Monday Morsels: The Seeds of Change

THE SEEDS OF CHANGE

by Augustina Van Hoven

The door was stuck on the outside and hard to open, but they managed it. Dex stepped out on the ground of his new home. It was freezing. The wind blew snow everywhere, limiting visibility. He wore a heavy coat, gloves, and a ski mask, but the wind cut right through him as if he were naked. Just as he turned to go back inside, he saw them: three large, fur-covered figures about his height.

Wonderful, we crash on an alien planet, and we’re going to be eaten by yetis.

They stopped a few yards from him, and the center creature held up its hand. It held a red box. The creature yelled something he couldn’t understand. Then a voice came from the box. “We are representatives from New Ardor, and we are here to help you.”

Behind Dex, his little band of survivors shuffled and whispered. He was taking a huge risk allowing the aliens into the cargo bay, but it was too cold to stay outside. Besides, he wasn’t one to shy away from risk, and luck had been on his side so far today. He gestured for the trio to follow him.

“Are you crazy?” one the men whispered.

“There’s more of us than them,” Dex said. “Now help me get this door closed.” The muttering subsided as the men worked to close the door. As soon as they were finished, they aligned themselves in a half circle, flashlights held like weapons.

What he had thought were the creatures’ own fur was actually a removable coat; they removed their hoods to reveal the humanoid heads. The one with the red box had to be a woman. She had long, silky, deep-blue hair. Her face was angular and quite attractive, but it was the eyes that got him, bright green eyes with oblong pupils. They reminded him of Jimmy, the cat. She spoke again. The language sounded like a combination of Arabic and Chinese. Like before, it took a moment, then a voice came from the red box.

“You must seal the breach in your hull and power up your ship. Nightfall will be here in sixteen hours, and the temperatures will drop. If you do not do this, you will not survive the night.”

He stood stunned.

“How can we help?” the woman asked through her translating device.

“What’s your name?” Dex asked instead. He couldn’t just keep thinking of her as the alien.

The leader of the alien delegation reached up and moved her deep blue hair away from her shoulder, exposing the red box. It translated Dex’s request into her language. She looked surprised. The answer came back. “Laize.”

“I’m Dex. Can you tell me where we are?”

“Your ship came to rest on an ice pack at the base of Mount Denair in the northern hemisphere of Kao.”

The Space Exploration & Colonization Group’s Starship Halcyon wasn’t supposed to be here. It, along with two other ships, was supposed to land on Nedrion.

But because of treachery and sabotage by members of the SE&C Group, the ship, its crew, and the colonists it was transporting were now stranded. How long would it take the Lexington and the Aryton to notice the Halcyon was missing? He shrugged. It didn’t matter; both ships were too far away to be of any help. The survivors of the crash were on their own and at the mercy of their new alien neighbors.

“Do you have any portable power generators?”

She seemed to take his change of topic in stride. “Yes.”

He addressed all three aliens. “We have six cargo haulers and two shuttlecraft flying somewhere above us. Can we use your power generators to light up a landing area?”

Laize listened to her translator, nodded, and then spoke to her to companions. They wrapped themselves in their cold weather furs and headed to the door.

“Sir,” said one of the five men who had come to the cargo bay with him, his tone edged with uncertainty.

Dex pushed ahead; he didn’t have time to dither. “We have to trust that our new neighbors are people of their word. We’re going to need their help to survive here. This will be our makeshift infirmary until we get the power back on and the hospital and clinics are operational. Look around for anything you think we can use.”

The men fanned out, their flashlights soon becoming little specks of light, like fireflies in the darkness.


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The last thing Dexter Thompson expected was to get a field promotion from being a member of the ship’s construction crew to the ship’s ambassador. When the Halcyon crash lands on Planet Kao, he’s the first one to interact with the aliens who showed up to help. The blue haired beauty, who led the delegation, haunts his thoughts and dreams.  Is it possible for them to have a future together?

Laize never believed in the prophesy that a new species was coming to their galaxy.  She didn’t believe until the day when a ship dropped from ski and landed at the base of Mount Denair. When the Council sends her to be their emissary, she’s surprised by the size of the ship and the humans inside. She’s even more surprised to find the handsome human ambassador is slowly melting her frozen heart.

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Monday Morsels: Cupcakes & Kisses

CUPCAKES & KISSES

by Minette Lauren

Melvina Banks was put down by vanity—literally.

She’d flipped her hair down, then up, while blow-drying herself into a heated frenzy. As a result, she lay on the cold tile of her bathroom, moaning in pain. That last toss and swish was her back’s final undoing. Tucked into flesh-colored Spanks, she lay on the teal-and-white-checked floor. Small bullets of sweat beaded on her freshly painted face.

Hell, there goes my makeup.

Patting her hands on the floor around her, she searched for her cell phone. Hoping she’d knocked it from the corner of the sink in her fall from grace, she winced as another spasm shot through her lower back. Then she remembered it was in her bedroom on the bed. Probably lost beneath the mound of clothes she’d plucked from her closet while trying to decide what to wear.

If I die here, they’ll eventually discover my lifeless form gripping my roller brush for all eternity.

She wished she’d accepted Mona’s invitation to set her up on a blind date. At least the poor fellow, whoever he was, would be able to hear her scream from outside and call for help.

Instead, she had shaken her head, saying she didn’t need the additional complication in her life. Besides, sitting across from a stranger, making awkward small talk while he silently judged if she were worthy enough for him to pay for her dinner, was not Melvina’s idea of a romantic night out.

She’d had enough of those dates in her twenties and thirties to know they never turned out great. She usually ended up paying for her own meal and sometimes her date’s dinner as well. She was embarrassed to admit she was left with the check more than once.

Melvina tried to push herself up from the cool floor and gasped as a lightning bolt of pain shot along her spine and down to her hip. She was due at the Magnolia Ladies dinner in twenty minutes, and it took fifteen minutes to drive to town. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to miss a Magnolia Blossom Ladies League dinner, but she had a role in the actual event. She was meant to introduce Cecilia Lockwood, reigning president, so that Cecilia could then introduce their esteemed guest for the annual fundraiser.

