We have a WINNER!! (Mid-Winter Blog Hop)

Thanks to all who participated. The winner of my story "Pretending You Are Mine" is...

ELIZABETH / Book Attict.  I'll send you an email with my story.

CONGRATS!!

Blog Winner - for the Mistletoe Madness Hop

GENA ROBERTSON, you are the winner! I will send you an email with the story, "The Sweetest Kiss".

Thanks to eveyone who entered!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!!!!

~Marie~

Mid-Winter's Eve Blog Hop

I'm doing another blog hop! This really is fun!  Today I'm giving away a PDF format of my story "Pretending You Are Mine". All you have to do is follow my blog and leave a comment with your name and email addy.

Switching roles and the pursuit of freedom come together in the hunt to discover who can be trusted and who is really the traitor during the Colonial times. Mercedes Maxwell’s sister’s last wish was for Mercedes to find evidence against Kat’s husband, William Braxton, and have him hung as a traitor to the crown. Mercedes isn’t naïve when it comes to capturing traitors, because her own deceased husband had once been an agent for the King when they lived in England.

When she meets William Braxton for the first time, all is not as it seems. Portraying her twin, Mercedes knows this is the only way to get close enough to William to discover his secrets. What she finds along the way are little surprises she hadn’t counted on, especially when she begins to give her heart to a man who may be a spy against the crown.

Hop to more blogs now so you can enter to win MORE prizes!! -  http://iamareadernotawriter.blogspot.com

There really is a Santa Claus!

We took the grandkids to see the Christmas lights tonight. The place is called "Christmas By The Bay". It's at Willard Bay and the park is all decorated with fun lights. Afterward, we visited Santa Claus. My grandson, Xavier, has been a little stinker this year, and so he was going to tell Santa he'd be nice and mind his mommy and then ask Santa to be put back on the "Nice" list. lol  And Gracelyn didn't cry this year when she sat on Santa's lap. She's getting to be a big girl. :) 

But the big surprise came when Santa asked my husband to sit on Santa's lap. Santa even called him by name!! My grandkids were very impressed that Santa remembered Grandpa's name... Either that or they realized maybe Grandpa had been on Santa's naughty list too many times as a child.  hahahaha

Anyway, here are some pictures!

GIVEAWAY for the Mistletoe Madness Blog Hop

Hello everyone! I'm excited to be participating in the Mistletoe Madness Blog Hop. What is a blog hop? Well, each participating blog hosts a giveaway and then we link up together to allow our followers to hop from one giveaway to the next.

Join us and enter to win over 50 giveaways hosted by our participants - http://pjschnyder.com/blog/contests/
Plus, visit the link from Dec 16th to the 23rd for the chance to win the Grand Prize -> a Nook Color pre-loaded with books from our sponsor authors and many more.
(a form to enter will go live here on this page on Dec 16th and a winner will be chosen at random after the contest closes on Dec 23rd)


For my giveaway, I'll be giving one lucky winner a PDF copy of my Regency Romance, The Sweetest Kiss. All you have to do is follow my blog and leave a comment with your name and email addy, and I'll pick a winner. It's that simple!! 

Lord Trey Worthington isn’t about to give his heart to a woman. He does not want a marriage like his parents. But when his mother brings in a childhood acquaintance into the home to sponsor into society, Trey has to get Miss Faraday trained properly. The more he gets to know Judith, the more he yearns for something he doesn’t dare reach for. Judith is after a faithful husband—something Trey has been convinced most of his life he’ll never become.

Judith Faraday is only after one thing—to marry her Naval Officer and enjoy a life full of love. She’s doubtful her dream will ever come true while living as the ward to the dowager duchess. However, the longer Judith is with the dowager’s son, Trey, an attraction blossoms. Judith now wonders if God has different plans for her life, because Trey doesn’t believe in the sanctity of marriage . . . the very thing Judith cannot do without.

Gracelyn's 3rd Birthday

It's so hard to believe my granddaughter is 3 years old already! It seems like yesterday I was at the hospital with my daughter while she was having hard labor--so much that the epidurals were not working. I'd never seen anyone in that much pain. Then Gracelyn came out...and she was such a beautiful baby. I cried. Okay, I'll confess, I cried when all three of my grandchildren were born because I was lucky enough to have watched the birth with all three!

