Jean C. Joachim's Blog: Stories of Love and Passion, page 6

$0.99 BASEBALL ROMANCE BOOK BLOG HOP! MARCH 30 - APRIL 7

Welcome to the $.99 Baseball Romance Book Blog Hop!!OPENING DAY SALES RUN FROM 3/31 TO 4/7 
Click on the name of the author to go to her blog and scoop up her fabulous book for only $.99! Don't forget to come back to collect all the great books from all the authors. 

LYSSA KAY ADAMS Books, booze, and the long ball.

JENNIFER BERNARD Double the romance, double the fun

JEN DOYLE Life is serious. Read happy.



DEBRA ELISE
Love always finds a way. 


KATE KISSET Love's Home Run Tag line: A second chance to play for keeps.

JEAN JOACHIM
Is she a hot dog girl or a fugitive hiding in plain sight?



MINDY KLASKY
Can an eager "May" land her downright sexy "December”?

WILL GRANT, CENTER FIELD -- NEW RELEASE! #romance #sportsromance

Rookie Will Grant can’t believe he’d finally been called up to the major league. At twenty-six, the centerfielder is in his prime. He can hit and field like a star. Moving from a small town to the Big Apple, he’s ready for grand slam homers, and his choice of women. 
Pinch-hitting at the Nighthawks Florida day camp, he meets the hottest woman he’s ever seen. But she’s older and a mother. What would she see in a rookie like him?
Jackie Rice is a single mom taking her baseball-obsessed son to day camp. Not expecting anything except a week’s respite from the New York winter, she’s surprised to find herself attracted to the new hunk on the team. 


Who says a few hot nights mean anything more than a casual affair? But a secret revealed changes the game. Can Will hit a homer or will he strike out?  

***********************************
Excerpt:This snippet takes place in Florida. Will's participating in the Nighthawks baseball camp for kids. It's his first day in the camp.

The next morning, he rose early and grabbed breakfast in the hotel dining room. He studied the roster, memorizing the kids’ pictures. He wanted to be able to greet them by name. He remembered how he’d felt on the first day of Little League. His mom had taken him. He had been small, short and slight back then. His teammates had nicknamed him “Bobble” because, with a helmet on, his head looked so big, he resembled a bobble-head doll.He’d been intimidated at first. But his mother bucked him up. She and his dad worked with him after school. It wasn’t long before he was hitting doubles and outrunning the other team. He caught more fly balls than anyone else. After the first month, no one was calling him that atrocious name anymore. At the end of the season, the little kid from Sycamore Lane was a shoo-in for the most valuable player award. These kids were probably scared and unsure of themselves. He’d offer them a friendly, welcoming greeting, so they’d feel important.There were twenty kids: ten per team, mixed, boys and girls, though there were only four girls. He’d make sure they got the same workout as the boys, but gentler. He remembered how he’d recruited his sister to work out and practice with him. This would be a cinch.The packet contained directions to the stadium. He glanced at the wall clock. It was only eight. The kids weren’t coming until nine. Might as well get an early start. He pushed up from the table, fished the car keys out of his pocket, and headed for the door. Blam! A little kid wearing a miniature Nighthawks’ uniform slammed into him, almost knocking him down.He narrowed his eyes. “Mickey? Mickey Rice?” The kid looked adorable.“Hey, mister, how come you know my name?” The boy shot a suspicious look at Will.“I’m Will Grant. Center fielder for the Nighthawks,” he said, offering his hand.“Oh boy! You’re Will Grant! Mom! Mom!” the boy said, looking for his mother.Huffing and puffing, an attractive blonde woman ran up behind the boy.“This is Will Grant, Mom. He plays center field,” Mickey said.“Did you apologize, Mickey? You almost knocked him down.”“Oh, yeah. Sorry, sorry.”“No problem.”“Nice to meet you, Mr. Grant,” Jackie said, offering her hand.He took it. Her hand was small but strong. Taken by surprise by her beauty, he stared. Words jumbled on his tongue like a seventh grader. She was gorgeous. Sucking in air, he forced himself to focus.“Ms. Rice. Nice to meet you,” Will said, trying not to drown in her blue eyes. Then he turned his attention to the boy. “And, you, too, Mickey.” Jackie glanced at her watch, then fastened her hand on her son’s shoulder and pointed him toward the dining room. Will took the opportunity to glance down at her left hand. No wedding or engagement ring.“We’ve got to eat, Mickey, if we’re going to be on time.”“See you at the stadium,” Will said, making eye contact with the pretty blonde.She lifted her hand in a casual wave, gave him the once-over, and turned toward the dining room. Mickey waved, then let his mother lead him through the door.Will smiled. What a fine woman, slim, but not skinny, with juicy curves in all the right places. She had checked him out, too, but he couldn’t tell if she liked what she saw. He knew one thing, though she might have a year or two on him, she was one hot baseball mama. Grinning, he headed for the parking lot. A little zing shot up his spine. Looked like this gig might have hidden benefits.He had to be careful. Will didn’t want to make a play for a woman, only to get shot down and have her complain to management. That’s all he needed—a sexual harassment allegation. Just the idea made him sweat. He’d worked too hard to get to the Nighthawks to let his dick short-circuit his career.

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WILL GRANT, CENTER FIELD -- SPECIAL LOW PRICE UNTIL MARCH 25! #romance #sportsromance

$2.99 until March 25! Get your copy now. 

Rookie Will Grant can’t believe he’d finally been called up to the major league. At twenty-six, the centerfielder is in his prime. He can hit and field like a star. Moving from a small town to the Big Apple, he’s ready for grand slam homers, and his choice of women.
Pinch-hitting at the Nighthawks Florida day camp, he meets the hottest woman he’s ever seen. But she’s older and a mother. What would she see in a rookie like him?
Jackie Rice is a single mom taking her baseball-obsessed son to day camp. Not expecting anything except a week’s respite from the New York winter, she’s surprised to find herself attracted to the new hunk on the team. 


Who says a few hot nights mean anything more than a casual affair? But a secret revealed changes the game. Can Will hit a homer or will he strike out?  
***********************************
Excerpt:This snippet takes place in Florida. Will's participating in the Nighthawks baseball camp for kids. It's his first day in the camp.