This year’s proceeds were allocated to the construction of another fire station in the growing community of Magnolia, a blossoming suburb of Houston. The guest speaker would be none other than Riley James Nash, renowned chef and area native, recently making his big splash on the Food Network. He was the owner and head chef of Braised, the hottest new restaurant in Houston, and there were rumors two other locations were opening in New York and San Francisco.

Ah, to be a Food Network star….

If that happened, she would be able to open her dream cupcake shop, maybe even expand to other places. On many occasions, she’d imagined building a cupcake mini-empire, including big cities like San Francisco. She’d flown there once for a cupcake convention and had fallen in love with the small town of Half Moon Bay. With a population of only ten thousand residents, Half Moon Bay was more her speed than San Francisco proper. But the folks who visited the small coastal town on the weekends would provide plenty of business for her booming imaginary bakery.

Unfortunately, she would never own her own business if she couldn’t make the right connections and get someone to back her dream. A dream that wouldn’t materialize if she didn’t get off the floor and make it to that dinner. Riley Nash could very well be her lucky lotto ticket to owning her own bakery.

She placed her hand on the white cabinet door and slid herself across the tiles, squeaking again with pain. Putting both of her heels as close to her buttocks as possible, she pushed hard with a heaving grunt and then repeated the motion several times until she’d slid herself into the bedroom to the foot of her bed. Reaching up, she fumbled her hand around on the mattress and tugged. A mound of clothes showered her, and a button on one of the dresses tangled in her freshly brushed, long blonde hair. She tried to swim free of the many layers of fabric, blowing out her breath hard when a scarf floated over her face.

“Ow,” she complained, finding the loop in her hair to release the oversized button. The sultry beat of the old but catchy Junk in the Trunk, by The Black Eyed Peas, blared from above, taunting her rather curvy rump, currently stuck on the bedroom floor. Melvina had chuckled when her friend, Mona Calhoun, had downloaded the tune onto her cellphone the last time they had cocktails at Bubbles.

Melvina imagined her skinny, small-bottomed friend wiggling around on her own front porch, centered in the middle of High Valley Estates Golf Community. Mona was a trust fund baby who was still spoiled rotten at the age of forty-one and was one of the first people who’d bought in the elite new housing community.

Some of the stauncher neighbors had complained about Mona’s lively paint choices for her mini-mansion and the amount of time she sipped margaritas while watching Louis, the lawn guy, trim the hedges. More than likely, the residents were upset about the laughter coming from inside Mona’s house after the lawn work was finished. Louis was a twenty-something attractive Latino and Mona was almost twenty years his senior…but age never stopped Mona.

She often bragged about her cougar status, telling anyone who’d listen, “As long as they’re of legal age, handsome is handsome.” Right along with, “What’s good for the goose….”

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What does it take to make it Hot in Magnolia?

One cup of sexy

Two tablespoons of sizzle

And a whole lot of heart

Magnolia, Texas, might be booming with single men, but as far as Melvina Banks is concerned, it’s a bust. Between her volunteer work with the Magnolia Blossoms, tutoring at the local library, whipping up cupcakes for the local firefighters, and working at her dad’s diner, she has no time for blind dates let alone finding “the one”. Melvina would much rather spend her precious down time fine-tuning her plan to open a bakery. When celebrity chef, Riley Nash comes to town for a Blossoms fundraiser, Melvina hopes for a chance to pick Riley’s business-savvy brain. With Riley’s nationally acclaimed talents and his successful new restaurant, Braised, he just might be the one who can help Melvina whip her blossoming idea into a recipe for success. Trouble is, she can’t seem to keep her mind on business when it comes to Riley’s devilish good looks and sizzling charm. The heat is turned up when Magnolia’s handsome fire chief, Manny Owens, sparks an interest in Melvina. Torn between two of Magnolia’s hottest bachelors, she can’t help but feel the burn. Can Melvina separate her rising affections for both men, or will she end up with egg on her face?

Cupcakes and Kisses is the first book in the delicious new romantic comedy series, Hot in Magnolia, by award-winning author Minette Lauren. Set in the burgeoning town of Magnolia, Texas, this hot new series is brimming with laugh-out-loud moments and chock-full of endearing characters who will have you rooting for love and cheering for happy endings.

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Monday Morsels: Sinful Seduction

SINFUL SEDUCTION

by Jacqueline Seewald

New Jersey, 1776

AT FIRST, the trip to Princeton was not frightening. There were no armies of soldiers on the road. Yet the smell of fear was in the air. Anne McIntyre had been told the Continental Army was retreating across New Jersey with the British army in hot pursuit. The coach pressed on. She grimly kept her skinning knife at one side and the spare pistol at the other — just in case. Visions of red-coated soldiers pillaging and raping marched through her mind.

A few miles outside of Princeton, old Jacob sped up the coach. Anne could hear horses racing and drawing near. Soon there was the sound of voices yelling at Jacob to halt.

“Is it soldiers?” Delia Baincroft asked in a small, frightened voice that made her sound more childish than her sixteen years.

Anne turned her head toward the window at the rear of the coach and peered out. There were four armed men on horses chasing after them, but they were in civilian dress.

“It looks like highwaymen, although I cannot be certain.”

The coach could not outrun the men on horseback, and they were forced to pull over. Anne’s heartbeat increased as she gripped the pistol beside her.

“Where are you goin’, driver? And who are the folk within this fine coach?”

“Who wants to know?” she heard Jacob return sharply.

“Do not be rude to your betters, old man, or I’ll slice out your tongue.”

Fanny Baincroft slightly opened the coach door and peered her head outside. “Step away, man. My daughter is ill, and we are on our way to seek a physician.”

“Then surely you fine ladies have money with you to pay a fat fee. Get out of the coach and hand over your valuables.”

“How dare they!” Delia sputtered indignantly.

“Stand and deliver.”

There was the sound of a pistol fired and then another in exchange. Anne brushed past Fanny to see what was happening. Jacob had obviously tried to shoot one of the robbers, but his aim wasn’t good enough. The old man gasped, holding his chest where blood spurted forth. While the men had their eyes turned on Jacob, Anne took up her weapon and aimed it at the leader of the group.

“I’ll shoot you if you don’t get out of here,” she said, cocking the mechanism.

