Pam Champagne's Blog

I'M NUMBER ONE

2010-06-12T07:04:00.000-07:00

I’m Zipper Strout, Call me Zip for short. I’ve been in the family the longest, so I should have blogged first. Growing old really sucks. My hips don’t work like they should and I can’t see like I used to. I don’t think my hearing is as keen either. The only thing that still works is my voice. When I yowl, everybody’s hair rises on their necks. My Dad, who used to love me to death, now yells at me and squirts me with water if I talk too much. He says it hurts his ears.

It takes all my energy to maintain the No. 1 status in the house. I don’t worry about Hunter. He wouldn’t know what to do if he had to be the head honcho. But Percy and the other cat are starting to test me now. I’ll hang on as long as I can.

Oh, the stories I could tell you of my youth. Damn good thing cats have nine lives. One night back in my prime, I was outside prowling at midnight when this huge black thing lumbered across the grass. The other cat flattened herself to the ground and watched. Not me. I’m an Alpha cat who takes command so I charged this giant monster and jumped on its back, wrapping my front legs around it’s chest so it couldn’t get away. YEEOW. Hundreds of needles sank into my face and chest. Somehow instinct guided me home. I scrambled up the posts to the upstairs porch and screeched bloody murder until mom opened the door. The night went down hill from there. My mom stuffed me into a box and drove forever to get to a vet. Don’t remember much until I woke up at home with this god-awful cone thing around my neck. My advice to all you cats out there...don't mess with a porcupine.

Needless to say, since that night I haven't been allowed outside at night.

A DOG'S LIFE PART II

2010-04-10T05:32:00.000-07:00

Percy here. I’m the “other” dog, as the black Lab calls me. I joined the family two years ago. I had been sitting on death row in Florida waiting for the deadly needle when Chesapeake Safe Harbor in Maine offered to take me because the guy who dropped me off at the shelter said I was a Chesapeake Bay Retriever. I gotta say that’s stretching it a bit. Granted, there’s some Chessie in me, but it takes a good eye to see it.

I made sure to behave on the long relay ride up the East Coast. Every driver praised me. Let me tell you, I learned through the school of hard knocks when to be an exemplary example of a good dog. It’s saved my life more than once. Now that I’m secure in my new home, I slip a little, but I’m a quick thinking animal and figured out how to gloss over my errors. When we're on a walk and the woman starts her “bad dog” routine, I hang my head in shame and come to her. Then I heel all the way home. Works like a charm. By the time we get to the house, she’s forgiven me.

I waited six months before I got on the furniture. She tried to break the habit, but eventually gave up. I knew she would. So the black Lab sleeps on the floor and I get the couch. SWEET DEAL.

Got to admit it’s hard to put up with the black dog. He still thinks he’s a puppy and runs circles around me, nipping at my ears because he wants to play. I’m too old for that crap. I do my best to ignore him, but sometimes I lose it and drag him around by his collar. That doesn’t go over well with the woman.

The day I arrived at my new digs, I couldn’t believe my luck. Two fur balls sat on the porch. In my world, god created cats for dogs to chase. I jumped outta the truck and took off like a jet fighter. Surprise! They didn’t run. A look passed between them right before one jumped on my back. The other landed on my head. Thank god, the man and woman rescued me. I learned a lesson that day. Never tackle both cats at once.

I bided my time. Waited until I caught the BIG one walking down the driveway alone. Before the woman could yell my name, I was gone. I thought it was my lucky day ‘cause the monster ran in the woods. I tore after him. Then he stopped short. I plowed into him and all hell broke loose. That was the day I decided to leave the cats alone. I don’t like them, but it looks like they aren’t going anywhere. Gotta respect their determination though. They should be declawed. Then I might stand a chance.

Until the next time…hope you get to gnaw on a lot of marrow bones.

It's a Dog's Life

2010-04-07T15:44:00.000-07:00

My Black Lab, Hunter, came up with the idea of the animals taking over my blog for a while. Since he thought of it, he gets to be first.

