Back from an incredible vacation and celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary. Now, I’m ready to tackle all of my fall reading, writing, and editing challenges. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our word prompt is SOUND. I’m continuing with my holiday romance, Forever in my Heart. My trip allowed me to have a closer look at the area where I’ve set the story. Below are a few of the places I’ll be mentioning in the book
Images from top left: Icefield Skywalk, Lake Maligne, Banff Springs Hotel, Bow Lake, Jasper Lodge, Various Glaciers en route, Victoria Glacier, Lake Louise, John and I atop Sulfur Mountain in Banff.
Here’s this week’s scene, Enjoy.
Calvin sat in his chair across a desk that could probably serve as a dining room table for a family of ten.
“I always caution my clients to discuss their wills with the executors when there are custody issues. Did Luke and Cassie talk to you about theirs?”
Custody issues? Mike shook his head. What was there to talk about? He was Luke’s only living relative, other than the twins. Everything went to them in trust, and he would see to it that the resort prospered. He would look after those two little ladies as if they were his own.
“No, but Luke was talking crazy talk before he died. He said something about Cassie having a twin sister, one he was supposed to marry.”
The lawyer nodded. “Tilda was on her deathbed, but she saw it coming. She tried to warn Callie, soften the blow, but that girl was so blinded by love and those Christmas wedding plans, she couldn’t see the nose on her face. But you just had to see Cassie and Luke together to know there was something magical there. They were meant for each other.”
“Are you telling me he jilted one sister practically at the altar and then married the other one?” He shook his head in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like the brother I know—knew. Why would he have kept something like that from me? The last thing he asked me was to look after the girls and make things right with the aunt. He even had me promise to marry her.”
“Did you?”
“Damn straight. I would’ve promised him the moon if it had helped. So what really happened? He claimed you knew all about it.” Mike swallowed the lump in his throat. It didn’t seem right to talk about his brother this way, but he had to know. “How could he have done such a thing … and Cassie, to do that to her twin … I don’t get it.”
Calvin rubbed his chin. “Love does strange things to people. Cassie and Callie were separated as infants, one parent each taking one child. It wasn’t until Callie’s mother died that the girls learned they were sisters. That was about ten years ago. Callie was a nurse in Vancouver, and Cassie was a school teacher in Banff.”
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
There is never a wrong time to snuggle up and fall in love! The Authors’ Billboard has another Sweet and Sassy boxset aimed directly at Falling Into Love.
This four-book set from USA Today Bestselling, Award-Winning Authors contains stories of second chances, single parents, small-towns and large. With some touches of suspense, unexpected sparks, and close-knit families, these characters are out to find more than they bargained for while Falling Into Love.
Stacy Eaton, USA Today Bestselling Author, Bradley, Loving a Young Series: With a new house in her name, Nolan Nickels seeks out the perfect plan to get the house ready so she can bring her two daughters’ home, but is her fixer-upper more than she bargained after Brad Young comes to help?
Susanne Matthews, Bestselling Author, – Make Mine a Manhattan: Assuming her heroine’s identity, Savannah Long heads for New York to experience life and gets far more than she bargained for.
Denise Devine, USA Today Bestselling Author, – Unfinished Business: When Alana Morgan’s life is upended by a suspicious death and a betrayal, she joins forces with Reid Sinclair to uncover the evidence she desperately seeks.
Taylor Lee, USA Today Bestselling Author – You Can’t Always Get What You Want: He’s a hard as nails police chief. She’s a feisty ADA. The one thing they have in common is arrogance. Sparks flare when the challenging duo face off.
Each and every book in this series is worth its weight in gold! I’m going to focus on my newest book in the set, Make Mine a Manhattan. This book is also part of the Cocktails for You series, which means it’s full of humor as well as serious, romantic scenes.
What’s an author to do when, thanks to writer’s block, she’s hopelessly stuck?
With only eight weeks left to finish her newest novel, bestselling author Sydney Sanders, aka Robin Langford, is stumped. On impulse, the thirty-three-year old introvert decides to take her agent’s advice and shift gears, but instead of going on a short vacation, she decides on hands-on research. Immersing herself in her story and assuming her heroine’s identity, she heads to Manhattan to live out the plot. What could possibly go wrong?
