Blogging Challenge: Animals I Wish I Could Have As Pets

 

It's been a while since I've played with LASR. Honestly, it's been a while since I've done much writing work at all, I hate to admit. I've been jumping back in lately, and I thought it would be fun to add this back in to my routine. It's a bit like those questionnaire's that were going around email groups, isn't it? (Yes, I'm old enough to not only remember them but to have been a part of them.)

Anyway, this one is definitely a challenge. Animals I'd like to have? 

We have an aging, super friendly lab/border collie named Turbo, for good reason. He still keeps up with the kids pretty well. We have him because he HATES to be inside and his former family had trouble with a neighbor who thought he shouldn't ever be outside. Now he has plenty of running space and plenty of attention from the kids.

We have three adopted rescue cats. Two of them are from two sisters who trap, spay/fix, and vaccinate them and then find good homes. The cats are also sisters, found together. Zelda, the dominant, belongs to my granddaughter. Little One absolutely HAD to have a kitten, and while I was trying to coax the smaller, very nervous kitty out to meet her, Zelda jumped over and licked my granddaughter's hand and that was a done deal. We only planned to get one. But nervous kitty stuck to my soul and I went back to get her, too. 🤷 I named her Katia partly after one of the characters from my LK books: Katie from Off the Moon. Within a couple of weeks, one that looked very similar, in male form, found my son while he was working in the shop and he got to stay, too. Scar is missing an eye, but he lacks nothing in spirit.

We also have a hardy Koi that's about to go back outside to the pond for the summer and will probably get a couple of friends. Not to mention a myriad of chipmunks and squirrels constantly taunting the cats while they sit in the window. And the birds at my feeder that entertain me while I'm staring into space trying to write.

Animals I Wish I Could Have? Hm.. I never intended to have animals in my house at all. But here we are. I would actually love to have a big aquarium with a variety of fish that someone else takes care of. My "to take care of" time is filled to the brim. 

A horse would probably be fun if not so expensive and space-needy. And I've thought some about letting some chickens roam the yard to eat the ticks. Probably won't. Although the cats might be very entertained by watching them.

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Be sure to go check out other authors contributing posts to the Weekly Wednesday Challenge!

The Texture of Glass Excerpt : Hiding

 “You can’t hide here forever, honey.”

Isabel sighed. Of course Papa Niall was right. He was always right. She took the hand he set on her shoulder and focused on the softness of the back of the thin hand compared to the rough hardness of the palm and long fingers. Working hands. Even now, although technically retired, her grandpa was a hard worker. He often went to help neighbors with maintenance of their houses or their yard equipment. Refusing pay, he was constantly bringing home fresh-baked pies or garden vegetables. He grew his own cucumbers and squash and lettuce but could never get the hang of tomatoes and was happiest when a neighbor had extra to share.

“Bella?”

His soft, understanding voice brought her back to the issue at hand. She’d been there two weeks already, since the day after Libs left. She hated being at the apartment alone at night. One night had been enough. She hadn’t slept. But she was going to have to figure something out. “I know, Grandpa, but I don’t really know where to go from here.”

“Are you still writing?” He sipped overly sweet coffee with his free hand. No matter how much Grandma Meladee fussed at him about his caffeine and sugar habit, he wouldn’t let it go. He figured all of the fresh fruits and vegetables he grabbed from the local markets to supplement his own made up for it.

She sipped the vanilla milkshake he made for her, using real vanilla beans and cream from a local dairy. He’d made it for her every time he knew she was down about something she didn’t want to talk about. “No. I keep trying to start, but the words won’t come.”

“Force them. Write gibberish if you have to. Just write something. That’s what your grandmother does when she’s stuck. You should see some of the gibberish scribbled on scraps I’ve kept during the years. They amuse me all over again when I pull them out.”

“Thanks for the warning. If I write gibberish, I’m burning it so no one ends up laughing at me for however many years.”

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He cupped the side of her head. “You need to learn to laugh more, at yourself, especially. You take things too seriously. We’re here and then we’re gone and the next line takes over and then they’re gone and the next line takes over etcetera, etcetera. Why obsess so much about the right now? Just shrug your shoulders, take a deep breath, and leap to the next whatever’s going to happen.”

“I wish I could do that like you do. I’ve always wished I could.”

“Honey, if you truly wished you could, you would.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Nothing is easy. So what? You’re tough. You’re smart. You’re resourceful. You don’t need easy. You only need to pick up your feet and keep walking.”

Keep walking. It had been a month since she’d been to Presque Isle, because of that creepy guy. He’d told her not to quit singing because of the cretins and then she quit walking on the beach at her favorite place in the world because he’d been there. Once. Coincidence.

Except it was too creepy to be coincidence.

Still, since she’d given up her two favorite things in the world, she felt stuck, blocked, ready to explode at the tiniest thing. She’d even fought with her mother, which she generally didn’t bother to do since it never came out well. 

She should have been smart enough to find another job before quitting the one she had. When her mother said as much when she’d dropped by to check on her parents and found Isabel there, she should have just said, “I know, but I didn’t because I can’t even think right now because I don’t know who I am anymore,” but she didn’t because she could never stand up to her mother, and she could never admit weakness in front of her.

Her mother did not understand weakness you had to hide any more than she understood Isabel still mourning her ex. She couldn’t. Jocelyn Dillon-Sanderson – who went by Josie as a kid because she hated the name Jocelyn and yet now only went by Jocelyn so she would be taken seriously – so often talked about a boy who “broke her heart” before Isabel’s father, but only for two days, and that was enough grieving time. If she hadn’t let go and moved along, she wouldn’t have given Isabel’s father the time of day when they met and then Isabel wouldn’t be there. Think about what you might be missing, Isabel May. It’s not worth it.

What she might be missing? Like the way her mother these days only put up with her father because they were married and for no other reason? Why would she want that? Just because her mother was strong enough to live that way didn’t mean she wanted to, or could. She wanted no part of that kind of life.

(from Chapter Eleven)

The Texture of Glass is the first book in the Songwriters & Cities series. (All EMK books are stand-alone stories that can be read in any order.)

~ ~ ~

After years of open mics, Isabel Dillon takes the plunge at the mythical venue in Greenville, PA that her grandmother, songwriting legend Meladee Dillon, insists her career needs. After she's heckled there and then frightened by an incident following her next show, Isabel walks away from performing. Hiding in Pittsburgh with her grandparents, she debates whether she can deal with the loss of her music on top of the loss that's still killing her soul.

