Nan Reinhardt, Author

Grown-up love stories, because we're never too old for a little sexy romance…
Browsing Uncategorized

It’s a Party!

October13

My publisher, Tule Publishing, is having a Holiday Release Party over at the Tule Book Club Facebook group on Oct. 16th 4-7 p.m. PST to celebrate the new Christmas romances we have releasing in the next few weeks. It’s going to be a load of fun and we all have great giveaways planned. If you aren’t a member of the Tule Book Club on Facebook yet, come on by and join in the fun! We’ll have a great time and it’s the place to meet all your favorite Tule authors, including yours truly!  Come on by next Tuesday, 4-7 Pacific Time, which is 7-10 Eastern Time. Hope to see you there!

posted under Tule Publishing, Uncategorized, Writer's moments | Comments Off on It’s a Party!

Holiday Romance with Liz Flaherty

October11

Know what’s great? Having a BFF who is also a romance writer because it means I get first peek at all her books, plus I have someone to process stories with. Someone who really gets it when I’m stuck and thinking I’m the worst writer ever. It’s good to be that person for her, too! Today, I’m celebrating the release of that person’s newest novel. Liz Flaherty’s The Dark Horse: A Christmas Carousel Story is part of the 12 Days of Heartwarming Christmas series of holiday novels and it is a wonderful, touching story.

Liz graciously agreed to share an excerpt:

This isn’t a scene between the hero, Row, and the heroine, Chloe; rather, it’s between Row and his best friend. And it’s pretty close to my favorite. You need to know that there are four foster kids at stake here, two boys and two girls. And remember, this is Christmas Town, where love always finds a way.

Shoe was in Germany. Even though he didn’t remember exactly how many hours the time difference was, Row knew his friend would wake when his phone rang and that he wouldn’t be happy about it.

He wasn’t.

“Unless you’re terminally ill or at the airport needing to be picked up, you have to hang up and call back at a reasonable hour.”

Row laughed. He thought he’d missed Shoe’s James Earl Jones growl as much as he missed the man himself. “Would you have married Tatiana if she hadn’t been in love with you?”

“I’d have married Tatiana if she’d been in love with you.”

“She was, brother. We just didn’t want to tell you.”

Shoe chuckled at the old joke, his voice becoming more wakeful. “I don’t know that she was in love with me or even if I was in love with her then. She had a lot on her plate, being a single mom in medical school. She liked me and I loved her little boy, I had a steady paycheck and a car. I wanted to be Isaac’s dad more than I’d ever wanted anything—even more than I’d wanted to fly Black Hawks. So we got married.”

Row knew, simplified as the telling of the story was, that it was also the truth. He must have asked Shoe a hundred times if he was sure of what he was doing before he’d stood up with him in the Vegas wedding chapel. “What about now?” he asked, although he knew the answer to that one. He just liked hearing it.

“She’s the air that I breathe, man, and these kids? These kids are my reward for becoming a grownup. Did I tell you Isaac is starting on the basketball team here? As a sophomore? His mom is so proud.”

“I know. You’ve told me a dozen times. Too bad you’re not a little proud yourself.”

Shoe yawned hugely. “Now, since people are going to wake me up for church pretty soon, why don’t you tell me why you called so I can sneak in another half hour of sleep?”

Row told him. He talked about Connor and the music in the boy’s soul. He told about Chloe’s face when she sat with a sleeping toddler in her arms. He tried to explain how if felt sitting next to her on the couch or in his car. He said no, no, he wasn’t in love, just seriously in like—and he was worried about the Michaud kids. Big time.

Shoe laughed a lot from the other end, and then he said quietly. “Remember when we’d fly into places we weren’t sure about? We’d say a prayer and go in, because if we just hung there in the air, all we’d do is run out of fuel and get embarrassed when we fell out of the sky. I’ve waited a long time to hear that tone in your voice that Chloe seems to have put there, so go in, Row. Don’t wait to fall out of the sky.”

