Stella in Stilettos - cover reveal!

I am overjoyed to share the cover art for my forthcoming novel,
Stella in Stilettos  





This awesome cover was designed by Deborah with Tugboat Design
(www.tugboatdesign.net)

Romance In The Countryside!

ROMANCE IN THE COUNTRYSIDE!



      Surrounded by corn and soybean fields, creeks and ponds, romance is alive and well in the countryside. One of the definitions of romance is: to court or woo. Most of us are quick to picture someone trying to win the heart of another. This morning, as I started my day with wide open spaces, sunshine and blue skies, I thought about romance from a different angle -- country living, for me, is a nonstop romance with the earth. I've been wooed by the sounds of bull frogs and the blooms of pumpkins, corn stalks and breathtaking sunsets.

     In recent years I've developed a fondness for gardening. While I'm no expert by any stretch of the imagination, I learn something new every year; how to be kind to the soil to keep it healthy, what plants do better in our neck of the woods, organic pest control for crawling and hopping creatures, and so much more. My garden and I have a special relationship -- a love affair to be nurtured with time and patience. Watching the sunflowers reach for the sky and the watermelons ripen on the vine make me smile, but when my three lovely granddaughters wander through my garden and ask, 'Grandma, what's this?' it warms my heart.

     I would like to spout that I have country blood flowing through my veins as a result of a long lineage of farm folks, but I can't make that claim. No, I grew up in town but I think I've always had the heart of a country girl. In 1978, my husband and I moved to the outskirts of town, and with each passing day my affection for the rural community grows.

     When the miracle of the seasons change and I am surrounded by inches of snow, I spend my time at the computer writing contemporary romance. But I long for the return of warm days so I can open my windows to let in the freshness known only to those of us living in the country and to renew my romance with an amazing plot of ground that has my heart.



      I write contemporary romance with sharp, witty characters who give as good as they get. If you would like to follow my writing journey or check out my books:

Website: www.authorjanromes.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JanRomes

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jan.romes.5

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Jan-Romes/e/B005OMZICY/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Amy Gregory - author of the Racing to Love series!

Today I'd like to welcome Amy Gregory to my blog. She's a fun, vivacious personality who also happens to be a remarkable author!

 

Amy Gregory leads an incredibly active lifestyle in Kansas with her husband and their three fantastic kids who keep them running in three very different directions. When she's not rushing her oldest daughter to tumbling, her youngest daughter to culinary lessons, or sitting track-side watching her son race motocross, she's taking the few minutes in between to scribble the next pages in her Racing to Love series.

When asked, "When do you have time to write?" Amy giggles. "In bits and pieces," she says.

Amy is known for her snarky, off the cuff sense of humor, which you'll find shining through in the characters she's created. Her debut novel, Racing to Love, Carter's Treasure, released in June, 2012, and Racing to Love, Jesse's Soul, released in December, 2012.

I've spent my whole life trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up, and now I've finally found it. ~ Amy Gregory

 

 

Racing to Love, Jesse's Soul

 

 

     Jesse Frost lived the life most men would kill for. Fast bikes, fame, money and good looks. However, he wasn't a man that gave as much thought to that as most. Jesse was just an easy-going guy from a small speck of a town in Texas, a guy that worked hard for everything he had achieved in life. When everything else seemed to go his way, it was women that left him disheartened, and finding the right one always seemed to be just out of his grasp. After a run-in with his high-school crush left him even more confused and emptier than ever before, he had decided he would never find the type of love his best friend Carter had with Molly.

 

     Emery Kincaid had a last name that was revered in their world. Born into a world of gas, grease and speed, she was a woman in a man's world, but she grew up more comfortable with a wrench in her hand than a doll. Irish through and through, she has the temper and sass to boot, and a reputation that precedes her. Determined to carry on her family's legacy, despite the chromosomes she was born with, she works harder than any  man she's come across and never backs down. However, things aren't always as they seem. Emery had remained strong because she's had no other choice, but the pain she masks runs deep and hiding it is the only way she can survive.

 

     Thrown together by circumstance, and forced to be in each other's space day in and day out, sparks start to fly -- from chemistry and the brakes Emery desperately tries to throw on. Without a doubt in his mind, Jesse knows he has finally found her, but the girl that stole his heart has a stubborn streak a country mile wide.