James Gilbert swears off music when an accident ended his ability to play. Captivated by a songwriter at the infamous run-down bar that used to be his regular hang-out, he spends weeks searching for her while battling an addiction that crept up on him years before. Running into her accidentally on Presque Isle feels like a sign, and he convinces her to keep going, offering help that could threaten his shaky recovery.

Despite family and friends warning them against it, James and Isabel cling to their fragile and fluid connection, until it builds to a fiery test.

Presque Isle, Greenville, & Pittsburgh PA are featured in the first of the Songwriters & Cities series.

ISBN Ebook: 

9781005579548

ISBN Print:  

978-1-948370-09-7

Available at most book retailers. For individual buy links, go to EllaMKaye.com 

Ways To Show Someone You Love Them

 

Long and Short Reviews (click image)

Since I'm releasing my 7th novel this week (finally, after five years from the last one), I'm making lists of the ways Isabel and James, from The Texture of Glass, show each other love. Neither consider themselves easy to love. Neither is particularly looking for love, or even to date again yet. The odds are against it working. At all. Still, they hang in, because of these things.

Isabel:

1) She doesn't have him arrested for stalking, although he might have that coming.

2) She forgives him for occasionally talking before he finishes chewing.

3) When he gets revved up so much his chatter is exhausting her, she simply tells him he's exhausting her and doesn't make it a big deal.

4) She gives him space to decide when he's ready to open up more, without pushing.

5) When she gets offended at something he says, she holds her tongue and walks away to cool off, then listens when he apologizes and understands he is actually sorry.

6) She encourages him to not give up on himself or his music.

7) She buys a small coffeepot for her apartment for him, even though she can't stand coffee.

8) She refuses to give up on him through everyone saying maybe she should.

James:

1) He sees past her defensive charade and makes it a mission to get her to see herself the way he does.

2) He decides to spend his time helping her only because she deserves the help.

3) He constantly encourages her.

4) He's honest when he doesn't like some of her work but says so respectfully.

5) He listens to what she says rather than inferring what she means through his own thoughts.

6) When she gets mad and walk away, he considers what he did wrong and understands why she walked away.

7) When she stays over at his place with no supplies since it was unplanned, he runs out first thing to get her a toothbrush and a few other things he knows she likes because he paid attention.

8) He would rather have her leave him than to hurt her, no matter how much he doesn't want her to go.

The Texture of Glass (book info)

Ella M. Kaye

Isabel, a struggling songwriter, is ready to quit doing shows, especially when a creepy guy steps in front of her and stares while she sings. James is a recovering alcoholic ready to give up again, until he is drawn into a a shy little songbird singing deep lyrics, and can't resist her pull. Presque Isle, Greenville, & Pittsburgh PA are featured in the first of the Songwriters & Cities series.

February 2022 from Elucidate Publishing

All Ella M. Kaye books are stand-alone that can be read separately or in any order. The are grouped into series by art form and setting, with some minor character intermingling among the different series.

Books I Keep Meaning To Read

Books I Keep Meaning to Read (and haven't yet)

This post could get incredibly long if I start listing titles. I'm an avid reader, but I'm not a fast reader. I'm often reading three books at a time: one at my bedside, one on the little table by my easy chair, and one on my tablet. Although I do intend to read every night before bed, I'll have to admit I too often end up working until I'm too tired to see straight and then just crash. So, my list just keeps growing, especially since I can't help myself when I take a grandchild or two or three into the local bookstore and find something that catches my eye. Those reasons combined are why my main bookshelf currently looks like this:

*blush*

Well, I have had a lot of help with little hands to make them look like this, since they've all been taught how wonderful books are and they absolutely must look at Grandma's shelves, too. Never mind, that bottom right shelf was cleared of mine to make way for theirs. One day, I'll get around to organizing it again.

In the meantime, I'm working, sloth-like, at reading those pictured that I haven't yet. Currently, those I've read and those I haven't are all mixed together. I have read all of the John Jakes Kent Family Chronicles and a few of his others, several of the Irving Stone books, Winter's Tale, and a few Lisa Genova books. I intend to read the rest of hers, and Stone's, plus the Jakes North & South series.

Other main intend to read and haven't yet books:

~~ The rest of Shakespeare's plays. I have read quite a few.

~~ The rest of Mark Twain's books.

~~ I read The Iliad last year and meant to read The Odyssey this year. By now, that will be on next year's list.

~~ More of John Irving's.

~~ More of Edward Rutherford (in the middle of New York right now)

~~ More Joyce Carol Oates.

~~ More classic lit in general.

~~ Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand is sitting behind some of those books, also.

In between my beloved classics and lit fic, I pick up current authors when they catch my eye, often beach/scenic reads for a little brain vacation. :-)

What's on the top of your list of Books you Mean to Read and haven't yet? (If you click on the top image, you can add your own blog post to the list.)

  

In Memory. Photo ©LK Hunsaker 2001.

Tough Topics in Fiction

Today's Prompt: Books That Deal Well With Tough Topics

I've been meaning to jump into this challenge for some time, and keep ending up using whatever writing time I can find to ... well, write/edit/publish. This one, though, dragged me right in because it's up my alley.

I'll admit it. I read big books with tough topics. Regularly. I also read fun things in between and I have a particular penchant for cozy mysteries. I suppose reading literary fiction is my way of trying to figure out the world. I like to see things from so many other viewpoints in order to get that balance that makes things make sense. Things do make sense when you read widely enough.

Some of those books that stand out in my reading memory include:

~~ The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare
I read this way back when and it's an eye-opening novel about a young girl raised in Barbados who must move to Puritan New England, and the cultural differences that mark her as an outcast.

~~ The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
I assume almost everyone read this one in school, but it stuck with me because the unfairness of the situation was infuriating.

~~ The Cider House Rules by John Irving
Also a well-read novel, at least many years ago, it was well-read. I like that it showed both sides of the abortion issue, the disgust the main character had of the practice and the desperation of unwed young girls.

More recently:
~~ A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park
A short YA book (which I almost never read) that tells the story of a young girl who must make a 2 hour walk to find water for her family and a young boy who becomes a refugee and travels on foot to avoid being recruited as a soldier. An important read to aid in understanding of other cultures.

~~ East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Just read it. Seriously.

~~ A Prologue to Love by Taylor Caldwell
This one, too. (It's often marked as a romance, but it's lit fic.)

~~ America, America by Ethan Canin
Highlights the powerful connection between the government and the media, based loosely on the Kennedys.