The next morning, he rose early and grabbed breakfast in the hotel dining room. He studied the roster, memorizing the kids’ pictures. He wanted to be able to greet them by name. He remembered how he’d felt on the first day of Little League. His mom had taken him. He had been small, short and slight back then. His teammates had nicknamed him “Bobble” because, with a helmet on, his head looked so big, he resembled a bobble-head doll.He’d been intimidated at first. But his mother bucked him up. She and his dad worked with him after school. It wasn’t long before he was hitting doubles and outrunning the other team. He caught more fly balls than anyone else. After the first month, no one was calling him that atrocious name anymore. At the end of the season, the little kid from Sycamore Lane was a shoo-in for the most valuable player award. These kids were probably scared and unsure of themselves. He’d offer them a friendly, welcoming greeting, so they’d feel important.There were twenty kids: ten per team, mixed, boys and girls, though there were only four girls. He’d make sure they got the same workout as the boys, but gentler. He remembered how he’d recruited his sister to work out and practice with him. This would be a cinch.The packet contained directions to the stadium. He glanced at the wall clock. It was only eight. The kids weren’t coming until nine. Might as well get an early start. He pushed up from the table, fished the car keys out of his pocket, and headed for the door. Blam! A little kid wearing a miniature Nighthawks’ uniform slammed into him, almost knocking him down.He narrowed his eyes. “Mickey? Mickey Rice?” The kid looked adorable.“Hey, mister, how come you know my name?” The boy shot a suspicious look at Will.“I’m Will Grant. Center fielder for the Nighthawks,” he said, offering his hand.“Oh boy! You’re Will Grant! Mom! Mom!” the boy said, looking for his mother.Huffing and puffing, an attractive blonde woman ran up behind the boy.“This is Will Grant, Mom. He plays center field,” Mickey said.“Did you apologize, Mickey? You almost knocked him down.”“Oh, yeah. Sorry, sorry.”“No problem.”“Nice to meet you, Mr. Grant,” Jackie said, offering her hand.He took it. Her hand was small but strong. Taken by surprise by her beauty, he stared. Words jumbled on his tongue like a seventh grader. She was gorgeous. Sucking in air, he forced himself to focus.“Ms. Rice. Nice to meet you,” Will said, trying not to drown in her blue eyes. Then he turned his attention to the boy. “And, you, too, Mickey.” Jackie glanced at her watch, then fastened her hand on her son’s shoulder and pointed him toward the dining room. Will took the opportunity to glance down at her left hand. No wedding or engagement ring.“We’ve got to eat, Mickey, if we’re going to be on time.”“See you at the stadium,” Will said, making eye contact with the pretty blonde.She lifted her hand in a casual wave, gave him the once-over, and turned toward the dining room. Mickey waved, then let his mother lead him through the door.Will smiled. What a fine woman, slim, but not skinny, with juicy curves in all the right places. She had checked him out, too, but he couldn’t tell if she liked what she saw. He knew one thing, though she might have a year or two on him, she was one hot baseball mama. Grinning, he headed for the parking lot. A little zing shot up his spine. Looked like this gig might have hidden benefits.He had to be careful. Will didn’t want to make a play for a woman, only to get shot down and have her complain to management. That’s all he needed—a sexual harassment allegation. Just the idea made him sweat. He’d worked too hard to get to the Nighthawks to let his dick short-circuit his career.

PRE-ORDER THE BOOK HERE:

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BARNES & NOBLE

ITUNES

Get your copy before the price goes up to $4.99

NEW RELEASE - MEET "SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP"

MEET SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP for the  New York Nighthawks. While this is book 6 in the Bottom of the Ninth series, it is a stand-alone read. 



   One minute ten-year-old Skip Quincy was riding in the backseat of his parents’ car, the next, he woke up in Little Angels orphanage. Within six months, he was adopted. He was welcomed by Mrs. Quincy, the woman he learned to call “mom”, but Mr. Quincy wasn’t a fan.
   Athletically gifted early on, Skip pursued baseball. He loved the sport and excelled, despite his indifferent dad. Driven to succeed to prove his father wrong, Skip worked hard. Under the guidance of his beloved high school coach, he won the coveted, challenging position of shortstop.   Though plagued by self-doubt, Skip made it to the Nighthawks. He focused on baseball and relied on brief encounters with groupies as a substitute for love. When two women entered his life, satisfaction with one-night stands faded. Mimi or Francie? Could either one give him the love and acceptance he’d never had? EXCERPTSkip, Bobby, Jake, and Nat donned sweats and headed for the field. They loped along, staying in a group until they’d done the warm-up, then they headed inside to pump iron. Skip loved the challenge of the weight room. He was reduced to adding reps, because Vic wouldn’t let him take a heavier weight. To avoid pulled muscles, the trainer insisted they stretch before working out.“Keep going. Push yourselves, just a bit. One more rep. Two more. But no pulled muscles!”Sweat soaked Skip’s T-shirt. He stopped to down a bottle of water, then jumped on the bike for cardio. Feeling his body perform, work, stretch, and grow stronger stoked his fire. Each session readied him more and more for the contest with the Washington, D.C., Wolverines. Playoffs were next week. He’d be ready.The men took a break. There was a buffet spread for lunch in the dining hall. Bobby got behind Skip in line.“What happened to that Banner chick? You didn’t bring her last night.”“Right. I’m taking her out tonight.”“Big night?” Bobby nudged him in the ribs and wiggled his eyebrows.“None of your beeswax, jerkoff.”“Just thinkin’ it might be nice if you got a little, for a change.”“I’m gettin’ plenty.”“Yeah? From who?” Bobby picked up a plate.“None of your damn business.”“Not from Francie?” Bobby’s voice rose.“No way. I keep tellin’ you, she’s like my little sister.” Skip speared a piece of ham and put it on his dish.“Good. Leave her alone.”“Says you?”“Yeah. She’s too nice for you.”“Fuck off. I’ll go out with whoever I want.”“She’s got enough problems, without you messing up her head with your dick.”“That’s weird, buddy. What you just said? Very weird.”“You know what I mean.” EXCERPT
Dan swiveled and fired at Bobby, who was between first and second. Skip ran to second, anchoring himself with his back foot up against the bag, and stretching out toward the second baseman with his other one. Bobby tossed it to Skip, who bent down and tagged Weeks’ right foot as he slid into base. The bastard raised his left foot, aiming his cleats at Skip’s back leg, but the shortstop dove forward, into the dirt, bending his back leg at the knee, barely avoiding the spikes. And he kept hold of the ball, nestled snugly in his glove.
“Out!” The umpire called, making a fist and pumping it toward the ground.Weeks jumped up and immediately argued with the umpire. Skip smiled and loped toward the dugout. He knew he’d tagged him before hitting the ground. One glance at the Jumbotron, which showed a replay, and Skip shook his head, his grin widening. Eddie Weeks, once an asshole, always an asshole. Skip hit the dugout and nabbed a bottle of water, downing it in almost one gulp.Cal Crowley sidled up to him. With one nod and a pat on the shoulder, the manager said, “Way to go, Skip.”“Thanks.”After several teammates high-fived him, he sat down, waiting his turn to bat. Nat was up first, then Bobby, who was in the on-deck circle. Skip couldn’t wait. Confidence flowed through him. This was going to be his game. He felt it, in his bones. All the weeks, months, and years of endless practice would come together on this field, starting today.He stood up, walked to the front of the dugout, and glanced at the stands. The seat he’d bought for Mimi Banner was empty. Swinging his gaze to the left, he spied Francie Whitman, sitting next to Elena Delgado. That was all he needed to know. EXCERPTGlancing up, he spied Mimi, hesitating at the front of the restaurant. She wore a low-cut black dress. His gaze zeroed in on her chest. He marveled that such a petite woman could have such large breasts. He wondered if they looked bigger because she was so tiny. When he finally looked up at her face, he frowned. She looked lost. Skip raised his hand to catch her eye.She smiled and headed for his table. He rose and pulled out her chair. She smoothed her skirt over her thighs and sat down.“No one’s done that for me in a long time,” she said.“Rowley didn’t pull out your chair?”She shook her head.“You were his wife.”“Didn’t seem to make much difference.”“Don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but he must have been kinda stupid.”“Thanks.” She shot him a warm smile.The conversation was going exactly where he wanted. He needed to come off as a thousand times better than her dead husband if he wanted to warm her bed. Soft, brown curly hair caressed her shoulders. He wanted to touch it but suspected she was skittish and would freak out if he reached across the table to comb his fingers through her locks.Rowley had smacked her around and been suspended, and eventually fired, for it—and for steroid usage. According to the coroner, steroids had caused the heart attack that killed him.“You must miss Rowley,” Skip said, signaling for the waiter. “What do you want to drink?”“Just ginger ale.”Skip raised his eyebrows. “I have a game, but you have no reason to avoid a drink.”“I stopped drinking two years ago.”“Why?”“Alcohol made Rowley more violent. I needed to stay sober to keep my wits about me when he was drinking. It just became a habit.”Switching to her choice, Skip ordered two ginger ales. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to be chained to a guy like Banner.“Makes sense. Are you hungry? All the food here is good. Trust me. I’ve eaten everything on the menu.”“All at once?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye.Buy the ebook or paperback here:

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EVERYDAY HEROESAfter so many bad men making the news, let...

