ŷ������

I’ve recently had my newest work edited and I’m reeling. This was to be a content edit which I took to mean she’d be checking the story for any slow areas, missing or confusing timelines, character weaknesses and plot problems.
The first thing I noticed is that many of my lines have been rewritten, sometimes for the better, but at other times she’s changed my voice by taking out special hints of a character’s personality or emotional blurbs that I purposely set up. I’ll admit, these were done using my particular style, but it’s my book��. right?
Next, she questioned actions and thoughts that within a few sentences would become clear. Should I ignore these comments? This has made me question other changes she wants me to make. Don’t get me wrong, I went to her because this book was rejected by a publisher I particularly wanted to work with. That made me realize, though my books get good reviews, maybe the sales would be stronger if I got some advice on how to strengthen my story from a professional.
At the beginning, she warned me that she wouldn’t�� ahh blow smoke up my skirt which I took to mean that she would be giving me an honest edit and I welcomed that. I’m a professional and comments with a positive vibe would be gladly accepted.
But I’m also a long-time writer who has learned that not everyone will like my style. My books are fast-paced, action-packed and they don’t have a lot of�� yawn ho hum areas where the reader’s eyelids start drooping. I keep my poor people constantly in scrapes of one type or another �� it’s the kind of books that satisfy me.
And though I do write romance, I just can’t keep bringing up the guy’s rippling muscles or the thrilling urges my heroine gets when he stares into her eyes. I’m sorry but that kind of soppy dribble has been done to death. In my love stories, I like to keep things as real as possible. I kinda believe that my readers are intelligent enough to know when my heroine is falling for the hero and they don’t need to be reminded on every page with sappy lines and constant hints.
Another thing to note, in most of my reviews, I’ve always had compliments on my various characters. It’s what most of my many readers seem to concentrate on. But, she didn’t like them �� at all �� or maybe it’s just that she didn’t get them?? Not sure which is worse? But reminding myself that there are readers out there who will be thinking exactly as she does, I will make changes. I thank her for pointing out the times where I can delve a little more into their thoughts and emotions. No doubt, the story will be better for these changes and I will have learned not to cut corners on those times when I should take advantage and expand.
Again, she seemed to think my hooks at the end of my chapters were weak and that I needed to add more excitement to encourage the readers to keep reading. Since it’s something I’ve always prided myself on, I guess I just don’t get it. That hurt�� but�� I will reread and rework those areas and see what she means.
Truthfully, I only scanned the first dozen chapters or so and therefore, she might have changed her tactics somewhat by the end. But to say it’s humbling, is like saying my pride took a slight nudge. Sorry, but the truth is �� it flew ass over tea-kettle.
And I paid big bucks to get slugged.
In the end, will I be glad?
Not sure �� once I quit feeling sorry for myself, I’ll get back to you :-))

Frosty the Snowman…pup!

This book is dedicated to Stacie Williams with a great big hug!.

Holiday Heartwarmers Book #4

By

Mimi Barbour

��

Chapter One�� (Sneak Peek �� unedited version)

Ice shards blew against the Cessna’s windshield and vision became limited. The previously relaxed pilot suddenly changed to a man with a mission. Tension ramped up and the earlier warm atmosphere turned cold as fear constricted throats unable to swallow.

“We’re going down aren’t we?�� Hali Gibson’s voice hadn’t risen from her normal tones. Not even a little. But inside hidden deep in her emotions lived a wild spirit that screeched and then whimpered. I don’t want to die! Not yet. Not now!

As if by sheer want and personal influence she could force the noisy plane back up into the blanket of white sleet that had suddenly appeared, she clutched the leather panel in front of her and bit back her screams.

The pilot bellowed over the plane’s roar. “I’m afraid so. But hold on! Up ahead, there’s a frozen lake��that might work as a landing strip. Maybe we’ll make it.�� He aimed his voice toward her and issued orders. “Just don’t panic.��

“I never panic.�� She screamed back, her eyes feeling like they were protruding two inches from their sockets.

That got his attention, but just for a second. His expression fierce like that of a warrior pitted against an enemy larger than life, he ordered, “Brace yourself!��

In comparison to her own instability, she noted the giant-like man behind the controls appeared ridiculously steady. As if he’d force-landed his small Cessna in the middle of the frozen Alaskan outback any number of times. He kept speaking into his earphones giving their particulars and using the word “Mayday�� to get attention.

It had certainly gotten hers. Who could blame her for thinking two voices might add more impact. Her screamed maydays certainly had more force than his.

With only a thin layer of plastic between them and the thickened white sleet that enveloped the small aircraft unexpectedly, it seemed to Hali that the fragile windshield��appeared totally inconsequential.

For a few seconds, she wished herself back in the small airport in Ketchikan and pictured a sock in her mouth stopping her from insisting she needed to be his passenger. Why in hell had she fought so hard to be here now? God must be punishing her for being so pushy.

Hali listened to the roar of the small engine working as hard as it could, fighting against the elements of nature. She decided that when one faced death, seconds lasted longer, which gave people time to reflect. Why me, Lord? Forced to endure, she tightened every muscle in her body and prepared to meet her maker.