So my little Princess wanted a Princess-themed party. I was able to get her cake and balloons, but the present we got her was a fairy toy - which Gracelyn also loves. She always talks about "Tink-bell". :)  So...here are the pictures I took of her party.

Gracelyn and Grandpa

The grandkids with grandpa

My adorable grandkids!

Her mommy gave her the Princess doll from "The Frog Prince" movie

Her mommy got her a tea-cup service

Grandma & Grandpa gave her a trunk with fairy costumes

Here's our little Tink-bell fairy!

Cute Princess cake, don't you think?

Yeah, that's me in the green shirt having a little tea-party with my Princess Fairy

Our Princess / Fairy Birthday Girl!

Looking for Reviewers!

I'm going to try something new here... I'm looking for people to read one of my stories (or all) and give me a review on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Goodreads. I'll give you the story for FREE as long as you can read it on a PDF file (Adobe). If you are interested, please leave me a comment with your name and email and which book you'd prefer to review. THANKS!!

Here are the stories I need reviews for:

(Colonial Romance)

Switching roles and the pursuit of freedom come together in the hunt to discover who can be trusted and who is really the traitor during the Colonial times. Mercedes Maxwell’s sister’s last wish was for Mercedes to find evidence against Kat’s husband, William Braxton, and have him hung as a traitor to the crown. Mercedes isn’t naïve when it comes to capturing traitors, because her own deceased husband had once been an agent for the King when they lived in England.

When she meets William Braxton for the first time, all is not as it seems. Portraying her twin, Mercedes knows this is the only way to get close enough to William to discover his secrets. What she finds along the way are little surprises she hadn’t counted on, especially when she begins to give her heart to a man who may be a spy against the crown.

(Colonial Romance)

Marcus Thorne, a notorious pirate who has taken land and become a highwayman, vows to uncover the secrets of the Royal Navy and exact revenge against the man who stole from him.  Instead, he captures the enemy’s daughter and keeps her as his prisoner to satisfy the debt.  Isabelle Stanhope sees her captor, this mysterious masked man, as a savior.  She’d much rather be in his company than participate in the marriage arranged by her father. 

Can keeping her prisoner set things right for Marcus, or is he about to suffer another theft—his heart?

 (Christian Historical Romance)

Joshua Grayson is not happy about his new sister-in-law’s visit and he uses the term ‘sister-in-law’ loosely as Careen Kennedy Grayson was a complete stranger. Joshua’s brother, Matthew, left the family ranch in the dead of night to run away and wed a woman he’d never met. The fact Matthew was killed moments after walking out of the church with his new bride merely adds insult to injury. Joshua struggles with resentment and trying not to blame Careen for his brother’s death. But it is difficult not to harbor ill feelings when he knows she’s keeping secrets. Despite his suspicions, Joshua slowly grows attracted to Careen and even starts to like her. Unfortunately, Joshua knows all too well the folly of loving a woman he cannot trust.

Careen Kennedy Grayson was married and widowed within minutes of the other. When her obsessive cousin, Luther, arrives minutes after Matthew’s death, she knows deep down he’s the one who killed Matthew. Luther is arrested and held for trial while Careen takes her husband’s body back to his family. Soon after arriving at the loving Grayson ranch, Careen learns of her mother-in-law’s heart condition. Unwilling to cause undue stress, Careen decides to wait until after Luther’s trial to speak the full truth of their son’s death. Soon Careen grows embedded in family and ranch life, getting closer to the Grayson’s with each passing day. She finds herself unnaturally drawn to Joshua and she knows their budding attraction will only complicate matters… Especially when the family discovers her cousin did indeed kill Matthew.

(Regency Romance)

Lord Trey Worthington isn’t about to give his heart to a woman. He does not want a marriage like his parents. But when his mother brings in a childhood acquaintance into the home to sponsor into society, Trey has to get Miss Faraday trained properly. The more he gets to know Judith, the more he yearns for something he doesn’t dare reach for. Judith is after a faithful husband—something Trey has been convinced most of his life he’ll never become.

Judith Faraday is only after one thing—to marry her Naval Officer and enjoy a life full of love. She’s doubtful her dream will ever come true while living as the ward to the dowager duchess. However, the longer Judith is with the dowager’s son, Trey, an attraction blossoms. Judith now wonders if God has different plans for her life, because Trey doesn’t believe in the sanctity of marriage . . . the very thing Judith cannot do without.