I could go on and on, but I'll leave it at this. Of course, since I read books with tough subjects, I also write them. A brief list so far:

Pier Lights: Professional loss, personal loss, physical and mental scars, mental illness

Shadowed Lights: Social anxiety disorder, weather devastation

Pieces of Light: Autism, failed marriage, family expectations

Shadows of Greens & Memories: Outcast stigma, family issues, dementia

Shadows of Blues & Echoes: Depression, long-term illness

Shadows of Rust & Reels: Bipolar disorder, job loss, family loss

My purpose in writing about these topics is the same reason I read tough subjects: to try to spread understanding and alternate points of view. I also believe in leaving stories on an upbeat note, and not everything I read does this, but I do. They are lit fic, but they're also happy/upbeat ending romances shedding light on dark subjects.

Do you read tough fiction? Share books in the comments that you think deserve attention for adding light to the dark.

Re-Start (again) AKA Artists Books Officially in Print

There's an incredible amount of work involved with putting books out in print and e-format. Especially when you're doing three at a time. More especially when you're doing it all yourself.

They've been a long time coming, in print, that is. But here they are, the first three Artists & Cottages books now available through Ingram, meaning you can find them at any book retailer you use, including your local indie store. No, they are not likely to be stocked on shelves, since, understandably, most stores won't order non-returnable books, and making them returnable could lead to a hefty cost on my end since all costs and risks are on me, but they can order them for you if you prefer bookstore pickup.

Now, beyond the technical details:

~~ ~~ ~~
Shadows of Greens & Memories

Francis Barrett returns to her hometown of Storm Lake, Iowa to take care of the family holdings after her father passes. While turning his garden shed into a small but livable cottage, she runs into an old flame she admired from afar but never dared speak with during their high school days. Using her secret passion of oil painting to unwind from long days of clearing out the mess, Francis finds her father also had a secret passion and left behind a tale of a man she didn't truly know.

George Frederick McKenry never left the Midwest town where he was born other than brief travels with his four children, who he now has custody of since his ex moved into a condo with her new boyfriend. Running into the one girl from school who rebuffed him when he asked her out, G.F. can't help checking on her and making sure she's getting along alright. False assumptions and past resentments fade as Fran and G.F. let down their guards in order to create new memories.

Print ISBN 978-1-948370-03-5  264 pages  $9.95  eBook $4.95

~~ ~~ ~~
Shadows of Blues & Echoes

Gillian Hart is an ambitious reporter for a small circulation paper in Denver, Colorado. When her editor and friend assigns a story about some rich businessman who chucks it all to live in the woods alone outside Durango, she does her best to fight it but gives in for the chance to rise higher and have more choice in future stories.

Hank Dennison wants nothing but solitude while he recovers from a life-changing devastation he has managed to hide from the public. The last thing he wants is another nosy journalist badgering him, especially one who knows nothing about survival in the wilderness who taxes his waning strength. He soon notices the darkness of depression weighing her down, despite her attempt to hide it, and determines to keep her off the path that led him to his own illness.

Print ISBN 978-1-948370-04-2  264 pages  $10.95  eBook $4.95

~~ ~~ ~~
Shadows of Rust & Reels

By day, Holli Jacoby is a jewelry artist in her hometown of Williamstown, West Virginia. Abandoned by her family, Holli mainly stays to herself, preferring her potter's wheel to the risk of letting others see, and take advantage of, the uncontrollable effects of her bipolar disorder.

Isaac Bradshaw is a welder who spends much of his off time assisting his parents due to his father's declining health. While playing pool, he notices a fiery brunette eye him as though she knows him. He soon learns "fiery" is an understatement, and his buddy warns him against the girl, but something keeps him drawn to her.
​
Despite their earlier crossed paths and a shared love of adventure, Holli's roller coaster life might be more than Isaac is willing to handle. When the bottom falls out beneath her, their relationship hits a critical test.

Print ISBN 978-1-948370-05-9  384 pages  $12.95  eBook $4.95


~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Future blog posts will feature topics focused on the arts and mental health issues from the books. Time to get this thing jump started.

Goodreads Giveaway for Shadows of Rust & Reels

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Shadows of Rust & Reels

by Ella M. Kaye

Giveaway ends June 28, 2017.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Release Day! Holli's Clay

Holli picked up her newest vase. It was still leather-hard, still able to be carved, due to the cool dampness of the cellar. She didn't plan to carve it, only to paint it, and she hadn't planned to play with her clay tonight. She'd meant to crash on her couch and do nothing but watch whatever she found on Netflix, maybe the new female Avenger show. She forgot the name and then she laughed at herself for sounding like Brenna who forgot the name of everything. Bren always remembered every detail of every piece of clothing and accessories someone wore two weeks before, but never their name.
Holli would have to call her back since she finally listened to her messages and had missed several. First, she had a calling to work on a vase, something different, something ... maybe something to represent Isaac's name as a return gift. But what represented Isaac?

She had to do some research. Trudging back up the stairs, Holli turned her laptop on and went to pour herself a drink while it booted, but she changed her mind and made coffee instead. She was tired enough already. She needed more up, not more down.

Letting the coffee maker do its thing, Holli went back to her laptop which she kept on the edge of her kitchen counter for easy access to the outlet, and typed Isaac meaning in the search bar. 

Laughter. It meant laughter? How did you symbolize laughter other than with a big open-mouthed smiley face, which she was absolutely not going to put on a vase? Shouldn't there be an actual symbol for laughter?

Isaac was the son Abraham was told to sacrifice and an angel stopped him. Maybe she could do something with that. While searching, she found an illustration of Isaac having wells built to replace those his father had built that were destroyed.

Wells of stone. She could do that.

Pouring a cup of coffee before it was done brewing, Holli took a swig and enjoyed the strong rich black taste. She didn't mind the heat. Her mother used to bitch that she didn't let things cool first, usually pizza straight from the oven, but it didn't bother her, so Holli didn't know why it should bother anyone else.

She set the mug on her table and picked up her small wood knife. The clay was dry enough to make rough edges along where she carved out alternating lines to simulate rectangular stones. Except she wanted the wall to jut out, so she set the straight-edge pot aside and pulled out new clay to roll in a thick slab. Instead of creating a pot on the wheel and then carving bricks into it, Holli decided to hand cut the slab into individual bricks and build it the way a wall is actually built, placing one by one, using slip instead of mortar to hold it together. It would take more time, but she didn't at all care how much time it took.

