Living the Dream

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Mara is about to find herself in another mess. Our word this week is CANDY. I’m continuing with Naughty Rudolph, my Christmas Romance Comedy.

As if she were an adult and not a six-year-old child, Callie extended her hand to Albert and then to Mary. “Are you going to have babies?”

Albert laughed. “That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Nell shook her head. “Oh dear. Our Callie seems to be obsessed with babies at the moment. It probably has to do with the Christmas pageant, but she asked me the same thing when Amos and I announced our engagement last night. It seems she’s misunderstood a portion of the Nativity story.”

Mary nodded and scrunched down to the child’s level. “I would love to have babies, but I’m too old for that now. However, I knew you would be here, and I brought you a gift.” From the reusable bag she held, she removed a doll dressed in sealskin. “This doll represents my people. She’s wearing an amauti, that’s the warm coat with a large hood, kamikluuk, pants, kamiik, boots, and aitqatik, mitts. Look inside the hood. She has a surprise there for you.”

Callie moved the hood aside, her eyes and mouth rounding at the same time. “A baby. She gots a baby. Look Mara!” She held up the miniature doll.

Mary smiled. “That’s always been the best part of giving this gift—the surprised look on their face when they find it. You have a beautiful little girl.”

“She’s not—”

Before I could finish, a chuckle from the doorway had me glancing over my shoulder.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Mara Howard. What are you doing in Miami, Manitoba? Someone told me you’d gone to Florida for the holidays.”

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

“Doug?” I gasped.

The second I did, the mint in my mouth slipped out of my mouth and down my throat, blocking my windpipe. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed at my throat, trying to force the solid ball of sugar down. I tried to cough to dislodge the damn candy but couldn’t. I tried to speak but only managed a high-pitched squeal. My eyes filled with tears as panic overtook me. My gaze focused on Rudy across the room. I tried to suck in air through my nose, and slowly, the room around me dimmed.

Oh God, please don’t let me die, not like this.

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Have you ever built a snowman? It’s not as easy as it looks. Our word prompt this week is GRUMPY. I’m continuing with Naughty Rudolph, my Christmas Romance Comedy. Enjoy!

Rolling a snowball isn’t as easy as it looks and despite the fact that my balls were smaller, they took me as long to roll as the larger ones. By the time I’d finished, I was sweating.

Rudy settled the medium sized ball onto the large one, and he and Callie secured it in place with snow, blending the two together. They repeated the process two more times. Once they were done, he picked up my sorry excuse for heads and added them to the bodies. I helped pack the snow to keep them in place while Callie got the necessary items to complete the job.

She had large buttons for eyes—one set green, another blue, and a final set brown. She used carrots for the noses and plastic mouths made with small buttons attached together to complete the faces. The one on the largest snowman kept slipping as if he were grumpy. Finally, she stuck plastic twigs in for arms and used two black buttons on each chest.

One head got a straw hat, another a flowered sunbonnet, and the third a ball cap.

“Yay! We’re finished. Daddy take out your phone and take a picture. We have a daddy, a mommy, and a little girl.”

I swallowed. Not, “Daddy, Aunt Nell, and me,” as I’d hoped.

Rudy took several pictures of us with the snow family.

I laughed when I noticed snow protruding rather obviously from the snow mommy.

“We need to shave a little off here,” I pointed to the bump. “The snow mommy is a bit too fat, don’t you think?”

“No,” Callie cried, horrified by the suggestion. “She’s growing a baby for next year. Babies grown in mommies’ stomachs, but they take a long time. My friend Lucie’s mommy has been growing one since Easter. It’s supposed to be ready for Christmas.”

I tried to keep my face blank, but one look at the surprise on Rudy’s face and I almost lost it.

I managed to contain my laughter. “My, you certainly know a lot about snow babies. Don’t you?”

“Yup. I pay attention. Aunt Nell calls me a little pitcher with big ears. It means I listen all the time.”

Even when she wasn’t supposed to do so. Rudy and I would have to be very careful. Callie might well be working on what she wanted for Christmas next year.

Before I could say anything, the door opened and Nell called us in for lunch.