The highwayman laughed at her in a crude, menacing way. “And what does a young woman like yourself know of weapons?” He started moving toward her. “I think you need to be taught a lesson in how to yield right and proper.”

Anne let loose her shot and caught the man in the head. She saw the look of astonishment as he fell from his horse, blood trickling down his temple. She hoped that without a leader, the others would turn and ride away, but that was not the case. Three men charged toward her, and she could only think to remove her knife from its hide casing in readiness. She would not die without a fight.

But suddenly she heard a pistol discharging and then another. A tall man on a great horse dispersed the robbers, another of whom fell from his horse, bleeding profusely while the other two rode away.

“Are you all right?” The man’s black horse reared up.

Anne found herself trembling. She had been fine in the moment that required her greatest effort, but now she felt weak. It was as if her legs could no longer support her. Their savior seemed to sense this. He climbed down from the spirited stallion and put his arms around her, holding her close as if she were a child. Normally, she would have been shocked and offended by such behavior from a stranger, but these were not usual circumstances. She felt his gesture of comfort suffuse her flesh with an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of warmth.

“They won’t be back,” he said reassuringly.

He ran his hands over her back and continued to press her close against the hard length of his masculine body. Her reaction to him was peculiar. She felt herself begin to tremble as if in the grip of a raging fever. It took all the strength she could summon to pull free of him.

Anne looked up into the handsomest face she had ever seen. The man removed his hat and bowed to her. His eyes were of a deep, dark blue, hair completely blond on top and sandy beneath. He was well-dressed in a great, black cape and fully armed with a sword and brace of pistols. When he returned his hat to his head, he cocked it jauntily like a military man.

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They met and loved passionately in a time of revolution.

Anne McIntyre, a schoolmistress in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey at the outset of the American Revolution, is serious-minded, intelligent, and patriotic. Anne supports her sister in her marital problems and helps the ironmaster’s widow manage a difficult situation with her daughter.

Peter Kensington should have been an earl, but thanks to the duplicity of his younger brother and his own reckless nature, he has ended up an officer in the colonial war. Spying is alien to his gentlemanly code. Yet he must do exactly that. Anne is suspicious of him from the first but as passionately attracted to him as he is to her.

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Monday Morsels: Storms of the Heart

STORMS OF THE HEART

by Lainee Cole

Emerson Lane slowly zigzagged her SUV down the winding dirt drive, hitting more potholes than she missed.

Jagged lightning sizzled through the murky night sky, followed by a shock wave of thunder. She cringed and her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she peered through the watery darkness. The ominous cracks and booms reverberated through her body, anticipated and yet still so unexpected. So out of her control.

Like everything else in her life.

Bouncing over another pothole, she rounded a curve and slammed on her brakes. The SUV lurched to a stop just short of a downed tree.

She groaned and briefly bent her head to the steering wheel. What else could go wrong?

“Don’t ask, Em, just don’t ask!” She shoved the SUV into park but left the engine idling. Wavy rivers of water cascaded down her windows, blurring the lines between her past and her future.

Her life was a storm. A destructive tornado that had twisted her into someone she didn’t know or like before it finally spent itself out and dropped her into adulthood, leaving her to deal with the aftermath of her youth.

She was at the end of a fifteen-hour drive, running away—again.

She frowned at the rivulets of water. She loved her job as an archivist, until she discovered her controlling ex-boyfriend was the son of a board member at her small, elite university. She might have avoided dating him if she’d known. At the very least, she would have kept her thoughts to herself after she dumped him. Then she wouldn’t be in danger of being suspended from the job she loved.

Emerson blinked. Maybe something good could still come from the whole experience. Uncle Wayne had been inviting her back ever since she left seven years ago, but this time he wanted her help. Maybe they could bond over their shared love of history as they worked together on the Centennial.

Her heart swelled with gratitude. He’d always been there for her, even if she hadn’t acknowledged him. Here was her chance to repay him. Although, heaven only knew what words would spill out of her mouth when the time came…

Her heart beat steady, strong, and reassuring in her chest. She was here now. That’s all that mattered.
Two weeks of vacation would allow her to help Uncle Wayne, and hopefully mend their relationship. She was sure going to try anyway.

And with a little bit of luck, the Tony situation would blow over by the time she returned.

She waved her hand in front of her face. Enough thinking for now. She shut off the engine and pocketed her keys.

Waiting out the storm would only delay the inevitable. The drive was too narrow to attempt a three-point turn, and she had zero faith in her ability to back all the way to the main road. Good thing she had her own two feet!

She zipped her lightweight jacket and pulled the hood up. It wasn’t a raincoat but it was better than nothing. She grabbed her backpack and flashlight then climbed out and locked the doors. So what if it was the boondocks of southern Illinois? One could never be too careful.

With her back to the SUV, she swept the flashlight beam over the trees. The thought of wildlife scuttling through the underbrush sent a shiver spiraling through her body. She was accustomed to manicured lawns and well-lit cityscapes. Everything was so dark out here.

Rustling noises sounded nearby. She gulped and scurried past the SUV, picking her way around exposed tree roots. Then she was striding up the dirt driveway with the storm on her heels.

Rain pelted her back. The wind howled through the trees. Lightning crackled over her head, striking an old oak tree. A branch fell across the drive in front of her. She shrieked and jumped back.

With her heart battering her chest, she stood stiffly in the rain, unable to escape the words forming in her head. Bad things happen in threes. Okay not a tree – a large dead-leafy branch. That was three things. She wasn’t normally superstitious, but she was counting anyway. She scowled. Now she would have to maneuver through the soggy grass around yet another obstacle in her already soaking wet tennis shoes, in the still pouring rain, with lightning crackling over her head. Yeah, she should definitely be done.

Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself and just get on with it! 

Emerson glared at the branch. She yanked her backpack higher and tugged her hood farther forward. She hurried through the wet grass to skirt the branch. One last mad dash of about twenty feet, and she ran up the front porch steps.

Dismissing the childish urge to stick her tongue out at the storm, she slipped her hood off and slumped against the house to catch her breath.

God, she hated storms, especially lightning storms. She hated driving through them in the dark even more.

Stop it! Think about the positives! Despite the doubts, despite the storms—both real and imagined—she’d made it back to Twin Creeks. She’d made it home.