They ended the call then. Row sat on the loveseat in the guest house’s miniature living room, sipping the beer he’d poured from a growler when he’d come home after helping Chloe carry the little girls back upstairs at her house. He’d kissed her at her front door, held her gaze for a long time, and kissed her again.

It had been a long day and he was exhausted. But enlivened, too. He picked up his phone again and called his father. “Are you disappointed about not being a grandfather?”

Mr. Welcome hesitated. “Yeah, I guess I am. Are you thinking about making me one?” He chuckled, and the sound fell warm on Row’s ear. “I’ll take two of each.”

Liz is a multi-published author with Harlequin, The Wild Rose Press, and Carina Press. She has three grown children, the three they married and brought home to her, and the Magnificent Seven grandchildren who are, you know, magnificent. She and Duane live in the same farmhouse back a lane they’ve been sharing for 40 years and hope to share for…well, probably not another 40, but a long time more. She also hangs out with me–our 3-hour lunches are the stuff legends are made of. She’d love to hear from you at lizkflaherty@gmail.com or please come and see her at http://www.facebook.com/lizkflaherty

 

Welcome Lynne Marshall!

October9

I’m excited to be hosting romance author and pal, Lynne Marshall today and celebrating the release of her newest book from Tule Publishing, Sweet Home Montana. Check out a fun excerpt from the book below and keep reading for a chance to enter a Rafflecopter giveaway where 2 winners will receive ebooks of Her Baby, His Love and Their Christmas Miracle. The giveaway is open internationally and ends October 17.

Lynne used to worry she had a serious problem with daydreaming, then she discovered she was supposed to write the stories in her head. A late bloomer, Lynne came to fiction writing after her children were nearly grown. Now she battles the empty nest by writing stories which always include a romance, sometimes medicine, a dose of mirth, or both, but always stories from her heart. She is a Southern California native, married for almost thirty years, has two adult children she is super proud of, is a dog lover, cat admirer, a power walker, and fellow traveler on this wild road called life!

You’ll find Lynne everywhere, just click any of the links below:

WebsiteGoodreadsAmazonFacebook

Here’s the blurb for Sweet Home Montana:

Entrepreneur Wade Conrad is called home to act as a temporary guardian for his teenage half-brother, who’s acting out and needs strong guidance. Wade feels they are both floundering, so he seeks help for Brent at Healing Heart Acres, an equine therapy center.

Erin Chase has been working as an equine therapist since her fiancé called off their wedding with no explanation three years ago. She personally enjoys the peace found through animal therapy and believes in passing on the gift. When Erin meets Wade, she’s instantly drawn to his concern for his brother, as well as his kindness and charm.

Wade treasures time spent with Erin. They both long for more, but Wade’s leaving for California soon and his brother’s needs come first. Will he take a chance on love before it’s too late?

 She’s sharing an excerpt with us today:

Once Wade took off, Erin recovered and wandered over to Brent, who sat on a bench staring at his boots. “Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up. Rather than answering, he tipped his chin up, as in yes.

She sat gingerly on the other end of the bench. “I guess I read you wrong.”

He tossed her a confused and perturbed glance. “He tell you I don’t talk to him because he doesn’t like being my brother?”

“No. He mentioned the counselor at school was concerned about you picking fights, though. It’s quite clear to me he’s worried about you, and that’s why he brought you here.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want to be here.” He lobbed a petulant stare at her.

“That part I read easily enough. What I got wrong was thinking you might be an animal person.”

“Why would you think that?” He pulled in his chin.

“Because of that moose cap you’re wearing.”

His tense gaze relaxed. “They’re okay.”

“What about horses?” She knew a lot of people were afraid of the size of horses. “Do any riding?”

“Not since I was ten. I got thrown from a horse. My father said it was my fault. I don’t think horses like me much.”

