UPDATE: The winners are…Pat Freely, Debra G, and Amy T!

* * * * *

I’ve another new shorty for you to enjoy! Well, new if you’ve never read Lesbian Lust, and twice as long as it was in Licks… I like to make sure the shorties I publish individually are at lease 5,000 words long, and if they are not, I promise to add a little something extra. Since The Weekend came in at just over 4,700 words, I added a story I’ve never published before—Soldier Girls. So enjoy! And don’t you just love the cover?!

That’s what this weekend was all about. A last chance to renew our connection. Or maybe this was goodbye…

Includes a bonus story, Soldier Girls, at the end!

Note: This original short story may be short in length, but it’s not short in passion!

Purchase here!

I just thought I might mention two other recent shorty releases that are doing rather well… Plus that brand new shorty collection that’s out…

The Hired Hand is still #1 on the LGBT short reads list! And I love the notes readers are sending me regarding my latest Stepbrothers Stepping Out story! And do you know what a great value Strokes, Vol. 3 is? Especially now? That $0.99 price will not last long!

Thanks for your support, everyone! And click on the covers, if you’d like to check them out!

Excerpt from Soldier Girls…

Fort Sill, Oklahoma, 1992

“Don’t ask, don’t tell” didn’t last past drinks at dinner.

Sergeant Kim Prescott eased off her dark green Army jacket and hung it on the seat behind her. The movement stretched the lighter green blouse across her breasts. She must have caught me glancing, because her brown eyes narrowed. “Too bad you have to head back to Gordon this weekend.”

“Gordon” was Fort Gordon, Georgia. I’d been lucky to snag a slot in a two-week course at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where I’d shared a classroom table with SGT Prescott. We’d bonded over stories of both our stints in Desert Storm and our inability to quit cigarettes now we were stateside.

Of course, all the chit-chat was riddled with subtext. I couldn’t control my need to ogle her amazing figure. She couldn’t seem to stop teasing me. Like now. A shoulder eased back, pushing out her full breasts, ensuring I’d stare a moment longer. Then she bent toward me again, the table between us. Her fingers stroked the back of the hand gripping my beer bottle. It was a quick touch, really, but I jerked.

“Easy,” she said. “It’s not like I’m hitting on you.” Then she looked at me again, giving me a stare that challenged while her expression shuttered up.

I knew the look. If I laughed it off, that would end the pass. We’d both edge away from where we currently sat, hunched over the table toward each other, ostensibly to hear better in the loud bar. We’d find an excuse to cut the evening short and go to our separate billets. One had to be careful in this environment, because one misstep could end a reputation and a career. And as effed up as the DoD policy was, I liked my job and took pride in the fact I was a good soldier. I wasn’t going to risk everything because I like the curve of Kim Prescott’s breasts.

However, her stare continued. Temptation proved too great to resist.

Beneath the table, I slipped off a shoe and ran my toes up the inside of her calf. “What do you say we ditch this place and head back to my room? I’m getting hoarse from shouting.”

Pass accepted.

We retrieved our jackets, settled the check, and walked back to her car.

*~*~*

Contest

For a chance to win  your choice from among the stories on this web page—My Shorties—answer me this…

What are your Saturday plans?

Mine include making tie-die shirts with the kids to wear on Valentines Day! Sounds messy, right? And it was all my idea…

UPDATE: The winner is Kymberly Holland!

* * * * *

That phrase, “filling the well”, sounds almost erotic, doesn’t it? Given when I write, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that my mind goes right there. But to a writer, it means refilling your creative well, that part of you that has to live in la-la-land and needs to daydream.

I’ve been writing since January 2000. Not as long as some, but the longest commitment I’ve ever made to a single job. And I do it because I truly love to write—and it’s a natural fit because I’ve been a dreamer all my life.

I finished another story for Samhain on Sunday, the next in the Firehouse 69 series, entitled, Rapid Entry. (Yeah, I had to go there, again.) But the title’s not the point. My carefully detailed work plan called for me to sit down yesterday and whip out a quick short story, but I couldn’t make myself do it. So instead, I wandered into my very messy art room and made this for my daughter.

