The Last Two People on Earth…

That phrase—“I wouldn’t (insert verb here) with you if you were the last (insert gender/sexual orientation here) on Earth!”—we’ve all shouted or thought that in frustration to someone at some point in our lives, haven’t we?

But…what if it were true?

What if that wasn’t just a line? What if you and another person actually were isolated, alone, the only two people left on the planet after a cataclysmic event? And what if you were standing there, on a lonely freeway with (randomly choosing here…) a battle-hardened Marine Sniper, and this man thinks you and he might possibly be the last two people alive on earth?

What then?

I read Stephen King’s book, The Stand, ages ago and I loved that story. I mean I loved it. I took it out and petted it. I read the book twice and watched the miniseries a few times too. What really got to me about that post apoc plague story was my fear over the scope of the disaster, the trauma over the death of most of humanity—and the echoing, hollow emptiness surrounding the meeting of two people trying to start the world over again. This somehow made their joining, their romance, more poignant and more intense. That idea has stuck in my mind ever since.

Stephen King, not being a romance writer, had very little romance in The Stand. *sniff* It was small and yes, unsatisfying in its tininess. To me, this was the book’s only flaw. The romance lover in me yearned for more. MORE ROMANCE, PLEASE! Then I thought, wait, why can’t I have more? And hence the Catastrophe series was born…

Die For You is a post-apocalyptic romance where two people have survived a world-wide viral outbreak with a 99% mortality rate. This is the story of two people who are very different, yet fall in love due to forced proximity and shared goals.

That’s the key here, two people meeting who would normally have never met.

I love these types of stories. Add road romance to the forced proximity, and I’m in romance heaven.

 What about you? Which type of forced proximity is your favorite?

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Love, in a hopeless place.

Catastrophe Series, Book 1

Two months after a virus took out civilization, Rachel Donnelly is the last living soul in California, as far as she can tell. Until she runs into a Marine sniper, battle-hardened but alive and healthy.

Adam Sanchez would love nothing more than a slamming session of I-can’t-believe-we’re-alive post-apocalyptic sex in the back of his Hummer. But Rachel’s fragility, inexperience—and much younger age—hold him back from exposing her to his raw, aggressive sexuality. If anything, Rachel needs protection. Especially from himself.

As they band together with other survivors to battle feral animals, violent ex-cons, and motorcycle clubs jockeying for power, Rachel grows stronger in mind, body, and spirit—strong enough to give the dangerously sexy Marine what they both crave.

The power of their passion rocks Adam’s world, bringing him to his knees—which, he discovers too late, is the worst possible place to be when danger springs from the shadows.

Warning: Contains a sexy Marine, a tattooed ex-con, a girl who blossoms into a sexually assured young woman, laughter despite the pain, m/f/m ménage, hope, love, and more bad language and violence than are strictly necessary.

Excerpt

Rachel had a clear view of the Hummer from her driver’s side window. She watched with eyes wide as the door swung open. First one buff-colored boot hit the pavement, then a second, and a dark head rose above. The door shut and her jaw dropped.

“Shit, he’s huge,” she said.

A soldier. He wore army camouflage pants. A black T-shirt crossed his wide shoulders and covered the tops of his massive arms. He looked Hispanic with dark tanned skin and buzzed brown hair. She couldn’t see his eyes through black sunglasses. But one thing she could clearly see–he had enough firepower strapped to him and in his hands to take out a small army.

Rachel had been raised to trust and respect soldiers. Instinct told her to fling her door open and run into this man’s arms. She watched him plug a clip of ammo into his handgun and hold it up with both hands, finger on the trigger. She bit her lip, shook her head and clicked the automatic lock for all four doors. Nope. Safer to hide in the car.

He looked right at her. Uh, oh. She slumped in her seat.

A moment later, he tapped his knuckles on her window. “Ma’am? Can you hear me? Come out, it’s safe.”

Terror kept her glued to her seat. “Safe. Yeah, right,” she snorted, gripping her gun.

He brought his face level with hers and yanked off his glasses. She blinked. Her breath caught in her throat. Wow, he was handsome. No, gorgeous–gorgeous like Benjamin Bratt. And he had a wicked scar that carved down the right side of his face, which in reality, only made him more handsome, an edgy I’m-about-to-ravage-you kind of way. Coffee-brown eyes and full lips curved into a tight smile. “Ma’am? Are you okay? Are you sick? Roll down your window, please. We need to talk.”

