About Me

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Welcome to Heartstrings.Thanks for stopping by. I am a mother, a grandmother, and an author of historical western romance and contemporary romantic fiction. Ethan's Heart, book one of The Blackwood Brothers' series won the 2017 Maggie Award for Excellence. Book two, Escorting Darby Bloom, features Blackwood brother Isaac and will be released in December 2017. Stay tuned for more books in this series. If contemporaries are more your thing, check out Carly's Rule and Dusty's Fate. They are both Amazon Best-Sellers.
Showing posts with label Author Excerpts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Author Excerpts. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Interview with author Karen Hudgins


Includes an excerpt from her 2013 release 
When Hearts Speak


Vickie: What inspired you to write your first book?

Karen: Inspiration rose out of discovering that I really liked fiction writing, and this particular kind of creativity to the max. I so enjoyed slipping into the zone, creating something from nothing, and coming out on the other side with story pages that made me feel good and pleased others. I had started out small (with many rewrites), one page about a woman in an estate garden waiting for someone. It took all day with a yellow pad and me still in my pajamas when my husband came home from work. By then, I was completely hooked on fiction writing and wanted to do so much more, which led to novel writing and learning as much as I could about the craft and the business. As a result, my first completed manuscript, Next Year's Promise, mostly set in Australia, was published in 2001. My sixth novel, When Hearts Speak, was published July 2013.

Vickie: What or who has been the biggest influence in your writing career and why?

Karen:  Reader appreciation. The personal satisfaction of creating stories always calls me back to write another one.

Karen won 3rd place in 2012 The Heart of Excellence Readers' Choice Award for her book, Best Man. 



Vickie: What is the most difficult part of the writing process for you, and how do you get through it?

Karen: I've found different challenges along the way. In the beginning, I had enrolled in Novel Writing at Rice University Continuing Education program. Reading my work before a group was difficult for me. Also, learning the element of dialogue. I just persisted with both of them and eventually prevailed.

Now, I think my biggest challenge is coming up with romantic conflicts that are credible enough for readers to buy into for the length of a 90K word book with related subplots. Another difficulty, which felt painful, was having to shut down the total immersion process to go to my day job when all my writing doors were open, my imagination was ripe, and content was flowing full blast. Knowing I could write again in the evening helped me cope. Book promotion, which comes with the territory, is still a bit of a challenge. I'm trying different methods.

Vickie: What advice or tips would you like to give, one writer to another?

Karen: For new writers I suggest: Accept and learn how to use constructive criticism. Practice will help you with this. Write as much as you can, every day, if possible. Make an honest effort to learn from others and seek out learning resources. Pick a genre and read, read, read. Spend time with other writers. Set up your own writing space that you come back to every time you write. Keep your chin up. Know what you're doing is NOT easy. Persevere. Finish writing a book, then celebrate big time. Learn the craft first, then the business aspects. Both are changing and immense. Expect to devote serious time to this, years, in fact. Finally, love writing for all that it is, and what it is not--or leave it . . . but keep reading.

Thanks, Vickie, for inviting me to share some of my writing life with you and others. Making writer friends is the best side effect of doing what we do. So good to know you, and best of luck to you with your new first book!

Vickie: Karen, thank you so much for allowing me to pick your brain on writing and for sharing this with others.

BIO
Karen Hudgins began writing in the early nineties, and the first novel she wrote was published in 2001. She writes romantic, character-driven stories laced with mystery or suspense, history, humor, often a touch of magic, and always finishes with a happy ending. Researching places, history, and lines of work through talking with people is always fascinating to her.

Northeast Florida is now Karen's home region where she and her husband explore the abundant natural, cultural, and historical features that feed her writer's spirit and imagination. She's a mom and grandmother. Her degree in Behavioral Science helps her create story people and their conflicts. She's a dog owner, beach-goer, reader, and movie-watcher. She likes rock, country music, and the Symphony.

Karen is a member of Romance Writers of America and National Association of Professional Women. She has worked on staff for private universities; the most recent, Washington University in St. Louis. She also enjoys digital photography. People with vision forever impress her, as do moms and dads who read to their young children.

Karen's time with writers, aspiring authors, readers, and other industry folk never proves dull. She's thankful for her writing life and especially for people who enjoy her stories. She wishes her inkwell never goes dry.

Visit Karen's website at  http://www.karenhudgins.com/
Website update in progress. Please come visit again soon for current info and Pics.


When Hearts Speak
Blurb

Sarah Grace Mayhew, a southern widow, avoids new love. When enigmatic Wyatt Harper lifts her from a fountain, he gets under her wet skin. Yet, how can she love the man whose phantom enemy also targets her? And why should Wyattt cherish a woman tied to his family's worst nightmare? Only their hearts can say.  

