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Lucy’s Valentine

Hi, everyone.I hope your first month in our new year has gone well. I’ve spent mine in 1887 Texas, working on Nell Carter and Juda Kincaid’s story. It began as a short Christmas piece meant for the holidays. But, when I traveled back in time to Eclipse, suddenly all the locals started popping in to say hello and update their stories as well. An Eclipse Christmas has evolved and grown. I’m not ready to turn it loose yet, but until then, I’m sharing a diary entry from the Journal of Lucy Quince, the first book in the Eclipse Heat series.

Chapter Twelve

            February 14, 1867. Dear Diary, I am cutting and pasting a wonderful surprise for Ambrose. I’m making him a Valentine’s Card. We are still not speaking and I have decided upon a course of action—I will seduce my husband.

For three days, Quincy and I remained estranged until the housekeeper said, “You best get that man back in your bed. I like to have the morning’s to myself while I fix breakfast, and having him snoring on the couch gets my day started off wrong.”

“How?” I muttered miserably. Ambrose came in late, left early, and avoided my company.

Mrs. Carmichael suggested a course of action that had eluded me. I, a woman heavy with child, would enthrall my husband with desire. It was so silly and incongruous it made me laugh—and then comply.

We pillaged my closet looking for dresses that could be let out and redesigned. I had no sewing skills and hers were limited. But, as she noted, anything would look better than the chenille robe I had fallen into wearing around the house night and day. When we’d inspected the barn, I had changed in order to go outside. Nothing had fit and I’d had to leave the back of my dress undone and wear a heavy shawl to cover the exposed underclothing. Since then, my depression had left me wandering in a disheveled and untidy state indifferent to even dressing.

My spirits rose as we pillaged the closet and chose any outfit from my wardrobe that seemed worth redesigning. “Not very practical, these things,” Marta opined around the pins in her mouth.

“But oh so pretty,” I countered, stroking the soft burgundy velvet of the gown I stood in.  In my physical wretchedness, I had forgotten how wonderful it felt to look elegant. When Mrs. Carmichael began ripping seams apart, I cringed, hating the deconstruction of one of my favorite winter gowns.

But when she loosed the sides and raised the waist recreating it into an empire style, I began to have hope.

“We need an insert here,” she frowned at the material pulled taut over my burgeoning breasts.

We both looked at the pile of dresses on the bed and spied the grayish pink gossamer silk at the same time. I watched eagerly as she cut into the fabric, not caring this time at all, with the promise of a beautiful costume before me.

Many tiny stitches later, I stood in front of the rosewood vanity and admired the outcome.

“You can’t stand there drooling over yourself all day, Missy,” Mrs. Carmichael reminded me. “You need to take a nice long bath, splash in some of that smell-pretty you use, and present yourself tonight looking fine.” Continue reading “Lucy’s Valentine” »

Weekend Writing Warriors

Hi everyone. It’s been a long time since I found my way here. Charmaine Gordon tagged me on FB the other day and invited me back. I hope you’ve all had a fantastic summer. I’m sharing a snippet from a paranormal novella I’m writing. Working title Mating Song, but  subject to change.

Find more Weekend Writing Warriors  here.

           And check here for  Snippet Sunday Facebook writers.


Before she’d met Ian, it had been ages since Billie brought a man home. An now here he was for the fourth time, already stripped and walking naked around the room, studying the photographs she’d taken.

“It’s something the way you’ve caught the personality of each wolf; their eyes seem almost human in these pictures.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had a lot of time to study them,” she answered.

Ian shrugged and asked, “Same rules tonight?”

Yes,” she said, pointing at the mat. “I pin you and I’m in control; you pin me…” she stopped to snicker, “well you can try.”

“I’m ready for you tonight,” he said grimly, launching himself at her in a rush.

They waged skin to skin battle, their bodies slick with sweat, when Ian laid his full two-hundred and fity plus pounds across her and she pretended to be pinned.

God she loved playing with him and it would be hard saying goodbye; but it would be much harder explaining that sometimes she turned furry and howled at night.


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