Kelly Walker's Blog

WIP – Inheriting Christmas – Sneak Peek

Here’s a little sneak peek at Inheriting Christmas. This is still going through revisions so everything is subject to change.

Emma

Emma gripped the wheel of her rented Mercedes with tight fingers, her knuckles turning white as she squinted over the dashboard. She cradled her phone between her ear and her shoulder, balancing it like a server carrying a loaded tray. The directions from the rental clerk and her map taunted her from the floorboard, as useless as her GPS app that couldn’t get a signal. She’d taken a turn too fast, distracted by arguing with her brother, sending the papers plummeting right along with her spirits.
“How long will this little project of yours take?” Technically Vaughn was her stepbrother, but technicalities were as pointless as fake yelp reviews. “You know the deadline to approve the layout of the San Francisco location is in three weeks, right? The date cannot be moved. You’re the one that said you wanted the chance to run that property from start to finish.”
“I know, and I do. I’ll be there. I’ve already contacted the potential buyer you referred my way, and it sounds promising. This will be quick and easy.” She punctuated her words with confidence. Proving she could oversee their newest location from construction to staffing was the best way to get the position she really wanted with Hanslberg hotels. COO.
Vaughn sighed the way he used to when she suggested the play hide and seek in the basement laundry facilities at the Paris property. “It would be even easier if you’d let legal handle it. This is what we retain them for.” He’d used his manager’s voice, not his brother’s voice.
But leaving it to lawyers and accountants didn’t feel right. Emma hadn’t known Nicholas Sinclair, but he was her father. She owed this much to him. It shouldn’t take long to wrap things up, and she’d be back to her amazing job, back to her exotic life, and back to the newest Hanslberg Hotel. Her days filled once more with staff changes, problems to solve, and cranky guests, but also housekeepers, a chef on staff, and a spa on site. A spa with a deliciously handsome masseuse.
“Are you doing this because of what happened with— “
“This has nothing to do with Derek Whitcomb. Nothing,” Emma snapped. And it didn’t. “I trusted him. He cheated me. I made a bad investment. And now, I’m over it. It’s done.” Or would be, when her lawyers finished with him. Okay, sure. The way he’d tossed her aside as soon as the ink was dry on their deal still stung. Emma had gotten caught up in hopes and dreams, taking Derek at his word that the property he wanted her to buy would suit their needs. Now she was the not so proud owner of both an expensive swamp that couldn’t be built on, and a reputation for letting her heart get in the way of business. She had every intention of liquidating both of those assets. Selling Candy Cane Lane was Emma’s chance for redemption. If she could remain impartial and sell the property for a good price, despite her personal connection to it, she would be on the right track.
“Hey, can you look up the directions for me? My map’s on the floor and GPS is crapping out.”
Silence filled the line. “Vaughn?”
Nothing.
Great, just great. Emma pulled the phone away from her ear, chancing a glance at the screen.
Black.
She tried to wake it up, and nothing happened. That explained the beep she’d heard a few minutes ago. Her battery had died, caving under the constant attempts to get a signal for GPS.
If the airline hadn’t lost her suitcase, she could have charged it. She should have stopped at the store and gotten another charger, but it was too late for shoulda-coulda-woulda. She would make do.
Emma glanced down at the floor where the map taunted her. She’d been confused when the clerk gave her the paper map, with a cheery — and somewhat amused — “Good luck.” Now, Emma understood.
This was like being back in the stone ages. Or at least the previous decade. No wonder her mother had high-tailed it out of Timber Ridge at the first opportunity. At least Emma had experience using an old-fashioned map.
Sort of.
She’d used one before. Once. Her mother took her to Italy for the ribbon cutting of a hotel there. For the last twenty years, that had been her life. Traveling all over the world, a different hotel every few months as her parents oversaw numerous properties. Hank Hanslberg prided himself on being a hands-on owner.
