Mama Connagher Day 7

Tonight was harder, although the word count (3,776) looks good.  I wrapped up the last major plot point and moved into the final major sex scene.  Yeah, you know how that goes.  Plus it’s a punishment scene.  I have to get it all right.  It’s vulnerable and painful and raw in many ways, so it’s rough going.  But I refused to go to bed until I broke the 50K mark.

So I’ll finish this major scene.  Then I’ll have the closing image that mirrors the opening scene, probably a couple of hundred words.  I already know what it should be.  Then 2-3 at most story-within-the story scenes and this puppy is DONE.  Those last few story-within-the-story scenes will be a little tricky though.  I have THIS plot solid in my head, but I don’t really have the other one figured out.  It doesn’t really matter, exactly.  It’s the reflection of character that’s important, not the plot itself.  But I do need to spend a little time figuring out what makes the most sense.

Then I need to go back and add some detail that came out tonight that will make those other scenes even better.

Less than 10K for sure.  Probably more like 5K or so.  The end is definitely in sight.  It’s a good thing, too because my wrists were really giving me fits today.  I had to type quite a bit for work, so I’m starting to get tingles tonight.  Not good. I’ll have to do more stretches tomorrow and try to take it a little easier.

Hmm, what to give you for a snippet tonight?  In looking back, I guess I’ve made a pretty critical error.  You’ve not met the hero yet.  Poor Jeb.  It’s all Tyrell, Ty, boo-hoo all the time, even though he died 12 years ago.  There are things that Jeb has endured that will hopefully make you want to blubber like a baby.  He’s one of the most tender, protective men I think I’ve ever written, modeled after the great and totally sexy older Tom Selleck.  Le sigh.

Snippet:  His introduction.

Driving out to the old Connagher place took Jeb back forty years.  Once upon a time, he’d been Virginia Healy’s best friend and accomplice in all her scrapes.  When she needed someone to help her with something risky and no doubt stupid, she’d known exactly who to call.  Most everybody had expected them to get married.  Including him.  But he’d been dead wrong.

He’d managed to keep the friendship, though.  He’d even asked Tyrell Connagher to stand up for him at his own wedding years later.  Jeb and Sharon had moved to California and that should have been the end of his unrequited love affair with his best friend.  They were both married.  Happily.  At least, he tried to be happy.  Sharon wasn’t Virginia, but she was a good woman.  He cared deeply for her and he put all his effort and will into building a life with her far from Texas.

More than a decade passed before Jeb ever heard from Virginia again, when she’d called to tell him her husband had died.  Of course he’d dropped everything right away to comfort his grieving friend.  Something for which his now ex-wife had never forgiven him.

Jeb slowed his truck to a crawl.  He hadn’t seen Virginia since Ty’s funeral.  He hadn’t even called to check on her all these years.  He couldn’t because he’d been too busy trying to save his own marriage in California.  But it’d been too late.  It’d always been too late.  It’d only been his own stubbornness that made him try so hard to stay and do the right thing by his wife.

Now here he was nearly sixty years old and starting out all over again.  No wife.  No family.  A rented condo.  No job.

Well that wasn’t exactly true.  He’d owned his own veterinarian practice for years and had finally sold it in the divorce proceedings.  Now he had time to do all the things he’d put off because of work or his marriage, and the only thing he could think about was an old flame who didn’t even know she’d burned in his memory all these years.

As he neared the house, he saw her sitting on the porch in a rocking chair.  Virginia Healy Connagher, the legend herself.  The years had been kind to her.  She looked as good as she had twenty years ago and more.  Her dark, wavy hair was pulled back at her ears to fall loose and soft at her shoulders, emphasizing her high, angular cheekbones and the dark fire of her eyes.  Sure, there was a little gray sprinkled into that hair and some creases around her eyes and mouth as she smiled a pleased welcome, but she looked damned good.

He parked, but before he got out, he reached over and popped open the dash.  The small ring box was still there.  In some fashion or another, he’d carried it with him for nigh on forty years.

Calling himself a sentimental fool, he slid out of the truck and walked up toward the porch, smiling back but not saying anything.  Not yet.  What could he say?  What would she want to hear?  He planted a boot on the bottom step but just leaned against the railing, sucking in her presence.  Even injured and fresh out of a hospital bed, she made the air sharper, the colors brighter.  She was too alive herself to let anything stagnate around her.

She started to get up, struggling with the sling.  “Jebadiah Garrett, you old dog.  What brings you out here?”

He strode up the last few steps and took her hand, hopefully discouraging her from trying to stand.  “You.”

She snorted.  “You heard about a car accident all the way out in California?”

“I’m not in California any longer.”

She tipped her head back, squinting against the sun to try and read his face.  He kept that cheesy grin in place, too happy to see her to worry about looking like an idiot.  “Well, why don’t you sit down and tell me about it so I don’t break my fool neck trying to look at you.”

She was still letting him hold her hand, so he sat down right where he was on the top step.  “I sold the practice a year ago and moved back here last month.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “You did?  And you never bothered to stop by and let me know you were back in town?”

He reached up and took his hat off, giving him something to do with his free hand.  “I had some things to work out first.”

“Typical man.  Act first without taking time to socialize.  That’s a mighty fine hat, by the way.  Is it a Serratelli?”

“Sure is.”  He passed it up to her, although that meant she let go of his hand so she could turn the black fur felt hat around and examine it from all angles.  He was ridiculously proud of that hat.  It was the first thing he’d bought that was solely and wholly his.  The sterling silver band had cost a mint, too.  Back when he’d been married, Sharon would have had a fit that he’d spent over a thousand dollars on a hat.  Let alone where the money had come from.

“It’s almost too pretty to wear.  You said I’m not in California.  Not we.”

He looked out across the front yard, not really seeing the parallel lines of trees along the driveway or the white-railed fenced pastures of horses.  “No, ma’am.  Sharon and I divorced almost a year ago.”

“Oh, Jeb, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It’d been over for a long time but we kept going through the motions.  It was time for both of us to move on.”  He smiled but didn’t turn back to look at her.  “She’s already remarried and is quite happy from what I hear.”

“And you?”

He shrugged.  “I’m starting over.  Moving back here was the first step.”

“Are you going to start a new practice?”