Polite too.

“I’m not talking to you,” she muttered. “I don’t care how cute you are.”

“What?” he said. “I can’t hear you.”

His deep voice sounded soothing and trustworthy. A siren song.

She examined his face again, searching for the answer to her most burning question. Was this man a gentle giant, or trouble on two legs? Either way, ignoring him wouldn’t prevent him from shooting her in the head through the car window. Rachel decided to negotiate.

She lowered the glass an inch. “I’m not sick.”

“Good,” he sighed.

“I have a gun.”

“So do I.” He smiled. “Several.”

Her nostrils flared. She straightened her shoulders. “I’m not getting out. I’m leaving. Okay, pretty boy? You go on back to your car, and I’ll stay in mine and I’ll drive out and we’ll go our separate ways. No harm done.”

The big, scary guy frowned. “That’s not a good idea. You could get hurt on your own.”

“And I could get hurt with you. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Author Bio:

Michele Mills teaches High School English to unruly teenagers and enjoys cooking for her husband and two sons. Die For You, her new post-apocalyptic romance with Samhain releases May 2016. You can find her pretending to be professional on Twitter and Facebook.

There are so many ways to build moments that become memories. It can be something fleeting like just a brief interaction or something that occurs over time. Those moments become memories that I built. Those fond or maybe not so fond things I remember.  This is what happened the end of last year. I had great moments that became memories I will think of often.

I went on vacation. The longest one I’ve taken in years. The vacation was also different because it included two trips during the time frame. I had an enjoyable time on both.

The first part of my vacation, I traveled with my family. Over the years, I’ve become very close to a friend, who along with her siblings, have become family to me. We took a seven-day cruise to Hawaii. It was wonderful. The sights of Hawaii are something I will never forget. The food was great, especially the fruit. But it’s the camaraderie and fun I had with my family-by-choice that made this trip what it was. It wouldn’t have been as wonderful without them there with me. So I added more memories I will cherish for the rest of my life.

The second part of my trip I went home. No matter where I live now I will always call where I was originally born—home. I went to spend the holidays with my family by blood. Whenever I fly into St. Thomas (where I was born and raised), I get a little teary-eyed. As I mentioned, it was coming home. As I landed, I was irritated from the bad plane ride, but still eager and excited to see my family. This trip was special because it was the first time in a long time I was home for Christmas.  I yelled that, too. 🙂 I love being home for the holidays. There’s nothing like Christmas at home. I had such an awesome time, and again made some memories that will last me the rest of my life.

I’ve talked many times about moments and memories and appreciating them. That trip was chock full of moments, which are now memories, that I took time to enjoy. There are many moments you have in life that will add to your memories.  Live and enjoy each and everyone.

* * * * *

Taige Crenshaw has been enthralled with the written word from time she picked up her first book.  It wasn’t long before she started to make up her own tales of romance. With  interracial and multicultural novels set in today, in alternate dimensions, or in the future she writes with adventure, fun sassy heroine’s, and sexy hero’s. Always hard at work creating new and exciting places Taige can be found curled up with a hot novel with exciting characters when she is not creating her own. Join her in the fun, frolic, interesting people and far reaches of the world in her novels.

You can find out more about Taige at her website: http://www.taigecrenshaw.com or blog: http://www.taigecrenshaw.com/blog. Also find her on facebook at her page

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Taige-Crenshaw/110652119026620 and facebook group https://www.facebook.com/groups/CrenshawCafe/. Or twitter: @ https://twitter.com/TaigeCrenshaw.

Taken By You – When friends learn that sometimes desire doesn’t care about friendships or partnerships and passion can’t be controlled, who will be the first to succumb to being taken?

All Romance Ebook: Buy Taken by You https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-takenbyyou-1949518-149.html

Amazon: Buy Taken by You – http://amzn.to/1Q1qzeN

I got you all excited with that title, didn’t I? No, I haven’t written a new cyborg book, although I’ve always wanted to! No, it’s my turn to blog today, and the only thing I can think to talk about is the cute things kids do.