Hi everyone. I’m a goofy black lab called Hunter. Have no clue why my mom chose that name. The only thing I hunt is dead animals. I’m good at it, too. It’s impossible to express the ecstasy of rolling in rotten meat. What’s even better is eating what’s left on the carcass and then chewing the bones. Of course, I get sick. Think anyone offers me sympathy? Think again. None. Nada. So I suffer in silence while I listen to “bad dog” said so many times I lose count.

You’d think I’d learn, but I don’t.

Hanging my head in shame, I admit I am not an alpha dog. There’d be no place for me in the books my mom writes. She likes the macho hero types. It’s always been my philosophy if the other dog wants what I have, then what the hell? I can live without it. Er…I don’t just cave to the other dog…I kowtow to the cats, as well. Especially the BIG one. He’s about as mean as they come. A dog would have to be crazy to mess with a twenty pound cranky Siamese. I’ve experienced his temper first hand. Still have the scars. Even the other dog walks a wide birth around the meanie. There’s a pecking order in our house. Bet you can guess who’s at the end of the line. Yep! That'd be me.

My mom and dad say I’m a wimp. I’m not…well, maybe just a little bit. I mean it’s a scary world out there. I live in the woods, you know. Who’d want to tangle with coyotes or bears? Not me.

Another confession. I never uttered a bark until the other dog came to live with us and taught me how to do it. Who’d have thought I could make such a loud noise. Scared myself the first time I did it. Now I’m as good of a watch do as the other dog.

I had a wild experience the other day. My mom and I went for a walk to the bog. Half way down the hill I saw IT. A vision to behold. I didn’t know what IT was, but IT beckoned me. I took off at high speed and pretended not to hear my mom yelling at me to come back. I skidded to a stop at the thing. I recognized the smell. Turtles lay eggs in our yard all the time, but let me tell you this one was HUGE. It made my head look like a tennis ball. I crept up, cautious now, and jumped four feet back when it lunged and hissed at me. Hmmm…the small turtles’ heads disappear, and I can carry them around in my mouth. Not this sucker. After a few laps around it, carefully avoiding all contact, I knew I’d tackled more than I could handle. “Coming Mom. See what a good dog I am?”

Until the next time…may you not only chase rabbits in your dreams, but catch them, which is something I can't do.

My Books

2009-04-12T13:59:00.000-07:00

A TRIBUTE TO MOOSE

2009-03-25T03:07:00.000-07:00

Last week, my brother, Andy, and his partner, Judy, lost a very special friend. Moose lived a life most dogs (and many people, too) only dream about. A cross between a Brittany and a Golden Retriever, Moose received the best qualities from both breeds. He proved to be a fantastic bird dog and loved the water as if he were born there.

I remember Moose as a puppy. He overcame many health problems, and this tenacity showed us what a super dog he’d become.
This is a bit embarrassing to admit…I envied Moose’s lifestyle. Andy, a Master Maine Registered Guide, spends the majority of his time in the woods or in a boat. Many summer days at work, my mind wandered to Andy and Moose trolling around a wilderness lake fishing. I could picture Moose sleeping in the bottom of the boat, soaking up the sun or standing in the bow, enjoying the wind in his face. Yeah, that’s where I wanted to be. Now I know the true meaning of “lucky dog.” What dog wouldn’t give up his special toy to trade places?

Moose enjoyed a long life where he brought joy and love into Andy and Judy’s lives. In turn, they adored him and made his time on earth a special one. Right now there’s a hole in their hearts, but in time, Moose will sit gently in their minds, and his memory will bring smiles to their faces. Moose’s spirit now runs free. He’ll hunt birds, sit on a peaceful lakeshore and swim a few laps to cool off in the summer’s heat. I’m sure he’ll also find something smelly to roll in.
Farewell, Moose. You’ll never be forgotten. You can bet this special dog will be in one of my novels someday.