“I might,” he hedged a little, turning back to see her face.  “I’ve been helping Cap Winston out here and there, although he’s already hired on a new young man to take over.”

Virginia harrumphed beneath her breath.  “Yeah, he’s been out here a few times to see the stock.  Not sure I trust someone so wet behind the ears.”

“He’s young, but he’s good.  I’ve seen him work through some pretty sticky situations.”

She nodded, a little more at ease with the new vet.  “Well, if you’re going to be helping out, then I”ll definitely call him instead of trying to find a bigger vet out of Dallas.”

The screen door banged open behind them.  Catching a glimpse of pink skirts, Jeb jumped to his feet and started backing down the stairs.  Virginia’s mother still sometimes popped into his nightmares, not the gun-wielding Marine father he’d dreamed of someday asking for his daughter’s hand.

“You’re just in time for supper, Jebadiah.”  Miss Belle flounced over to grab his hand and tug him back on the porch.  “Boys, come and help your Mama.”

He’d much rather help Virginia inside than escort Miss Belle on his arm, but evidently he didn’t have a choice.  She might be a petite eighty-year-old grandmother but she dragged him right inside as easily as if he were a toddler and not almost two-feet taller than her.  On their way out to help their Mama, her two boys paused long enough to shake Jeb’s hand.  He hadn’t seen neither of them since the funeral, both big strapping young men though they couldn’t match him for height.  Both of them were successful and well-mannered, as if Virginia and Ty would have allowed them to grow up rude or shiftless.  Ty must be beaming with pride at them both.

“So that’s why you insisted we set an extra plate.”  Virginia’s only daughter smiled at him.  “Welcome, Mr. Garrett.  If you need to wash up, come on in to the kitchen.”

Sharon hadn’t wanted kids.  At the time, he’d regretted the decision, always hungering for the chance to be a father.  But after their ugly split, he was relieved they hadn’t had children in the mix, even though they would have been adults by then.  He hadn’t expected all of Virginia’s children to be home, but knowing the family, he shouldn’t have been surprised.  Of course they’d all rally around her after the accident, even though Conn and Miss Belle lived in Missouri.

They all know me.  I’m just an old family friend.

Which was true, but as Jeb washed his hands and prepared to sit down at the Connagher table, he had a feeling he ought to be upfront with at least Virginia’s boys.

How are they going to take the idea of me courting their Mama?

Mama Connagher Day 6

Big, huge day today.  Got through a tough emotional scene — one I was avoiding, stupidly, because it ended up being a really good scene.  Isn’t that always how it is?  The one thing you really don’t want to do and avoid… is exactly what you need to add?  I’ve also got the final few scenes carefully set up and laid out.  Even ground through another sex scene that wasn’t a “good” one, if you know what I mean.  Virginia’s holding back.  Big time.

But it’s all downhill from here and that makes me a happy camper indeed.

In fact, I thought about staying up half the night to finish the book, but I do have to work tomorrow and it’s going to be a stressful week.  I’ve got a lot of work to do and I can’t blow my hands on a 10K night and then expect to be able to program tomorrow.  Sigh.

6,718 words today.  Told ya it was a big one!  That Man was on the phone most of night or work, so no TV distractions.

Finishing yesterday’s scene:

Virginia jerked so hard she couldn’t stifle a moan at the grating pain in her busted arm.  “What?  Are you insane?”

Ignoring her, Miss Belle continued.  “It’s high time Virginia start dating again.  I’m sure between the three of you brilliant young ladies you know a handsome, courageous man dumb enough to come wrestle with her.”

A speculative gleam shone in Vicki’s eyes.

“No,” Virginia said firmly.  “Dating is something young people do.  I’ve had my time.”

“Now who’s the fool?”  Miss Belle snapped.  “You’ve got half your life ahead of you still.  It’s high time you start living it.”

Virginia could only stare at her mother, both moved and amused by her concern.  Most people had feared her father, Colonel Healy, and yes, he’d been a tough old Marine who didn’t take shit off anyone.  But it only took one look from Miss Belle and that man would have taken the San Juan Hill singlehandedly or died trying.  Miss Belle wore big hats and frivolous pink dresses, but when push came to shove, she was the one who ran the family with a gay laugh and her wickedly keen mind.  She used to joke that God had known exactly what he was doing when he’d put her in a small female body, because if He’d made her a big strapping man, she’d have been one mean bully.

“I bet Mal will know someone,” Vicki said.

Virginia groaned.  “Don’t get the Mistress of Dallas involved or I’ll never have any peace.  You know very well what kind of man that woman would try to set me up with.”

Vicki laughed, a knowing chuckle that spoke volumes.  “A good-looking boy willing to do anything you say for a chance to kiss your toes?  What’s the harm in that?  Although I suspect she’s involved with someone herself right now.  I don’t know if she’s still got her finger on the pulse of Dallas’s submissive male scene or not.”

Rae stared at Virginia a moment with those big, startled eyes.  “Oh.  Oh.”

“Where do you think Victor and Conn got their hard side, Rae Lynn?”  Miss Belle said.

“But that doesn’t mean I want some boy running around my house saying ‘Yes, Mistress, how may I serve, Mistress?’”  Virginia didn’t try to keep the disgust from her voice.  “Good lord.  I’ve got boys older than Mal.  I sure don’t want her to set me up with anyone of that age.”

“Cougar,” Vicki said teasingly.

Virginia growled in response.  “Grizzly bear is more like it, mean and nasty after getting woke up too early from hibernation.”

“And hungry,” her daughter replied, still teasing, but a growing understanding in her eyes that made Virginia avert her eyes.

Hungry.  They have no idea.  She didn’t want them to know exactly how lonely she’d been.  How many nights she’d paced and practiced with the whip or crop just to exhaust herself enough to find a few hours of sleep.

“What do you want in a man?”  Shiloh asked.

I want Tyrell.  Virginia made herself shut the mental door on what she couldn’t have any longer, the fuzzy memories she’d clung to all these years.  “If I were to date again, and that’s a big IF, he’d have to be older, more my age.  A man my age would already be mature and confident.  He’d know exactly what he wanted with the rest of his life and he’d do anything to get it.  The same as me.  He wouldn’t need coddling or teaching or patience, which I don’t have patience for!  A man used to hard work, who’s probably already seen and done more than you children ever dreamed about.  Someone who can stand up to me and tell me when I’m being a fool,” she said that with a smile for Miss Belle, “and won’t get his ego bruised when I tell him the same.”