I’ve discovered in recent years, that not all my talents are confined to words. And when I’m struggling with a story, I need to refresh my well. Since I don’t want to dread the creative process I go through to dream up my stories, I take mini-breaks to stop and make a necklace or paint something like this…

It’s not perfect, but it explodes with color and took concentration to create, which allowed me to drift—something I have to do replenish my imagination. And sometimes, I make things that are whimsical and just make me smile, like my domino pendants.

Luckily, I can indulge that whimsy because I sell enough of them to keep purchasing paints and brushes and all the crazy art things that are currently littering my workroom. (Does anyone really need a Vintaj metal embosser, or a pasta maker and toaster oven for their polymer clay?)

So, that’s what I do when I need to escape from my computer. What is your escape?

Answer for a chance to win an Amazon gift card!

Hi, all!  I’m happy to be back and want to thank Delilah for letting me come play in her space again.  It’s always fun when I visit here.

I’ve been a romance reader since I was in my early teens, thanks to my mom’s stash, and a reader since I was little.  My mom would cart us to the public library once a week, and I would spend ages hunting for just the right book to check out—we were only allowed one a week, and a week is a long time to only have one book to read, isn’t it?  In elementary school, I read everything the librarian had deemed appropriate for our class, and my mother told her to let me read whatever I wanted, no matter what grade.  When I hit junior high, I started working in the school library one period a week, and I would go home on Fridays with a humongous stack of books—most of which would go back to the library by Monday, as I would have devoured them over the weekend.

I didn’t stick just to romance, but read anything and everything.  When the librarian ordered new books for the library, I got first dibs.  The weekend I took Gone With the Wind home, I read it twice.  I fed my reading habit later with a spot reviewing romance novels for years, and I worked at Waldenbooks and Borders for seven years.  Good-bye, paychecks!  Hello, overflowing bookshelves!  I’m sure a lot of you have similar stories.

It’s harder finding as much reading time as I would like some weeks, and I wish I could take a vacation to read.  I have more than enough books to fill a week’s reading time. When my husband pokes his head into my book room and asks if I have enough yet, I tell him I’m saving for retirement; he knows I’m not joking.  By the time this post is live, I will have added more to my cache from my trip to Maryland with friends to the Nora Roberts booksigning with a few other authors whose books I enjoy.  And on Valentine’s Day weekend, I’m taking part in a multi-author signing, so I’m sure I’ll be taking some books home from that as well.

Now to make the time to read all these gorgeous new books…

Sometimes when I do have the time to read, I find it hard to turn off the writer in my brain and enjoy the story.  I have read Linda Howard’s Death Angel more times than I can remember at this point.  At least seven, maybe more.  The first time I read it, I loved it so much, I went right back and read it again.  Anyone who knows me knows I never reread.  I can’t even keep up with my new books, so going back is not a thing for me.  So to reread right away?  That was a Really Big Deal.  And I read it again.  Then a few more times when the paperback was released.

I read it again last year, but this time, Writer Brain wouldn’t shut off and let Reader Brain enjoy the story.  No, WB was too busy studying and analyzing.  I hardly ever have that problem, and never with a book I love as much as this one.  Has this ever happened to you?  Not necessarily having a noisy Writer Brain, but just having trouble getting into a story you love, or by an author you love?

What do you do when you can’t get into a book?  Do you give up altogether?  Put it aside for another day?  Keep going anyway?  I’d love to know.  Everyone who chimes in on this within 48 hours of the post going live gets entered into a drawing (via RandomResult.com) for a free ebook copy of Hunting Medusa. 

About the Author

Almost as long as she’s been enjoying great books, Elizabeth Andrews has been attempting to write her own.  She found her mother’s romance stash as a teenager and was hooked.  She loves a variety of genres, mostly hot.  You can find out more about her at www.ElizabethAndrewsWrites.com

Hunting Medusa

One murderous mission. One killer case of PMS. Who said “the curse” was a myth?