Excerpt
         

          Shortly after sunset Sarah Grace marveled that the tent was up, and Wyatt had hung lanterns in the low pine branches. She was eating a plate of barbecue beef brisket, corn bread, and quartered potatoes that Wyatt had carried in with him. She drank country fruit wine from a faded blue porcelain metal cup.  
          A long time had passed since Sarah Grace sat on a blanket spread on a log in her jeans, girly plaid shirt, Nikes®, and a light jacket. This almost seemed surreal.
          “What a difference eighteen miles makes,” Sarah Grace said quietly, taking it all in.  
          “I thought you’d like it here,” he said. “These are the backwoods to my home away from home. It’s a little cabin along Sandy Creek.”
          “Nice natural landscaping,” Sarah Grace remarked and licked stickiness from her fingers.
          “It’s about as natural as it gets.”
          “I like natural.”
          “I remember.” He moved closer to her and touched her leg with his. 
          “Is there a special reason why we’re here?” Sarah Grace asked thoughtfully. “Seriously.”
          Wyatt blew the flame off two more marshmallows and gave her one.
          “Seriously, yes. I wanted for us to have some time away,” he said. “Away from work problems, public parties, and family pressures. Let’s just be us and watch the sunrise together up here on the only decent hill in this whole county.” 
          Sarah Grace smiled around her marshmallow. He made them perfectly--charred. Also, he was right. Being away with each other was the best filter she’d seen in a long time. “I wouldn’t have thought of this,” she said. She stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. She and Wyatt weren’t that far out of town. Yet, she was already feeling a difference. 
          “You make a good fire,” she added. “Were you a Boy Scout?”
          “Nope, Grandpa Joel taught me. He was Grandma Bunny’s husband,” he said, propping the long fork against a rock. “The secret’s in the stacking and dry wood. I keep some under a tarp by the big oak tree.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a cave up here too. Fearless Alan checked it out once and got a bat scratch.”
          Sarah Grace cringed and rolled her eyes. “Boys.”
          “What? You don’t like boys?” Wyatt teased.
          Looking up at the moon, she flung back, “I do, but it’s a little vampire in the making that gets me going.”
          Wyatt laughed and touched her hair. “I’ve been missing you.”
          Sarah Grace squeezed his hand. Keeping things very loose for a while helped her. Now being close to him like this reminded her why it was worth the effort. Wyatt made her feel chosen and cherished. He moved his fingers to her cheek and stopped at the corners of her mouth.
          “C’mon, let’s go see the owls.” He got up and took her hand, grabbed a lantern from a branch, and led her onto a narrow path of chipped wood. He urged her to be quiet, and soon enough they stopped at a small stone bridge over the creek. She held the lantern while he drew a flashlight from his jacket pocket and shone the beam upward into the tallest pine tree. Large, beautiful golden eyes radiated down at them. “There’s a family up there. Chicks every spring,” he said.
          “Their camouflaging is amazing,” she said.
          He embraced her with his free arm, and she again was transported into his world. The more he revealed of himself the more she liked him. He was respectful of her and nature. He took things a little at a time, not at a reckless pace. He fed her spirit with gentleness. He fueled her desires with roguishness. With his eyes he read her needs, with his spirit he met them. She was feeling blessed tonight to be in his company.
          On the way back to the campsite, he flashed the light into the trees. Bright, silvery eyes popped into view.  “Deer,” she said in awe, counting three. “This is awesome.”
          Wyatt swiveled the light beam onto the path. “I should come more often. Last time the whole family was here for my dad’s birthday campout a couple of years ago. A little black bear visited us at the cabin. Mother dropped the strawberry basket on the porch. So the bear stuck around for a while.” He pushed aside a long branch for her to pass by. “Say, are you ready for a warm-up? The coffee pot has about two cups in it yet.”
         As the night grew darker Wyatt pulled her in for warmth and comfort beside him. They shared more stories, including a ghost story for good measure. Ruby had its share of them. The coffee was finished. The breeze around them whooshed through the pine tops, and the lanterns were not as bright. But who needed them for kissing?
          Wyatt turned and held her chin with his fingers and fired a sound kiss on her lips. Her need for love soared higher and deeper by the second. Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he let his passion take over.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013


Chapter One of  
Knight & Day by Kathryn J. Bain

Winner of the free download of Knight & Day is
EARL STAGGS
Congratulations!

 Chapter One 




Why does this always happen to me? It's hard enough to keep God's commandments, at least the easy ones, without running into someone who died. It's like I attract them. Maybe I should find a support group. "Hi, my name is Trubleh Lawrence, and I find dead bodies."

I'd run screaming if I wasn't used to it.

Gerald Simpson had been looking to hire someone for his private investigation office. The ad read:

Receptionist for small firm. No experience necessary.

About to turn thirty, newly divorced, with no money or marketable skills, it fit my qualifications perfectly. I'd arrived at fifteen 'til for my nine o'clock appointment. My daddy said if you come early, it'd show them you're eager. If I'd waited, in this case, another applicant might have found Mr. Simpson.

When I arrived, the door stood ajar. The lock clicked behind me when I shut the door. Not a common occurrence for most businesses. Maybe private investigators need to take special precautions from husbands they've caught cheating.

Besides, Mr. Simpson could just be asleep and have his head on his desk. For all I knew, he might have had a long night out surveilling or whatever investigators do.

I'd been dealing with a cold the last week which threw my sense of smell off or the odor would have warned me when I entered the office.

I walked around to nudge him awake and saw the bloody hole in the back of his skull. My ick factor rose. Gray powder burns told me the shot had been up close. He looked like he'd been a large man when he was alive. Of course, the bloating from decomposition might have caused some of that.

A sheriff's daughter with an adeptness born of years of tagging with my father on cases, I scanned the room. Not much to look at. A long row of filing cabinets aligned the opposite wall. Mr. Simpson's desk appeared to be twice the size as the one up front. I assumed the smaller one would've been mine if he'd given me the job.

I sighed, resigned to the fact I'd be forever unemployed.

Mr. Simpson's purplish face and pale lips said I had more important things to think about. He'd probably died within the past hour. Why couldn't I be late? Tattooing from the gunpowder particles surrounded the wound, but no soot. The gun, a Smith & Wesson five round .38 Special laid at least ten feet from the body. The pink grip announced loud and clear that a woman more than likely killed him. Lucky me. I happened to be female.

I pulled out my cell.

"911 operator. Is this an emergency?"

"Yes. Somebody's been shot in the River City Plaza on Prudential Drive. Suite 613."

Once I hung up, a noise in the corridor drew my attention. The doorknob jerked back and forth, then the scraping of something in the lock.

My heart somersaulted while my mind raced with possibilities. A robber? Not likely. The killer? A better bet.

A small closet in the corner seemed a good place to hide. My heart and I raced toward it. A beige raincoat suspended by a wire hook appeared to float in air. I guess that's standard wear in the P.I. business. The small space carried a musty smell. I scooted further back into the closet and pulled the door shut behind me. The only light came in from a slit at the floor.

Please God, don't let my stomach growl. I wished I'd eaten breakfast.

I tried not to breathe too loud. File drawers opened and closed. Papers shuffled. Then footsteps neared my hiding spot. I grabbed my large green purse with both hands and held my breath. He might kill me, but I'd leave a few marks before I went.

A rush of adrenaline ran through me and pushed my lungs against my rib cage. The door handle twisted, and I flung against it. I had hoped to knock the other person down. It didn't happen. Could have to do with him being larger than me. A lot larger. He stared at me. I stared at him. Finally, I yelled and whacked him in the head with my purse. He went down.

Muscles were no match for a large bag with a flat iron tucked inside.

I leapt over him and ran out the front, knocking on every door on my way through the hallway to draw attention. Around the corner, the elevator dinged, and two police officers rushed off.

"He's in there." I panted. "Another man came in and started searching the place."

I trailed behind the policemen who had their guns out. I'd have mine out, too, if I'd brought it. I also wouldn't want a lot of questions since I still needed a job. Another interview waited for me after lunch. When we returned, Mr. Simpson remained where I left him.

However, the stranger I'd hit on the head had disappeared.
****
Two hours later I sat in a small diner in downtown Jacksonville, eating a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich. I had a half hour until my next appointment. I'd been unemployed for three months now, and my savings disappeared faster than the chips on my plate. I glanced at my ringing cell. Caller ID announced my best friend, Kay, who called after every interview.

"No, I didn't get the job," I said before she had a chance to speak. I explained to tell her about the dead body. "I do owe you a debt of gratitude though. The purse you gave me for my birthday last year helped me get away."

"I told you that you need a different bag for every occasion. And a large one obviously makes a good weapon." Kay, a purse aficionado, had an unusual style for just about every situation. Who knew where she came up with them all? They also looked expensive. Good thing she married rich, instead of for love like I did.