That was another reason Emma insisted on seeing the property Nicholas Sinclair left to her. Hank was the only father she’d ever known, and getting a good price for the farm would make him proud. She’d prove to the shareholders she was every bit as much a Hanslberg as Vaughn, and they needn’t worry with Emma and Vaughn in charge.
While in Italy, she and Mom made a game of exploring the city with only a paper map. No phones, no technology, no itinerary. Just wandering and enjoying and seeing what they could discover. They’d stumbled across the best pastries she’d ever tasted. Soon those divine little bites of bliss were on the menu of every Hanslberg property.
Something told Emma she wasn’t going to find luxuries like that here in Timber Ridge.
There was an obituary tucked under the map, its edges already wrinkled from overhandling. She hadn’t been able to help reading it over and over. It told the story of the man who’d given her life, but never love. He’d been a highly valued member of the town, on the town council, the kind of man everyone knew. Everyone but his daughter. It pained her to read about him, recognizing none of the details. Maybe she’d just leave it sitting there. But the map on the other hand… No matter how she squinted, she couldn’t decipher where her next turn should be. She didn’t recall seeing anyone else on the deserted road in quite a while, so rather than pulling over she leaned down to grab the map and directions. Her fingertips brushed the paper. Emma stretched, determined to grab it.
There! She’d gotten it. She straightened, returning her eyes to the road just in time. Emma jammed the brake pedal, her heart thundering as the car careened onto the shoulder, then bucked to a stop amid screeching tires mere inches from a line of barbed wire fencing. But several feet away from the source of her panic.
Right there in the middle of the road, a massive black and white cow met her gaze through the windshield. It took a half step toward her, and Emma flinched, wondering belatedly if cows were aggressive. Bored with their staring contest, the creature lowered its head and nibbled at a taller weed not covered by snow. Either these roads were very narrow, the cow was exceptionally large, or both.
And how was she supposed to get around? What if she tried driving past, and it ran into the side of her car? Vaughn totaled his first car when he was a teen because a deer ran into the passenger door late one evening. He joked he hadn’t hit a deer, a deer hit him. Emma certainly didn’t want to hit a cow with her rental car.
Shifting into reverse, she figured she could at least get the car back on the road.
The tires spun wildly, yet the car didn’t budge. She’d have to get out and examine the problem. “I just need a plan. I can handle this,” she told herself firmly. The only thing Emma was better at than formulating plans was seeing them through. She’d analyze the problem, draft a solution, and then execute said plan. No big deal. She could handle this.
First the car. Then the cow.
Emma pried open the door handle and climbed out, silently congratulating herself on her choice of practical footwear. She’d dressed casually in a pair of designer jeans, a puffy vest, luxury white turtleneck, and knee-high brown fashion boots. It seemed like the perfect outfit for visiting a horse farm.
Her horse farm, she had to remind herself. At least until she sold it. But she needed to remember her role. She wasn’t sure how many employees Candy Cane Lane had, but just like with hotel staff it was imperative she establish her authority if she wanted to garner any respect. Especially since they didn’t know her at all. Friendly, but firm. That’s how she should conduct herself.
Moisture seeped through her boots, soaking her socks. So much for practical footwear. She steadied herself with a hand against her rental car, trying not to slip on the slick road. The snow was only up to her ankle, but even that was enough to be a nuisance. Turning to the back end of the car, she immediately saw the problem. The nose of the car rested far enough into the ditch that the back wheel lifted in the air.
With a dead phone, she couldn’t even call for help. Not that she had anyone to call. Did AAA even come out this far? She was almost surprised anyone actually lived out here! The wind picked up, trying to pull her long brunette hair from the tidy bun she’d twisted it into before getting on the plane in London.
Emma glanced at her watch.
That had been nearly fourteen hours ago! No wonder she was so bone tired. Two connecting flights, and even then, she’d had a ninety-minute drive to reach Timber Ridge, which offered no airport of its own.
