I’m reminded of an old song, Where have All the Flowers Gone? It seems like spring was only yesterday, and here we are on the brink of fall. COVID has changed many things and yet, it hasn’t changed how quickly time seems to fly even when you do very little.
This month’s question is an interesting one. September 1 question – How do you define success as a writer? Is it holding your book in your hand? Having a short story published? Making a certain amount of income from your writing?
For me, I think success is an on-going process, not much different from climbing a set of stairs. It’s starts with a viable idea for a book, continues through the writing and editing processes, and goes on until you finally type the end on the manuscript. It’s that “I did it!” moment. That’s the first few steps. Then, there’s another sense of accomplishment when you look online and see your book available for sale. It doesn’t really matter whether it’s traditionally published or self-published. There’s a profound satisfaction in seeing your name on your work for others to purchase and read. The next few steps are for agonizing over sales and reviews. Sadly, there will always be trolls out there, who will say nasty things if only to contradict the good reviews you’ll get. There’s nothing that can equal the thrill of your first bit of fan mail or your first five star review, except maybe having someone tell you to your face how much they enjoy your work.
I have had more than twenty-five books published. Am I rich? No. Am I likely to get rich? No, but the satisfaction I get from knowing that my crazy thoughts and ideas have brightened someone’s day, well, to me, that’s the epitome of success.
Wow! Hard to believe August is almost over. This week, my husband and I will celebrate our 50th anniversary, so I’ll be offline for a couple of weeks. In the meantime, I leave you with this week’s Tuesday Tale based on the word BARE. Here’s the latest from Forever in my Heart.
After rinsing the shampoo from her hair, Callista applied conditioner and let it sit while she washed. There was nothing rough about the nylon sponge and bath gel she used across her bare skin, and yet she was stunned by how sore and tender she was. There weren’t any visible bruises, but she hadn’t been this sore in forever. Maybe she was coming down with something other than the twenty-six ounce flu. After rinsing the conditioner out of her hair, she turned off the shower, wrapped a terrycloth turban around her head, and dried off. Opting for a loose cotton dress instead of shorts and a top, she returned to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
She’d just doctored it the way she liked it—sweetener and cream—when her cellphone rang. Lifting it off the charging plate, she glanced at the caller ID and groaned. Brett. He was the last person she wanted to talk to, but after last night, did she dare ignore his call again?
Apparently, from the looks on the faces of those surrounding them, everyone, except her, had known he was planning to propose; after all, they’d been dating and burning up the sheets for more than a year, the longest relationship she’d had since Luke. When Brett had popped the question in front of all of their friends last night, she’d panicked, cried no, and had run away, grabbing an uber—thankfully she’d had her purse and keys on her—and had turned off her phone until she’d gotten home. By then, Brett had called half a dozen times, and he hadn’t been the only one. Becca’s name was in her missed calls’ list, too.
The phone rang again. Swallowing her guilt, she picked it up and took a deep breath.
“Hi, Brett. About last night—”
“Stop, Callista. I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, the relief in his voice palpable. “I was afraid you might have … never mind.”
She frowned. Never mind? Seriously? What did he think she was going to do? Throw herself off a cliff or something?
Did her friends really believe she was that big a drama queen, that emotionally fragile? My God, she’d turned him down, not the other way around. Of course, they’d been worried. They hadn’t known she’d taken an uber and that had been discourteous of her.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to another Tuesday Tales. I’m continuing with my holiday romance, Forever in my Heart.
“This is what I get for polishing off that second bottle of wine all by myself,” she groaned.
This wasn’t her first hangover and probably wouldn’t be her last, but never had she felt so off-kilter, so strange, with unprecedented pain in her head and an emptiness inside her unlike anything she’d ever experienced—well not since Cassie and Luke. She wouldn’t go there.
“Spanish reds are off my list,” she mumbled, reaching for the shampoo, surprised to find the outside of her head as painful as the inside. “And here I am talking to myself again.”
As a young child, her mother had opted not to discourage her self-talk, often joining in the conversations with Callie’s imaginary friend.
It wasn’t until she was sixteen, that her mother, dying of cancer, had dropped a bombshell on her, and had told her about Timberton, her family there, and Cassandra, her twin. The only man she’d known as a father had been Stan Mitchell, the man who’d married her mother. He’d been in the process of adopting her, when the RCMP constable had been killed in the line of duty. So she’d remained a Hayworth, her mother a Mitchell, never knowing about the Knowles family until that day.
As Mom had explained it, she’d only been a year old, and at the time, they’d felt a clean break was best. Each keeping one child had been a simple solution to the problem. The reason Mom had never discouraged her self-talk had been because she’d wondered if Callie, as she’d called her, had been talking to Cassie, her twin. Her mother had never forgotten the twin she’d left behind and carried the guilt of forcing them apart. Her dying wish had been to beg Callie to find her sister.
After Mom had died, she’d taken the information the lawyer had given her, along with Cassandra’s share of the inheritance, and had gone to Timberton. It had felt like home. Under the watchful eye of her paternal grandmother and more tears than she’d shed in her lifetime, she and Cassie had been reunited. That had been ten years ago. They’d sworn never let anything or anyone separate them again, But six years ago, Cassandra had destroyed the tenuous bond they’d formed, leaving Callie broken, unable to commit to anyone, a failing that had been quite evident last night.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Have you ever wanted to do something only to have to put it on hold over and over again? That’s the way it was with The Price of Courage, Book 2 of the Canadiana Series. I’d planned to start it right after I finished The Price of Honor, but then life happened.
