Six Sentence Sunday 4-29-12

Welcome back, Six Sentence Sunday readers!  Last week, I took my snippet from Weathering Rock, my upcoming time-travel / paranormal release, which will be available in October from Lyrical Press. I left Caleb DeCardian (a former colonel in the Union Army during America’s Civil War, now transplanted to present day) drinking coffee and lamenting society’s obession with fat-free food and calories.

I’m jumping ahead a few paragraphs to where Caleb is thinking about Arianna Hart, the herione of my novel. They’ve gotten off to a rocky start due to a stupid stunt he pulled, but her hostility hasn’t stopped him from being intrigued:


He returned to the table, focused on more coffee. Given his problem with headaches, Wyn had told him to cut back, but coffee was one of the few indulgences he had left. Sex was a rarity, and he’d never developed a taste for tobacco or hard liquor.

That brought him back to sex and the nagging knowledge he’d been without it too long. He might have come from a morally stricter time, but he liked a willing and expressive partner in bed. Damn, if Arianna Hart hadn’t awakened thoughts of what he was missing.


Hope you enjoyed this short glimpse into Caleb’s POV. Comments are welcome and generally result in giddy delight from the author. You can find other great SSS reads at the Six Sentence Sunday website, along with information on how to participate.

And a fun time was had by all! 🙂

Chance Meeting (Friday Flash Fiction)

It’s Friday!  I thought I’d try a flash fiction again. Romance happens anywhere, and I have a habit of jumping all over the time map when I’m writing. For this, I stepped backward into the dusty west. No paranormal element, just some light sensual fun. Hope you enjoy!


Chance Meeting

Colton Ricker ambled his horse down a trail to the lowlands surrounding Sable Creek.  The weather was pleasant and sun-soaked after two days of torrential rains.

“Easy Reno,” he cautioned when the gray grew fidgety on the uneven ground.  The terrain was rutted with random pockets where water and loose soil formed to create slurries of mud.  He’d almost reached the creek when he spotted a buggy stuck dead center in a thick quagmire off the bank. A woman stood on the floorboards, her red-gold hair tumbled around her shoulders as she tried to urged the horse forward.

Colton continued down the path, intrigued and amused. “Trouble, Miss?”

The woman shot him an annoyed glance.  Blue-green eyes flashed beneath a luxurious fringe of hair the color of toasted apples.  “I didn’t think the bog would be so deep.  Any horse in the east would have crossed it without blinking an eye.  I don’t know why this mare is being so stubborn.”

“The east, huh?”  He should have known from the cut of her clothing.  Leave it to a highbrow uppity skirt to look down her haughty nose at western stock.  “There’s nothing wrong with the horse. It’s the driver who’s green.”

A flush of color flooded the woman’s cheeks.  “I’m perfectly capable of handling any horse created, Mister . . . .”

“Ricker.”  He doffed his hat.  “It’s my land you’re crossing . . . or trying to. We got hit by heavy rains the last two days. Any fool knows these lowlands bog down with mud after a string of wet weather.  If I were you, I’d back that mare out the way you came.”

“Well, you’re not me.” The woman tugged down her short jacket, perturbed he had the gall to challenge her.

Colton had to admit she was a looker with all that cinnamon-colored hair and trim waist.   He thought about climbing down and helping her, but that would involve muddying his boots and, hell, she obviously thought she could handle the fool horse by herself.  Who was he to second guess some silk-stocking, bee-in-her-bonnet blueblood?

He drew his leg up, languidly hooking it over the saddle horn as he watched her snap the reins.  “You keep eggin’ that mare forward, you best sit down.  Sooner or later she’s gonna bolt and you’re gonna end on your pert derriere.”

She glared but didn’t rise to the bait. “I don’t think so.”  Aother firm snap of the reins.  “Giddup.”

“I might be inclined to help if you ask. Nice-like, that is.”

Her glance was withering. “I don’t need your help, Mr. Ricker.”

“That so?  Well, I can’t leave you stuck here till sundown and, at the rate you’re going, I’ll be a fossil ’till you get that buggy outta there.”  Colton swung down from the saddle and took two steps forward.  “I hope you appreciate the fact I’m muddying my boots.  I can’t abide prim eastern women who oughta know better than to venture out of their perfumed tea parlors.”

