Snapdragons

I have two releases coming soon. My first historical, part of the Love Letters series at The Wild Rose Press and book one of a romantic suspense trilogy. They'll release within 9 days of each other.

I hope I'm prepared.

More importantly, I hope I haven't over-scheduled blog visits. I tire more easily now. You see, I'm in the snapdragon years of my life. What hasn't snapped is draggin.'

You'd think at my age I'd know my limitations. And, in most situations, I do. Bikinis have long been replaced by skirted bathing suits made by Omar the Tentmaker. Sensible walking shoes have superseded sexy stilletos. And Metamucil substitutes my glass of wine at bedtime. Drats...and I SO love a good Riesling.

But when it comes to writing and promotion, I'll type my way into muscle spasms of the hands. You'd think I'd know better by now. Some lessons are short-lived, at least with me. How about you? Do you tend to overpromote? Blogging...Facebook...Twitter... What is your favorite way to promote?

COMING OCTOBER 31st

Set South of Deadwood, Dakota Territory in 1879

When rancher and single father Cam McBride finds a letter tucked in a strip of cloth tied to a tumbleweed, he is captivated by the mysterious author. Finding a second tumbleweed letter further pulls him under the lonely writer's spell. He needs a mother for his little boy and a wife to warm his bed. Could this mysterious woman fill his needs?

Sophie Flannigan is alone, scared, and on the run from a rogue Pinkerton agent. She spends her days as a scrub lady at Madame Dora's brothel and her nights writing notes to the four winds. Her life holds little hope until a small boy lays claim to her and his handsome father proposes an advantageous arrangement.

Can these three benefit from a marriage of convenience, or will a determined Pinkerton agent destroy their fragile, newly formed bond?

EXCERPT:

Soiled doves braided her wet hair and pinned it into a chignon at the nape of her neck. She put on a

linsey-woolsey dark blue skirt and matching shirtwaist, a plain outfit she’d worn to teach school

several months ago. Dora gave her new stockings and red garters to hold them up, laughing and claiming Cam would go wild at the sight.

Her gaze slid toward her new husband, and her eyes narrowed. And just how did Dora know about

her husband’s preferences? In fact, thinking back, Cam seemed very familiar with both Madam Dora

and Calamity Jane. Annoyance bubbled. Was he a regular customer at Dora’s house of sin? Had she

married another man with loose principles? It didn’t bear thinking about.

The ceremony held in the church was, no doubt, one of a kind, even for this lawless part of the

country. Madam Dora stood up for her and Calamity Jane stood up for Cam.

God help me, I got married with a madam for a maid of honor and a woman dressed like a gent for a best man, while a chorus of soiled doves cried in the background. ’Twas a wonder God didn’t strike us all dead.