And no Hanslberg Hotel, either. Emma was accustomed to travel, but she always stayed at her family’s properties, or other luxury resorts. Timber Ridge didn’t have anything like that. But wallowing over the conditions wouldn’t get her off the frozen road, wouldn’t move her car, and wouldn’t move the cow, so she’d just have to worry about that later. The only way to go was forward.
Emma looked around. If there was pasture, this had to be a farm. Or a ranch or something. She hadn’t passed a lane anytime in the last few minutes, so she’d bet if she kept going, she should come to a driveway. When she did, she would follow it to the house and ask to use their phone.
Headlights glowed in the distance, accompanied by the rumbling of a large engine. Whoever it was would have to stop, because the cow was still very much blocking the road. The nerves that had tightened her chest loosened. The relief of not having to walk in the cumbersome snow outweighed any concern about encountering a stranger on a deserted road.
The silver beast of a truck that came around the bend was even bigger than she’d predicted, with huge tires that glided easily over the snow.
The driver parked on the opposite side of the road from her tiny rental—which looked even smaller compared to his truck—and came around the front toward her. Emma flashed him a sheepish grin.
“Hello, there!” he called. “Are you all right?” His voice was as smooth as honey, which fit well with the dark, dirty blonde color of his hair. He’d cropped it close on the sides, but the top was a mess of tousled waves, like maybe he had a habit of running his fingers through it. She found herself smiling back. The man’s eyes were warm and kind, and crinkled at the corner when he returned her smile, putting her at ease.
“Well, I seem to be stuck, but I’m okay. Can I borrow your phone? Mine’s dead.” She held it up, as if offering proof. “I was just thinking I’d have to walk to find a house with a phone when you came along.” She’d call the farm, explain who she was, and then instruct someone to come escort her.
He paused by the cow, his eyes roaming up and down, over its back, then its legs. Whatever he saw, he seemed satisfied. Maybe he owned the cow?
“There aren’t any houses for a couple miles, but don’t worry, I can probably get you out. Let’s have a look see.” He glanced at his watch, frowning. “We don’t get many people passing through this way unless there’s an accident on the interstate. Where ya headed?”
Emma wasn’t sure why, but the thought of telling him why she was here made her self conscious. Something she almost never was. But it wasn’t like she could lie to him, and she had no reason to be ashamed. “Candy Cane Lane. It belonged to—” Words stuck on her tongue like they’d been papier-mâchéd in place. “I came to see it before I sell it later this week.” Emma stuck out a hand. “I’m Emma Sinclair-Hanslberg. Nice to meet you.”
His entire expression changed. The smile lines disappeared as his eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. He refused her offered hand, looking at it the way she looked at competitors’ properties. She pulled her arm back, tucking her fingers between her elbow and her side.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’ve got somewhere I’ve got to be.”
Emma blinked, trying to process the abrupt shift in demeanor. “I can’t use your phone first? Please?” She hated the way a note of fear crept into her voice. He’d said there weren’t any houses nearby. What would she do out here on her own? “Or could you give me a ride into town? Something?” Anything.
The attractive man with the less than attractive attitude just shook his head, glaring at her like this was all somehow her fault. Like she’d asked for the father she didn’t know to die. Or asked to be put in charge of his estate. Or asked to have a cow run her off the road! None of this was her fault, and she was just doing the best she could. Before she could tell the stranger any of that, he nodded to her once more, saying, “Have a nice day, Ms. Sinclair.” Then he climbed back into his enormous truck, drove right over the shoulder as if it was nothing, veering around the cow and heading down the road. His tail lights shrank rapidly, and within a minute, Emma was alone with the cow once more.
The long day and impossible situation finally got the best of her and her good manners. “It’s Sinclair-Hanslberg!” she shouted, though only the cow could hear.
Now what was she supposed to do?