Yesterday, my daughter was in a rush. So she stopped at Burger King to get kids meals for the kids. When I came over for dinner last night, the wee ones presented me with this collectible figurine of Cyborg from the cartoon Team Titans Go! Seeing how appreciative I was of the gift, they are now on a quest to get me ALL of the Team Titans figurines!

This isn’t a new thing for them. They’ve collected Hotel Transylvania monsters and How to Train Your Dragon dragons for me, too. They know I’m special—and that they can come to my office anytime and play with my toys.

Then last night, we were sitting on the porch after dinner, waiting for the storm to come (sounds like such a country thing to do, doesn’t it?). The 2-year-old was drawing on the porch with her colored chalk when one piece rolled off the edge of the porch, and she bent way over to look for it.

Her dad warned her, “The witch under the porch is gonna get you.” (I know, what a thing to say to a kid, right?) Her eyes got real wide, and she bent over again. When she straightened, she whispered and pointed below, “Daddy, go get the witch!” After we’d laughed ourselves silly, he picked her up and put her on his lap for them to play. She gripped his cheeks to hold his head still. Still whispering, she said, “Nina’s a witch! (I’m Nina.) I a bee-bee witch.” Her mom and I just shared a look. Sometimes, it’s just born in you.

So, my question today is: What’s your cute kid story? 

You may have heard a version of the old saying, “You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family.” Depending how we look at it, we can find more than one meaning behind the saying.

More than a dozen years ago, my husband and I moved twenty-five hundred miles away from home to a place where we knew absolutely no one. This was a first for me, because even after we were married and moved from our hometown, we lived within a forty-five minute drive of both our families.

After we relocated across the country, I was grateful for the chance to make new friends and really don’t know what I would have done without them in my life. Over time, some of these friends have become just as close as family to us.

That’s the good part about choosing friends that become like family: family can be where you find it—which is the theme of many of my stories.

In one of my books, A Rancher’s Pride, the hero discovers he’s the daddy of a deaf five-year-old girl he has never known about. With the help of the heroine, he learns to communicate with and love his little girl. In another book, Rancher at Risk, the hero has lost his wife and young child in an accident and is now in danger of losing his job and his self-respect. During his story he has to accept a possibility he has always rejected—that he’s capable of finding a new love and creating another family.

On the other hand, there can be another, less happy angle to the saying above…the part about not being able to choose your family. Some of my books address that, too. They would have to, wouldn’t they? Because if family’s where you find it, that includes the family you were born into. As Dorothy says in The Wizard of Oz, “There’s no place like home.”

This is true for the three granddaughters in my current series, The Hitching Post Hotel. It’s also true…though a little frustrating…for the heroine of Family Matters, Kerry MacBride, who comes from a large and somewhat eccentric Irish family. She often wishes she could give up her family—at least temporarily. Here’s a little clue as to why she feels that way:

Kerry knew better than to risk a run-in with a police officer. But Uncle Bren? And Gran? Much as she loved them both, it wouldn’t surprise her to find either of them in trouble.

She burst through the doorway into the game room, skidded to a halt on the polished tile floor, and confronted chaos.

The room overflowed with people, all yelling at once. The loudest roar came from a dark-haired man tall enough to dwarf Uncle Bren’s near-six-foot frame. The man, slim but muscular in a pearl-gray suit, looked ready to split the jacket’s seams with his wide-armed gestures.

Thank goodness, Gran stood safely out of his reach. But Uncle Bren, hemmed in by the crowd, faced the brunt of the stranger’s anger.

Even without her years of artistic training, Kerry would have seen something wrong with this picture.

“Excuse me,” she said, using her project-to-the-back-of-the-classroom tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”  The question drowned out every voice in the room. The shouting subsided and every head turned her way.

As she moved forward, people parted, allowing her to pass.

The man now faced Kerry, his eyes dark with anger. She caught her breath at the fury in his expression but didn’t break stride until she’d reached him.

Looking up–way up–she met his gaze. “What’s going on here?”

After a long, tense silence, he answered, his tone level. “We’re holding a meeting.”

She widened her eyes. “It sounded to me more like having an argument.”

Behind him, Uncle Bren stood unmoving but nodded in confirmation. Trust him to let her pick up the problem and run with it.