“Perfumed tea – -” The woman choked off the words in indignation. Venom and dragon-fire danced in her eyes.  “You arrogant, insufferable toad! How dare you insinuate – -”

Colton jabbed a finger at the horse.  “You best stop your caterwauling and pay attention to that mare.  All your hissing and spitting is making her fidgety.”  Even as he spoke, the mare tried to extradite her forelegs from the mud but the woman was too incensed to pay attention.

“I know perfectly well what I’m doing,” she spat, whirling to face him.  She stepped to the edge of the running board, her features pinched and flushed.  “I don’t need the interference of some long-haired rube cowboy – -” The mare gave a sudden lurch and the woman reeled sideways from the carriage.

Colton reacted instinctively, darting forward.  As the mare bolted from the mud, wrenching the buggy behind it, Colton blundered into the quagmire and caught the woman in his arms.  He felt the impact of her weight against him, all shapely curves and tempting softness.  Her arm was around his neck, her mouth parted in a shocked “O” of surprise.  In the passing of a single heartbeat her expression passed from enraged to embarrassed, then back to enraged.  A wash of bright color seeped into her cheeks.  “Put me down, Mr. Ricker.”

Colton wasn’t sure he wanted to comply.  Uppity and all, there was something sensual about her.  He wasn’t above holding her longer, tantalized by the close press of her body.  He could feel the rounded swell of one breast lodged against his chest, a sensation that had him thinking with all the wrong parts of his anatomy.  Proper women generally didn’t want anything to do with him.  It was a novel experience to have such a prim thing pressed up against him.  He grinned.  “Guess you should have listened to me about the mare.”

She was growing agitated.  “Put me down.”

“You sure about that?” Colton’s grin was pointed and brash.  “You got your arm wrapped around my neck awfully tight.  Seems to me, you’re the one hanging on.”

“How dare you!”  Naked anger sparked in her eyes.  She started to squirm, using her hand to push away from him.  “I will not be manhandled like some, some  . . . farm animal by a backwoods, countrified  . . . hillbilly!”

“Hillbilly?”  Colton’s mouth thinned on the word, his anger spiking.  He was usually the one to slyly prod, remaining cool while others grew reckless, but even he had a breaking point.   Something about people who thought they were better than others naturally rubbed him the wrong way.  “You want down?  Let me oblige – -”

Colton opened his arms, unceremoniously dumping the woman rear-end first into the mud.  She landed with a plop, sending a splatter of muck across Colton’s pants.  It was worth it to see the look on her face, a combination of shock and indignation.

Mud sucked at her heavy skirt, saturating the expensive material waist-deep in the rear.  It left large dollops clinging to her face, chest and hair.  Her arms, braced behind her were sunk to the elbows.

Looking at her, Colton felt his anger drain.  He laughed out loud, unable to recall when he’d seen a more deserving sight.  “Sure hope you got a good laundress.”

“You pig!”  She lobbed a handful of mud at him.

“Hey, quit that.” He danced cat-quick out of the way. “That ain’t no way for a lady to talk.  Or act.”  He stretched out his hand.  “I’ll help you up.”

“Stay away from me.”  Defiantly, she clambered to her feet, trying to shake clumps of mud from her dress. Her hair hung in her eyes, the curling ends wilted and askew.  A few steps away, the mare waited docilely, unaware it had been the catalyst of her humiliating predicament.

Colton watched as she tried to climb into the buggy, her saturated skirt making it difficult to move.  He knew she’d scratch his eyes out given the chance, but found the situation comical.  “Don’t be such a snippy prima donna.  Sheath your claws and let me help you.”

“If you so much as breathe in my direction, Mr. Ricker, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”  She settled into the seat, and collected the reins.

Colton had to admire the way she sat with her back ramrod straight, all highbrow and uppity despite the mud dripping from her clothing.  He regretted he hadn’t kissed her when he’d had her in his arms, just because he’d never kissed an eastern-bred woman.  Deciding she couldn’t hate him any worse than she already did, he stepped quickly to the side of the buggy, slid a hand behind her head, and covered her mouth with his.

He had one fleeting impression of warmth and sweet-honey, of crackling passion and wine-red heat before she wrenched away.  Her open palm connected with his cheek in a stinging slap.

Grinning, Colton stepped back from the buggy. “You kiss better than you hiss-and-spit, Miss . . . ?”