EVERYDAY HEROES
After so many bad men making the news, let's look at the positive side of men. Although we sometimes berate men for not communicating more, most men share their love by doing, not talking. Today I honor those men, the ones who help for the sake of helping...the men who do small, unselfish acts everyday. 

Today is your day guys as I dedicate this blog to my everyday heroes, men I know, and don't know who have touched my life in positive ways...you know who you are:

1) To the two gentlemen who stopped, briefly, to pick me up, one guy on each arm, when I slipped and fell at the bottom of the wet subway stairs on a rainy day. 2) To the man who stopped in the parking lot of Peck's grocery store in Narrowsburg. The second I put my hands under the hood of my car, he was there, asking me what was wrong and if I needed help. Then he proceeded to show me where to put in the wiper fluid, unscrewed the cap to the little tank and left before I even made eye contact! 
3)  To all the men on the streets of New York who have stopped to pick up whatever I dropped before I even bent my knees. Klutz that I am, that number is huge.4)  To my friend in the community who came down to the lake because I told him I was going there to swim by myself and he felt it was unsafe.
5)  To all the men on airplanes who, when seeing me with a large carry-on bag, stood up and put it in the overhead rack for me without even being asked. And also, to those who took it down for me when we landed.
6)  To the thousands upon thousands of men who have held doors open for me, allowing me to pass through first.
7)  To the two young men on line in the grocery store who offered their frequent buyer cards to me so I could get the discounts, too.  
8)  To the man who took the dead mouse out of my mousetrap and disposed of it for me. Yucky!  
9)  To all the young men in high school and college who politely took "no" for an answer and either still continued to date me or became my friend.
10) To all the men who got up to give me a seat on the bus or subway when I was pregnant.
11) To my male writer friends who encourage me every day. 12) To the men I met on countless vacations who danced with me, bought me a drink at the bar and didn't hit on me.
13) To the man who came to the emergency room with me on a first date, waited forever and held my hand while I got a tetanus shot. 
14)  To my writing partner, Ben, who encourages me every day, never tells me my ideas are dumb or gives me a hard time about my typos or lack of punctuation…and listens, patiently, to me rant about life.
15) To the man who took two hours out of his day to show me how to do my website for the price of a bagel.16) To the two men who took my pictures and designed book covers for me just because they are my friends.
17) To the man who walked me home after dark when I ducked into a bar because someone was following me...and took "no" for an answer with charm and grace. 
18) To the man who drove me through a blinding snowstorm and back so I could bring a stray cat with an infected paw to the vet.
19) To Doug, our guest, who surprised me with a Tiramisu cake just because I had admired it in the bakery window. 
20) To the man who jumped into a Facebook group to defend me when several people attacked my opinion.
21) To all the men who let me go first...from the checkout counter at the grocery store to the bread counter at Zabar's... simply because I'm a woman. 
22) To the unknown young man who gave me a lift 60 blocks up Madison Avenue to Mt. Sinai Hospital when the subway wasn't running and my father was in surgery.
23) To the men in IRM who are never stingy with hugs or encouragement. 
24) To DH who sometimes fixes things before I ask. 

To all you everyday heroes, thank you. Thank you for all you've done and continue to do quietly without fanfare...and for the shy smile you give me when I acknowledge your help. Love you all!

Who are the everyday heroes in your life?

BASEBALL IS BACK! SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP....The New York Nighthawks have returned...

Meet Skip Quincy, Shortstop for the New York Nighthawks. Up for Pre-Order! 

I'll be posting new excerpts of this book right up to release day. Here's excerpt #1

Francie Whitman, barely twenty-six, was getting her Master’s degree in studio art at City College. Her stepmother controlled a trust fund her father had left when he died. A frugal woman, Calista Whitman, counted every penny, sending Francie to a public university, and putting her up in a tiny studio apartment. When she became twenty-seven, control of the fund would shift, and Francie would steer her own way.
Because she was still in school and four years younger, Skip considered her a kid. Although he was strongly attracted to her, he kept his hands off, settling for bantering, teasing, and kidding, instead of dating.
She seemed okay with their friendship, until today. Her willingness to play strip poker shocked him. Not that he wouldn’t have jumped at the chance, had they been alone, but she’d never gone beyond harmless flirting with him before. The minute she had said, “strip poker” blood had pumped to his dick. It stopped when he teased her and backed away. Her frown also surprised him. He’d expected blushes, stammers, and recanting. Instead, she’d faced him with a bold stare, daring him to take up her challenge.

Rather than sort through his mixed feelings, Skip focused on his date with Mimi. He expected to take a lot of shit from his teammates if he started seeing her seriously. Hell, she was the widow of one of the most hated guys in baseball. Even though they had attended his funeral, every single Nighthawk had despised Rowley Banner. Skip had pitied the guy and his addiction to steroids. But that was no reason to stay away from his beautiful widow.
Get it now for only $2.99. Price goes up to $4.99 on release day. (Steamy, contemporary romance. Caution: locker room language)

PRE-ORDER THE EBOOK, SKIP QUINCY, SHORTSTOP HERE:
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NOOK (BARNES & NOBLE)

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS BY THE NEW YORK NIGHTHAWKS!

NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONSBY THE NEW YORK NIGHTHAWKS



Dan Alexander, Pitcher“No more hitting batters, unless they’ve pissed off my buddies. Buy my girl flowers once a week. Try not to yell at her parents. Remember, all I said was try.”


















Matt Jackson, Catcher“I plan to block the plate against all runners, and hide it from the umpire. Also pledge to stop criticizing Stormy, and telling her how to play softball. Yeah, I know, good luck with the second one.”








Jake Lawrence, Third Base “I promise not to try out for any more Broadway shows, with or without Kate. I plan to run two extra miles before every game. Or at least try to. Trying counts, right?”











Nat Owen, First Base“I swear I’ll stretch my legs until I can do a split. Or at least add three more inches so I can get every bouncer that comes my way. No, I haven’t been missing, but you can always do better, right? As for women? Stay away from celebrities. Honest. Really. I will. I’ve learned my lesson. I have, I swear.”









Bobby Hernandez, Second Base“I promise to read the rest of Elena’s romance books in order. Also promise to stop giving Skip Quincy a hard time off the field. Yeah, right --on the second one.”









Skip Quincy, Short Stop“I don’t have to make any because my book’s not out yet. But here goes anyway. I will stop listening to Bobby Hernandez off the field. And I’ll forgive Billy Holmes. Women? Well, I don’t want to spoil the story, so I’m keeping my resolutions about the women in my life to myself.” *snickers.*



FIND THEIR STORIES IN EBOOK, PAPERBACK AND AUDIOBOOK HERE:
https://jeanjoachimbooks.com/bottom-o...

THE HOUSE-SITTER'S COUNTRY CHRISTMAS - EPISODES 11-13

Welcome back to the final episodes of this story. These will not be the totally final episodes, just the last few I'll be posting on my blog. The rest will be written and put out as a book, which will not be free. I hope you are enjoying the story. It may get changed in places when it's edited and put in book forms. Thanks for stopping by.