Home. She blinked several times. Her heart climbed into her throat, but she would not give in to tears. Breathe in, breathe out, she coached herself. You can do this! 

Despite Uncle Wayne’s pleas, it had taken her a long time to be brave enough to return to the last place that had been a semblance of home after her parents had been killed in a car accident.

Now that she was home, she couldn’t wait to feel his firm bear hug.

She straightened her shoulders and pushed away from the house. Yes, she could do this! At twenty-five, she could finally take control of her own life. She could put her past to rest, and look forward to her future.

Emerson flinched when another crack of lightning split the air and forked through the sky, illuminating two cars parked at the side of the house. She’d been so focused on where she was stepping she hadn’t noticed them before. One was a distinctive black and white car with SHERIFF in gold lettering on the side.

Her breath hitched as she peered through the downpour. Wait. What is the Sheriff doing here? She’d already lost her parents and her aunt. She couldn’t lose Uncle Wayne, too. Not now.

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Blinded by the painful loss of her parents and life as she knew it, Emerson Lane fled Uncle Wayne, Twin Creeks, and Justin “Max” Lomax – not necessarily in that order – immediately after graduation. When she returns seven years later, ready to make amends with Uncle Wayne, he’s away on a secretive business trip and Max never left. Can she carry out her uncle’s work in time for the town Centennial beginning in less than a week, all while protecting her heart from Max?

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Monday Morsels: Permanent

PERMANENT

by Kim Carmichael

Chapter One

"WHAT'S THIS?" A blast of hot air and a stack of envelopes greeted Shane Elliott when he opened the door to his apartment. He stepped back. The scorching air he could handle, but envelopes only held bad news, commitment and work.

"Mail." His brother, Carson, thrust the pile at him.

Though the stagnant warm air threatened to choke him, he froze at the return address on the top letter.

Carson flicked the envelope. "What are you going to do?"

He crumpled the unwanted paper in his fist and headed straight for his couch, shoving the evil thing under the cushion. "We're not going to talk about it."

"Shane." His brother shook his head on the way to the kitchen.

"Let's get out of here." He sat, the multitude of letters hidden in the couch crunching like cockroaches.

"You need help."

"I said not to talk about it." As he pounded his fist into the arm of the couch, a horrible crash boomed through his place, vibrating the wall he shared with the apartment next to him. "Whoa! I didn't know I was that powerful."

Carson ran over and put his ear to the wall. "Did you finally get a new neighbor?"

"Four days ago. Some little old lady." He joined his brother.

"How do you know it’s a little old lady?" Carson cupped his hand over his ear.

"She hasn't made a sound in four days. What if she broke a hip or something?" He winced at the image entering his mind, dashed out of his apartment, and knocked on his neighbor's door. "Hello?"

No one answered.

Once more, he pounded on the door. Maybe the lady's hearing aid fell out. "Hello!"

"She could have passed out." Carson tapped him.

"Damn!" All he needed was some little old lady in her housecoat lying helpless in her apartment. No way would he start their relationship as the jerk that allowed the woman to rot away. What if he ever needed her for anything?

"Watch out." With no time to second guess, he kicked the door in. The door flung open, breaking off one hinge. "Don't let any cats out!" A silent little old lady would definitely have a cat or a million to keep her company. He leapt inside to find his victim, only to be met with nothing but a mountain of perfectly labeled moving boxes and he peered over one of the peaks to find her.

At his discovery, he smiled. No old lady, instead a bona fide woman lay flat on her back on the generic beige carpet with a hammer only a few feet away from her. With red cheeks and glassy eyes, she seemed somewhere between wanting to scream and bursting into tears. This entire situation was great, perfect even, if not for the huge gash on her forehead with blood gushing out of the wound.

Not wanting to terrify her more than she had to be already with her injury and two men bursting into her apartment, he sprang into action, sliding around the boxes and dropping to one knee next to her. "Shane Elliott." He thrust his hand out and bowed his head. "Your neighbor and your savior."

She opened her mouth but said nothing, only continued to stare at him.

"I see nothing of the feline persuasion either in the apartment or fleeing the apartment." Carson entered hunched over as he examined the area.

A slight whimper escaped his patient's throat.

"We may not have any cats, but I think we got ourselves a chick." He winked at her.

Her eyes darted between the two of them.

"She's stunned." Carson snapped his fingers in her face.

Shane swiped his brother's hand away. "Go get the first aid kit. This needs special equipment."

While Carson left, he took over the role of the calming and soothing gentleman and patted her arm. "We heard you go down and came right away."

"I'm so embarrassed." She reached up to her forehead and winced.

"It happens." He took a moment to study her, with her big blue eyes and straight, long blonde hair, she was a perfect Hollywood princess. She wore a pair of black yoga pants and a pink t-shirt, fine for moving in, but the black designer stiletto dangling on her foot caught his attention. No wonder she fell.

"Everything will be okay, don't try to move." He grasped her shoulder. "We'll stabilize you."

"Triage." Carson returned with the sought after kit. "So, did you figure out what happened?"

She raised her hand.

Not wanting her to exert herself, he pushed her hand down and scanned the room locating the second shoe, a step stool and some framed art of pastel flowers. "Looks like she tried to hang a picture in her heels, lost her balance and came down with a splat. Her shoe landed in the eastern quadrant." He reached over her and picked up the hammer. "This hammer hit her causing a contusion to her right temporal region." There was no better time to start things right, and impressing her with some multi-syllabic words was merely one tool in his arsenal.

"Thank you, detective." When Carson flipped the lid of the kit open, an envelope popped out. "Shane."

"Focus." Before Carson grabbed the offensive thing, Shane snatched it up, balled the paper in his fist and shoved it in his pocket. "We have an injured woman."

"This involves all of us." Carson rifled through the bandages.

"It's my problem, leave it." He yanked the kit over. "I'm the boss, don't think about it."

"That's a crock and you know it." Carson pulled it back.

"Excuse me." Again, his fallen angel waved her hand.

"We have a wound we need to tend to." He smiled down at her. "What is it?"

"I want to thank you for coming here, but why don't you two go take care of your mail issue. I'll be fine." She licked her lips and inhaled. "This is nothing a bandage won't fix, the odds of it being something worse is very small. I was just taken off guard."