The Medusa Trilogy, Book 1

Ever since the original Medusa ticked off Athena by bragging about her beauty, her cursed daughters have been paying for that mistake. To this day, successive Medusas play cat and mouse with the descendants of Perseus, known as the Harvesters.

When Kallan Tassos tracks down the current Medusa, he expects to find a monster. Instead he finds a wary, beautiful woman, shielded by a complicated web of spells that foils his plans for a quick kill and retrieval of her protective amulet.

Andrea Rosakis expects the handsome Harvester to go for the kill. Instead, his attempt to take the amulet imprinted on her skin without harming her takes her completely by surprise. And ends with the two of them in a magical bind—together.

Though their attraction is combustible, her impending PMS (Pre Magical-Curse Syndrome) puts a real damper on any chance of a relationship. But Kallan isn’t the only Harvester tracking Andi, and they must cooperate to stay at least one step ahead of a ruthless killer before they can have any future, together or apart.

Warning: A hunter who’s fallen for the woman he’s bound to kill, a Medusa who must trust him with her life, and a magical curse only love can break.

UPDATE: Winners are named! You have to check the comments for the list!

* * * * *

I’ll admit it. The idea felt icky. While not truly incestuous, the word “brother” attached to any hero who would be a heroine’s lover should be one of those places you should never go, right?

But then I wrote the first story. Then the second. And suddenly, I could see the allure. Someone you shared a roof with. So many opportunities to witness or be watched doing inappropriate things. Now, I have the fourth story in a series of edible little shorties ready for you to enjoy.

I thought this would be a five story series because I didn’t have any more “With xxx’s” ideas, but then I asked for your help for more, and now I can keep going indefinitely! If you still want them…

I already have a naughty cover for “With His Team” — and your suggestions that I loved: With His Ex-Wife, With His Ex-Boyfriend (LOL–I love that one!), With His Ex-Girlfriend, With His Ex-Lover, With His Pilot, With His Gardner, With His Doctor, With His Trainer, With His Bodyguard, With His Mate (I see a shapeshifter story there!)…

With His Team is next, because I already have the cover, but what are your TOP THREE FAVES from my list for the next stories? Answer for a chance to win one of the first three Stepbrother shorties I wrote (NOT WITH HIS FRIENDS). There will be three winners!

In the meantime, take a look at the new release!

When a college student joins her stepbrother at the family lake house, sparks fly when she realizes he’s invited his best friends as well…

**FREE TO KINDLE UNLIMITED SUBSCRIBERS!**

Just $0.99 for everyone else! Purchase HERE.

Excerpt from With His Friends…

I followed the sounds of masculine laughter and splashes, skirting the lake house and heading straight toward the dock. Anger fueled my steps. And hurt. Caleb knew I’d expected to spend time alone with him this weekend. This, our last chance to enjoy the cabin on the lake now that our parents were divorcing. The house where we’d spent so many summers growing up would be lost, and perhaps, so would my relationship with Caleb.

Who knew what the future held for us? We were both heading back to school in a few weeks, him to UT, me to Rice. There would be no more family reunions during the holidays, no more chances to share the same roof where our parents’ self-involvement had allowed so many opportunities for the two of us to be…well, involved.

As I approached the dock, I realized that the two young men with my brother were known to me. I’d dated both. Johnny Wills, “John Wayne” to his friends, and Bradley Tanner. How awkward. I could hardly blow hot all over my brother when both men knew only too well that, for me, anger flipped my sexy switch. Read the rest of this entry »

I read a quote by Nora Ephron that encouraged me. “Above all, be the heroine in your life. Not the victim.” I agree with that. I believe that means I should take responsibility not just for what I do to others, but for how I react to what others do to me. I can decide to become a victim and have a “poor me” attitude, or I can decide to stand up for myself. I further believe if I am to stand up for myself, I must be willing to stand up for others.