Fire flamed in her eyes.  “I wouldn’t lower myself to give you my name, Mr. Ricker.   If there’s any justice in the world, we’ll never see each other again.”

Colton smiled faintly, watching as she collected the reins and sent the buggy on its way.  Eastern-bred and blue-blooded.

He knew he hadn’t seen the last of her and rather liked the idea.


Writing and Real Estate

They’re two of the biggest areas that dominate my life.  Why?  Writing is my passion and real estate is where I’ve spent the last 20+ years learning and engaging in marketing. It’s what I do for a living – – not listing and selling (although I do hold a license) – – but helping real estate professionals market themselves and their properties in a successful and creative manner.

Interestingly, there is a great deal of cross-over between the two, something I never realized until I sold my first book and realized – – gasp! – – I had to market myself! 

Weathering Rock, my time-travel/paranormal romance is going to be released in October by Lyrical Press. It’s an exciting time for me, but suddenly everything I’ve pushed my agents to do, I’m now faced with tackling myself.  Because of my marketing position, I know a fair amount about promotion and using social media, but when it comes to a personal online presence, I’ve always been happily reclusive.

No more. The spotlight of the online world has trapped me like a deer in the headlights.

By nature, I think most writers are solitary creatures.  True, I’ve had the support of a local network, and a small online circle of writing friends but, the thought of being “out there,” terrified me.   Initially.  To be a writer today is to leave a traceable digital footprint . . . just as a real estate agent would do.

Realizing that made my learning curve a little easier. I already knew a good deal about building websites but, suddenly, I was faced with blogging, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, Tribber, Pininterest, Tumblr . . . arrgh! I don’t use all of these resources yet, and there are others I’m still floundering through like a fish reeled on a hook, but something happened along the way I didn’t expect. I started enjoying the journey.

Who knew? 

I think the magic moment came when I began connecting with other writers and readers.  I wasn’t simply a face in a sea of posts in someone’s Facebook or Twitter stream. I encountered many of the same writers on various social sites and began to have conversations with them. Many were on the same learning curve or, because they were already established, were able to offer advice about settling in. I started to feel a sense of community and realized I was part of it. I made friends and was welcomed into the writing world. So many people have been helpful in sharing tips, resources, and guidance. It’s made the experience far less intimidating.

There are still times I wonder if I‘ll ever reach a point where I’m comfortable with my efforts. Notice I didn’t say ‘satisfied’ because I’m always looking for ways to grow and improve.  Then again, I think back to when I was a rookie taking my first tentative steps in the real estate industry, and I know that experience comes with time and growth – – Patience, Grasshopper.

I’ve been writing since I was a kid but, as a new author, I’m only beginning the journey. I hope many of you will choose to follow along as I experience the ins and outs of a writer on the countdown to publication.

For me, my characters, and my book, it’s going to be an incredibly exciting ride! 🙂

Six Sentence Sunday 4-22-12

Hello, and welcome to my latest offering for Six Sentence Sunday!  This is pulled from “Weathering Rock,” my upcoming paranormal from Lyrical Press, scheduled for release in October.

Caleb DeCardian, a Colonel of the Union army during America’s Civil War, has been transported to the present, along with a former friend who has cursed him to life as a werewolf. In this scene, Caleb is trying to forget information he has just learned about his rival.


He needed coffee, strong coffee, something he could wrap his head around. He’d come to realize most everything else was watered down or tasteless in this future society, stripped of natural flavor or replaced by something proclaiming to be “reduced” “fat-free” or “diet.” People had gotten soft, few engaging in any type of physical labor. It was no wonder they needed a fitness regime and calorie-reduced imitation foods to keep them passably trim. He’d never even heard of a blasted calorie before awakening in the 21st century.

 At least breakfast was something he still recognized.


I hope you enjoyed my latest foray into the realm of sixes. Be sure to check out the other offerings this week at the Six Sentence Sunday website. I’ve met many wonderful authors through SSS and think you will too.  If you’d like to leave a comment regarding my six, I’d love to hear from you!  

Happy Six Sentence Sunday!

