Rain Trueax's Blog, page 4

from a novella in the process

 photo from Stencil-- a Class C motorhome
For the last month, I have been writing what will be a novella, the first of what I expect to be stories of women of a certain age beginning again when something unexpected pushes them out of their lives. As I plan now, these will be contemporary romances, but without the suspense I often have in my books because of their shorter length. That also means they'll not have the spice.

The first one is in the edit mode; so what you see for a snippet may not end up exactly as it will be when it comes out the first of November sometime-- date uncertain.  ><><><


    A day later, when he stopped by after work, her son said nothing as he listened to her explain her plans. “You have to do what is best for you,” Peter said. “You really sold our home?”    “It had been our home, but after the divorce, it was mine. Yes, I did. It sold for more than I had expected.”    “Enough to buy an RV.”    She nodded. "And then some. I’ve been researching what type.”    “Can I ask how you got this crazy idea?”    Well, he still hadn’t accused her of being crazy. “I was on Facebook and there are groups there of those who travel full time with their RVs. I was interested, learned a lot about the life, the problems, and felt I got to know some of them through their blogs. At first, it was just a diversion but little by little I realized I was jealous.”    He let out a breath and stared at her thoughtfully. “I guess you’ve been responsible about it.”    “I haven’t gone looking yet.” She brought up her computer. “This a Class A, but I see it as more than I need for just me. B looks too small for living year round. C though is just right.” It sounded like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She smiled. “It will be easy enough to handle but still have kitchen, sofa, bedroom, bathroom.”    He smiled and shook his head. “Diesel or gasoline?”    “What do you think would be best?”    “Diesel generally gets better mileage but harder to find it in some towns, especially if you hit into the back country—if you plan to hit the back country.”    “I do.”    He shook his head but grinned. “Okay then. You let us try out different things. I can hardly try to talk you out of the same thing.” She showed him various model options and he offered his opinions. “Want me to go with you?” he asked when he stood at the door ready to leave.    “I don’t think that’s necessary but if you want.”    He grinned. “If you don’t think it is, I don’t either. I love you, Mom.”    They hugged, and then he left with the boxes of photos. One worry she would not have to fret over any longer. Those photos were more about Wendy and Peter growing up than about her anyway.  

from Storm in the Canyon

 To date, I've written six paranormals-- kind of. Three are novella length and ended up in one book. The third is Storm in the Canyon . Since I put these three novellas into one book, Diablo Canyon, I've found it hard to say how many books I've written. The stories are the same with one difference-- the novellas are closed doors on any sexual scenes. 

In Storm in the Canyon,  the heroine of Part Two and the heroine of Part Three have a discussion about love and what is worth risking.