"I don't think the odds are in your favor this time." The injury seemed worse than he originally thought, much deeper and her forehead now swelled. He tore open the package of gauze. "Actually, this may be beyond my vast medical knowledge."

"Sir?"

"Don't call me sir. It's Shane." Sir was some old man and he didn't want that image in her head. He tilted his head, trying to assess how to fix her.

"Shane?" Her voice came out a little stronger.

"Hold on sweetie, don't worry." Once more, he approached her with the gauze.

"It's fine." She propped herself up on her elbow and a trail of blood oozed down her face. "Oh no."

"Wait up." Somehow he got her back down on the floor and shoved the gauze on her forehead. "This is way beyond a bandage."

He exchanged glances with Carson and blurted out, "Urgent Care."

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What is Permanent?

Always on the outside looking in, accountant, Lindsay Stevens, has calculated her transformation from a small town, nerdy bookkeeper to a sleek, high-powered accountant down to the last penny. With all her checks finally in balance, she moves to California to start a new life free of her embarrassing past she never wants revealed.

As Hollywood's hottest tattoo artist, Shane Elliott thrives on standing out. Charismatic and free of commitments, he travels through life with a wink and a smile, hiding the letters he receives from the IRS as if they don't exist. Now with bills to pay and tax collectors breathing down his back, for the first time in his life Shane can't charm his way out of his situation.

However, when his new neighbor literally falls into his life, he knows he has struck gold once again. Though Lindsay tries to keep her distance, she suddenly finds herself trying to hide her true self as she thrust into a world she doesn't think she belongs, but can't resist. In his good-time life, Shane must discover there is more to life than a party if he wants something more. With their lives intertwined, the two must learn accept each other, themselves and their love. Worlds collide as they decide what is truly permanent. Permanent is the first book in the Indelibly Marked Series that follows the lives and loves of those surrounding Permanent Tattoo.

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USA Today Bestselling Author, Kim Carmichael, began writing fourteen years ago when her love of happy endings inspired her to create her own. She has a weakness for bad boys and techno geeks, and married her own computer whiz after he proved he could keep her all her gadgets running. When not writing, she can usually be found slathered in sunscreen trolling Los Angeles and helping top doctors build their practices.

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Monday Morsels: Gold Lust Conspiracy

GOLD LUST CONSPIRACY

Lynda Rees

May, 1880

Jessie entered the secluded alcove near adjoining railcar doors toward the necessary. After dealing with her needs she exited to return to her seat.

Swish! Hot outside air assailed Jessie as the connecting doors between cars opened and closed.

Before she could turn, rough hands gripped her shoulders. The intruder spun her around and she slammed against the wall. A stunned gasp escaped as her heart skipped. Her head shook to clear her vision.

“What in tarnation?”

A burly man in soiled deerskin leaned into her. A wicked grin exposed a few rotting teeth left in his mouth. An array of revolting odors assaulted Jessie’s nose and she flinched then shivered, repulsed as the stench reeked of perspiration and something else—dried blood, urine? His smothering, steamy breath stank of cheap whiskey and decay.

The man sniffed Jessie’s neck, pushing against her body. His guttural voice slurred, “Give old Wheezer a kiss. Will ya? One smackeroo will do. I ain’t seen no white woman in more’n a year.”

He licked Jessie from her neck toward her ear, sending tremors of fear along her spine. Heart racing, adrenaline pumping through her veins, fumbling for the fan hanging from her wrist, exposed a slim, razor-sharp dagger hidden within its ivory tines. Attempting to aim the blade at the disgusting man’s side, Jessie groped for the hidden compartment in her skirt to withdraw another weapon, but couldn’t reach it.

Suddenly, the connecting doors slid open and slammed shut. Hot air swooshed in. Jessie’s attacker glanced behind him as she struggled harder.

Just in time to see a large hand catch Wheezer’s neck in a chokehold. His tongue lolled out as he gagged and sputtered.

A statuesque man had pulled Wheezer off Jessie. The towering intruder’s powerful appendage grabbed the back of Wheezer’s neck and dragged the now-helpless tormentor toward the open connecting door, pushing him through it. With a zip-slamming rumble from the door, they were gone.

Free from her attacker, Jessie stood, shaking but erect. She smoothed her skirt, righted herself, and surveyed what she could of her appearance, bringing a hand to her hat to ensure it remained properly attached.

A lady must look regal in every circumstance. That lesson had been ingrained in Jessie during the last year.

Jessie stepped through the door, curious about the gallant stranger who’d come to her assistance, following him out to a walkway connecting the railcars. Throat still clutched in her rescuer’s hand, Wheezer’s feet swayed above the floor. Squealing, protesting, mostly gasping, he attempted to fill his lungs with sufficient air.

The man flipped Wheezer across the barrier, dangling him above the train coupling and the open rail like a weightless rag doll, while the train raced above a steep ravine to a shallow rocky riverbed at least a mile downward.

Jessie gaped at the spectacle. Would her savior drop the rude mountain man?

“Listen, old codger,” The stranger spat, “if you accost this lady or any other on this train again, you won’t receive a warning. Your miserable ass will be sent to hell. Understand?”

Wheezer’s panicked eyes grew as big as saucers as he visibly trembled and frantically nodded. Between his parched lips, slobber drooled from his gaping mouth.

The scent of testosterone oozed from the impressive stranger, the essence of maleness. Powerful shoulders and arms threatened to burst his jacket seams. Her height barely reached the towering stranger’s shoulder.

“You owe this lady an apology.” He brutally shook the quivering Wheezer as Wheezer’s head wobbled back and forth helplessly. All the fight had deserted Wheezer. He became limp as embroidery thread.

“What’re you waiting for?”

Wheezer blinked at Jessie, seemingly forgetting her presence. Quaking, Wheezer rasped, “I apologize, ma’am.” Wheezer appeared sorrowfully on the brink of tears.

Satisfied, her rescuer brought Wheezer back across the railing, settled Wheezer’s feet gently onto the floor, and released him. The wretched bully scurried through the connecting door and disappeared into the next car.

Jessie’s champion turned, chuckling low, his face actually turned pink. The spectacular male appeared embarrassed.

Intriguing. 