VOODOO BONES by Melanie Atkins

2008-07-05T05:03:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been fascinated by the French Quarter in New Orleans. It evokes an anticipatory thrill of terror any mystery inside my chest. The city's popularity for fiction writers, especially the romance genre, hasn’t waned over the years. I can remember reading many historical romances in the 70’s and 80’s set in New Orleans.

When Melanie Atkins advertised her novella, Voodoo Bones, I knew I had to read it. And I wasn’t disappointed!

Voodoo Bones puts the reader there in that mysterious, haunting section of New Orleans. I smelled the area’s scents and felt myself living behind the voodoo shop with the heroine. I even found myself urging the heroine to move out of the place. LOL.

Noel Galliano meets Detective Mathieu Bergeron when a dismembered body is discovered upstairs from Noel’s Voodoo Shop. The developing relationship between these two very likeable characters enhances this novella’s suspense. I read plenty of romantic suspense novels, but few give me shivers and make me uneasy when I read them in bed at night. This one did!

BUY AT COBBLESTONE PRESS

http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/voodoobones.htm

BLIND LOVE by Nina Pierce

2008-06-28T07:01:00.001-07:00

BLIND LOVE
A Liquid Erotic Romance from
Liquid Silver Books
http://www.king-cart.com/cgi-bin/cart.cgi?store=linda018&cart_id=7749273.51621&product_name=Blind+Love&return_page=&user-id=&password=&exchange=&exact_match=exact

Blurb from Author's website
http://www.ninapierce.com/booksnews.htm

In BLIND LOVE, the first novella in the Tilling Passions series, uptight CPA and oldest sister, JULIE TILLING, is the glue that binds her family. Everyone, including her parents, depend on her to do the right thing. But when her friend from high school dies and Julie is the only one who believes he didn’t commit suicide, she takes it upon herself to investigate his death. Her search for answers finds her flirting on the fringes of internet pornography. But Julie’s desire to find a killer and experience a sexual awakening may push her moral boundaries to the breaking point.

DAMON COREY didn’t come to Maine to become shock jock, Demon Jones. But when his dream career of becoming a concert pianist seems unobtainable, the radio station’s offer is too good to pass up. Besides, being a radio celebrity has definite advantages with the ladies. When mysterious brunette, Jewel, hooks up with him at the night club run by a college frat brother their one night fling wraps around his heart and won’t loosen its talons.

Julie and Damon feel the heat of passion from the moment they meet, but will their secrets unravel the tenuous threads of their relationship? Can Damon expose his inner soul without pushing Julie away or will his enigmatic Demon Jones persona become Julie’s sexual undoing and reveal him as the missing piece that solves the puzzling questions surrounding her friend’s death?

MY COMMENTS:

Whew! Ms. Pierce knows how to heat up a novella! I was a bit wary of reading this as it appeared it might be on the "dark side", but Julie, the heroine, created plenty of "light" and complemented Damon, the troubled hero, extremely well. They created a harmonic balance that left me with a warm and fuzzy feeling at the end of their story. I'm anxious to read Books Two and Three of this trilogy.

Keep them coming, Nina!

Highly Recommend

HOT! HOT! HOT!

2008-06-25T06:34:00.001-07:00

Book Blurb (from Siren's website):

“CID Agents, Ali Donavon and Jack Gunnison no longer believe in love or their fellow man, until life or death circumstances reveal the depth of sacrifices they willingly make for each other.

Ali's work in the CID is dark and dangerous like her new partner, Jack "Gun" Gunnison, the agency's top sniper. Recently ending a bad relationship, Ali doesn't want anyone like Gun in her life, too good looking, too into himself, and too much like her arrogant ex. As a woman in a man's world, she is determined to prove herself among the best in the CID. The agency is her life now.

Gun's life has been filled with self-doubt, guilt, an unfaithful wife, and the unwitting responsibility for his best friend's death has made him wary. He needs to succeed in his new assignment, both to achieve justice for his friend and to find the redemption that will heal him. He sees Agent Donavon as a real danger to his concentration which could jeopardize the success of their mission.”