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Eventless days had passed, but Racine still felt her nerves on edge with a mixture of desire for Dirk, combined with fear over what waited in Diablo Canyon. Her fear wasn’t so much for herself but for these humans, for whom she had come to care. How would she hold up her end when the time came?
Helping Myra prepare a meal eased frayed nerves. She hadn’t anticipated that her personality, as a spirit guide, strong but also weak, would come with her in a human body. She had always been a worrier, and it appeared that hadn’t disappeared.Pace and Dirk were out on horseback, moving one of the herds to a new section, which left her time with Myra who was humming as she worked. Racine found the melody soothing. She had always liked her human charge but being a human alongside her had enhanced that fondness. She enjoyed being able to ask about simple things like what spices enhanced which flavors.“You really haven’t cooked before?” Myra said as she added a pinch of rosemary to the marinara sauce.Considering she only recently had begun to eat, she quickly realized she needed a better reason than having only been born a week earlier. “My mother was lost when I was young… and my father remarried a woman who didn’t want me anywhere near the kitchen or… her for that matter.” She gave a little laugh. That wasn’t a total lie. All right, it was.“I would be happy to teach you what I know.”“I’d like it if you taught me something else also.”Myra looked over at her. “If I know it.”“You know it. I have seen it in you… for this week that is. Despite what happened out there with the bear, I saw fear in you then as you faced the danger but after it was over, I don’t see you worrying. How do you avoid that?”“You are in a serious mood. Let’s have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you what I know. I hope though it won’t disappoint you as it’s nothing mystical.” She smiled as she put on the tea pot and looked through her herbal teas for the right choice. “How about chamomile?”“I’ve never had it; but, yes, if you think it’s good.”The older woman smiled, and when the tea pot whistled, she poured the water on the tealeaves. She took it over to the table where she sat on one side and Racine the other. “It’s strange,” Myra said, “but even though we just met last week, I feel I know you.”“I hope that is good.”“Yes, it is. I like you, Racine. As to the answer to your question, I do have fears. Through losses, I have learned to temper them. Losses came very early in my life with a grandfather dying in an accident, then a father who was never there for my mother or me; a mother who became ill and died also too soon; then a grandmother who became my mother; but then she also died.”“I can’t imagine such losses.”“They didn’t end. I married a good man. We put our ranches together; then he was killed in an accident. I could have given up then. I didn’t. When my son was killed, for awhile, I quit feeling anything. I didn’t worry, but I also didn’t feel. Then along came Pace. If I had let myself think about what has been in my past, I’d have run from him. I almost did, but then I’d have missed what is in my today. Does that make sense?”“Some.”“Worrying would not keep him safe. It wouldn’t keep Cole, Jessica and their child safe either. Worrying would do nothing; so I force myself not think about what has happened, not to connect it to today, to live in the now. Unless someone asks me.” She smiled softly.“I am sorry. I brought back bad memories to you.”“No, good memories. I lost them, but I also had them. What if I had worried such that I had not let myself ever have them?” 

from Desert Inferno

In this contemporary suspense romance, a border patrolman and artist are an unlikely couple... or maybe not.

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   When they got back to the border crossing, both he and Rachel loaded with sacks and packages, Jake was hopeful no one he knew would be on duty at Customs. The hope was dashed, as he glanced down the line. Although there was no way he could look particularly macho with his arms full of packages, he gave it a vain attempt.   "Well, well," the customs agent said with a hard smile, "what have we here?"   "Stuff," Jake said, putting down his load, digging in his pocket and showing the officer his ID as well as a stack of receipts.   "Sure there's nothing smuggled in these?" he asked, glaring at Jake and not bothering to look at the receipts. He projected the belief he had just netted the head of a major smuggling ring. Any minute Jake expected him to call for reinforcements.   "You can check anything necessary," Rachel said as he looked over her own identification, obviously concerned at the man's tone. "We'd be glad to unwrap the packages."   A heavy-set female tourist behind them got a decidedly worried expression on her round face as the guard glared menacingly at Jake. "I think this might require a strip search, big guy." He fingered his gun.   "That's about enough," Jake growled.   "Was that a threat?" The guard's thick eyebrows beetled up with indignation.   "Whatever it takes to get us through."    "I heard that."   "Good!"   "Jake," Rachel said, taking his arm, "please. We don't want trouble."   "Yeah," the agent said, "listen to the wisdom of the little woman here. Who do you think you are anyway? Some kind of special border patrolman who can just waltz through these hallowed gates like you own the place!"   Jake gave him a look of disdain. "Do I look dumb enough to try to guard a border that can't be guarded or like a man who doesn't have anything better to do than harass innocent tourists... at traps?"   "You putting down the work of the fine men of Immigration and Naturalization," the guard snarled, "men who put their lives on the line every day. Sometimes twice!"   "That right there shows a clear lack of intelligence," Jake countered, while Rachel pulled on his arm, trying to get him to stop talking.   "I can agree with that," the agent said, now struggling to keep back a grin.   "I'll bet you can."   "Well, I'll let you through this time without stripping you raw, but it's just because you got this lovely lady with you. She looks like the honest sort, unlike some people. You're just lucky I'm busy today." He handed back their identification.   "Not busy enough obviously."   "Take care of him, miss," the man said, slamming his big hand against Jake’s shoulder hard enough to cause him to take a step backward. He turned to Rachel. "Looks like a clear stress problem. Must need some real tender loving care at home." He laughed at Jake's disgusted look and Rachel's shock.Now Rachel realized that these two men knew each other and were friends. It was at least if you could call what two men sometimes did to each other in bantering--friendship. When they were out on the street, the sun again shining down on their heads, she muttered, "I don't appreciate your humor."   "My humor," he retorted, "I was notthe one having fun back there, and the worst part of this will be Monday morning." He swore at the vision he'd conjured up. "He's going to make this little incident grow.  He thinks he was funny, and he's going to try and convince everybody I know that he was funny, and that this was funny!" He would have slapped a hand to his forehead as a symbolic gesture, except holding all the purchases left him no arms with which to demonstrate.   "Actually," Rachel said with a beginning chuckle, "it was kind of funny."