I drank down some of my root beer. "In a few minutes I'm heading to a lawyer's office across the street. Pray I get this position. Poor Gretchen's getting tired of store brand dog food."

The phone beeped in my ear.

"I've got to go. My mom's calling."

"Good luck. And phone me when you get done," she said before hanging up.

"Hey, Mom."

"What's wrong? Your grandmother said she felt a disturbance."

Grandma, a million-year-old full-blooded Choctaw Indian, claimed to have special powers of vision and feelings. Most of them pertained to me. I just wished she'd stop telling my mom about her prophecies. If she'd tell Grandpa instead, I'd never have a problem. He knew how to keep a secret.

I went on to explain finding Mr. Simpson's body.

"Why, oh why am I cursed?" Mom spoke in that dramatic fashion she learned from doing school plays. "Why do I get the daughter who finds dead people?"

"I hate to cut this short," I said. "But I have another interview. I'll call you later. Love you." My thumb slid across the off button before she could say anything further.

I took the elevator in the Glade Towers to the fourteenth floor of Knight & Day, P.A. The writing on the outside window said they practiced criminal, worker's compensation, elder law, and personal injury law.

A large wood door remained between me and my future career. I entered and "oohed" and "aahed." I'd never seen anything this beautiful in Pâle Bayuk, Louisiana where I'd grown up. The reception room had cherry wood flooring throughout. A leather sofa and two matching seats surrounded a glass coffee table. Too bad a professionally dressed woman took every available spot. Each held a resume in her hand, at least two pages long. They all had way more experience than I did.

I fought the temptation to run. Maybe I could find a space in the corner to hide until they called my name.

Two large desks, matching the flooring, were on opposite sides of the back wall. Each had a telephone and computer. The one on the left had no papers or paraphernalia to show anyone used it.

At the other, an African-American woman appeared to be pulling her brown hair out. It probably had a lot to do with the ringing phone. It just wouldn't stop. An engraved nameplate read Sandra Kastanza. She no sooner answered one line, and then another would ring.

She grimaced at me. I'm sure she thought to herself, "Great, just one more thing I have to take care of." The phone went on with its unrelenting noise, and Sandra continued to push her hand through her hair. I strolled over and waited with a pasted smile on my face.

The phone rang. "Please hold." It rang again. "Can you hold?" Sandra looked up at me with pleading eyes. "I'll be with you in just a moment." Her fingers pressed buttons faster than she spoke.

Sandra's dark skin contrasted nicely against a watermelon colored suit. However, her brown eyes narrowed, and a crease ran across her forehead. If she kept that up, she'd have wrinkles before her next birthday. Sandra answered one of the lines. When she hung up from that one, she answered another. Then another. This time the person she spoke with apparently wouldn't let her off. Her other two lines rang again.

I shook my head and recalled the words my daddy told me. "Show initiative. Don't be too proud to take out the garbage. It shows them you're indispensable."

So that's what I did. Showed initiative. Really, I pitied Sandra. Any minute now she'd end up in a rubber room from the ringing. If she didn't, I sure would, so I marched over to the other desk, punched blinking line one and said, "Knight & Day, would you please hold?" Then I grabbed the other line. "Knight & Day, how may I help you?" I spoke in the most professional voice I could muster with my nerves all-a-twitter.

"Is William available?"

"I'm afraid not, but if you give me your number, I'll be sure to give him a message." I took down the man's information then did the same for the other person I'd placed on hold.

I glanced over at Sandra and gave her a grin.

She mouthed, "Thank you."

I may not have the ability of the others, but I had Sandra on my side.

She finally got her caller off the line. "It's been like this all day. I told them not to put that ad in the paper."

The phone rang again. She let out a weighted breath then answered. After listening to the caller, she announced, "I'm afraid the position has been filled." She winked at me and disconnected. "I see you know your way around an office."

"To be honest, I don't." I lowered my voice so the others seated within twenty feet couldn't hear. "You just needed someone to lend a hand so I thought I'd give you one of mine." I handed her my one page resume. "As you can see, it's not much."

A lady in a nice black skirted-suit glided out from the back. From the huge smile on her face, her interview must have gone well. I looked down at my flared brown skirt, pink sweater, and brown blazer one shade lighter than the skirt. I didn't come close to fitting in with this crowd.

"Wait right here." Sandra got up and rushed to the back. Her heels had to be at least three inches high and matched the skirt that went to mid-thigh.

She returned moments later beaming from ear to ear.

"Mr. Day will see you now."

I glanced over at the five women seated in the lobby. They each shot me a dirty look. One that said if they'd known answering a stupid phone would have gotten them in, they'd have done it.

Sandra led me to a large office with a window view of the St. Johns River. Inside was what you would expect from a law office. Law books, large desks and an older man sitting in a high-back chair. The place smelled of leather and money.

Only one document sat on the desk in front of a balding man of about sixty. My resume. Very few files littered a side credenza. No loose papers anywhere in the office. The place was meticulous. Degrees, plagues, and awards dangled on the back wall.

He rose and extended his hand, which I accepted.

"I'm Mr. Day. Have a seat." He used an opened palm to point to a chair across from him. I ventured to guess he stood less than six feet tall. He wore a gray suit and an orange and blue tie. Obviously a University of Florida fan. I figured yelling out for my Louisiana Tigers might not be a good idea right now. His crisp sapphire eye color would draw anyone's attention. Probably a good thing when you work in front of a jury.

"Hmm. Trouble, is that a nickname?"

"Actually, it's pronounced 'true blay'. It's French." I hoped he didn't speak French, or I'd have to explain how after being four weeks late, twenty-two hours in labor, and only willing to come by cesarean section, my mom named me Trouble with a French twist.

"Unique." He nodded. "You don't have much experience." He turned the resume page over.

Did he truly think I'd write on the back? I may not be very professionally dressed, but I'm not dumb.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

"I moved here recently from Louisiana. I came from a small town, and there wasn't much in the way of jobs to be had."

"What brought you to Jacksonville?"

"My mother came here quite a few years ago. I decided to visit and liked it enough to stay." No point in telling him I'd actually run away from home after my divorce.

"Hmm." He must have said it twenty times as he looked over my resume. "Sandra seems to like you the best out of all our interviewees. She's been with us about nine years, and you'll be working alongside her." He let out a slight laugh. "And she's made it clear if we hired one of those stuck-up women in the waiting area, she'll walk out."

I tried not to get too enthusiastic in case I'd misinterpreted what he said.

"The job pays ten dollars an hour to start. You'll be on a ninety day trial period. After that, you'll get a raise and benefits will take effect." He rose. "If you want it, the job's yours. You can start tomorrow."

"I want it." I fought the urge to jump up and hug him.

"Just keep it quiet. I'd hate to have a stampede from those waiting to see me." He winked.