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When I wrote And Justice for All last spring. I was well aware of the illegal drugs and weapons moving back and forth across the border in the area where I live. I was also well aware of home-grown militias operating in both countries, and a rise in racism, mysogynism, fascism, and a lot of other negative “isms” I can’t begin to understand.

With that in mind, I created a storyline that was believable, gave a few facts and home truths about the flow of illegal substances, and created characters who were human, flawed, and yet brave, charcters who embodied the Canadian spirit.

This morning, when I was reading the news on my phone, concerning recent arrests in a joint police venture entitled Project Fester.

Cornwall, Ont. police seize 35 guns and over $2 million in drugs. (Open the link to read the article)

https://www.ctvnews.ca/ottawa/article/cornwall-ont-police-seize-35-guns-and-over-2-million-in-drugs/

It amazes me when my imagination creates something so close to reality. Smuggling has always been hard ro stop in this part of the country because of the geography of the area. If you can open the link below, you’ll meet Cornwall’s police chief and learn more about the area and her dedication to keeping us safe. https://www.facebook.com/reel/2285891928503456

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Yesterday was Canadian Thanksgiving, and the weather was perfect for this time of years. Cool nights, mild days with lots of sunshine, and the colors of fall are at their peak. I’m continuing with Naughty Rudolph. Today we’re back inside Mara’s head as she faces another consequence of her hasty decision to enter the contest without reading the fine print. Enjoy!

“I haven’t mentioned Callie’s latest request from Santa to Nell, although I did talk to Saul about it. His solution was for me to get married. What do you think of that?”

Married? To whom? Was he thinking of marrying Hazel? That would be worse than not dealing with it, and if Callie discovered Hazel was the new mommy Santa had brought her … but he’d said he was done with Hazel. I opted to skip saying anything about pending nuptials and concentrate on what he’d said about Callie’s behavior. I could identify with that.

“I got teased, too and acted out in my own way. Kids can be cruel. Children follow the examples set by adults, and lately those haven’t been the best. I try to get my students to treat each other with respect, but every now and then, I fail.” I took a mouthful of liqueur. It was now or never. “Rudy, we have a bigger problem than her letter, and it’s all my fault. If I’d read the entire contest form … this wouldn’t have happened. I believe Callie sees me as her Christmas mommy. The evening I arrived, she said something I didn’t understand. She said, ‘Santa got it right.’ Then, she told Cora her special present had come early. How are we going to tell her the truth? That I’m not her Christmas wish. That I’ll be leaving in nine days. How are we going to explain that to her without breaking her heart?” And mine.

He rubbed the back of his neck and paced.

“I suspected something like that had happened, and I was hoping you would have a solution. I was going to mention it tomorrow. Have you ever come up against anything like this?”

Tomorrow? he was going to wait until Christmas Eve to deal with this catastrophe?

I huffed out a breath. “No. I’ve dealt with kittens, puppies, dragons, and baby brothers, but no one has ever requested a mother or a father, although I did wish for them myself before the Howards adopted me.”

He stopped pacing and stared at me. I could almost see that imaginary lightbulb popping on above his head.

“Then that’s the answer. You can adopt Callie.”

I flinched as if he’d hit me, the pain of the impossibility leaving me weak.

“Be serious. I can’t adopt your daughter.” I spoke sharply, not sure whether to be hurt or angry. “What if you do decide to get married? What will your wife say?”

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Welcome to October. This week, things are heating up in Miami, and not in a good way. We are once again in Rudy’s POV as I set my scene to the word FALL. Enjoy this exerpt from Naughty Rudolph, my Christmas Romance Comedy with a soupçon of suspense, because what’s a story without some drama?

“Mara,” I screamed, running out of the bar faster than I ever had before, yanking her back, and knocking her to the ground under me seconds before the large truck would’ve hit her.

The truck didn’t stop. Instead, it increased its speed, disappearing into the darkness.

By now, the last of Dick’s patrons had joined Jerry on the edge of the sidewalk. He rushed over to us.

“My God, are you alright?” He helped me stand, and then we both turned to help Mara.

“I’m fine. I skinned my palm in the fall, that’s all. I’m more worried about her. She hit the pavement hard.”