EPISODE ELEVEN

At ten o’clock, Laura and Ginger got in the car. Snow on bare branches glistened in the light of the moon. A few street lamps lighted the way. She drove slowly on the icy roads. “Thank you for inviting me, Laura. I get the feeling you wanted me to meet George.”“Are we that transparent?”Ginger laughed. “Well, he’s single.”“You two seemed to hit it off.”“He’s invited me to breakfast tomorrow morning.”“How nice.”“It’s pretty soon for me to be thinking about another man.”“Really?”“It’s only been six months since I lost John. I don’t think I’m ready.”“Take it slow, then. George is a wonderful man. Nothing wrong with having breakfast together.”“That’s what I thought. But his British ways. It’s kinda strange to me.”“You’ll get used to it. He’s simply the nicest man.”Laura pulled into Jess’s driveway. “Thanks again. And for the lift home,” Ginger said, exiting the vehicle. When Laura arrived home, she found George and Craig enjoying a hot toddy by the fire. She joined them.
“Let me heat up one for you, dear,” Craig said, rising.When he left, Laura looked straight at George. “So, how did our little ruse work?”“You mean Ginger?”She nodded. “She’s lovely. Much too soon for her, though. But a good choice.”“Glad to hear. You’re breaking bread with her tomorrow?”“Yes. I thought breakfast would be less intimidating than a dinner date.”“Smart.”“My life isn’t conducive to marriage. I travel too much. And the time I’m here, I like to spend some with my children.”“I understand. That might work well for Ginger. Seems she’s not ready for a heavy-duty commitment.”“Might be perfect, then?”Laura chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be a nice Christmas present?”“It would indeed,” George replied, raising his glass. Craig returned, handed her a small glass, and sat down next to her. She sipped and put the warm beverage down. Craig enveloped her small hand between his.“Perfect for a night like tonight,” she said. “Is it always this cold? All winter long?”“I’m afraid so. You get used to it, after a while.”“I doubt I ever could,” Craig replied. “Does that mean you don’t want to come back here in the winter?”“Maybe,” he said, hedging his bets. George cleared his throat. “When you’re dressed properly, it’s quite invigorating.”“Oh, shut up, George,” Craig muttered.“Craig!” Laura’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. But do you have to be so damn cheerful all the time?”“Pardon me, sir. I just thought that you might consider some compromise. Considering you’ve found the one woman who meets your qualifications and will put up with you,” George said, his eyes hot. “The one woman who…what?” Laura straightened up in her seat. “What qualifications?”“Thanks, George,” Craig said, fuming.“Nothinig, nothing. Just that he wouldn’t tolerate any woman who wasn’t smart and attractive.”“Oh. That’s not so bad.”“And one who would give him a hard time about how babyish, selfish, and annoying he can be,” George tossed in. “I’m babyish? Who called a woman ‘madam’ and almost started World War Three a few days ago?”“That’s a perfectly acceptable form of address where I come from.”“Yeah? Well, we’re not where you come from. We’re where I come from.”“Boys, boys! Stop.” “Sometimes I lose my patience, Miss. Mr. Banley’s finally found the one woman he could live with and now he’s complaining that the climate she lives in is too cold. I’m going to bed. Sometimes, I just can’t take him,” George said, shaking his head. “Everything is always about you. You need to learn the definition of the word ‘compromise’, sir.” George rose from his seat and headed for the kitchen. Laura heard the water running. Wasn’t it like George to wash out his glass before retiring, even in the midst of a disagreement. “George loses patience with me. But you don’t,” Craig said, facing her. “I might. I mean if you are as childish as George says, then, well, who knows?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t leave me because I don’t like winter, would you?”“Probably not. But you have to make an effort, Craig. Not everything is going to be to your liking all the time. You need to learn to adapt.”“It’s funny, but in the beginning, nothing in my life was the way I wanted. When I started working with Uncle C.W. and got a little success, well, then, I vowed that everything was going to be the way I wanted. Kinda making up for lost time.”“I get it. But you’ve been living in style for quite a while now. Time to compromise a little. Don’t you think?”“I hope I can. I’d hate to lose you,” he said, taking her hand. Laura picked up her glass. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with a man who expected the world to tie itself into knots to suit him all the time? Could she live with someone who would never compromise? Did she want to give up her house, never be here to feed the birds and the deer in the winter? She swallowed. He raised her hand to his lips. “What are you thinking?”She shook her head. “Come on. You’re making me nervous.”“So maybe you have to be nervous for a few minutes. Would that kill you?” She knew she was snapping at him, but she resented being pushed. She didn’t care to share her thoughts. They disturbed her, and until she had worked them out, they would be hers alone. “Wow. Where did that come from?” He moved back. “Don’t push me. If I don’t want to share something, that should be okay with you.”“It is. It is. I’m sorry.”His face became boyish, his eyes pleading. How could she deny him anything? “George is right, you know. I’m selfish, uncompromising, set in my ways.”“Are you trying to tell me something? Like I shouldn’t be with you?”“Never! Not at all. But if you want me, you have to take the frog with warts and all, before you transform me into a prince.”“Who said anything about a prince? I only want a man, who loves me.”“Then you’ve got him. Here I am.” He leaned over to kiss her. Laura heard George fussing in the kitchen. “I think we should take this discussion to the bedroom,” she said, softly. “You read my mind,” Craig responded. He arose and offered her his hand. She took it and they headed for the stairs. Her body tingled at the thought of what lay ahead. They had had tiffs before, and always made up in the bedroom. While she’d acknowledge that Craig Banley could be an obstinate man who would stick with his opinion, she admitted fully that no one knew how to make up in the bedroom like her Craig.
* * * *   Mumbling to himself, George ambled to the guest room on the first floor. Though there was a larger one upstairs, he preferred to be as far away from the master bedroom as possible. He’d avoid overhearing any noise coming from the room Craig and Laura shared. 
   Ever since they had gotten together, George had been examining his own life. He’d been too busy to be lonely most of the time. But when work stopped, like at the holidays, it became harder for him.   At Thanksgiving, he’d made the rounds of his children’s homes. He’d been grateful for Craig Banley’s trips to Europe over Christmas. He’s sent gifts to his grandchildren from all over the world. And traveling on Mr. Banley’s dime helped him save money. It had been a true win/win situation. Craig’s temperament softened a bit over the holiday.    But now, that would be over. He’d want to spend this time with Laura, which left George to be a third wheel. He hated intruding on their privacy. He’d stopped denying the pangs of jealousy he felt when he saw them together. They were so damn happy!    He wanted to feel that way about a woman and have one return his affection. As for sleeping alone, he’d finally become accustomed to it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Heavens, no, sleeping alone offered no comfort, even if he could have the blankets all to himself.    Finding a woman who could live with his crazy schedule would be impossible. That was the reason he’d given himself for not even looking. But this woman, Ginger, had come along. 
   Their situations were not ideal at all –quite the opposite. How could she ever get away from the farm to come to New York? And how would he like mucking out a stall or tramping around in the snow and mud?    He chuckled to himself. Perhaps he’d better take the advice he’d given Craig so freely. It was time to compromise, put up with, and share. The idea intrigued him. A bright man, he’d always welcomed a challenge. Forging a relationship with a woman who lived two hours away on a working farm would tax his creative thinking to it’s limit. Was she worth it? Tomorrow, he’d set about finding out.    George changed into pajamas and slid beneath the plush comforter. As he lay in bed, his gaze roamed over the cozy quarters. He loved the room. With walls sporting a coat of warm, spring green, it had the flavor of the outdoors. The bed spread had a charming small flower print in light blue, yellow and two shades of green. The old fashioned lamp on the nightstand was a tap lamp. The small dresser was pine, with a clear finish. And the windows looked out on the back and side yards.    George drifted off, thinking about his date with the lady with the hot temper and the auburn hair.    In the morning, he arose before the others. Grabbing a quick shower, he dressed rapidly in the cool air, and hit the kitchen to put up coffee, and a kettle on the stove for his tea. He puttered around, setting up coffee mugs, and milk, as well as his tea cup. Humming Christmas songs to himself, he glanced out back to find the feeders empty. Shrugging on his jacket, he headed out back with a bag of bird seed. After filling the feeders, he glimpsed something dark out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he faced a black bear about six feet from him. The bear eyed the bag of birdseed.Panic shot through George. He tossed the bag of seed at the bear and flew back to the house. Shutting and locking the back door, he peer out through the back window. Huffing and puffing,  while the adrenaline in his veins slowed down, he witnessed the bear attack the bag, ripping it to shreds so it could chow down on the seed. Perhaps Craig wasn’t completely off about life in the country.