New book cover for "Secrets After Dark"

I'm so excited to show you my new book cover!  Can you hear me screaming with happiness over here? lol  I'm also going to give you a teasing unedited excerpt. (wink)

Thornton Manor is a place of secrets, from the ghost haunting the East Wing, to the young women who have simply vanished from the estate. Hannah Forester visits Thornton to uncover the mystery of her father’s death, but will its secrets be the death of her, too?

A knock on her bedroom door made Hannah jump. “Who is it?”

          “Francine.”

Hannah released a pent up breath. “Come in.”

Her maid bustled in. “I’m here to get you ready for bed.”

Eager to crawl between the blankets and snuggle against the pillows, Hannah hurriedly undressed. While Francine brushed Hannah’s hair, the maid babbled about the friends she’d met in the Thornton’s staff.

“Although they are very kind, I fear they are keeping secrets,” the maid said.

Hannah yawned. “What secrets, do you think?”
            “Well, there was no mention of the East Wing ghost, but instead they talked about the cursed white wolf that roams the land.”

Arching an eyebrow, Hannah met her maid’s gaze in the vanity mirror. “A white wolf? Are you certain they didn’t mean wild dogs?”
          “No dog, Miss Hannah. They definitely said white wolf—and said he was cursed.”

“Hmm, I wonder if the wolf and the ghost share tea every evening. Do they meet on the cursed island, as well?”

Francine snickered. “Your sarcasm is not becoming, Miss Hannah.”

Hannah laughed. “Forgive me. I’m tired.”

“I believe the servants,” Francine continued. “They say every full moon the white wolf comes out of hiding and feeds upon the innocent.”

Hannah scrunched her forehead. “Feeds upon the innocent? What does that mean? And how does the wolf know if a person is innocent or not? Does he ask them before he kills and eats them?”

“It’s rumored that the wolf only kills virgin women.”

“Once again, Francine. How does the wolf know they’re virgins?” Hannah rubbed her forehead. “Oh, why must you believe these stories? Haven’t you stopped to think the others are telling you this to frighten you?”

“Oui.” Francine stopped the brush in mid-stroke and leaned closer to Hannah’s ear. “Why, and for what purpose? Why would they wish to scare us away?”

“Why, indeed.” Hannah tapped her finger on her chin. “I think they’re creating these stories to cover the truth.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know, but I will find out.” 

“How?”

Hannah shrugged. “That’s a good question, one I will ponder tomorrow.” She exhaled slowly. “Because tonight I plan to rest.”

Francine placed the brush on the vanity table and turned toward the door. “I shall be in my room if you need me.”

“Good night, Francine. Please lock your door.” Hannah tried not to grin. “With the roaming wolf who seduces virgins and musical ghost, I’m quite certain you’ll need as much protection as you can get.”

Francine shook her head and hurried out of the room. Hannah chuckled as she pulled back the blankets and slipped between the sheets. After switching off the lamp, she thumped her fist into the pillow and curled on her side. What she needed was a couple hours sleep if she intended to search through the house tonight. Although she didn’t believe these ridiculous ghost stories, there was still something not quite right in the manor.

Just as her body relaxed, the floor creaked. She snapped her eyes open to cloaking darkness.

She pulled the sheet to her neck. Soft noises shuffled in the room against the far wall. Her heart slammed against her ribs and her breathing became ragged.

Straining, she cocked her head toward the noise, but heard nothing more. She rubbed her eyes and tightened the sheet around her before curling back under the covers. Fear threatened to close her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating on her surroundings. She should really pull on her wrapper and investigate, but she didn’t dare. Not yet.

She rolled in bed and peered toward the window. The moonlight peeked through the slit in the curtains, but did little to brighten the room.

So intent on listening, her forehead pounded in a quick rhythm. She breathed a deep sigh, rotated her shoulders and once more closed her eyes. Old homes settled and groaned, and certainly the manor was no different.

The floor creaked again and she stiffened.