Six Sentence Sunday 4-15-12

Stupid me!  I missed getting my link in for this Sunday’s six 😦

Since I had something already picked out in the spirit of Friday the 13th, I’m posting anyway. I fished around in my pile of shorts for this Sunday’s Six. If you’re new to SSS, writers post six sentences (and six sentences only) from any work-in-progress, something already published, or something that is scheduled to be published. This week, I chose a snippet  from a story about a man and his buddy who dig up a grave on Halloween night. 

Nathaniel blew out a breath and drove his shovel into the earth.  The wind picked up, chasing a cluster of dried leaves into the grave.  It rattled through a dead tree, coaxing a funeral dirge from the branches. The aged wood clicked and moaned with a sound like bone-chimes. Overhead, a tattered string of clouds swept across the moon in a lacey death-veil.  

“Damn, it’s cold,” he muttered. 

Drat, the limitation of the six! Hopefully, it managed to conjure a goosebump or, at least, put you in the setting.  There are many other wonderful writers contributing to Six Sentence Sunday. To learn more about how SSS works, to post your own offering, or to read more sixes, click here and enjoy!

And if you liked what you read, I loved to hear your thoughts in a comment. Thanks for visiting my blog. I hope you enjoyed my six! 🙂

A la carte Kiss (Friday Flash Fiction)

It’s Friday the 13th!  Always a good day for a writer of the paranormal to play around.  I thought I’d post of bit of Friday Flash Fiction in honor of the <ahem> event.  So here you are . . . I hope you enjoy this little interlude I dreamed up called:

A la carte Kiss

Alana picked at her grilled chicken salad. She’d been hungry when she and Lucian arrived at the restaurant, but her appetite had taken a nosedive. His fey, exceptional looks routinely attracted attention wherever he went, but he hadn’t removed his sunglasses and that made him seem odder still. She kept expecting one of the dining patrons to leap from their seat, stab a finger in his direction and shriek “Vampire!” Maybe lunch hadn’t been the brightest idea – – especially given it was with a man who looked like he’d stepped from the pages for a Victorian-era novel.

“I’m making you uncomfortable,” he observed.

“No. Well . . . .”  She prodded a plump piece of chicken, choosing her words. “You’d blend in better if you ate something.”

He grinned faintly.  “There’s no O-positive on the menu. I ordered coffee, isn’t that enough?”

She frowned, thinking how out of place he looked among the metrosexuals who juggled lunch over iPads and smartphones, texting, tweeting and sending emails.  They’d never been to a restaurant together. Mainly because Lucian didn’t eat. Couldn’t eat. He could ingest fluids – – coffee, soft drinks, broth, even alcohol, though the latter had no effect on him. But solid food was abhorrent, guaranteed to make him sick. Just one more reason they were incompatible. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into lunch.”

Why had she? To spend another hour with him? How pathetic.

“You were hungry and needed to eat.” He sent an arch glance to her plate. “Since you’ve done little of that, you might as well tell me what’s bothering you.”

She shipped her lemon water, biding time.  “That’s a loaded question.”

“I live dangerously. Give me a loaded answer.”

His tone was bantering, but he seemed sincere. She knew she couldn’t dance around her feelings forever. Why not spill her guts? There were worse ways to confess heartache than over grilled chicken and romaine.

“All right, I’ll tell you what’s bothering me.” Alana pushed her plate away, thankful she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark blue lenses of his glasses. Odds were she’d never be this bold again. “I’m almost twenty-eight. Single, attractive. Even sexy you might say- -”

“In two centuries I’ve never seen a better pair of legs.”

She tilted her head and flashed a sultry smile. “Why Lucian! And all this time I thought you liked boys. Maybe now you can explain why we spend two-thirds of our time flirting, and the other third pretending we’re not attracted to one another.”

The humor melted from his mouth. “How’s your salad?”


“Your salad. I hope you enjoy it, because I can’t remember what food tastes like. Does that answer your question?”

“That’s a coward’s way out.”

“Precisely.” He stood, gathering his overcoat from an adjacent chair. “Enjoy your lunch, Alana.”

He was halfway to the front door before frustration propelled her in his wake. Determined, she caught him in the lobby and tugged him off to the side.

“You didn’t let me finish.” Her voice was clipped, tremulous with emotion. She looked up at him, jet black hair splayed over her shoulders, heart in her throat. “I’m almost twenty-eight, single, attractive – – and yes, damn it, sexy – – but I can’t find a man to hold my interest. In the last three years I’ve dated a district attorney, a pilot, even a professional race car driver. But every one left me feeling empty. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t do this. I shouldn’t have asked you for honesty.”

