24 December 2017


In sleep he looked not at all evil. There was no anger in him, only peace. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his pale face, his dark hair. To wake him would be to flip a switch, to turn his consciousness on, and with it all the ire and pain. His subconscious self was so sweet, so young . . . If only he could stay asleep . . .

She regarded his full lips, slightly parted, his dark lashes shadowing his high cheekbones. He twitched slightly under her gaze and she wondered if he felt her attention. What did he dream of? Was he happier asleep than awake?

"What would make you happy?" she asked.

He stirred and resettled. Unable to stop herself any longer, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. They were as soft as they looked.

His dark eyes opened, wide and startled, and everything in the room trembled with his awakened rage at the sight of her. The metal bulwarks of the walls screeched and crumpled around them.

She drew back and squared herself for a fight. "Okay . . . For the record, kisses don't make you happy."

06 October 2017

Playing house, are you? Self-medicating?

Did you know that in ancient times the snake was a symbol for healing?

Only one thing cures your misery, but you refuse to look me in the eye.

22 May 2017

There are helicopters over the Pass again. Eight a.m. and already seventy degrees, the sky a cloudless vault of white-blue heat. I sit alone and listen to the still air being shredded; now and then the whirlybirds appear over the trees, back and forth like vultures. There is no other sound, no other movement except the occasional butterfly dancing on my roses.

I should keep bees, I think. It would be a humanitarian thing to do. By which I mean good not only for the bees but for the human race as well.

Not that I begrudge the butterflies. My heart lifts a little every time one flits past, as though it would fly with the bright yellow wings and leave the shell of me here on my porch.

08 January 2017

The way she leaned just slightly toward him in her chair, and he toward her more pronouncedly—they were like two trees whose trunks twisted toward one another as though to become one. Yet neither of them showed any notice of this, and the others around the table waited to see . . . If the two of them would just turn their heads at the right time, even only to look at one another, an inadvertent kiss would be the likely result.

27 December 2016

Next Regency Book Idea

After giving birth, Fae Milne's mother went crazy. She insisted Fae was a changeling, not of the known world. Duncan Olivier thinks it may be true. Fae's sweet temperament and dreamy nature, along with her affinity with animals, do seem otherworldly.

Fae's older brothers Richard and Edward guard Fae's virtue—but is there more to them than meets the eye? Or are they merely doing their brotherly duty?

Duncan Olivier is desperate to find out the truth about Fae and her family, but what will it cost him?