A humming noise from the pilot caught her attention. Watching him previously manoeuver the small plane, she’d seen the skill it had taken to manipulate the controls, hold the aircraft steady and if sheer will could force this bird through the white wall of hell, he’d be the one to do so. But damn, did he have to sing them to their demise?

What the��? The guy was singing Frosty the Snowman. Of all the crazies in the world, trust her to beg this particular Looneytune to let her come with him just so he could serenade her last moments on earth with a children’s Christmas carol.

Without realizing she would, her voice melded with his only she used the words. If it helped calm his nerves, she was all for it.

On the other hand, he hadn’t yielded to their dilemma, in fact, quite the opposite. As if in hand to hand combat with the devil himself, he fought like a man possessed. Continuing to fly blind, it was only��the control panels delivering instrument readings he needed��that kept the plane from plunging out of the sky.

Tipping from side to side didn’t help her nerves either. The harsh roar of the engines, revved to ear-splitting levels, caused her head to feel like it would explode. And Hali supposed the vibration had increased because of their escalating descent. One could only imagine the ground coming up to meet them, they certainly couldn’t see it.

Suddenly,��howling from the crate in the rear of the plane ripped at Hali’s soft heart and guilt hit her hard. Because she was a wuss for driving long distances alone, she’d decided to take this bush plane into the wilds of Alaska from Ketchikan to Juneau rather than drive the 300 miles to deliver her cousin’s��Samoyed �� a present meant for her husband’s brother. Now, because of her cowardly decision, the gorgeous animal would most likely die.

My fault. All my fault. At the airport, after she’d been bumped from the regular flight, she’d beseeched this pilot to let her and the dog be his passengers. Seems there’s a pecking order in Alaska. If you owned the Airlines, you were first in line and could change the route anytime you wanted, even if Christmas was only a few days away. ��Which left paying customers angry but forced to wait for the next flight.

Hali, unexpectedly stranded, had pleaded with this man to no avail. In her excitement, she’d even dropped her suitcase which had flipped open, scattering her belongings everywhere. Like a gentleman should, he’d helped her collect her property, had handed her over��underwear, sweaters, even her going-away gift from the girls at the office, which had softened his stubborn expression slightly, but he’d still refused her pleas.

It hadn’t been until the��pilot who’d originally bumped her had his say and a large chunk of money changed hands that the tall man had agreed to the arrangement. Within a few minutes, he’d rounded her up, got them belted into the place and they’d taken off.

Now she was locked into a sardine can, with a complete stranger controlling her life and—go figure�� she’d begged to be here.

While her mind was travelling through time, the pilot had pulled off a miracle. They were speeding along a stretch of ice, hovering slightly above the ground. Battered on both sides, the winds didn’t like being robbed of their prey. ��As the man in charge��searched for a place to safely set the little plane down, he fought to keep them from tipping.

With visibility much better at this low altitude, up ahead, Hali saw what he did. There was a sheltered bay surrounded by trees. The lake looked to have less snow. And, cleared from the driving winds, the visible frozen surface invited them to drop in and stay a while.

Singing louder, with sobs of joy blending in, Hali swiped at her eyes, blinked repeatedly and watched the pilot set the plane down as gently as the buffeting wind would allow. Finally, he drove it closer to the shore and brought them to a complete halt.

In seconds, he’d turned off the motor. As if the turning of the key stopped their nightmare, it cut off their mingling voices also.

Hali watched him drop his face into his now shaking hands. Without realizing her intentions, she reached over to touch, pat, wishing she could hug. Finding her own hand enveloped in a tight grip, she didn’t move. For her, connecting in this way with another human being was a normal action and so she allowed them these magical moments before��expressing her relief. Truthfully, she’d choked up and words wouldn’t be forced through clogged emotions.*~*~*~*
Frosty the Snowman will be Book #4 in the already published... Holiday Heartwarmers Series.


��



One puppy, a brave little girl and a mom, who can't refuse her munchkin the chance to get to know her secret father, all appear in this holiday love story.

A small town’s lovely deputy and a father who lost his son years ago to a vindictive wife team up to save the kid from an overzealous social worker and foster home he hates.

An accident changes the lives of: a little girl who loses her parents, a crabby puppy who hates all men, a soft-hearted beauty who fears for her brother and also the cop who can’t escape his destiny.

*~*~*~*

- Mimi Barbour, Jennifer Lowery, Chantel Rhondeau, Lyssa Layne, D'Ann Lindun, and Rachelle Ayala

Crave your men hot, alpha, and strong? Fall in love with sexy agents, cowboy sheriffs, firemen, bikers, and more. Danger, excitement, and heart-pounding romance await the women who love these brash and protective men. 6 full-length action-suspense romances plus one bonus novella from NY Times, USA Today, and International bestselling authors.

- Kathryn Jane, Dale Mayer, Jacquie Biggar, Chantel Rhondeau, Rachelle Ayala, Silver James

Love and Suspense, Heart-pounding romance and thrills in one hot package.��6 full-length action-suspense romances plus one bonus novella from bestselling and award-winning authors. Danger and excitement, secret agents, sexy SEALs, bikers, undercover operatives, and heat! What more can a woman want?