“Now that will be the challenge.”  Laughing, Miss Belle stood and started herding everyone toward the door.  “Even Tyrell got his ego bruised on occasion.”

“All men do.”

“Let’s finish up dinner so our patient can get some rest.  I’ll see what we can do about your man, Virginia.  You’ve placed a tall order.”

Virginia settled down deeper into the pillows, her eyes already heavy.  She’d done hardly nothing but sleep at the hospital, but there wasn’t anything like coming home to her own bed.  Tall, she sighed, slipping into sleep.  He should definitely be tall.

Mama Connagher Day 5

I’ve definitely crossed the two-thirds mark and rounding into the final quarter or so of the book.  YAY.  I’ve got a few emotional things to tie up, and then the final surprise for Jeb.  I think I need another scene or two in the story within a story, but I’ll have to figure out what I want to do there.  I’m going to concentrate on pushing the main story line through to the end first.

2104 words today.

Excerpt:  this scene was a fun reunion from all of the other books (except for Mal).  If you’ve been missing Conn and/or Victor, they’ll make brief appearances in Virginia’s book!  And of course Miss Belle has to stick her nose into her daughter’s business too.  This scene takes place one week after the opening scene when she’s released from the hospital.

Virginia paused at the bottom of the porch steps and looked up at the front door.  It might as well be ten miles away.  “Whose idiotic idea was it to put in so many steps?”

“That would be yours,” her oldest son, Victor, said with a smile.  “You wanted to have a good view.  Remember?”

“Of course I remember,” she snapped.  “I’ve got a busted up arm and some stitches, but I didn’t lose my ever-loving mind.  Just my spleen.”

“Well you did have a concussion.”  He wasn’t intimidated by her temper, because he had the same biting disposition. “I’m just checking to make sure.”

She sighed and leaned on him harder.  “I’m sorry, Son.  I don’t mean to bark at you like a mean old junk yard dog.”

He wrapped his arm gingerly around her waist, mindful of her stitches.  “I know, Mama.  If you’d take the pain medication…”

“I hate feeling like my head’s stuffed with cotton.”  She managed the first two steps and then had to pause a minute.  Her head swam and her knees trembled.  “Damn my fool pride.  All right, Son…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence because he was already sweeping her up against his chest.  Luckily he didn’t say I told you so.

Vicki rushed ahead, shifting an armload of flowers around so she could open the door.  “Mama, how many times do we have to tell you to lock the door?  It isn’t safe way out here in the country.”

“I never…”

“If she’d locked the door, then I would have had to break it down.”

At that voice, Virginia groaned and pressed her face against her son’s shoulder.  “Who called Miss Belle?”

“Nobody had to call me, silly girl.  Bring her into her bedroom.  We’ve gotten everything ready.”


She might be matriarch of the Texas Connaghers, but Miss Belle ruled them all even from six hundred miles north.  Trying not to grumble at people who obviously loved her, Virginia let them tuck her into bed instead of the couch.  At least they propped her up with pillows so she could visit for awhile.  Vicki hovered, Victor and Conn hugged and pounded each other on the back like they were trying to kill each other, while Miss Belle sat at Virginia’s own dressing table like a queen.  Or at least a movie star from the fifties.  Which she was, among other things, not the least of which was her mother.

But Miss Belle had never liked to be called anything but Miss Belle.

She wore a gorgeous cream-colored dress covered with delicate pink roses, either a retro hourglass style or more likely, something she really had worn forty or fifty years ago.  When Virginia had been a child, Miss Belle’s hair had been a vibrant red, but it’d softened over the years to pinkish peaches and cream.  Of course Miss Belle wore a hat—a proper lady would sooner go out without underwear—wide-brimmed straw dotted with pink and cream roses to match her dress.

Which is probably why Miss Belle had despaired of ever turning her daughter into a proper lady.

Conn finally quit hugging on his brother long enough to give his Mama a proper kiss.  She didn’t see him nearly as often as she wanted now that he was a professor in Missouri, but at least he was close enough to keep an eye on Miss Belle who was nearly eighty.  “We would have been down sooner but Vicki assured us you were out of danger, and that you’d rather see us at home instead of the hospital.”

“Definitely.”  She patted his cheek, pleased at the soft light in his eyes.  Conn had always been her poet son, and emotion and angst sometimes hit him hard.  Finding the love of his life had taken the hard edges out of his eyes.  He can be hard when he needs to be, but he’ll never be mean like Victor.  Or me.  “By us do you mean you brought Rae too?”

“I sure did, even if I had to threaten to tie her up so she didn’t try to jump out of the car as we got close to the Texas line.”  Conn laughed and by the glint in his eye, she thought he might very well mean it.  “She’s in the kitchen with Shiloh.”

“Thank God,” Virginia muttered.  “I’d rather go back to the hospital than eat Miss Belle’s cooking.”

“Miss Belle’s cooking would put us all in the hospital,” Conn joked.

“I’ve taught Rae Lynn everything she knows about cooking,” Miss Belle sniffed and removed her hat, then her pretty lace gloves.  “She just happens to execute better than I.”

Conn snickered and ran his finger across his neck in the universal death gesture.  Victor laughed and even Miss Belle had to smile at their antics.  It was hard to believe they were both well into their thirties.  Seeing them laughing and so happy made tears pool in Virginia’s eyes.

Good God, I’m turning into a weepy sap.  She busied herself adjusting the sling supporting her left arm, propping up the heavy cast with a pillow.  She still didn’t remember much about the accident, but they’d told her a drunk driver had T-boned her car on the way to the grocery store.  Her arm had been pinned in the wreckage and she’d almost lost it.  At least it wasn’t my right arm.  I can still write and I won’t have to depend on grueling physical therapy to bring my strength back.

Her mind flinched away from that nugget, refusing to dwell on the reason she needed strength in her right arm.  She hadn’t had a reason to keep her shoulder and arm loose and strong for quite some time.

Thinking about that only brought her back to Ty and that incredible dream.  It’d been so real.  His scent of leather, the roughness of his palm, even the tickling of his mustache.  Could she make up little details like that in a dream?