For a kid who didn’t talk much, he’d just said a lot. “Horses are smart. They can tell when a person’s afraid. Some horses are ornery, too, but that’s not the kind we keep here at the acres.”

“What’s the point of this place? Why should I come here?”

Buy links for Sweet Home Montana:

GoodreadsAmazonBarnes & NobleiBooksKoboGooglePlay

2 winners will receive ebooks of Her Baby, His Love and Their Christmas Miracle

Open internationally

Ends October 17th

 

 

Big Stuff Is Coming…

July6

…honest! Hold tight and as soon as I finish the revisions on my Tule Publishing book, I’ll be back with news and fun posts.

posted under Uncategorized | Comments Off on Big Stuff Is Coming…

Celebrating Seasoned Romance: Liz Flaherty

February23

I’m always delighted to welcome my bestie, Liz Flaherty, to the blog. Liz thinks one of the things that keeps you young when you quite obviously aren’t anymore is the constant chances you have to reinvent yourself. Her latest (and happiest!) professional incarnation is as a Harlequin Heartwarming author!

One of the reasons she loves writing and reading about seasoned protagonists is the most obvious one–it’s a dream she’s living. She remembers early conversations with her husband when they tried to imagine having sex at 40 and beyond. She was utterly thrilled to find out it was not only possible but even better than it had been in their 20s!

That’s as personal as it’s going to get. Liz has three grown children, the three they married and brought home to her, and the Magnificent Seven grandchildren who are, you know, magnificence. She and Duane live in the same farmhouse back a lane they’ve been sharing for 40 years and hope to share for…well, probably not another 40, but a long time more. She also hangs out with me–our 3-hour lunches are the stuff legends are made of. Liz is a multi-published author with Harlequin, The Wild Rose Press, and Carina Press.

She’d love to hear from you at lizkflaherty@gmail.com or please come and see her at http://www.facebook.com/lizkflaherty

Today Liz is sharing her thoughts on seasoned romance, a topic the two of us have taken apart and put together more times than I can count. However much we discuss romance written about and for women in their prime, we inevitably come to the same conclusion–we need it! Take it away, Liz!

Thanks to Nan for having me here yet again. This article is a re-run from a year or so ago on The Pink Heart Society but my feelings on the subject haven’t changed at all. My own seasoned romances are still among my favorites. My women’s fiction title about four girlfriends in their 50s, The Girls of Tonsil Lake, is something I’m embarrassingly proud of.

I’ve been reading romance since long before Janet Daily wrote No Quarter Asked and gave American authors a new place in a genre that belonged almost exclusively to women.

That particular revolution was only one Big Thing—romance and most of its changes have been an embarrassment of riches since its beginning. Multi-cultural romances are widely available, which wasn’t always the case. Indie-pubbing is huge, yet I remember when the very idea of it was pretty close to the f-bomb on the roster of dirty words. Romance used to be the love story of one man and one woman and now gender isn’t even an issue. The traditional Happily Ever After ending can be Happy For Now or, if some supporters have their way, Not Happy At All. Sex has gone from being a heavy-breathing suggestion near the climax of the story to multiple scenes in the same chapter. The use of any kind of swearing or other obscenity has become a non-issue because nothing is forbidden.

It must be admitted that nearly every adjustment has been accompanied by kicking and screaming from its authors, readers, or both, but the biggest blessing of all these changes is that now there is something for everybody. I write sweet romance for Harlequin Heartwarming with no on-the-page sex and no swearing. Inspirational publishers, lines, and imprints are alive and well. Readers don’t have to look far to find books that tell stories of LGBTQ protagonists. A reader can go from chaste kisses to multiple orgasms with the touch to the screen of her e-reader. Contemporary, historical, and paranormal romances have delighted readers waiting for them and no one’s intoning in somber voices that their chosen category is dead.

I’m old enough to be appalled at some of the alterations to the genre I love at the same time I am, as a child of the 60s, completely thrilled that the changes have been made.

