Review of Halo of the Damned by Dina Rae

Genesis 6:4 … Nephilim . . . offspring of the "sons of God" and the "daughters of men." Good and evil.  Heaven and Hell!   The mysteries of the Nephilim are explored in Halo of the Damned.

After Joanna is released from prison, she is given refuge by her sister Kim and Kim’s daughter Maria.  Lydia, their mother who died the year before, left behind a tangled web of mystery and deceit.  Joanna secures a job in an ad agency founded by the Fallen One, Armaros. Seeking his own dominion on earth, Armaros uses the agency to entice souls to the dark side.  He challenges Satan’s law by breeding with human females, producing children —the Nephilim!  Satan demands Armaros return. Armaros wants to stay in his earthly realm!

Sheltered by their mother and unaware of their true birthright, Joanna and Kim discover that they themselves are Nephilim.  Their powers are emerging, even more so in the child Maria who receives messages from the other side.   The war between good and evil wages even brighter as the two sides face off.

Halo of the Damned is a fast-paced read chock full of exciting chills and thrills. Would Joanna and Kim survive? Would Armaros be thrown back into the pits of Hell? I find myself thinking about hanging crosses just in case! For those of you who love dark paranormal, I highly recommend Halo of the Damned!  

Saturday - Visiting about my debut novel, Fiona

I am at 99cent EBOOKs today visiting about my debut novel, Fiona


Short Blurb:


He leaned against the door and watched her, his eyes never leaving her for a moment. Trying to appear at ease and unconcerned, she turned her back to him and moved to the far side of the pool. He walked around the pool and squatted down, gazing into her face, his golden eyes unreadable.
“You should not have come here alone,” he said softly.
“Why? No one is here.”
“You didn’t know that until you arrived. It’s dangerous for a woman to be out alone.”
Trying to appear unconcerned, she said, “Well, I’m not alone now. You’re here.”
The barest whisper of a smile moved his lips. “As I said, it’s dangerous for a woman alone out here.”
“Are you suggesting that I should fear you?”