In 2004, my first book (At the Mercy of Her Pleasure) featured a half-human hero. Senth Antonello was part feline Kin, and part human — and while Senth’s human parent was caucasian Senth also had an adoptive father who was black, and gay. Luc Saint-Cyr was not a good guy, but he wasn’t all bad either. I wrote Luc to be an enigma. When I first created him, I had no idea how popular he would become. My critique group continually asked for his story while I was writing Senth’s. By the end of the book, I had one planned for him.

Someone asked me why I, as a straight white woman, would write not only a black hero but also a black gay hero. She wanted to know why I didn’t “write what you know.” I don’t think it’s an author’s duty to write only what we know. I think it’s our duty to create an imaginary world that’s realistic and unique, different from our own. I doubt I could choose a more polar opposite character from myself than Luc. Other than the fact that I consider us both “good people” he is as different from me as he can get.

He’s immortal, and he is thousands of years old. Far from being jaded like most of his kind, Luc is fascinated by humans. He seeks them out and wants to know them. He falls in love every “lifetime.”

Luc has dark chocolate skin, black hair, and eyes that he hides behind solid black lenses that cover his entire eye area. (He has a good reason for that.) In romance novels, the average hero isn’t in his sixties and paired with a twenty-something alien hero. Luc has many diverse attributes. Yet he remains my most asked-for character. A few years ago, I decided to make birthday cards that would be sent “from” each of my heroes. (Really me, of course, but it was fun to play along.) When readers signed up to get a card, they had a choice among a host of characters. About three-fourths of them chose Luc.

Could I have made Luc white, human, and straight? I don’t think so.Those who know him refer to Luc as the “Man” with a capital letter you can hear. What Luc wants, he gets. Perhaps he chose me to write about him, rather than me choosing him. I will say that as I’ve written him into multiple books, I’ve always tried to stay true to Luc’s nature rather than being true to my own. Is having a diverse hero a challenge? Insomuch as I must always be mindful that I am writing about a person who is not me — yes. But as a writer, isn’t that what we do? Who wants to read a book where all the characters are the same? Who wants to write a book like that? Not me.

Luc is a background character in the Antonello Brothers series, including At the Mercy of Her Pleasure, For Women Only, and Bro, the Story Behind the Antonello Brothers. He’s a vital character. Much of the action hinges on what Luc does. I hope when you read one of the stories, you find him as fascinating as I do.

Get a free copy of Bro by joining the Romance Lives Forever Reader Group. https://kayelleallen.com/bro You’ll get a second book the next day. You can unsubcribe any time.

At the Mercy of Her Pleasure

Antonello Brothers 1: a Scifi Romance

Hired to steal back a prototype taken by the imperial armada, Senth Antonello retrieves it, but his brother is kidnapped to force Senth to surrender the device.

Now he has to rescue his brother, outsmart the armada, and keep the item out of imperial hands. All doable, except for one small problem. He must do it in the company of NarrAy Jorlan, a genetically altered woman whose pheromones could enhance the mission or crumble it into dust with a single siren kiss.

He’s a thief. She’s a soldier. Do opposites attract? Oh, mercy!

Buy Links

Amazon http://amzn.to/1f7FQ2h
ARe http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-are
Barnes and Noble http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-bnn
CreateSpace (Print) http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-csp
Goodreads http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-good
iBooks http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-ibk
Inktera http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-ink
Kobo http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-kobo
Scribd http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-scr
Smashwords http://bit.ly/bro-mercy-smw

About the Author

Author Kayelle Allen’s unstoppable heroes and heroines include role-playing immortal gamers, futuristic covert agents, and warriors who purr.
Homeworld https://kayelleallen.com
Twitter https://twitter.com/kayelleallen
Facebook https://facebook.com/kayelleallen.author
Pinterest https://pinterest.com/kayelleallen/
G+ https://plus.google.com/+KayelleAllen/

UPDATE: The winner is Armenia Fox!