I turned to the woman sitting up on the road beside me. She was pale, trembling, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Her left knee was bleeding through her torn leggings, and Aunt Nell’s coat was covered in mud. Luckily, she’d donned her gloves and spared her hands, but one of her cheeks and her forehead had mud on them, too.

Should I move her? She could have a spinal injury or worse.

“Don’t move her,” Susie ordered as she ran over to us. “Let me have a look at her first. We were just around the corner when I heard you shout. What happened?” She squatted to examine Mara who hadn’t yet said a word.

Amos joined us.

“Some damn fool almost ran her over,” the elderly man said, his voice full of emotion, clearly showing how upset he was. “I don’t know what that asshole was thinking. There’s plenty of light here. He was sitting there idling. I thought he was waiting for someone, and then he started moving slowly. Suddenly, with the light still red, he stepped on the gas. Either he’s drunk or he stopped for a nap by the side of the road, woke up, and didn’t know where he was. He must’ve panicked. Now, the son of a bitch is still on the road and dangerous as hell.” He shook his head. “I didn’t get the plate number, he was moving too fast, but it looked like an older model semi to me. There aren’t many of those around here. I’ll call the RCMP and report it.” He pulled out his phone. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t think anything is broken, but she’s going to be bruised for sure. She may have a slight concussion, too. You’ll have to watch her for a few hours. Concussion protocol. You know the deal. After all, you went through it yourself last spring.”

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Good morning. I hope you’re all enjoying the beauty and benefits of the changing seasons. In the Southern Hemisphere, you’ve welcomed spring, while those of us up north are hoping for a mild autumn with notes of summer for at least a few more weeks.

This month’s question is: What is the most favorite thing you have written, published or not? And why?

That is a tough question to answer. Being an author was a pipe dream for so long, and then, after I retired from teaching, I took a chance and reached for the stars. I was first published in 2013, and I haven’t looked back.

Everything I write holds a little of my soul and has a special place in my heart. In a very real sense, my books are my children, created within my brain and my imagination. It would be like asking who’s your favorite child, or which limb is more imoprtant, your arm or your leg? How do you choose? You can’t.

Certainly my most financially successful books are my Harvester Files series. After that, it’s a toss up with my other romantic suspense novels. I love drama, and I get to touch on all kinds of criminal evil facing the world we live in. Do I get a little political? Yes, maybe even a little preachy, but I make sure that my facts are sound. My latest book in the Protecting the Innocent series, And Justice for All is fiction wrapped in current events. While I enjoy wirting that genre, it sometimes takes a toll on me since it can be emotionally taxing.

I deal with that level of stress by jumping to another genre. Sometimes, I’ll work on a cozy mystery; at others, it’ll be simple romance or a holiday book. To fully unwind, I work in my Cocktails for You series which is a collection of novels, written in the first person, that are essentially romantic comedies each named after a cocktail. Usually, there is more romance than comedy, and some have higher heat levels than others, but each story is unique and has bits and pieces of my own life woven into them. Character names are often those of family and friends. While they haven’t met with the success of my suspense books, they are growing in popularity. In time, I hope I’ll find more readers for them. An author’s job is basically to entertain and that’s what I stive to do.

I also enjoy writing historical novels, mild paranormal, and fantasy books. I find research fascinating and informative. I’ve learned so much looking into cultural mythologies. Most recently, I started a fantasy/paranormal series called Listen to the Stones. The first book came out In March and has been well received by those who’ve read it. My surgery in April and commitment to publishers for other work stopped me from getting book 2 out as soon as I’d hoped, but after I finish my current project, I will get back to it. Modern Fantasy is probably the hardest genre to write, especially if you set your stories in this current time and space. Things can be impossible but that have to be probable on some level. I enjoy giving my imagination free rein. I never know exactly where I’m going, and that makes for an exhilarating ride!

What about you?

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. The authors this week are writing to the prompt CEILING. There are times in a story when even as the author, I would like to be a fly in the room. Time to see Rudy confront Hazel. Enjoy. I’m a few words over 400. Don’t shoot me. I needed to get in that last line.

My blood boiled. How could I possibly have been taken in enough to have sex with such a cold fish? I should consider myself damn lucky that my dick hadn’t suffered frostbite. Less than an hour ago, she wanted me to make a public profession of our status as a couple while she made plans to pack up my daughter and send her to boarding school. If there was someone making false statements and misrepresenting herself, it was Hazel.