- Nina Bruhns, Sable Hunter, Rachelle Ayala, Chantel Rhondeau, Angelique Armae, Kelly Collins

Because you just can't get enough! Hotshot Alphas are men who know what they want and get what they want. Will it be you? 6 full-length heroes, oops, I mean, romances with brash and exciting lovers from NY Times, USA Today, and International bestselling authors. Get your cowboys, chefs, special operatives, and sexy bad boys today.

- Sable Hunter, Rachelle Ayala, Mimi Barbour, Taylor Lavati, Dani Evans, Chantel Rhondeau

Desire so hot and needy. Passion uncontrolled. Lust and desperation. 6 full-length romance novels and one bonus novella from NY Times, USA Today, and National bestselling authors. From billionaire bikers to special agents, jocks and bad boys, emotions run hot and the action never stops when love and life is on the line. Spend your sultry days and steamy nights addicted to these unforgettable romances where desire overrides reason.

Pick up all 4 for less than 4 bucks, or read FREE with your Kindle Unlimited Subscription.


��(All Four)
��| ��| ��|

~*~*~*~

What’s your favorite Christmas carol?


That was the question we posed in our Fresh Fiction contest. More than seven hundred people shared their choices with us, and from that we chose twenty lucky winners to give us the titles for our holiday novellas and the books will be dedicated to them in our Love, Christmas Collection.
��My winner, Jackie Wisherd, chose O Christmas Tree, one of my very favorite carols!

��
Every week we’re featuring the first chapter of a novella in the collection. So here is a Sneak Peek at . . .
��
O Christmas Tree����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������
��
A Holiday Luv Romance��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������
��
Piper’s breath caught when Cody Campbell walked in the door of Catalyst, her soon-to-open cat cafe in the sleepy town of North Cove. His virile presence overwhelmed the room, and as she steadied herself she wondered if he had this effect on females wherever he went. When she’d first seen him working at the Christmas tree farm he’d struck her as one of those tragic heroes from legends—powerful and wild, with a wounded past. She’d chalked that impression up to her artsy imagination, until she later heard more about him from Reece and discovered it wasn’t so far from the truth.
Piper lifted the aging tabby that was curled up in her lap and set him on a high bookshelf where he liked to hang out and survey the younger feline residents playing or lounging on the carpet, tables, and benches below.
“Piper Cadence, right?��
She immediately liked his smooth deep voice. It fit her storybook hero perfectly. Piper nodded and walked toward him, telling her wobbly knees that his rep as a carpenter and the fact that Reece said he needed extra work were the reasons she’d hired Cody to build the maze of sleep cubbies for the cats. It had nothing to do with those desolate blue eyes in his magnificent face. Or the fantasies she had no business entertaining.
��Shifting a large cardboard box to one arm, he held out a hand. “Cody Campbell.��
��“Piper Ca—oh, you just said that. Um, nice to, uh, meet you.�� What was wrong with her? At least he didn’t laugh, although his sultry silence unnerved her just as much.
She reached out and his large hand, calloused and warm, enveloped hers. Piper could swear an electrical spark shot through her at his touch, but when she glanced up to see if he noticed it, a mewing sound distracted her. It was coming from the cardboard box with holes poked in it that now rested on his shoulder. “Is that��?��
“A box of kittens.�� His tone turned apologetic. “I hope you have room for five more.�� He set the box on the floor and opened the folded lid. A squeaky chorus erupted.
Piper couldn’t suppress her giggle as she picked up one of the tiny gray-and-white fur balls. She expected the cuteness overload of kittens to ease the awkwardness between them, but Cody didn’t smile at the kittens. Instead his intense gaze remained on Piper.
Those haunted eyes of his studying her sent a jittery tremor through her. Was he merely curious? Could it be��? No, she wouldn’t delude herself into thinking a guy as hot as Cody would be attracted to someone as plain and simple as herself. Sure, she’d made a point of wearing her sleekest jeans and a flattering sweater today, even conditioned her mousey brown hair and let it fall to her shoulders instead of tying it into her usual ponytail. But Piper knew she was no beauty.
“Where did you find them?�� she asked.
“In one of the outbuildings on my parents�� farm.��
“They’re awfully young, probably not past weaning.��
Suddenly a young girl came storming into the shop. She had the painfully thin long-limbed body of an adolescent. And striking blue eyes similar to Cody’s.
“Are those my kittens?�� Her pitch heightened when she peered into the box. “Why did you bring them here?��
Cody turned to her. “Grandpa said he was going to get rid of them, and you know that wouldn’t mean giving them to a shelter.��
“You could’ve told me. I would’ve hidden them from Grandpa.��
“Now, Clari, you know that won’t work.�� Cody ran a hand through his dark shaggy hair, looking like a baffled father.
Piper knew that Cody had lost his wife and son three years ago, and she could imagine how difficult it would be for a man like him to handle a teenage daughter.
He placed a surprisingly gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, but she shook him off. “You can’t just take them away from the mother cat. She’s going to be frantic looking for her babies.��
“I didn’t see a mother cat. I thought—��
“No, you didn’t think at all,�� she shrieked at him. “You never do. No wonder Uncle Dylan calls you a loser.��
A wince of pain flashed across Cody’s face, only to be masked a split second later.
Piper’s heart clenched and she stood up, saying, “Why don’t you go find their mother and bring her here?��
The girl looked around, her mouth in a grim pout. “But you have all these other cats here. The mama gets fierce when any cat gets near her babies. And I’ve heard the males will hurt the kittens.��
“I can put them in a private room upstairs. I planned on rooms for isolating problem cats or separating any that didn’t get along.��
Cody gave Piper a grateful smile that softened his sharp features—and brought a surge of heat to her cheeks that no doubt turned her face pink. She ducked his gaze and extended her hand to the girl. “My name is Piper, by the way.��
“Clarissa,�� the girl said, accepting a brief handshake. “Will I be able to visit them?��
“Of course,�� Piper said. “In fact, I could use a volunteer to help with the cats.��
“Sounds like a great idea to me,�� Cody said.
Clarissa shrugged. “I can walk here from school, but then I’ll need a ride home, and you’ll be at the Christmas tree farm most days.��
“I’ve also got to come here to build the cat hutches,�� he said. “We’ll work it out.��
Clarissa looked around again. “I don’t get what kind of place this is. The sign outside says cat cafe, but it seems more like a shelter.��
Piper nodded. “It’s both. People can buy drinks and snacks in the cafe and they have the option of carrying them into the cat lounge to enjoy some feline company.��
The girl actually broke into a small grin. “That’s kind of cool.��
“So do we have a deal?��
“Okay.�� Clarissa stepped toward the door. “Let’s go, Dad.��
Piper sensed the heat of his gaze again and tried to keep her composure. “Thanks,�� he said. “We were supposed to talk about the job you wanted me to—��
“No rush. Besides, right now I’ve got to prep a room upstairs for these little fur balls.��
“Let me carry them up for you.�� Cody reached for the box.
She swatted his hand away. “I’m all right. Go find the mother cat before it gets dark.��
The memory of a time when she was too weak to carry a box like this reminded Piper that she had no business dreaming about possibilities with this man. No, she was just glad to be able to help out a guy and his daughter. That’s all this was about and all it ever could be.
But she also remembered that special Christmas when everything seemed possible. And as Cody turned and waved to her from the door, she could almost begin to believe it.