Planning in her head while cutting out bricks, she could see ivy crawling up through the outer crevices and from the smooth inside to meet along the top. It maybe didn't make sense, since water came from wells, not ivy, but that's what she saw, so that's what it would be, whether or not it made sense. Art didn't always, and it didn't have to. That was one thing she loved about art. She could do as she pleased and it would only be called creative, not crazy.

(from Ch.8)

___________

Holli Jacoby is a bipolar artist who paints intricate jewelry for a living and works with clay in her off-time. The physicality of working with clay (pounding, rolling, slapping, and scraping) gives Holli a needed emotional release and reflects the aggression aspect of her disorder. The patience and calm needed for the more intricate work of shaping wet clay on the wheel and carving and/or painting the hardened clay reflects the depressive, quiet aspects typical of the downs of bipolar disorder. 

There are many ways Holli uses her art as personal therapy and she both includes it as part of who she is and separates it from herself as just clay, depending on her need at the time.

In Shadows of Rust & Reels, art itself is a metaphor. Holli has an ongoing fight within as to whether she's crazy as has been inferred by others or if she's perfectly fine and it's just others who don't understand. I doubt there's an artist on earth who doesn't understand this inner fight.

Holli and Isaac's story is now available in E-format at most major bookstores and by request from your library. Here are a few buy links to get started:

Smashwords  |  Barnes & Noble  |  Amazon (coming soon)

Find it at Goodreads (I love reviews!)

Music of the Heart: A Melody in the Dark

Be my friend, my buddy, my dear companion.

I’ll hand you my hand when you’re deep in the goo

of despair.

Laugh with me, cry with me, cradle me softly.

But when night falls and silence takes over,

Intoxicate me, too.

Melody pulled her fingers from her guitar strings and shrugged. Okay for now, she supposed, although goo wasn’t working for her and would have to be reworked. She meant it as a primordial reference, an origination thing that was supposed to hint at a love that was meant to be, that was planned in the stars, or some ridiculous romantic shit such as that. She doubted anyone would get it, though. It would have to be reworked.

Her newest song was a direct rip-off of her favorite song. Maybe indirect. The music was fully different since she was a folk singer, not a rock singer. The lyrics weren’t close to as good, as sensual. The only thing she really ripped off was the one word. Not so much a rip off. Legally, nothing wrong with it.

Professionally, it didn’t probably matter since few of her songs had actually sold and this wouldn’t likely be different.

She glanced at the clock and then looked back at it. “Not again.” Jumping up from her chair beside the window where she always wrote, Meladee ran to throw herself together well enough to jog to the school and pick Josie up. They’d yell at her again, even while she was huffing and puffing from being too out of shape to jog the five blocks to her daughter’s school. They could see she at least tried, couldn’t they?

Hands up... How many of us have fixated on a particular singer/ musician at some point in our lives?

I have. I'm music obsessed. How would I not? I still do. It's no longer that teen angst kind of obsession. No posters all over my walls these days. No dressing similar... Okay, I didn't actually do that, but I have many friends who did. When you're music obsessed but not so terribly musically inclined yourself, you do the next best thing. You write about it.

Or at least that's what I do. I write about lots of musicians at various stages. Research is always fun since it includes catching local live music as well as scanning through songs of the right era online. How often can you indulge in music videos and tell your family, "I'm working!" I do. Research is work, after all. Inspiration is necessary for a writer. Communicating with musicians is also fun, um, work, and necessary for insight. Just today, I chatted with local singer/songwriter JD Eicher through Facebook Live as he did a one hour show through a local paper. In the past, I've gotten to know quite a few singers/songwriters/musicians, both local and of national/world renown. There are the music memoirs, the music business books, and of course the radio.

Of course, then there's the story about the struggling musician single mom who obsesses over a famours musician as she tries in some way to imitate her musical idol but with her own style, as she believes she'll never find a guy who can live up to him. Especially since she's met him. Briefly. One incredible, memorable night, she actually met him, face to face and personal, before she even knew who he was.

And then came another memorable night...



A Melody In the Dark

1979. Pittsburgh. Just after the big snowstorm that paralyzed the city has cleared into a cool, crisp spring, Meladee Lerner runs into Niall Dillon, literally and accidentally. A struggling songwriter and single mom, Meladee has no time for dating or romantic notions, but sometimes in a single wonderful moment, something unexpected happens....



I'm proud and excited to be part of the newest anthology release from Fire Star Press, Music of the Heart. Five authors share music-related tales from five decades (1940-1980): tales of love, longing, obsession, and happy endings. My included novella features the 1970s with the theme Wonderful Tonight. Meladee's story pulls in a very minor character from the Rehearsal series (under author name LK Hunsaker) who is obsessed with the lead guitarist from Raucous, my fictional Rehearsal band. He's hard to live up to, but it doesn't take long for Meladee to realize you can never say never and life can be funny.

Fire Star Press is featuring Music of the Heart by Tanya Hanson, Sara Swann-Barnard, B.J. Betts, Ella M. Kaye, and C.A. Jamison with a chance to win a free E-copy if you leave a comment.

Stay tuned for more about this great anthology from Fire Star Press (an imprint of Prairie Rose Publications).

Shadows of Rusts & Reels: Chapter 1

Outside the Sternwheeler Snack Bar, Williamstown WV
Photo courtesy Brenda Rainwater and Charles W. Showalter

(The following is a pre-release excerpt and may change somewhat during edits.)

Holli did her best to block out the menagerie of local voices mixed with the whiny country-pop female artist streaming from the too-loud jukebox as she stepped inside the Beachcomber and scanned the crowd for her friend. During the day, the nondescript little building next to the Ohio, its view of the river blocked only by a wide row of trees, was nearly always quiet to the point of looking abandoned. On Saturday nights, though, it was hard to get in through the door and to the bar with its row of black vinyl stools. She rarely bothered to try, to deal with the crowd.

Neither Holli nor Brenna could remember, while on the phone a couple of days before, how long it had been since they’d met face-to-face. Holli preferred the phone. She could hide her not-so-good days over the phone much better than she could in person. Especially in crowds. More especially in crowds in small places. The bar was now called something with letters and #95 because of the games room, but it had been called the Beachcomber for so long, that’s how she and most other locals still thought of it.

With luck, today was an okay day. Not terribly up. Not down. Just okay. She liked okay days. It felt normal, or what she assumed was normal. At least people didn’t look at her funny on okay days. She figured that was as good as it was ever going to get.