EPISODE TWELVE
   George brewed another cup of tea while he watched the bear demolish the bag and gobble up the bird seed. Once his nerves were settled, he returned to his room to look in the mirror. He made a face. How could he pick the green tie with this shirt? He ripped the offending garment from his neck and pawed through the selection of neckwear in his suitcase.
   One tie after another was discarded, thrown, in disgust, on the bed. Finally, he concluded that the ties were fine, but it was the shirt that was wrong. He checked his watch. It was eight thirty and Ginger was due at nine. He had no time. Whizzing through the shirts he’d hung up upon arrival, he finally settled on the blue striped shirt because it would go well with the green tie.       His eyes were pale green and he’d been told that green in a shirt or tie highlighted that. Pushing the tie into position, he then checked his image in the mirror. Finally he’d found the right combination.
   After his frantic wardrobe emergency, his hair needed combing. He tidied up, brushed off his shoulders, and headed for the foyer. Craig and Laura hadn’t even come downstairs yet. George chuckled to himself that they had already found a better way to wake up than a cup of coffee. His thoughts turned to the occasional morning when he and Eleanor had tasted of marital delights before breakfast. She had been a spunky woman, up for any adventure, be it visiting a new country or a new sexual position. He’d been a lucky man.
   George sighed. Long ago, he gave up the hope of finding anyone up to her standard. Perhaps, after all this time, he’d be happier lowering the bar a bit and not being alone. The honking of a horn drew his attention.
   He opened the door and greeted Ginger, who kissed his cheek, then turned to wave farewell to Jess. George offered her his arm. “Shall we depart?”   “Of course,” she replied.  
 George opened the car door for her and Ginger gave him directions. The diner was warm with the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and cinnamon buns in the air. George’s stomach rumbled. The small place had about half a dozen booths and the same number of tables. A waitress with a name tag that read “Holly”
“Sit anywhere. I’ll be right there with menus,” she said, gesturing. There were two empty booths by the windows.“Where would you like to sit?” He asked Ginger.As soon as they were seated, Holly whizzed by, dropping menus and offering coffee. George declined, but Ginger accepted. “Tell me about your life in New York City. Where in the world have you traveled? Or should the question be, where haven’t you been? Do you like working for Craig Banley?”“Whoa! Hold on. Wait a minute. One question at a time. Please.” He laughed.
   They ordered blueberry pancakes with bacon. George regaled Ginger with his travels with C.W. She seemed to hang on every word, asking good questions.“Where would you go, if someone handed you a blank ticket?” He asked. “Gosh. So many places. Guess it’s between Paris and Rome. No, wait, Paris and London. Maybe. What’s your favorite place?”“Paris is beautiful, even if the people aren’t always so friendly.”“Then, Paris,” she said. George took her hand and looked into her blue eyes. “I’d love to take you there.”“Let’s go so I can start packing,” she said.  “Have you ever been on a farm?”He shook his head. “My goodness! You’ve been to Africa and Europe, but never on a farm. We’ll have to fix that.”“I’d love to visit.”“I have a guest room with your name on it,” she replied. “I’m honored. Tell me about a typical day at the farm.”  
   While he listened, George took note of Ginger’s best features. Surely, she had the most beautiful, clear blue eyes. Her pale skin reminded him of heavy cream as he had poured it out to create whipped cream. He noted her breasts, plump and inviting under her apricot sweater. The rest of her was hidden under the table. But he’d seen enough to know her form was enticing.
   Surprised to find his thoughts running through the same gutter at Craig’s, he almost chuckled. Instead, he cleared his throat. There was no way he could explain what he was laughing without offending. He gazed at her face, animated with the love of her animals, house and garden. “The British are big on gardens. Are you a big gardener, George?”“I have dabbled occasionally, though I can’t say I have a very green thumb.” “Too bad. I could use some help in mine.”“I’d love to see it.”“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until spring,” she said. George took her hands in his. “I’d be happy to wait until spring.”Her face flushed the most becoming shade of pink. He raised one hand to his lips.  “You’re just a big flirt, George.”“Ah, you’ve caught me. Yes, I am. Especially around beautiful women.”
*************************