Except. Did you see that term in the paragraph above, there where I said “60s.” That’s where I’m at—not the 1960s anymore, but in my 60s. Somewhere past the middle. If we want to be brutally honest or intentionally rude about it, I guess I’m old. I’m retired from a long and happy career at a day job but I still write romantic novels and work part time in a library. I’ve been married to the guy who holds my heart for going-on-47 years and we have seven pretty-much-perfect grandchildren.

Surprising as it is to me, apparently no one wants to read about romance between people who lost their skin tone and their waistlines sometime in the previous decade. Or the one before. Who aren’t necessarily falling in real, true love for the first time, who won’t be pregnant or have children in the epilogue, who answer first and foremost to such pet names as Nana and Grampy-Buttons.

My daughter and daughters-in-law are in their early to mid-40s. They’re bright, beautiful, educated women with professions they’re excellent at and proud of. They’re also great mothers and wives. They’re readers, too, just like me. But no one wants to read about people like them, either. People whose days start in the dark and end in the dark because between their jobs and their families and that little-bit-of-time-before-bed they can call their own, their lives are completely full.

We read, all four of us, but we can very seldom read about women like ourselves because we’re too old, too settled, too married, the wrong demographic all around.

It makes me sad, because as gorgeous and smart and hilarious as everyone born after 1980 is, I don’t want to read about them all the time. I’m not interested in their body art or, for that matter, their body parts. I don’t believe they invented sex or that they’re the only ones who are good at it or that they are the only ones who can experience angst in its truest, most heartbreaking forms. They’re not the only ones who know how to laugh from the deepest parts of themselves or who hide behind closed stall doors in restrooms and weep from those same places.

Do I sound a little bitter there, as if I’m protesting too much? Yeah, probably. Because those of us born before 1980 have been in all those places. What’s more interesting is that we’re still there. We still laugh, cry, and have sex. We love more than we ever have before simply because the width and depth of our lives grow every single day and the love grows right along with it.

Yet we can’t be heroines in romance novels and the men we love can’t be heroes. I mean, we can, but not often. Not many. Not usually ones published by the Big Boys in New York. We can’t have imprints with provocative or heartstring-pulling names. It’s been tried; Harlequin’s Next imprint comes to mind. Its 100 titles are some of the best women’s fiction/romance books ever published and several of them had Baby Boomer protagonists. But think of that—100 titles. Not many in the scheme of things.

When I began to stage this little protest—remember, I said I was a child of the 60s; protest is part of my personal operating system—I looked up the demographics of romance readers. On this particular website, I read that “18 percent are between the ages of 45-54, 11 percent are between the ages of 55-64…eight percent are over 75…six percent are between the ages of 65-74…” Now, the way I read that, 43 percent are 45 and older, so wouldn’t that make you think protagonists “of a certain age” might have more stories in them than are available to read?

Not all statistics read that way, of course—it depends on your source. And not everybody my age or my girls’ ages want to read (or write) about protagonists in their own age groups.

But some do, and I’d love to see statistics on how many of that 43 percent I mentioned up there would like to see more romances about mature people. I’d love to know how many writers would like to write more romances about mature people. (I must note here that using the word mature is making my teeth itch—we’re people and don’t need labels.)

I have friends who write older protagonists—Nan Reinhardt and Jan Scarbrough to name two. I’ve written a few. Many others have, too, and terms like seasoned romance, grown-up love stories, never too old, not their first rodeo populate numerous blogposts and websites. I’m glad to see it, glad to read those stories that are written from hearts scarred and made strong by surviving life’s rodeos.

But I don’t think it’s enough. Until it is realized that we are here “in numbers too big to ignore,” until stories both by and about us are published and marketed with the same respect and enthusiasm awarded virtually everyone else, we’re still going to be the writers and the readers who are left over at the end of the day.