Excerpt from To Speak of Things Unseen

 In To Speak of Things Unseen, Mitch finds out that witches can be handy-- at least the kind who use their powers to help the world.

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    Watching Mitch be thrown, Elke suppressed her scream. She jumped off her mare, dropped the reins to keep her where she was, and went to where he was levering himself up. “Are you hurt?” Adolph loped to his side and nuzzled him for reassurance.    He snorted. “My pride… and my wrist. Might be a little karma.” His laugh was swallowed by a reluctant groan.    She saw then how he was holding it. “Let me see what I can do,” she said. Healing had been one of her skills, but she’d never tried it on a broken arm. She pushed him flat.    “What are you doing?” he asked, sucking in a breath. “Damn.”    “Let’s see.” She put one hand on his wrist, feeling for the energy of the break. Luckily, it wasn’t compound. The other hand she held over where she felt the heat of injury. She let the energy of the universe flow through her. The heat grew as waves of it traveled from her, through the air, to his wrist. She moved to hold her other hand over his arm but not touching his skin now. The healing wasn’t her. It was the earth, the elementals, the land that he loved now returning the favor.She didn’t know how long she continued, but eventually she felt a cooling of the skin and the energy changed. “How does it feel?” she asked as she met his gaze for the first time.    “Better.” He reached up with his other hand to her neck. He pulled her toward him, not applying enough pressure that she could not have broken away. She didn’t want to break way. His lips parted, and she knew hers had too. She wanted the kiss.     The sound of pounding hooves caused him to release her and lever himself up onto his elbow.    “What the hell happened, boss?” the cowboy yelled as he pulled his horse to a plunging stop. He was riding bareback and clearly was at least part Native American.    “I got careless,” Mitch said. He rose to his feet and felt of his wrist. “No real damage done though.” He looked back at Elke. “Elke, this is Joe Kuruk, my cousin or second cousin or… What the hell relation are we, Joe?” he asked with a laugh.    “Damned if I know.”    “Well, the gist of it is when I’m not here, he runs the ranch—the part that Jacques doesn’t run at least. Joe, this is Elke Hemstreet.”    “Howdy, pretty lady,” Joe said. His smile flashed white teeth. He was a handsome man, looked to be tall.    “Pretty and handy to have around too,” Mitch said. “Mind if I ride behind you?” he asked as he lifted Elke into her saddle.     “Pepper should be fine with the extra weight since it’s not far.” She leaned forward as he made a leap onto the back of the mare.    “I take it Ranger was fine,” Mitch said as they rode down the trail, Adolph running ahead and checking out scents.    “Jittery like before. That horse may not be good for here.”    “We’ll see.”    “Can I try with him?” she asked.     He put his arm around her waist and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “After you healing my wrist, how could I say no?”    She smiled and leaned against him. “Maybe it wasn’t that badly injured.”    “You and I both know it was broken. You healed it. Part of the gift of witches?”    “Or shamans.” She liked the feel of Mitch’s hard body against her. She was beginning to feel urges where it came to him that were new to her. She’d only been with one man sexually and that was in college when it was a wham bam thank you ma’am, and she’d decided experimenting with sex wasn’t for her. After that, she’d had a few boyfriends but none that lasted long enough for her to consider going beyond brief, goodnight kisses—probably why they hadn’t lasted.  