Patsy
P.L. Parker
www.plparker.com
www.plparker.blogspot.com

In Honor of Valentines - In Search of My Soulmate - Final Chapter

The Final Chapter


I’d rented the special movie I’d been dying to see. I was bathed, dressed in my favorite lounging wear, ready and expecting a night of nothing but relaxation.
The phone rang—and rang.
“Damn,” I grumbled, struggling out of my favorite recliner. “Just when I get comfortable.”
It was Barb. “Can we go out tonight,” she wailed. “Marty stood me up and I’m feeling terrible.”
“Can’t,” I said. “Already in my pajamas and ready for bed.”
“But…but,” she blubbered. “He stood me up. I can’t stand to stay home.”
“Have a beer and relax.” Please, please, God! I just want to stay home.
“You have to go out with me. I’ll go crazy just sitting here. And remember when. . . ”
Yes, I remembered. Damn and double damn! I was sooo ready to just sit home and veg.
I heaved a giant sigh. “Okay. But it’ll take me some time to get ready.”
“I’ll pick you up in a half hour,” she cried and slammed down the phone.
I stood there glaring at the receiver. Why me? I didn’t go out anymore. No reason to.
I was 38. I’d accepted the fact that I’d be single for the rest of my life. I had my sons who I dearly loved. I was saving to buy a house and by next summer, I’d have my downpayment. I didn’t need a man to make my life complete. I was accepting and content with my lot.
I threw on my makeup and rummaged through my closet for an outfit. If I was going out, might as well try to look good.
The doorbell rang. She was here.
We spent the first hours racing around to different bars, most just a step through the door, a quick look around and we’d be off. I was getting the idea.
“We aren’t out here to have fun,” I snapped. “We’re looking for your creepy boyfriend. Remember—the one who stood you up.”
“I just have to know if he’s out with another woman,” she moaned. “I can’t bear worrying about it.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake.” I threw open the door of the Bouquet. At least the music here was good. “This is the last one I’m going to. After this, I’m done. Take it or leave it.”
We found a table on the upper tier and sat down. Minutes later, Saturday Night Fever asked me to dance, followed by Country Swinger (who almost tore my arms off), and finally Humper. Small and sweaty, he trembled and jerked the whole time, I imagined in the throes of orgasm. How a guy that short and weenie looking could hold on so tight and hump all at the same time was beyond me. Finally, the torment was over. I hurried back to my seat and sat down.
“That’s it,” I growled. “I’ve had enough. I want to go home.”
“But Marty’s here,” she hissed. “He’s over by the wall. Is he with a girl?”
I checked out the direction she indicated. “It’s a guy sitting next to him—or at least from a quick inspection I think it’s a guy.”
“What should I do?” she cried. “I want to talk to him.”
“For cripe’s sake, go over there and say something. Then we’re going home. Or at least I am.”
“Want to dance?” The soft voice drew my irritated attention. I glanced up and...froze. Leaning around a post, dark chocolate eyes sparkling with a thousand mischievous lights, was a real live good-looking man. White teeth gleamed in a wide smile, round cheeks creased with deep dimples. Longish black curly hair brushed his shirt collar. Yuppy type but definitely interesting all the same.
“Uh. Okay,” I murmured.
I stood up and he moved to take my hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered, two things I loved--and those long legs. Damn! He was so cute! He looked young, probably 28 or so, too young for me. But it was only a dance after all.
He was a good dancer, nothing flashy but interesting. We danced again, and then again, and then the music changed to a slow dance. He cuddled me close and moved to the beat, sexy and compelling.
Somewhere in the middle, he kissed me. It was one of those lip fusing, heart stopping, stomach fluttering, womb clenching, knee shaking, toes tingling kind of kisses—the kind when time takes a hike. My mind whirled in flagrant disregard of the crowd milling around us. Finally, the kiss ended. Why’d he have to be so young?
Dazed, I stared at him. “What was that for?”
“You looked like you needed a kiss,” he grinned, unabashed.
We walked back to my table—or perhaps I should say I stumbled to the table on weak-kneed legs.
“When're you going out with me?” he asked.
“I don’t date younger guys,” I said. Damn my stupid rules!
“I’ll bet you ten dollars I’m older than you,” he laughed, daring me to take the bet.
“Put your money where your mouth is.”
I took out my ID and tossed it on the table. He did the same.
I picked his up and read the date. He was datable!
“You are older than me,” he chuckled. “By a year. When are you going out with me? How about tomorrow night?”
“I’d like to, but…”
“Okay,” he groaned. “Here comes the but.”
“No. No. Really. I’d like to, but I promised my boys I’d take them out to dinner and a movie.” Might as well put all my cards on the table. If he hated kids, now was the time to find out. “But you can join us if you’re interested.” I said the words pretty much expecting how he’d react.
“Okay,” he said. “Where and when?” Surprise! Surprise!
But then again, I’d heard that before. Setting a date, getting all excited and then getting stood up. I was burned and wary.
“Call me tomorrow at ten o’clock a.m. and if you’re still interested, I’ll give you my address. Dinner’s at six and the show’s at eight.”
I had nothing to write with so I had to use my lipstick and a napkin. He took it, read it through several times and then tucked it in his pocket.
The bar was closing and it was time to go home. He walked me to Barb’s car and helped me in.
He leaned against the car. “Go out to breakfast with me."
“Nope. I came with Barb and I’m going home with her.”
“It’s just breakfast.”
“I know, but I do have some rules and that’s one of them.”
He leaned in and kissed me again. My heart rate soared in my love-starved breast.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised, adding a quick peck on my lips.
Hope springs eternal.
The phone rang the next morning. I staggered out of bed.
“Hi.” He sounded as hung over as I felt. “Where and when,” he asked.
That was twenty years ago last January. Since that night, we’ve only been apart for a night here and there, but so few times, I can count them on one hand. We were married the following summer, have a son together to add to our family of boys, and I wonder how I got so lucky.
A few months ago, as we were walking away from my fortieth high school reunion, he took my hand like he always does. A voice called from behind us.
“Do you two still hold hands after all these years?”
I glanced over my shoulder and laughed. “Yes,” I said. “We still like each other.”
The road to love was a long and bumpy one, and I kissed more than my share of toads along the way. But in all fairness to the opposite sex, I will admit that I was probably a toadette on some of my male counterparts’ romantic journeys. But I did find him, my best friend, my lover and my soulmate. My forever man, Jack.

In Search of my Soulmate - Bachelor No. 4

The Cowboy Ladies Man


Every once in awhile, you meet a guy that causes your heart to flutter, your knees to shake and your female parts to charge up and head for the finish line.
That was the cowboy. He was one of those guys who aged early, lots of curly silver hair, blue blue eyes and that weathered look from being out in the sun too much. And funny. I loved his funny sense of humor. From the onset, I was a little concerned about the overindulgence in drinking, but I liked a cocktail once in awhile so I forced my anxiety into the back of my mind.