WIP – The Emperor’s Arrow – Excerpt

Want a first look at an early chapter of The Emperor’s Arrow?

(Title subject to change, © Kelly Walker, 2021 – Do not copy or reproduce)

They claimed her first kill would be her hardest, but that was a lie. It might have been true for Aerie’s sisters, but for her, the first was simple. The man intended to kill her, and Aerie did not want to die. The rest were harder, knowing what would come after. Each tick mark scratched onto the leather sheath at her hip matched an invisible one deep inside, scrawled in blood that wouldn’t wash away.
Aerie’s sheath was running out of room, and she was running out of ways to ease the churning in her gut.
She had no choice. Their life for hers, a lesson learned well. That first kill extinguished a man’s life, but ignited furious determination in Issulion’s eighth daughter. Driving Aerie to do better. Be better.
Not because she’d killed the man, but because she’d cared.
And caring would get her dead.
Blood had painted the hollow of his gaunt cheek, oozing around the throwing blade she’d buried between his eyes from thirty yards away. The ruby rivulets were a magnet, holding Aerie hostage with a pull her tiny, five-year-old body couldn’t resist. Aerie’s older sisters looked on, their faces a mixture of pride and commiseration, but her father paid her no mind, oblivious to the droplets falling upon the crystalline sand of the amphitheater. For Emperor Issulion, neither his young daughter nor the dying vagrant were worth more than a cursory glance.
Until Aerie’s eldest sister pointed, a cruel smile making her face even more severe. Aerie wiped at her eyes, but it was too late. While Aerie had focused on the blood, Princess Naraka ensured the emperor didn’t miss the moisture trickling down Aerie’s own pale flesh. For a daughter of Issulion, blood and death were her birthright—tears were intolerable.
A decade later, Aerie’s blade skills were legendary, but even she could not conquer her conscience. So she buried it deep and pretended. Never again would she let the horror of who and what she was break her. Now, the marks on her sheath were her only concession, a small tribute to life. And death. A habit began the day of her first kill, not with one mark, but two. The vagrant, and her trainer, punished for not making Aerie tough enough.
Within the hour, her tally would grow.
Aerie gave her memories a rough shove, banishing them. If she thought too hard about the sick feeling that would twist her insides tighter than a sailor’s knots, she’d make a mistake. And Aerie Issulion did not make mistakes. Not anymore.
Awareness tickled the fine hairs at the back of her neck. Someone approached. The prince’s room—not prince, target, keep it impersonal—should be up one more hallway and halfway down on her right. Footsteps grew closer, laced with the low hum of a hushed conversation. She wouldn’t make it to his chamber in time.
Precisely why Nysta taught the importance of awareness, especially of hiding spaces. Aerie backtracked, keeping her steps light and silent. She darted behind an intricate tapestry with moments to spare.
The artist, despite his or her significant skill and impressive imagination, had created a work too large to fit the wall between the castle windows. Aerie was counting on finding one behind the artwork. If there wasn’t… she didn’t have time to come up with another plan that wouldn’t force her to take more lives than assigned.
Her calculations were right, and there was a window, three foot tall and arched at the top, offering a view of the sweeping courtyard. The ledge was only a foot wide, plenty for her to crouch on, keeping as close to the window frame as possible.
Aerie pulled her dark hood up to keep her face from catching the moonlight, risking a low chuckle. Wait until she told Nysta she’d hidden behind a dragon.
Across the empire, mothers cautioned their babes to behave lest the famed daughters of Issulion come for them. It worked until they got older. Then the children would decide Issulion’s Arrows were as fictional as tales of dragons who once ruled the land and skies of Ivonlea and beyond. Only when grown would they understand the uneasy truth: dragons had been extinct for many years, but Aerie and her sisters still stalked the shadows, far more deadly than stories gave them credit for.
Aerie stilled her breathing. The occupants of the hallway were close. Too close. Both male, given the weight of their footsteps, not servants. Servants shuffled their feet, keeping their voices low and unobtrusive. With only a thin wall-hanging between them, if Aerie breathed wrong, she’d be discovered. And if she inhaled dust from the seldom cleaned tapestry, causing a sneeze… Her fingers curled around the hilt of her daga, her thumb stroking the engraved feathers that flared to create the guard.
“You need to get the whelp on board.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“It would be easier if he had more of his grandsire in him. A shame he’s Nicwyn through and through.”
They spoke of Nicwyn El Aron’telis, the king of Yiatenys, and her father’s staunchest rival.
“It’d be better if he lent his support. But if he doesn’t, you know what you’ll have to do.” Disgust dripped from every word, as rancid and thick as the sludge that lined the gutters outside the butcher’s shop in the Issulion slums.
“You’d have me harm Khera’s son?” The second man kept his tone measured, fitting the gravity of what they discussed.