EPISODE THIRTEEN
“It’s Christmas Eve. There’s a lot going on, for a small town like ours,” Laura said, sipping coffee at the kitchen table. “Like what?”“A late service at the church up the hill, followed by a midnight hayride. There’s caroling outside the café at three. Kiwanis is throwing a big Christmas Eve dinner. We have plenty of people out here who can’t afford a big Christmas dinner. There’s a surprise book exchange. People gift wrap some of their gently used books and give them away. Some people have garage sales actually held in their garages!” She laughed. “Do we have to do all those things?”“Of course not. Which ones do you want to do?”“Well, I’m not much on second-hand stuff. No one cooks a better meal than you. I’m probably allergic to hay…so that leaves, caroling? How long will it take?”“I thought you came out here to absorb a country Christmas?”“I did. A country Christmas with you. I don’t care about the other stuff. I don’t know anyone here.”“You’ll never meet anyone hiding out in my house.”“I’d prefer to hide out in your bed,” he snickered. “But this is such a nice time. There are many wonderful people out here. They put a lot of time and energy into these events. Some people look forward to them all year.”“Do you?”“I used to. Before I started house-sitting for you and your uncle.”“You mean you attended all these?”She nodded. “The dinner is especially good. People make their best dishes. There are dozens of dishes to choose from. I swear I put on five pounds after the dinner, the school bake sale and the caroling at the café.”“How does caroling put weight on you?”“You can’t just sit at the café and not order food. Their hot chocolate is wonderful.”“What if I don’t want to share you with the town?” Craig refilled his mug. Laura frowned. This wasn’t going the way she expected. Perhaps thinking Craig would love everything she did, simply because he loved her, had been a mistake. “I’m not used to doing anything for Christmas.”“I forgot. And you liked that?”“I got used to it. It was a day off from work and a good meal.”“You don’t know how sad that sounds,” she replied. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I have everything I could ever want and need, except you.”“But you do have me.”“Do I? You love it here, don’t you?”She smiled. “Would  you ever sell your house and live in the City with me?”“Sell? Oh good heavens, no. Why? Why can’t we live in both places?”“I don’t think I’m cut out to be a country boy.”“You haven’t given it a chance. Please come to some of these things today. Try them. You need to get the Christmas spirit.”“I did. I gave a fat check to Santa’s Thrift Shop.”“That was wonderful, but it shouldn’t stop there. Let the people of the town give to you.”“What can they give me that I can’t buy for myself?”Laura’s mouth fell open, she frowned. “None of this is about money.”“Isn’t it? At the church service, they’ll send around an offering plate, right?”“Yes, so?”“And at the dinner, they’ll ask for a small donation to cover the food, right?”“It’s voluntary. Only if you can afford it.” “And the bake sale is to raise money for the school, right?”“I see what you mean.”“I’d rather send a check to each of these places and stay by the fire, having a hot toddy with you.”“But that’s not what Christmas is about.”“It is for me. Or it has been for many years now. Except for the gifts you left and the decorations, I’ve never participated in any of those things.”She took his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry, Craig. You’ve missed out on so much.”“Have I? Here I sit. On top of the world, with plenty of money, a beautiful home, and the girl of my dreams. Am I missing much?”“Won’t you come with me and see?”He frowned and his brow wrinkled. “Do I have to?”“You can stay here. But I’m going,” she said, pushing up from the table, her body rigid as she put her mug in the sink and headed for the bedroom.
* * * *Craig halted as a gust of frigid air assailed him. George came through the door. “Hurry up, get dressed, Craig. We have places to go. Ginger gave me the schedule. First event begins in an hour. Hurry, man!” “You, too? Damn it. I don’t think so.” Craig huffed up the stairs and into the bedroom, slamming the door. Startled, Laura jumped and turned. “What was that for?”“George just came home with Ginger. Full of that Christmas spirit you’re talking about. Now he wants me to do to these things, too.”“Good. Then you agree?”He shook his head. “I suppose I have to.”“No, you don’t. You can stay here.”He shed his robe and fished through the closet to find something to wear. After making love to Laura this morning, his mood couldn’t have been better. Now, that good cheer had vanished. Grumbling to himself, he grabbed his clothes, stuffed them under his arm and trudged to the bathroom. After showering and shaving, he dressed and returned to the bedroom. Within seconds, George was pounding on the door and yelling. Well, maybe simply speaking in a louder voice than normal. “Hurry up, Craig. We’re waiting for you.”He glanced out the window. There had been more snow overnight. The white powdery stuff glistened in the sunlight. Picture-book pretty, but annoying and dangerous to drive in. He opened the dresser drawer to get his watch and spied the small, square box resting on his T-shirt. He stopped. Perhaps this was all a mistake? Could being with Laura simply end up a delightful fling that had run its course? He shivered at the thought of losing her. Yet, here he was, being dragged to places to rub elbows with people he could care less about. He picked up the box and placed it back in his suitcase. He’d had a near miss. He let out a breath at how close he had come to disaster. As much as he cared for Laura, she wasn’t the girl for him. She had ties to Pine Grove he couldn’t break. She’d always want to come back to this drafty house, cramped with one full bathroom. How could he be comfortable here? And hanging with people who couldn’t afford a regular Christmas meal? He’d never be comfortable with that –those were the people he didn’t have to meet or see, the ones he took care of with the swipe of his pen on a check. Laura seemed to care about the people here. She had ties, lived a different life from his. It appeared to be one she wouldn’t be happy to part with. Did he want to spend the next forty years being miserable at Christmas? Of course, he’d been miserable at Christmas for many years already. He had thought Laura was his ticket to a perfect holiday. Just her, maybe George, and his townhouse. He sighed. Sadness filled his heart. He truly loved her, but compromising his life to live her way seemed liked reaching for the moon. He wound a wool scarf around his neck and turned toward the door. His shoulders slumped as he made his way down the stairs. Smiling would be an effort. He knew what he had to do. But he’d wait one more day before taking action. Give Pine Grove one more chance to prove itself worthy. He didn’t hold out hope that anything would change. Would Laura give it up for him? Probably. She was that kind of woman and she seemed to love him, but how happy would she be? Doomed from the start. A heaviness in his heart made every step feel like he was lifting ten tons. But he got in the backseat with Laura, while George manned the wheel and Ginger rode shotgun. He avoided Laura’s gaze, unable to let her see the unhappiness in his eyes. He stared out the window at the frozen landscape and buttoned his coat all the way to the top. George and Ginger chattered away about each event, but it all blended together as background noise. Craig’s heart broken piece by piece as he looked for a way out, but found none. Which path he should take became clear. Laura slid her hand over the seat and clasped his. “Are you all right?”
He looked down at their hands and nodded. Emotion gathered in his chest and he didn’t trust his voice. 

OOPS! Sorry, but the story ends here, temporarily, until the book is completed and available for sale. Thank you so much for stopping by to read. I will post when it's completed. 


CLICK HERE FOR EPISODES 1-5
    CLICK HERE FOR EPISODES 6-10

In the meantime, if you want to read the first book, "The House-Sitter's Christmas", a sweet fairy tale holiday romance, here's how to get it. It's even in large print (great gift for those with visual issues) and on audio with dual narrators! 


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THE HOUSE-SITTER'S COUNTRY CHRISTMAS - EPISODES 11-15

Welcome back to the final episodes of this story. These will not be the totally final episodes, just the last few I'll be posting on my blog. The rest will be written and put out as a book, which will not be free. I hope you are enjoying the story. It may get changed in places when it's edited and put in book forms. Thanks for stopping by.