MY THOUGHTS

Betty Womack’s Palace of the Jaguar has got to be one of the hottest reads this summer. I guarantee you’ll stay up all night reading. Gun and Alli are the epitome of a hero and heroine. Through all their trials and tribulations, I found myself cheering them on every step of the way.

Ali is a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. Gun is to die for. A man who can visit my dreams any night!

The sex sizzles. The suspense never lets up. I highly recommend this book.

Buy Now at Siren Bookstore:

http://sirenbookstore.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=110

SUMMERTIME BLUES

2008-06-22T04:25:00.000-07:00

Thursday evening I broke my right ankle. Since this isn't the first ankle break for me, I know the drill. Heavy boot, pain, loopy pain medication, days of laying in bed or in a recliner and possibly an operation.

I'm still on heavy meds so it's too early to write. Until I can jump back into my own stories, I'm going to try to catch up on my TBR list.

KILLING JOE by Marie Treanor - SamhainPublishing
Buy Link - http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/killing-joe

AUTHOR'S BLURB

How many times can one man die?

To professional assassin Joe, life is cheap, and crash researcher Anna just another hit. Until his own unplanned car crash changes everything.

Dr. Anna Baird, dedicated to the point of obsession, suddenly finds her state-of-the-art crash test dummy haunted by a weird and exciting stranger—who seems doomed to repeatedly experience the fate he’d intended for Anna.

Lost in a reality only he and Anna inhabit, Joe finds himself falling in love with his intended victim, and ultimately fighting to save her life—because whoever hired him still wants her dead.

REVIEW

Do you like a good paranormal story where good triumphs over evil? How about a story with a searing heat level? Or perhaps you enjoy a bad boy story?

Marie Treanor's Killing Joe gives the reader all of the above and more. Reading this fast paced story, I even forgot about my throbbing ankle.

The emotion between Anna and Joe and level of suspense in the story makes Killing Joe a must read.

MERWA RETREAT

2008-05-18T12:41:00.000-07:00

I just returned from the RWA Maine Chapter's retreat. What a great time. So many authors sent books and other promo items to fill the bags for all the entrants. I was impressed to say the least. Between that bag and other give-a-ways, I won't have to buy a book to read for a long time.

Cindy Kirk presented two workshops. She came all the way from Nebraska to Maine. Wow! The first was entitled Man Talk and she hit it right on the head. If you want to improve your dialogue for your hero, take one of her workshops. The second was on on writing a synopsis - what grabs you and what doesn't. Both were excellent.

An extra for me -- what luxury to get away from home for two nights and sleep in a king sized bed with six pillows. The thin down blanket and soft sheets put me right into heaven. I felt really rested until I got home and cleaned house and did four loads of laundry. Still have to make up the bed. Or maybe I'll say to hell with it and sleep on the mattress.

Have a great week.

Maine Romance Writers - RWA CHAPTER

2008-04-09T16:11:00.000-07:00

MERWA (Maine RWA) is pleased to announce the 2nd Annual Writer's
Retreat.

Limited seating for an intimate experience and great networking - last
year we filled the retreat, so register early.

Friday, May 16 - Saturday, May 17

Brunswick, Maine (off 295 about 30 miles north of Portland, ME)

Fairfield Inn and Suites (Marriot)

$55.00 (or join MERWA for $25 and save $10 on retreat registration)

Featured Speaker, Cindy Kirk, AVON and Harlequin author. Two workshops -
Man Talk and The Selling Synopsis. Cindy will sign her AVON May release
ONE NIGHT STAND.

Senior Editor Kathy Cottrell, The Wild Rose Press, will conduct a
workshop Friday evening (after the wine and cheese social) What Editors
Look For. She will also take pitches on Saturday.

Other workshops include the Synopsis Ladder: A tool for writing synopsis
by Diane Amos, a Harlequin and Five Star author and a Brainstorming
session led by Susan Vaughan, a Harlequin and The Wild Rose Press
author. This session was a big hit last year. Retreat attendees brought
WIP or ideas for new work to the session. Members gave great ideas and
guidance.