On my way out, I stopped beside Sandra's desk. She cradled the handset between her ear and shoulder. I mouthed the words "Thank you," before I left.

"Yes!" I leapt into the air.

The elevator doors slid opened not even a second after I landed. The man who'd been searching Mr. Simpson's file cabinets stepped out.

Before I could say anything, he hauled me inside the elevator with him.

BLURB 

A no man policy doesn’t count when someone’s trying to kill you. A name can mean a lot. You expect Jasper to be a CEO of a company. Name your kid Phineas, well, he’ll get beat up a lot. Name your daughter Trubleh (true blay), and you’ll get nothing but trouble. Trubleh Lawrence makes a habit out of discovering dead bodies. When the police look to her as a suspect, she has no choice but to search for the killer. If being a suspect isn’t bad enough, she has to deal with a grandmother who has visions, a grandfather who wants to buy a speedboat, a co-worker who makes the Wicked Witch of the West look like Shirley Temple, and a guy who constantly reminds her that celibacy is hard when a hot male is around.

BIO

     Kathryn J. Bain began writing more than ten years ago. Her first release, Breathless, came out January 13, 2012. Her novella, Game of Hearts, was released in March 2012 followed by her inspirational romance suspense Catch Your Breath.
     She is the former President of Florida Sisters in Crime and Membership Director for Ancient City Romance Authors. She is currently the Public Relations Director for Ancient City Romance Authors.
     To survive and pay bills, she has been a paralegal for over twenty years and works for an attorney who specializes in elder law.
     She has two daughters and a dog named Gretchen. Her first grandchild is due in 2013.
     Kathryn grew up in Coeur d' Alene, Idaho. In 1981, she moved to Boise, but apparently it wasn't far enough south, because two years later, she headed to Jacksonville, Florida and has lived in the sunshine ever since.
 
Visit Kathryn at her website: KathrynJBain.com
Or through Facebook: Kathryn J. Bain  

Knight & Day is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Chapter One of Forever Fall by Elizabeth Sinclair


Want to win an autographed set of three 
 Hawks Mountain Books? 


Read this first chapter of FOREVER FALL by Elizabeth Sinclair and answer the question in red below in the comments.

Who is the accountant for the Carson Board of Education?

The winner of the 3 autographed books is Kathy Bain. Congratulations, Kathy!
The answer to the question is Charles Henderson.