Here are links to Liz’s other stories with characters over 40:

A Soft Place to Fall

Summer in Stringtown Proper

Because of Joe

The Gingerbread Heart

 

 

Celebrating Seasoned Romance: Lina Rehal

February21

Today we’re featuring Lina Rehal, a self-published author who writes contemporary romance, nostalgia, memoirs, and slice-of-life stories. Her first book, Carousel Kisses, is a collection of nostalgic stories, personal essays and poems about growing up in the late ‘50’s and early ‘60’s.

She combines her passion for fiction and love of storytelling in her contemporary romance novels. Her two romance books, October In New York and Loving Daniel, Book One of her Tucker’s Landing Series, are available on Amazon.com in both print and Kindle formats.

NAN: Welcome Lina. Tell us what you are currently working on or promoting.

LINA: Hi, Nan. Thank you for having me on your blog. I’m currently working on edits to the first draft of my contemporary romance, Lasting Impressions. It’s book two of my Tucker’s Landing Series. I’m hoping to self-publish it in late March or early April. I’m also promoting Loving Daniel, the first book in the series. Both stories are set in a coastal town in Massachusetts. It’s my first attempt at writing a series.

NAN: What genre(s) do you write in?

LINA: Mostly, contemporary romance. I love writing fiction and romance stories with happy endings. I also write nostalgia, memoir and slice of life stories.

NAN: Do you have an agent and/or publisher, or are you self-published?

LINA: All of my books are self-published.

NAN: What advice would you give to an aspiring author?

LINA: Write from your heart. Get it down on paper and worry about the edits later. Go with your muse. Listen to your characters. They’ll lead you in the right direction.

NAN: Who is your favorite author and why?

LINA: Nora Roberts. Her characters are engaging and memorable. She grabs my attention from the first page and holds it through to the end. I’m never disappointed when I read one of her books.

NAN: Is there a theme/message underlying your book(s) that you hope comes across?

LINA: My characters are in their mid-forties and up. If there’s a message, I’d say it’s don’t be afraid to love again. Second chances are hard to come by.

NAN: What do you like best/least about writing?

LINA: I like entertaining people through storytelling. I love creating characters and the worlds they live in and finding ways for them to interact. What I probably like the least is the time between books. After I finish a book, I miss my characters and the anticipation of what’s going to happen next. Thankfully, it goes away once I’m immersed in the next story.

NAN: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

LINA: Several years ago, a local newspaper accepted one of my stories. I was asked to write for a weekly column. I wrote day trip stories for a year and then moved up to travel and feature ones. When people would come up to me and tell me they enjoyed my story, I felt like a writer.

NAN: What is the hardest thing about writing a series?

LINA: Making the next book/books stand alones. Blending the characters from a previous book in with the new ones in the current book can be difficult. You have to make sure the timeframe works and that you don’t repeat too much. I keep thinking I have to explain what they did in the last one.

NAN: What do you do in your spare time?

LINA: I like to read, of course. Other than that, I enjoy traveling with my husband to Disneyworld and short getaways to Maine and New Hampshire. I love spending time with my family and going to lunch or dinner with girlfriends.

Lina is all over social media:

http://thefuzzypinkmuse.com

Loving Daniel

Romance writer, Grace Madden stumbles across an old journal and a stack of letters from the man who shattered her dreams when he returned from Iraq, broke their engagement and left Massachusetts with no explanation. Reading his letters brings back the unanswered question of why he broke up with her. Memories she tucked away in a corner of her heart, over two decades ago, resurface. Realizing she never got over him, the well-known author tries to find closure. She writes LOVING DANIEL to tell the story she’s kept inside of her all these years.

When Aidan McRae reads it, he is convinced the story is about him and has to know why she wrote it. He learns she’s doing an author event at a bookstore near his home in Maine and plans a surprise visit. He persuades her to have lunch with him. Hoping to find her answer, she accepts his invitation to spend the next day in Ogunquit, the small coastal town they visited as kids. An innocent kiss leads to feelings neither of them can deny.