Retreat Registration: checks can be sent to MERWA - Writer's Retreat,
Attn: Diane Amos, PO Box 6478, Brunswick, ME 04011 - or pay through
PayPal on the MERWA website http://mainerwa.com

2008 EPPIE WINNER - Romantic Suspense Category

2008-03-09T11:38:00.000-07:00

BED OF LIES

Chapter One

Ace Bear blew warm breath into his cupped hands and pulled his parka tight around his neck against the bitter cold rolling off the Atlantic. A northeast wind battered the desolate area with the vengeance of a Viking wreaking havoc on a peasant village. He’d forgotten how harsh and unforgiving late fall could be on the Maine coast, forgotten the bone-piercing chill, the way his eyes watered and the inside of his nose stuck together when he breathed. He yanked his collar higher and buried his nose into the warm down.

Leaning against the rough bark of a spruce tree, he stared at the picturesque white clapboard church. Places of worship didn’t mean much to him. He preferred to talk to God as he walked through a forest, paddled on the big lakes or gazed at the night stars.

All the guests must be inside by now. It was do or die time—do or let go time. Hell, he thought he’d let go a long time ago. He stared a moment more, pushed away from the spruce and walked forward.

Heads turned when he entered, probably expecting the bride. Many of the faces were familiar. Ace stifled the urge to raise his hand and say “how” like Indians in those old black-and-white movies. Benches squeaked as people leaned over to whisper to their neighbor. He slipped into an empty pew at the back and shrugged out of his coat.

Word rippled through the crowd. Ace Bear had showed up at Brenna MacKenzie’s wedding. And by the Jesus, he was dressed in buckskins and had his hair in a braid. Ace tuned it out. There were more important things to worry about than the local yokels.

A gust of wind signaled the bride’s arrival. Brenna entered the church, her hand curled around her brother’s arm. She floated by, an ethereal vision lost in yards of lace and satin. Ace’s heart lurched at her paleness. She looked fragile enough to shatter.

He hadn’t planned on facing Brenna today, but he’d heard about her getting married and had no choice. He had to stop this farce of a wedding.
Spinster Sadie Harvell’s bony fingers pounded out the bridal processional on an out-of-tune piano. The woman must be over a hundred by now. Brenna reached the groom’s side too soon for Ace’s peace of mind. He shifted on the hard bench and glanced at his watch for the tenth time. Where the hell was Chris? If the kid didn’t show up soon and disrupt the wedding, the task would fall to him, and he’d rather not draw any more attention right now.

A smile tugged at his lips. Ace Bear causing a scene was something this community expected. Today, they’d be disappointed. As much as he’d like to rock this coastal town on its ass, he had to keep a low profile. The fact that he’d returned at all was enough to stir up the natives.

Ace tensed as the groom’s gaze came to rest on the rise and fall of Brenna’s breasts beneath the sequined bodice. Long suppressed anger shot through him. He’d drag her out of the church, kicking and screaming before he’d let that bastard touch her. Despite what Brenna had done twelve years ago, she didn’t deserve to be shackled to a man like Anson.

Reverend Marston smiled at the bride and groom then turned his attention to the guests. “Welcome everyone. We are gathered here—”

From the right side of the church came a loud pop. A window imploded, showering a section of the congregation with glass. Mouth working like a fish out of water, the Reverend dropped to the floor and scrambled behind the podium. Chaos reigned. Blood spurted from a gunshot wound in Anson’s shoulder and splattered bright red drops on the white wedding gown before he slid to the floor. The screams of several women echoed throughout the church, adding fuel to the bedlam. A few dove for cover; others crawled toward the side exit.

Damn it. He’d told Chris to disrupt the wedding, not shoot the freakin’ groom.
Ace hoisted himself on the bench seat for a better view. The groom lay sprawled, face down, blood trickling from his wound.