CHAPTER 1

“It’s simple, Luc, if this woman gets her way, I’ll see to it that your contract as principal of Carson High School isn’t renewed.”  Asa Watkins, the Superintendent of Carson High School’s Board of Education, folded his hands over his thickening middle, crossed his legs and assumed a self-satisfied demeanor.
For Lucas Michaels, the high school principal, the posh offices of Carson Savings and Loan seemed suddenly stifling.  He adjusted his position in the cushy, leather chair. Until this moment, Asa had toyed with Luc, hinting at the consequences of not supporting him in his bid to stop the introduction of baby simulators into the school’s family planning classes. Now, the gloves were off, and there was no mistaking the superintendent’s intent.
“And exactly how do you plan on doing that?  I believe it takes the vote of the entire Board to dismiss my contract renewal.”
Asa smiled, his expression reminding Luc of a cat that had just finished a big bowl of rich cream.  “I’m not without influence on the Board.  I hold a number of the mortgages in this town.”  The smile faded into an expression of self-assured arrogance. 
It sickened Luc that Asa had no qualms about using his financial hold on the other Board members to achieve his goal.
Asa waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.  “They’re all lemmings.  They follow the leader where ever he chooses to lead them.”  The look of arrogance intensified.  “In this instance, I am the leader, and I do not intend to take them in a direction that will drain funds from the athletic department’s budget.”
“If your influence is all that great, why not just cut to the chase and talk them out of supporting it?”  Luc struggled to keep his absolute distaste for this arrogant, pompous jerk under wraps and not bound across the desk to pop him in the mouth.
Asa’s dark brows arched.  His beady, gray-eyed gaze bore into Luc.  “I don’t have to tell you that the people of Carson put great stock in our outstanding record of obtaining athletic scholarships.  Why, half of them wouldn’t be able to send their kids to college at all without them.”  His expression grew hard.  He leaned forward and glared at Luc over his pristine oak desk.  “I intend to run for mayor in the upcoming election, and I don’t want my record blackened by wasting money on something as asinine as buying dolls for teenagers to play house with.  That said, neither do I want to go down in Carson’s history as the man who condoned teenage pregnancy.”
Luc flashed him a sardonic grin.  “You’d rather it be me who holds that distinction.”
In every situation, his military father had told Luc, there is always someone who is expendable.  It seemed Luc had been assigned that role.  Still, the bad taste that had flooded his mouth about the same time he’d received Asa’s summons returned and intensified.
“If I agree to do this . . . .”  In an effort to keep his true feelings hidden, Luc casually brushed a piece of lint off the cuff of his navy suit jacket.  “Exactly how would you suggest I go about it?”
Asa’s smile held an almost fiendish satisfaction.  “I’m sure that between now and the Board meeting next week, you’ll come up with some solid arguments against Ms. James’ harebrained notion of spending bundles of money on her robot dolls.”
It would seem that if Luc wanted to keep his job, he didn’t have a choice in the matter.  Though he hated himself and Asa Watkins for the position in which he found himself, Luc had to consider the consequences of not complying with Asa’s demands. 
Luc treasured the life he’d made for himself in Carson: the first stable home he’d ever known, good friends, a job he loved.  Could he give all that up for the sake of a woman who wanted to introduce some dolls into the curriculum?  After all, there were already effective forms of birth control and family planning taught in the school.  It wasn’t as if he’d be leaving the kids with nothing.  Still, he hated buckling in to Asa.  However, left with little choice . . . .
Luc forced a smile.  “I’ll do my best.”
Asa’s hard expression melted into a satisfied grin.  “I knew I could count on you, my boy.”
Of course you did, you arrogant jerk.  You backed me into a corner and left me no escape route.
Asa stood, signifying an end to their meeting.  He extended his hand.  Luc stuck his in his pocket.  Asa let his hand drop back to his side.  “In three weeks, it will be my distinct pleasure to recommend to the Board that they renew your contract, pending the outcome of the Board meeting, of course.”
Luc should have been relieved, but he wasn’t.  He left the bank and headed for his car.  His stride alone told anyone passing him that he was not happy.  When people began to give him a wide berth, he decided that, for the most part, his expression must have verified his state of mind.  He hated being backed into a corner.  It reminded him all too vividly of the times his by-the-book Army general father had done just that to him.  Luc had wanted to lash out at Asa and tell him he could put the principle job where the sun didn’t shine, but he hadn’t.  Instead, he’d buckled under. 
Why?
Instantly, a vision of his house, his friends and his adopted hometown came into his head.  Even though he’d only been here for three years, he loved Carson and the people who lived there.  Having led a nomadic life as a child, when Luc moved to Carson, for the first time in his life, he felt settled and had made friends he wouldn’t have to leave behind in a few months.  He’d held on to these things with a greed only a man who had grown up following his military father and socialite mother from Army base to Army base, leaving friends behind and acclimating to new schools could. Giving up his position as principle would mean moving to a new community and starting all over again.  He couldn’t do that for anyone.  He could not give up the only real home he’d ever known. Then again, as his father had been fond of saying every time that young Luc had bristled about moving to a new location . . . nothing is forever.
If this old maid social worker had been doing her research, she would know that Carson already taught abstinence in the family planning classes and, at great expense, had installed condom vending machines in all the bathrooms.  How could she expect them to spend yet more money on these robo babies of hers?
By the time Luc reached his car, he wasn’t any happier with Asa nor with the task he’d given him, but he had made a modicum of peace with his own conscience about what he had to do.
*
I’m dead meat!
Amantha James forced herself not to squirm in the hard, straight-back, oak chair. She raised her gaze to survey the cause of her unrest. Like five hungry vultures sitting on a fence, the Carson School Board studied her from behind the long library table. All but one, the only woman on the board, looked as if they’d already made up their minds, and their decision didn’t look promising for her.
Keep your cool. Don’t start jumping to conclusions.  You haven’t even presented your case yet.  Besides, this isn’t the first time you’ve come up against a wall of opposition, nor will it be the last.
Easier said than done, however, considering that, with every loud tick of the school clock behind her, their concentrated gazes shot tiny arrows of doubt into her confidence, deflating it at an alarming rate.
She gathered her courage around her and sat a little taller. She’d be darned if she was going to let five people, who would obviously rather be somewhere else, deter her. Very few causes in her life had carried the importance of this one, and she would see it through to the end. All she had to do was hold on a little while longer.
“So, Bill, I didn’t see you in the stands at the game Saturday. Last game of the season. Too bad you missed it.” Asa Watkins, president of the Carson Savings and Loan and Superintendent of Schools, addressed the man Mandy had already identified as Bill Keeler, owner of the local supermarket.
From the tone of his voice, Mandy decided that Asa’s statement held more of a reprimand than a casual interest in the other man’s weekend activities.
Bill shook his head and studied his hands. “Mildred and the girls wanted me to take them to the mall down in Prescott.”
Asa raised a brow. “Mildred drives, doesn’t she? Why couldn’t she go herself?”
The man still kept his face averted from his questioner. “She doesn’t take to driving in heavy traffic. Always has me go along to take the wheel.”
“Well,” Asa said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands over his ample middle, “you missed a great game. That Jeb Tanner’s some ballplayer.”
The man to Asa’s other side, the youngest member of the board, leaned into the conversation. Becky Hart, Mandy’s superior at the social services office, had told her the young one would be Charles Henderson, the board’s accountant.
“His dad told me that he’s about certain Jeb will get the athletic scholarship to UCLA.” Henderson smiled. “Boy’s got some throwing arm on him.”
All three men laughed. The skinny man not quite as exuberantly as the rest, almost as if it was expected of him.
Mandy sighed to herself. Becky had been right. This town had sports tattooed on their brain cells, and Asa Watkins ruled this group with an iron fist. She was going to have to talk herself blue to get past using money from their over-endowed athletic department to fund her project.
“Jeb’s an ace quarterback, no doubt about that and a sure thing for a football scholarship from one of the big schools. I told his father last spring that Jeb’s lateral pass would be the key.” Asa smiled at his companions, his chest expanding to indicate his part in this potential victory. “When that UCLA scout came to the first game, I just knew from the look on the guy’s face that Jeb will have it in the bag. Before the scout left, he indicated he’d be back at the end of the year.”
“How many scholarships does that make now?” The speaker this time was a man with a clerical collar and a ruddy face, Reverend Thomas, the minister of the local church.
Asa closed his eyes in thought. When they popped open, he grinned like a cat with a fat mouse in his sights. “Five in all. With Jeb’s scholarship added to the total, it’ll make it six.  I may have to get a bigger trophy case for my office.”  He laughed, and then transferred his attention to Mandy. His speaking gaze sent a silent message. Don’t mess with me, lady.
Mandy met it head on with her own silent challenge.  You don’t scare me.
She looked away. Glancing around the old schoolhouse’s library, she wondered when the one absent member of their solemn gathering, the school’s principal, would show up.  She glanced to the open window which admitted a late fall breeze perfumed with the sweet odor of burning leaves, and overriding that unique smell of chalk, paper, books and rubber-soled sneakers that hovered in the air in every school. Forcing calm to her jangled nerves, she inhaled deeply and peered at her watch. Eight-thirty.  Half an hour late. How much longer would he make them wait?
Appearing composed and confident got harder with each passing moment. Her back hurt from sitting so straight, the hard chair seat had stolen the feeling from her backside almost twenty minutes ago, and her good mood, along with her patience, was dwindling rapidly. Her stomach rumbled in protest of the supper she’d missed to get here on time. She tugged the sleeve of her red plaid suit jacket over the watch face and tried not to show her agitation.
“Mr. Michaels will be here shortly, Ms. James. You must understand that this meeting made it necessary for him to rearrange his evening to accommodate us.” The explanation came from Asa Watkins.