* * * * *

Today’s guest is missing, so I thought I’d give you a little sexy creamer to go with your coffee…

Sorry, did you just snort your coffee? Was that too crude? I’m in one of those moods today. I have to make one final pass through my latest Stepbrothers Stepping Out story—this one is “With His Friends”—before I can ship it to the formatter. The plan is to have it on Amazon this Friday! But in the meantime, I’m “suffering” (LOL!) through a sexy foursome. Yes, I know the cover makes it look as though it ought to be a fivesome, but there’s only a hint of that in the story. Here’s a sneak peek at the cover:

And while you’re waiting for Friday to roll around, I’m sharing a sexy snippet from another naughty stepbrother story. If you’d like a chance to win a copy of With His Professor, answer me this:

If you read them, what do you like about menage stories?

An excerpt from Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Professor…

When a stripper confronts a professor about her stepbrother’s grade, she’s determined to find a way to change his mind. Making the grade has never been sexier…

Outwardly, the clothing I wore was respectable. But underneath, I wore nothing except for the straps Darien had fastened around my waist and upper thighs, which held the vibrator in place.

His idea. The remote was in his pocket.

We strode down the long, dark hallway, not glancing at each other directly but from the corners of our eyes, and I knew he could see the smirk kicking up one side of my mouth.

A hum sounded, and a vibration shot through me, causing my jaw to sag and my lids to lower.

Darien clicked off the remote, clamped a hand on my ass and pushed me forward.

We’d decided to play. No plan really. But we were ready in case there was even a flicker of interest from the handsome professor. Just the thought of what was under my short skirt was enough to fuel our excitement.

His door creaked open, a student stepped out, his gaze going to Darien, to whom he gave a nod, and then I drew his attention, and I gave him a sultry smile. He halted in his tracks, and I turned my head to watch him as I passed, enjoying the fact that he continued to stare after me.

I knew I looked good. Short black skirt, flirty knee-high boots, a powder blue sweater with one large button fastened between my boobs that hugged my upper chest, and it was obvious from the pout of my nipples I wasn’t wearing a bra.

Darien knocked on the door. The sound within was muffled, but my brother pushed inside then held the door to let me precede him.

Professor Allcock’s expression tightened, his gaze going from Darien to my chest, and back to Darien. He settled deeper in his chair and regarded both of us with a wary gaze.

I took a seat.

“I’ve finished the paper,” Darien said, and bent over the professor’s desk to slide it across. From the side, the sight of his erection tenting his pants made me grin.

When I raised my gaze, I found myself caught by the professor whose eyebrows were lowered. He knew he was being hunted. But I couldn’t read him to know whether he was into this, into us, or just irritated.

“You must be warm this evening,” he said, his gaze going to my sweater.

My heart  began to pound, because I understood his unspoken command. “I am warm,” I said, and flicked open the button. The sides parted, but only revealed a bare strip down my middle.

And because, for the moment, I had his undivided attention, I leaned back and opened my legs.

Darien coughed, which sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

The professor’s frown stayed in place, but his gaze snagged on the sight I revealed.

A hum began, so loud there was no chance the man across the desk missed it. Pleasure quivered through me. I gasped, settled deeper in my chair, and parted my legs farther.

The professor cleared his throat then pulled the paper closer.

The men commenced talking about the paper while I grew warm and wet and squirmed a little on my seat. When I leaned back, I opened my sweater fully to let the cool air tease my nipples. Exposed, my desire quickly ratcheted up.

Darien reached across and pinched my inner thigh. His head turned, and he gave me a blistering glare. “Not until I say.” Then he returned to the conversation.

The professor seemed to take it all in stride, his gaze skimming the paper and asking questions, but now and then, he’d glance at my pussy.

Was he afraid I’d wet the upholstery? Did he like what he saw? The mystery fueled my desire, and I took short breaths through pursed lips to hold onto my composure.

The professor slid open a drawer. He held out a hand toward me. “You left these the other night.”

My sequined pasties lay on his palm. I picked them up, letting my fingers slide on his skin, but he drew calmly away, as though he’d just handed me a pencil.