 

     What Emery doesn't realize about Jesse is that he's a competitive guy, by nature and by profession, and he has no intention of letting her slip through his fingers. Not when she is the first woman to understand him, to appreciate his dedication to his career, and well, the fact that she's beautiful is icing on the cake in his mind. It is what Jesse doesn't know that could break his gentle heart. Hiding her true feelings for him is the only way for Emery to protect him, and in turn -- herself. She barely made it out the first time. If she lets Jesse in and he walks away, that's a risk her heart can't take.

 

You can find/follow Amy at:

 

Website: www.amygregory548.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amygregoryauthor548?ref=hl

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AmyGregory548

 

Racing to Love, Jesse's Soul can be found on:

 

Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Racing-Love-Jesses-Soul-ebook/dp/B00AVBENRE/ref=pd_sim_kstore_1

 

Barnes and Noble -  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/racing-to-love-jesses-soul-amy-gregory/1114052796?ean=2940016165417

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cynthia Meyers-Hanson: Her publishing story & special highlights about the S.H.E. Anthology

Today I'd like to welcome a very special guest to my blog, Cynthia Hanson - author of Christian and Inspirational/nonfiction and fiction. She's going to share her writing and publishing journey, and also talk about the S.H.E. Anthology (A very special compilation - royalities will help charities involved in grief counseling or with mental health issues - especially for children therapies for the types of traumas witnessing massacres produce).

Welcome, Cynthia!      

Thanks for having me, Jan.

I work for GOD! I write many nonfictions that are really just scribing the history of HIS Stories. My tales are Christian based; at least one of those books points directly to HEAVEN. I explain how bad situations and good ones have the potential to bring hope and love along with stronger faith.

How did my writing adventure start? How do I do PR? How do I help others including other nonfiction authors? What is my latest effort? 

My early writing HISTORY comes first. In high school, with a math strong suit, I helped out in the library. At that time, I admired anyone that could write more than a five page term paper about science, history, math or some fact based subject. I was only good at nonfiction stories and joined the school's newspaper team. With my skills for logic, I went on to the telecommunications industry via computer programming, which was my college major. Until age 35, I avoided long winded writing until God handed me a book to scribe for HIM entitled Mom's on the Roof and I Can't Get Her Down. Many years later, God came knocking while pointing out that some of the prophecy mom and HE gave me and I copyrighted in 1994 was unfolding in the new millenium. In short, the account of mom's miraculous encounters with Heaven, angels, and God was proving itself to be true even without my help.

At almost the same time, people asked about Stacey. That girl was orphaned by her parents' deaths. When she was old enough to tell her story, she asked me to help her write Stacey's Song. In about that same moment in HIS story, friends and family asked if I'd write the story of our neighborhood's encounter with a curse; so I asked some of The Evans Terrace Girls to decide what might be said about their club's reaction to many deaths and their community's grief. Soon after those three books were written, other people asked me to co-author or direct their nonfictions. That writing with others kept me busy for a few years.

A book without a reader is like a day without sunshine. In the beginning, we sold or gifted copies of those books to friends or local mourners. Soon, I began trying to find a larger audience. Nonfiction branding is much harder than people think; biographies of the non-famous can be hard to sell. I'm sure that is why many mainstream publishers avoid those book genres - until they go viral. While doing that facet of publishing, I always keep in mind that I need to differentiate myself and books - especially due to the explosion of eBooks and indie authors. What makes my witness in books unique starts with my sense of humor; I can make light of hideous situations and yet stay real and truthful about the harshness of those realities. My ability to see and convey the light keeps me going - which is remarkable since I was born blind; landmark eye surgery and tenacity got me to today. I chronicled part of that inspirational tale in my nonfiction entitled The Vision.

Meanwhile, I rarely submit pieces for anthologies announced online or through writer's societies because their editors are usually looking for fictional short stories or poetry. Recently a random invite happened; someone offered to add one of my stories or essays to their anthology helping Newtown, Connecticut. I heard about the massacre in their elementary school and submitted a story that I co-authored. That tale was steered and illustrated by my grandchild when she was five; she is now six. I thought her empowerment storybook might help the struggling people of Newtown and elsewhere. However, the editors rejected my entry because they wanted poetry and prose; they compiled adult reading level stories about how it might feel to be a Newtown resident.

