Monday, April 28, 2008


I've been chasing the same rung on this wheel for a while now and I'm making the tough choice of going into seclusion, folks. It's time to 'go back to the salt mines' as my agent would say, time to put the nose to the grindstone. I'm close enough to the end of my contemporary western to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and will be sequestering myself to get the book finished.

I will still come out of hiding for Lyrical Press's launch day festivities. I can't miss the momentous occasion of my first paranormal romace being released, or my friend launching her company!

Wednesday, April 23, 2008


(Well...not totally wordless. I use this as an inspiration pic when writing my contemporary western. My hubby got this shot while hunting in Colordao.)

Wednesday, April 16, 2008


For those readers out there hankering for some western action:

Mud seeped through my clothes, caked my scalp. Water dripped from my body when I crawled from the muck. I managed to collapse on the bank, where the damp mud held me in a wet embrace and fresh snow blanketed me. I panted, watching the plumes of my breath rise while the cold soaked into my bones, into my guts which lay inert beneath my skin.

Irony struck me like an icy club. I’d left Matt because I was afraid he’d kill me; now here I lay, dying. A sick, strangled laugh escaped me. Black fields encroached on my vision, and a chilly invitation to a long cold sleep tempted.

“What in the world?”

A voice rang in the little snow filled dell. I lifted my head from my icy bed and saw a man in a low profile Stetson hat riding toward me on a white horse. The image of him sitting astride the horse framed in snowfall was etched like ice in my mind. Our eyes locked. “Gid-up!” He spurred the horse and it charged around the edge of the pond I’d stumbled into.

The man dropped from the saddle and pushed his hat from his head. Steam rose from his dark hair, but it was his expression that flared hope in me. His eyes were as blue as polar ice, but as soft as an angel’s robes. I wanted to look at his face forever, but my eye lids sagged. His hands were clear in my hazy vision. Hands weren’t always good--Matt hit me with his hands. A little knot of fear unwound in my gut, but this man was gentle. “Come on, Girl. Stay with me.”

I tried to speak, but when my jaw unclenched nothing come out. He nodded, and a frown knit his brows together. He pulled the gloves from his hand and patted my thighs and arms. “You’re soaked to the bone and freezing.” I wanted to nod my head in agreement, but my fine motor skills were frozen, too. His fleece lined jacket smelled of Stetson cologne when he pulled it off, the scent of sweat sweetened with fabric softener rose from his long underwear shirt. “Let me help you.”

I couldn’t fight him if I wanted to. I had no strength left. My field of vision narrowed as my eyelids drooped again. He wadded the shirt into a soft mass, and patted my face dry. The brush of the shirt stung my cheeks, but I was grateful. He wiped down my arms as my head lolled to one side. I was less appreciative when he used the shirt to sop water from my shoulders and chest. Pain blazed from my shoulder socket and radiated through my arm and chest. A weak cry escaped my lips, but onsetting hypothermia had iced over my tear ducts.

“Oh my, I am so sorry!” He stopped, placing a warm hand on my cheek and shushing me. “We have to dry you before you freeze to death.”

It might be too late for that.

He stood, more silhouette than man, to my fuzzy vision. Putting his hat back on, he bent to wrap me in the clothing he’d removed. But I couldn’t feel him touching me--I was beyond that, slipping into the numb, quiet dark. The pain eased. The cold eased. My vision failed. There was only me, and him. His chest was the last thing I saw when he wrapped his arm around my back. The last thing I felt was the warmth of his bare skin.

Me and him.



Monday, April 14, 2008

EXCERPT from Prey for Mercy

I promised you an excerpt from Prey for Mercy, and here it is!:

“I get the winner.”

Her jaw dropped, but his rose in a grin. He winked. “We’ll see about that.”

Ooh, playful banter? My soul sang with his implied challenge. He was an excellent choice of prey. I batted my eyelashes and leaned forward to allow him a generous peek down my top while I studied the shot he was lining up. His line of sight traveled from the cue ball, across the green felt to the flesh I exposed. I inhaled an exaggerated sigh, thrusting my breasts all but out of my top.

Take the bait, pretty boy.

He took a long look, then allowed his gaze to roam my body and face. The blonde, who still stood feet away, reached a boil. “Chase Rogers! Quit looking at that bitch!”

He threw her a silencing glare, and then looked back to me, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “So...” He sidestepped his pool cue, and leaned close enough for the warmth of his cheek to penetrate mine. “Do you have a name, or will ‘bitch’ do?”

“Call me Mercy.” I closed the distance between us, brushing my lips against his cheek and my breast against his arm.

Time froze. I lived within his heart beat, my mind and soul whirring. A feminine voice within argued against the monster in my blood. Chase’s body by mine, warm and alive, pumping precious blood through his veins. I should have craved his flesh, desired to cut open his vein and drink, but I was bewitched. He was handsome, engaging, spirited enough to ignore the shrew and flirt with me. Perhaps bed sports would be better than bloodshed?

“Mercy me…” Chase’s voice rang in my ears, but it was his touch that broke the spell. His fingers traced a warm path along my cheek bone.

“If you’re lucky.”

Chase’s eyes remained locked on mine but his hand dropped from my jaw, brushing against my breasts on the way back to his pool cue. He diverted his gaze to the white ball, drawing the stick in his hands back before striking the ball. Blue chalk scattered from the force of contact. The cue ball rocketed forward, clipping a solid orange ball on the side and sending it into the side pocket with a snap.

“Nice shot.” His friend’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“I have to win.” Chase shot a glance at his friend, and then winked at me. “Because Mercy gets the winner.”

Thursday, April 10, 2008


Yes, I am spoiled. Renee gave me a second cover for Prey for Mercy, and I love love love this one because it has Mercy's love interest on it, too. *sigh* Man beauty is good. And, as an added bonus, I have the official tagline and blurb for you, too! :)


Immortality is not enough.


Vampire Mercy Callahan wants more from immortality than sex with strangers and an eternal string of lonely nights. Something's missing until she shares a sizzling one-night-stand with Chase Rogers. His blood is ambrosia, his soul a match to her own, and his presence a talisman against the biting loneliness within.

Chase wants everything Mercy can give, but he's not free. He's betrothed to Angel Macoby, a dangerously unbalanced mortal who's stalked Mercy for years.

Only one woman can survive the deadly rivalry, and if Angel wins, she may walk away with more than Mercy's life.


And my short horror story has survived AA's sad demise, resurrected with LPI.

It will be part of my Dead by Dawn series that will eventually be bound in a print collection. Straight horror here, folks, none of that mushy stuff. :)


Sometimes you can't go home.


In the black heart of the forest lies a forgotten house. Decayed and deserted, it is home to only dark heritage. The rooms have long been empty, its owners lost, but not yet gone.

Something exists in the shadows. A hunger grows, an aching need calling out for sustenance, calling out for blood.

The homestead awaits.



All I have to say is this bitch should be singing rock and roll.