Love, Christmas Box Collection


Coming Oct 2016












Alicia Street is a USA TODAY bestselling author and Daphne Award-winner often writing in collaboration with her husband, Roy, as well as on solo projects. She spent many years as a dancer, choreographer and teacher. A compulsive reader of every genre, she also loves watching old black-and-white movies and inventing new recipes for soups.

Friend her on Facebook -
Tweet her - @AliciaStreet1
* * *

***My friend, USA Today best-selling author, Donna Fasano, is my guest today and I'm honored to introduce her along with her wonderful new bundle that highlights single moms.




According to the US Censes Bureau, there are more than 12 million single-parent households, and 80% of those are headed by single mothers. Wow! I was floored by that statistic.

��
Single moms are amazingly resilient women who do it all. They work, make a home, and raise their kids, often with no help. From anyone. The fact is, single moms work longer hours for less pay, so they have to be creative when it comes to making ends meet. I have several friends who are single mothers, and I am always astounded by the lengths to which they go in order to make a good life for their kids.
��
To honor single moms everywhere, I’ve combined two of my sweet contemporary romance novels into what I’m calling FALLING FOR A SINGLE MOM Duet Bundle.




��
While promoting my bundle on Twitter, I sent out a tweet stating that “Single moms are special!�� I was confronted by a man who, I can only assume, is a single dad. Grant M.D. @SonOfEdinburgh wrote “I could rewrite this and make it about dads. Yes, mums do a lot. But so do dads.�� And he used #equalrights #humanrights on his tweet.
��
Rather than take offense, I assured him that I love single dads, too, and I linked to my Single Daddy Club Series on Amazon. I’m happy to say Grant M.D. apologized immediately.




��
Single parenting isn’t for the faint of heart, be it moms or dads!
�� *�� *�� *

Falling for a Single Mom:

Falling for a Single Mom ~ Sweet Contemporary Duet Bundle
“Fun, Flirty Romances! 5 Stars!��
US Kindle:
UK Kindle:
iBooks:
Nook:
Kobo:
Google Play:
Single Daddy Club Series: ����

* * * *

I wanted to talk to you today about box collections.

Some authors �� actually many of us �� are involved in this style of publication and for those of you who don’t “get�� why we’ve taken this step; I can help you understand by telling you what made me choose this route.

First of all, I have tried in numerous ways to reach out to as many readers as I possibly can. I’ve spent thousands of dollars over the years in paid promotions. Plus, I’ve devoted a huge number of hours �� I’m talking hundreds �� in setting up tweets, Facebook posts and other sorts of social media. Those who believe this gets you out in front of a lot of people don’t understand the competition. It’s brutal!