I appreciated the editors' candor. However, I was amazed the compilers of that anthology didn't realize what the children (and adults) of Sandy Hook Elementary might really need to go forward. I thought that town might enjoy rhetoric from kindred spirits. Due to fears and anxieties, I felt those kids and folks might feel less alienated and alone if they were shown the light at the end of their tunnels. I wanted to find a way to empower those children while revealing to them a HOPE that things can and do get better. I felt bystanders including health care professionals might enjoy those types of stories too. After pondering the anthology rejection, I woke up one day as God illuminated my next step. Thinking of three books that I had partial copyrights to, I immediately had the title of an anthology in mind. I began compiling that book.

By the way, the S.H.E. Anthology is NOT a romance anthology but it was written by all females. In this book, the girls recollected traumas, mostly related to death, that they faced while in elementary school. Their stories reveal their path out of mourning along with many minor miracles that they encountered. Their tales of hope and inspiration are true accounts from those children turned authors. One writer and illustrator is only six; Thai wanted to be a part of empowering children to survive harsh things in life, so her piece is story number three in this compilation.

The abbreviation 'S.H.E.' also refers to Sandy Hook Elementary. Isn't God the best at setting up coincidences? This book is meant to empower Newtown as well as others that read it. We hope that this anthology also sheds some new light on grief recovery in the minds of teachers, mental health professionals, and adults handling major life changes. The compilation's royalties will help charities involved in grief counseling or with mental health issues - especially for children therapies for the types of trauma witnessing massacres produce. For example, one local group 'New Hope for Kids' (Orlando) will get some of the profits from this compilation because the group that started this organization helped Stacey over 20 years ago.

Speaking of the child, in one part of this anthology, there's great insight into being the victim of death and childhood loss. Stacey's Song is an intimate look at a ten year old girl's personal story about the results of her mother's death due to cancer. She also deals with the aftermath of her dad's subsequent suicide. Obviously, tragedies such as Sandy Hook Massacre touch home with her. In her book contained in this anthology, the young girl talks candidly and inspirationally about surmounting her PTSD. Her honesty through writing is only surpassed by the miracles and guidance from those around her including God. The excerpt that follows reveals how God taps into this young girl's anger and grief to show her hope and HIS love as HE answers her naive childhood prayer.

Hail, What's Next?

...
          Later in another conversation, Cindy told me, "There are a ton of reasons why you need to live. First, you haven't even seen all the world has to share with you. There are some really beautiful places left to visit.
...
          "I get two weeks vacation in December. We can drive into the mountains and find snow for the holidays."
...
          (Her child) Jenny was hospitalized after repeated infections. Her tonsils needed to be removed, and the promised trip was postponed.
...
          "I wish it would snow here!" My response arrived.
          "Get real! It rarely snows in Central Florida. If it does, it falls in January and never hits the ground. It melts on the way. It sometimes falls just north of us and stays a few hours but nothing close to snowman weather. We can drive to see snow next winter, but we are not flying anywhere this vacation."
          "I'm going to pray for snow within driving distance of our house. I am going to ask for it now." My style less angry these days converted to belligerent.
          "Pray away! But, it isn't possible," she added as the other car passengers giggled. At age seven and nine, they realized I could be unreasonable at times.
...
          The next day, the front page of the local newspaper pictured the hail storm that happened just south of our home. Hail stones piled into drifts so high that it appeared to have snowed in Florida...

Since Stacey didn't see that version of snow in person, she kept praying for snow. What happened next? Read her full story in Stacey's Song or in the S.H.E. Anthology.

Also in that anthology, The Evans Terrace Girls give their account of what happened when 7 or more parents died within a year or 2 of each other in a small subdivision of about 110 homes. People started saying their land was CURSED. The children heard those rumors about their subdivision and were scared to death. When a neighbor lost her dad to a blood clot after surgery, the kids felt the need to help. When one of the girls heard the rumor that the mourning family ran out of milk, she set up a traditional solution or lemondade stand. That day, other angels or young children arrived; many of those neighbor kids ran door to door selling half glasses of hot lemondae. They raised enough quarters to buy milk and other perishables. More importantly, they formed a group that became a club and led their neighborhood out of grief. Find out how by reading their story; an excerpt follows.