A broad hand brushed back shaggy blonde hair which had come untamed during the tussle. His stunning face held a gracious smile. Flashing that adorable, dimpled expression at his mama, he could likely get away with anything.

Jessie tingled with a sudden desire to touch the appealing dent in his strong jaw. Hot blood surged through her veins.

Had someone fired the potbelly stove in the already s weltering railcar?

Heart pounding against the corseted restraints Jessie waved the fan over her face and pressed a gloved hand hard on her chest, as if keeping it from busting loose.

“Please forgive my rudeness. I apologize for my language. I don’t normally speak that way in front of a lady. I had no choice.” The stranger’s head bowed nobly. Raising his face to Jessie, his smile exposed perfect white teeth.

Jessie gazed transfixed at those lips, unable to hold back an involuntary sigh.

“The old coot got himself liquored up and bent on mischief, so I followed him. He’s a recluse, a mountain hermit. They rarely come out into public and don’t care much for people. When they do their lack of social skills leads to chaos. Wheezer’s sort only understands strong language and a firm hand.” The stranger’s voice held an apologetic note.

The handsome gent grinned. Had he read her silly thoughts? His eyes seemed to glint with an appreciative light as he inspected her from head to toe.

She should take offense. Oh, hell! She ogled him, too.

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A marriage of convenience turns Jessie Blackstone into a young widow responsible for the livelihood of many in savage, lawless Skagway, Alaska. Jessie faces severe weather, brutal landscape, her sordid past and her attraction to virile lumberjack, Logan Pace. She must learn to thrive in a man’s hostile business world.

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Monday Morsels: Horse Power

HORSE POWER

by Nancy Loyan

Shelby Shane was used to rescuing strays. After all, she had numerous dogs, cats, horses, and assorted chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observed another lost soul.

What was unusual, though, was to see a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, very expensive, and very broken-down Harley with his heavy black leather boots.

She was pulling out of her expansive gravel drive in her trusty old pickup truck when she encountered him. He was enraged by the look of things, and she was afraid to interfere for fear of how he might react. She sat, windows rolled up, watching him kick the tires, remove his helmet and toss it to the ground. Even in the enclosed truck, she could hear him cuss.

He turned and froze in place upon seeing her. She expected to come face-to-face with some Hell’s Angel’s type. Instead of being rugged, surly, muscular, and unkept, this man was clean-shaven, with trimmed black curly hair, and shimmering amber eyes. He had cheekbones to envy and the body encased in black leather was gym-worthy.

“Oh, my, what have we here?” she muttered out loud in her lazy Texas drawl.

He approached her window. Hesitating for a moment, she rolled it down a bit.

“Lady, do you have a phone I could use to call for help? My cell is just not working out here,” he said with perfect pitch and diction, though he was visibly rattled, evidenced by the vein throbbing in the corner of his forehead.

This guy was definitely not a hoodlum, she thought. He not only looked like a prep school grad, he sounded like one.

Rolling her window down more, she answered, “Most cell phones don’t work way out here. We haven’t many cell towers in these parts.”

“Great. Just my freakin’ luck.”

“What’s with the bike?”

“Just bought the damn thing. Thought I’d take it on ride to my friend’s cabin in the U.P., and the thing breaks down in the middle of nowhere.”  He sneered in the bike’s direction.

“Where you from?”

“Indiana.”

She snickered. “You’re a ways from Indiana.”

“Yeah, and the dealership. Don’t remind me.”

“Tell you what? I have a ramp in the back of my truck. We can push your bike up onto the bed. We can check it out and see if there’s a Harley dealer somewhere nearby,” she offered. He seemed harmless enough. Right, as harmless as a handsome hunk of male could be. She shook her head. What was she so concerned about? After all, the only relationship she had recently fell apart.

“A Harley dealer around here?” He scanned the winding ribbon of asphalt highway.

“You have to understand that the term ‘around here’ means anywhere within a hundred mile radius.” She smiled.

He smiled back with teeth that surely had endured years of braces.

“I see. What do you suggest?”

What the hell, she thought. “Let’s get your bike on my truck first. After, we’ll ride up to the house. It’s too cold to be standing out here.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“You haven’t many options, I’m afraid.”

She opened the door and stepped out of the cab to face him. She thought that she was tall, but he towered over her. His eyes met hers like a panther sizing up its prey. She trembled, not from the fear of being harmed, but from the mix of leather and testosterone that this stranger emitted. Even in the autumn chill, she was getting rather warm.

She stepped away from him and walked to the back of her truck, lowering the tailgate. Dragging out the steel ramp, the stranger moved in to help. After, he went to his bike and rolled it toward her truck. She took one of the handlebars.

“No need,” he said. “The bike’s heavy and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look,” she said, assisting him in rolling the bike up the ramp and on to her truck bed. She closed the tailgate.

He stood staring at her, brows cocked as if in amazement.

“Well, get in the truck,” she invited.

On the ride up her drive, she asked him his name.

“Travis. Travis Harrington,” he answered. “And yours?”

“Shelby Shane.”

“Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Shane.” He smiled.

“Same here, Mr. Harrington.”

He laughed. “Cut the formality. Call me Travis.”

“Okay, Travis. I’m Shelby.”

“Shelby. Interesting name.”

“Not in Texas, where I come from. Travis sounds more Texan than Midwest.”

He shrugged. “My family had a thing for cowboys.”

Okay, he was as easy to talk to, as he was easy on the eyes.  Her day was getting interesting. She had pulled out of her drive to go to the feed store, and instead pulled into the path of a fascinating stranger.

“Is that pasture yours?” he asked, pointing out of the window.

“Yes.”

“That’s quite a collection of horse flesh you have there. Let’s see, Appaloosas, a Quarter Horse, a Friesian, and an Cobb pony.”

“You know your horses.” The man was a contradiction. Refined, yet riding a Harley, educated, but wearing leather, and a preppie who knew horses. She pulled in to the front of her small storage barn.
He chuckled. “I should. I run an equestrian center, instruct riding, and direct a troop.”

She was grateful that her truck was in “Park.” Now he had completely thrown her off balance.

“Really?” Her gaze met his and it was startling.

“I’m the Director of Horsemanship Instruction at the Vaughn Equestrian Center at Culver Academies,” he said.

