Our next guest’s books are so popular, they fly off the shelf the moment they hit the stores. From well-written contemporaries, to thrilling military romance, to paranormal romance, Norah Wilson is the go-to author for a satisfying read eve-ry time. I love her books! (She’s a darned nice person, too.) If you haven’t yet discovered Norah, here’s your chance. She’s got news about her latest release. I promise, you won’t be disappointed. Give a big hand for Norah Wilson!
Wow, not long now! Santa’s on his way!
I have to say I was always glad I lived in Canada at Christmas time, because we were that much closer to the North Pole than our American cousins. It stood to reason that Santa would reach us first, no doubt with the best stuff! I really felt sorry for everyone Down Under.
I was one of 11 children. By the time I was old enough to remember Christmas, some of my older siblings had actually reached adulthood and flown the nest. But I can remember lying in bed on Christmas Eve, determined to stay awake to hear Santa arrive. We had a tin roof and my bed was right beside a dormer window, so I was sure I’d hear him. I never did manage to stay awake long enough to hear Santa, but when we got up in the morning””usually about 6 a.m.””it was evident that he’d been there. As you can imagine, with a family that size, there wasn’t much extra money, but you’d never know it on Christmas morning. The floor was always half covered in gifts (never mind that only a handful were mine!), and the table overflowed with oranges, grapes, chocolate, barley toys, ribbon candy and nuts. My childish mind just boggled at the bounty.
In retrospect, I am so awed by what our parents did to make that holiday so special. To this day, Christmas is a wondrous thing for me, and I have them to thank. I only hope I conveyed a fraction of that wonder and excitement to my own kids.
Another thing I tried hard to impart to my kids is the joy of reading. I think I succeeded, even though they don’t read nearly as much as I do. Too many competing entertainments (music, movies, TV, computer games), not to mention work, friends and sleep! But the love of story is strong in them, and I am certain they will eventually make their way back to books, print, electronic or otherwise.
“Sexy, gritty and thrilling.” ““ Joss Ware, award-winning author of Night Forbidden
Veterinarian Lauren Townsend has good reason for hiding her psychic ability. Not only did her “freakishness” earn her pariah status in the small town where she grew up, it cost her a fiancé and her faith in love. When Lauren foresees a murder””through the killer’s eyes””she traces the victim to a sprawling ranch, never guessing what waits for her”¦
Cal Taggart’s rugged ranch life doesn’t need any more complications. His stubborn determination cost him his marriage, and now may cost him his livelihood. But then beautiful Lauren enters his corral”¦with danger close behind. And Cal wants nothing more than to protect her. They can’t deny their intense attraction. Nor do they want to. What begins as a fling with no strings becomes a fight for survival””and for true love.
Excerpt
“So, did I pass inspection back there?”
Of course, he would mention the way she’d ogled him. There went all the points for politeness. Not that she minded a little directness. It was usually the best policy. Well, except for when it came to the woo-woo stuff. Honesty, she’d come to learn, was almost universally not the best approach to that particular topic.
“I don’t know yet.” Her gaze swept his torso visible above the table. “I didn’t get past the face.”
A glint in those gray eyes was his only reaction. “And how’d the face rate?”
She pursed her lips, tilted her head consideringly. “A little too strong, but good around the eyes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You an artist or something?”
“Or something.”
He smiled, the same smile that jerked at her senses when he’d used it on Delia. Good around the mouth, too.
“So, do I get a turn?”
She sipped her water. “I guess it would only be fair.”
He studied her. “Good hair, good bones, good diction.” His gaze fixed on her eyes. “Well-heeled east coast lady.”
“Well-heeled?” She let her lips part on a smile. “You make me sound positively proper.”
He shrugged, reaching for his own water goblet. “Could be, I suppose, if I believed it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “And you don’t?”
She waited while he chewed an ice cube. “Mouth makes a lie of the rest of it.”
Her pulse leapt. “Maybe it’s the mouth that lies.”
He made no remark, just watched her with those steady eyes. She suppressed the urge to swallow.
“To faces, then.” She raised her water goblet.
He clinked her glass in a salute. “To faces.”
“Okay, now that the obligatory bantering is out of the way,” she said, conscious of her proper east coast diction, “can I ask you some questions about the ranch?”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Sure. What would you like to know?”
For the next half hour, as they ate, she pumped him about his operation. She learned the ranch could accommodate around twenty guests, depending on how many could double up in beds or share cabins. Currently there were only thirteen guests registered, including her. Cal informed her the average stay for guests was three or four days, so people tended to come and go all the time. Most of them came in on the shuttle bus from Calgary, but some tourists arrived in rental cars. As for guest profile, he reported that he got a lot of couples, from 20-somethings to 50-somethings, as well as a lot of families, so the demographic was pretty mixed.
But talking about business, and by extension, himself, didn’t seem to be Cal Taggart’s favorite pastime. His answers grew progressively shorter, until finally he clumped his coffee cup down.
“Ms. Townsend, if you’re looking to start your own ranch, you’d be better off pickin’ someone else’s brains. There are plenty of more established, more successful outfits in these parts.”
“Oh, no! I have no desire to get into the business.”
“Then why the twenty questions?” His eyes drilled her.
What to say? I’m conducting a homicide investigation ““ before the fact? Hardly. She licked suddenly dry lips, searching for inspiration. Then the solution came to her.
“I’m a writer,” she lied. “My publisher thought it would be a great idea to set my next book on a guest ranch,” she said, warming to the idea. “It’s research of a sort.”
“A writer?” He sat back in his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Should I know you, then?”
Yikes! She’d as much as said she was published, hadn’t she? “Oh, I don’t think so.”
“Try me. Despite my too-strong face, I have been known to read the occasional book.”
Okay, now what? She could say romance. He didn’t look like a romance reader. On the other hand, maybe he had a mother or a sister who was an avid fan of the genre. Then it came to her. Perfect! She placed her own napkin on the table and sat back. “Not these books.”
There was that eyebrow again. “And what kind is that?”
She smiled. “Female erotica.”
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I would like to feed the reading addiction of two commenters today. The first will receive a signed print copy of my romantic suspense Every Breath She Takes, and the second a $10 gift certificate from either Amazon or B&N.
Thank you for whiling away some time with me on this magical Santa Watch.
Norah
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