*~*~*

Family is where you find it. That could mean bonding with your brother, a distant cousin, your BFF, or a person who’s nearly a stranger to you at this moment.

I’m giving away an autographed print copy of Family Matters to one reader. (US mailing addresses only, please). To get your name in the hat, tell us about a friend you consider as close as family. If that doesn’t apply to you, tell us a quality you look for in a friend.

Leave your comment by Friday, and a winner’s name will be posted in the comments over the weekend.

About the Author

Barbara White Daille lives with her husband in the sunny Southwest. Though they love the warm winters and the lizards in their front yard, they haven’t gotten used to the scorpions in the bathroom.

The latest book in Barbara’s The Hitching Post Hotel series is The Lawman’s Christmas Proposal. The next book, Cowboy in Charge, debuts in July 2016, with other books to follow. Her first book, The Sheriff’s Son, has just been reissued in both larger print and a new e-book version, available exclusively from Harlequin. The original version is also still available at most major e-tailers, including Amazon.

Find Barbara online:
Website  http://www.barbarawhitedaille.com
Newsletter  http://www.barbarawhitedaille.com/newsletter
Twitter  https://twitter.com/BarbaraWDaille
Facebook  http://www.facebook.com/barbarawhitedaille

Find Family Matters online:
http://amzn.com/B0041KLD7E

Thank you, Delilah, for the guest blog opportunity; and hello, everyone!

I’m Mia Kay and I write … whatever comes to mind, honestly. Romantic suspense, contemporary romance, sci-fi/fantasy. If I have to pick a theme, it’s all about small towns. Small town settings or small-town people.

Which is weird because I grew up in a small town, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great town. Most of my family still lives there, a lot of my friends still do, and it routinely makes the list of “best” places to live. But I wanted to see things. I couldn’t wait to live somewhere where the tallest building was more than two stories.

And I did that. I still do that.

But when my first story came to me, it was all about a woman returning home to her small town. The second is about a woman who realizes she is “stuck” in her hometown. The third is about a woman who wants nothing more than to call a small town her permanent home. The fifth is about a woman who flees to a small town for safety.

So I obviously have some unresolved issues. More than one, actually. Because the sixth book is about a small-town girl who, despite her success, has trouble seeing herself as anything else. That opinion becomes an issue when she falls for a man she perceives to be out of her league. (Bless his heart, he does not feel the same way.)

There’s a lot to that. How many of us look in the mirror and still see the girl we used to be? How many of us go to huge cities and gawk out the windows thinking, “I can’t believe this is real”? Or how many of us meet our favorite authors and are amazed that they’re really nice people, or that they talk to us like we’re colleagues rather than awkward fans?

Or is that just me?

***Give Away*** Share your experiences below. Live in a large city and yearn for a quiet life, or vice-versa? Funny stories about meeting your favorite authors? I’ll pick one random commenter to receive an e-copy of Soft Target, my debut release. I’ll announce the winner in the comment thread tomorrow morning,

My latest release is one of those “out of my league” moments. I’m in a western romance sampler with nine rock stars of romance. I still can’t believe it. One Night with a Cowboy is from HQN and it’s FREE from your favorite e-book retailer.

My contribution is the first five chapters of my next romantic suspense release, Hard Silence. Abby Quinn lives outside Fiddler, Idaho – in more ways than one. Her isolation is challenged by Jeff Crandall, the FBI profiler who moves in next door.

Here’s an excerpt:

Walking out onto her front porch, Abby let the door slap closed behind her as she stood and enjoyed the brisk Idaho spring morning. Past the security light illuminating the yard, the still-early lavender sky met the dark hills on the horizon.

Stretching her muscles, she winced as pain lanced from her neck down her left side. Most days she could ignore it, but she’d pushed too hard yesterday. She’d felt the muscles cramp as she’d fixed fences and then stayed at the computer, perched in her chair squinting at code until late in the evening.

And then the nightmares, and the news about Beau.

Already halfway to the stables, Toby looked over his shoulder to see if she was following. Abby swore the border collie was smiling. She could always count on her dog.

“Work. Yeah, I know,” she grumbled good-naturedly as she tramped down the steps and toward the paddock. At the outer edge of the light, she faced the darkness beyond and hesitated.