Heavy breathing floated through the air. She focused on the dark shadows playing marionette with her sanity. Someone was in her room. But how? Her gaze darted to the closed door. Nobody had entered or she would have heard.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, a tall shadow appeared at the foot of her bed. She managed to discern someone dressed in a cape with a hood pulled low to hide their identity. A man, she assumed, with wide shoulders. Darkness covered his face.

Was this the ghost the housekeeper, Mrs. White had spoken of?

Hannah wanted to scream, but fear kept her mute. Should she lie still and pray he’d disappear?

The stranger’s breathing grew heavier, as did her own. The figure didn’t move. Building the courage she needed to scream, she opened her mouth, but the caped figure held up his hand, his finger pointing at her.

"You're in danger here. You must leave."

COMING VERY SOON TO BOOKSTORES AND KINDLE!!

Let the countdown begin!

Forgive me, but I can't wait until the release of my next Walnut Springs book - "Secrets After Dark". This is my first historical paranormal romance, and I'm eager to see how well it's accepted by readers. So far, all my stories have had a light, fluffy kind of theme to them with humor. Not "Secrets After Dark". This one has a Gothic theme, and it's a little...eerie and very serious.

So today I'm going to tease a little and share an unedited excerpt of my story. This will be the first of many teasers before my book is released. (grins)

ENJOY!

** Hannah Forester is determined to find her father’s killer, but is shocked to discover the one man who can help her is not completely human. Forced to work with the mysterious Morgan Thornton to break the curse that turns him into a wolf whenever he desires a woman, Hannah stumbles across dangerous secrets surrounding the manor and Morgan’s family. In search for the truth, Hannah finds not only her father’s killer, but also a hidden strength and the only man she could ever give her heart to.  

Morgan Thornton is determined to protect Hannah from his family secrets, but he can’t stop wanting to hold her and become a man again, instead of the beast the witch’s curse turned him into. Now the witch wants Hannah because of what she knows, and Morgan will do anything to save her, even if it means destroying the witch and condemning himself to live with the curse forever.**

North Devon, England 1880

No turning back now.

Hannah Forester gripped the plush edge of the coach seat, and stared anxiously through the window as the landscape whisked past. The village of Exmoor brought shivers to her as it was, but when she spotted Thornton Manor looming ominously ahead, chills rushed up her spine as the whispered secrets of this place whirled through her mind.

Hannah’s every instinct screamed to turn tail and run, but her heart told her the answers to her father’s murder lay here.

She glanced across the coach at her French maid, Francine. The younger woman sat ramrod straight with her lips pulled tight, her gaze aimed out the window. As Thornton Manor came more fully into view the color slowly drained from the maid’s face.

“We’re almost there.” Hannah managed a tight smile, twisting her hands in her lap, a nervous habit she’d never managed to break.

Francine took an unsteady breath. “Are you certain this is what you want, Mademoiselle?” A slight tremor shook her. “After all, Thornton Manor is haunted.”

Nervously Hannah laughed. “Don’t tell me you believe all those silly ghost stories.”

“Oui. They are true.”

Hannah arched an eyebrow, suppressing her own trepidations, and taking hold of logic. “Do you have firsthand knowledge?”

“No, but—”

With a flick of the wrist, Hannah brushed the maid’s concerns away. “I think the stories are told to keep people away.”

Francine nodded. “It’s working rather well, if you ask me. There aren’t many women who volunteer to stay there.”

“I have no other choice.” Hannah grumbled as helplessness filled her. “According to my father’s journals, Morgan Thornton was the last man to visit him. I need Mr. Thornton’s help if I’m to discover the murderer’s identity.”

“I understand, Mademoiselle, but there has to be another way.” Francine peeked out the window and shivered.

“When I met Mrs. Thornton in the marketplace the other day,” Hannah continued, “and she invited me to the manor to meet her brother-in-law, Jonathan, I knew this was the only way I could get inside to ask questions.”

“Doesn’t Mademoiselle Thornton think you’re coming to court Mr. Jonathan?”

“Yes, and she must continue to believe that.” Hannah adjusted the cloak over her traveling gown. “My father was a close friend with the oldest brother, Morgan. I’ve tried to contact him, but the letters I’ve sent over the past year have gone unanswered. The Thornton’s are purposely keeping secrets. I feel it. Getting inside the manor is the only way to find what I’m searching for.”

“Then I pray you find what you need quickly. I cannot bear the thought of staying longer than a week in such a haun—” Francine flicked her gaze toward Hannah, “dreary place.”