Second Chance

From the beginning of my writing books, long before I intended to publish them, I had characters who would inspire a second book. Often my Portland books had characters show up later as secondary. It's fun to write that way. 

Second Chance is one of those where the hero and heroine were first in Moon Dust as secondary characters. They had so much potential and showed up eight years later in this contemporary, romantic suspense.

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Judd woke out of a sound sleep, with the feeling something was wrong but no idea what. Listening, he lay still, but heard nothing. Unable to stay in bed, he padded to the window. The sky was black, the moon behind trees, but light was coming from somewhere. He stared at the animal shelters and for the first time recognized flames were shooting up from behind his lab equipment shed. For a moment, he felt disoriented, as though someone had walked on his grave. A fire set by Milton Johnson had nearly cost Dane Connors his life. The memories flooded in. If Susan Connors hadn't yielded to an inner prodding, Dane would have died. Judd had been too late in his own efforts.  For a bitter moment he thought--there is divine justice and it is coming down on my head. He shook his head to clear his thinking. Justifiable retribution or not, he would save what he could. He punched in 911, gave them his address, pulled on jeans, boots, a coat, and ran out the back door.  By the time he opened the padlock and had wrenched open the door to the treatment and equipment shed, the fire had consumed the back wall of the building. He couldn't stop it, not with the limited water pressure at his place. He could carry out the cages. Then he concentrated on lab equipment, taking the most expensive pieces first. He tied a cloth over his nose and went back for more, carrying it all a safe distance from the burning building.  Throwing chemicals and medications into boxes, he collected all he could before the smoke was such that to stay was suicide. Coughing, Judd carried out the last load, then stumbling backward, he dropped to the ground, coughing and heaving out his guts.   In the dim recesses of his brain, he heard fire sirens. With the dry grass at this time of year, they were the only thing that would keep him from losing everything. 

 

Excerpt from To Speak of Things Unseen

He's a sorcerer with a wolf who can talk as his companion. He doesn't need a witch in his life-- or so he thinks.