“You certainly seem to know a lot about this sort of thing,” Jacob noted. “Have you been in a situation like this before?”

“Not exactly like this, no, but I know a con artist when I see one. We need to protect ourselves against her ilk. She looks innocent, but believe me, it’s all an act.”

From where I stood beside the large pine tree, no one could see me. I searched the faces of those watching her. Most were confused, trying to make sense of it all, while others were searching the ceiling for an answer.

Unaware of my presence, Hazel pushed what she saw as her advantage.

“She’s damn good, I’ll concede that. If there was an Academy Award for pulling the wool over someone’s eyes, she would win it. Those tears at the end? That’s where she overplayed her hand. Ask Rudy. He’s a screenwriter. He knows crocodile tears when he sees them. That woman is a fake. She’s a charlatan, and I intend to prove it. You should send her packing tonight and demand she make restitution for everything we’ve sunk into this failure. I know I supported it to begin with, but this … this woman changes everything. Mark my words. She needs to go, and she needs to go now. Seeing how easily she duped everyone … Jacob was right. We don’t need an outsider to sell our town. I’ll be glad to do it. I did some acting in college. But if you insist on going ahead with this farce with that impostor, I refuse to contribute another cent—”

That was it. I stepped into the room.

“And that’s just fine by me, Hazel. The decision to go ahead with the travel blog isn’t yours to make. It’s mine, and I will gladly refund you the money you advanced.” I looked around the group. “If there’s anyone else who wants out, speak up, but I plan to go ahead with my travel blog, and Mara will be its star. I don’t give a damn if her hair is red, blue, or green. Come to think of it, it isn’t as if you’re a natural blonde, Hazel, is it?”

Jerry smothered a laugh, and Molly turned it into a grunt when she elbowed him.

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Autumn arrived officially on September 22, 2025. It seems like only yesterday that it was summer that we were welcoming. I swear the days are shorter, and that has nothing to do with the amount of sunlight. I don’t seem to get as much done each day as I would like.

This week, the authors at Tuesday Tales are gearing our posts around the word STUBBORN. I’m continuing with my Christmas Romance Comedy, Naughty Rudolph. We’re back with Rudy. Enjoy.

I was about to knock on Mara’s door again, when the tumblers fell into place. She’d locked it, putting an end to any possibility of further conversation. Who could blame her? There must’ve been a better way to apologize for subjecting her to Hazel’s rant, a better way to explain that bitch’s brand on me, a better way to reassure her that everything would be okay, but I’d blown it. I made my living with words, and yet here I was practically speechless.

Hadn’t I known that this was not the time nor the place to end my relationship with Hazel? And yet, when she’d threatened Callie, I’d gone all bull in a china shop, my stubborn need to protect my daughter wiping every sensible thought from my mind. And it hadn’t stopped there.

We don’t want the same thing. Another way of saying, it isn’t you, it’s me. I’d probably sounded like the inconsiderate jerk who’d put his financial aspirations before Mara’s happiness. The truth was that after knowing her less than six hours, I was certain that we wanted the same things. All I had to do was figure out how to sweep her off her feet, turn her hatred for cold into love for it, and make this the best damn Christmas she’d ever have, the one that would leave her wanting more. Not an easy task, especially when I only had two weeks to do it—and Hazel had thrown a damn wrecking ball at her.

As I passed the top of the stairs, I could hear voices murmuring, some raised louder than others. I wasn’t ready to face anyone in the elf costume, especially not with Hazel’s brand on me. I stopped to check on Callie. She was still sleeping and probably would right through the night. I turned the corner and entered my room.

Going into the washroom, I stripped off the accursed leotards and the tunic. Using soap and hot water, I scrubbed what was left of Hazel’s lipstick off my mouth. Damn the woman! I’d known the showdown was coming; I just hadn’t expected it with a houseful of guests.

I donned my comfortable jeans, a green plaid shirt, and slipped my feet into loafers. Well aware that the MBA would have questions for me, I left the room and headed downstairs. Would it be too much to hope that Hazel had left?

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