Excerpt:

When Aidan woke up, he found himself in the living room. It was dark. He could see the full moon through the open blinds. The TV was in sleep mode. Red numbers from a digital clock on the end table glared at him. 2 a.m. Must have nodded off on the sofa again, he thought.

He had been dreaming. But, this time was different. He didn’t wake up in a panic or soaked from sweat. It wasn’t one of his usual nightmares. Aidan couldn’t remember this one, but he wanted to. It was about something, or someone pleasant. He was sure of that. Yet, it left him with a sense of sadness or loss.

The dream bothered him. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, hoping it would come back to him. When it didn’t, he decided to get up and go to bed. Swinging his long legs off the sofa, Aidan stood up. The book he had been reading slid off his chest and fell to the floor. The cover gave him a jolt. Loving Daniel by Grace Madden. He picked it up, sat down and remembered.

Aidan had been dreaming about Grace Devlin, a woman he fell in love with back in the late 1980’s in Massachusetts. She was in college then, studying to be a journalist. He was working at a local garage and taking business administration courses at night. They met when her car broke down and Aidan had to tow it back to the garage. She was a petite, beautiful young girl with long, flowing hair the color of copper and eyes as green as emeralds in the right light. He gave her a ride home that day and invited her to dinner before she got out of his truck.

In the dream, she was the Grace he knew back then. She was vibrant, tenacious, impatient and crazy in love with him. It was coming back to him. He had been kissing her. Awake now, Aidan could still feel the softness of her lips on his and smell the traces of lemon shampoo in her hair. It felt real. It felt right. He wanted to go back to sleep so he could hold her and tell her he loved her.

Link to Loving Daniel on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/ybfkbvd2

Last 3 Days!

December29

ONCE MORE FROM THE TOP, book 1 in the Women of Willow Bay series is just 99 cents for the next three days. Don’t miss this chance to start the series at a great price!

posted under Uncategorized | Comments Off on Last 3 Days!

40 Days…

February11

keep-calm-and-live-lent-2I always give up something for Lent–well, I have for the last twenty or twenty-five years anyway. It’s my little stab at doing something and sticking to it for a specified time. I can honestly say that I’ve always succeeded at it, too. If I vowed to give up chocolate or wine or sweets or . . . whatever for forty days, I did it. I think there was a little part of me that worried God would strike me with lightning if I backslid or cheated. I don’t know, but I’ve always been very faithful to my Lenten sacrifice.

However, this year, I wondered what would truly be a sacrifice–I’m already working very hard at eating well, so giving up something like chocolate or wine wouldn’t be all that much of a sacrifice. I make my living on the Internet, so I can’t give that up or social media which, although I wouldn’t mind a break, is also vital to my life as an author. I need to stay connected if I want to stay in front of people as a writer.

I thought and thought about how I’ve spent my energy and where my head has been and what I’ve done in last year and a half, and I realized that a real sacrifice for me would be to give up the knot in my stomach. Crazy? I don’t think so. That knot has been there for months . . . over a year and a half of almost continuous worry.

Worry over son, concern for Grandboy and DIL, grief over sister Kate, and worry about how sister PJ will ever get along without her and whether I can ever be the sister to her that Kate was. Worry over my career, as publishing is going through a sea change and editing gigs have ebbed and flowed. Fear that I’ll never be a decent enough writer to warrant attention from a publisher, and a huge fear that I won’t be able to earn enough as an editor/writer to pay my own health insurance costs. Worry over Husband as he retired and started a new phase of his life–our lives–and wondering how me continuing to work would affect his retirement.