    “Hell,” Mitch growled as he stuffed the last bag into the bed of the truck. He had planned to leave with dark. He put the hitch onto the back of the truck feeling even more angry and frustrated. His horse trailer was at the ranch where he would get Ranger before heading north. His mind was on none of that.    “What’s wrong?” Adolph asked, letting the rabbit go, that he had only been half-heartedly chasing. It was too hot. Maybe that was all Mitch was feeling. Except he knew it wasn’t.     “It’s that woman,” he said finally as he straightened and stared toward the city.    Adolph gave a wolf smile. “The beautiful one?”    “You know which one.” Mitch was disgusted and angry at himself. He couldn’t let it go. She was in trouble. It wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his problem. Ever since he’d read the morning paper, seen a third woman had been killed, he’d had a bad feeling. Throughout the day, as he’d readied the house to be left, his premonition had grown.     He could feel energies building-- ugly and dark, threatening. He needed to leave Tucson, to go north where he could think more clearly and better protect himself. He had sent Buck and Sofia ahead to ready the house. It was time for him to go. Elke Hemstreet wasn’t in danger.    Except, she was. The dark elements were growing. She had already made herself a target. She didn’t have a clue what she would soon face. Swearing under his breath, he told Adolph, “Get in the truck.”    “You aren’t in a good mood. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”    “I won’t.” He headed down the driveway pushing the remote to close the gate behind him. He hoped the home would be there when he returned.      “How do you know where to find her?” Adolph asked watching as a thick lightning strike drove into the distant Tucson Mountains.    “I know.” That made him mad too, that he did know. That ever since she had come to his home he had wanted to know more about her, about what she did, where she lived. He knew and knowing infuriated him.     Driving across Tucson, the storm seemed to be staying in the Tucson Mountains. Overhead it was a clear sky filled with stars while the opposite mountains were being hammered. The blackness above was enhanced by no moonlight. Its sliver wouldn’t rise until 3 am.    Beyond downtown Tucson, he turned into the old barrio. He didn’t need to read the street signs. He knew where she was by scent. He stopped the truck in front of a two story, older home. She would be in the upper level. There were no lights on. Fine, he had no intention of knocking. “Stay with the truck,” he told Adolph as he got out. A figure walked out of the shadows and headed toward the gated entrance. At the metal grill, the male pulled a knife and began to jimmy the lock.     Mitch smiled. “Looking for something?” he asked quietly as he walked up behind the man, who turned with the knife in his hand. Mitch reached out and grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard enough to force him to drop the knife before he heard the bone snap over his knee. The man let out a yelp of pain. “Worse happens if you don’t get out of here,” Mitch warned. The man grasped his broken arm, wheeled, and sprinted out of sight. Mitch kicked the knife into the oleander.    Directing his powers toward the lock, he heard it click open and walked through. At the top of the stairs, there was a door. Again, the lock was no problem, and he walked into the silent apartment. Small kitchen to the left, living room in front of him and a door down a short hall that had to be to the bedroom. He stalked toward it angry and ready to tear something apart that he was even doing this.As he opened the door, a flare of energy shot toward him, which he blocked with his hand, throwing it to the ground. “Now was that nice?” he asked realizing that she wasn’t quite as defenseless as he had assumed.

Excerpt from Storm in the Canyon

In my experience, from my reading and my writing, series are born different ways. Sometimes a writer begins knowing a series is coming. Other times, they evolve. The series I call Diablo Canyon evolved from a dream for the first book, When Fates Conspire, into two more, all novellas. It is the most confusing set of books I have out there because I opted to keep the three novellas available without the heat while I put them together into one book, Diablo Canyon, with the spice. I still don't know how to count them when someone asks how many books I've written.

The following snippet is from the last book in the series, Storm in the Canyon. Justice, Remus and Racine are spirit guides but that is about to change for one of them.



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Justus and Remus looked up as Racine came to where they had been watching the Morgans give their son a bath before putting him to bed.“What’s up?” Remus asked when he saw her distressed expression.“Have you ever heard of guides or angels, being turned into humans?”Both stared at her. “It’s in the Bible, other sacred traditions, but usually not permanent,” Remus said.“But it can happen,” Justus agreed. “Angels came to Sodom and Gomorrah and took what appeared to be human forms. They could eat.”Racine moved away from the happy family scene. The other two followed. They landed in a pine tree at the edge of the forest to the west of the ranch.“Why are you asking?” Justus frowned.“Have you missed being human?”“Not particularly. Well, maybe sometimes. There are things I liked about it,” Remus responded when Justus just stared at her.“What’s it like?”“It has its moments,” Justus said. “I will probably take a human life again someday. Are you saying you never have?”She shook her head. “I was created as I am. I’ve never aged or grown—well except through new observations. I don’t think I can call them experiences.”“You’re not an angel though?”“There are other beings… There must be.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I mean I am one of them.”“Is this disturbing you now?” Remus asked with more sensitivity than Justus usually had.“It wasn’t. I hadn’t really thought of options. I have been happy as I was or maybe I just wasn’t very imaginative. Anyway I was asked by Aretha to become a human.”“Be born again—er make that be born once?”“No, and not to take someone else’s human body either. It was to just transition or whatever they call it. She said I would become human as I am.”The two were silent for awhile. “Did she say why?”“It involves what’s going on out at Diablo Canyon. She thinks I could help more on the human side than I can here.” If she had been human, she’d have cried at that thought. It had to mean Aretha didn’t have faith in her as a guide any more.“No, it does not,” Remus said putting his hand on her shoulder or what would have been a shoulder if she had had one.Beneath them six mule deer came out of the forest, one of them a buck with four points on his antlers. The animals grazed along the bushes and wildflowers with a wary eye constantly looking for danger.“It is dangerous to be a human. I could be killed,” she said as she admired the muscular beauty of the male paying more attention to how his impressive muscles moved his body with such grace.“Well you’d at least know it wasn’t a permanent condition,” Justus said with a smirk.“It might hurt though.”“Racine, life does hurt. It’s what it’s all about. Maybe Aretha is right about you needing that experience… except why not be born a baby?”“She said I am needed now for what is coming.”The two guides looked at her and then toward the south. “Oh,” they both said at the same time.