“Meet me at Shorty’s,” he said over the phone. “I’ll be there about 9.”
I flew about the room, finding the perfect outfit, took a quick shower, spent extra time on my hair and makeup and I was ready. Short drive to the bar and, nervous, I entered.
I spotted him at the bar, perched beneath a rather inebriated female. He caught my eye, smiled and…I was hooked again.
“Who’s this?” She was still plunked on his lap, a drunken grin on her heavily made-up face.
“Aw, nobody,” he said. “Just tripped and fell into my lap.”
She tripped and fell into your lap?
He pushed her away and she staggered off in search of a new victim.
“Wanna go hunting this weekend?”
Besides being a cowboy, he liked to fish and hunt anything that moved, any season of the year.
“O…kay,” I agreed somewhat reluctantly. “Where to this time?”
“Up near Cambridge. My aunt’s fixing breakfast and then we’re all going out.”
Another female entwined her arms around his neck.
“Who’s that?” Sheesh, this was getting ridiculous!
He gave her a hug, kissed her cheek and patted her butt. “Just an old friend.”
An old friend?
Four o’clock comes early. A huge crowd gathered at his aunt’s place. Looked like the annual meeting for Hillbilly High.
A woman squealed and ran for the cowboy, hugging him and planting kisses all over his face. “Where’ve you been?”
Cowboy had the decency to at least look embarrassed. He turned to me. “This is my girlfriend,” he said, jiggling my arm.
Her face grew confused, stormy. “Since when?”
“Uh,” he stammered. “For awhile.”
“Eat shit,” she growled, stomping away.
His aunt was a gracious hostess. I sat down at the table and she slapped down a turkey platter-sized plate of sunny-side-up eggs, rashers of bacon and sausage, a mountain of hash brown potatoes and a pile of toast. I, of course, assumed it was for the whole table. Nooooooo – it was my plate. First, let me preface this. Eggs to me should be cooked until they are so dead, they couldn’t move if they tried. But a plate full of sunny-side-up eggs? All for me? My stomach rolled. But my mama taught me good manners. I picked up the fork and forced down a bite, pretending to myself that it wasn’t really the nastiest thing I’d ever had in my mouth. Each chew rendered the eggs even slimier in my mouth. ACCCKKKKK!!!The forest beckoned. About the time we left the rest of the group, I noticed he’d only packed a hunting bow.
“Shouldn’t we have a gun?”
He looked at me like I’d grown antlers. “For bow hunting?”
“We’re bow hunting?” Out here in the wilds where there are bears and wolves and all kinds of man-eating creatures—with nothing but a bow?
“Well, yeah,” he said. “It’s bow season.”
“You didn’t tell me that last night.”
“I thought you were smart enough to figure it out.”
When I was six, I was cornered by a big cinnamon bear in Yellowstone Park. Since that time, I’ve lived in fear that somewhere, someday, a bear would show up to finish the deal. For that reason, camping to me is the nearest motel from the family site and I rarely go further than ten feet beyond the campground. Not my style.
Huddled behind him for protection, we headed out. About an hour later, we came across a deep brushy gully-- one we needed to cross.I noticed movement across the way. A huge black bear was tearing bark from a dying pine tree. I froze. There he was--the hideous nemesis of my worst nightmares. Huge and lumbering, it hadn’t spotted us yet as it clawed the tree, ripping off strips.

Catching our scent, he whirled, darting into the brush of the very gully we had to cross.
“Come on,” cowboy said, pulling my arm. “We need to get to the other side.”
“Not on your life,” I gasped. “That…that thing is down there.”
He laughed. “He’s more scared of you than you are of him.”

“I seriously doubt it.”
But being the idiot that I can be sometimes, I let him lead me down into the deep dark recesses, the sky obscured by the overhead limbs blocking the sun. A small game trail wove its way through the bushes, just wide enough to squeeze through. My heart was beating in my throat, teeth chattering, knees quaking. This was such a freakin' bad idea!
Something big crashed through the brush, headed right for us! By the sounds, it was big. The bear! I knew it was the bear!
Cowboy grimaced. “Maybe we should’ve brought a gun.”

No shit, Sherlock!
The pounding was almost upon us. I tripped falling backwards, dragging the cowboy down on top of me. Maybe the bear would eat him first and leave me alone!
A trophy sized elk, snorting in terror, flew over us, landed and raced up the side, Shocked, I could only stare.
Cowboy struggled to stand, stumbling after the elk. I crawled after him, refusing to be left alone in this hell, praying I could reach safety and see my children again.

He never shot the elk and I didn’t care. Numerous women friends and a drunken car crash later, I finally accepted the fact that the cowboy was a dead-end street. He was never going to change and women were a dime a dozen.

In Search of my Soulmate - Bachelor No. 3

The Blind Dates:


Everyone had a friend, friend of a friend, brother, uncle, cousin, son or whoever and every one of them wanted to set me up on a blind date. Nice person that I am, I didn’t want to hurt any feelings so I went – how bad could it be?


Blind Date No. 1: The doorbell rang. I drew a deep breath and marched forward. My source said he was newly single, had one child and was looking to date again. Okay. Sounded interesting. I opened the door and. . .a young woman was standing on the porch. I gawked in surprise. Omigawd! I was horrified. Did my source think I was gay? How awful!
“Hi,” she smiled, holding out her hand. “My name’s Mary. I know this is really weird, but my brother’s so nervous, he was too scared to come to the door. I’m really sorry about this.”
I shook her hand, breathing a sign of almost relief. “Um. . .no problem whatsoever. Did he even come with you?” I asked, leaning around to look.
“He’s out in the car. We thought we’d go to Dino’s for dinner—if that’s okay with you?”
I grabbed my purse and followed her off the porch. Sure enough. There was a male sitting in the car. Not bad. Normal, but sort of pale and shaky looking.

I opened the back door and climbed in. Might as well keep this on a “friends only” basis.
Dino’s is a nice place. Italian food and good music. A nice start.
We were seated and the waitress brought menus.
“Do you see the prices?” he grumbled, frowning at the list. “I only brought twenty dollars.”
“That’s okay,” I was quick to reply. “I’m more than happy to pay for my own.”
“You will not,” Mary gasped. She scowled at her brother. “I’ll lend you the money until pay day.” I was so embarrassed. “No. Really! I don’t mind.”
“See,” he said. “She doesn’t mind. I think it’s great.”
“She. Will. Not. Pay.” Mary slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s a date—remember?
I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu and water to drink. Blind date No. 1 - No.