His companion answered with a low growl. “There’s no line I wouldn’t cross to return us to the old ways. That’s the difference between me and Nicwyn. Freedom is purchased with blood. Any who cannot accept that have no place in our future. Our ancestors understood removing the weakest among us was the key to survival. We must too.”
A heavy sigh, and a resigned answer. “Then, for his sake, I hope the prince comes around.” His words were punctuated by the scrape of a blade lifted briefly from its scabbard, then thrust home. Aerie would pity Prince Rhaiyn, if she wasn’t here to kill him.
As soon as these two buffoons stopped lingering in the hallway, blocking her way to his room.
Eliminating them wouldn’t be difficult, but waiting for them to move out of range left two traitors behind to destabilize her father’s enemies. The cleaner she was in and out, the better.
“Prince,” the other one sneered, his voice gruff, but his distaste plain.
“Patience, my liege. We’ve all got our parts to play.”
Liege… Aerie quickly fit the morsels of information together. Someone from the royal family was casually discussing treason!
“Yes, yes. And for now you must keep Nicwyn happy. Return to his side. Scouts mentioned a carriage too far from the border. It might be nothing, but if anyone’s blade splits his throat, it will be mine.”
As if she’d resort to such a messy method. Some of her sisters might—the ones who enjoyed their assignments a little too much. Amari came to mind—but Aerie killed as cleanly as possible. King Nicwyn wasn’t her target and had nothing to fear from her tonight.
Those fools with the carriage, however…
She’d deal with them later. First, back to her mission. Then she’d handle her way home.
Temptation whispered in her ear, urging her to peek from behind the painting. The emperor might be happy to have their identity. It all depended on his mood, and there was no need to guess how he’d react if Aerie botched her mission to chase down information on a whim. Her job was to do as she was told. Nothing more. Definitely nothing less.
Minutes crawled by as Aerie waited in the window, her muscles begging for a chance to readjust. She’d almost been in the clear when a third man joined them, and they lingered, chatting. These fools were worse than the old hens who clucked and clustered outside the markets, jabbering and complaining as if they had nowhere better to be. Stretching to loosen her muscles was impossible without disturbing the tapestry.
The goddess hadn’t seen fit to bless Aerie with patience, nor could Nysta teach it, though not for lack of trying. By the time they were far enough away, Aerie had nearly deemed killing them worth it to shut them up.
At last she crept through the cold castle halls, intent on her task. Carved from a towering tarcote tree, the heavy wooden door to the prince’s chamber was impeccably smooth. Aerie pressed her ear to it. She waited for five heartbeats, her own breathing echoing in her ears, but the chamber lay silent.
The bolt ground against the stone and Aerie froze, listening once more for any sign of movement inside the chamber.
Nothing.
Letting out her breath, Aerie crept inside. Inky shadows draped the room, the hearth dark, like all others in Ivonlea, bereft of fire for the last fifty years. Fire was forbidden by the emperor, enforced by wizards and executioners alike.
Yiatenys didn’t belong to the empire—yet—but magical shackles didn’t respect trivial things like borders. The entire continent bowed beneath the wizard’s spell.
Aerie cursed under her breath. She’d expected at least one active lightstone to guide her blade, and the southern facing window was no help. Fortunately, Aerie’s senses were better than most, even among her sister Arrows. She could have pulled her own lightstone from her beltpouch, but if someone were waiting in the darkness, it would do more harm than good.
She closed her eyes, feeling for movement in the air and listening for heartbeats, finding none.
Of all her lethal assassin sisters, Aerie was the best at finding her opponents in impossible situations. It was almost as if the wind talked to her, whispering secrets in her ear.
Those senses weren’t whispering now.
Get out, get out, get out.
The prince’s antechamber, comfortably furnished to host visitors or friends, offered two connecting doors. To the left, his likely sleeping chambers, though she’d bet her favorite dagger he wasn’t inside. And she really liked that dagger. On the right, the servant’s chamber might offer a place to hide, and a route for escape with the risk of servants willing to reveal her presence for a yul, or two.
Get out, get out, get out. A scream of warning now, insistent. Unrelenting.
She wasn’t in the habit of ignoring her intuition, but if she left now, she would be no safer. If she didn’t ensure Prince Rhaiyn Del Ashar’telis breathed his last, she’d breathe hers.
But even she could not slay a ghost. The spectre of the prince hung in the air like stale brew, a hint of something once there, now gone.
The first tendrils of panic wound up Aerie’s spine.
Failure was not an option. She just needed to think.
This late in the evening, where could the prince be other than his own chambers?
In a companion’s bed, likely. But she had no information on his suitors, nor the time to search blind.
The stone floor shivered, disturbed by armored boots moving down the hall, at least six to seven pair.