The vehicle slowed as it neared the house. Hannah leaned against the seat and in silence, and collected her wits. If only she felt as brave as the front she presented her maid. Hannah bunched her fingers in the folds of her velvet traveling dress and nibbled her lower lip. She must do this to discover the truth. She prayed she’d be able to accomplish her goal.

The vehicle jerked to stop and her uncle’s footman, Jeffries, opened the door. The older servant helped her down, and as soon as her feet touched the pebbled ground, she glanced up at the towering Thornton Manor. Trepidation clutched her throat.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, taking her first step toward the dark, foreboding structure. “And I absolutely do not believe in ghosts.”

For one fleeting moment, the shuffling of the maid’s footsteps fell into rhythm with Hannah’s. Her nerves eased slightly knowing she wasn’t in this alone. Francine would help her through thick and thin. Maid or no, the other woman was Hannah’s friend. Jeffries waddled closely behind the women.

The morning air settled around them still as death. Autumn leaves of red and brown littered the walkway and crunched beneath Hannah’s feet. North Devon’s chilly air nipped at her cheeks and she pulled the bonnet ties more tightly around her ears. The scent of burning fields hung thick as area landowners prepared for another planting season.

The place where she would find answers lay straight ahead, creeping closer with each step. As she walked from beneath the shade of the trees into the sunlight, the estate rose above her in a crescendo of magnitude. She stopped and sucked in her breath.

The red-bricked manor rose with breathtaking splendor into the sky. The distinctive turrets and pinnacles masterfully structured. The manor looked out over acres of parklands, gardens, lakes and woods. Francine’s gasp overrode Hannah’s. Two large rock columns cornered the house, and at least three sections sprawled from the structure. Only a few curtains hung open at the many windows, but most were hidden behind closed draperies. Her curiosity piqued. What secrets did the draperies conceal?

She stood still for several minutes, marveling at the glory before her. Yet a strange eeriness settled around the place. Darkness lurked in the East Wing as if a silent storm cloud resided.

As she studied each window on the left side, her interest grew. The curtains of one window moved. She squinted and stepped closer but was too far away to see anything or anyone.

Slowly she continued toward the manse, gooseflesh rising on her arms with each step. The nape of her neck tingled and Hannah would swear she could feel someone’s eyes upon her.

The bitter cold seeped through her cloak as she moved into the house’s shadow, and the loss of the sun added to the eerie sensations assailing her body. Her heartbeat quickened, and her palms grew moist in the folds of her dress.

Falling In Love Again

I'm so excited to announce book #2 of my Patriot's Saga is now on Kindle! (coming soon to Nook)

http://amzn.com/B005YF5PBA

Marcus Thorne, a notorious pirate who has taken land and become a highwayman, vows to uncover the secrets of the Royal Navy and exact revenge against the man who stole from him.  Instead, he captures the enemy’s daughter and keeps her as his prisoner to satisfy the debt.  Isabelle Stanhope sees her captor, this mysterious masked man, as a savior.  She’d much rather be in his company than participate in the marriage arranged by her father. 

Can keeping her prisoner set things right for Marcus, or is he about to suffer another theft—his heart?

**excerpt**

Someone standing next to Isabelle pushed her forward and she stumbled into another highwayman. He grasped her shoulders to keep her from falling. As soon as she gained her bearing, she took one step back and looked at the large man. Shaky breath caught in her throat. Black silk cloth covered the top part of his face—save for the eyes—which served as a mask as it hid his true identity. Once-white linen stretched across wide shoulders and broad chest, opened at the throat to display sun-bronzed skin. Black jackboots and breeches molded his powerful legs. An ebony wool tricorn decorated with a feather as black as the silken mask topped his equally dark head. And he was muscular beyond belief!

The fearsome highwayman who’d forced them out of the stagecoach stepped next to the man still holding onto her arms. “Captain Hawk, all the passengers are here, sir.”

A gasp caught in her throat. Captain Hawk! Here stood the very person responsible for killing her father. Rumors about a retired pirate who’d turned highwayman had spread through England, especially after her father and his friends had died.

Desperate to stay strong, she squared her shoulders and met his hooded gaze. The captain’s mouth dropped opened. His stare touched every part of her from the top of her bonnet down her body to her booted heels. Did he know she was Commodore Stanhope’s daughter?