Blind Date No. 2: My brother Kev set the date up--an old friend of his, Taylor. My brother said it would be fun. Okay. I was game. I didn’t live in the same town so I drove up and decided to spend the night with my parents.
“You aren’t going to like him,” my mother murmured, concern written all over her face. “He just isn’t somebody you’d date.”
“He can’t be that bad, Mom,” I replied, my naiveté showing. “Kev wouldn’t set me up with a creep or anything.”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “He just doesn’t seem right for you.”
We agreed to meet downtown. My brother, another friend of his, Lowell, and I headed out. I wasn’t nervous. After all, my brother set up the date. I trusted him.
Lowell nudged my arm. “You aren’t going to like him.”
The second person in less than a half hour to say the same thing. Okay, I’m getting anxious now.
The bar was in full swing when we arrived. Kev cased the place, looked for his friend. Growing more anxious by the minute, I found a chair and sat down. Lowell plunked down next to me.
“Why won’t I like him?”
“He’s just…different.”
I’m only five foot two inches, but Taylor was shorter than me—and probably three times as broad. Long hair and sideburns reminded me of a homely aging Elvis, complete with bell-bottomed pants, an open white silk shirt with a leather vest, and more chains than I could count covering his flabby and overly hairy chest.

He stuck out his hand. “See that ring.”
I did. Pretty impressive. More diamonds than I’d seen in awhile.
“Every time I get engaged and we break up, I get the ring back and add the diamond to my ring.”
Let me see! There had to be at least twenty diamonds on that pudgy finger.
A big-bosomed girl passed our table. His eyes devoured her. He whirled, running after her. That was the last I saw of him.
Later I asked my brother why?
“He hasn’t had a date in quite awhile.”
Was I happy? Blind Date No. 2 – Really! No!


Blind Date No. 3: “He’s perfect for you. He’s really handsome, looks like Tom Selleck.”
Hmmm. Tom Selleck? That I could handle. Without further hesitation. “Okay.”
Now I should’ve paid more attention. My co-worker’s husband looked like Don Knotts with a whole lot less hair. But she said her friend was handsome, had a job, and had been divorced for quite some time.
I waited outside. The moment arrived. A beat-up dirty old Buick drove up. The driver leaned over and shoved the door open.
“You Patsy?”
Uh. This had to be the wrong guy! Never in my wildest nightmares would I compare this guy to Tom Selleck. Tom Selleck’s mutt maybe--but not Tom Selleck!
Empty beer cans and garbage littered everything. Spots of liquid and food stains covered the seat. I brushed a small space free and climbed in, full of dark misgivings.
“I thought we’d go play some pool,” he said, popping open a Bud. He took a long swig. “You any good at pool?”
His foot punched down and the car jumped away from the curb. We flew towards the intersection and careened around a corner.
I held on, scrambling for my seatbelt. “Do you think you should be drinking and driving?” I asked, whispering the Lord’s Prayer to myself. “Might want to slow down.”
Cans and bottles rolled and bounced against my legs and feet, spewing liquid on the hem of my best jeans and drenching my sandaled toes.
“No cops around,” he coughed, spitting fluid. He wiped his face with his hand. “Not worried anyway.”
“Well, I’m worried.” Worried for my safety, my self-preservation, the lives of my children if I died. Mundane, everyday thoughts.
I wasn’t a pool player, so I was more than happy to let him find another opponent. The pool game dragged for hours it seemed. He drank like a fish, burping and laughing at his own coarse humor.
I wanted to kill my co-worker. How dare she put me in this situation!
Finally. “I need to get home,” I said. “My sister’s babysitting and I promised her I wouldn’t stay late.”
‘No problem.” His drunken eyes leered at me. “I’m ready to go myself.”
Crap! “No. No,” I said. “You’re having a good time and I don’t want to ruin it for you. I’ll call a cab.” And save myself some grief.
He stroked my arm. I thought I’d puke.
“I’ll take you home, baby,” he whispered. “We still have some talking to do.”
Omigawd!
He was insistent and I was still too stupid and scared to stand up for myself. I followed him out the door, my heart thumping in my chest. Did I dare get in the car again?
He drove like a maniac, skidding to a stop, punching the gas and zipping through traffic. I prayed the whole way home.
The car swerved, jumped the sidewalk and stopped. Panicked, I threw myself out the door.
“Thanks,” I yelled over my shoulder, not forgetting my manners.
I ran up the steps, fumbling for the keys. He was right behind me.
“Don’t I get a kiss goodnight?” His hand stroked my butt cheek.
“Uh. I don’t kiss on the first date.” I wiggled the door handle
“Aw, come on, baby. I deserve a little kiss.”
I was going to faint. I knew I was—but if I fainted, I’d be fair game. What to do?
The door opened. My sister’s sleepy face peered out. She looked at me and then at him, realization dawned in her expression. The door opened wider.
I slipped through. She slammed the door in his face.
Blind Date No. 3 – Definitely--No.