Nineteen years, sixty-nine hundred mornings, and she still gritted her teeth and held her breath when she stepped into the shadows. But she did it.

She did it again when she swung the stable doors open. Reaching around the wall, she turned on the lights before she stepped inside.

On either side of the aisle, her horses poked their heads over the stall doors, blinking under the bright lights, chuffing and huffing hellos.

“Good morning, George,” Abby whispered as she put a calming hand on the palomino’s velvety nose. “I told you I’d be back this morning.” After a year of working to earn the animal’s trust, it was rewarding look into eyes no longer hazy with disappointment. Still, the minute the gate opened, George trotted into the misty dawn, as though afraid someone would slam the door and trap her inside.

The other horse remained quiet in his stall. “Good morning, Hemingway,” Abby whispered as she stroked the giant black gelding’s nose and danced her fingers through his forelock. He was becoming such an elegant animal. “How are you, handsome? Ready to work this morning?” He dropped his head to her waiting hand. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She forced her left arm up, ignoring the persistent pain, slipped the halter over his head and scratched his ears until he quieted. “No saddle today, I promise. Let’s get used to this first.” She opened the door but let the lead rope dangle as she walked away and let him follow. He needed to know she wouldn’t tug and pull. His clopping tread reminded her of Beau and her wobbly bike ride.

Shaking the memory free, she stood in the stable doorway. The pasture was cloaked in fog, and dew silvered the grasses not already trampled. It was like looking through a soft-focus lens. In this moment, right before sunrise, the world was fuzzy, tinted green, blue and gray. The birds chirped quiet, sleepy greetings. Hemingway froze when she picked up the rope.

“I won’t hurt you.” Abby took one step, keeping the lead slack, and waited. When the animal moved forward, she took another step. They inched through the paddock and the gate to the edge of the field.

“Good boy,” she murmured as she offered him a carrot and stroked his graceful neck. “See? No pain.”

Leaving him there, she went back into the stable only to run out when an equine scream ended canine yelps and snarls. All that remained of Hemingway were his thundering hoof beats and the waving grass.

Abby knelt next to Toby and ran her hands over him, checking him for injuries. The dog’s shame gave way to a plea for a belly rub.

“I know you want to herd him,” she scolded as she gave in and scratched his chest, “but he hates to be crowded right now.” She stood and sighed. “Let’s go get him.”

Hem’s trail was marked in the dew, and easy to follow. The tall grass swallowed Toby in a gulp, and Abby followed through the swaying fescue to the river, her bag of carrots and apples bouncing against her hip. Stepping carefully on the slick rocks, she hopped to the Simons’ pasture and continued up the hill.

“Buy” links: Amazon | B&N | Google Books

About the Author

Mia Kay is a small town girl who loves to go back to visit, but is happiest living somewhere else. She can get back quickly if her family needs her, but she’s far enough away that they don’t stop by and catch her in her pajamas until far too late on Saturday morning.

Find her at: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Newsletter

Thanks for having me as a guest, Delilah.

I’d like to introduce my upcoming release, currently on pre-order, Book 5 in the Beachcomber Investigations romantic detective series, BEACHCOMBER TROUBLE.

The series follows volatile partners Dane Blaise and Shana George as they take on cases that always seem to turn into missions. They also take on each other, battling their irrepressible attraction as they try to maintain their puzzling relationship.

Neither Dane nor Shana are sure why they stay together, but they can’t seem to get along, they can’t seem to squelch their desire and they can’t ever seem to tear them selves away from their commitment to have each other’s back.

Beachcomber Trouble

Out of the blue, ex-special ops legend Dane Blaise receives a CIA coded message for Trouble. It’s a call to help an old associate of his—Oscar. Dane had no idea his partner, ex-Scotland Yard detective, Shana George knew Oscar too. Even though Dane suspects Oscar’s CIA handler, Floyd Parker, is not to be trusted, Dane answers the call.

Dane didn’t know that Shana answered the call too–and that the trap was set and the trouble was about to go from bad to the worst possible trouble of all.

Get your copy here!