“Very well, Simon.” Although the captain spoke to his crewmember, Hawk’s eyes never left hers.

Slowly, the leader of this ruthless gang of cutthroats grinned. “Who do we have here?” He swept his gaze over her once more in leisure.

“I—I—I—” She couldn’t tell him her real name. He might remember her father, then she would end up with her sire’s doom.

“Miss, will you please remove your bonnet?”

“Sir, I don’t see why I need—”

He stepped closer and yanked on the silken pink ribbons securing the bonnet to her head then pushed it off. She reached for it, but the bonnet fell by her feet as the wind blew unbound curls against her face. His eyes widened.

Fear suffocated her. Why did he act in such a manner? Perhaps she would indeed have to defend herself against him.

“What’s your name?” His voice boomed louder than before.

She gulped, praying the Lord would forgive her for lying. “Miss Stan—ley. Belle Stanley.”

Seconds ticked into incredibly long minutes of silence. Only the wind slapping through the trees and the softening cries of the stagecoach passengers blended together to disrupt the stillness.

Finally, the captain’s jaw hardened. “Miss Stanley, what is your purpose for this trip?”

She gnashed her teeth. Curse those stubborn highwaymen thinking they owned the world. “I—I’m on my way to New York to settle my father’s affairs.”

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from England. I arrived just this morning.”

“Why would any father send his daughter across the sea during turbulent times such as these?”

“My father didn’t send me. He’s dead, if you must know.”

“I see.”

His gaze swept over her again as his finger smoothed across his thick, black mustache. “Tell me, Miss Stanley. How long ago did your father die?”

She hesitated, knowing she couldn’t tell him the truth. “Just a few months past, sir.”

“Indeed?” He folded his arms across his wide chest. “Has the length of time for mourning changed? The last I heard, a family member wore black for a year.” He motioned his hand in front of her. “Yet there isn’t a stitch of black on you. Can you tell me why that is?”

She fought the urge to slap his arrogant face. He was correct, of course, and his sharp wit made her pause. Why couldn’t she think of an impressionable answer? It was as if a fog consumed her mind.

“I—I—”

The wind lifted the midnight black hair resting on the back of his nape, and blew the edges of his opened shirt. A square jaw and thick neck emphasized his masculine build. Indeed, men would fear the captain even without his mask, but Isabelle couldn’t allow the horror stories to make her cower.

Beside her someone nudged her arm. She glanced toward the person. Mrs. Winters, her companion, gave her a small nod. So relieved the older woman wasn’t dead, Isabelle wanted to throw her arms around her companion, but before she could, Mrs. Winters cleared her throat, stepped closer to the captain and aimed her gaze toward him.

“Sir, you must forgive Miss Stanley for not being in proper mourning attire. There was hardly time, and certainly no funds. Her father didn’t leave a shilling for her in London, which is why she had to sail to New York where he resided. Once she receives money from his estate, she will purchase suitable black gowns, I assure you.”

Tears of respite stung Isabelle’s eyes. She’d have to thank her companion later for coming to her aid and thinking up the lie so quickly.

The tilt to Hawk’s head and his dark scowl showed his irritation as his gaze pinned the older woman. “Pardon me, Madame. Who are you?”

“Mrs. Winters. I’m Miss Stanley’s companion.”

“Ah yes, I see.” His face hardened. “If you will, Mrs. Winters, don’t speak until you are spoken to.”

The older woman gasped. “Why I never—”

“I’m quite certain you are correct, but then you have never known anyone like me.” He took several steps back to look over his prisoners. “And I hope all of you learn your place posthaste.” The volume rose in his voice. “Because you are all my prisoners, you will follow my rules or end up with the fate of your stagecoach driver and guard.”

Isabelle let out a rushed breath. Why had she even dared hope the leader of this group of men would have any morals or show a shred of kindness?

Amongst those standing with Isabelle as prisoners were a widow and two older gentlemen. The woman sobbed into her handkerchief, wrenching Isabelle’s heart. Her older companion, Mrs. Winters, clutched shaky hands against her bosom, her face deathly pale, mirroring Isabelle’s own fear. Highwaymen violated women and took much more than their dignity. She vowed she would not let Captain Hawk take hers.