Watkins, a single, forty-ish man, who had been keeping a close eye on the height of Mandy’s skirt hem, had caught her agitated movements. As unobtrusively as possible, she pulled her skirt lower over her knees and smiled.
“I understand.”  What she wanted to say and didn’t dare was that, having known about the meeting for weeks, she found the principal’s tardiness rude and inconsiderate. But why shoot herself in the foot before she’d had the opportunity to present her case?
To keep her mind off her growing irritation with the absent Lucas Michaels, she scanned the five people at the long library table. She tried to guess their voting preference, but a cool, feminine voice interrupted her before she could start.
“While we wait, why don’t you fill us in on your proposal, my dear?” Catherine Daniels, the only female member and the town matriarch, drew Mandy’s attention. The older woman smiled graciously from beneath a navy, feather-encrusted hat, no doubt custom-designed for her in some exclusive New York City milliners.
She returned Catherine’s smile. “If it’s all right with the Board, I’d rather wait until Mr. Michaels is here, so I don’t have to cover everything again?”
Just then the door at the rear of the school’s small library opened on squeaky hinges. She turned to see a very tall man in a gray business suit, white shirt and a conservative, burgundy tie enter the room, briefcase in hand, his forehead creased in a frown. As he walked slowly to the front of the room, his spit-polished wing-tips clicked rhythmically across the oiled hardwood floor.
Mandy’s breath left her lungs in a painful whoosh. Oddly enough, she seemed unable to replenish it. For the first time that night, gratitude for the hard, uncomfortable chair seeped into her. Without it, she wasn’t at all sure her legs would have held her body weight.
With his dark, good looks, the principal of Carson High School could have just stepped off the cover of Hunk of the Month. Mandy had seen him around town and had to admit that, like most of the single women and the high school girls, Lucas Michaels demanded closer female scrutiny.  And if she wanted to be totally honest, she’d taken her share of glances at the handsome principal and maybe even fantasized about him a bit.  However, she had no plans to become another notch on his bedpost or, for that matter, any other man’s.
“Ah, Luc, finally. Now, we can get started.” Asa’s greeting interrupted her musings.  She noted that his tone held a hint of rebuke, which seemed to roll off Lucas Michaels like rain off a greased windowpane.
Mandy gave herself a severe mental shake. Ogling the principal wouldn’t sell the board on her idea to cut down the alarming rate of teenage pregnancy in their small town. If the determined set of Lucas Michaels’ expression meant anything, convincing him wouldn’t be an easy task. But, if it meant saving one teen from experiencing the life Mandy had lived as the illegitimate daughter of an embittered, single, alcoholic mother, she’d face the devil himself.
She issued a silent affirmation to his stiff profile and to her own psyche. I am not a loser, Mr. Michaels.
Being ordered to do anything went against Luc’s grain. The visit he’d made to Asa’s office days before still had the power to rankle him. Making no apologies for his tardy arrival, he took a seat in the unoccupied chair facing the board table. Putting his briefcase on his lap, he clicked it open, extracted a fat, manila file folder, closed the lid, and then placed the leather case beside him on the floor.
He deliberately avoided looking to his left at the woman who had urged Asa to call this meeting, a device Luc often used on a student to unsettle them enough to get to the bottom of a matter.
Luc crossed his legs, and folded his hands on the file, then smiled at the board members. “Good evening.”
“Good evening, Luc. Thank you for coming.” Asa fumbled through some papers, never really meeting him eye to eye.
Was he feeling a bit guilty about what he had planned for this evening?  Luc laughed inwardly.  He couldn’t envision Asa feeling one ounce of guilt for anything he’d ever done in his life.
Asa pounded the table with his gavel and all conversation in the room ceased instantly. “Now that we’re all here, shall we get started?”
Luc made no reply. No sense pretending courtesy had anything to do with his appearance here tonight. He’d made Asa fully aware that he hated what they were doing. The other board members nodded in Luc’s direction.
He could hear the woman stirring in her chair.
He smiled inwardly.
Lack of composure would cause her to make a slipshod presentation, giving the board good reason to turn her down. With any luck, he might not have to play the heavy in this. Being cast in the role of the bad guy was not new ground to Luc. Many times before Asa had used him as his pivotal point and relied on him to not only side with him, but also to turn the tide in their favor. This was, however, the first time his job depended on it and the first time his conscience really bothered him.
He hated the control Asa was able to exert over him, but looked at it as a part of the job, even if, in his own mind, he knew it to be out and out blackmail. There was a pecking order in all occupations and unless you occupied the top seat, you learned to take orders without question. His father had ingrained that in him early on in his childhood.
Asa Watkins interrupted Luc’s thoughts. “Ms. James, I don’t believe you’ve met Lucas Michaels, our principal.”
“Mr. Michaels.” Though somewhat stiff, her voice held a very pleasing quality, the kind a man could listen to for hours and not tire of.
Continuing with his calculated plan to unnerve her, while keeping his gaze fixed on Asa, Luc merely nodded in the direction of the feminine voice.
“If you’re ready, Ms. James, you can get us started by filling us in on your proposal.” Asa smiled toward the source of an enticing perfume emanating in Luc’s direction. Flowery, soft. Not overpowering. Subtly suggestive.
Calculated, he added with a brisk shake to his imagination. If she thought she could make points with her feminine wiles, then she was sadly mistaken. He’d seen his mother do this many times when trying to get his father to cave on some issue.
“Thank you, Mr. Watkins.” The raspy quality of her voice raked over Luc’s nerve endings, bringing tiny pin-pricks of pleasure to his senses.
A bedroom voice.
“As you all know, I’m the new social worker assigned to the Carson office. I’ve been here for three months, and in that time I’ve come across some alarming statistics about the rising number of teenage pregnancies, mostly concerning unwed, high school students. In the information I will give you tonight, I’ve noted the precise percentage and relevant data that will speak for itself.”
Reverend Thomas emitted a loud hiss of air. Mandy couldn’t ascertain if it indicated his agreement with her statement or his displeasure with the reality of the facts.
“I have done some research into preventatives and, if you’ll allow me, I’ll pass out some information I have gathered for a possible answer.”
Asa nodded his permission.
From his peripheral vision, Luc had a shadowy image of the woman standing, carrying a pile of papers, and walking to the table, where she passed out several sheets to each board member. Then she turned to Luc, papers in her outstretched hand.
He looked up into the face of one of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen. His breath snagged. So this was Amantha James.  So much for the old-maid-social-worker image.
Instantly, he recalled having seen her several times at the school.  He’d had no idea why she was there and just assumed she had a sibling or a child enrolled and had come to see them for some reason.  What he did recall is the astounding effect she’d had on his libido.  It had taken days to erase her image from his mind.
“Mr. Michaels?”
Dragging his attention from her mesmerizing, coffee brown eyes and deeply implanted dimples, he accepted the papers. “Thank you.”
Was that squeaky voice his? He cleared his throat and gazed at the paper clutched in his hand. The words blurred. Feeling as if he’d been kicked by a horse, he drew in a labored breath.
After blinking several times, he was finally able to make out the words at the top of the page, Baby Simulators.
“Robo babies,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Mr. Michaels, until I’ve explained, please don’t make any snap judgments.” Her voice betrayed a hint of impatience.
Keeping his gaze trained on the paper, he shrugged. “Be my guest.”
This was ridiculous. Was he going to let some ego-driven social worker rattle him? He’d never felt so completely off track in his life, at least not since his last bout with his father. Luc made it a point to keep his footing in any and all situations. Not doing so meant stepping into uncharted territory, and Luc never ventured into anything of which he wasn’t fully aware. He mustn’t forget that it was his plan to rattle her. He sat straighter, marshaling his forces for his attack.
“The baby simulator is a device to aid in family planning for teens. As you can see from the pictures in the flyers I just gave you, it resembles a real baby in every way, appearance, weight and temperament, as well as being anatomically correct.”
“Do you mean to say these . . . robo babies have . . . .  Well, that they. . . .” Having been raised around a prissy mother who just didn’t talk about such things in mixed company, he couldn’t force the words to emerge.  Luc glanced up to see several of the board members hiding a smile behind their hands.  Luc felt like a complete fool, an adolescent too embarrassed to discuss sex in clinical terms.
“Yes, Mr. Michaels.  As I said, they are anatomically correct,” the James woman said, a smile playing around her luscious mouth. He quickly averted his gaze. “The manufacturer made certain that the simulators would resemble real babies in every way. And I can safely say that I doubt if these characteristics will not come as a shock to any of the teens who will participate in this project.” The hint of laughter in her voice told him she obviously found his discomfort with the subject amusing.
If it is approved,” Luc added pointedly.
If it is approved.”  A small concession on her part.  She smiled at the board.
“Thank you,” he said, stiffly.
“I don’t understand how these simulators are going to prevent pregnancies.” Catherine Daniels, studied the paper in her hand, and then glanced at Mandy. “Wouldn’t this be akin to letting the students play with dolls?”
“No. It’s much more complicated than that. I might add here that we must think of them as babies and not dolls to get the potential caregivers to think of them in those terms as well.
“Now, if you look closely at the picture on page four of the information, you’ll see that each baby is equipped with a care monitor implanted in its back. This allows the teacher or project supervisor to monitor the type and frequency of care given the baby.” Mandy waited for the board to review the information.
“But why couldn’t we just continue to use the sack of flour or an egg? It’d be a whole lot cheaper, and I’m sure Bill would appreciate the business.” Reverend Thomas smiled, and then leaned his arms on the unopened folder resting on the table in front of him.
Laughter bubbled up around the table, and then died.
“The simulator has some distinctly human-like qualities that the egg and the flour sack don’t. The baby is programmed to cry at unpredictable intervals, twenty-four hours a day, just as a real baby will. Its disposition can also be adjusted from mild to very cranky. The head must be supported, and the baby cannot be allowed to cry too long, fall or be treated roughly. If any of these events occur, then that registers on the care monitor and the caregiver earns demerits.” Mandy resumed her seat and waited for more questions.