'Tis The Season 

...
          One of the boys was just two weeks old and the other was eighteen months when their single mother died in her apartment of an epileptic seizure. These two miracles survived two days with their deceased mother before authorities found them. Their aunt's family was not well to do but had inherited two cribs for the boys. However, just near Christmas, they needed real beds for these toddlers.
...
          There were donations of new jewelry and Christmas items to raffle. We charged a dollar a ticket. On our little table sat our flyer of community services completed and goals to finish this year.
          As one guest read the document, she handed us a five-dollar bill whispering to my mother, "What is their goal?"
          "At least one bed," she responded.
          "Well, good luck. They probably won't even raise enough for a mattress," this woman added.
          "I've seen them sell one hundred and seventy one dollars' worth of lemonade and still have over half the original gallon. I bet they can get this bed," my mother defended.
          "Good luck," the guest reiterated.
           "I believe in miracles," Mom observed smugly. "'Tis the season!"
...
          The stranger stopped our movement back to our vehicles. "I'll let you have both beds for two hundred dollars but only if you can pick them up by tomorrow."
          "Sold!" We all screamed as Laura and Mom flinched. The club was sixty dollars from reality.
...

Did the girls find the cash? What other minor miracles happened when these angels joined forces with others to make wishes come true? Read The Evans Terrace Girls or their section in the S.H.E. Anthology.

By the way, I'm offering an eBook copy of the S.H.E. Anthology to anyone reading this blog. Use the link provided: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/278511 . The promotional price will come up as $0.00 once you place the coupon code SZ68X in the box on that site's ordering page. This coupon expires on February 14, 2013 - the day of love. Please, leave favorable reviews if you freely download this book. Plus, feel free to share the eBook data. We hope you'll love the S.H.E. Anthology enough to buy copies of this book in paperback format for others to enjoy or at least be kind enough to leave a review. The paperback versions comes in black and white, and color.

Amazon -

Black and white version: 

http://www.amazon.com/S-H-E-Anthology--In-Black-White/dp/1482076225/ref=sr_1_19?ie=UTF8&qid=1359383172&sr=8-19&keywords=mchanson714

 

Color version:

http://www.amazon.com/S-H-E-Anthology-Cynthia-Meyers-Hanson/dp/1481987100/ref=sr_1_18?ie=UTF8&qid=1359382582&sr=8-18&keywords=mchanson714

 

So come on, buy to be inspired and help grieving children. It's a WIN-WIN.

** A copy of this anthology went to Newtown's public library as well.

Author's bio:

          My favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started writing? The short answer is that in 1991 my mother died. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! However - as she died, mom experienced what would be called a Christian Near Death Experience (NDE) or miracle. My witness became Mom's on the Roof and I can't Get Her Down. After that, I have co-authored or compiled other Divine and inspirational tales; they range from faith healing to other Near Death journeys. To date, my Christian books total seven. Meanwhile, I have ghostwritten novels including The Vision, which is based on a true story of overcoming blindness, bipolar dysfunction, and living 'The Golden Rule'. Also, I've produced four picture books for and with children. Finally, I wrote one historical, YA novelette. I use my real name, Cynthia Meyers-Hanson on nonfictions as well as children's literature. My pen name, Sydney S. Song is reserved for my fibs or novels. You can find out more about my writing on my author webpage which is at: http://mchanson714.weebly.com/ and you can follow my author blog indexed there too.

          I'm married with children and foster children. I also have two grandchildren under the age of seven; they are Stacey's girls. Their last name translates into SNOW. When Thai was born, I joked that we found a little snow in Florida in the summertime, too!

Other contact information:

Email -- mchanson714@yahoo.com

Twitter -- www.twitter.com/mchanson714

Facebook -- www.facebook.com/meyershanson

My generic blog -- http://mchanson714.blogspot.com

My Smashwords generic link to all my eBooks is -- (they distribute to Sony, iBooks, etc.)

http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=mchanson714

Amazon's generic link to all my Kindles and paperbacks --

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=mchanson714

My generic YouTube link to find my book trailers is --

http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=mchanson714&oq=mchanson714&gs_l=youtube.3...515.2012.0.2231.11.11.0.0.0.0.125.842.9j2.11.0...0.0...1ac.1.8x1pyvuQsOY

 

 

 

 

 

 


         

Lucky Ducks! - Birthday Celebration & Giveaway

It's hard to believe that a year ago, LUCKY DUCKS was published. It was a joy to write and share. To celebrate a great year, I'm giving away three eBook copies in whatever format you would like (Kindle, Nook, or pdf). All you have to do is leave a comment to be entered. Also include your email address so I can notify you if your name is drawn at noon on Wednesday, January, 30, 2013.

  BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION!!

Snippet from LUCKY DUCKS:

     “Have a seat, Mrs. Stone.” Kasen Isaak’s voice was as chilly as his eyes.

 

     Claire sat in a straight-back chair and folded her hands in her lap. Read the resume, bonehead. "It's Miss Stone." Should she go through the trouble of explaining that she recently divorced and had taken back her maiden name? It took a millisecond to decide to leave well enough alone.

 

     Kasen fumbled with a folder with her name in small, black letters. He removed the resume, glanced at it before tossing it aside, and then leaned on his elbows. "What do you know about investing, Miss Stone? How familiar are you with the markets?"

 

     Claire swallowed hard. "Truthfully?" His pointed look had her crossing her legs. Uncrossing them. Moving from side to side in the chair. And trying not to focus on the fact she had to pee. "I know the market is volatile and investors are being cautious. My knowledge of investing, however, is limited to the experience of my 401K." Translation: I know as much about investing as this chair does.

 

     Kasen leaned back, furrowed his bushy eyebrows, and drilled her with a harsh stare.

 

     Wordless staring? Seriously?

 

     Claire was tempted to hum the music from Jeopardy while she waited.

 

     He finally spoke and sarcasm clipped each word. "That hardly qualifies you to work here."

 

     Sheesh. Wasn't mowing her over on the sidewalk enough? Did he have to do it with the interview too? Thank God she had Jake Stone's DNA swimming through her veins. Claire furrowed her eyebrows to match his. "The position is for clerical work, right?"

 

     For a second he went slack-jawed. It was then that she noticed the small cleft in his chin...and dimples.

 

     Dang it! Now was not the time to notice chin clefts and dimples.

 

 

THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KINDESS AND SUPPORT THIS PAST YEAR!

 

 

 

A little lighthearted suspense...

Sometimes you have to color outside the lines to stay fresh in your writing. Last year, I had a field day with that box of crayons and the end result was, STAY CLOSE, NOVAC! I normally write romance with a splash of humor. With Novac, I added a dash of suspense. (I can hear the Oooo's and Ahhh's) Truthfully, it was a challenge and I am in awe of those authors who write in that genre.

I wanted to share the blurb and a new excerpt with you!

Blurb:

Jessi Novac leads the quiet life of a romance author until someone leaves a series of explicit notes under her windshield wipers and heavy breathing on her answering machine.

Until NYPD can track down the culprit who's trying to scare the bejesus out of her, Jessi hides out at her grandmother's beach house in Myrtle Beach where she hopes to get her bearings. Her life takes an even bigger tilt toward crazy when she meets her clumsy neighbor, Ian Alexander. She's suspicious of Ian and attracted to him at the same time. Strange things start happening at the beach house and Jessi clings to Ian for protection. She soon discovers her heart may be in more danger than her life.

* A note about the cover:  Jessi had a beloved Chihuahua, Gordon, who died of old age. In the lefthand corner of all her books, she puts his picture.

Excerpt:

          Jessi pulled her arm loose. The second she was inside, she realized the error of coming there. If Ian was the crazed person she'd been trying to shake, she just made things easy for him. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. In her romance novels she was careful not to write ditzy heroines. Obviously, in real life she was one. Her gaze zipped around the small living room. Wicker furniture with navy and white striped cushions filled most of the space. A large conch shell decorated the middle of the glass-top coffee table, while a small TV and an array of silk plants took up the rest of the room. Nothing screamed stalker. Then again, it wasn't his place.

          Ian was dilly-dallying, and Jessi was getting irritable. "Is that French vanilla I smell?" It was a ridiculous question since there wasn't a trace of French vanilla anywhere.

          "No. Just plain old coffee." Finally, he led the way to the kitchen.

          Jessi's mouth instantly filled with saliva. If she didn't get a sip of coffee soon, she would need a bib.

          Ian pulled two coffee cups from a mug-tree on the counter. He filled one and grinned.

          Slow torture. She wouldn't have to fall asleep for him to kill her. All he had to do was withhold coffee. Before he filled the second cup, his cell phone rang. Ian wrinkled his nose and walked into a room off the kitchen. Jessi assumed it was the bedroom because their places appeared to have the same layout. Ian's conversation was somewhat muffled, but she could still hear most of the words.

          "Yeah, I know. I have it under control." Ian dropped a handful of cuss words including the f-bomb.