Blind Date No. 4: “You have to meet my uncle. He has his own business. He’s rich.”
Rich was good!
First impressions were not bad. He took me to a nice place for dinner and we were seated. From earlier experiences, I was ready to pay my own way and I made sure he knew it.
“It’s a date,” he objected, smiling. “Later down the road, if you want, you can treat once in awhile.”
Okay, he was looking better!
“I live in a singles only apartment complex down by Julia Davis Park.”
“Oh. How…interesting.” Singles apartment?
“Yeah,” be continued. “We have a big hot tub and we all like to get naked and jump in.”
“Oh,” I fiddled with my fork. “Sounds. . .” Creepy—yeah, creepy. That’s the word I’m looking for.
The food arrived.
“Maybe you’d like to come over sometime.” He started eating. “Afterwards, me and a few of the girls like to play.”
“Play?” I asked, not really wanting to know what he meant.
“Yeah. I like threesomes, with me in the middle. A human sandwich,” he laughed.
Omigawd! Not again! Blind Date No. 4 – Hell No!


My search for the perfect soulmate suffered some horrendous setbacks. But I wasn't ready to give up yet.

In Search of my Soulmate - Bachelor No. 2

The Fisherman

Charged with nervous energy, I waited, excited and impatient. I could hear him rustling around in the back room.

“You’re gonnal love this,” he called. “I got it on sale and it’s perfect.”
My excitement rose. A Christmas present from a guy! Almost as good as flowers on Valentine’s Day.
He peeked out the door. “Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”
I obliged, shutting my eyes tightly, but the suspense was killing me. What could it be? Jewelry? New clothes? Something wonderful I just knew.
“Okay, you can open them now.” He sounded so pleased.
My eyes popped open.

I stared at the object. What the hell was that?
It was an inner tube! An inner tube?
“Uh,” I stammered, at a loss. “Thank…thank you.”
“It’s a float tube,” he grinned. “We can go fishing together.”
“Fishing? In that?”

Now I don’t know about you, but my idea of fishing is standing on the bank, forcing unwilling worms onto a hook and casting out. Reeling slow and, if luck was with me, I’d snag a fish. But a float tube?

I studied the item a little more carefully. There was kind of a seat thing in the middle, with holes for my legs to drape down. Didn’t look safe to me. I’m not much of a water person and I sort of figured I’d have to go out on the water in this thing.
“You’ll still need to get waders and flippers,” he explained, still so pleased. “Soon’s it warms up, we’ll go.”
Oh joy! I’m excited—not.
***
March came far too soon for my comfort. The fishing trip was on the schedule. Some obscure reservoir or lake out on the Camas Prairie near Fairfield, Idaho.
“You can borrow my husband’s waders and flippers.” My friend Carol fairly bubbled. She threw up her hands. “Those things are too expensive to buy until you’re sure you want to keep floating.”
Expensive was the key word. A single mother struggling to make ends meet, I didn’t need a costly hobby. Hobbies were to be enjoyed, treasured, moments of personal pleasure. I didn’t see this as falling into any of those categories.
“Thanks,” I said, with about as much enthusiasm as I could muster. I didn’t want to go in the first place so buying the gear was out of the question.
“It might be fun,” she commiserated, knowing I hated the idea. “Keep good thoughts.”
**
Before daylight we headed out on our less than grand adventure. It was a cold morning. The wind was blowing, the sky was overcast. Rain drizzled the bleak landscape. Not a good day to be out fishing—even less for float tubing. I kept hoping the truck would break down, he’d suddenly fall sick or that I’d awaken soon from this horrible nightmare. But fate was against me, we arrived without incident.

The reservoir was small, but certainly big enough. Mr. Fisherman threw on his gear and waded out, leaving me to decipher the complexities of the confusing equipment. There were no instructions. I had no manual. Why was I doing this? Why hadn’t I just said no? Because you’re an idiot. That’s why!
False starts and many minutes later, I was ready.

Now I don’t know if you’ve ever float tube fished, but imagine loaded down with a pole, a fish bag, drinking water, my small cache of makeup, hanging onto both sides of the float tube, hampered by flippers which I have never worn before and trying to walk. Get the idea?