He was a preppie. She had read about the prestigious boarding school and its famous Black Horse Troop, that had participated in most presidential inauguration parades and the like. His was the Rolls Royce of stables and educational facilities.

“You traded horses for a Harley?” she quipped.

“Let’s just say that I wanted to try out something with a little more horsepower.” He winked.

“A real horse would have been more reliable, albeit slower,” she said, opening her door and sliding out of her seat and truck.

He exited her truck, closing the door and came around to the back where he met her.

“Hey, let’s leave it on the bed. It’s not going anywhere. How about some hot tea?”

“Sounds like a great idea on a cold day.”

“Follow me.”

### 

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Shelby Shane is used to rescuing strays. She has numerous dogs, cats, horses, and chickens roaming her farm. On the rural highway in front of her sprawling acreage, she observes another lost soul, a tall man clad in black leather kicking the tires of a very shiny, expensive, and broken-down Harley.

Just when Jonathan Travis Harrington III thinks that he is having a bad day, an angel named Shelby appears. He wonders why such a beautiful woman is living in the boondocks of rural Michigan. He was riding his new motorcycle to visit a friend in the Upper Peninsula and wasn’t expecting the detour to change his life.

Shelby and Travis come from two different worlds. Hers is from the school of hard knocks, his from privilege. She’s a dog and horse trainer. He’s the Director of Horsemanship at the prestigious Culver Academies in Indiana.

The love of horses brings them together. Will tragedy drive them apart?

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Monday Morsels: Dark Justice

DARK JUSTICE

by Angela Smith

Luke—Twelve Years Ago

“All rise for the jury.”

I stand, my legs unsteady. The jurors filter in, one by one, their eyes downcast. Those who look, only glance at the prosecutor. Not me or my defense attorney.

Wayne’s breath hitches. It’s a whispery whoosh, a sound he likely doesn’t realize he’s made, but it tells me everything I need to know. I almost collapse in defeat.

He thinks they found me guilty. And by their expressions, I agree.

I size up the crowd gathering in the courtroom. Most of them sit on the prosecutor’s side. Clint is there. Once my best friend, but now I’m convinced he’s a killer. He’s next to Lauren. The love of my life and the one I presumed would stand by my side forever. But since she believes I killed her sister, I guess I can’t blame her for turning her back on me.

But Clint? Fear curls my spine. He’s charming, I’ll give him that, but he’s an absolute psycho. Nobody in Lauren’s family will listen, especially Lauren. And before all this, I wouldn’t have believed Clint is the killer. He killed her sister. How do I know she won’t be next? How can I protect her if I’m locked in prison for the rest of my life?

The judge drones on about the charge, then asks the jury if they’ve reached a decision. Wayne shifts and gives me a blink that tells me he wants to make sure I’m aware of what’s going on. I’m eighteen, for God’s sake. How could anyone my age understand criminal justice?

He’s warned me of how you can never predict a jury, but this group of fourteen holds their heads high as if they’ve never been surer in their lives. Two of them are alternate jurors, so it’s up to five men and seven women to decide my fate.

An older gentleman hands the bailiff the verdict. I hold my breath, and the judge reads. “We the jury find the defendant, Lucas Donovan Fuller, guilty of murder.”

Gasps fill the room. Chaos erupts, at least in my bones. More like a commotion, nothing too disastrous to alert the judge, and something he’s probably accustomed to. He only regards the crowd. A lot of loud talking, crying, and my mother’s wails. He’s way more patient than me and waits for everyone’s reaction to subside.

My muscles grow weak. I badly want to sit and wonder when I’m allowed. I want to reach out to Lauren. Tell her I’m sorry this happened, I didn’t do it, she has to trust me, and please, please don’t trust Clint. I open my mouth to say these things, but my attorney stations his hand on my shoulder, as if his one palm is going to keep me silent.

He warned me over and over not to react. I’m not allowed to speak. I am barely allowed to move, and I can’t look her way, although I shift to do so. The bailiff puffs out his chest and walks closer, as if I’m going to bolt.

“Calm down,” Wayne says. “We still have punishment. Don’t make a scene.”

Why shouldn’t I react? This is life changing. My life is over. I’m going to prison. The judge hasn’t declared a final sentence but after everyone’s testimony, I’ve started to believe my own guilt. I’m likely going to prison for the rest of my life.

****

Luke—Present Day

Luke Fuller’s pen scribbled across the page. His heart hammered while he wrote the words, ears filling with the deep drum of his heartbeat as if he was re-experiencing the event. Tired of writing, he shut the notebook and tossed it on the wrought-iron table beside him, along with his cap and shades. He stood and opened the grill to check the ribeye.

Food would be ready in a few minutes, and all he needed was right here. A little salt and pepper, paper plates and plastic forks to eat with, and a cooler full of drinks. Even a hundred feet from the river, the bullfrogs’ croaking put him at ease.

A sound he never expected to hear again.

He closed the grill, grabbed a beer from the ice chest, and lounged on the patio chair. It took a while for his heartbeat to settle. Writing these memories was difficult, harder than he expected, and his body ached from the flashbacks.

The sun descended, a showcase of gold fueled by rain clouds and humidity. He loved the open porch and didn’t want a screen to filter him and the outdoors. With bug spray, sleeping out here at night was a dream come true, despite the oppressive mugginess. Lightning flashed in the south, implying the much-needed shower was near. Nothing better than the clatter of rain on the roof.

Even the mosquitoes avoided the Texas July heat, but he’d take heat over the prison cell where he’d spent the past twelve years of his life. He’d take it over that any damn day.

LED lights strung across the porch offered a soft glow to ease him come sundown. He hated the darkness. Too many reminders of prison and the things he wanted to forget. But this darkness out in the country was peaceful, welcoming, different. Almost bearable.

A car drove up, the headlights zipping through the trees. His muscles tensed. He studied the nearby monitor attached to the front security camera. The car parked, the lights shut off. His lungs tightened, burned, then disintegrated when the woman stepped out and sauntered to the back.

She remembered. Friends always came to the back door. But she was no friend.