EPISODE ELEVEN

At ten o’clock, Laura and Ginger got in the car. Snow on bare branches glistened in the light of the moon. A few street lamps lighted the way. She drove slowly on the icy roads. “Thank you for inviting me, Laura. I get the feeling you wanted me to meet George.”“Are we that transparent?”Ginger laughed. “Well, he’s single.”“You two seemed to hit it off.”“He’s invited me to breakfast tomorrow morning.”“How nice.”“It’s pretty soon for me to be thinking about another man.”“Really?”“It’s only been six months since I lost John. I don’t think I’m ready.”“Take it slow, then. George is a wonderful man. Nothing wrong with having breakfast together.”“That’s what I thought. But his British ways. It’s kinda strange to me.”“You’ll get used to it. He’s simply the nicest man.”Laura pulled into Jess’s driveway. “Thanks again. And for the lift home,” Ginger said, exiting the vehicle. When Laura arrived home, she found George and Craig enjoying a hot toddy by the fire. She joined them.
“Let me heat up one for you, dear,” Craig said, rising.When he left, Laura looked straight at George. “So, how did our little ruse work?”“You mean Ginger?”She nodded. “She’s lovely. Much too soon for her, though. But a good choice.”“Glad to hear. You’re breaking bread with her tomorrow?”“Yes. I thought breakfast would be less intimidating than a dinner date.”“Smart.”“My life isn’t conducive to marriage. I travel too much. And the time I’m here, I like to spend some with my children.”“I understand. That might work well for Ginger. Seems she’s not ready for a heavy-duty commitment.”“Might be perfect, then?”Laura chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be a nice Christmas present?”“It would indeed,” George replied, raising his glass. Craig returned, handed her a small glass, and sat down next to her. She sipped and put the warm beverage down. Craig enveloped her small hand between his.“Perfect for a night like tonight,” she said. “Is it always this cold? All winter long?”“I’m afraid so. You get used to it, after a while.”“I doubt I ever could,” Craig replied. “Does that mean you don’t want to come back here in the winter?”“Maybe,” he said, hedging his bets. George cleared his throat. “When you’re dressed properly, it’s quite invigorating.”“Oh, shut up, George,” Craig muttered.“Craig!” Laura’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. But do you have to be so damn cheerful all the time?”“Pardon me, sir. I just thought that you might consider some compromise. Considering you’ve found the one woman who meets your qualifications and will put up with you,” George said, his eyes hot. “The one woman who…what?” Laura straightened up in her seat. “What qualifications?”“Thanks, George,” Craig said, fuming.“Nothinig, nothing. Just that he wouldn’t tolerate any woman who wasn’t smart and attractive.”“Oh. That’s not so bad.”“And one who would give him a hard time about how babyish, selfish, and annoying he can be,” George tossed in. “I’m babyish? Who called a woman ‘madam’ and almost started World War Three a few days ago?”“That’s a perfectly acceptable form of address where I come from.”“Yeah? Well, we’re not where you come from. We’re where I come from.”“Boys, boys! Stop.” “Sometimes I lose my patience, Miss. Mr. Banley’s finally found the one woman he could live with and now he’s complaining that the climate she lives in is too cold. I’m going to bed. Sometimes, I just can’t take him,” George said, shaking his head. “Everything is always about you. You need to learn the definition of the word ‘compromise’, sir.” George rose from his seat and headed for the kitchen. Laura heard the water running. Wasn’t it like George to wash out his glass before retiring, even in the midst of a disagreement. “George loses patience with me. But you don’t,” Craig said, facing her. “I might. I mean if you are as childish as George says, then, well, who knows?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You wouldn’t leave me because I don’t like winter, would you?”“Probably not. But you have to make an effort, Craig. Not everything is going to be to your liking all the time. You need to learn to adapt.”“It’s funny, but in the beginning, nothing in my life was the way I wanted. When I started working with Uncle C.W. and got a little success, well, then, I vowed that everything was going to be the way I wanted. Kinda making up for lost time.”“I get it. But you’ve been living in style for quite a while now. Time to compromise a little. Don’t you think?”“I hope I can. I’d hate to lose you,” he said, taking her hand. Laura picked up her glass. Did she want to spend the rest of her life with a man who expected the world to tie itself into knots to suit him all the time? Could she live with someone who would never compromise? Did she want to give up her house, never be here to feed the birds and the deer in the winter? She swallowed. He raised her hand to his lips. “What are you thinking?”She shook her head. “Come on. You’re making me nervous.”“So maybe you have to be nervous for a few minutes. Would that kill you?” She knew she was snapping at him, but she resented being pushed. She didn’t care to share her thoughts. They disturbed her, and until she had worked them out, they would be hers alone. “Wow. Where did that come from?” He moved back. “Don’t push me. If I don’t want to share something, that should be okay with you.”“It is. It is. I’m sorry.”His face became boyish, his eyes pleading. How could she deny him anything? “George is right, you know. I’m selfish, uncompromising, set in my ways.”“Are you trying to tell me something? Like I shouldn’t be with you?”“Never! Not at all. But if you want me, you have to take the frog with warts and all, before you transform me into a prince.”“Who said anything about a prince? I only want a man, who loves me.”“Then you’ve got him. Here I am.” He leaned over to kiss her. Laura heard George fussing in the kitchen. “I think we should take this discussion to the bedroom,” she said, softly. “You read my mind,” Craig responded. He arose and offered her his hand. She took it and they headed for the stairs. Her body tingled at the thought of what lay ahead. They had had tiffs before, and always made up in the bedroom. While she’d acknowledge that Craig Banley could be an obstinate man who would stick with his opinion, she admitted fully that no one knew how to make up in the bedroom like her Craig.
* * * *   Mumbling to himself, George ambled to the guest room on the first floor. Though there was a larger one upstairs, he preferred to be as far away from the master bedroom as possible. He’d avoid overhearing any noise coming from the room Craig and Laura shared. 
   Ever since they had gotten together, George had been examining his own life. He’d been too busy to be lonely most of the time. But when work stopped, like at the holidays, it became harder for him.   At Thanksgiving, he’d made the rounds of his children’s homes. He’d been grateful for Craig Banley’s trips to Europe over Christmas. He’s sent gifts to his grandchildren from all over the world. And traveling on Mr. Banley’s dime helped him save money. It had been a true win/win situation. Craig’s temperament softened a bit over the holiday.    But now, that would be over. He’d want to spend this time with Laura, which left George to be a third wheel. He hated intruding on their privacy. He’d stopped denying the pangs of jealousy he felt when he saw them together. They were so damn happy!    He wanted to feel that way about a woman and have one return his affection. As for sleeping alone, he’d finally become accustomed to it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Heavens, no, sleeping alone offered no comfort, even if he could have the blankets all to himself.    Finding a woman who could live with his crazy schedule would be impossible. That was the reason he’d given himself for not even looking. But this woman, Ginger, had come along. 
   Their situations were not ideal at all –quite the opposite. How could she ever get away from the farm to come to New York? And how would he like mucking out a stall or tramping around in the snow and mud?    He chuckled to himself. Perhaps he’d better take the advice he’d given Craig so freely. It was time to compromise, put up with, and share. The idea intrigued him. A bright man, he’d always welcomed a challenge. Forging a relationship with a woman who lived two hours away on a working farm would tax his creative thinking to it’s limit. Was she worth it? Tomorrow, he’d set about finding out.    George changed into pajamas and slid beneath the plush comforter. As he lay in bed, his gaze roamed over the cozy quarters. He loved the room. With walls sporting a coat of warm, spring green, it had the flavor of the outdoors. The bed spread had a charming small flower print in light blue, yellow and two shades of green. The old fashioned lamp on the nightstand was a tap lamp. The small dresser was pine, with a clear finish. And the windows looked out on the back and side yards.    George drifted off, thinking about his date with the lady with the hot temper and the auburn hair.    In the morning, he arose before the others. Grabbing a quick shower, he dressed rapidly in the cool air, and hit the kitchen to put up coffee, and a kettle on the stove for his tea. He puttered around, setting up coffee mugs, and milk, as well as his tea cup. Humming Christmas songs to himself, he glanced out back to find the feeders empty. Shrugging on his jacket, he headed out back with a bag of bird seed. After filling the feeders, he glimpsed something dark out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he faced a black bear about six feet from him. The bear eyed the bag of birdseed.Panic shot through George. He tossed the bag of seed at the bear and flew back to the house. Shutting and locking the back door, he peer out through the back window. Huffing and puffing,  while the adrenaline in his veins slowed down, he witnessed the bear attack the bag, ripping it to shreds so it could chow down on the seed. Perhaps Craig wasn’t completely off about life in the country.
  Comments are welcome! Episode Twelve comes tomorrow!
CLICK HERE FOR EPISODES 1-5
    CLICK HERE FOR EPISODES 6-10

In the meantime, if you want to read the first book, "The House-Sitter's Christmas", a sweet fairy tale holiday romance, here's how to get it. It's even in large print (great gift for those with visual issues) and on audio with dual narrators! 


AMAZON UShttps://www.amazon.com/dp/B075ZQ7BJS
AMAZON U.K.https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B075ZQ7BJS
AMAZON CAhttps://www.amazon.ca/dp/B075ZQ7BJS
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THE HOUSE-SITTER'S COUNTRY CHRISTMAS - EPISODES 6-10