It was easy enough to find Brenna. Her friend’s long straight light brown hair was again highlighted, this time with a few blonde streaks running scalp to ends and some dark red peeking through from underneath. Always fashion conscience, back in school and now. She was planted on a bar stool in the middle of the bar, of course. Brenna was always in the middle of everything, the popular groups, social gatherings, fundraisers, everything. The girl had a constant up attitude. Everyone loved her for it. If she hadn’t been such a good friend through so much of what Holli put her through, Holli would definitely not love her for it. It was plain annoying.

Brenna Townsend, who had gone back to her maiden name after her recent divorce, was the only high school friend Holli still had, not that she’d had many then, either. Some of it was her own doing, on purpose. It was easier to stay away from people than to think they’d be cool to hang out with just to have them walk away later. They all wouldn’t, she supposed. But how did you know when so many had?

You didn’t. It was a gamble. And Holli was not the gambling type. Too impulsive at times, definitely, but not a gambler.

Which, maybe, was why she was twenty-seven and single with no reason to hope that would change any time soon.

Holli made her way through, making sure not to notice whether anyone in her path or vicinity recognized her, and Brenna jumped off the bar stool to give her a big hug. Only Brenna got away with hugging her, and only sometimes did she get away with it.

“I’m so glad you actually came! It’s been so very long. We have to do this more often. How have you been? Well, I know that already since we talked a couple of days ago, but it’s different in person. Anyway, I could only wrestle one bar stool away from this hot guy behind me.” She pointed a thumb and a grin at a guy Holli would never call hot. “You can have it, though. I’ll stretch my legs a while. We can trade.”

“Hi to you, too.”

Brenna laughed. “Sorry. I’m just so excited to see you again. Sit. I’m doing this incredible mixed drink thing Beth suggested. I forget the name, but you’ll love it. Should I order another?”

“Beth?”

Brenna nodded toward the bartender. Of course she knew her name. Probably knew half her life story already, if Bren had been there more than ten minutes. Since the drink was half gone, Holli hoped she had been.

“Want one?”

“Thank you, no. And I’d rather stand. Go ahead.” She ordered an iced tea with no sugar and ignored the look she got for ordering tea in a bar.

Brenna leaned closer. “Not a good day?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I want to keep it that way.”

“Oh. Good. Because I thought we might cross the river and go dancing at that club. You know, that one we used to go to all the time. I don’t remember the name of it.”

“I think it closed years ago.”

“Did it? Oh, well, we could go to the Enigma. I think it’s Ladies’ Night, so no paying to get in...”

“Bren, you know I’m not going there again.” She pulled away from an elbow to her back and didn’t acknowledge the apology. “Anyway, how are things with Rowdy Ronnie? You sounded strange about it over the phone.”

“Yeah, I broke it off last night.” Brenna shrugged and chugged part of her drink she couldn’t name. “He got too rowdy.”

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“No. No, nothing like that. I would have sent my brothers after him if he even thought about it.” She shrugged again. “Just too much to deal with all the time, you know?”

“I warned you.” Holli returned the stare of some guy at the end of the bar, back in the corner, until he looked away. Some days, she’d yell down to him to either talk to her or don’t, but don’t be a rude ass and just stare. Today, she let it go. More proof it was an okay day.

“It was fun while it lasted, though, right? No big deal.”

With a swallow of her tea, Holli couldn’t help wondering how Brenna could shrug things off so easily. Holli’s mother used to call her friend an airhead, said of course she shrugged things off because they never really got into her head in the first place. Holli disagreed. Brenna was smart. She was. She didn’t always show it, but it was there. She was, after all, number four in their class. Some may have gotten up in the top ten by cheating, but not Brenna. The girl was far too honest for that. And far too honest to deal well with most men who generally weren’t.

Her mother also said Holli should have been number three. Those other two would have been hard to beat since once did nothing at all with her life but study and read and the other wasn’t above cheating and everyone knew it. But she should have been third, instead of eleven, which meant exactly nothing since it wasn’t that big a class and eleven didn’t get recognized. Unlike horseshoes and hand grenades, close to the top ten didn’t count for anything.

Whatever. Her mother didn’t understand her struggle. The woman always called her spoiled and dramatic. How her mother could ever call Holli spoiled was way beyond her comprehension. She worked for everything she had. Even when she was little, she’d swept the floors every day with that old heavy broom that was taller than she was. Earning her keep, so she was told.

Maybe she would have whatever Brenna was drinking.

As she tried to catch the bartender’s eye to ask for one, Holli got a glance of a tall blond guy with a pool stick in hand and muscles big enough it should be illegal. She knew him. Didn’t she?

He returned her gaze and she gave him a nod before ordering a drink that was actually a drink. She wouldn’t look away as though he hadn’t caught her looking. That was a coward thing to do, and Holli was a lot of things, but she was definitely not a coward.

“He’s cute. Going to go talk to him?” Brenna leaned against her shoulder.

“No. Just thought I recognized him.”

“It’s a small town. How would you not recognize someone like that in a small town? I don’t remember him, but then, I’m not in town much anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

Brenna laughed. “You live in town and you work in town. How are you not in town much?”

“I go to work and then back home, sometimes with a quick stop at the grocery store. And I don’t live in town. I live out of town.”

“Your grandma’s cottage is technically in town, Holli. Still like it there?”

The guy on the stool next to her got up and said she could have it, so Holli pushed herself up onto it and propped her arms on the narrow ledge of the thin black bar counter. She hated that ledge. It would be more comfortable without it, but she supposed there would be far more spilled beers without it, also. “It’s free other than the property tax. It has electricity, running water, and flushing toilets. And it’s easy to heat up in the winter. What’s not to like?”

“It’s small.”

“It’s just me. How much space do I need?” Again, she pulled from a bump of her shoulder when some guy leaned in to grab a beer.

“I guess. But coming from how you grew up...”

“I like small and cozy.”

“Okay. As long as you’re happy. Hey, don’t look now, but Mr. Someone You Recognize is looking your way.”

Holli looked back over at the blond guy as Brenna fussed that she wasn’t supposed to look now because he would know Brenna just told her he was looking. This time, he gave her a nod. Not a coward, either. The way he was built, why would he be? The guy had to be nearly a foot taller than she was and half again as wide. What in the hell did he have to lose by flirting, or looking, or whatever?

Her friend was still fussing that she looked when she shouldn’t have when Holli turned back. “We’re not sixteen, Bren. Relax.” She definitely recognized him, but she couldn’t at all think from where. She only knew people by where she’d seen them. If she ran into them in a place she didn’t expect them to be, she might recognize their face if she bothered to look at it, but not who they were. This guy, though... “Oh.” She had to hide a laugh when it came to her.