About USA Today Bestselling Author Stephanie Queen

A romantic at heart and a writer by nature, Stephanie Queen has the enthusiastic soul of a cheerleader. So of course she loves creating stories where the good guys always win. Although she’s lost count of all the jobs she had before she settled on being a Novelist, her favorite was selling cookies as a Keebler Elf. She is a graduate of UConn (go Huskies!) and Harvard U and lives in New Hampshire with her family, her cat, Kitty, and her (real or imagined?) chauffeur, Myren.

Links:
StephanieQueen.com
Sign up for the SQ Newsletter
Stephanie Queen on Facebook
@StephanieQueen on Twitter
Stephanie Queen on Pinterest

“Make hay while the sun shines” is a saying I often remember when I’m trying to decide what to do next. I’m happy to say it always gives me an opportunity to restart my thinking. Am I doing the task most suited to this moment? This day? This season?

I tend to take the long view. I love history. But what I love most is connecting history to the present, and that’s what old sayings like this do for me. I suspect this one goes back to the earliest days of agriculture when it didn’t matter what else was going on—if the day was sunny, your decision was made for you to get out there and take advantage of the sun. Surviving the winter depended on it.

Nature is a great decider. When the sun is shining, I have a hard time sitting inside slinging words to the page. But when thunder rolls and rain sluices against the window, there’s nothing more delicious than tucking into the world of imagination.

The extremes of nature not only prepare my mood for writing, reading, and other indoor activities but also can provide writing prompts. This month’s short story on my blog started exactly that way, as you’ll see in the following excerpt. From one moment to the next, unraveling a story to see what words appear next on the page is an exercise of creativity and discipline, but also opening to nature’s subtle hints. Or not so subtle, like crashing lightning and howling wind.

I call this making hay while the sun shines. I take what is given and let it run out in front until I see where it’s going. I think it’s good advice no matter what tasks and priorities you may face.

Excerpt from Tale of Two Lovers

Thunder cracked and rolled, shuddering the ground under Inka’s feet. She felt it through the stiff hide of her boots, through the thick fur lining. Peering into the downpour, she tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders and tried to dismiss a lurking sense of apprehension. Trees bent and tossed in the cold wind, sending rain spray against her face as she stared into the gray deluge.

She saw no one. But she couldn’t make herself close the door.

Someone was out there.

Moments later, the dark figure of a man loomed, walking and leading a horse. As they neared, she could see another man slumped on the horse’s back. Inka briefly considered whether she should seize the heavy dagger she kept by her bed.

She should have felt them coming. How had her vision failed?

They approached her entry and stopped, giving her time to read their energy. It radiated in pale blue waves.

“We need your help,” the walking man said. “Will you provide succor?”

Inka locked eyes with the man, searching within him for evil intent. Sending blue energy could have been a shield. His weathered face streamed with water. Peering from under his soggy hood, his pale eyes reflected the gleam of her fire pit and spoke of his desperation. And his honesty.

“Come in, then,” she said, opening her door wider and stepping back.

He turned to his companion, pulling him off the horse and holding him up with his shoulder as they staggered into the cabin. Inka seized the horse’s reins and led it through the opening as well, walking it past the fire to a bed of straw where her own horse had once bedded. The horse shook itself, rattling the ornate breastplate. She slipped off the bridle and left the weary beast to the hay cradle.

With the door firmly fastened against the howling wind, she turned to study these strangers. The injured man had collapsed at the fireside as his companion peeled off his wet hat. With their hooded cloaks removed, she could see that both men wore a small dotted line along the right jaw, the mark of the distant Eirikr tribe.

“You’re far from your home,” she said, squatting to add more wood to the fire. Coals shifted and sent sparks into the air. Water droplets fell through the smoke hole at the top of her roof and vaporized in the flames with tiny hisses.

“Three days,” the man said. “I’m Darnoc. This is Conrad.”

The injured man lifted his head enough to make eye contact with Inka. His pale blue eyes created a shocking appearance in a face so dark with grime and blood. But it wasn’t the appearance alone that caused her breath to catch in her throat. His gaze conveyed a message so unexpected that her hand dropped to her waist belt to clutch her pouch of talismans.

“He’s a seiðmaðr,” she said in a hushed voice…

*~*~*

Read the rest of this story at:
http://lizzieashworth.com/2016/03/03/a-tale-of-two-lovers/ ‎

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