Worry over my friends and the fact that they’re losing their parents and ones who are dear to them. I really want people to quit dying. Worry over my health, worry over Husband’s–we’re fine, but getting older and stuff is starting to creak now and again. Worry over my Dee and her fight with a wicked cancer, Connie and her fight with breast cancer, Di and her fight with breast cancer, and Sheila and her fight with lung cancer (which sadly, she lost last month). Why is there so much cancer and illness in the world? Worry that I’m probably going to have to have knee replacement and what if I have a heart attack or what if Husband does or what if Son’s asthma kicks up again? What if I can’t stop crying if I really let myself wail and howl over Kate dying . . . What if God is disappointed in me because I worry so much and never really let go and let Him handle the worries?

The list is endless and the knot is ever-present–it’s a part of me, always reminding me to worry about . . . something. But this Lenten season, I’m going to make every effort to give up that knot, banish it, dissolve it, make a conscious choice to stop worrying about all these things over which I have no control. To truly let go and let God.

I’m not certain, but I think there’s a chance this might be harder than giving up chocolate . . . however, I’m vowing to try.

Welcome, Liz Flaherty!

January28

IMG_0750   Hey, Nan! Whose turn to drive is it? Mine? But it’s your car, right? Oh, we’re blogging, not doing a girlfriends trip. Okay, here we go. Thanks for having me here, by the way. I brought wine…

Hi! My name’s Liz Flaherty. Nan and I are friends, good ones. We write together, travel together, moan to each other in long poor-me texts we’d never let anyone else see, and travel all over Indiana to have lunch together sometimes when it’s been a while. We are, we say, sisters from different fathers—and mothers. We are kindred spirits.

We sound like the oldest of friends, don’t we?

But we’re not.

I’m not exactly sure how long we’ve been friends—several years now—but in the short list of my BFFs, her name was added last. Doesn’t make its spot any less firm, but the ink is darker.

Which brings me to telling you about Summer in Stringtown Proper, the love story of Molly Linden and Joe Rahilly—the banker from New York City and the carpenter from Stringtown Proper, Kentucky. She’s divorced, he’s widowed, and neither of them is in the market for a relationship. Of any kind. They’re done. They’re fifty and not the least bit interested in starting over again.

But then they meet.

It’s fun to have made such a good friend at Nan’s and my…er…experienced ages. Part of that fun is the unexpectedness of it that comes with differences; the laughter-laced meshing of city and country, my bigger family and her smaller one, and her ability to work at night while my brain says buh-bye after noon.

This is also the fun of writing about protagonists who are grown-up…and then some. Who aren’t in their first rodeo—they’ve loved before and chances are good they’ve loved well. They have kids and grandkids and retirement accounts. They’re probably not all that career-minded anymore and if they are it may very well not be their first career.

They don’t expect to meet anyone who makes them feel “it” again, who they lie in bed and think about, and who gets their blood moving in all kinds of delicious ways. They don’t want to be in love again because they know no matter it comes to an end, it’s going to hurt. It’s going to leave a mark, a big one.

But, like a friendship that happens unexpectedly, falling in love when you’re not looking for it is wonderful. It’s the kind of story I love to tell.

SummerinStringtownProper_Liz FlahertyBlurb:

Banker Molly Linden never expected to be alone and unemployed at fifty. Buying hunky carpenter Joe Rahilly’s saloon takes care of the employment situation, but she’s still alone. Or is she?

Excerpt:

They finished the dishes in silence. When she let the water out of the sink and turned her head to meet his gaze, he was waiting. His hands grasped her forearms gently, pulling her to him. Fitting her into the lines of his body in a way that made her knees shake and the saltines in her stomach swell and flutter.

“You, too,” he said. “You laughed about martinis—you wouldn’t have done that a month ago.”

She wouldn’t have. She’d have resented being teased about what he perceived as snobbery.

“A month?” She looked at the clock on the wall as though it would tell her how long she’d been on the Ridge. “Have I really been here a month?”