A lot of people might see your book but they also see hundreds of others.

Then I tried pricing my books low - even free - but I’m not sure whether that is an enticement anymore. Let’s face it - there’s so much free stuff out there to choose from.

Then some of the girls decided to follow what the traditional publishers have done for years. They bonded authors together in order to put their books into anthologies and collections.

Once the Indie authors ran with this idea, things changed. Rather than a few books together, sometimes there’s a lot more. And rather than a regular price for the value given, these books were dumped to the lowest price possible with the hopes that they would hit the lists and earn thousands in royalties.

Some of the first ones did��

But like anything that is overdone, it’s not so easy to get those numbers today.

Now, my personal reason for wanting to be involved with other authors isn’t so much for the sales �� not that it isn’t important �� but because I know that many of these��writers have large groups of fans that support them. And by being in the same collections, I’d hoped that some of these same readers would find my work and decide they like me too.
It's a great way of cross-promotion and can work brilliantly. With everyone putting in their portion of money for the budget, it can also be a way of getting a lot more exposure��working for you in a way you could probably not afford to do alone.
Now comes the warning I feel��compelled share...

Once you’ve decided to form a group, one of the most important steps you must take is deciding who you want to associate with. Personally, I know there have been times when I’ve joined with other authors who are stellar in their support. Their work attitudes are similar and they continually put out tweets, help with the promos, Facebook exposure and cheerfully do whatever is asked of them. These authors are �� GOLDEN!

So, if you are thinking of co-ordinating or joining a set, trust me about this. To find good helpers, people who care and will strive to give as much time as possible from their very busy schedule, will make all the difference to the sales continuing.

The truth is �� every author I know has a demanding schedule. To make a collection successful, each person whose name is on the cover needs to kick in. Not everyone can ALL the time. But everyone can do it some of the time. Find those people and you will have a greater chance to make the collection lucrative and popular.

Welcome to Authors�� Billboard and the Sneak Peek at my contribution to the Love, Christmas bundle. Love, Christmas will launch this fall, just a few short months from now. Grown Up Christmas List will be dedicated to reader Leann Griffiths. Congrats, Leann, for winning the Authors�� Billboard Love, Christmas Rafflecopter! I want to send out a huge thank you to the thousands of readers who entered. And now, on to the Sneak Peek:

�� Love, Christmas Box Collection
��Coming Oct 2016






GROWN UP CHRISTMAS LIST Excerpt from Chapter One Lively strains of Christmas music floated from somewhere in the rafters as Dina Griffin let her gaze rove over the rows of shampoo bottles lining the shelf. Lemon yellow, bright purple, jarring chartreuse, the plastic containers came in a rainbow of colors, each competing to catch the eye of shoppers. There were products that guaranteed help for damaged split ends; others promising shine and curl; and still others offering to clarify, volumize, or medicate. The abundance of choices astonished her. And to think, all she’d ever expected from her shampoo was clean hair. It wasn’t as if she’d never been shopping, but her busy life usually had her running in, snapping up her tried-and-true bargain brand, and going on her way. Studying the bottles closer, she read phrases like��moisture milk,��herbal escapes,��essential oils,vitamin-laced, and��tea therapy. Tea therapy? A few steps further brought her to the matching conditioners, also in a mind-boggling, kaleidoscopic variety. Then came the specialty shampoos for dandruff and hair loss and itchy, scaly scalp conditions. And nits. Lice. Ew. Dina shivered inside her bulky winter coat as she ambled along, feigning great interest in the items on display. She reached the end of the aisle, and just as she stepped out to make her way around the shelving unit, the electronic doors at the front of the store slid open, drawing her attention. A cop entered the pharmacy, and adrenaline shot through Dina like a high voltage jolt. Perspiration broke out on the back of her neck and her heart began to thud. She turned her head away, dipping both her chin and her gaze as she sunk back as far as possible into her wide-brimmed hood. Mustering a calm nonchalance she certainly did not feel, she skirted the tall, end cap display of hard pretzels and slipped into the neighboring aisle. She stopped halfway down and perused the first-aid section with enough focus to lead anyone who might notice her to think her life depended on finding the perfect band-aid. The officer wasn’t here for her. He wasn’t. He couldn’t possibly know she’d run from the police in Baltimore. He couldn’t. Dina dared not chance looking behind her, but her stomach sank when she sensed someone approaching. As the person got closer, she could feel the mass of him. It was the cop. Had to be. And the man must be built as solid as a brick wall. He wasn’t here for her. He wasn’t. She repeated the silent mantra, bending at the waist and grasping the first package within reach. Tweezers, she realized. Silver. Pointy-tipped. Her fingers were trembling, so she released the plastic and cardboard container. However, when she pulled her hand back, her coat sleeve caught the edge of several packages and tweezers went tumbling like inept circus acrobats. Dina scrambled, snatching them up, and hurrying to re-hang them on the metal display hook. The cop stopped directly behind her. She straightened, closed her eyes, and drew in a breath in an effort to calm her anxiety. And that’s when she smelled him. The scent of fresh cut sandalwood tickled her nose. Warm and slightly spicy. He cleared his throat and her eyes flew open. Could he have picked up a splinter on the job somehow? Be in dire need of a pair of pointy-tipped tweezers? Maybe he’d cut himself shaving and needed one of those small circular band-aids. That would be her luck, all right. A splinter-laden, razor-nicked cop in need of first-aid supplies, and she just happened to be standing right in front of the display. Her only goal in walking around the pharmacy had been to warm up a little. Although the day was sunny and the outside temperatures on the mild side this morning, it was still winter, and the damp concrete she’d slept on had left her chilled to the bone. Her hips had been aching and her feet had felt like brittle bricks of ice when she’d arrived, and she’d just wanted to limber up, work the cold out of her joints and toes in a heated environment. “Miss? I need you to come with me.�� How could he possibly have known�� Dina hesitated, nerves forcing her to swallow even though her mouth had gone as dry as course sand. She was��not��going back to Baltimore. Not until she absolutely had to. What compelled her next action, she had no idea—fear, panic, sheer survival instinct—but she spun on her heel and glared into his face. “I’m not going anywhere with you. This is a free country, and I’ve got rights. I’m staying right here, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.�� An instant of shock registered on his face. But his jaw quickly set, his lips flattened, and he seemed to grow three inches when he squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. Oh, Lord, save her. Had she really just gone all rebel on an officer of the law? “Yeah,�� he said, his tone soft but firm, “this��is��a free country. And you do have rights. Just so long as you don’t take things that don’t belong to you.�� He pinched the sleeve of her coat between his fingers. “So put back whatever it is you’ve stolen, and come up to the front counter with me. We need to have a chat with the manager.�� “Wait. What are you talking about?�� He muttered under his breath, then said loud enough for her to hear, “Being uncooperative is only going to make matters worse for you. Your parents are already going to be upset when I call them. It’s bad enough you’re cutting school. Shoplifting is a serious offence.�� Cutting�� What? Shoplifting? She looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a grotesque, green beard. “All right.�� He sighed. “We can play this any way you want.�� Her bravado withered like a sycamore leaf in the dead of winter when she felt herself being propelled toward the front of the store. There must have been only an inch of her coat fabric in his grip, but it was enough to force her to toddle along beside his long-legged stride like a twelve-year-old.