A wave of pity hit Ace as Brenna, her blue eyes wide with terror, brushed frantically at the bloodstains on her dress. Pity shifted to astonishment when she kicked off her high-heeled shoes and fled through a side door.

Ace grabbed his parka and bolted out the front entrance, running smack into Chris Yellowtree.

The boy grabbed Ace’s arm for balance. “Sorry I’m late, Ace. Damn bike wouldn’t start.”

Ace didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The full-blooded Passamaquoddy stood there in the wintry morning, wearing only a loincloth. “Show’s cancelled, Chris. Someone shot the groom.”

His dark eyes widened. “Yeah? Heard a shot as I drove down Main. Figured someone was target shooting or deer hunting, maybe. Not surprised, though. Anson wasn’t well-liked in this town.”

Ace didn’t want to talk about Anson Carter. “Did you see Brenna?”

“Yeah, I think so. Saw a white streak running across Beal’s field. Man, that woman can move.”

Ace relaxed. Brenna, a barefoot bride, was running to the blueberry barrens. He knew exactly where to find her. “Take my advice, Chris. High tail it back to the reservation. All hell’s gonna break loose. Stick around and you’ll end up the prime suspect.”

Chris grinned. “Don’t need to tell me twice.” He charged into the dense bushes next to the church. A motorcycle engine revved to life. The bike shot out of the shrubbery, skidded in the dirt and headed west. Ace grinned. Quite a sight. A half-naked Indian on a motorcycle.

The low rumble of voices from within the church warned Ace that the remaining guests had begun to stir. He took a last look inside. Reverend Marston and Colin knelt on either side of Anson. Any second these people would react to the nightmare they’d witnessed. He wanted to be gone before that happened.

Ace’s long stride brought him to his SUV in record time. The engine purred to life the instant he turned the key, and he gunned it. Five miles down the road, a county ambulance sped by, heading toward the church. “With any luck you’ll be too late,” he muttered.

Two miles later, he turned right and bumped off the pavement into a dirt parking lot. As he exited the vehicle, two blue state troopers’ cars roared down the road, sirens blaring. Big drawback to living in such an isolated part of the state. Often, help didn’t come fast enough.

He cleared the three wooden steps in one stride. A bell jingled above the door when he walked in. A quick visual scan told him that the Coastal Country Store hadn’t changed in the past twelve years. Joe French, the owner, stood behind the counter, as he had most of his life. Ten years older than Ace, Joe hadn’t been part of the crowd that had bullied him in his youth.

One look at the man’s chubby face told Ace he was close to bursting with the need to tell someone about the shooting. “Hey, Joe.”
Joe did a jig in his excitement. “Ace. Heard you were back in town. Didja hear the news?”

Ace sauntered to the aisle where a limited choice of canned goods sat on dusty shelves. Same shelves they’d sat on twelve years ago. “What news is that?” He picked up four cans of tomato soup.

“Somebody up and shot Brenna MacKenzie’s husband.”

Ace glanced up and added a box of crackers and one of dry milk. “Husband? Didn’t know she got hitched.” A six-pack of Coke and his hands were full.

“It just happened. Right after the ‘I do’, someone blasted the guy. Then the filly up and run away with a stranger.”

Ace’s mouth twitched in amusement. He placed the food items on the counter and moved toward the back of the store. God, he loved to watch rumors escalate. And nowhere in the world did they mushroom like in this town. Someday he might write a book about Spruce Harbor.

Joe’s voice followed him. “Always did think Daniel’s girl was a bit wild. Course, you know her better n’ me.” His tone hinted that he’d love to hear Ace’s opinion on the subject.

Ace worked his way to the first aid section. Brenna’s feet would need treatment. “Water under the bridge, Joe. Haven’t seen Brenna since we were kids.” He picked up a box of gauze and blew off the dust. Probably the same box he’d wanted to buy when he was a kid but didn’t have enough money. He grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a box of Epsom salts, some Bag Balm and was ready to hit the road.

