And dropping the always dangerous and unpredictable Harmon Bass into the middle of it made for some of the series’ best scenes. I didn’t want the adventure to end . . . so I’m picking up the chapters I’d started years ago that follow young Randy Bass and his cousin as they seek trouble and destiny with a convent runaway going home to war-torn Cuba. I’ll share a tease next week.

Hope you’ve found someplace cool to escape the awful humidity that we have here in Michigan. Just rain, already, and get it over with! At least the cats have been entertained by all the whirligigs the trees are shedding that now cover the patio and all my plants.

I’m having a happy birthday week. Enjoy a piece of cake on me! I won’t tell anyone.

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

#WeWriWa: A Father’s Nightmare . . . TEXAS RENEGADE

Nothing could be worse than losing a child, even if that child isn’t yours by blood. Half white, half Apache, Kenitay became Jack Bass’s son when the Texas Ranger married his mother, a former captive of his Apache father’s band. With the era of the Apache fading, Jack takes him to Arizona’s Fort Apache for a chance to see his father one last time before he’s relocated to Florida with others of his tribe. Told to stay put on the porch while Jack tries to make arrangements for the visit, the boy’s curiosity gets the best of him at the sight of his father’s ragged people being herded toward the train. When he takes that first step off the porch for a better look, he leaves behind a family broken by indisputable evidence . . . that he’s been accidentally killed. Until a wary, bitter adult appears on their doorstep thirteen years later.

As Jack walked forward until the two men were eye-to-eye, Kenitay experienced a strange chill looking at him from an equal height as they stared at each other for a few heartbeats. Then, in a tone so gruff it rumbled, Jack said, “Next time I tell you to stay put, goddammit, you stay put!”

Jack’s big hand caught the back of his head to pull Kenitay into an embrace so tight he could barely draw a breath—not that he could manage one through the emotion squeezing his chest. This wasn’t at all the welcome he’d expected . . . but it was the one he’d dreamed of on those lonely nights when the emptiness got so big it seemed to swallow his soul. His stepfather’s grasp, his mother’s tears—he’d pictured it a million times and each time, painful reality cut like a fresh blade. If he was holding onto a lie, if felt so good he couldn’t make himself release it. He soaked up the warmth of his mother’s hug and let his head rest briefly against the familiar comfort of Jack’s shoulder as his spirit wept with the joy of their reunion even as his mind struggled to explain it.

Why the tears thirteen years too late?

(and the rest . . .)
That’s when Jack’s fingers meshed in his hair, pulling his head up and holding him firm so there was no way to avoid his piercing stare.

“You’d better have one powerful good reason for staying away and letting your mama nurse a broken heart.”

That soft accusation was what Kenitay needed to bring scattered emotions in check. He levered back, his features taking on an impassive mask. He couldn’t look at his mother, that would have been too hard. Finally, he asked with a tint of disbelief, “You want a reason from me?”

“Right now,” Jack demanded in a terse voice.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“After you tore this family in two, I think you do!”

Reconnecting with the father whom he’d believed hadn’t cared enough to look for him, Kenitay grew up amongst a bitter people, a relocated prisoner in Florida. Now, hunted by the law for murder, he’s on the hunt for a fortune in silver and the men responsible for the price on his head. Enter Leisha Bass, daughter of famous tracker Harmon Bass who is Jack’s uncle and perhaps the only man who can help him. But desperate to prove herself in the shadow of her father’s legend, Leisha has her own reasons for taking on that task and sticking close to the enigmatic man who holds a secret that could destroy her.
I fell in love with these characters all over again while rereading this book from 1996 (!). I can’t wait to get it back into document form to tweak and polish, and to find a cover worthy of the original which is one of my favorites from all my books. Now, on to the final (so far!) book of the series . . .

After long days struggling to find the perfect mix of colors, looks, and heights (in a greenhouse, silly, not on a dating app!) I’ve been digging in the dirt to the horror of my fingernails and my abused back to create this year’s patio garden oasis for mornings with coffee and my cats. It’s my favorite chore of the year and when I’m finished . . . ahhhh, perfect! But first, putting the pieces together.

I’m so excited to be going out to lunch with one of my critique partners tomorrow – maskless! It’s like being naked in public (though probably not as horrific). We’ll still be social distancing and be suited up inside until we get to the table, but it’ll be great to see someone’s lips moving when you speak to them! And to know they aren’t making faces at you.

Happy Spring, fellow Warriors! Bloom where you’re planted!

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
Spread the word, share the love, warriors - Hashtag #8sunday.

#WeWriWa: Hat in Hand . . . WILD TEXAS BRIDE

Continuing through my Texas historical series, reading WILD TEXAS BRIDE reminded me of how impulsive and often painful young love can be. Exciting new emotions can often get confused when expectations and reality don’t go hand in hand. Such is the case when young Sarah Bass, daughter of a famed Texas Ranger and niece of a dime novel legend, sees her first and only crush through new eyes.

One of the bandits strode by her toward the others at the front of the car, his long canvas duster tucked behind an impressive brace of pistols. He was tall, with a swaggering walk . . . a familiar walk, but she wasn’t sure until he turned slightly, and the coat swung away from long, long legs. She didn’t have to see his face because as long as she lived, Sarah would never forget that expansive stretch of denim-hugged limb.

What in heaven’s name was Billy Cooper doing robbing a train?

Surprise subdued her more efficiently than threat. How could she mistake the man who’d given her the spectacular taste of her first kiss, that young Texas Ranger who’d captured a thirteen-year-old’s heart?

What would turn a man from an honorable life’s mission to passing a hat to relieve folks of their valuables? Sarah wondered, frowning as Billy moved from seat to seat with the same charismatic cheerfulness as a tent evangelist, coaxing her fellow passengers to dig deep into their pockets. By the time he reached her seat, she was seething with a confused outrage. Then his dark eyes touched upon hers and she held her breath, waiting for a shock of recognition, but he looked away without pause.

He didn’t remember her!

(and the rest of the scene)
“Your contributions, please,” he drawled amiably, giving his hat a shake to rattle the coins and jewelry he’d already collected.

“And if I don’t please?”

The dark eyes gazing down at her crinkled up at the corners until she could see the creases of his devilish dimples over the edge of the bandana. “Why, I’m sure a little lady as pretty as you would want to be obliging.”

“Not when it comes to sniveling, underhanded, sneak thieves like you, sir.” Grabbing the sleeve of Billy’s coat, she hissed, “Why are you doing this?”

“Man’s gotta eat, ma’am.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Then his fingertips touched to her mouth, effectively stilling any further argument she thought to give, as they moved gently, rough and warm, along the line of her lips as if to seal them shut. His dark eyes delved straight to her soul.

“You don’t know anything,” he argued quietly, and before she could think of a retort, he was moving down the row of seats with his hat full of stolen treasures.

Will she accept what she sees or believe what she feels? Hopefully the second or it will be an awfully short book. Rereading TEXAS RENEGADE in search of next week’s excerpt then on to the final published book, SWEET TEXAS DREAMS.

Just found the first few chapters I’d written years ago for what was meant to be the final book in the series and am raring to get back into it, especially since all the hard work of research and plotting are already done! Hopefully, I’ll have some progress to report by the time I finish profiling the next two books in the series.

But for now, I’m off to visit your pages before heading to the patio to enjoy the sun and the smell of steaks on the grill.

Happy Trails!

Weekend Writing Warriors is a weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Share an 8 to 10 sentence snippet of your writing on Sunday. Visit other participants on the list and read, critique, and comment on their #8sunday posts.
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