As Savanna Long, she boards the train, expecting a quiet ride and time to refresh her muse for the chore ahead. But a lot can happen during the thirty-eight hour trip, especially with her imagination and the drop-dead gorgeous passenger in the next car.
We all know that the best laid plans can often go awry, and for Robin that’s exactly what happens.
Here’s a glimpse at the opening scene from the novel.
You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.
Dr. Seuss
Chapter One
“Please, Mom, can’t you just let it go?” I begged, regretting my decision to stop in for a cold drink after my morning run. “You asked and I said no, and I mean it. I’m not interested. Nyet, nada, nein, non.”
There were two disadvantages to wearing a mask to protect myself and others from COVID-19. The first was the difficulty breathing when one was hyperventilating and the second was the inability to see someone’s lower facial expressions, but the eyes never lied.
From the storm clouds in my mother’s gray ones, I knew she was angry with me, but I was just as mad at her—well, maybe not at her exactly—but I was frustrated, and this scheme of hers was just one more complication I didn’t need, one more reason for my heavy breathing, and it had nothing to do with being out of shape. At the moment, I was hot and sweaty. I just wanted my iced capp and then a shower.
“It’s not as if Mayor Loucks asks you for favors every day,” Mom continued with another volley in an argument I was determined she would never win.
“For the last time, Mom, I refuse to go out with every eligible Tom, Dick, or Harry someone throws in my path,” I stated, my teeth gritted so tightly, they ached. “Besides. We’re still supposed to be staying socially distant. I’m perfectly content in my own bubble. I like my life here as it is, without a lot of fanfare. Shakespeare and I are just fine.”
Mom harrumphed as she finished putting the final touches on my iced cappuccino. The good thing about having a parent who owned a coffee shop was the free drinks, the bad thing was the unsolicited advice.
“I don’t understand why you’re being so obstinate and selfish,” she continued. “The pandemic is winding down. There hasn’t been a new case in days, and this is just one little dinner—a barbecue picnic, for heaven’s sake. You’ll be outside. The man is in Flowerfield to look over the old Dog Mountain ski area. If he agrees to invest in it, it’ll be a shot in the arm for the town, and Lord knows, we can use it. Franklin assures me the man has had both of his Coronavirus vaccines and has a negative test. You can’t get any safer than that these days, and you know it. Besides, Lacey says he’s gorgeous, cultured, and filthy rich. You aren’t getting any younger and quality husband material isn’t easy to find around here. I would think you would be happy to take one for the town.”
“Take one for the town? Just what are you suggesting, Mother? I’m perfectly happy without a prick between my legs or anywhere else,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Sydney Robin Langford, you watch your mouth. I didn’t raise you to speak like that and you know it. That is most definitely not what I meant. There are decent folks in here who want to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee without listening to your foul language. The way you’re behaving these days, I swear you’ve become anti-social. Maybe you should see Doctor Edwards. You could’ve started premature menopause.”
I exhaled forcefully. I couldn’t say prick, but my mother, in the same quiet tone a five-year-old uses to whisper, could inform the town that her thirty-three year old daughter was menopausal.
“Mom, I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to play nice-nice with some rich carpetbagger who’ll probably walk away from the deal anyway.”
“You’re too busy? I doubt that. You’re the only person I know who actually enjoyed all those months of quarantine. If I hadn’t insisted you come to dinner last night, you would’ve brushed off your sister and your nephew as well as your dad and me. So tell me, Miss Too-Good-to-Do-The-Town-A-Simple-Favor, what is it that you’re working on? And don’t say school work because you started summer vacation last week.”
“I’m … I’m working on a special course—something online,” I stammered, the half-lie slipping out of my mouth.
“You’re always working on something online. The governor says that the kids will be going back to in-classroom learning this fall, so you can quit trying to develop those—what did you call them? Oh yes—innovative and exciting online lessons.” Her eyes narrowed. “I was reading about screen time dependency. Are you addicted to video games? Good Lord, don’t tell me you’rewatching porn or chatting with some stranger who could well be a serial killer.”
“Mother! I don’t know where you get your ideas, but no!”
I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and reached for my cappuccino. And here I thought I was the one with the wild imagination. It was perfectly acceptable to send me on a blind date with a stranger who had money and might invest it in the town, but if I were to meet anyone online, he would be the next Jeffrey Dahmer.