Hawk turned to one of his men who stood by the stagecoach. “Simon, escort the prisoners to the wagon so we can take them away.”

“Aye, Captain.” The other masked man motioned his pistol in the air. His long, dirty blond hair waved in the wind. He smirked, displaying a full set of yellowish-brown teeth. Everyone fell into step and walked in the direction Simon indicated. As Isabelle shuffled a couple of feet, Hawk strode to her and grasped her elbow.

“Miss Stanley, you won’t be going with them.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I have a more suitable place for you.”

Pretending You Are Mine

I want to introduce you to my story, Pretending You Are Mine. This is for Kindle lovers - and soon will be on Nook.

Switching roles and the pursuit of freedom come together in the hunt to discover who can be trusted and who is really the traitor during the Colonial times. Mercedes Maxwell’s sister’s last wish was for Mercedes to find evidence against Kat’s husband, William Braxton, and have him hung as a traitor to the crown. Mercedes isn’t naïve when it comes to capturing traitors, because her own deceased husband had once been an agent for the King when they lived in England.

When she meets William Braxton for the first time, all is not as it seems. Portraying her twin, Mercedes knows this is the only way to get close enough to William to discover his secrets. What she finds along the way are little surprises she hadn’t counted on, especially when she begins to give her heart to a man who may be a spy against the crown.

**excerpt**

Clutching her thick skirt, Mercedes scurried toward the end of the building and ducked behind the far corner. Another street opened before her, spectators gawked at the commotion she created.

She didn’t stop to rest, but kept running until another alleyway loomed ahead. Looking over her shoulder, she breathed a heavy sigh that the men following were farther behind. But within seconds, more men had joined the chase.

She turned another corner and ran into a solid form. A scream tore from her throat as she grasped his arms to keep from falling. Two strong arms circled her waist. She looked up into the face of a soldier wearing a red coat; the symbol of those men serving England, her mother country. The white periwig covered his head, the queue held in place by a jaunty black ribbon.

“My, my.” He grinned, tightening his arms around her. “What lovely package do I have here?”

Instead of being relieved to see him, she worried he would believe she stole the apple – just as the others did. “Please sir, release me at once.” She squirmed, but to no avail.

“’Tis all right, my dear. I shall protect you.” He gave her a wink. “Have I not always been your champion?”

His words confused her, but she didn’t have time for an explanation. “Please, if you would be so kind. I must get away.” The shouts of pursuing men grew louder. “You do not understand. I cannot be caught. I fear they will put me in jail for a crime I did not commit.”

The soldier raised a dark eyebrow. “What stories are you telling now, Mrs. Braxton?”

She gasped and stared at the man holding her. Mrs. Braxton? He thought she was her sister? But of course he would. She and Kat were identical twins. And…nobody knew Kat had died.

As she opened her mouth to deny his comment, heavy footsteps rounded the corner. Panic gripped her, and she couldn’t breathe. They had come to take her away.

Daring to peek over her shoulder, it surprised her to see the men’s expressions showed no anger. Instead of scowls aimed at her, their brows were creased, mouths pursed tightly as they glared at the soldier. Confusion filled her and she slowly shook her head, trying to understand what was happening.

“Release her at once, sir,” the apple cart’s owner said to the soldier.

A chuckle rumbled through the soldier’s chest, but he didn’t let her go.

Thundering hooves of a horse bore down upon them. Mercedes switched her attention to the man on the steed. The small crowd parted, and the man atop the animal dismounted. His horse had whipped up a cloud of dust in the dingy alley and she waved her hand in front of her face to keep from sneezing. The sight of the rider left her speechless and a bit weak at the knees.

His rugged appearance shocked her, his strength evident in his lean arms and legs. Rather than the fancy clothes of the English gentry, the beige shirt and brown leather vest of a farmer’s attire stretched taut across his wide chest, and the black material of his trousers molded to his legs and fit snugly into his black knee-boots. But this man was no farmer. That much appeared evident by the way he carried himself as he strode toward her, his step too confident, too graceful.

When he neared and she gazed upon his face, her breath caught in her throat. The sun had turned his skin a light brown, and the sureness of his jaw bespoke authority. Chestnut hair tousled by the wind framed his head, and she had a sudden urge to swipe the unruly locks off his forehead.