This year, I was determined that the books sitting partially completed on my desk top would see the light of publication. And so it started with the new books I had to write–which i did–and those I wanted to finish. The White Dahlia, Book four of the Harvester Files was the first one finished. Next came The Price of Courage, released today. There are four books that need to be finished, some in various stages of completion, and I hope to finish at least two more before the end of the year. Which Two? You’ll find out.
But today is all about The Price of Courage. Some of you who follow Tuesday Tales may remember parts of this story.
This sequel to The Price of Honor continues the adventure.
When the enemy is faceless, whom can you trust?
Former trapper Lucien Rioux joins Guy Poirier, the governor-general, and the intendant in the search for the conspirators who want to see New France fail as a settlement to allow for more exploration into the rich, fur-bearing lands to the north and west. His mission is to verify that all of the estates in the hands of absentee landlords are being farmed, but he finds far more than he expected–a pregnant woman and her children left to die, escaped convicts searching for a missing treasure map embroidered on a pair of leather mittens, and one man searching for the former Isabelle de Caen, Guy’s pregnant wife, and her cousin Sophie Gaudier, the girl who has stolen his heart. Torn between duty and love, Lucien will do whatever it takes to protect Sophie, but will he have the courage to open his heart to her?
Here’s a sample from the novel. First, check out the first two chapters on Amazon. I pick up where the sample lets off allowing you to read the full first three chapters.
“Anyone can appreciate a handsome man,” Aline added, “even an old woman like myself, and when such a man leads a mysterious and intriguing life…”
Sighing, Sophie headed for the doorway leading into the dining area.
“You’re both right. I spend too much time inside my own head. Let me light the lanterns, and then I’ll set the tables. Roger should be here around six. I may not love him, but I like him, and that’s the crux of my dilemma.”
Izzy smiled. “Sometimes friendship grows into love. Look at Maman and Henri. They were friends first just as Guy and I were.”
“Do you think the women on the ship have all been fortunate enough to fall in love with their husbands?” Sophie’s brows drew together.
Izzy sat down and began to peel the potatoes for the stew.
“I don’t know. Those we left at Canso seemed happy enough.”
The women, married by proxy in France, had rejoiced in their new husbands as had Élise, who’d positively glowed with happiness when she and her mate had visited the settlement in October. All she could do was pray the young girls had found the happiness she had, and that Sophie would eventually discover love as well. Izzy turned back to the vegetables before her, intent on finishing them before she went up to rest before dinner. Who knew carrying a child could be so tiring?
* * *
Seigneurie Lalonde,
Lac des Deux Montagne, West of Ville-Marie
November 16, 1668
Guy sat across the table from Remi Lalonde, the seigneur whose lands abutted his own, sipping a glass of warm caribou. Between the heat from the fireplace and the wine and cognac mixture, nothing—other than his wife’s arms—could’ve warmed him so well. Was he getting soft in his old age?
“Old Man Winter flexed his muscles early this year,” Remi said, shifting in his chair, his previously injured leg propped up on a stool. “I wish the temperature stayed the same. The dry cold is manageable, but this dampness attacks the very marrow of my bones and pains me more than ever. The sisters did their best with my injuries, but on days like these, I’m considering selling my estate to my brother-in-law who’s been managing it for me ever since my accident. A man who can barely sit a horse can’t do much when it comes to clearing land and building houses.”
“What would you do? Return to France?” Guy asked, his eyes narrowed. He’d assumed Remi was on his side, but perhaps he was wrong.
The man shook his head. “There’s nothing there for me, and it’s almost as cold there in winter as here, not to mention the damp springs and autumns. No. I’m considering moving to Martinique where the winter never comes, and the pain would be much less.”
The naked longing on his face reminded Guy of his own aches and pains. He’d wintered on the island just last year while recovering. Afterwards, he’d gone to France and fate had taken over. How quickly life changed, but he wouldn’t trade his new life for anything. He had the woman he’d always loved by his side and a child on the way. What more could any man want?
“I’ve been to the island,” he said, sipping his drink once more. “I recuperated from my own injuries there last year. It’s a magnificent place, warmer than Marseilles, and its beauty far outweighs its dangers. Unfortunately, the three forts on the island sustained a sizeable amount of damage in June, when Rear-Admiral Harman attacked the merchant fleet moored in Saint Pierre. The ship we sailed on was on its way to protect Guyenne which he attacked in the last days of the Anglo-Dutch War, but according to the latest news we heard just before Talon left the colony, the Treaty of Breda signed in August has returned the island and Guyenne to France. The Crown is anxious to reestablish its presence after losing more than one thousand colonist, soldiers, and seamen. In the interim, a former soldier, François Rolle de Laubière, has replaced Robert de Clodoré, as governor.”
“Dangers?” Remi asked frowning, ignoring the colony’s politics.
“You mean in addition to the English fleet, hurricanes, and tropical storms that can destroy everything in a matter of hours? I’ve never seen one, but de Clodoré told me about waves so high, they completely overran a small island, leaving the soil barren because of their heavy salt content.”
“Mon Dieu! Why would anyone choose to live there?”
“Why would any man choose to live in Eden?” Guy asked, leaning back in the chair. “Even Paradise had its snakes. Above all else, it’s an incredibly rich and fertile volcanic island. It may be home to the fer-de-lance, poisonous snakes, but with good sturdy boots and vigilance, they aren’t an issue. I’m considering taking Izzy and our child to winter there once this threat of war and rebellion is over, but I would miss the beauty of the other three seasons far too much to make it my permanent home.”