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She’s in love with her sister’s killer...
Lauren has loved Luke since first grade. They planned to marry—until he murdered her sister. The moment he was sentenced to prison, Lauren fled with her secret baby and made a new life. Now she’ll do anything to keep their daughter safe. But her hard won peace shatters when Luke is exonerated, and it sets her on a path of mixed emotions to discover the truth. Letting a killer into their tightly knit family is out of the question. Or is it?

She almost destroys her life by threatening his…
Prison stole his future with Lauren and twelve years of Luke’s life, so the last thing he needs from her is a knife in the back or a gun in his face. Lauren believes he killed her sister, and he has no plans to pick up where they left off. Luke can’t afford to trust her, but he wants nothing more than to convince her he’s worth fighting for.

Their daughter is in danger… 
Luke is heartbroken when he learns they had a child together. Now his daughter is in danger. Lauren trusted the wrong person for far too long, but he hopes she’ll now trust him. Luke will risk everything to keep them safe. And Lauren will risk everything if she lets him into her heart.

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Monday Morsel: The Christmas Kiss

THE CHRISTMAS KISS

by Augustina Van Hoven

Chapter 1
The Governess

With an effort, she focused on what Mr. Mason was saying. 

“It grieves me, Ms. O’Sullivan, to have to let you go. But I know how attached Mary is to you, and if she is ever to have a bond with her new mother, she cannot have you here acting as a distraction and a barrier. I’m prepared to give you an extra month’s salary as a severance, and a good reference. I’m sure that someone of your talent and abilities will be able to find a suitable position very quickly.” 

Anna swayed from the shock. It was the dead of winter. A suitable position was going to be hard to find. If she had to stay at a hotel or a boardinghouse, her savings and her severance pay would be gone in a few months.

Shock or not, this was her new situation. She’d faced difficult times in the past, when her own mother died and she was forced to find work to support herself. She could make it through this. 

Anna nodded at Mr. Mason. “I understand. I am sorry to be leaving, but I wish your family the best. And I appreciate your…generosity.” The words almost choked her, but it wouldn’t do to make a fuss about her situation and lose the severance he was offering.

Mr. Mason sagged as if relieved to have the conversation over without too much histrionics. Without another word, she fled the library for the little room beside the nursery that had been her home these past five years. She didn’t have much to pack, but her sorrow would add significant weight to her luggage.

****

True to his typical style, Mr. Mason left the next day for New York, saying he would return in one week. He left it to her to break the news to Mary. As Anna had expected, Mary was devastated. She cried for hours and refused to eat. Anna tried to console her, telling her that she was getting a real mother and, possibly in a year or two, a brother or sister. That seemed to help. 

They decided since they were going to be together for only one more week, they would set aside the schoolwork and make it a time of fun. That way, they would both have happy memories to look back on.

Anna wanted to have one of the footmen go to the forest and bring back a Christmas tree so they could decorate it, but Mrs. Burns, the head housekeeper, overruled her. She said Mr. Mason’s new wife would want to decorate the tree in her own taste and might even be bringing some personal ornaments with her. She and Mrs. Burns compromised by having a footmen chop down a very small tree that would fit on the table in Mary’s room. For two days, she and Mary made their own decorations and hung strings of popcorn, ribbons, and ornaments made of paper and cloth on the tree.

The next day they helped Agnes, the cook, in the kitchen, baking cookies and making custard pudding. They played with Mary’s dollhouse, had tea parties in the morning room, and made a formal gown for Mary’s favorite doll. 

When the last day came, the weather was clear and crisp and the snow was thick on the ground: a perfect day to play outside. They built a snowman outside the dining room window and gathered some small pine branches for Mrs. Burns to place around the house. After lunch, they climbed a large hill near the side of the house, one they’d climbed hundreds of times over the winters, dragging a sled and anticipating the thrilling ride down. The hill—smooth, steep, with a three-foot shelf midway down—sent the sled airborne for a few feet before landing back on the hill and finally slowing down as the ground flattened. The sled was a long one made to hold two people. A rope tied to the two handles gave it a minimum amount of steering.

It took them a while to haul the heavy sled up the hill. When they reached the top, they sat on a large rock and rested. 

Mary leaned up against her. “Anna, I don’t want you to leave.”

Anna gave her a hug. “I know, sweetheart. I don’t want to leave either, but your new mother is coming tomorrow and she will take care of you.”

“I want to write to you. I want to be able to tell you things. It won’t be like talking to you, but at least I won’t lose you.” Mary sniffed. 

Anna pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to the little girl. She knew full well that Mr. Mason would never allow Mary to write. He wanted Mary and his new wife to become like mother and daughter. He was right. If Anna stayed, Mary would always come to her rather than her stepmom. 

“I’ll tell you what, I promise to answer every letter that you write.”

The wind was picking up, and it was getting colder. They finally prepared to slide downhill. Anna sat in the front so she could hold the rope and steer. Mary sat behind her, clinging to Anna’s coat, with her feet on the sled on either side of Anna’s hips. 

The sledding conditions were perfect. The snow was a four-inch layer of soft powder. The sled picked up speed as they headed down the steep incline. Everything was going well until the runners hit a rock hidden by the snow. The sled lurched hard to the left, and Mary lost her grip, coming off the sled and rolling in the snow before stopping. The loss of her weight made the sled go even faster. Anna was afraid to let go and roll off in case there were more hidden rocks. 

The sled hit the shelf and flew through the air higher and faster than Anna had ever traveled before. She was frightened and clung to the steering rope. 

The air in front of her seemed to shimmer. Her gloves slipped off the rope, and before she realized it, she and the sled parted company. She fell into darkness.

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What happens under the mistletoe…

When a sledding accident catapults governess Annabelle O’Sullivan ninety-four years into the future, she panics. She doesn’t know how to get back to 1925, and she doesn’t know how to survive in the twenty-first century. Annabelle must depend on the kindness of a stranger and his daughter, and she repays that kindness the only way she knows how: by making a home. The longer she stays, the less she wants to leave. But can she trust this stranger with her life?

Since the death of his wife, Daniel Wagner has shut down his heart to everyone except his daughter, Olivia. Other women—including some of his employees at the ski lodge he manages—have angled for his attention. But Daniel found avoidance easy, until he was forced to rescue an unconscious woman lying in a snowdrift by the side of the road. Although the stranger seems to have no past, Daniel soon finds himself thinking about a present—and a future—with her.  

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