EPISODE SIX
Last minute errands kept Laura out of the house, running from the grocery store to the bakery to the pet supply store for food for Jasper. And a cat bed, and cat toys, and cat treats…She pulled into her driveway and checked her watch. Will should have been finished painting the living room. Craig and George were due tomorrow morning and she had so much to finish before they arrived. Sure enough, Will was packing up his truck. “Everything done?” She asked. “Yep. Right on time. I’ll be by tomorrow to get paid.”“Thanks. Yes. Tomorrow. I’ll have your money then.”“Fine. Good day,” he said, a funny smirk on his face as he closed the back of his vehicle. Laura shrugged. Hoisting her packages up into her arms, she trudged up the walk, and put the key in the lock. The smell of freshly painted walls hit her nose before she entered. Making a mental note to open all the doors and windows, no matter how cold it was outside, she stepped into the foyer. As she raised her gaze to the living room, the packages fell from her hands, and her mouth dropped open.Unable to breathe for a moment, her eyes wide, Laura staggered into the room, falling on the sofa. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and blinked again.
“Oh, no. He wouldn’t!” Oh, yes, he had. The room was painted a deep, vibrant red, not the light lemon yellow, with gold trim. She jumped up and ran outside, yelling. Will had thrown his truck in drive and was pulling away from the curb when she went running up to him. He rolled down the window. “Will Grant! You son-of-a-bitch! You painted the living room the wrong color!”“Did I?” He feigned an innocent look.“You know damn well you did! You get your butt in there and fix it this minute!”“Gee, sorry. I can’t do that. I have another job and I’m late now.” She yanked his arm, removing his hand from the wheel. “Why, Will? Why’d you do that?”“Scarlet, the color of a fallen woman.”“What?”“You’re sleepin’ with that rich guy. Just ‘cause he’s got money. How’s a poor guy like me gonna compete? Just want Mr. Money Bags to know, the minute he walks in, what kind of woman he’s dealin’ with. Red, the color of a whorehouse.”Reaching inside his cab, she slapped his face. “How dare you speak to me like that!”Rubbing his cheek, he responded, his voice softer. “I’ve loved you a lot longer than Money Bags. You never give me the time of day. Maybe now you’ll pay attention.”“How could you?” Her eyes watered.“What’s the matter? Ole Money Bags doesn’t like red?”“His whole house is done in subtle, elegant, subdued colors.”“Maybe now he’ll know what a spitfire he has in you.”“It’s awful. I hate it.”“Okay. After the holiday, I’ll repaint it. And even pay for the paint.”“That’ll be too late.”“Yeah? Like it’s too late for you and me.”“There’s never been anything between us, Will.”“Not for my lack of tryin’. You never give me a chance.”“We’re not meant to be. No chemistry. I’m sorry, Will. And now, well…”“As if I had a chance?”She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And now you’ve hurt me. Craig’ll hate it.”“Too damn bad. Guess you’ll find out how much he really cares for you.”Will stepped on the gas. The truck lurched away from Laura. She watched for a few moments, then returned to her house. She plopped down on the sofa, her head in her hands. Muttering, “it’s hideous,” she cried.
**** 
Craig stood on the sidewalk in front of his townhouse, waiting for George to bring the car around. Preferring not to be conspicuous, Craig had purchased a Mercedes, not the Bentley, that had caught his eye. The shiny black car pulled up and double parked. The trunk popped open. Craig carried his luggage to the back, then went back for George’s modest bag. George put the vehicle in park and assisted his boss. Once they had everything packed in, Craig headed for the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive, George. You can navigate.”“As you wish. We certainly are bringing an inordinate amount of stuff. Will Miss Laura have room in her house of all this?”“It’s just the essentials. I mean, I could have brought another suitcase with books and music, you know.”“Heavens! She’d have to move out to make room,” George said. Craig smiled. “I know when you’re baiting me, George. I’ve finally figured you out.”“Damn. It’s such fun.”“Which way do I go, navigator?”George gave directions to the West Side highway, then pulled a map out of the glove compartment. “Let’s see, Pine Grove.”“Did you bring a magnifying glass?” Craig chuckled. “Small towns can be delightful.”“I know you came from a small town in England, but you been in New York for a long time.”“My heart will always rest in a quaint village.”“Don’t think you’ll get ‘quainter’ than Pine Grove.”“Really? You’ve been there?” George cocked an eyebrow. “I grew up not far from it. In Oak Bend. I don't remember much, but from the way Laura talks about it. Sounds nice.”Craig steered the car across the George Washington Bridge, then veered off right onto the Palisades Parkway. “Music?” George asked. Craig nodded. It was three days before Christmas. At ten o’clock, they were almost the only ones on the road. George put on Christmas music. Craig smiled. “Haven’t heard those songs in a while.”“Figured it would get you in the mood.”“Oh, I’m in the mood, George. Definitely in the mood.”“Not that mood! You’re always in that mood. I meant a bit of the Christmas spirit.”“Of course. Feel free to sing along. You have a good voice.”“Thank you. I believe I will,” George replied.George raised his voice along with “Joy to the World.” Craig smiled. Joy would be coming his way as soon as he reconnected with his beloved. “This is one of my favorites,” Craig said, as “Carol of the Bells” came on. The sky clouded over and the air got cooler. George turned up the heat a tad. “Clouds gathering,” George said.“Rain in the forecast?”“Not in Pine Grove. Snow, I believe.”Craig snorted his displeasure. “It’s northern country, sir. You’ll have to adjust.”“Damn. Why couldn’t we be visiting in the summer?”“Because Christmas falls in December,” George said, smiling. “You know, if I didn’t like you so much, George, you’re being right all the time could get very annoying.”“I’m sorry. It’s my nature.”“There you go again.”This time George laughed out loud.  Craig relaxed at the wheel, maneuvering the Mercedes around slower cars, speeding toward his destination. “Take it easy. We have plenty of time.”“I hope she’ll like my present. And that I can stand her house.”“I’m sure she’ll love her gift. As for her house, it’s a short stay and you’ll have to reach into your heart and tap into all the patience you can muster. It will be smaller. It won’t be as warm. And probably not as comfortable overall. I understand there’s only one bathroom and a powder room.”“How do people live like that?”“People live with a lot less. Get over it. At least there’s a powder room, too.”“Probably a double bed, not king.”“All the better to huddle together for warmth at night,” George remarked. “Your positive attitude is annoying, too.”“You used to live near her?” George changed the subject.“It was a lifetime ago.”“I see.” George settled back in his seat and stared out the window. Craig’s mind flipped back to the days gone by, when he was a boy, living with uncle C.W.  Christmas had been difficult in those hardscrabble days. When he was ten, he used to hitchhike into Pine Grove, to a place called “Santa’s Thrift Shop.” The woman who ran the place, Mrs. Davenport, allowed kids with no money to pick out items from her second-hand treasures to give as presents to their parents and siblings. The rule was that you weren’t supposed to take anything for yourself. A bright red yoyo had tempted Craig. He’d taken it, swearing it was for a brother he didn’t have. At home, he hid the treasure. He played with it a few times, after he’d finished his chores.Feeling guilty about having taken something for himself, he stopped using it, but still keeping it safely hidden. One night at dinner, Uncle C.W. had mentioned the store. “We’re not the poorest people in Oak Bend.”“We’re not?”“Nope. Half the kids in your school don’t have as much as you.”“Really?”“Really.” He reeled off the names of five boys Craig knew, and explained how Craig had a roof over his head, three squares a day, and a new pair of pants and two shirts at the start of school every year. Craig had no idea his classmates got by on less food and hand-me-downs. Guilt entered his heart. He took the yoyo to school the next day. Picking Ralph, the boy with the most deprivation, he presented him with his prize possession. The first thing Ralph did after he took a turn with the toy was give Craig a chance. They became best friends for the next eight years until Ralph went into the Army. Craig sighed, remembering. He’d vowed to himself that he’d never be poor as an adult. Uncle C.W. had worked and saved for years to launch a Wall Street career. Once he did, things soared and Craig never had to visit Santa’s Thrift Shop again. He used to send a check every holiday, but that had fallen by the wayside in recent years. Looks like it was time to renew the gift. After all, he’d already be in Pine Grove. The shop had taught him humility, or maybe it was Uncle C.W. To this day, Craig wondered how his uncle had found out about the yoyo. He’d have to remember to ask him, next time they were together. After stopping for lunch, Craig hit the gas pedal and zoomed toward tiny Pine Grove. With George manning the GPS, they got perfect directions to Laura’s house.
Excitement flooded his veins and sweat broke out under his arms. The little Victorian, painted blue, dripped with charm. A dollhouse. He chuckled to himself. George rang the bell. Laura opened the door and stepped back to let them pass. The smell of fresh paint greeted his nose. He peeked from the foyer into the living room. Good grief, red?
***************************
Comments are welcome! Episode Seven comes tomorrow!
CLICK HERE FOR EPISODES 1-5
In the meantime, if you want to read the first book, "The House-Sitter's Christmas", a sweet fairy tale holiday romance, here's how to get it. It's even in large print (great gift for those with visual issues) and on audio with dual narrators! 


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LARGE PRINT
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