“You have a point,” Remi agreed. “There’s nothing like the brilliant colors of autumn and the fresh smells and flowers of spring. Perhaps wintering there would be sufficient—as long as it controls the pain and makes life bearable, but on days like these when the dampness settles in, I crave the heat.”
“I can empathize with that. There are days when I, too, would wish for warmth. You know, if you’re serious about leaving, Guyenne, on the mainland of South America has a beauty of its own and is even warmer than Martinique since it’s closer to the equator. I’m assuming now that the colony has been returned to France, the ship we sailed on will have taken up its post there to protect it from the Dutch and Portuguese. Some prisoners have sailed there to work as indentured servants and France has been using it as a place for those exiled because of treason, but you might consider that location. Men of good character are vital to the foundation of any viable colony, but I would miss you, old friend. New France also needs good men like you.”
Remi shook his head. “As much as I might like to leave, I couldn’t take Jeannette away from everything she’s come to love.” He stood and limped over to the sideboard. “Would you like another drink while we wait? The others should be here soon.” He reached for the carafe.
Guy crossed his feet shod in worn leather boots. “Thank you. Perhaps we should consider opening a bottling facility in France and selling it there.” He chuckled. “The cognac and wine are readily available. All they would need is our maple syrup. Who have you invited to join us?”
Remi refilled Guy’s glass and his own, placed the bottle back on its tray, and breathing somewhat more heavily after the exertion, resumed his seat by the fire.
“I’ve sent runners to the eight estates around me, and all of them have agreed to come for an evening of cards. My wife and the servants have been cooking and cleaning all week, getting beds ready although, some who live nearby may opt to return home if the weather holds.”
“And how many do you think are on our side?”
Remi rubbed his chin. “I’ve no doubt the six men who were part of the regiment support our cause. One of them has already renamed his estate Trois Érables. The two who concern me are Charles de Michel and Sylvain Archambault. They were granted their estates by the Compagnie itself. They’ve been here many years, but the estates are poorly developed, their wealth dependent on the fur trade alone. With the French West India Company taking over, I’m not certain where their loyalties lie.”
Guy rubbed his chin. “I’ve had men check the estates between here and Quebec, and they’re presently looking into those farther east. They’ll move across the estuary to check out any estates in the areas where most of the land belongs to the Abenaki and Mi’kmaq, and from there, they’ll visit Port Royal before coming back along the south shore of the Saint Lawrence. According to official records, in the colony itself, there are more than fifty estates controlled directly from France, half of those in the hands of lords heavily involved in the French West India Company. My good friend Nicolas Denys, the governor of Canso, assures me all of his men are loyal to New France, as are those in Acadia. Rumor has it, the French will reclaim that land within a year or two. Loyal Frenchmen have no desire to support the English should a battle occur, and as long as rumors of an Iroquois Confederacy joining the Abenaki are false, there’s no danger there.”
“That’s good to know. If we can hold the coast, we will at least have a means of escape if anything goes wrong, but God willing, it won’t come to that.”
Guy nodded. “From your mouth to God’s ear. My concern is with men nearby, like those you mentioned and those whose lands are near des Courts’ estates as well as Latullipe and Durivage, who have estates to the east of us. I’ve invited them and their neighbors, Corriveau and Gadbois, to a soirée, just before Christmas, an invitation I’ll extend to the men here tonight as well as yourself. While they treated me well and their estates are well-developed with fields producing flax, hemp, corn, and wheat as well as other crops, their dairies at capacity producing some of the best cheese I’ve ever eaten, something about their welcome rang false. It could be on my part since Latullipe harbors Des Anges des Courts and her children…” He shrugged. “I’ll check on the estates on the south shore once the river freezes and can be crossed safely. My other worry is rooted in the tall tales of rich furs and gold far to the south and west of the colony. Men down on their luck will believe almost anything if they think it will lead to untold wealth.”
Remi pursed his lips and reached for the knife on the table to cut a chunk of cheese from the block his wife had brought in earlier.
“I was afraid to mention those, but now that you have, a greedy man with no ties to the colony—no wife, no children, no land—will indeed be tempted, and since those are the very men we need to farm the land and defend us, you have every right to be concerned. My men came to me with tall tales of a secret map confiscated by Pierre Gaudier at the end of the French Iroquois War, one taken from a dying trapper.”
Knowing his friend wasn’t finished, Guy waited, his fingers tapping on his glass as Remi, popped the chunk of cheese into his mouth and chewed as if by doing so the morsel helped him organize his thoughts.
“Whoever is spreading those wild stories is doing so faster than a skunk can poison the air. Two of my engagés whose debt will be repaid come the spring have already mentioned they would like to join an expedition going west to search for this mysterious treasure trove. Has De Courcelle really defied the king and authorized such an expedition?” He narrowed his eyes. “My men are good, strong workers who believe the governor-general is behind this.”
Guy clenched his teeth. “The governor-general has no such expedition in the works. Believe me when I say that had such a map existed and been confiscated, Pierre would’ve brought it to Talon’s attention immediately. Izzy and I leave for Quebec on the twentieth where we’ll host an evening for the seigneurs in and around the settlement on December fifth, and on December sixteenth another in Trois Rivières on our way back. I’ll mention this to him and see how he wants to handle it, but make that clear to your men. Participating in such a venture is illegal.”
Guy stared into his goblet. Just how prevalent was this rumor? Without able-bodied men to defend her, farm her fields, and father children, the colony would flounder without even one shot being fired.