“Are you afraid of the truth?”

He closed his eyes, his expression pained. In the limited light she could see the sweep of his lashes behind his dark lenses. “I’m afraid to admit the truth. There’s a difference.”

“What are you saying?”

Rather than reply, he wrenched her close. She felt the crush of his lips against hers, the taste of him like exotic spice and midnight skies. Heady sensation streaked through her, bold, almost painful. She raised a hand, gripping the back of his neck, unwilling to let go.  

“Excuse me, miss.”

She tensed, annoyed by the voice. The intrusive braying voice that did not belong to her beloved vampire. Lucian started to pull away, and she made a soft sound in the back of her throat. The voice came again, insistently this time. “Miss.”

What is it?” Infuriated, she spun on the intruder. Lost in Lucian’s kiss, she had momentarily forgotten where she was, what she was doing. Reality crashed around her when she realized she’d made a spectacle of herself. A small group of people still waiting to be seated were glancing in her direction, a few whispering behind their hands. The man who’d taken her lunch order held out her coat, his expression stuffy.

“You left this at your table, Miss. I thought you might need it given how cold it is outside.” His glance slid sideways to Lucian, and his mouth compressed in a line of distaste. “Although you seemed warm enough a moment ago.”

Lucian bowed his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mortals,” he muttered so that only she heard.

Laughing, Alana snagged the coat. “I suppose you’d like us to pay for the lunch as well?” she asked the waiter.

He raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t ordered dessert.”

Lucian dug for his wallet. “The lady and I will have that outside. Without an audience.”  He slanted a glance in her direction that sent a spike of heat cascading down her spine.

She flushed, delighted to realize he’d found something to suit his unique taste after all.


Six Sentence Sunday 4-8-12

Happy Easter, Everyone!  Stepping away from Weathering Rock for a moment to pull something out of an older short for this Sunday’s Six. Because the Easter Bunny will be hoppity-hoppiting around, leaving oodles of goodies behind, I thought I’d post something with a reference to candy. 

In this, my lead character Evan has just encountered “Clark,” a bit of a colorful persona who grows as secondary character as the story progresses. Just a bit of fun:

Clark didn’t look much older than nineteen, twenty tops, and was every bit as bedraggled as something fished from the sewers. Evan guessed his messy, ill-fitting clothing was a matter of preference, matching the stringy hair that hung halfway down his back. 

“Old Man Jenks send you for the rent?” Clark reached into a paper sack he held and popped something in his mouth. 

Up close, Evan noticed the bag was filled with red licorice bits, the kind of penny candy he remembered as a kid. The bite-sized pieces looked gooey and soft, prompting his stomach to grumble its unpleasantness.

Thanks for reading! If you’d like to comment before hopping off down the Six Sentence Sunday bunny trail, I’d be most grateful. Don’t forget to check out the other authors participating in this Sunday’s Six. There are bound to be plenty of Easter gems for your enjoyment!

When You Want a Book to End But You Don’t

It usually doesn’t take many pages of reading before you know you’ve hit a goldmine – – those books with plot and characters that reach out and grab you practically from the start.  Magic spools across the pages, transporting you to another world and, for a while, nothing else matters.  Forget the laundry waiting to be done, the errands you were set on running, phone calls waiting to be returned or even the latest home improvement project (we do a lot of those at my house)!

Ditto watching TV. Television completely lost me when it ventured into the “reality” realm, but that’s a subject (rant, actually) for another post. This one is about books. Favorite books that inspire the conflict of I-want-to-reach-the-end-but -I-don’t-want-it-to-be-over.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve become involved in a novel, eager to learn how everything works out, but saddened when I do because I’ve reached the end of the story. It’s that feeling of anticipating Christmas for weeks and, then in a flash, it’s gone. The glow is still there but I want to spin back the clock and wallow in the magic all over again.

By the same token, I have a few all-time favorite books that didn’t conjure that same feeling.  “The Terror” by Dan Simmons is one of the best novels I’ve read (if not THE best) but I was satisfied when I reached the end.  Maybe it was the length (close to 800 pages) or that the story had been expertly twisted in every conceivable direction. I journeyed with the characters, immersed myself in the setting, and was satisfied by the author’s resolutions. Amazing tale, one I highly recommend. I will always be in awe of that book.