“You know that wasn’t any old dream.”  Miss Belle said in a low voice as she sat on the edge of the bed.  “He’s been worried about you a long time.”

Virginia concentrated on the cast, absently scratching her fingers beneath the edge.  Miss Belle swore she still talked to Colonel Healy, her husband who’d been dead nigh on thirty years.  She’d always thought her mother was crazy—everybody did.  But now I’m talking to my dead husband too.

“He said you’re always right.”

Miss Belle laughed and it sounded genuine, not girly and deliberately silly like she usually did to fool people into thinking she had a few screws loose.  She wanted people to think she was just a crazy old lady.  Forty years ago, she’d pretended to be an airhead actress without a thought in her pretty little head.  Whether she was playing poker or dabbling in politics or playing amateur sleuth, she managed to fool most people so well that they never knew what hit them while she skipped off into the sunset.

But that laugh… That was real, the rare and special Miss Belle she only shared with her beloved family.

“Tyrell always was too smart for his own good.  Stubborn as a mule, slow and silent and careful until he was sure, he never backed down from a fight, which is exactly what you needed the most.  He was definitely the man God must have created just for you.”

Virginia had to swallow to keep the tears locked away.  Before he’d died, she could have counted the number of times she’d cried as an adult on one hand. Twelve years might have passed, but his loss haunted her like a phantom limb that had been amputated.  “I figured you were going to side with him.”

“I am.”  Miss Belle patted her leg gently.

“But you just said…”

“Do you really think there was never any other man for me other than your father?”

Luckily her children had disappeared into the kitchen to help the girls with dinner.  “Mother!  I so do not want to hear about how many men you might have loved and left over the years.  I certainly don’t want to know that you cheated on Daddy too.”

Miss Belle smacked her thigh, whether for slipping on her name or for the affair comment, she wasn’t sure.  “Who said anything about cheating?  We had a one-of-a-kind love, the kind that lasts down through the years of children and grief, victory and defeat, war and sickness and eventually death.  It was wonderful.  But he wasn’t the only man I loved.  I don’t believe we were put on this earth to love only once and then die.  Else couples would always die together, wouldn’t they?  What kind of God would join two hearts and then leave one cold and alone the rest of your days without a single hug or kiss or affectionate word ever again?”

The kind of God who took Tyrell and left me alone all these years.  Though Virginia didn’t say it aloud.

“Besides, I’ve got the perfect solution.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Miss Belle was already shouting.

“Girls!  I need your help!”

The three young women came running, probably terrified that Virginia had suffered a seizure or something by the volume of Miss Belle’s voice.

Dark haired and fiery like all the Connaghers, Vicki was a lot like her Mama.  Maybe too much.  It’d taken her years to find the right man and in fact, she’d settled on two.  She needed the explosive fireworks with Elias—the same as her parents—but Vicki also needed the softer, gentler side of her submissive, Jesse.  There was something about that young man that made all the ice and iron in Vicki’s heart melt.

Rae and Shiloh would soon be her daughters in law.  Each head over heels in love with her Connagher boy, both submissive, but yet entirely different.  Rae was shy and too timid for Virginia’s patience.  It was all she could do not to bark at the girl to buck up and put some starch in her spine.  But that wide-eyed doe look appealed to Conn’s protective side.  There had to be more spunk to the girl than was on the surface, because she’d managed to evade Conn for over five years, definitely giving him a run for his money before surrendering the fight.  And of course, Rae not only survived living with Miss Belle, but she also seemed to actually enjoy the woman’s company.  No small feat, because God knew Virginia would probably be ready to murder her mother before she finally went back to Missouri.

Shiloh was completely opposite from Rae:  bright and cheerful and bold.  Yet when the oldest Connagher son touched her—even a simple arm around her shoulders or an innocent touch of his palm in the small of her back—she went on complete and wholly dedicated alert.  If Victor told her to jump off a cliff, she’d do it or die trying, even while cursing at him all the way down.

We done well with our boys.  Virginia closed her eyes a moment and tried to bring up Tyrell’s image in her mind as fresh and vibrant as that vision, but he was still hazy and softened by the passing of years.  You’d be proud of them, Ty.  You’d like these girls too.

“Girls,” Miss Belle declared, “I’m charging you with a most solemn duty.  You must find a man for your Mama.”

Mama Connagher Day 4

Slowed by finishing a sex scene–and the KC Chiefs playoff game, sobs–I only managed 1363 words today.  But I finished the major sex scene AND killed Ty.  *sobs some more*

Yes, Ty was adamant that I had to write a brief scene leading up to his death.  Now whether this ends up in the final version or not, I don’t know.  But I had to look at it for the sake of Story.

Completing the flashback excerpt:

“Are you spoken for? Promised to anyone?”

She didn’t lift her head.  Should she tell him about Jebadiah?  But why?  So she’d known him her whole life.  So the whole town assumed they were a couple.  The man had never kissed her.  Never held her like this.  Even the few times they’d been alone, nothing had happened.  Which is probably why Daddy trusted the young man to escort me.  She pushed the twinge of guilt away.  “Why?”

“Just figuring out who I need to wrangle for the right to court you properly.”

“Nobody but Daddy and I’ll take care of him.”

“No, you won’t.  That’s my job.”

She tipped her head back so she could see if he was just joking, but his face was solemn.  “You’re serious?  You’re going to talk to Daddy and tell him…what?”

“That I’m done with rodeos for good.  That I’ll do any job he wants as long as he lets me stay on.  That I love you with all my heart and soul and I’ll do anything to make you happy.  I’ll work night and day until I can provide what you want.”

Her heart soared, even though it was crazy.  He couldn’t possibly love her already.  Could he?  Could she love him?  Sure, she’d kissed him.  She’d done more with him than she’d ever done with any man in her entire life.  But…  “Daddy—”

“Nope,” he cut in.  “I’d have to be an idiot not to know your Daddy’s loaded with this fine ranch sprawling out in all directions as far as I’d care to ride.  I won’t take a dime of his money.  You tell me what you want and I’ll get it, and I won’t marry you until I have it.”

“I want you.”  It surprised her, but as soon as she said it, she knew it was the truth.  No one else had the courage to step up and risk her fury—and her parents’—to  find out what kind of man she wanted.  And now she knew that the kind of man she wanted was standing right here.