I stumbled towards the water on feet suddenly larger than Shaquille O’Neal’s. The voice of impending doom whispered its insidious words of disaster to my terror-fogged brain. I shivered in the icy wind. The moment was upon me.
Okay, let’s do this. I waded into the water. Farther. Deeper. In the distance, Mr. Fisherman waved, giving me the thumbs up. Asshole!
The water rose to the bottom of my tube. Okay, I can do this. I stepped forward. With the strength of super glue, the muddy bottom clung to my feet. One of my flippers slipped off! Omigawd! I’d lost one of Darrell’s flippers. I couldn’t afford to replace the item!
I leaned out, as far over the edge of the float tube as I could get, dipping the edge as I frantically groped for the flipper. No luck! I forced the tube further down, stretching out as far as I could.
The tube flipped! Freezing water enveloped my head, shoulders and chest area. I was hanging upside down in the water! Dirty water rushed into my silently screaming mouth. I was drowning. Upside down in a freakin float tube! My thoughts ran rampant. My children. My family. I’d never see them again. And they’d be left with the details of my ignoble death. Shameful and embarrassing. The local newspaper would pick up the story—I could see my epitaph—The float tube won!
I fought, but there was nothing I did that changed the situation. I was growing tired of struggling. Death loomed its ugly face.
A hand gripped my shoulder and pulled me upright. Water streamed from my hair. The waders filled with icy water.
Materializing in front of my watery eyes was the face of an elderly gentleman. “Are you okay?”
I gazed into his face, too shocked to speak.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
I nodded, strands of wet hair flapping my face.
“Let’s get you back to the bank.”
It was only then I noticed my savior had waded out, without protective gear, to save me. He was almost as wet as I was.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” I sputtered, slogging to the bank, burdened by the added weight of the now full waders. “I…”
He frowned. “You shouldn’t be out here if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
In the distance, Mr. Fisherman waved again, thumbs up. He is so dead!
“You need to get dry—so do I,” my savior chuckled. “Didn’t expect to go swimming.”
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized again. “I feel terrible.”
“You look terrible. Go get dry.”
I stripped off the waders, noting a long tear in the right leg. Great! Now I’d have to buy waders and flippers. My gross national debt was growing by the second.
In a rash moment of clarity, I had packed a second set of clothing—in the off chance I’d need them. Finally dry and sitting in the truck, I waited for Mr. Fisherman, fuming and ready to attack.
It was then the truth finally sank in. Mr. Fisherman believed whatever was good for him was good for me. Wasn’t it? I looked back over the preceding months. We did what he wanted to do, ate what he wanted, tried to enjoy what he enjoyed, and I realized--I was nothing but a second thought when he was in the mood.
Several days later, walking down Main Street, a couple walking ahead of me were sucking face and groping frantically. It was Mr. Fisherman!
Months later, I ran into him again. He asked me if I'd ever gone float tubing again. "Sadly," I said. "A friend borrowed the tube, left it in the back of his pickup and lost it driving down the freeway." Secretly I smiled. That fifty bucks in my checking account just about paid for the
flippers and waders.
The vote was in. Mr. Fisherman? Definitely a “No.”

In Honor of Valentines - In Search of My Soulmate - Bachelor No. 1

In Honor of Valentines - I've decided to repost my In Search of My Soulmate series.  Many of you have already read these, but I will again share. We have all had to kiss the frog or be the froggee and this was my journey.


Bachelor No. 1 - Who Was that Basque Man?

I ducked behind a shade tree, pulling at my skirts. “Cover me while I change.”
I struggled with my costume. Time was short and my next performance was only minutes away. I giggled to myself. My skirts had snagged my harem pants and pulled them down somewhat. The crack of my butt was probably showing, but Kay was protecting my back so I wasn’t worried.
“Uh, Patsy,” Kay muttered. “We’ve got company.”
Company? What company? Here?
As I slipped my skirt up, I turned. . . and froze. Standing there, gaping at me, were two men. My fogged brain scrambled to achieve coherent thought.
The heavier man cleared his throat, lips quirking. “My friend here, Javier, wants to meet you. He thinks you’re beautiful.”