from Sky Daughter

Sky Daughter was the first paranormal I wrote. There are two sets of bad guys and the problem the hero and heroine must figure out is what is at the bottom of all that is happening.  It involves two spiritual traditions that go back many centuries as well as something even older.





    “I don’t know. What is today?”    “Thursday, the fifteenth.”    He whistled. “I’ve been here three days. I guess then it was three days there. I know you’re right about me leaving, but if nothing else, I need to know the possible charges. Think you can get one of those posters tomorrow?"     "If they come out, the sheriff said he’d bring one by the station. You do know though you should leave tonight.”    "I know you’ll think this is paranoid for sure, but I have a feeling they’d stop me.” He shook his head and she could see he was thinking something even worse.    “What is it?”   “Nothing. Forget it. Look, I will go because I don’t want you to be connected to this.”   “Wearing the toga? Looks good but doesn’t seem it’d get you very far.”    “I will wear Shorty’s, of course... falling apart though they are. I’ll hide during the day and walk at night.”    She knew he had no intention of going, only of separating himself from her. She shook her head. The obstinacy of the male, especially certain males never ceased to amaze her. “That is the dumbest idea I’ve heard yet from you—and that’s going some.”    He glowered at her. “I don’t like the idea of you being with me, maybe being caught with me. I didn’t want to drag someone innocent into this.”    “Weren’t you innocent?” she asked thinking maybe he did know why he had been taken—if he had.    He smiled and the smile was that heart melting one. “Nobody is innocent by my age, but I don’t think I brought this one on myself. I was just a fisherman up here and didn’t offend anybody unless it was fish—although since I do catch and release, maybe they spread the word.”     She rose, paced across the room. “I’m grown up and decide what I want to get involved with all by myself. Now I’d also like to know what has been going on up here. It’s my home.”     “I am not thinking clearly yet but I have a feeling you should get the hell out of Dodge, maybe even more than me.”    “This is my home, and you are turning this around. You are the one who has to leave.”    “If I could,” he muttered.    “You sound paranoid, New York.”    “Remember, it’s only paranoia if it isn’t based on anything,” he retorted. “Look, you helped me. I appreciate that but don’t want to drag you into something that could harm you. You have to think practically.”    “You have some nerve. You try to rob my station, threaten to kidnap me, get yourself shot, take my help and then you imply again and again I’m the one unable to use good judgment.”    He rose too, angrily wrapping the quilt more securely around himself. She saw the moment he realized that striking a pose of righteous indignation when wrapped in a quilt was going to be a difficult feat at best. She didn’t want to find this or him humorous, didn’t want to smile. She made herself frown. “You’re not taking this or me seriously.”    “At the least I’m not taking myself seriously.” He chuckled.    “This is nothing to laugh at.”    He gestured to his quilt. “You sure?”

Diablo Canyon has three stories within the book. Three se...

Diablo Canyon has three stories within the book. Three separate love stories but tied together by the canyon and its mysticism. It's contemporary, ranch romance with suspense and the supernatural.