* * *
Riviere Saguenay, New France,
December 18, 1668
Thanks to the unexpected changes in the weather, including several heavier than normal late November storms, it took Lucien and his companions more than five weeks to reach the Saguenay River and the port settlement of Tadoussac, a trade center between the indigenous tribes and the French as well as New France’s only whaling center. They could probably shelter at an inn there for the coldest days of winter, after they checked out the estates along the Saguenay River and the Lac St Jean, but he would prefer to stay with Lallier in the Montagnais village. Even on the iciest days, the stench of rotting whale carcasses was hard on a man’s stomach.
Unable to travel for days at a time because of the inclement weather, they’d sheltered in the homes of colonists, sharing the comfort of their fires, eating the good food that stuck to a man’s ribs in such weather. Most families had a new baby to celebrate, one whose name was added to the roll for the intendant along with the names of those who’d gone to meet their makers. Thanks to a plentiful harvest and lots of available game it would be an easy winter. The older men remaining on the farm with the women while the younger ones were off trapping or hunting, had been hospitable, praising their seigneurs for keep in them safe. A few had never seen their lord, but believed the managers sent to run the estates were fair and honest men. All of them praised Talon and his endeavors. A few who remembered the recent hostilities with the Mohawks were uncomfortable having Okwaho around, but the scout’s ability to find fresh game even in the poorest weather earned him grudging respect from all.
Three of the estates had been deserted, with nothing but survey sticks to mark their existence. No doubt trappers had worked these lands during the summer months—they’d seen bones to prove it and had found a hovel or two that would’ve sheltered them through bad weather—but where were they now?
When Lucien had asked one of the men on the nearby estate about them, the man had shaken his head, claiming they’d gone off with a former soldier, some other trappers, and their scouts, although he’d been unable to even hazard a guess at who they were and where they’d come from. Lupin, a poor devil who’d recognized the soldier and had recently lost his wife and son to croup, had abandoned his land and gone with them. The stranger had been very interested in the mittens the Huron-Wendatwomen made, especially those that seemed to describe the lands they’d abandoned far to the west. Lupin claimed seeing similar mittens at the end of the fighting, items that had been confiscated as spoils of war.
Lucien had shared this information with Okwaho, seeking the Mohawk’s opinion on the matter. Instead of joining him and Yves in the settlers’ homes, the brave had stayed with the native tribes in the area, gathering his information from them. During one of the harsher storms, he’d found shelter in a Huron-Wendat village, the Christian band having allied themselves to a particular seigneur, one who would definitely support the health and growth of the colony.
What had surprised both the brave and Lucien were the Algonquins he’d come across when visiting other Abenaki villages, men working as scouts for the coureurs de bois from the area. The Abenaki were part of the Algonquin Nation as were the Atikamekw, who inhabited the shores of the St. Maurice River, but these Algonquin were Kitcisakik, an area far to the north of Ville-Marie, beyond the boundaries of the colony and the lands of the Anishnabee who lived along the shores of the Ottawa River, or Outaouais as the voyageurs called it. There’d always been bad blood between the Iroquois and the Algonquin, and having so many in the area could lead to hostilities.
While the local men tended to set their traps on their own lands, the professional trappers traveled farther afield, returning to Quebec twice a year to sell their pelts, but they were bound by the charter of the colony to stay within its boundaries. If they were using scouts from so far afield, how could they be doing so?
Lucien had taken note of this discrepancy, and where possible he’d written down the names not only of the trappers but of the estates. The seigneurs from whose land they came could easily be allied with the cabal wanting to stop colonial expansion to allow for greater exploration.
Unlike the colonial farmers, the trappers he’d met had resented what they saw as government interference in their lives—rules limiting trapping to only previously explored lands. On the shore of the Gouffre River north of Isle des Coudres in the Baie St. Paul, they’d come across an estate where only a few acres had been cleared. The six men living there included two Cree from the area far to the west of the colony.
“If I wanted to dig in the earth for my livelihood,” one man said and spit at Lucien’s feet, “I would’ve stayed in Rouen. This land is vast and rich in furs, but does the king really believe if we stay within a certain area, the animals will come to us? The English have no restrictions on where a man can trap, nor the Dutch. If Louis doesn’t change his stance, there won’t be a pelt here left to take, nor a man searching for them. Our enemies will hold title to the entire continent, leaving precious little for France but a few poor dirt farmers.”
The conversation had been sobering, but the one he’d had at an estate along the Malbaie River still ate at him. The manager hired to oversee the land had told him that his lord was considering sending slaves, prisoners convicted of capital crimes including murder and treason, to help him comply with the king’s orders without it impacting his profit. In his estimation, if Guyenne was good enough to serve as a penal colony, why not the more desolate parts of New France? If such men died, no one would mourn their loss.
At least one quarter of each estate had to be cultivated. But while the estate’s owner shared in their bounty, farmers were entitled to keep a substantial portion of the crops they grew, the milk and meat their animals gave them, and the money they received from their lumber and anything else they sold. Not only did cultivated land cut into fur-trapping territory, the landowner had a responsibility to see to it that his tenants were protected. If criminal slaves farmed the land, all they would get would be meager accommodations and enough food to sustain them. The rest would be profit, a fitting way to offset the loss of revenue from furs.
The idea was repulsive to Lucien. It was true that many men and women came to the colony as indentured servants, but when their debts were paid, they were free to prosper. Many of the baptized natives were almost in servitude as it was, but no one could stop them from leaving if they wanted to. He’d traveled to Virginia, one of the English colonies to the south, renowned for growing the best tobacco. He’d seen men, as black as the alluvial soil itself, fettered and working the fields cultivating the tobacco, treated with less respect than the oxen they toiled next to.