My eyes were drawn to the second man. A white cowboy hat covered black curling hair. I perused his features. Blue, blue eyes (the bluest I’ve ever seen without contacts) gazed at me, openly admiring. Sculpted features accented full lips made for dirty kissing, now spread in a beautiful, white-toothed smile. Dimples danced in his clean-shaven cheeks. From the tip of his hat to his down-at-the-heels shoes, the guy was carved from rock hard muscle and oozed masculine beauty. My stomach flipped.
“He’s Basque and doesn’t speak any English,” the man explained. “So I’m the interpreter.”
“Uh, nice to meet you . . . him,” I blubbered, embarrassed by my unintentional peep show. Fine time to meet Mr. Hunk-Man!
Javier leaned over and murmured something to his companion.
“He wants to take you to lunch.”
“Lunch? Today?” I’m sure I blushed. “I . . .I can’t. I’m performing and then I have to get home to my boys.” I know the excuse sounded lame, but it was the only one I had.
He chattered in Spanish to Javier who began to look discouraged. His blue eyes brightened. He mouthed another string of incomprehensible utterings.
“How about tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? No, tomorrow was Sunday! “No can do. I’m taking my boys to the movies and then to dinner.”
He relayed the information.
“How about Monday?”
I had to give the guy points for perseverance. I didn’t really like to meet prospective dates while I was performing – didn’t send the right message about me. But I had to be onstage in a few seconds and didn’t have time for further negotiations. Besides, Javier was pretty.
“Okay,” I grumbled. “Have him call me at work and we’ll figure something out.”
I spewed out my work number. If a guy didn’t call, no skin off my nose because then they had no idea what my home phone number was and I didn’t have to sit by the phone wondering.
Javier nodded, seeming pleased. I rushed to the stage and forgot about the incident.
Bright and early Monday morning, the phone rang at work. It was him! The hunk from Saturday. Our conversation was a bust. I couldn’t understand him and he couldn’t understand me. Another voice came on the line, heavily accented but understandable.
“I Javier’s cousin. He take you to lunch today.”
Today? Was I ready for that? It was a Monday after all. Mondays aren’t always the best days for socializing--but what the heck.
“Okay. Where and what time?”
The voice hesitated. “You pick. He be there.”
Just great! “Meet in front of my building and we’ll go from there. Noon. I have to go at noon.”
“He be there.” The phone clicked off.
Noon came far too early. I’d scurried to learn a few Spanish words, enough to say “hello” and “goodbye,” but that was about it, and grabbed some paper and a pencil. If nothing else, we could draw.
I stepped off the elevator and into the midday sun. He was there, leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed. Waiting. I took a deep breath. My memories hadn’t failed me. He was pretty. A smile split his too sensuous lips.
“Buenos dias,” I blubbered, knowing I had all the accents wrong.
He chuckled, adding a spate of Spanish words of his own.
I shrugged. “I don’t understand.”
“No English,” he explained. “French?”
“Nupe.”
“Italiano?”
“Again, nupe.”
“German?”
“No,” I said, exasperated. “I only speak English—and that not very well.”
He took my hand, head tilted questioningly.
“Oh. . .kay,” I huffed, wondering why I was putting myself through this. “Let’s go.”
We ended up in a small sandwich shop about a block away from where I worked. I ordered for both of us. Conversation was limited, drawings were infantile but serviceable to get ideas across. When the time came to pay, he took out some Spanish paper money and coins. Not going to work here! Crap! I wasn’t planning on paying for lunch.
“Can I write a check?” I asked the waitress, fearing the worst. Hoping my account had enough in there to cover.
“Sure,” she said.
His face flamed. He was embarrassed. He tried to hand me his money but what was I going to do with a bunch of foreign cash? I wasn’t a federal bank! I didn’t have the vaguest idea how to exchange money. I’m from Idaho for crissakes!
“No. No,” I shook my head. “That’s okay.” I patted his hand for good measure, a smile pasted on my face.
We walked back to my office.
“Disco?” he asked.
“Wha. . . ?”
“Disco?” he asked again.
Disco--like back in the 70’s? Dancing? That’s what he wanted. To go dancing.
I didn’t know if I was interested in taking it to the next level—but he was pretty.
I wrote my home number down, feeling like a deer in the headlights. He was interesting and respectful. I could say pretty much anything I wanted, good or bad, and it made no difference to our relationship. There was that.
He took the number, smiling. Another string of unintelligible chatter.
“Well. Goodbye.” I headed back to work, convinced that was the end of it.
The phone rang that night. His cousin was on the line.
“Lunch tomorrow,” he said. “Nice Basque Restaurant downtown.”
I knew that place. It was expensive.
“I can’t afford that place,” I groaned. “How about someplace cheaper?”
“No,” he barked. “I buy.”
“Oh, you’re buying this time?” A free lunch. Something us single girls can appreciate.
“Basque Restaurant downtown. You come?” He sounded so insistent.
The place in question was only a few blocks from my place of employment and known to have great food.
“Okay. Tomorrow. Noon. The Basque Restaurant. I’ll be there.”
The phone line went dead.
Lunch time came. I walked over to the restaurant feeling uncomfortable. I spotted Javier as soon as I entered the restaurant. Spit-shined and wearing a white dress shirt, my Basque friend was seated at a table with two other individuals. A group date! How really fun!
The man stood up. “I cousin. Wife.” He pointed to the woman who smiled.
“I know this is weird,” she said, “but Javier wanted us here so he could talk to you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No trouble whatsoever,” I said. “Makes sense to me.” Frankly, it would be nice to have someone to talk to who actually understood me.
The waitress came and we ordered. Hands folded and resting on the table, Javier and his cousin stared at me, assessing and calculating. They glanced at each other and Javier nodded.
The cousin cleared his throat. “Your children need a husband.”
“Wha. . .?”
“Your children need a husband.”
His wife’s mouth fell open. She gaped--horrified. “Omigawd!” She leaned over the table. “I had no idea what they were up to. Just ignore them.”
She chattered in Spanish to her husband. He chattered back, face growing dark. Javier chattered something. Everyone but me was chattering in Spanish. Somebody tell ME something!
The waitress arrived with our plates and set them down. She looked worried, perplexed. We weren’t the happiest top.
The wife inhaled, looking chagrined. “Javier wants to stay in America. He needs a wife. These two idiots think you’ll do just fine. Javier says you’re just what he wants.” She paused. “I am so sorry. I never expected them to pull this.”
I took a bite. The food stuck to the roof of my mouth. “Well. . .uh. . .my children don’t need a husband. I don’t need a husband,” I mumbled. “I’m not interested in marriage.”
“I can’t imagine what they were thinking. I would never have gone along with this if I’d known what they were planning.”
“Javier good man,” the cousin interrupted. “He make good husband for you.”
“I don’t want a husband.” I sounded whiny, but I felt whiny. “I just got rid of one and I’m not interested in another.”
The wife glared at the two men. “Leave her alone,” she snapped. “Let her eat.”
More Spanish and gesticulating.
“I’ll pay for my own lunch,” I whispered. “Since I’m not buying into this mess, I can afford to pay.”
“Not on your life,” the wife grouched. “They planned this. They can pay for it.”
Lunch was over and it was time to go.
Gentleman that he was, Javier escorted me back to my office building. Uncomfortable and nervous, I shook his hand goodbye, mentally determining that I’d never see him again. My choice—but the right one. I deserved more than being a Green Card wife.
As in an old movie of the 40’s or 50’s, he wrapped his arms around me and bent me back, slapping a throat-licking kiss on my unsuspecting mouth. I was horrified! People I worked with and saw every day were walking by, staring curiously. I struggled to get free, but bent over backwards is not the most conducive pose to that end. The kiss went on and on. Javier was putting every ounce of persuasion into that kiss. I was putting every ounce of determination into ending it. I couldn’t enjoy it. It was broad daylight and the noon walkers were out and about. What if my bosses saw me? How awful would that be?