“Forget it. You wouldn’t understand. You never have.” I stepped back. “I have to get home and feed Shakespeare.”
My mother turned and glared at me.
“You treat that cat better than you treat the members of your own family. Fine. I’ll call Franklin and make some excuse, but you’ll regret not helping out when the town needed you. If Stargazer Enterprise does reopen the mountain, having a close personal relationship with the CEO would be quite advantageous.”
Would she never give up? On the defensive now, I harrumphed.
“Since when does a blind date barbecue picnic I have no intention of attending morph into a close personal relationship? Forget it, Mom. I’m not the sacrificial virgin ready to be tossed into the volcano to save the town. Unless you agree not to harp on this again, I’m not coming back for lunch with Callie and Mickey.”
The bell rang announcing the arrival of another customer.
Thank you, Lord.
“Fine,” Mom agreed, but her tone made it clear she wasn’t happy about it. “Maybe he doesn’t need a date per se. There will be plenty of single women there. I’ll see you at one thirty sharp.”
She frowned, her mask moving up her face almost obliterating her eyes.
I sighed, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the end of it, but if I didn’t make lunch, I wouldn’t survive the lecture that was sure to follow. How old would I have to be before she would let me live my own life?
“I’ll be here.”
Turning abruptly, I collided with the mountain behind me, splashing my iced capp all over both of us, the beige froth settling and melting on top of his loafers.
A collective gasp filled the room, and I was suddenly aware of the dozens of gazes fixed on me. This was the icing on my sucks-to-be-me day!
There was Frank, the town mechanic and Sylvia who ran the dry cleaners. Was that Mayor Loucks? Hard to tell with the mask, hat, and sunglasses. When news of my latest debacle got around—and it would do so at super-sonic speed, His Worship would be glad to have avoided setting up his big buyer with the Queen of Klutz and Bad Luck.
“Oh my God,” Mom cried. “What have you done? I swear when God was handing out clumsiness, you asked for a double dose. Don’t you ever watch where you’re going?”
Where I’m going? Injured party here!
Speechless, I gaped at the huge, wet spot spreading across the man’s tan shirt and khaki pants, scarcely noticing the fact that my white cotton t-shirt was just as wet. Tilting my head up, I stared at the black mask, mirrored sunglasses, and brim of a Panama hat. When had I ever seen a man with such broad shoulders? To rub a little salt into the wound of my humiliation, despite my mask, the aroma of his aftershave tickled my nose, and I sneezed.
Heat filled my cheeks. No doubt the top half of my face was as red as a ripe tomato, and considering I had frizzy, carrot-colored hair, currently pulled up into a messy bun on the top of my head, it wouldn’t be a good look on me. I peered at the mess I’d made, suddenly aware of the fact that my tightened nipples were poking out of my wet shirt.
Mortification mixed with indignation, and my brain clicked into gear. I set the empty cup on the table beside me and tried to cover my wet chest with my arms.
The stranger just stood there, looking down on me.
Not known for my patience and diplomacy, I lashed out at him in a tone worthy of Katerina in The Taming of the Shrew.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there. Of course, if you hadn’t been standing right on my ass, we might’ve avoided the collision. Or don’t you know what six feet, social distancing means?”
He hissed in a sharp breath but didn’t speak, no doubt because he knew I was right.
Mom raced around the counter with a damp cloth and a pile of napkins.
“Don’t just stand there, do something.”
Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the damp cloth from her, and started dabbing at the coffee on my t-shirt.
“Not you, for heaven’s sake,” Mom barked.
So much for motherly love and compassion!
Pasting a fake smile on my face, I turned to the man and began rubbing at the stain on his shirt and pants, praying they wouldn’t stain; otherwise, I would be expected to cough up for replacement designer clothes that cost more than my annual tax bill. My new t-shirt was probably ruined, and that annoyed me more, causing me to rub harder.
I stopped dead, my heart pounding out a primitive beat, my lungs refusing to function.
While the stranger had to be at least six foot six, I was barely five feet tall. Most of the coffee stain was on his crotch, a fact my addled brain had ignored. My hand was essentially massaging that area of his anatomy, and I could feel something cylindrical growing hard under it.
I jumped away as if I’d been tasered. The old, Is that a flashlight in your pocket or are you happy to see me joke ripped through my mind, and I smothered a giggle.