“And?  What else?”  He insisted, though he tightened his arms around her.  “What will make you happy?  What’s your dream?  Not your Daddy’s dream, not your pretty movie star mother’s.  What’s yours?”

She didn’t have to think about it.  “I want enough land to raise and train my own show horses.  A barn and corral.  Enough equipment to travel properly to the shows until I make a big enough name that people will come find me instead.”


“Nowhere but Texas.”

“You got it.”  He pulled away and reached for his hat and shirt tossed in the corner, as if he were going to go out right now in the middle of the night and start looking for that land they’d make their own.  But she dug her fingers into his waist hard enough he turned back and looked down into her face, eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t you forget something?”

A slow smile softened the hard lines of his face.  “Yes’m, I imagine I did.”

One of those big, broad palms cupped the back of her head and he bent down to kiss her once more.  She pressed up against him, rising up on her tiptoes to get as much of him as she could.  Assured of her choice, he let his hands roam up and down her back.  He molded the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, and finally, at last, he cupped her breasts in both hands.  His thumbs rubbed her nipples through her shirt and the ache she’d felt watching him earlier came back a thousand fold, spreading fiery heat all through her veins.

When he lifted his head, she moaned.  The knowing twinkle in his eyes made her want to punch him.

“I’d be pleased and honored to return the favor if your folks are going to be gone awhile.”

As if Miss Belle had picked up on the disturbance and threat to her daughter’s virginity, the sound of a car pulling up the driveway made Virginia moan louder.

With a laugh, Tyrell released her and grabbed his shirt, tugging it quickly over his head so he could fasten his jeans.  “That’s what I was afraid of.  I might as well go speak to Colonel Healy now.”

For a moment, she actually felt a sliver of dread stab through her, worried that her proud, hard father might reject her suitor.  “Now?”

“No time like the present.  Don’t you worry none, Princess.”  Tyrell jammed his hat on his head and took her hand firmly in his.  “I know exactly what to say.  I won’t let you down.  I’ll never let you down.”

She didn’t want to admit to worry.  Or fear.  Or that she just might burst into tears if Daddy refused them.  Or if she woke up the next morning and Tyrell’s rusted out truck was long gone.  Instead of voicing her fears, all she said was, “Your mustache tickles.”

Without pausing a step, he threw open the barn door and dragged her toward the house where her parents waited on the front steps.  “Want me to shave it off?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Mama Connagher Day 3

I had this started last night but forgot to post before I went to bed.  I was trying to finish the first major sex scene but didn’t quite make it yet.

About 4600 words.  I’m not entirely sure because my computer shut down on me while we were out last night so I can’t remember exactly how many words Scrivener said I had.  I learned something else about Jeb last night and had to go back and drop a few hints elsewhere to set it up.  Plus sex scenes can really be tough to write.  Hopefully I can finish it up today, but I’m braced for a smaller word count as a result.  But yay, Virginia and Jeb are finally doing the deed!!

Continuing the flashback excerpt from yesterday:

God, for a man who’d only spoken to her a handful of times, he knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted.  What they both wanted, evidently, because she moved further into the room, shifting so she could get a better blow across his back with her right hand.  The first sharp crack made her flinch as hard as he did at the impact.  Tears filled her eyes and her throat ached like he’d wrapped his fist around her neck instead of his cock.  She almost dropped the crop, her fingers numb and cold.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he growled out.  “Give me another good one.  Just one more, Princess.  That’s all I’ll need.”

His head dropped back, his body arching, his hips surging forward.  His hand pumped harder, his face dark and taut.  She swallowed hard and brought the crop down again on his broad shoulder.  He let out a gut-wrenching sound, like she’d jammed her hand down his throat and grabbed a fist-full of his belly to drag back out.  Spasms shook his lean frame as he spent himself, pulse after pulse that left her trembling and aching as if she’d taken a nasty fall off her horse.  And the red marks on his back.  She wanted to sob at what she’d done even though he’d found pleasure in it.

His bracing arm bent, using his entire forearm and not just his hand, as if his strength had given out.  He dropped his head against his arm and drew a shaking breath.  “Come here, darlin’.”

He didn’t turn around or reach for her, which made her glad.  She didn’t want to see his face right now, nor him, hers.  It was too much.  Too intimate and personal.  Instead, she buried her face against the velvet heat of his back.

“Don’t cry.  Please don’t regret what you gave me.”

She didn’t realize she was crying, but he must have felt the wetness of her tears against his back.  She lifted her face and impatiently wiped her eyes, but the sight of the welts she’d given him made a fresh wave of tears flood her eyes and she couldn’t stifle the pitiful little cry.

“Ah, Princess.” He sighed and lifted away from the wall, pressing back against her.  “Let me wash up so I can hold you.”

Awkward and shy like she’d never felt in her entire life, she stepped back and watched as he washed and dried his hands.  At least he’d tucked himself back into his pants, though his jeans still hung loose and open about his hips, only staying up thanks to an old cracked leather belt.  He’d undone the buckle and loosened it a few notches, but it held enough to keep his pants up.  She couldn’t help but run her eyes over the lean lines of his body, even though she didn’t have to look in the mirror to know she was fire-engine red.  He had the body of a man who’d worked hard his entire life.  Not an ounce of fat or softness on that wiry frame, and so damned tall she’d get a crick in her neck every time she had to glare at him.  He had a surprising amount of scars, too.  Had he been in knife fights or something?  God, what kind of man was he, really?  She didn’t have any idea.

He caught her looking in the mirror and let out a low laugh.  “You’re thinking I look like I’ve been in a war or two?  You’d be right, as long as you’re assuming the thing I battled was a rodeo.”

“You got all those scars in rodeos?”

Nodding, he turned around to face her, leaning back on the sink as if he was trying to make himself less tall and possibly threatening in the enclosed space.  “Sure did.  Mostly bull riding, but I busted my left arm and three ribs last time I rode a bronc.”  He touched the torn up skin on the inside of his left forearm.  “Bone poked through.  It was a mess.  Took months to heal and it still pains me some.”

“That’s why…”  Her tongue quit working but he caught her meaning and smiled slightly.

“That’s why I had to end up bracing my whole arm against the wall, rather than my palm.  The pressure on the bone started to hurt too much for me to concentrate on the other hurt.  The good hurt.”  He kept his gaze steady on her face. “The hurt you gave me.”