~*~

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR DONNA FASANO is a three-time winner of the HOLT Medallion, a CataRomance Reviewers Choice Award winner for Best Single Title, a Desert Rose Golden Quill Award finalist, a Golden Heart finalist, and a two-time winner of Best Romance of the Year given by BigAl's Books & Pals Review Blog. Her books have sold 4 million copies worldwide and have been published in two dozen languages. Her novels have made the Kindle Top 100 Paid List numerous times, climbing as high as #5.

**Visit her blog at .

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What others are saying about Donna's books:

"...complex, funny, and realistic..." ~Wilmington News Journal

"Excellent!" ~Bookreview.com

"Could not help myself from reading excerpts to my husband and friends. This book is well written, the characters are real, everyday folks. It is very easy to identify with them. Donna Fasano is a talented author." ~Elizabeth M. Caldwell on Amazon

"...a fast paced riotous look at family life today. Donna Fasano is right on target!" ~Donna Zapf, SingleTitles.com��������������������������������


~**~

Original post from


So you don’t like Mondays? Well, actually, there’s a good reason to change that perspective. Mondays between 1 - 3 PM E.T. are the best times to tweet that latest post. A recent study by bit.ly of click behavior using their service found the best and worst times to make Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr posts. Their recent revealed the following findings. (Note: All times are EST.)

Twitter
Best Days and Times to Post a Tweet: Monday through Thursday from 1-3pm. The peak time of the week was Wednesday at 3PM.
Worst Days and Times to Post a Tweet: Friday after 3PM and any day of the week after 8 PM and before 8AM. Weekends are the worst days to post.

Note: bit.ly noted in their blog post that, “the half-life of a link on Twitter is 2.8 hours.��

Facebook
Best Days and Times to Post on Facebook: Links posted during the week from 1PM - 4PM have the highest click throughs. The peak time was Wednesday 3pm. bit.ly finds that traffic starts to pick up around 9am, but recommends waiting to post until 11am.

Worst Days and Times to Post on Facebook: Weekday traffic starts to die out after 4pm. Post get less clicks before 8am and after 8pm. Weekends are the worst days to post.

Tumblr
Tumbler users respond significantly different than Twitter and Facebook users.
Best Days and Times to Post on Tumbler: 4PM. Postings after 7PM receive more clicks over a 24 hour period than content posted mid-day during the week. Traffic peaks between 7pm-10pm on Monday and Tuesday and Sunday.


Best Day of the Week Post on Tumblr: Tumblr users operate quite different than Facebook and Twitter users. The best time to post on Tumblr is Friday.