          What did he have under control? Jessi tossed the question around while diving at the cup of coffee still setting on the counter. She took a test sip. Mmm. Some of the tightness in her shoulders let loose. She slurped another sip. Coffee was heaven. The ultimate. Way better than everything, including sex. Jessi snickered. According to the love scenes she wrote, sex was a girl's best friend. Another sip of coffee said that was rubbish.

          Some garbled rambling met her ears, but suddenly Ian's words burst loud and succint in her brain. "I'm going to take her by the throat and choke the life out of her."

          The sip of hot coffee in Jessi's mouth sprayed across the plastic table cloth decorated with starfish.


I hope you enjoyed the blurb and excerpt. If you'd like to read more of Stay Close, Novac! click this link: Amazon link
         

  

Chapter One - Three Days With Molly!

I would love to share the first chapter of THREE DAYS WITH MOLLY!

Chapter One

Finn Riley cut his agent an annoyed look. “I don’t need another person to manage my life, I have you.”

Cork Wallace smirked. “I take care of your career, knucklehead, not your cooking and laundry.”

Finn narrowed his eyes so tight they almost closed. “The whole point of having my own tour bus is for privacy. If I want to walk around naked or scream at the top of my lungs, I can.” The members of his band occupied a separate bus so they wouldn’t be under foot. Even his driver, Cal, bunked on the second bus. “And I’m quite capable of washing my own underwear.” He sighed at the knowledge that he was completely self-sufficient thanks to some difficult years where he had to do for himself or do without. Those worse-than-lean circumstances also turned him into a control freak; but hey, he was who he was.

“You’re going to hire her,” Cork grabbed the coffee pot and refilled their cups, “as a favor to me. You owe me a few.”

A few thousand was more accurate. Without Cork’s relentless pursuit of the music moguls and media, he’d still be an unknown musician surviving on noodles and bologna. Still, the idea of another person occupying the limited space didn’t thrill him. “Bite me.” Finn downed half of his coffee in one hot gulp.

Cork cracked up laughing. “Knew you’d come around.”

Finn took another healthy swallow. “Who is this woman anyway? Someone you slept with?”

“She’s just a girl who needs a break, like you did a few years ago.”

Doubtful. More like a negotiated settlement to keep a jealous husband from killing Cork. It was no secret that his agent-manager was a player. He and Cork couldn’t be more different yet they were the best of friends. “Uh-huh. I’m sure she is.”

Cork pulled up off the padded booth that served as seating for the dinner table and looked at his watch. “Damn, where’d the morning go?” Once he reached the door, he turned back to Finn. “Molly should be here anytime.”

“You’re an ass.”

“A handsome, sharp-as-a-tack ass.” Cork issued Finn a devious grin.

“Whatever.”

Cork laughed himself out the door. Finn growled himself to the coffee pot.

* * *

Molly Williams paid the cab fare, dragged two over-stuffed suitcases across the bubbly tar of the truck stop parking lot, and mumbled that this was a bad idea. Although, it had to be better than her current job. Working for a divorce lawyer paid well but it was a gloomy way to make a living. All the tears and broken hearts… Molly sighed from deep in her chest. She went home many a night cursing her clients or crying for them. Out of the clear blue, the boss decided they were both stressed out-workaholics who needed a break from the mayhem. He reassigned his cases to another lawyer, hopped on his sailboat and headed to the Caribbean. He suggested she find something to help her unwind too. Suddenly gifted with three months off with pay, she slept-in, lazed in the sun, and cleaned closets – two days of complete bliss before she started pacing and climbing the walls. Argh! She was a blasted workaholic who couldn’t take it easy if her life depended on it.

Waving from the steps of a giant bus with a mural of an eagle perched on a guitar, was the guy who used to pull her hair on the school bus. If he wasn’t the son of her mom’s best friend, she never would’ve given this strange opportunity a second thought. A moment of unease rushed over Molly – possibly the return of her sanity? She did an about-face.

Crap! The taxi was gone.

Cork raced to help with the luggage. “Mol, you made it just in time.”

The smell of diesel fuel invaded her nostrils while the relentless heat of an extreme summer sent a trickle of sweat down her back. “I didn’t know how to pack. I kept putting things in and taking them back out.” Actually, it had been a stall tactic. Go, don’t go. Right now she favored the latter.