A thousand questions jammed together in her brain, but she could only voice one.  “Why?”

He shrugged and dropped his gaze to his palms, studying his hands like he’d never seen them before.  They were broad and large, rough and torn and calloused from a lifetime of wrangling critters, fixing fence, shoveling manure, and whatever else the job required.  “I don’t rightly know.  I just know that I’ve only rarely ever been able to come like that.  You might not believe me given all the ladies chasing cowboys at the rodeos, but that wasn’t ever for me.  I couldn’t enjoy it, not like a normal man.  I always need some kind of pain, and to find a woman who can understand that need and help me with it…”  He sighed again and fisted his hands, pushing up to his full height.  Though he didn’t dare look back into her face.  “I can’t thank you enough but you ain’t for me, Princess.”

She didn’t understand the panic that roared through her.  Instead of crying like a virgin, now she wanted to wail like a banshee at the thought of him walking away, even though she still didn’t know him.  Don’t I, though?  Don’t I know him better than most women, if I was able to do for him what others couldn’t?  “What?  Why?”

“I’m a rodeo bum,” he said it hard, baldly, his teeth grinding on each word like he was chewing on rocks.  “You’re a Princess, the rich boss’s daughter who rides a horse worth more than everything I own in this world a hundred times over.  A thousand.”


He laughed harshly and ran a hand through his sweaty hair.  It was odd to see him without his hat.  A permanent dent was worn into his dark hair from where the hat sat on his head.  He’d cropped his hair short with just a little fullness on the crown on his head, barely enough to even need a comb.  “So?  You said Colonel Healy would put a bullet in me for laying a hand on you.  What the hell is he going to do if he ever finds out what else we did?”

“That was different.”  Deliberately, she said it primly, which drew a snort from him.  “That was when I didn’t want you.  If I do want you, then Daddy couldn’t care less.”

Tyrell stilled, his sudden intensity searing her brain to ash.  “And do you want me?  Now?  Knowing what kind of man I am?”

Boldly, she ran her gaze over him from head to toe, taking in the narrowness of his hips and waist, the sagging jeans just barely keeping his modesty.  “Hmmm,” she hummed out as if deep in thought.  “Maybe.”

He growled and took a single step toward her before catching himself.  “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” she repeated.  “I’ll have to have another kiss or two to be sure.  Maybe more.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to sample me again,” he drawled, his voice low and deep.  It did crazy things to her insides, melting them into a puddle. “Run me through my paces.  See if I have the staying power for a woman like you.  I promise you that I have the endurance and the heart to last until I my breath stills forever and they put me in the ground.”

She took his invitation, stepping close enough to feel the heat rising of his body like a furnace.  He smelled like leather, butter soft and fine.  Funny how his boots were dried and caked in muck, his belt cracked, but she’d never seen a better cared for saddle and bridle than when he rode by.  She’d taken to asking him to polish her tack because no one else could get the same shine.  Not even her.  “A woman like me?”

“Most of the time, you’re going to take what you want and pity the fool who don’t get out of your way fast enough.  Other times, though, you want someone to reach out and risk everything he has just to feel the softness of your skin and smell the sweetness of your hair.  Even though it’ll rile you up and you’ll lay into him like an angry polecat.  Luckily that’s exactly what I want.”

Holding her breath, she laid her head on his chest.  His arms came around her, cocooning her in his strength and warmth.  With a shudder, she let out a sigh and relaxed into his embrace, letting him hold her as he’d promised.  He didn’t press the advantage, sensing her need for comfort and reassurance.  That he’d no more hate her for hurting him than she could hate him for needing it.


Mama Connagher Countdown Day 2

I have a title!!

The theme song is soooo damned important.  I swear, sometimes I can’t get anywhere with a book until I know what the theme song is.  The playlist so far had included Seven Spanish Angels by Willie Nelson and Ray Charles, Before the Next Teardrop Falls by Freddie Fender, and Desperado by the Eagles.  All good songs, all having something key to do with the story.

But it wasn’t *quite* enough.  Until I found Lady Down On Love by Alabama.  Ahhh, yes.  That was key.  Because now I have the title.

I needed something with You, I, Me, etc. in it to coordinate with the other Connagher titles.  I thought about some form of Dare Me, I Dare You, etc. because that does play a part (you’ll see that in this next excerpt), but all the good twists of that idea have already been done.

Finally, I settled on Never Let You Down.  I tweaked the opening scene to better reflect that line, and now I’m able to carry the theme forward.  *happy sigh*  I also figured Ty’s static trait and how I was going to use it as a message from beyond.  I knew he did *something* to signal his approval, but I had no idea what, exactly, until today.  How some of this works out is just magical.  I swear it’s not deliberate on my part!

It’s been a crazy, crazy night.  My wrists and eyes are killing me and I practically skipped dinner so I could write (thank God for leftovers).  I slept horribly last night because I kept writing scenes in my head, and today I used every spare moment I had to capture those ideas before they disappeared.  I laid down a rough sketch for the final Act’s plot too, but again, it’s rough.  There are many more scenes underneath that I’m still going to have to figure out.

I’m trying not to stress out too much about the structure yet, trusting in the magic and my gut to help me weave it all together.  I have a bunch of flashbacks written.  I have a bunch of story-within-the-story scenes written.  Where they go, exactly, I have no idea.  It’s the flow of those separate stories that matter.  I feel like I’m at the midway or even slightly behind almost two-thirds, but Virginia still hasn’t done the deed with Jeb.  So that’s a little worrying.  But again, I’m just trusting in the story.  They’ll take me where I need to go, and then once I finish it, I can make it all work even better.  I’ll see everything more clearly.

7668 words for the day and I’m honestly not ready to stop yet, even though my wrists say I should.  We’ll see.

Continuing the flashback scene from yesterday:

She didn’t pause, couldn’t hear his response if he had one, not over the thundering of her pulse. The stable door slammed behind her and she broke into a run. She wasn’t even sure what she was running from. Him? All he’d done was kiss her. Safely away, she could admit that he hadn’t hurt her. The misguided fool had only been trying to protect her. Then she’d beaten him with her crop. Pausing on the wraparound porch, she ducked into the shadows and watched the stable door, but he didn’t attempt to follow. Panting, she leaned her back against the wall of the house and tried to gather her thoughts.