“What?” Brenna’s gaze shifted. Her expression said the blond stud was still looking, or looking again.

Managing to thank the waiter for her drink, Holli took a sip and tried to calm herself.

“What’s so funny?”

“I know where I’ve seen him.” The picture was suddenly vivid. Too vivid. If she was the blushing type, she’d be all-over red by now. Luckily, she wasn’t the blushing type.

Brenna pushed for an answer, but Holli couldn’t say it out loud in a packed bar where she had to talk over whatever music someone put on the jukebox. She had to force herself not to look at him. Instead, she focused on the wallpaper border below the old tin ceiling. Planes, trains, and automobiles, like that old movie she loved. Transportation. People going places and seeing things. It always made her jealous to think about it. Trains, especially. If she ever...

“Excuse me.” A deep voice at her back turned her head. Figuratively. A nice voice. And then literally.

The blond had actually come over without standing across the room flirting half the night in between playing pool with his buddies and then getting pushed by them to take a chance. Definitely not a coward.

“Do I know you?”

Forward, though. Or a line. She wasn’t sure. Holli tried to choke back the vision of him swirling in her head, not at all easy to do, considering. He tilted his head, which somehow made his massive chest muscles move enough to take her attention. The blue and black plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves did little to cover how tight the black T-shirt was underneath.

“No. We haven’t met.” Holli congratulated herself on the line. It was true. They hadn’t been introduced. Not exactly.

“You were looking at me like you knew me.”

“Yes. Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“No problem. I was just curious. If I’d seen you out and about, I think I would have remembered.”

Her back straightened. “Yeah? Why?”

“Defensive, aren’t we?” He ordered a beer and returned his attention. “So, you’ve seen me around, or...?”

“Why would you remember?”

“Those eyes would be impossible to forget.”

She laughed. Out loud. “Okay, really bad line, dude. Considering...”

“Didn’t mean it that way.” He looked actually insulted. “Honest. I meant it ... well, just as a fact. Are those contacts?”

“No. They’re just green. All natural.” She shrugged. “How about you? All natural?” Holli skimmed his build without trying to hide that she was studying him.

“No steroids, if that’s what you mean. I do work at it. Part of it’s just the job, though.”

“What? Olympic weightlifting?”

He smirked. “Is that a line?”

“No. Sorry. I’m a little...”

“Sarcasm is just her thing, but she doesn’t mean anything by it.” Brenna stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Brenna Townsend. This is Holli Jacoby. She thinks she recognizes you...”

“Bren.” Holli flashed her a stop it look. They were supposed to use first names only with strange men. Long-standing rule. And she didn’t want to tell this guy why she recognized him.

“Guess I’m just one of those faces.” He took a sip of the beer after reaching past her to accept it from the bartender, still eying her, and not accidentally rubbing his arm against her shoulder. Holli had to give him points for letting her out of it so easily.

Brenna laughed and said he absolutely wasn’t one of those faces, but he cut her off by offering Holli his hand. “Isaac Bradshaw. No relation to the football player, so you don’t have to ask.”

“I wouldn’t have, but I can guess why people do.” She accepted his hand. A strong gentle rough grasp. His hands were working hands. Hard working hands. More points for him.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She grinned and nodded at the one she just got. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Okay. So how about finding a table in the back so we can talk?”

A table? Already? Too fast. Points subtracted. “I’m here with my friend, so...”

“I meant all three of us. I know how it works. You gotta stick together to fend off the assholes. I get it.”

While Holli was trying to decide how to answer and whether or not to return a few of those points, Brenna accepted the offer. Holli thought about kicking her friend under the bar, and then considered allowing another hug. She wouldn’t mind, actually, talking to him for a few minutes, just because. Since he let her out of it, she wouldn’t have to tell him where she’d seen him.

Or how much of him she’d seen.

He stopped to tell his buddies he was done playing pool for a while and led Holli and Brenna around the wall to the few tables in the back hallway. Surprised there was one open, she took the inside chair beside her friend and Mr. Blond Muscle Man took the outside chair on the other side. More points in his favor.

She added more points when he was every bit as friendly with Brenna as he was with her.

______________

Watch for Shadows of Rusts & Reels late Fall 2016 from EllaMKaye.com

Shadows of Blues & Echoes: Chapter One

Shadows of Blues & EchoesThe 2nd EMK Artists & Cottages
Contemporary Romance Series


Chapter One
(pre-release excerpt, may change in editing)

 

“You absolutely cannot put me on that story.”

“Oh, Gillian, relax. It’s just a story.”

“There’s no such thing as just a story and you know it, even if you are totally immersed in your high-brow editor job now instead of being another nobody low-life writer like me.”

“Don’t get personal. I’m still your friend...”

“Then make someone else do it. Kevin or ... or Sally. Yes, send Sally. I’d love to see her wear her $500 Gucci shoes out in the dirt.”

Karenne brushed her long, fake, perfectly polished fingers through her wavy brunette hair. The professional highlights nearly sparkled as she slipped part of it behind her ear. “Gucci is handbags, dear, not shoes.”

“I thought they were shoes, also.” Gillian had to pause her rant to think a minute. “They are shoes, also. I know they are. I’ve heard her say it often enough. Anyway, send Sally.”

“Can you imagine Sally doing that story the way it needs to be done? She’d laugh at the whole thing. That’s why I have her on pop culture stuff and not on real stuff. You wanted the real stuff, so go do it.”

“Real?” Gillian rolled her eyes and stuffed her hands into her beige cardigan pockets. “A big time hotshot went to live in the woods and you call that real? He’s an attention seeker. So what?”

“I don’t think so, not since he goes by a different name out there, which means he doesn’t want to be associated with his past life, which means it’s a story I want. Badly. I want this, Gilly. And I want it right. That’s why I’m sending you.”

“But ... but ... he’s a man. In the woods. Alone. What kind of friend would send a defenseless girl out to find a man alone in the woods who doesn’t want to be found?”

“Defenseless?” Karenne tossed her head back and guffawed.

“Okay, okay.”

“You? Defenseless? That’s the best thing I’ve heard in years. Come on, Gilly. That’s another reason I’m sending you. I never have to worry about you. You’d fall from a skyscraper and end up bouncing off some big fat guy and get nothing but a scrape on your elbow. The poor guy might not be so lucky, but...”

“Real funny.” Gillian sighed and lowered onto a chair on the wrong side of the editor’s desk. The friendship card wasn’t working this time. Maybe Karenne was right about every point she made, but still ... the woods. In the mountains. Where it was cold. And had no convenience stores. And ... and it was dirty. With bugs and ... slithery things.