“As amazing as this technology is, I don’t understand how these robo babies are going to cut the number of teenage pregnancies, Ms. James?” Mandy tried hard to overlook the hint of suppressed amusement coloring Lucas Michaels’ voice.
Taking a deep breath and ignoring the muffled agreement from the board, Mandy faced the principal. She set her expression to reflect the serious nature of her subject, rather than her irritation with him. “Each baby comes with a key to be inserted and held in a slot in the back of the simulator, then anywhere from one to thirty minutes will elapse before the baby stops crying. This is to show the caregiver that food or diaper changes are not always the reason a baby cries.”
“I still don’t see how this can be a deterrent. The caregiver can simply leave the key with a parent and go about their normal social life.” Luc knew firsthand about how easy it was to hand off responsibility and care for a child to someone else, even a robot child.
She addressed her explanation to the entire board. “Not in this case, which is part of the beauty of this simulator. The key is attached to the caregiver’s wrist permanently for the duration of the project, much like a hospital bracelet is attached.  He or she is the only one who
can minister to the baby. Therefore, if the caregiver leaves the house for whatever reason, the baby must go along. If he or she doesn’t take the baby and it cries in her absence, the baby will cry until the battery runs down and the caregiver will get demerits for neglect.” She turned toward Luc.
“Think of yourself as a teenager with a social life, Mr. Michaels. Taking this baby with you everywhere can be a real drag. Studies have shown that after caring for this baby for as little as a week, many teens have decided to wait to become parents and some have even opted out of parenthood altogether.”
A grunt and a nod of agreement came from Bill Keeler. The board stared at Mandy in rapt attention. Catherine Daniels concentrated on the information sheets.
Seemingly encouraged by their silence, Mandy went on. “The inconvenience of caring for the baby and the restrictions it puts on the social lives of the teen parent can be very effective arguments for not having children. Rather than having an adult preach to them about the responsibilities that go along with being a parent, they’ll actually live with it every day for a prescribed period of time. Of course, classroom re-enforcement will be given also, but the hands-on experience will validate what they learn in the classroom, bringing it home as no amount of preaching could.”
Luc realized that this woman had obviously done her homework. Tripping her up was not going to be easy, if they could at all. Her arguments held well-thought-out logic. How could he argue with logic? New respect for Ms. James surged through him.  This was not some empty-headed twit that Asa could snowball.
He had to find a crack in her argument that would allow the board to vote this suggestion into the ground. And he knew just where to look for that flaw.
“Let’s look at the bottom line here, Ms. James. What will it cost the school to get this program started?”  Luc leaned back in his chair.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Charles Henderson, ever the accountant, had readied his pencil to write down the figures he expected to be forthcoming from Mandy.
If the board had to take money from their precious, inflated athletic department budget to finance this scheme of Ms. James’, there would be no baby simulators coming into Carson High. And having access to the budget and its allotment, Luc knew Asa had been right in that respect anyway. He could see no other venue from which to get the money. He glanced at Mandy and waited for her bottom line.
“To be effective, the program should start out fully equipped to provide at least half of the students in the class with a simulator to care for during the first phase of the project.  The simulators would then go to the other half of the class for the second phase.” She took a deep breath. Her next bit of information would either make or break the entire project. “Please look at the amount I’m about to quote as an investment in your youth and in the future of this community.” She named the price per baby.
With a sinking heart, she watched their collected faces register everything from shock to absolute rejection—everyone except Catherine Daniels. Was she going for the idea or did money mean so little to her?
Charles Henderson’s accountant’s mind clicked in. “And exactly where would you suggest we access the funds to buy these . . . baby simulators?”
This was the one stumbling block in her plan. She had no idea if the school had money for unbudgeted purchases, but she was aware that they had a huge athletic budget.  However, Becky Hart had advised her strongly to allow the board to find their funds without any prompting from her.
Mandy shook her head. “I’m sure you can answer that better than I can. Since I’m not privy to the school’s operating budget . . . .”
Asa Watkins, who had been ominously quiet until now, looked pointedly at Luc. “Perhaps we should get some input on this point from Luc.”
Luc stared at Asa for a long time, hearing the words the superintendent had said as Luc had left Asa’s office the week before.
It’s simple, Luc, if this woman gets her way, I’ll see to it that you’re contract as principal isn’t renewed.
Luc had gotten the message loud and clear. If this proposal went through, the only logical place to get the funding was to cut back the athletic department’s lion’s share of the school budget. Support anything that would jeopardize the athletic scholarships, and he’d be history in Carson.
Though it grated against his better judgment, Luc was not about to give up the life he had so painstakingly established and start all over.
He straightened in his chair and looked directly at Asa. “Well, the athletic budget has already been strained by adding a new chemistry teacher to the faculty. I really don’t think—”
Becky had warned her, but Mandy still couldn’t believe her ears. “The athletic budget?” Mandy fought to control her anger. “When did sports become more important than the welfare of your children?”
Lucas Michaels glared at her. “That’s not the case at all. If you’ll allow me to finish, Ms. James.” Mandy leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression clearly exposing her efforts to control her temper. “The welfare of our children is, of course, uppermost in our minds. However, the athletic scholarships that our students earn are immeasurably helpful in getting them into colleges that would otherwise be financially out of the question for them. It occurs to me that we are already doing a sufficient amount of preventative teaching by supplying condoms and teaching abstinence—”
“Abstinence?” That was the last straw. Mandy jumped to her feet and faced him. “Abstinence, Mr. Michaels? You want to preach abstinence to a bunch of teenagers with raging hormones? Hormones they’ve just discovered and are chomping at the bit to experiment with?”
“Aren’t you being just a bit over-reactive?”
Mandy couldn’t believe this. They might as well put a bottle of whiskey in front of a confirmed alcoholic and say don’t touch. If it wasn’t so sad, she’d have laughed out loud at the absurdity of his statement. What was wrong with him? Didn’t he care about these kids?
As far as abstinence went, who was Michaels kidding? What could a man with his good looks and obvious charm know about abstinence? He probably had women coming and going from his bed with all the regularity of planes at Charleston’s Yeager Airport.
That the board would put sports before the welfare of a child enraged her. The collective lack of logic and caring for their own children displayed by the board and the school principal severed her already strained composure, along with any attempt at caution.
“And, of course, you know all about abstinence, right, Mr. Michaels?” Sarcasm dripped from Mandy’s words.
A collective gasp rose from the board table.
Asa smiled.
Instantly, Mandy knew she’d overstepped her bounds and may have made a fatal mistake in attacking Luc, but her frustration level had imprudently pushed the words from her lips before she’d been able to stop them.
Slowly, Luc uncrossed his legs, then targeted her with a dark, censoring glare. “As a matter of fact, Ms. James, I grew up in all-boys military schools, which left little opportunity for anything but abstinence.” His gaze grew colder. “So, to answer your question, yes, I do know about abstinence.”
“I’m very sorry. That remark was beyond rude, Mr. Michaels. I can only blame it on my passion for the subject.”
Luc raised an eyebrow, and then nodded. “Passion, huh?” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a suggestive half smile, then immediately relaxed into a firmly set expression of censure.
Passion? She didn’t like the way he’d said that or that smile.
Before Mandy could say anything, Catherine Daniels intervened. “Please, let’s leave personalities out of this.” She glanced at her fellow board members and favored them with a smile. “If the board will allow me, I have a suggestion that might settle this whole matter.”
The members looked at each other and then back to her. Collectively, they shrugged, then nodded in agreement to let her voice her plan.
“I think we should give the babies . . . a test drive.” She looked at Mandy. “Do you have one of these simulators available?”
A glow of hope rose in Mandy. Had she found a sympathetic ear in Catherine? “I don’t have one with me, but I know we can borrow one from the company. They assured me that because of the huge investment, testing the system is quite common.”
Catherine smiled. “Good.” She leaned back in her chair and extracted a white handkerchief from her purse. Carefully, she used the handkerchief to brush a spot of dirt from the lapel of her pristine navy suit.
“Can we get on with it, Catherine?” Bill Keeler obviously had grown impatient with the entire process. Mandy had to agree with him. “I promised Mildred I’d be home by ten.”
“Patience, Bill, patience. I want to get everything straight in my mind before I present it. This young woman’s suggestion has merit, and I think we need to give it more than cursory consideration. As for you hurrying home, I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere but 47 Elm Street, so don’t use that as an excuse to get to Hannigan’s Bar for your nightcap.”
Bill sat back in his chair, his cheeks glowing bright red.
Mandy hid a smile and grasped at the thread of hope Catherine had thrown her. Maybe she hadn’t ruined everything with her outburst.
Asa looked around at his fellow board members. “Let’s give Catherine a chance to explain what she has in mind.” His tone held reluctant resignation rather than enthusiasm.
“We seemed to have two distinctly different viewpoints here, neither of which any of us are equipped to make judgments on. My suggestion is that the baby simulator be put to the test in a real family setting. Once that’s completed, we can use the findings to make an informed decision.”
Reverend John Thomas leaned forward to address Catherine. “And exactly who would you suggest do this testing, Catherine? All the board members, having already experienced the dubious joys of parenthood, would know what to expect. Thus making us the guinea pigs would prove nothing. And I’d like to go on record as saying that until the board makes a decision, I strongly object to bringing anyone in from the outside.”
“Exactly, John.” Catherine smiled sweetly, and then turned back to Mandy and Luc. “That’s why we need a couple who can keep this discreetly confidential and who have no parenting experience. The obvious choices for the test are Ms. James and Mr. Michaels.”
*****