In France, he’d seen prisoners working the fields that way, men who’d exchanged their years in a cell to toil outside. Maybe for them it was a better way, but he doubted the slaves in Virginia had committed any crimes. The Dutch trapper he’d been with had told them the men and women came from Africa, brought in great ships. If their crossing had been as bad as his and Alain’s, it was a miracle any chose to come. He’d said as much, and the man had laughed himself to tears. When Lucien had asked him what he’d said that was so funny, the Dutchman had remarked that he doubted any of them had come voluntarily.
So far, they’d managed to check out ten freehold farms, held by former soldiers paid in land for their service protecting the colony, and twelve estates, the last two a couple of days west of their current location near the Rivière Noire. One was thriving with evidence of healthy animals and a silo full of grain. The other was as Guy had feared—nothing more than a lucrative trapping area with a landlord in France who counted its value on the number of pelts it sent him each year. They’d encountered Cree there, too. Guy would not be pleased when he learned of this.
The Price of Courage is available exclusively through Amazon. If you don’t have a Kindle, you can download the free apt to any of your devices. It’s also free to read in Kindle Unlimited.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the blog post where a small group of select authors share their works in progress with you. Sometimes we have a word prompt and create a 400 word scene; at others, we have a picture prompt and are limited to 300 words.
I’m continuing with my holiday romance, Forever in my Heart part of my Winter Weddings series. Here is the image I selected.
Enjoy!
“What the hell did I do to myself last night? I feel as though I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.”
Callista Hayworth glanced at the clock. Ten forty-five. She wasn’t working until seven tonight, but if she didn’t feel any better after a shower, she might have to call in sick. While she was fully vaccinated, COVID and its variants were still around, and the folks in the long-term care facility where she worked as a nurse were vulnerable.
Standing, she walked to the sink and rinsed her cup. In all honesty if she was sick, it was probably an illness of her own making. She walked down the hallway, stopping to examine the framed photographs there, focusing on the one of the sunset she’d taken when she and Brett had spent the weekend at that B & B last July. She’d known letting him get close was a mistake, but she’d been lonely and vulnerable, having lost two patients that week. They’d had a great time—sex with Brett was always satisfying—and she’d believed things were different this time, that it might work out. It hadn’t.
Was she to blame? Probably, but she’d been damaged goods for six years now, and that wasn’t going to change.
After downing two analgesic tablets, she checked her temperature—36.4 normal. She stepped into the shower stall, turned on the water, leaned her head against the wall, and let the hot water sluice down her back, easing the sore muscles. She pushed her wet hair off her face and silently cursed the universe.
If she’d known what Brett had planned to do last night, she would’ve stopped him and saved them both pain and embarrassment, not to mention the hangover from hell, the price you paid for temporary oblivion.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
If there is anything I’ve learned along my writing journey, it’s that I suck at promotion. My abilities are as stark as my granddaughter’s winter scene. In fact, I have absolutely no idea how to promote myself, and anything I try is a wasted effort.
Sound familiar? I can’t believe I’m the only one in this boat. Sure, money is a factor, but in my case, part of the problem is that I don’t feel comfortable tooting my own horn. I’m uncomfortable posting my stuff on any social platform, bothering my friends and followers, essentially begging people to buy my work.
Luckily, I have a friend who knows better than I do. She excels at promotion and is starting to help me crawl out of my cave and get with the program. She’s the one who convinced me that instead of a number of standalone books, I should consider grouping them into series. The Harvester Files were written that way, but then I moved my revenge themed books into another, The Vengeance Is Mine Series. When I was persuaded to try my hand at first person romantic comedy, chick-lit, I created the Cocktails For You Series. Finally, when I decided to honor my father and his love of the paranormal, I came up with the Guardians Series. After several years in the making, The Price of Courage, the second book in the Canadiana Series is ready to be released.
The premise is that series sell, and I’ve seen the proof of that in the books I have in a couple of the Author’s Billboard box set series–the Unforgettables, the Protectors, Cute But Crazy, and the Sweet & Sassy box sets. So now, when I begin a new book, I think of which series will be best for it.
I have a few holiday themed books out, but I hadn’t really looked at what, other than Christmas, might unite them. When I took a second look, I realized that many of the books, ended with a proposal or a wedding. And so, when I wanted to write a new Christmas story that would take my characters from deep grief to happiness, I decided to create the Winter Weddings Series.
Now, to promote a new series, it needs new covers, and as always, my cover artist, Melinda De Ross, has outdone herself.
Let’s start with Holiday Magic.
Seeing is believing, or is it?
Georgia Baxter loved everything about Christmas until she walked in on her fiancé in bed with another woman. Wounded and heart sore, she canceled her Christmas Eve fantasy wedding and fled to New York City, leaving everything and everyone, including her twin sister, Eleni, behind.
Three years later, still hurting but knowing it’s time to move on, she agrees to come home to help her sister, despite the fact she’ll be doing so at a time of year she now associates only with pain and betrayal. Discovering she’ll have to work closely with the man who shattered her dreams only makes things harder, especially when her body craves his touch.
Mark Anderson has no memory of his bachelor party other than waking up naked in the wrong woman’s bed. He clings to the hope someday he can convince Georgia to give him a second chance, but until she’s ready to listen, it won’t happen. Discovering she’s coming home to manage Holiday Magic for three months may be his lucky break.
Is there enough magic left in Christmas to help them overcome the past?
And what of the other twin. Can she find The Perfect Choice?
All’s fair in love and war…or is it?
Eleni Baxter has always been the impulsive twin requiring rescue from one scheme or another. Avoiding relationships because of trust issues, Eleni throws herself into her wedding and party fantasy firm, Holiday Magic. When her designs for a Halloween decorating scheme win her a shot at being the exclusive special events coordinator for the Ocean Front Casino Resort, she jumps at it, without reading the fine print. As always, twin sister Georgia comes to the rescue.