He was quite handsome, if she dared admit, and he literally made her lungs stop working. Never had that happened to her from just admiring a man. Looking into his fiery blue eyes, she swallowed hard.

He stopped mere inches away, towering over both Mercedes and the soldier like a dark cloud of doom. She leaned her head back to take in his height.

The handsome man met the soldier’s stare. “Sir, will you kindly remove your hands from my wife?”

Her jaw dropped. Wife?

“Correct me, Mr. Braxton, but was your wife not running from you?” The soldier shook his head. “There must be a reason for that.”

She sucked in her breath. Mr. Braxton? This handsome and very powerful man was William Braxton, her dead sister’s husband?

When the man in question settled his dark eyes on her, his expression softened and a smile touched his mouth. “Yes, my dear. Please inform the captain and all these good people why you were running from me.”

The pulse in her temple grew stronger. She couldn’t speak, and she couldn’t think. Telling him about Kat’s death was crucial, yet she didn’t want to do that in front of all of these spectators.

If only her mind would work with her tongue and voice, perhaps she wouldn’t feel like a trapped animal. But more importantly, why did she find her brother-in-law dangerously attractive?

Coming to Philadelphia was worse than she'd ever imagined.

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Why Women Cry In Church

Today hubby and I had to talk in church. I'm a crier (never used to be!) so I picked the topic "Why Women Cry In Church". I wanted to throw in my voice - which means I had to make people laugh. And I'm happy to say, I accomplished my goal. The added bonus was that I did NOT cry! Of course, I had an experience I wanted to share, but because I'd talked long enough as it was, I didn't share that experience...which would have made me cry.

Anyway, for this talk, I wrote a poem - hoping to start out my talk making the congregation chuckle. It worked. So...I'm sharing my poem with you now.


Ode To The Crying Woman - by Marie Higgins

There she sits on the bench half asleep

Earnestly struggling, praying to keep awake.

Oh, why does she struggle so

Fighting and nodding off, yet not so much that her neck would break.

Suddenly a speaker’s topic sparks her interest

She straightens, focuses, and becomes in tune with his part

Nothing to disturb her

She understands, relates,and soon feels the tug on her heart.

Oh no! Not again.

She won’t, can’t, refuses to let this feeling transpire

It’s just like all the other times

Tight throat, stinging eyes, can’t really explain – it’s like singing to the choir.

All it takes to start crying is

One word, one phrase, and she’s quickly searching for a tissue.

Beside her, she receives a look from her husband

Questioning, rolling of eyes, and she doesn’t want to explain the issue.

Is she really the only one

Sniffling, blubbering, a nose so red, and liquid in her eyes

She must stop this inanity

Blame it on allergies, make up, or something she should despise

Why do women always have these feelings

Overflowing emotions, sadness – yet happy, simple things to make them weep

Why can’t men act this way

Just once, okay, maybe twice, or are they not affected because they’re asleep?

Unfortunately, this is not an allergy

Not make up, and nothing to fear, this tender, womanly feeling comes from above

But the truth of the matter is simple

Believable, hard to deny, the feeling in her heart is Love.

Yeah, you can tell I'm not a poet, but hey...it worked. (grins)

Pirates, anyone?

Maybe the reason I like Halloween so much is because I love dressing up - or seeing others dress up. So today was Pirate Day in my little town (actually by Willard Bay which is close enough), so my daughter and I took her kids and went to see the pirates. We heard Captain Jack Sparrow would be there, and that's good enough reason for me to go!!!  So, without further ado, here are some fun pictures I took.

Grandson, Xavier, on Black Pearl

Granddaughter, Gracelyn, on the Black Pearl

This particular pirate had some Pirate Tales to tell me...got an idea for a new story! Also, he explained the difference between a cutlass and a sword. Very interesting!

FINALLY! We got to meet Captain Jack Sparrow!

Xavier loved this pirate, but Gracelyn did NOT want to get near him. I don't know...does he look scary to you? lol

My daughter, Heather with ... her hero!

So you knew I HAD to get my picture taken, right? lol

Fun horseback riding, too!

Before a storm hit us, we were lucky enough to watch a sword fight! It was awesome...and Captain Jack was very silly!

So, now I have a new story to write. I LOVE IT!!