Blurb:
Bad Things Happen…
Caralyn Masters lost
both her faith and her sister in a tragic accident. The trauma leaves lingering
effects--automobiles give her the literal shakes. She hoped that a grant from
the reputable Doncaster Foundation would set her non-profit firmly on its feet.
Now the grant funding has disappeared for no good reason. She’ll need a Plan B.
Or a Plan C.
Jason Montague knows
from painful experience that his seizure disorder is enough to scare most women
off. Finding someone to share his life?
Not so easy. Now he’s learned that there’s a problem with the Doncaster accounts
in the Midwest office. All the grants he promised are in jeopardy, and he’s off
to Kansas (of all places!) to figure out what’s going on.
…Then Love Steps In.
Author:
I’m a Romance Addict.
In college, my aunt
sent me a box of books, including Kathleen Woodiwiss' THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER.
I caught Romance fever and never looked back. Although my favorite books are
Inspirational and Clean romance, I’m an avid fan of romance in all its variety.
All I need is a well-written book with a fine hero and a happy ending.
I’m a Curious Person.
I was blessed with a
mother who, when faced with a flow of “Why...?” and “How...?”, took refuge by
answering, “Let’s go look it up.” If
something intrigues me, I want to discover more about it. I became a librarian because
I love learning new things. I’ve worked in universities, on US naval bases, in
Government consulting firms and in the pharmaceutical industry. My motto has
always been “Curious Librarians Need to Know”.
I’m a Dog and Turtle
Person.
There have been pets
in my past, but I’m pet-less at the moment. To me, turtles are about the most
wondrous creatures ever created, and I have been known to stop on the side of
the road to guide a wayward turtle off the pavement and into the grass. I have
always considered myself a dog person, but there is a very nice neighborhood
cat who greets me when I arrive home. Hm-m-m.
I’m a Writer.
I’ve been writing
since grade school. First there were
crayon words and illustrations, then books about space travel, mystery and
espionage. I've always carried stories in my head and written them down. My
writing style has been described as “a whole lot of sweet with a dash of
spice”. I like to keep a sense of the
Divine Presence in everything I write.
When I’m not writing
or reading, I enjoy needlework, baking, Scrabble®, traveling, and jigsaw
puzzles. So hello from a librarian romance addict-writer dog and turtle and
maybe cat person, who’s delighted that you’re here. Enjoy!
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Lightning streaked
across the sky over the Missouri Ozarks. Thunder rumbled and dissolved into the
swaying evergreens overhead while a gust of wind dashed chilled raindrops
against Caralyn Masters’ cheeks.
A storm, she thought
grimly. Just what I need.
Frowning, Cara stopped
and shifted the heavy backpack on her shoulders. The temperature had dropped at
least twenty degrees in the last hour, and the available light faded steadily
as the afternoon sun set behind thickening clouds. On her way up the trail the
day before, she had seen a sign for a shelter. Now, on her way back down, she
had forgotten exactly how far along it was.
She sighed. I’m out of
practice.
Two years ago, she
would have automatically placed the location of the shelter in her mind just in
case the weather turned. But yesterday she had done nothing but drink in the
scenery. Her six-hour trek up the mountainside had been warm and dry. Vistas of
dark green peaks thrusting toward robin’s-egg-blue skies had thrilled her at
every bend of the path. An exceptional September day. The perfect way to unwind
after a day of endless questions and orientation sessions — worth every minute
if the Doncaster Foundation awarded her a grant.
Now she hiked down the
trail in cold drizzle, picking her way over troublesome stones, kicking others
out of the way. She threw a shuddering glance at the two-hundred-foot cliff
dropping away to her right. One misstep and she’d break her neck on the
slippery path before she found a place to sit out the storm.
Another flash of
lightning brightened the somber sky and lit a wooden trail sign. The shelter
lay just a quarter-mile to the left.
Finally!
Cara quickened her steps
down the marked path and soon arrived at a wooden structure imitating an open
box tipped on its side. Its back, cuddled against a hill, was lined with crude
bunk beds. With relief she noted a high, chain-link fence stretched across the
opening to ensure safety from animals, and a stone fireplace set in a side wall
promised cozy warmth. She manipulated the slip latch on the gate and stepped
through the fence. Standing inside on the dry concrete floor, she swung the
twenty-pound pack from her shoulders with a groan.
As she stretched her
arms overhead to relieve the tightness in her back, the drizzle changed to
rain. Softly at first, the drops brushed against the corrugated metal roof like
a whisk on a snare drum. Suddenly, the skies opened. Water pelting the shelter
thrummed like an orchestra of timpani.
She glanced up.
Nothing like a little water hitting metal to remind her that sometimes one had
to take the bad with the good.
Within minutes Cara
organized her provisions. From her pack, she retrieved a camper’s stove. After
setting some water to boil, she touched a match to the kindling already in the
fireplace and added a log from the pile in the corner. Slipping her jacket off,
she watched as the blaze leaped against the dark stone. She remembered spending
nights like this under nothing more than a tarp on open ground, huddled in an
oversized sleeping bag. She would crawl in with her sister, Ellen, and they
would share ghost stories and tales of gallant knights and beautiful
princesses.
A pang of grief tugged
at her.
The water on the stove
bubbled and gurgled, pulling her from her memories. Cara poured the hot water
over a tea bag set in an aluminum mug, concentrating on the action, keeping the
images of the past at bay.
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