Reclusive millionaire casino owner Garth Joseph Smits Simmons has shunned publicity and gold-diggers for as long as he can remember, hiding behind a series of disguises to protect his identity. When beautiful, talented special events coordinator Eleni Baxter walks into his life, he’s determined to find a way to make her fall in love with him without revealing his true identity. Designing a contract to hire her and keep her in close proximity for three months seems like a stroke of genius, but having a double life becomes more complicated than ever.
With the holiday season in full swing, Joe decides it’s time to come clean, but will the magic of the holiday season be enough for Eleni to forgive him his deception, or will he lose it all on one throw of the dice?
When life gives you sour, rotten lemons, lemonade isn’t always an option. Maybe it’s time to Come Home For Christmas.
This past year has been a miserable one for Krista Jacobs, and what’s going to make it even worse is having to spend Christmas at Seven Oaks, the Alberta ranch that was her home until her uncle tossed her out on her ear before her nineteenth birthday.
But Uncle Charles is gone and has left her something in his will—something she can only have if she spends Christmas at the ranch with Ethan Terrance, her step-cousin, and the man she’d hoped to marry ten years ago.
When Charles Terrance died, the last thing Ethan expected to discover was that not only had his dad sabotaged his relationship with Krista, he’d cheated her out of the inheritance that should’ve been hers ten years ago. Since Ethan’s never been able to forget the woman he loved, he’ll do whatever he has to in order to make things right—including having his lawyer send her a request she can’t ignore. Krista has to come home for Christmas.
The new book in the series is Forever in my Heart.
Love is immortal, but it will take a miracle to heal these bruised and broken hearts.
Michael Branscomb swore off women years ago, after getting jilted by the woman he loved and trusted. The last thing the confirmed bachelor wants or needs is a wife and children, but you don’t always get what you want. A deathbed promise to his twin brother has to be honored. The problem is, the lady involved may not agree, and with good reason.
Six years ago, Callie walked in on her fiancé and her sister and walked right back out again—out of the house, their lives, and the town—and did her best to forget it all, including the magical Christmas wedding she’d planned. Changing her name in a bid to start over, she’s made a new present and future for herself, intent on cutting all ties to the past. If she’s lonely at times, that’s the price she pays protecting herself from more heartbreak.
But sometimes, things are easier said than done, especially when the past shows up on her doorstep, carrying twin girls, and proposing marriage—on the very date she should’ve wed his brother.
Can Callie and Mike overcome the pain of the past to give love a chance and provide their orphan nieces the family they deserve?
For the last couple of years, I’ve been part of a weekly blog where I’ve posted scenes from my works in progress. Some give you a lot of the story, others are only short glimpses. I began working on Forever in my Heart in late June. To see how the book is unfolding, check the Tuesday Tales posts from June 28th onward. A sad beginning will lead to love, Christmas magic, and another winter wedding.
As always, my books are exclusive to Amazon and available to read free in Kindle Unlimited. Don’t have a kindle? You can download the free Kindle App on any device. Visit Amazon to see how.
Enjoy the rest of your week, and as always, stay safe.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week our prompt is CREAM. A apologize for being 19 words over, but I wanted to finish the scene. Here’s Forever in my Heart.
Luke turned his hand and grabbed Mike’s, his grip painful.
“You … have to promise me…”
“Anything, man, anything.”
“The girls … take care of them…”
“Of course, and I’ll see that the staff looks after the ranch until you’re on your feet again.”
Luke coughed, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth.
“Both know … that won’t happen.”
“Don’t be a cream puff. I’ve seen guys in worse shape than you,” he lied.
“Callie’s … going to … blame me … again…”
Mike frowned. Obviously he meant his wife. He didn’t know anyone named Callie.
“Cassie understands. Not much you can do when you meet something that size.”
Luke’s grip tightened. “Not Cassie … Callie, her sister … twins … but not like us. Fraternal. I was supposed … to marry her … met Cassie … couldn’t go back. So similar and yet different…” He struggled to speak and went into a coughing spasm, blood coming out and seeping down his chin.
“Don’t talk. Rest,” Mike begged, fighting to keep his tears at bay.
Luke closed his eyes and opened them again. “Need to tell you … We tried … couldn’t make her see the love … wouldn’t forgive us … Find her … Make it right.”
“Those must be some good drugs you’re tripping on,” he said, confused.
Cassie might have a sister, but a twin? A twin wouldn’t have stayed angry all these years. He couldn’t have, that was certain.
“Talk to Calvin Ross … he’s got all the papers … he knows. Make it right, Mike … Marry her … Give the girls a family … Promise me.”
“You have my word. I’ll take care of everything. You just rest, now.”
He would’ve promised to lasso the moon if it made Luke rest easier.
A coughing fit, followed by huge amounts of blood pouring from his mouth shook Luke.
The monitors all started beeping at once. The paramedic rushed to his side. He gave Luke a shot of epinephrine, ripped open what had once been a cream and black plaid shirt, and started CPR.
Complete emptiness filled him. Mike blinked, praying the pain would return. Luke was gone.
Tears rolling down his cheeks, Mike reached out and touched the EMT’s shoulder.
“He’s gone. Leave him be. It’s better this way. Let him go.”
The EMT looked over his shoulder and nodded.
Mike let the tears fall. His beloved brother was gone, and he’d made him a promise he had no idea how to keep.
Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the blog where a small group of authors share their work with you. Each week, we write to a word of picture prompt. I’m currently working on a Holiday Romance entitled Forever in my Heart.
Since I’m a visual person, I like having my covers early since I find they inspire me. Enjoy.
“Carson,” Jacob called to the EMT. “This is his brother.”
“You’re Mike?” the man asked. “Thank God! He keeps asking for you. I gave him enough pain medication to stop a bull moose in his tracks—geez, I can’t believe I was crass enough to say that. I had a hard time getting him to settle down.” The EMT shook his head. “I’m sorry but there’s no way to cushion this. His chances aren’t good. In fact, I don’t know what the hell is keeping him here. When the vehicle hit the wall, it sent the engine into the front seat, crushing his legs, pelvis, lower spine and abdomen. The pain he feels is from the broken arms and crushed ribs as well as damage to his upper organs. One lung has collapsed, and he’s bleeding internally. Judging by the amount of red on the seat, not all his, I know, but … you can ride with us.”
The paramedics loaded the stretcher into the ambulance and strapped it down.
Mike grabbed the side of the ambulance for leverage and pulled himself inside. He might be a veterinarian, but he’d seen more than his fair share of bad vehicle accidents as a volunteer firefighter in Timberton.
Carl touched his shoulder, the sorrow in his eyes saying it all.
“I’m sorry, Mike. They’re taking them both to Calgary. It’ll be a hell of a drive, but no place around here can deal with it, and there’s no way the helo can land in this crap. I’ll talk to Lucy. Don’t worry about anything.”
“Thanks.” He settled on the chair at his brother’s head, its cushion frozen solid and rock hard, while the paramedic finished securing the ambo. Someone shut the doors.
Mike looked down at his twin brother. The face he knew as well as his own was blood covered, both eyes swollen shut. He reached out to take his hand, thought better of it in case it was broken, like so much of him was, and just touched the back of it instead.
The truth hit him with a pain all its own. Luke wasn’t going to make it through this. How would he ever manage without the other half of himself?
“Mike?” The word was spoken so softly, he’d almost missed it.
“I’m here, Luke.” His own voice was hoarse, filled with pain.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
A few years ago, when I started writing, I wasn’t sure what my preferred genre would be. As a reader, I adored mystery, suspense, mild paranormal, and historical novels. I wasn’t into porn, not even soft porn, but I needed a happy ending. When I decided to take being an author seriously, my first releases were romantic suspense thrillers. I followed them with a contemporary romance with some humor in it, and then tried my hand at historical fiction. After that, I sort of bounced from one genre to the other, based on where my muse sent me. Recently, I’ve dabbled in romantic comedy, too, but somehow, I always feel the need to go back and rethink things.
I began my writing career in 2013, not that long ago in the scope of things. In 2014, I released The Price of Honor, a Canadian historical romance, with a traditional publisher. Five years later, when my rights reverted to me, I edited the book to suit my own tastes, added a few things to the story–after all it was a fictitious account of my own family’s arrival in New France–and released it independently.
Books about early New France, Canada’s original name, aren’t plentiful. My country seems to lack the romance of kilt-clad Scottish lords, philandering English and French royalty, lusty sheiks and sultans, and rebellious Americans. In fact, it lacks the glamor attached to the historical development of many other countries. We had our rebellions, our battles, our wars, but they were so low key that the rest of the world didn’t notice. And yet, we made a lot of mistakes along the way as recent history proves.
In the seventeenth century, it was all about empire building. Europe was crowded. The kings and queens wanted more land, more power, more influence. Most importantly, they wanted more riches. The prevailing thought was that if they could find another route to the orient, one that didn’t involve Marco Polo’s Silk Road or require circumnavigating Africa or South America, it would be easier to get rich quick. The Spaniards were the first to try their luck at things and found the Mayans, Aztec, and Incas and their gold.
England and France both wanted a piece of that action, but it didn’t quite work out that way. England di find the rich tobacco growing lands of Virginia and the fur trapping of the northern thirteen colonies–after they took New Amsterdam away from the dutch of course. states. So what did that leave for France? Land farther north–rich in furs, but far less hospitable. Still, there was more to New France than furs and the French crown set out to prove that their decision to claim the land hadn’t been a mistake.
The Price of Honor, Book One of the Canadiana Series is set in 1668, at a time when New France’s boundaries were set by the land explored by Champlain. Trappers were required to stay within those boundaries because the Crown saw that as the best way to protect the few settlers there from the Dutch and the English to the south and a host of hostile indigenous tribes who didn’t want to give up their lands but were given no choice in the matter.
Cover by Melinda De Ross
What is the price of honor? For Isabelle de Caen Gaudier, it’s disobeying the king, leaving her home, and giving up her identity.When King Louis orders Isabelle to marry the Chevalier d’Angrignon, she’s appalled. There is no way she can obey and wed the man she believes may be involved in her husband’s murder and her father’s poisoning. Add to that, the monster may be paving his way to the throne of France for the children she’ll bear him by killing all those ahead of her in line, something she can’t allow. For the sake of her honor, Isabelle de Caen must die.Hoping everyone will believe she drowned in the millpond, Isabelle disguises herself and sneaks aboard the ship taking her beloved cousin Sophie to the New World. That’s where the charged of treason against her husband originated, and that’s where Isabelle hopes to find the answers to clear his name and implicate the chevalier. But her plans threaten to fail when Guy Poirier, an old friend and her first love, finds her hiding under his bed.Guy knows Pierre Gaudier isn’t a traitor. The man was on an errand for the governor-general of New France, bringing him critical information, but he was killed before he could deliver it. Someone doesn’t want the king to know what’s really happening in the colony. When Guy finds Isabelle hiding under his bed, he jumps at the chance to help the woman he’s always loved and clear his friend’s name, and if Isabelle can some day return his affections, that would be the best reward he could get.But things are far more complicated than either of them suspects. After examining information found aboard a vessel attacked possibly by pirates and a wampum belt pointing to an alliance between the Iroquois Confederacy and tribes to the south, Guy fears for the lives of all those in the colony. There’s more than one conspiracy afoot, and with Isabelle at his side, he seeks to find the men behind it all to save not only the woman he loves, but the place he now calls home. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07BRTL4P6
It had always been my intention to write the sequel to the story, but life and my muse had different ideas. Finally this summer, I finished the second book in the series.