Joe peered at Ace over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses as he rang up the items. “Injure yourself, Ace?”

“Not me. One of the kids on the reservation stepped on a nail.” The lie rolled off his tongue with ease.

Joe shook his bald head. “Them rusty nails are nasty business. Make sure the kid gets a tetanus shot.”

Ace reached in the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a well-worn leather wallet and handed Joe thirty dollars. “Will do.”

“Heard you’re looking for property. Found anything?” Joe asked.

There was no closed season on fishing for information in Spruce Harbor. “Nope.”
Ace grasped the paper bag. Joe yanked it back. “Ya know, Ace. I hope you don’t blame me for what happened in the past.”

He kept his expression blank, holding Joe’s gaze until the man cleared his throat and shifted his attention to the cash register. “Ya know, about the way people treated you when you were a kid. I was older. I probably should have, um, you know, stepped in and put a stop to it.”

Ace leaned over the counter and grabbed the bag. “I believe in leaving the past where it belongs—in the past. Keep the change.”

He strode from the store, pissed at letting Joe’s comment put a burr in his side.
Back in the SUV, he opened a Coke and guzzled half the can. Chewing on Joe’s half-assed apology, he drove two more miles down Route One and turned left onto a narrow, winding, dirt path. He made the numerous turns, surprised they’d stayed in his memory all these years. He frowned, not sure he liked the implication.
He’d come a long way. If only the demons of his youth would stop surfacing. At least he’d learned to contain them. He could even chuckle at his nickname back then. Geronimo. Dumb-assed town. Couldn’t even get their Indian tribes straight. A few had called him Running Bear. Little did they realize he’d always liked that particular taunt. He could outrun anyone in town. Except for, perhaps, Brenna.

Chris had told him not much had changed in Spruce Harbor. Nowadays most people swallowed their bigotry, because it was politically incorrect not to. The thought that anyone in this town actually gave a rat’s ass about political correctness made him want to howl with laughter. What a freakin’ joke.

The younger ones might be more accepting, but his generation and the ones before still hated Indians. He’d bet his last dollar on it. At least the instigator, Daniel MacKenzie, was dead. If someone didn’t step into his shoes, there might be hope for Spruce Harbor yet.

Ace drank in the simple beauty of the landscape as he drove. The low growing blueberry plants, now bright red, gave the barrens a look of the tundra. Even the snowy owls agreed. Hundreds of them soon would arrive from the arctic to spend their winters hunting prey on the almost treeless terrain.

In late summer, the barrens crawled with migrant workers, mostly Indians, although he’d heard that now Mexican’s came to pick, too. Thousands of acres of blueberry fields and hundreds of identical intersecting dirt roads that led nowhere. Without a compass or a topographical map, a person unfamiliar with the barrens could get lost.

Until it was time to pick next August, the fields would remain deserted, except for the early summer months when a multitude of black bears waited patiently for the berries to ripen.

A hunting cabin built by Brenna’s father sat deep in the barrens. That cabin had been her sanctuary years ago, and Ace bet his life that’s where she’d gone today. He grew warm as unwanted memories of times he and Brenna had spent there nudged his mind.

The four-by-four SUV bumped its way across the fields toward its destination. Sure enough, thick gray smoke spiraled from the chimney. He drove into a thicket of alder bushes, wincing as branches scratched the SUV’s doors. Funny how he’d regressed into the past. He’d always hidden his truck back then and automatically did so now.

Bag under one arm, Ace walked to the door. The cabin had been built with only one window, and it wasn’t in the front. Stupid design. Man should be able to see who came knocking at the door. He rapped on the wood and waited fifteen seconds. “Brenna, I know you’re in there. Open the damn door.”

The hinges squeaked as the door swung open, and Ace looked down the cold metal of a shotgun barrel.

BED OF LIES

2007-11-25T12:01:00.000-08:00

Can separated soul mates learn to trust each other again before a ruthless killer ends their second chance?