“These better not be filled with fancy office duds.” Cork pushed opened the door of the bus and hoisted the first bag to the driver. Molly offered a cheesy smile, making him add, “This isn’t about you. It’s about making Finn Riley’s life easier.”

If ever there was a face-palm moment, this was it. What have I gotten myself into? As grueling as it was, her job had become her life. She spent long hours at the office. When she was home, she still spent countless hours on the phone with her boss or going over legal documents. Sadly, she’d grown accustomed to a semi-clean apartment and fast food. Now here she was, dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt, her long brown hair pulled up in a messy-but-stylish pony tail, ready to fake her way through the tasks of cooking and cleaning.

Molly took a stout breath and climbed into the custom-designed tour bus. Expecting to find empty liquor bottles, half-crushed beer cans, and a trail of dirty clothes, she was surprised to find the opposite. Nothing was out of place, not even a pair of boots to trip over.

Corked nudged her in front of him. “Your new home.”

Besides a ton of amusement in his voice, there was something she couldn’t identify. Molly turned and met his eyes, they revealed little. She’d eventually find out what he was up to, for now she had to deal with her new digs. Her gaze skipped around the cramped quarters until it connected with Finn Riley’s. For a second, her heart stopped. She’d seen life-size posters of him. Watched him on one of the late-night talk shows. Had attended one of his concerts. Never in her wild imagination did she picture him better looking close up. But he was. Deep blue eyes were arched by bushy brows. His thick, dark hair was cut in medium-length layers and tousled to perfection. Silky dark hair covered his arms. Molly imagined the rest of him with the same rich silk. She hurried from that thought before she did something stupid, like say “Mmm”.

Cork made the introductions. “Finn Riley, Molly Williams. Molly, Finn.”

Molly didn’t move her feet, but stretched to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

The corners of Finn’s generous mouth dimpled. “It’s nice to meet you too.” He took her hand and held it longer than necessary. When he finally let go, Molly drew her hand back like he’d pricked her with a pin. The rash movement caused the satchel carrying her laptop to slide from her shoulder and clunk onto the table, against Finn’s coffee cup. Coffee sloshed everywhere. The accordion window shade took a good dousing, so did Finn’s brilliant white T-shirt that read - Without Music My Day Would Suck. The instant creases in his forehead said he was ticked. Cork’s loud wince behind her said he wasn’t pleased either.

Frantic, Molly looked for something to clean up the mess. Two red hand-towels embroidered with black guitars were within reach. She yanked one from the handle of the oven and laid it across the mishap that was now dripping onto some very plush beige carpet.

What possessed her to grab the second towel to blot Finn’s T-shirt was beyond comprehension. The moment her hand landed against rock-hard pecs, she realized the error, and didn’t have to look in a mirror to know she’d turned a deep shade of uh-oh.

Finn backed against the seat cushion and shielded her away from him with his forearm.

“I’m so sorry.” Boy was she. Sorry she agreed to such a preposterous arrangement. Sorry that Finn’s phenomenal pecs distracted her more than the coffee spill. And she would probably be sorry that a maniacal laugh formed in her belly and was working its way up. She pulled in her lips to ward off the giggle, but out it came.

Embarrassment filled her cheeks…and all other body parts.

Finn stood and pulled the wet shirt away from his skin.

Holy mackerel! A few more inches and his head would dust the ceiling. The man was a walking cliché – tall, dark, and handsome.

Molly took an oversized step back and landed on Cork’s foot. Cork reacted with a yowl and an instinctive push. It was only a tiny shove to get her off of him, but enough to topple her into Finn.

The chance to make a good impression dissolved when she knocked over his coffee, blotted his chest, and nervously laughed about it. But falling into him ruined any second chance he might’ve given. And very soon he would order her off the bus.

* * *

Finn steadied Molly and looked past her to glare at Cork. Before he could rip into either one of them, his bus driver, Cal, announced it was time to head out.

Cal grinned big at Finn’s hand still on Molly’s shoulder.

Molly shrugged from his touch. Instinctively, his glare deepened and he answered Cal’s unasked question. “My new assistant.”

“Assistant?” Cal looked at Cork.

Cork shrugged. “The old man needs someone to wash his underwear.” He broke into a laugh. Cal joined in.