Why on earth had he kissed her? She’d barely talked to him. Sure, she’d noticed the bright blue of his eyes. She’d caught him staring at her from beneath the shadowed brim of his hat several times. They’d exchanged a few “good mornings” and pleasant smiles. She’d even tried to take a few bites out of his calm, silent demeanor but he hadn’t risen to the bait. That’s it. Certainly nothing like the years of polite social events she’d attended with Jebadiah. They’d danced together countless times, her hand in his, his other hand in the small of her back. But her pulse hadn’t ever hammered like this, her breathing coming fast and frantic. It hadn’t just been fear. The long lines of his body had been nice. Extremely nice. And his mouth. She’d dreamed about kissing and it’d never been like that. His mustache had poked her lips and tickled her nose and somehow she hadn’t cared one bit.

She caught herself absently stroking her fingers over her lips while she stared back at the stable. She wanted to go back and give him a piece of her mind. Maybe he’d try to steal another kiss. But was it safe? Perhaps she ought to wait until someone was around to hear her scream. Just in case.

Fool. The last thing she wanted was to end up hurt and possibly dead. For one thing, Miss Belle would never let her lie in her grave peacefully, but would harass her daughter until she herself passed just for having the audacity to die first.

Virginia dropped her hand to the door handle but froze. Dancer. She’d left him out of his stall. That sealed it. She had to make sure her prized jumper got put away safely. Head up, refusing to look left and right like she was scared of her own shadow, she marched back to the stable and opened the door without trying to be quiet. The aisle light was off and no horse seemed to be running around looking for a treat. Keeping her steps light and soft, she walked down to Dancer’s stall and found him settled back in for the night, his lead rope curled up neatly on the hook just as she would have left it if she’d been in her right mind. At least Tyrell had the good sense to care about the welfare of a horse. She’d give him that. But where had he gone? He could have gone out the back door, but that seemed a little cowardly for the man who boldly stood up to the boss’s only daughter just to make sure she didn’t break her neck riding her horse in the dark.

The light was on in the small lavatory at the rear of the stable, the door barely cracked. She’d never used it herself, for fear one of the hands would amble by and decide to test the door’s rusted lock. Creeping closer, she tried to see if he was in there. What he might be doing. She could see a shadow moving slightly through the crack, but not much else. He was in there, but what he was doing, she couldn’t say. Not without pushing the door open. She debated with herself as she drew close enough to put her hand on the door, but surely he wasn’t doing anything too private if he hadn’t bothered to shut and lock the door.

Then she heard a low, muffled sound. A cry, though she’d never heard a big strapping man make such a sound before. Could she have hurt him? Seriously? She’d thumped him in the head pretty hard.

Quietly, she pushed the door open further and froze.

Tyrell Connagher stood over the toilet, one hand braced on the wall as if he was using the facility. He’d taken off his shirt for some reason and the angry red welts she’d left on his back struck her to her core. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her mouth to apologize when she finally noticed his jeans were jerked open. He ran his cock through his fist, the muscles in his forearm, biceps, and back flexing deliciously beneath the tanned planes of his lean body. She couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to look away. Until he spoke.

“I had to see the marks you left. Then I couldn’t stop.”

Trembling, she jerked her gaze up and away from her first tantalizing view of a man’s private parts. She met his gaze in the cracked, streaked mirror, sure she was blushing but unable to stop herself. A knot swelled on the side of his head, but the only thing burning in his eyes was hunger. Not pain. Certainly not delirium.

“If you’ll hit me again, Princess, then I’ll be able to finish quicker.”

He wanted her to hit him? Again?

Numbly, she glanced down at her left hand to find the crop still gripped in her white-knuckled fist. She was surprised she hadn’t dropped it in her frantic retreat. She looked back at his shoulder and tried to imagine striking him again, not in anger this time, not some mindless reaction to frustration at so many things in her life that she couldn’t control. But deliberately. At his request. She’d never hit another person like that. Sweat trickled down her spine, making her shiver, but her body blazed with heat. Embarrassment, yes, but something else. Something that made her transfer the crop to her right hand so she could lay a better blow on his back. If that’s what she decided to do.

She checked his face in the mirror again, half convinced he had to be yanking her chain. His blue eyes were darker like the midnight sky, the skin tight across his cheeks, his lips tight. No teasing. No. Rather, he looked like he was on the verge of something that would change their lives forever.

“I dare you, Princess. Hit me again.”

The Mama C Countdown

I’m in the hard push to finish this book.  I’m determined to have it finished, polished, and submitted by the end of this month.  Sooner if I can manage it!  So it’s balls to the walls.  I want 2014 to start out with a bang.

3055 words today.  It’s a good start.

To keep myself motivated, I’ll try to post little snippets as I go along.  I’ve only shared the first draft of the opening scene with you so far.  I mentioned that I was going to have to go back and explore Ty and Virginia’s relationship thirty years ago… so here’s the first part of how they got together.

First draft, subject to revision.

According to her fashionable mother, seventeen-year-old Virginia should have been interested in shopping and boys, not show horses.  But horses were her life.  She’d rather spend a whole day sweating in the ring with a stubborn horse than talk for five minutes with most of the humans of her acquaintance.

The recently hired tall, lanky handyman was one exception.  For one thing, he hardly ever spoke.  When he did, he revealed a surprisingly sharp wit that as often as not infuriated her even while she had to grudgingly admit he was exactly correct.   As far as she knew, he was only a few years older than her, but he’d had a hard life compared to hers of privilege and ease.  He’d roamed the country chasing rodeos, and when he ran out of money, he paused in some town and got a job, working just long enough to earn enough cash to put a little more gas in his old beat up Ford and haul his roping horse to the next dusty falling-down arena.

He’d been more than forthright with Colonel Healy when he’d taken this job, but Daddy had hired him anyway.  Virginia still couldn’t quite believe her hardcore by-the-book father had hired such a bum, but she had to grudgingly admit Tyrell Connagher did more than his fair share of work on the ranch and he never stuck his nose up at a job.