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Independent authors often collaborate to write stories with a theme. The collection is then sold as a boxed set. This year a group of 20 authors I am with picked the theme of Christmas Songs. Each story uses the title of a Christmas song taken from reader’s suggestions. My song was, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.�� Since I write the Trahern series, I thought at first that I would write it as a Civil War era story, of a soldier trying to get home, who keeps stopping to help strangers as he goes. One of the people he helps is a woman he falls in love with, and when he does get home he brings her, too.
But that was very close to the plot of a story I had already written, “The Quietest Woman in the South.�� In that book, young Cade Trahern heads home at the end of the war, riding a cantankerous mule, General Wheezer, who becomes part of the story. While helping people, Cade falls for a woman who doesn’t say much, but when she does, she makes it count.
So I switched to modern times with our dangerous world, and put Lee Trahern in a rowboat in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. He has told his family that he would be home for Christmas, but he gave up his seat on the last plane out of the country being invaded, so is rowing back. Now all he has to do is row hard. All I have to do is get a young woman in the boat with him.
��
I’ll Be Home for Christmas
by Nancy Radke
Dedicated to Delene Yochum
��
CHAPTER ONE
The ship, an old steamer, almost a derelict, looked like it was about to swamp, joining the many others at the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea. Paralee Trahern could see people everywhere, covering it in the same manner in which they piled on top of the cars and other vehicles in the third world countries, not considering that a boat was different, and overloading it could cause it to capsize. If there was any room at all, they climbed aboard.
He watched as it approached him, then rowed closer.�� “I can take a few of you here,�� he called, first in Aramaic, then French, and then in English. “Send three over.�� It would almost swamp him, but if just a few came��
About forty jumped off the sinking ship and swam towards him. He hastily turned his rowboat around and started rowing like he was at Henley. If he let them come aboard, or even grab hold, he would be capsized and sunk along with them.
He rowed hard and fast, making the little boat jump. If he hadn’t rowed so close to start with, he might have made it. But the first one to reach his boat acted like an anchor. Then the rest came, flailing their way through the water.
Several grabbed the stern, their faces desperate. They were the ones who had rid themselves of their heavy clothing, enabling them to catch him, at the same time slowing his boat enough that the others reached it. Seeing the inevitable, he yanked both oars out of the oarlocks and stood up, holding them.
They tipped it sideways, trying to get in. As it filled with water, Lee simply walked over their bodies and out into the Mediterranean. Then he swam away from the rowboat a short distance and turned around.
Placing the oars under his arms, he waited, patience being one of the things a SEAL learns early on. The saltwater wouldn’t do his prosthetic leg any good, but he couldn’t take it off and maybe lose it. He felt thankful that he was in the warm Mediterranean and not the North Sea.
He watched while his rowboat went completely under. When they realized the boat was gone, the men swam back toward the steamer, which wasn’t doing much better, but which had not slowed down.
With their weight gone, the rowboat was still submerged, while his group of plastic water containers, tied by a rope to one of the thwarts, floated next to it.
The men paid it no attention, as they were intent on getting back. Some did, most didn’t. Those on the ship ignored them, leaving them in the water. They waved and screamed, but the ship continued on, and soon there were none.
It was growing dark and he kicked underwater to keep his movements hidden, while he maneuvered himself back to where they had sunk his rowboat. For a few minutes he couldn’t see it, then he stuck his head under and looked around.�� He had passed it on the right, its shadowy form suspended just below the surface.
He swam up to the boat and over it, then rested his body on the seat, which was about a foot underwater. Once the other ship steamed far enough off into the distance, he let go of the oars and laid sideways across the boat, his legs hanging over one side. In position, he reached across and grabbed the other side of the rowboat, and turned it on edge, letting it drain as much as possible while shoving it up into the air. Then he dropped it right side up.
It wasn’t completely void of water, but enough had gone out that the bow and stern were clear, and the gunwales a few inches above it. He retrieved his oars, flipped himself over the side and reentered the boat.
He worked for a while to get more water out, bailing with a small can he had kept for that purpose. Thankfully, the desperate men hadn’t tried to untie his bag of provisions, as they were too intent on keeping afloat. Once he had the water down to a few inches, he turned his back to the north and started rowing again.
Sofia Morgan stiffened as she hit the cool water, going down in a swirl of bubbles and clothing. After the searing heat of the sun, increased by the pressure of too many bodies jammed close together on the deck, the water shocked her, making her gasp for air.
Her friend’s husband hadn’t even allowed her to take her enveloping cloak off, before pushing her over the rail to join the men in the sea. His hand had thrust hard between her shoulder blades, sending her out into the air, as well as over the side. Did he want to get rid of her, that much?
She knew he hadn’t been happy, having her around, with her American ways. She was too independent, and made her college friend want to do things that were forbidden.
Once in the water, the cloak tangled around her, and she had to fight against a rising panic. She held her breath and pulled it off, one sleeve at a time. It was overly large, and she held it away from herself as she resurfaced.
The side of the steamer loomed over her, and men were thrashing all around in the water. They turned, almost as one, and started swimming toward the lone rowboat.
�������� Too many!
She looked up at the side of the ship and realized there were no ladders or anything hanging from the side. No way to climb back on unless someone lowered a rope. It was moving away from her. It hadn’t stopped when the men jumped off. ��She swam hard to make sure she was clear of the propellers.
Once at a safe distance, she looked around to where the rowboat had been. It would soon be sunk, unless the man rowing it got away in time. She swam back to where her cloak still floated on the surface, and grabbed it. Tying the arms together at the wrists, she whipped the wet garment through the air, catching enough air to create a small bubble that she could rest against.
When she looked again, the rowboat was turning on its side as the men tried to climb aboard. She watched as it sunk beneath them and they frantically tried to climb on top of one another.
What had become of the Good Samaritan? She figured he hadn’t expected such a reaction.
Then the men turned and started to swim back toward the ship. Not toward Sofia, as the ship had moved on, so the swimmers swam toward it and not to where she was, but she remained quiet in the water, not making so much as a splash. Desperate swimmers would try to climb on top of anything, so they mustn’t see her.
That had looked like a wooden rowboat. It should still be there, even if underwater. The men had all left it by now, swimming hard to catch the boat. Most were swimming with their robes still on, and the weight was pulling them under, causing them to grab their companions and pull them under too. A few had shed their clothes, and actually were catching up to the steamer, but no rope was thrown to them and they were left in the middle of the sea.�� Soon all but two were gone and she could no longer see the ship from her position in the water.
�������� Would they try to get back to the rowboat? Then they too disappeared from sight, below the sparkling waves. Everything took on a serene, unreal quality, as if never disturbed by the floundering men.
She had tried to picture the location of the rowboat in her mind. It would be hard to judge distances, and she might swim right on past it, but there was no stopping. Nowhere to go but toward where she had seen the boat sink.
Now Sofia kicked hard for the rowboat, hanging onto her improvised flotation device. As she got nearer, she saw it flip on its side out of the water, and realized that the man must have gotten away from the mob, and had returned to claim his boat. He had invited a few, and probably hadn’t expected what happened. Maybe he would still be willing to take on an extra passenger. It wasn’t like she had an option.
She adjusted her direction. She would have missed it by ten feet or more, the way she was headed. She could see the man bailing out the water and kicked harder. She had to reach him before he started up again.
The stranger was her only hope. It wasn’t like there were ships aplenty around, for although the Mediterranean did have a lot of traffic, it was sporadic.�� She couldn’t count on another boat coming by before she drowned.
The man occasionally glanced toward the departing steamer, but he wasn’t looking her way. Even as she decided to leave her cloak behind so that she could go faster, he picked up the oars and started to row. “Help!��
He didn’t hear her. The noise of rowing must have covered her cries. Why hadn’t she yelled sooner?
“Help. Help!�� The boat moved sluggishly, but way too fast for her to reach.
“Help!�� She screamed, then waved her hand and hit the water, making as large a splash as she could. No use.
Still, it was not in her to give up. She yelled again and started swimming.