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“I don’t want you to go after that predator,” she said. “Something about it frightens me.”“It’s just an animal, baby. It can be killed like any other animal.”She sat up. “How can you be so sure?”“If it was a spirit being, I’d know. It’s not. It’s a clever hunter, and I don’t put down at all what its dangers are. It’s good at what it does. I am too though.”She sighed and headed to the creek and again waded out, splashing water over her slender body. Nudity was as natural to her as life. He joined her and after washing as best he could went back to pull on clothes.“What do the spirits tell you?” she asked as she put on her dress, this time adding a pair of panties she had tucked in a small sack along with the uneaten lunch.“Nothing about this beyond it’s a bear. They can tell me what they know or sometimes what they are willing for me to know. There are higher beings out there, that know more, but I haven’t seen them around this ranch—yet.”“You still think there is something here the Damons want. What about the spirits? Is there something here, that they want?”Buttoning his shirt, he considered that. “Maybe. Nothing is usually ever as simple as it looks. You know, Myra, you have a gift too, don’t you?”“What do you mean? I told you I quit seeing the spirits when I was a little girl. I don’t see them now. You aren’t really thinking I can suck life from a man, are you?” She laughed.“No, although you have a gift there too.” He laughed there too. “No, what I mean is something else. You healed me last night. Did you know you were doing it?”She stared at him. “I did? No… well maybe a little. I have with calves… I will feel the heat going through me but you? You think I healed you?”“Baby, I know you did. I should have been stove up a week after what happened. I had at the least a cracked rib. Those don’t just go away, but after you holding me and your body against mine all night, the pain nearly disappeared.”He could see her considering that. “Could I have healed Clay then if I’d gotten to him in time?”“You want to blame yourself for something, don’t you?”“I don’t… All right maybe I want to think I can fix whatever goes wrong.”“There are some things meant to be. I don’t know why your son had to die when he did. I haven’t asked-- if even the guides around here would know. But does it matter now? I don’t believe you can bring the dead back to life… although.” Now he grinned. “You brought part of me back to life; so maybe.” “Do you think I could see and talk to spirits too again?”He nodded as he went to the horses to tighten their cinches. “I think you could do that and a lot more. It only takes wanting it. With your family heritage, it’s probably there, just untouched.”She smiled then. “Like I was until the day you drove into the ranch yard.”“Like we both were.”

excerpt from Her Dark Angel

Contemporary romantic suspense based in Nevada and Portland, Oregon
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    Uncle John rubbed his hand over his bald head. “When he regains consciousness, he’s not going to sign for any surgery; you know that too, don’t you?     “I suppose it’ll be a problem.”
     “I’m worried, Katy girl."
     “I am too.” She thought of Dill’s mental attitude and instinctively knew if wanting to live was a part of his survival, he wouldn’t make it.         
     “I don’t know what we can do."
     “You know why I told them you were his fiancée?"
     “I guess to get in to see him.”
     “It’s so you can sign for him to have that surgery.”
     “A fiancée can’t sign for something like that.”
     “A wife could.”
     She stared blankly at him. “I’m not his wife.”
     “You could be.” Uncle John took a gulp of his coffee. "If you were his wife, things'd be different,. You could bring in any kind of specialist or in a few hours fly Dill in one of your daddy’s jets to whatever hospital it took to get him well. You could do whatever need be, him wanting it or not.
     "But I'm not his wife," she repeated.
     He stared at her, opened his mouth, shut it, and then smiled. "That could be changed real fast."  
     "What are you suggesting--that we lie about it? They would find out."  
     "I was thinking something simpler. Why don’t you marry him?"
     She felt her mouth drop open. "Dill is unconscious. How would that be simpler?” She managed a laugh. 
     "It doesn't have to be a real marriage, Katy girl. Just long enough to get him on his feet again. Then you annul it."  
     "If Dill isn’t able to sign for surgery right now, how could he agree to get married?" she asked, trying to stop her head from whirling.
     “People who have been in such situations have been married before. Nobody here knows he wasn’t planning it before this all happened. Surgeons are more persnickety about how alert someone is when they sign the paper than some I know who can do the marrying.”