“No, actually you’ve been here six weeks. Not that I’m keeping track of you, but Dad said this morning he and Sadie were going out to celebrate their six-weeks anniversary tonight.” He held her closer, and she felt his heartbeat. Strong and steady. “Makes it our anniversary, too, doesn’t it? I held you that day, too. When we danced three times. Remember?”

“I do.” She shrugged, just a little lift of her shoulder. “Sort of. I wasn’t remembering things too well by the time the reception was over.”

He snickered. “Wine from the Ridge got you.”

“It did,” she admitted. “But I remember that I liked dancing with you.” This was flirting. It was fun. In younger days, she’d have thought it was a little dangerous, something that might get in the way of whatever goal she’d set for that particular time. But now, today, it was delicious.

“Me, too. With you, I mean.” He dipped his head to hers, taking her mouth. And keeping it. Teasing at first, then not so much.

He touched her, his hands first on her back, then on her hips. He held her ever closer, but didn’t push. Didn’t demand. Didn’t…oh, God, his mouth was wonderful. Had she ever in her life been kissed like this?

“I don’t remember,” he murmured against her lips. “Are we to second base yet?”

Laughter rippled between them like a musical balm, and she rested her forehead against his shoulder. She had thought she would never trust anyone with her heart again, yet here she was getting ready to…oh, hell, steal second base and hurtle on to third if he was asking.

“Can I take you home?”

She didn’t want to go home, even to the safe haven that was Sadie’s house. She wanted to stay here in his arms, where she felt more alive than she’d felt in…years. God, yes, years.

But life wasn’t that way. Not real life. In real life, her cellphone rang from the table before her, its dirge-like ringtone the one she’d assigned to her mother’s number in a what-the-hell moment.

Buy links:

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/summer-in-stringtown-proper

ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-summerinstringtownproper-1964626-177.html

KDP: http://amzn.to/1RTyqSe

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/summer-in-stringtown-proper-liz-flaherty/1123269652?ean=2940157937881

And while you’re out, stop by Word Wranglers and say hello or drop me a line at lizkflaherty@gmail.com

 

Guns . . . Really?

December29

peanuts christmasI’m freaked out. Someone behind us is shooting something huge–like a cannon or an anti-tank weapon or something! At first, it sounded like a dump truck dropping its bed too fast, but we’re convinced it’s a weapon of some kind. Ack! I’m so not a gun person and for some reason, guns have become a big thing for people around me.

A lot of people I know–people I wouldn’t have expected–have gotten into having guns lately. One person in my family is going to the shooting range (Ack! The cannon just went off again!) to learn to shoot the new pistol that her husband got her for Christmas. Points for learning gun safety, but yikes, I don’t want to be around folks carrying concealed weapons. I realize that silliness of that statement because “concealed” obviously means I won’t know if they’re carrying . . . don’t expect this to make sense. It’s an unreasonable fear.

I know that my fear of guns stems from my own bad experience of being held at gunpoint when I was taken hostage in a bank robbery forty (yes, forty!) years ago. I pretty much got over the trauma of that experience, but I still hate guns and I still am not crazy about being inside a bank. I do the drive-up when I go to the bank unless I absolutely have to go inside. So, no guns for Nan–don’t ask me to see them, don’t tell me you have them, please, please don’t let me know you’re carrying one.

Our neighbors to the north are big shooters and we hear their various and sundry weapons going off pretty frequently, but this is the loudest one yet. Headphones work if it’s clearly going to be an all-day event, but I wish like anything that shooting wasn’t their sport of choice. (Cannon fire again.) Not sure what the point of this blog is, except that I needed to post and this is what is on my mind. That said, I’m going to put on my headphones, turn up Rod Stewart, and get back to my editing gig.

cam at disneyOh, and I truly did look at images of guns, but I just couldn’t do it–too creepy, so my pictures are of some things that makes me happy…unlike guns…which do not make me happy. ;-(

posted under Musings, This Life..., Uncategorized | Comments Off on Guns . . . Really?
« Older Entries

Archives