She shuddered hard.

Karenne leaned in over her desk. “I know you don’t want to do this and I know how you hate snakes and anything else that moves around outside that’s hard to see. I know, Gillian, but you need to do this. I can’t keep you in the ‘real stories’ department if you keep doing the TMZ kind of things...”

“That’s what sells. It’s what put my name out there.”

“And yet you just complained about this super bachelor millionaire recluse story, which is, I’m sorry to say, a step above your last two pieces.”

“You assigned them.”

“I wanted you to do more with them, and you know that.”

Gillian let herself slump into the fake leather chair, which she rarely did. She’d learned to hold herself up and look like she was someone so people would believe she was. In front of Karenne, she didn’t feel the need. “The subjects didn’t deserve more time than I gave them, and this won’t deserve much, either. So what? He got tired of ... whatever the hell you get tired of when you have a bazillion or whatever dollars and feel sorry for yourself for some ridiculous reason and he went to do a Thoreau thing. So what? It’s been done.”

“Everything’s been done. You know that’s not the point. Go find your angle to make this different.” Karenne stood. “Not up for discussion. This is your assigment. Go do it. You leave first thing in the morning.” She handed a long envelope across the desk, her expression saying not to argue one minute longer.

So she didn’t argue. Gillian took the envelope that would hold her plane ticket and itinerary and forced herself not to sigh again. She half thought about stomping her foot but didn’t allow that, either. She’d worked too hard to become a professional.

And Renne was right. Her writing had slipped. Her interest had slipped. It just didn’t seem to matter anymore what she wrote about or how she wrote it. No one still read the actual paper and the paper’s website got few views, especially the ‘real stories’ section. People wanted gossip. They wanted scandal. They did not want anything that made them actually think.

Why should she bother?

And yet she had to either bother, and to bother a hell of a lot better than she had recently, or she had to find a new profession. The thought of starting over, though, made her shiver all the way down her spine to her toes.

Maybe she was in a rut, but at least it was her rut and she was comfortable there.

Comfortable.

In a rut.

What in the hell had happened to her?

She used to feel fire in her soul at the start of every new piece. The research made her near giddy. Going out and grabbing information people didn’t want found but that needed to be found was the biggest rush she’d ever had. At thirty-two, maybe that was pathetic. Still, it was something. Something she’d created.

It was something. But it was hardly enough anymore.

And now she had to go out, not only out of town, but way out of town into the middle of nowhere, into a world she’d escaped, to do a fluff piece about a rich guy and try to make it sound like a real story.

Life was just too grand at times.

--------
EllaMKaye.com

Pre-Release Excerpt: Gillian and the Crows

The following excerpt is from a work in progress. Do not quote. May change in edits.

Gillian made her way to the door and knocked, lightly at first, then louder when there was no reply. Someone lived there. It was obvious between the open windows and tire tracks that led around the back. She knocked harder. No reply. No stirring. No sound other than the raucous crows swirling above the trees that gave her a creepy feeling.

She didn’t like birds. Well, canaries in cages were fine. They were pretty. Small. Non-threatening. She could deal with canaries. Those were no canaries. They were crows. Gillian had read that crows were smart. Not a comforting thought, as far as she was concerned.

She shivered. In the heat.

No one home. Lovely. She’d have to continue up the small-ass road and see what else she came across. For all she knew, it was just over the hill.

Cursing inwardly, Gillian made her way back to her car, clenched her jaw when the tires skidded on gravel, and eased back onto the road, such as it was.

After what must have been five more miles, she shook her head and turned back. She’d wait for someone to return to the little cottage and ask if she was in the right place. With any luck, they’d at least be as friendly as Henry and wish her well, at least in health. Everyone she’d met in the area, other than that cabbie, had been very friendly. Polite. Well-mannered. She figured it would extend decently up into the mountains.

This time she pulled in front of the cottage and walked boldly to the front door. A fool thought just because something was safe the first time, it would continue to be so, but she felt it, anyway.

Again no answer, and she hadn’t expected different. She wasn’t about to sit in the car that by now would be hot again already, so she wandered the front yard, noticed the large stack of wood, considered walking around to the back but thought better of it. No use offending the owner if he returned to find her being so nosy. It would be hard to ask for assistance that way.

Instead, she wandered away from the place, just a bit into the tree line the front door looked out over. She hesitated at a rustling and looked over to find a couple of squirrels chasing each other. Mating, she supposed. At least something didn’t let the heat bother them.

Something other than the crows, which now circled to the side of her, to what she thought was northeast. Who needed a compass when you had instinct? Gillian should have told Henry that when he asked if she had a compass...

The thought of crows circling stopped her in her tracks. Crows circled dying things while waiting for food. Was the owner out there? Injured? Surely anyone living out here would be well prepared and capable of taking care of himself.

Still, maybe she could return the favor of Henry’s rescue by helping someone else. Not sure what on earth she would do about it if it was a man who would by all rights be heavier than she could handle, Gillian at least could run back to the car and drive to town for help.

Depending.

Either way, she had to check, so she headed the direction of the crows, fighting her own fear of them, and hurried her steps.

It was a rough patch of land. A couple of times her Keds got stuck and pulled off a foot and she had to stop long enough to get it back on. A couple of times she lost her balance and scuffed herself. As long as she didn’t break something, she could deal with scuffs. She was never low on scuffs and scratches as a child. If needed, makeup would cover them well enough when she returned to Denver. But she did have to be able to drive back to...

Water. She heard what sounded like trickling water. Slowing her steps and hanging onto small young trees as she made her way down the small ravine, she saw the water. A little stream. Not terribly little. But beautiful, nestled beneath the trees where it was shaded. A soft wind rustled the leaves above it and harmonized with the trickling sound.

Gillian had to treat herself for the punishment of the last couple of days. She’d soak her hot feet in the stream and sit and rest a bit before continuing. Her break. Everyone got breaks at work. She might as well allow herself the same.

~~~~~~~~~
Durango, Colorado.
A small time reporter for a small time paper trying to make a name for herself.
A mountain hermit who wants nothing to do with publicity.

The next Artists & Cottages novel coming soon from Ella M. Kaye.
~~~~~~~~~~

EllaMKaye.com

Romance Week!

Forget waiting for a Valentine treat. Get one, or more than one, for yourself! What's better for a nice romantic day than to get swept away to a beach or a cottage in the woods and lose yourself in two people finding true love? Pick up an Ella M. Kaye romance and buy yourself that box of chocolates. Go ahead. You deserve it!