Forever Fall and the Hawks Mountain series are published by  Bell Bridge Books an imprint of BelleBooks and are available in print and e-book format on Amazon, B&N and other e-books sites.

BIO
Being a romantic at heart and having devoured romances like Hershey Kisses, it was inevitable that Elizabeth Sinclair would one day write them. Following her dream, which took more than a couple of wrong turns along the way, in 1993 she sold her first romance, JENNY'S CASTLE, to Silhouette Intimate Moments, which reached #2 on the Walden Bestseller List and won a Georgia Romance Writers' Maggie Award of Excellence. Since then, this multi-published author's books have sold in ten foreign countries and been translated into seven foreign languages as well as large print editions.

Elizabeth is a member of Romance Writers of America, The Author's Guild and Thriller Writers. She's taught creative writing and given seminars and workshops, locally and nationally, on the craft of writing. Her Books have finaled in the Daphne de Maurier contest and won The National Readers' Choice Award, The Anne Bonney Readers' Choice Award, Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Award, the Heart of Excellence Readers' Choice Award and earned a Gold Medal Top Pick from the Romantic Times Book Club.

Elizabeth co-founded and is a member of the Ancient City Romance Authors of St. Augustine, FL. She is also a member of RWA's Kiss of Death Chapter, Sisters In Crime, and the Indiana Romance Writers. Elizabeth Served as RWA's Region 3 Director and chaired the 2001RWA New Orleans Annual Conference.

In addition to having authored the widely-acclaimed instructional books, THE DREADED SYNOPSIS and FIRST CHAPTERS, she has published a total of eighteen romances with Silhouette Intimate Moments/Romantic Suspense, Harlequin American, Kensington Precious Gems, Medallion Press and recently signed a contract with Bell Bridge Books for the next three books in her Hawks Mountain series. The first two books in that series, HAWKS MOUTAIN and SUMMER ROSE are available in print and e-book format on Amazon, B&N and other e-books sites. HAWKS MOUNTAIN is also available in audio format. The Hawks Mountain series continues with the fourth book, WINTER MAGIC, coming soon.

Visit Elizabeth at www.elizabethsinclair.com

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