Even when she deliberately sent him to do something disgusting or petty, just to see if she could get a rise out of him.  Instead, he’d push his sweat-stained straw hat back on his head and look up at her with that leathered tanned face and say, “Yes’m.”  The last few times, she’d sworn there was a twinkle in his eyes.  Deep blue eyes the color of ocean on a perfect sunny day.

She pushed such a ridiculous thought away as she led Dancer out of his stall.  It was pitch dark outside and the ranch was silent.  Miss Belle and Daddy had gone out to some charity ball, both acting like it was the crime of the century for their only daughter to refuse to go.  When they knew she hated such fancy events.  All of the major families of the area would be there, the doctors and lawyers, the politicians.  Ugh.  All fake smiles and sparkling gowns and expensive perfumes while they plopped down a couple of thousand bucks for some charity none of them really cared about.

Then Miss Belle had dared say that Dr. Garrett’s son expected her to be there, like Jebadiah had bothered to ask her on a date or even spoken to her about the event.  Everyone assumed they were a “thing” when nothing could be further from the truth.  Before he’d left for college, everyone had kept checking her finger like they expected him to pop the question any day.  Now that he came home only for holidays, it was even worse.  Those snide smiles as if they knew he’d only come home to see her.

They weren’t even dating.  They’d never dated.  They’d just happened to attend a hundred charity balls over the years because the Healys and Garretts were friends.

Great, just great.  I’m engaged and the man’s never even asked me out.

She turned around and ran into a solid wall of muscle.  She jumped back with a squeak that made her blush, even while she tipped her chin up.  “Get out of my way.”

“Now hold on, Princess,” Tyrell drawled out.  “Surely you aren’t thinking about heading out in the middle of the night.”

Princess?  She couldn’t help but snort.  “What I do is none of your business.”

He pushed his hat back further on his head.  In the moonlight, his eyes were dark and intent on her face.  “It is my business when I know for a fact your folks are gone and most of the other hands have the night off.  So if you get lost or hurt out there in the dark, I’m the only one here to make sure you get what you need.”

His words made her shiver, as if he meant something else entirely.  She was suddenly aware of his size.  The fact that he was more hobo than respectable man, that he’d only been working for them a few weeks.  Nobody knew what kind of man he was, not really.  For all they knew, he was wanted in a dozen states for petty crimes.  Or worse.

And here I am alone with him.

Fear curdled in her stomach, which only served to piss her off.  She hated to be afraid.  When she’d stared at her first triple-pole jump and felt that sick pit in her stomach, she’d marched over to her horse and jumped it a dozen times until she’d conquered the fear.  She refused to ever let fear cripple her.  As Daddy always said, it was time to saddle up and ride on anyway.

Dancer snorted and pranced sideways, picking up on her anxiety.  He almost tugged the lead out of her hand, but she couldn’t spare a glance at him, not with this danger threatening her.  She clutched the crop in her left hand, glad she’d snagged it out of habit.  “I told you to get out of my way.”

“No’m.  I’m sorry but I can’t.”

Ignoring him, she led Dancer forward, planning to use the horse to push him out of the way, but he was on to her and stepped across the aisle, closer to her.  She started to turn, swinging Dancer his direction, but her horse was too polite to step on a human, even if the man might cause her harm.

His fingers closed around hers in a punishing grip, trying to yank Dancer’s rope free.

Panic flared but her anger burned hotter.  None of the help ever laid a hand on her.  They were too respectful—and too scared of her Marine father.  If she said boo, every man she’d ever met jumped.  Even Jebadiah Garrett, the boy she’d watched turn into a man who was too damned polite to even ask her on a date away from their parents.  Before she could stop to think, she brought the crop down in a sharp crack on Tyrell’s left shoulder.  “Get your filthy hands off me!”

Instead of letting her go, he clamped his hands on both of her shoulders and hauled her up against the long, lean lines of his body.  God, he was so tall, a tower of strength that sent her pulse hammering frantically.  She brought the crop down again, swinging awkwardly against his back, but he didn’t let her go.  In fact, he bent down and slanted his mouth over hers.

He was hungry, hard, his lips and mouth melting away the fear into something else that was wild and reckless and still pissed.  She swung her arm up toward his head, the crop handle clubbing him against his temple and knocking his hat off.  She wrenched out of his grip and stomped away.  “Pack your bags and be gone before Daddy gets home or he’ll shoot your rangy hide.”

Giveaway: Lord Regret’s Price

LordRegretsPrice72webHappy birthday, Lord Regret!  To celebrate Lord Regret’s Price’s release from Samhain, I’m offering several prizes, including:

A free electronic copy (any format) of Lord Regret’s Price

A free electronic copy (any format) of Lady Doctor Wyre (book 1, if you need it)

A custom Her Grace’s Stable make-up size bag created by Haut Totes filled with pens, bookmarks, etc.

Winner’s choice $25 gift certificate to any online ebook retailer (Amazon, B&N, etc.).

I’ll ship the bag anywhere on the planet and you can comment on this blog post as many times as you’d like.  BONUS: Post a comment on this blog post with any online review or rating you post for an extra entry.

Just enter using Rafflecopter below!

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Reviewers: Lord Regret’s Price Releases Next Week

LordRegretsPrice72webIt feels like his day has been a long time coming, but Lord Regret’s Price is just around the corner! (Next week, dies!!) If you enjoyed Lady Doctor Wyre, I hope you’ll give Lord Regret a chance. There are more hijinks and inventions, a new world to explore, and yes, more relationship exploration between Charlie, Sig, and Gil. Yes, they had their “happy” ending in Lady Wyre, but committed relationships take a lot of work to keep healthy and strong, even more so in a ménage.

Did you ever wonder exactly who Sig was? Which House he could claim? How exactly did ladies come to rule in Britannia? It’s all revealed in Lord Regret’s Price!

So if you’re able to post a review anywhere online, please drop me a note with your desired format and I’ll gladly provide a review copy.

Here’s what Vivian Archer had to say on GoodReads:

Burkhart can be depended on to deliver strong characters and a high level of sensuality and that is evident here. The one great torment? Gil. The tension between Gil and Sig is killing me. Sweet mercy above.
He had the distinct longing to touch those marks and see what else she’d done to Sig.

This is beginning to feel like the Dance of the Seven Veils, and being the barbaric heathen that I am…I want to rip them all off at once.

Recommended for steampunk devotees, cultural melange lovers and polyamory fans