Oh, did you notice? EMK has a new look! What do you think of the new header?

Let me know here and/or leave a question for me this week through Valentine's Day at Goodreads, and I'll select several winners for the barefoot bottle opener. It's magnetic. It won't stick to your cooler, but it will stick to your refrigerator.

A few updates since my blog has been so quiet:

There are full drafts in editing stage for the next two Artists & Cottages books that will be coming along soon, plus a new series in the works. My header gives it away. ;-) I also have an idea in mind for the next Dancers & Lighthouses book. It'll feature a dance genre I've fallen in love with in recent years that I wish had been around back when I was still in dance classes.

So, I may be quiet around here, but I'm definitely still working.

I'm a little late on this, but I hope everyone has a wonderful, enlightening, and joyful 2016!

Grammar Nerds Unite!

Did you know there was a National Grammar Day? I’m betting most people don’t. It was March 4th, and yes, I missed posting in time, but that happens during book release days. Your mind gets addled with details about what you haven’t done yet that you were supposed to do a month ago.

Anyway, a bit of a secret: I’m a Grammar Nerd.

Another bit of a secret: Francis of Shadows of Greens & Memories is a huge Grammar Nerd. I actually make a bit of fun of myself through her in this book. Hey, someone will always laugh at you, so you might as well do it yourself.

According to grammar-check by Grammerly.com, “You may drive your friends and family nuts, but you would make Strunk and White proud. You love enforcing rules just about as much as you love the rules themselves. For you, grammar truly is one of life's greatest joys.”

Yes, I’ve been known to drive my family nuts with grammar correction, although I tend to leave my friends alone.

How about you? Take the quiz and see how you come out:

How grammar geeky are you? How much does it really matter?

Leave a comment and I’ll draw a winner to receive Shadows of Greens & Memories in your choice of ebook format.

 

Technorati Tags: grammar,Grammar Day,fiction

Excerpt: Shadows of Greens & Memories

With Buddy Guy playing in the background, Fran lost track of time as she worked on her newest canvas: a piano with a boy propped on the bench, his fingers on the keys. From memory. The boy’s hair was giving her the most trouble, possibly because she couldn’t pin down the color of George’s hair. Brownish blondish reddish ... depending on the light source of the moment. These days the blond showed more, highlights from working in the sun, she expected. At night on her porch, though, it looked very dark. Barely touched his neck. His chin was always smooth, although when came for lunch, she could see the start of whiskers growing back. His small mustache was always carefully trimmed.

Of course the boy in the painting didn’t have whiskers or a mustache. He was a Freshman. The last time she’d heard him play.

Stopping for a moment to stretch, Fran looked over at the wall clock, one with actual hands and no numbers, then looked back at it. Ten till two. Sunday. Nearly two.

“Hell.”

She was covered in paint and hadn’t bothered to shower yet and his concert was about to start.

Saturday morning she realized she’d forgotten to turn her phone on the day before and found his message. She’d called and he didn’t answer. He’d called later that night and said they’d had practice and errands and such all day and he couldn’t go out because Theo and Justin were on a double date and he had to stay with the younger ones, but she could come over. After his Friday night message about hanging with his kids to catch up on time, Fran decided to leave them alone Saturday night.

But she wanted to go to the community concert.

Rushing through the shower with her hair up to keep it dry, Fran threw on the most wear-ready thing she could find and dashed out the door. Again, she had to park farther away than she would have liked. The music grew louder as she walked closer.

She sat in the same place, under the same tree. He didn’t notice her that she could tell. And that was fine. There wasn’t much better than sitting out on the vivid green grass under shade of an old bent oak listening to luscious music, especially when you had a very special interest in one of the musicians to make it more personal. It did feel very personal. Even if George didn’t know she was there, it felt like he was playing for her.

A self-centered thought, she told herself. Still, the saxophone’s rich flavor sank deeply into her soul. It did belong to her since she felt it so deeply. It belonged to anyone who truly felt it.

But George himself did not. He didn’t quite belong to her, either, but she did have those incredible kisses in her forever memory, or so she hoped, at least as long as she had memory, and his arms – his very strong sexy arms that surrounded her when she allowed. She hoped she would never forget that.

It ended far too soon since she’d arrived so late and Fran sat watching him as he packed his instrument and talked with his fellow musicians and as he was stopped a dozen times or so, lingering with smiles or laughs, or trying to brush them off; it was easy to see who he liked and who he didn’t and she put that in her to-remember cap.

Finally, he headed off toward his truck so she got up to intercept. It took her some time since he walked faster and was either avoiding more talk or had somewhere to be. Fran hoped he didn’t have somewhere to be. It was supposed to be his day without the kids and selfishly, she wanted the rest of it with him if possible.

He was looking at the ground as he walked, unusual for George, so she touched his arm to get his attention.

He startled slightly and recovered quickly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“I was late. Got busy working, and I wish I hadn’t.”

With a slight nod, he seemed not to know what else to say.

So she jumped in. “In a hurry to leave?”

“Nah, just ... figured I’d get some work done in the house today since I have time.”

“And no kids.”

“Right. For a couple of hours.”

“How about dinner first? We can make it quick. My treat. Or if you want an excuse not to work on the house...”

“Maybe another time.” He walked away.

“Are you angry with me?”

He paused, then turned. “What are we doing here, Frannie?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you’re going to avoid my children like they have the plague or something, this isn’t gonna work. So let’s call it like it is...”

“I’m not.” She ambled closer, watching him. “I’m not avoiding them, G.F. I’m trying not to interfere.”

“Not interfere? Too damned late for that.”

~~~
Shadows of Greens & Memories
Ella M. Kaye

Francis Barrett returns to her hometown of Storm Lake, Iowa to take care of the family holdings, such as they are, after her father passes. While turning his garden shed into a small but livable cottage, she runs into an old flame she admired from afar but never dared speak with during their high school days. Using her secret passion of oil painting to unwind from long days of clearing out the mess, Francis finds her father also had a secret passion and left behind a tale of a man she didn't truly know.

George Frederick McKenry never left the Midwest town where he was born other than brief travels with his four children, who he now has custody of since his ex moved into a condo with her new boyfriend. Running into the one girl from school who rebuffed him when he asked her out, G.F. can't help checking on her and making sure she's getting along alright. False assumptions and past resentments fade as Fran and G.F. let down their guards in order to create new memories.

EllaMKaye.com

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