This sequel to The Price of Honor continues the adventure.
When the enemy is faceless, whom can you trust?
Former trapper Lucien Rioux joins Guy Poirier, the governor-general, and the intendant in the search for the conspirators who want to see New France fail as a settlement to allow for more exploration into the rich, fur-bearing lands to the north and west. His mission is to verify that all of the estates in the hands of absentee landlords are being farmed, but he finds far more than he expected–a pregnant woman and her children left to die, escaped convicts searching for a missing treasure map embroidered on a pair of leather mittens, and one man searching for the former Isabelle de Caen, Guy’s pregnant wife, and her cousin Sophie Gaudier, the girl who has stolen his heart. Torn between duty and love, Lucien will do whatever it takes to protect Sophie, but will he have the courage to open his heart to her?
This isn’t only Sophie and Lucien’s story. It also looks at the difficult life faced by everyone, from Nugoomee, a Mi’kmaq woman whose husband is murdered while she and her children are left for dead, rescued by a Mohawk who should’ve been her enemy but makes her his wife instead.
It continues the love story between Izzy and Guy, now expecting their first child, and let’s us take a look at Aline, Guy’s mother, and Henri, the former ship’s cook who leaves the sea to run and inn and adopts half-Huron, half-french twins.
It shows us what happened to Murielle, Isabelle de Caen’s nanny. And finally, we get a glimpse of the ongoing machinations of the Chevalier D’Angrignon as he continues to worm his way to the crown.
Life was hard in seventeenth century France, but for those determined to turn this land into a nation, it abounded with rewards, too.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. It’s hard to believe we’ve reached then end of July! This was always a bittersweet time for me because it meant the summer was half over and the school year would be starting soon. Now that I’m retired, it’s just another month down.
This week our word prompt is BOARD. I’m continuing with Forever in my Heart.
The book not only has a blurb now, it has a cover. All I need to do is finish writing it. Shouldn’t be too difficult!
Love is immortal, but it will take a miracle to heal these bruised and broken hearts.
Michael Branscomb swore off women years ago, after getting jilted by the woman he loved and trusted. The last thing the confirmed bachelor wants or needs is a wife and children, but you don’t always get what you want. A deathbed promise to his twin brother has to be honored. The problem is, the lady involved may not agree, and with good reason.
Six years ago, Callie walked in on her fiancé and her sister and walked right back out again—out of the house, their lives, and the town—and did her best to forget it all, including the magical Christmas wedding she’d planned. Changing her name in a bid to start over, she’s made a new present and future for herself, intent on cutting all ties to the past. If she’s lonely at times, well that’s the price she pays protecting herself from more heartbreak.
But sometimes, things are easier said than done, especially when the past shows up on her doorstep, carrying twin girls, and proposing marriage—on the very date she should’ve wed his brother.
Can Callie and Mike overcome the pain of the past to give love a chance and provide their orphan nieces the family they deserve?
Here’s this week’s scene. Enjoy.
Staring ahead, even in the gloom, Mike could see the carnage. Luke had swerved to avoid the bull moose on the opposite side of the road, but not fast enough to avoid the collision. The animal lay on its side, his back legs obviously broken. Someone had shot it, ending its misery, but it was the sight of the vehicle that stopped Mike’s heart. From here it looked as if the face of the escarpment and Luke’s SUV were one. For all intents and purposes, the front of the vehicle no longer existed, the windshield replaced by the solid rock wall.
While collisions with deer and elk were common, hitting a moose during a storm like this was rare. But it was mating season, and a bull moose in rut stopped for nothing. This weather kept most people at home. Why the hell had Luke left the resort? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to wait another day. With the snow and ice, stopping in time to prevent the accident would’ve been impossible.
The whine of the firefighter’s saw ripped through the air, followed by the sound of metal being torn apart. Over to one side, two EMT’s loaded a body in a black bag into the back of an ambulance.
He swallowed. Cassie! The new mother would never see her baby girls grow up.
Tears slipped down his cheeks. He knew there’d been problems between her and her sister—she hadn’t shown up for the wedding nor the christening last month. Would she have the decency to come for the funeral?
He swiped at his tears and turned back to the officer.
“Where is he? Where’s my brother?”
“It looks like they’ve finally managed to get him out. They’re strapping him to the back board. The EMT said Cassie died on impact. Luke … well, he’s hanging on. He was calling for you earlier.”
“I need to see her.”
He shoved Jacob out of the way. He’d only taken one step when the man touched his arm.
“Stop. Mike. I know you’ve seen some awful things, but better you don’t see that. The EMT said she died instantly. Probably never knew what hit her.” He looked around the vehicle to the driver’s side. “They’ve got Luke on the stretcher.”
Mike exhaled, his breath wobbly and pain-filled. Even in the rain, he couldn’t mistake the copious amounts of blood.
That’s it!
Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Living the Dream 