“Ha. Ha. You two are freaking hilarious.” No matter how much he owed Cork, this wasn’t going to happen. On board for five minutes, Molly spilled something, ruined his favorite shirt, and fell into him. He had to let her go before the bus hit the highway. Finn growled without letting the sound escape. A week earlier he had to let his keyboard player go. Freddie had it coming, but it still sucked severing the ties. And this situation was about to suck too. Finn squared his shoulders. “Nothing personal, Molly, but this isn’t going to work out.”

Molly’s back stiffened, and Finn was pretty sure those incredible brown eyes called him a “jerk”. He made sure his eyes countered with “clumsy”.

For a few suspended seconds, the only audible sound was a sharp intake of air; it wasn’t clear who took it.

“You’re firing me before I even start?”

Cork hissed his displeasure. Finn ignored him and focused on something in Molly’s voice. It wasn’t the anger; more like the pathetic twinge of failure. Dammit. He didn’t have time to deal with this. They needed to get on the road. “You won’t be happy working for me. I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”

Cork chimed in with, “A bit?”

Finn launched an indirect threat with a severe eye squint.

Cork blew it off with a goofy smirk.

“I’m a germ-a-phobe and a heartless bastard when things don’t go right.” That was mostly true. He didn’t exactly have a phobia about germs but he was a clean freak. The heartless bastard part was dead on.

Molly’s mouth dropped open causing his to do the same – for very different reasons. His unabashed truth obviously caught her by surprise. Her lush, pink lips caught him. The dog in him wondered if everything was as lush and pink as those lips. He had a ridiculous urge to move in close. Thank God his brain kicked back in before he did.

Damn!

He didn’t need the distraction of Molly. As though his mind had a backspace key, he corrected the thought – he didn’t need the distraction of an incredible mouth and great boobs. The second she stepped on the bus he noticed her phenomenal chest, and right now, the hint of cleavage peeking from the v-neckline of her shirt wanted him to take notice again. Don’t look. Don’t… He was a boob-guy and man did she have them. That figure and that mouth were going to cause problems. To compensate for the sudden and out-of-place burst of lust, he added more grit to his voice. “I like everything just so and when it’s not I get more than a little testy.” That was putting it mildly. “I’m sure you’re a great gal, but I don’t need an assistant. This was Cork’s hare-brained idea.”

Finn detected a slight sag in her shoulders and it made him feel like an even bigger heel. But he had to do this. His obsessive personality alone could cause problems. Add in her great boobs. And there was potential for a whole lot of crazy. He was actually doing her a favor by turning her away.

Molly’s wilted stance lasted no more than a blink. “I certainly don’t want to waste my summer catering to a heartless bastard.”

It was one thing to call himself a heartless bastard, quite another to hear her say it. “That’s right. You don’t want to waste your summer on the likes of me.” Satisfied that he’d made his point, he crossed his arms and stood with his feet apart. The rest of her comment sank in. “Nobody said you had to cater to me. I’m quite capable of…”

Cork stepped in front of Molly. “Okay you two. No use going at each other.” He feigned defeat.

Pfft. Finn knew the real Cork Wallace; a heartless-bastard just like him, who didn’t know the meaning of defeat.

Cork continued. “I thought this arrangement would work out. Looks like I was wrong.” He did a half-turn to Molly. “Sorry. He’s being a bonehead.”

The satchel slipped from Molly’s shoulder again, a split second of panic raced across her expression.

Finn felt bad for making a huge deal of things, but there was no use pretending he was a nice guy. Occasionally, he tried to relax and be the guy he wanted to be – easy-going, ordinary, a bit of a slob – it just didn’t happen.

Molly exhaled a breath. “This gig isn’t what you described anyway, Cork. If anything, it would add more stress.” Finn homed in on the angst behind her words. When she lowered her long eyelashes as though she accepted her fate, he took the bait; could feel the damn hook in his cheek. She took a step toward the door.

“Wait.” Now what? Make life crazier by taking her on? Sure, why the hell not? His life was already chaos; organized chaos, but it worked. Adding more could quite possibly change the dynamics of everything.

Molly pinned him with a solid look. “That’s okay. I don’t want to be in the way.”

Cal intervened. “It’s time to go. What’s it going to be?”

Finn’s brain was stuck; his mouth, however, was not. “She’s staying – on a trial basis.” He removed Molly’s satchel from her shoulder

 

 

** Thank you for reading the first chapter of Finn and Molly's story! If you'd like to find out what happens next, you can find Three Days With Molly at:

 

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