“Robin, you’re just making it worse,” my mother said, handing the man the pile of napkins. “Perhaps you would like to step into the washroom, sir?”
The man grunted and reached for the napkins. I couldn’t help noticing his hands. Whoever I’d collided with had the hands of a pianist, with long tapered fingers. What would it be like to have hands like that caress my body?
Mother of God! What is wrong with me? As soon as he moved away, I rushed out the door, jogging the three blocks home faster than I’d ever run them before, grateful that at seven in the morning, the street was all but deserted.
You can read all about Robin’s adventures in Make Mine a Manhattan, part of the Sweet & Sassy Falling into Love box set available now for only 99 cents USD. Preorder your copy today.
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This is picture prompt week. Here’s the picture I chose:
Brick walls usually symbolize a dead end. In Callie’s case, it will be a beginning, one she never expected. I’ve just returned from a wonderful vacation out west where I visited Jasper, Lake Louise, Banff, and Calgary, adding a little business to my pleasure as I checked out the area that will feature predominantly in this book. Now, I’ll continue with Forever in my Heart.
Sofa cushion soaked in useless tears, Callie sat up. Whatever had caused the body aches was no doubt responsible for these blues, too, and since it was almost her time of the month … From experience, she knew that the only way to cure the melancholy was either a good, long run or a pint of ice cream. Considering her aching body, she headed for the freezer and opened it.
“Rats,” she groaned the word.
There was none of her favorite salted caramel, no chocolate mint chip, not even any French vanilla. The only frozen treat—if you could even call it that—was a small container of the black cherry frozen yogurt she’d bought by accident, thinking it was ice cream. How could she have a pity party without decent ice cream?
Opening the lid, she stared at the antacid pink interior of the yogurt container, noting the ice crystals that had formed along the sides and top. Her stomach revolted.
“Yuck! I should’ve tossed it away the day I bought it. I may be having a rough day, but I’m not ready to make myself sick over it. I might as well smack my head against a brick wall, hoping it’ll make the headache go away.”
She’d just placed the container in the sink to melt when her phone rang. Hoping it wasn’t Brett again, and not certain she was ready to talk to Becca yet, she let it go.
Too curious for her own good, she checked the message.
“Miss Hayworth, this is Calvin Ross, an attorney from Timberton. It’s imperative that I speak to you as soon as possible. I’m afraid your sister was involved in a fatal accident…”
Whatever else he said was lost as a void as profound as the universe sucked Callie down.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Welcome to September. Where has the year gone? Today, I continue with Forever in my Heart. The Tuesday Tale word is FIGHT.
“I suppose I shouldn’t have turned the phone off,” she admitted. “I apologize. Leaving like that … I guess I just wasn’t thinking straight. You know—the old fight or flight instinct—not that we were going to fight…”
No, she’d been in full panic mode, a wounded gazelle fleeing a pride of hungry lions.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I understand why you did. Becca explained things to me. I wish you’d told me first, but a lot of things fell into place. I can see my rushing you like that wasn’t a good thing. Why don’t we just let things go back to the way they were between us? No talks of marriage. We’ll be like Leonard and Penny, and who knows, maybe someday … I love you, Callista. I’m not ready to face the future without you.”
The pain in his voice was her undoing, and tears streamed down her face. To agree to his suggestion would be courting disaster because, despite wishing it might be different, she didn’t love him. The only man she’d ever loved had been Luke Branscomb, and he’d chosen her sister over her.
“Brett, I need space right now, and I think you do, too. I like you more than I’ve ever liked any man, but I just don’t love you the way you deserve to be loved,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.
“Why not let me be the judge of that?” he argued. “We’re great together in bed, we have fun … maybe you just don’t recognize love when you see it.”
“You may be right, and I may be throwing away the best thing in my life, but if we stayed together, the love you think you have for me could turn to hate. I would rather hurt you now than crush you later. I’m sorry. This is my fault. I’m broken, and I don’t think I can ever be fixed. Goodbye.”
She hung up before he could say anything, walked over to the couch, and threw herself down, dissolving into tears for what had been and could never be. It wasn’t that she’d loved Brett; it was that with her mother and grandmother gone, alienated from the sister she’d barely known, and dumped by the man she’d planned to spend her life with, she suddenly felt more alone than ever. Callista Hayworth, not worthy of love, trust, or fidelity.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
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.
Living the Dream 