Finally, adding a hug and a squeeze, he let me go, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
I straightened my clothing, sucking in air.
“Uh. . .goodbye,” I said, watching the passersby, discomfited by their obvious amusement.
“Disco?” he tried again.
“We’ll see.” I extended my hand, shook his and walked away.
“Was that you in the parking lot?” an interested lady on the elevator asked.
“Nope. Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I never saw Javier again. He called a few times, but I put him off and over time, he quit calling.

Interview With Chanta Rand

Stop by if you have a minute and listen in!  My first vocal interview!  Chanta Rand is a very gracious host and I enjoyed every minute of the interview.


Patsy

External vs. Internal Conflict - Jannine Gallant

Today I have a special Guest - Jannine Gallant visiting about her new release, Bittersweet.  

First of all, I’d like to thank P.L. for having me on her wonderful blog today. She told me to talk about anything I wanted, so here goes.

What draws you to a book? Is it the setting or the characters or a combination of both? Honestly, I tend to get hooked on the bigger picture, the external conflict. I love books that keep me on the edge of my seat, wondering if the characters will survive the circumstances in which they find themselves. My romantic suspense books have great villains—stalkers and serial killers terrorizing the poor heroine. I choose settings with pizzazz—Lake Tahoe, the Redwood Forest, a cross country road trip… Sure my characters have emotional issues, internal conflicts, but overcoming the external problems is often more of a challenge. So why did I do a complete turnaround with my latest release, Bittersweet?

I have no idea, so let’s figure it out. For starters, this book is character driven rather than plot driven, and it’s my first foray into the historical romance genre. Bittersweet is set on a Colorado farm in 1880. Yes there are external problems—some of them major. The outlaw who killed Tess’s husband is still threatening the community. A dry summer may destroy their livelihood. But the core of the book is emotional. Tess is determined to provide a normal life for her infant daughter, and that means overcoming her grief at the loss of her husband and remarrying. Daniel loves his sister-in-law, but he remains fiercely loyal to his brother’s memory. A moral dilemma is at the heart of this story. The internal conflict actually creates an external conflict in the person of the new sheriff in town and his relationship with Tess.

So, back to my original question, what do you look for in a book?

Blurb:

Eight months after her husband is killed in a train robbery, Tess Moran knows she must pick up the pieces of her shattered life and build a future for herself and her infant daughter. Daniel Moran’s love for Tess is bittersweet. Acting on his feelings for his sister-in-law will betray his dead brother’s memory. Watching her search for love elsewhere may very well destroy him.

In 1880, life in rural Colorado is filled with hard work and simple pleasures, but trouble looms on the horizon. Together Tess and Daniel battle drought and the outlaw who killed the man they both loved, but the greatest challenge of all is finding solace for their battered hearts.

Excerpt:

Daniel followed her across the kitchen. He stood beside her in the doorway, looking out at the star filled sky. “It’s late. I’ll walk you home.”

            “You don’t have to. Shadow is with me.”

            “I’ll walk you home,” he repeated.

            Only the scuff of his boots on the road and the sound of crickets broke the silence. Tess sighed.

            “Tired?”

            “Yes.”

            He cleared his throat. “Why did Nathan come to see you?”

            “He asked me to the dance at the Leightons’ barn raising.”

            Daniel kicked a rock in the path and swore softly.

She stood still. “You’re the one who said there can’t be anything between us.”

            “I know, but I’m only human. Did he stay long?”

            “No, why do you ask?”

            “I haven’t the right, I know. The way you looked with that wet chemise clinging to you—” His voice trailed off.

            Tess blushed and was glad of the darkness. She hurried toward home, unable to outdistance her thoughts. “A gentleman wouldn’t mention it.”

            “You were hysterical over Emily, and all I could think about was how beautiful you looked. I hated Nathan for seeing you that way.”

            She stopped a few yards from her back door. The light shining from the kitchen window illuminated his face. His misery was clear.

            “All it would take is one word from you, Daniel, just one word. Say it,” she pleaded.

            “I can’t.”

            She swallowed hard. “Then let me be happy with Nathan.”

            He turned away. “I’m sorry, Tess. I’ll leave you alone.”

            “Fine. Goodnight, Daniel.”  Turning, she ran into the house before he could see the tears on her cheeks.

You can find me at:

Website: http://www.janninegallant.com/

Personal Blog: http://janninegallant.blogspot.com/

Group Blog: http://rosesofprose.blogspot.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/JannineGallant.Author

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/JannineGallant

Publisher Buy Link: http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/store/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=964