When I DO want a book to continue, it isn’t because I’ve found the ending unsatisfying, but because I’m not ready to part with the characters.  Case in point – – I just finished Clockwork Angel and Clockwork Prince, Books 1 and 2 of the Infernal Devices trilogy by Cassandra Clare.  I couldn’t wait to reach the end of the second novel, biting my fingernails along the way, anxious to discover how everything worked out. And now that it’s over I’m disappointed there is nothing more. How will I survive without angelic Nephilim, colorful Downworlders and Victorian-era Mundanes?

Book 2 of the Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare

I know Clockwork Princess is coming in November/December, but I’m impatient. Tessa, Will, and, especially Jem, have become family to me. I’ve hurt with them, laughed with them, fallen in love when they did, and defied impossible odds at their sides. I rushed to reach the conclusion but, now that I have, I’m like a kid who gobbled up all the candy and still wants more. And that translates into some freaking good candy, let me tell you! :)Fortunately, I have the Mortal Instruments series waiting in the wings (next on my list) but I’m saddened I need to leave the friends I made in the Infernal Devices.

Good books are forever-treasures, we can revisit time and again, whenever we want. I do it often with those novels I love most.  

What are some of your favorites — stories that stay with you long after you’ve finished them?  There’s nothing like a good read or a good recommendation!

What Does Memory Smell Like?

We all have memory-triggers, but I’ve often heard it said the greatest trigger for memory is our sense of smell. How many times have you caught a faint scent, and been immediately flooded by a vivid rush of images from your past? 

When I was in my late teens, I spent a week each summer with my husband’s family at a bayside apartment in Maryland.  I won’t tell you how long ago that was, but Pert shampoo was popular in those days. Even now, the scent of Pert resurrects flashes of knotty pine paneling, the scent of Old Bay seasoning on steaming crabs, and the trill of seagulls. 

These days I use a shampoo and conditioner infused with olive oil that I purchase from a salon. I couldn’t even tell you the name of it, but I know what the bottles look like. Hopefully, that doesn’t make me snob – – especially when I might pop open a bottle of Pert now and then solely to reminiscent about giddy fun-filled summers at the shore. I remember drinking Mountain Dew until it came out of my ears, learning how to bait a fishing line with a minnow (my initial reaction – – “Ewww!”) and riding the wake of larger boats in our tiny jon boat.

Writers love experimenting with sensory input, fleshing out scenes with descriptions of sight, sound and smell in hopes of bringing our settings alive and creating bonds between our characters and readers.  It’s much easier to feel sympathetic to a character when you know the odor of wet flannel makes a curmudgeonly cop think of the Saturday afternoons he spent fishing with his kid brother, or a harried business exec gets sentimental whenever she spies a basket of daises.

Last week, I asked “What Does Childhood Taste Like?”  This week, wrap your head around “What Does Memory Smell Like?” (and any other sense you want to use). Think outside the box, have some fun, get creative!  Here are a few of mine:

Memory looks like starlight, ephemeral and dazzling
Memory smells like a closed up attic and old newsprint
Memory feels like water slipping between my fingers, often gone before I can grasp it Memory sounds like the calliope at a carnival
Memory tastes like  ??? 
Totally stumped on that one. Cotton candy? Broiled seafood? Luden’s cough drops?  They all have meaning for me.

What are YOUR memory associations?


Six Sentence Sunday 4-1-12

I’m attempting my second Six Sentence Sunday, which I think is quickly going to become addictive! Rank newbie here, but I now realize I’m allowed to lead in with an explanation.  So . . . this is taken from my paranormal romance called “Weathering Rock” which will be released by Lyrical Press in October.

This is early on in the novel. Arianna Hart (heroine) and Caleb DeCardian (hero) have just met the previous night. 

“Allow me.” Caleb took her plate, adding a few strips of bacon and a plump muffin from the final platter Wyn set on the table. She wondered if they always ate so lavishly or if the breakfast had been geared around having an overnight guest. Either way, there was something charming about Caleb’s attentiveness. A glance at Wyn told her he was amused by his brother’s courtly fawning.

“Thank you.”


If you’d like to know more about Six Sentence Sunday, including how you can participate, check out this link:

A great group of writers and a lot of fun!