What I’m Working on

Dragons!

While it may not seem like it, I’ve been doing a lot of writing. And more than that, a ton of worldbuilding. My current project is all consuming, and massive, and I’m determined to get it right. I’m currently drafting the second book of a planned trilogy that’s epic fantasy with a slow burn enemies to lovers romance.

I’m also polishing up a small town Christmas romance that features some of the Chadwell Hearts characters about twenty five years after Forever My Angel.

New Website!

It was time to move to a new website! My old one was more than a little out of date more than a lot clunky, and I was ready for a change. Still some cleaning up to do around here, but I think it will do just fine.

#amWriting #amediting

I know it has been quiet around here, but exciting things are in the works.

NaNoWriMo

      NANOWRIMO…. GO!   I have no idea if my hands are going to cooperate, but I’m going to give NaNoWriMo a valiant effort. I did Broken Stone as a NaNo project and actually felt like it slowed my writing down. It’s been several years since I’ve tried... Read more »

Promise Me — Coming January 23rd, 2018!

You might have heard by now. River and Ian’s book isn’t going to be officially branded as a Chadwell Hearts novel. So if River and Ian’s Book isn’t a Chadwell Hearts novel, what is it? It’s emotional. It doesn’t shy away from hard topics. It will break you into a... Read more »

Chadwell Hearts — The Complete Series

  As I was working on Promise Me, I spent a lot of time going back and reading the four books of the Chadwell Hearts series that I’d already published. There is some overlap of timelines, and I wanted to make sure I got it right. And as I went... Read more »

Enter to win a Kindle or a $20 Amazon Giftcard

a Rafflecopter giveaway I’ve got not one, but two fantastic giveaways for you all today! The authors of ONE are giving away a Kindle Fire to One lucky reader! GO HERE TO ENTER And as an added perk, I’m personally giving away a $20 Amazon Giftcard.  All you need to... Read more »

The post Enter to win a Kindle or a $20 Amazon Giftcard appeared first on Kelly Walker.

Cover Reveal and Release news

Now that summer is winding down, I’ve got lots of awesome releases headed your way this fall. First up, I’ve got a Chadwell Hearts short story (technically it’s a novelette)  called One Night Wife in an anthology called ONE, that releases on September 1st! Isn’t the cover pretty? Check out... Read more »

The post Cover Reveal and Release news appeared first on Kelly Walker.