Love, Christmas Box Collection
Coming Oct 2016






Nancy Radke grew up on a wheat and cattle ranch in SE Washinton State. She attended a one-room country school through the eighth grade. She learned to ride bareback at age 3 (Really! It was a common practice.) and when she got off or fell off, she would pull her horse’s nose to the ground, get on behind its ears, and the horse would lift its head so she could scoot down onto its back. She spent most of her childhood exploring the Blue Mountain trails that bordered the ranchlands. She and a friend once took a trail that turned out to be a two day trip. They always rode with matches and pocket knives, so made camp and returned the next day. These long rides worried her parents, but provided plenty of time to make up stories. Her first novel was set in the Blues, and is entitled APPALOOSA BLUES. TURNAGAIN LOVE was the first one published. It rated a four star review from Affaire de Coeur. Scribes World said “Turnagain Love has some fascinating twists and turns, unexpected complications, and charming scenes.�� It is light and humorous.



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��

I’m sorry I haven’t blogged for the last few days but I’ve been locked out of my Word program ever since we
Remember - they will charge you for the upgrade after the end of the month�� or at least, that’s what’s been threatened.
So �� not wanting to pay for something I knew I needed to do anyway, I decided to go ahead and make the change. I had held off because of pure comfort �� what I mean is �� I’m so blasted comfortable with the old I didn’t want to have to deal with the new. My bad but also dumb!!
Of course, my thrifty nature ended up forcing me to just go for it!
Now this is where it got interesting. Once the change was made, every time I went to my documents in Word, a message appeared �� annoyingly consistent. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me �� something about my referral key. I just cleared it off each time and decided to ask my techie hubby about it later.
Well later never came.
Then one day shortly after, I found myself completely locked out of Word altogether. I couldn’t copy and paste, save anything or even write on a document. The top tab-bar area was dead��.useless……sob!
Beep, beep-beep, BEEPPP! Is what I felt, thought and okay �� so I said a bit of it too!
Why I hadn’t taken the time to actually deal with their message rather than ignore it, I’ll never know. Thankfully, hubby did manage to recover the program but only after he called their long-distance line and explained we were on holidays, the info they wanted was back at home and�� I needed to have the site restored.
They did reset it but trust me - it was a pain in the patodie!
So�� if you’re intending on upgrading before the end of the month, please don’t ignore their request.
Don’t pull a Mimi!!! LOL!