Drug Enforcement Agent Ace Bear returns to Spruce Harbor, Maine to investigate a deadly drug ring. He’s prepared to deal with the town’s bigotry against his Cree heritage, but when he comes face-to-face with the woman he loved twelve years ago, passion flares. He realizes the ties between them cannot be broken.

Brenna McKenzie is furious the man who deserted her the day their infant daughter died has dared to show his face. When she discovers why Ace is in town, however, fear for her brother, who she suspects is a drug addict, forces her to swallow her animosity. Ace’s return ignites a chain of events and soon Brenna’s own life is in jeopardy.

As Brenna and Ace struggle to understand the treachery that once ripped them apart, they fight to stay one step ahead of the danger that threatens to put an end to their reunion—and their lives.

Bed of Lies http://samhainpublishing.com/romance/bed-of-lies

View Trailer at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMgZf9jXn-A

HAPPY TURKEY DAY

2007-11-21T03:10:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Without the pressure of gifts and the rushing around trying to visit 3 places in one afternoon, it far surpasses Christmas. It's a laid back holiday. Time to visit and relax. Perhaps catch up on old times with friends or family you haven't seen in a while. This year will seem lonely at my house. None of my family from away are coming, so I'll be setting the table for four instead of ten or more.

I rise early so at 4:30 this morning I thought about all I'm grateful for. It's amazing how most of us (me included) forget how lucky we are until we see the more unfortunate. Sometimes it's so easy to say, "well, it's their own damn fault. Why don't they get a job...or get off drugs...or straighten out their lives." I think perhaps we're all guilty of it at some point.

Years ago, when I had race horses, my husband and I used to open our home to anyone on the track who wasn't lucky enough to get home for the holiday. Looking back on those times, I realize they were some of the best Thanksgiving's I've had. Cooking for family is expected and even though people are grateful and say the right thank you's, cooking for people who are virtually alone and possibly might be street people if not for the regiment and commitment they have for horses, raised my spirits.

My kids still remember those Thanksgivings and will comment on "quiet" the holiday seems to be now.

Anyway, I'm grateful for my comfortable lifestyle. We have plenty of food in the freezer, plenty of wood to keep us warm this winter.

I'd also like to say a special prayer of thanks to all our military troops, especially the ones in harm's way. God Bless and keep them all safe.

LIFE ON THE RACETRACK

2007-08-27T18:56:00.001-07:00

ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

DEAD HEAT

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/

E-book - Oct. 19th

Print - Dec. 28

I spent five years on the racetrack and thought I'd post weekly blogs about some of my experiences there. If anyone has any specific questions, feel free to ask in the comment section or e-mail me directly. Working behind the scenes on the backstretch of a racetrack is not glamorous. It's damn hard work. Work that begins an hour before the crack of dawn and doesn't end until evening. Generally, the morning's work is over by ten or eleven a.m. (there's six hours right there). At that time, the horses get fed, usually oats with a handful of sweet feed. Give them a lot of hay and water and they're set for the day.

If a groom's charge isn't racing that day, then he/she gets the afternoon off. They must return by 4 p.m. to muck out stalls, refresh the water pails and feed the horses their second meal of the day. Then they're free to... Did you think I was going to say party? Very few have the energy to do much more than go to bed. Dawn comes early. If a horse is racing that day, the groom can plan to spend from 4 a.m. to 6 p.m. working. This 7 days a week, 365 days a year job provides no rest for the weary. Horses could care less about Christmas, Thanksgiving or the 4th of July. They do know when it's Sunday though, because most stables are laid back when there's no racing. If a horse is alert, bright-eyed and his coat sparkles with shine and is dappled, you know he's got a great groom. The owner/trainer should reward this person well, because others will want to "steal" him/her away.

Lifetime racetrackers are not uncommon. I've seen professional grooms in their 50's or older, who've been at it since they were fifteen. At this point in their lives, they probably have charge of only one, perhaps two horses who are top of the line racers. Watch for my next post next week entitled "Race Day."