The vibrator’s speed increased, and I bit my lip, fighting the urge to climax.

“May I?” the professor said, holding out his hand.

Darien handed him the control.

And now, any pretending they were actually talking about the merits of Darien’s paper disappeared. Both males stared as I gripped the chair’s arms and scrunched my features because I was close. So fucking close.

The vibrator stopped, and I widened my eyes. His gaze was narrowed. His cheeks flushed. He leaned to the side, and the sound of another drawer, this one lower down and sliding open, filled the small room.

When he straightened in his chair, he held a pointer, a long one he would have used to point to a screen as he lectured. He passed it to Darien then swung his gaze back to me. One brow rose—a challenge thrown down?

I pushed up and stood on wobbly legs. Then never letting my gaze stray from his, I raised my skirt to my waist and bent over his desk. He was deprived of the sight of my ass and swollen pussy, but he didn’t seem to mind. He leaned back in his chair, wearing a small, tight smile.

The first stroke of that thin wooden wand made me gasp. It felt like a switch. Stung like a bitch. Another stroke, and I cried out. The professor held out the remote, his thumb hovering over the button.

My gaze locked with his as another strike stung me, and then he hit the remote, and the vibrator quivered to life. My pussy closed around it, making a wet, slurpy sound.

His gaze dropped to his crotch.

Mine followed.

His cock strained against the fabric of his dark slacks. If he’d opened them, I’d have begged to suck him, but he merely rubbed himself slowly, as he hit the trigger again and quickened the hum.

Darien slashed me one last time, and I couldn’t stop myself, I bit my lower lip to muffle a cry as my orgasm slammed through me.

Slowly, I came back to awareness. Darien was wiping my thighs and pussy with tissues the professor handed him. What was said between the two men, I didn’t care. The professor stood, and Darien pulled me upright, fastening the button of my sweater and tugging down my skirt to cover my sex and my ass. He rubbed my bottom, and I gasped at the welts he’d left. Welts my customers would see when I danced the next night. But I didn’t care.

*~*~*

Check out more sexy stepbrothers erotic romances:

Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Partner
Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Boss

Reunions.

What does that word bring to mind? Gathering for a family picnic on the Fourth of July? Losing a few pounds before you party with people you haven’t seen since high school graduation? Running into a former crush while you’re in your oldest sweats with no makeup on and standing in the line at the grocery store?

Any of the above situations can make for a great story filled with peril…or promise.

Who hasn’t heard about feuding cousins who buried the hatchet and became friends at a family reunion? Or the high-school sweethearts who found each other again—and tied the knot—after thirty years apart?

Romance novels often revolve around a reunion plot. I love that story line and include it in many of my books.

Obviously, one of the most important elements of a story, especially a romance, is getting and keeping the main characters together in a believable, uncontrived way. A reunion is a great way to accomplish that.

But this type of story is so much more than a ready plot device, a handy trope, a fallback for characters who need a quick and maybe cute intro.

One of the things I love best about a reunion story is that it brings together characters who have a past in common. Just think of the possibilities in that: two people with a history together.  Shared memories.  Unresolved conflicts.  Unforgiven and unforgivable hurts.

If that’s not good material for a relationship story, I don’t know what is!

In my opinion, a reunion plot makes for a richer, more complex story. It gives us a chance to see how two people who once walked away from each other can grow and change and improve. And best of all, it lets us see how those people who once made a mistake get a second chance.

My first published book, The Sheriff’s Son, is being reissued in new formats today. (Info on that below.) Just for fun, I’ve included before-and-after covers with this post.

The book is—you guessed it!—a reunion story. Sarah and Tanner were high-school sweethearts until the night of graduation, when he broke her heart. Here’s a clip from the beginning of the book with that all-important first meeting:

If one more straw would snap the camel’s back, as Daddy used to say, then one more debt, one more unplanned doctor visit, one more call from Kevin’s school ought to bring down a whole herd of cattle.

The thought of her son made Sarah sigh again. It was only a few weeks into the new school year, and in that short time, he’d given her more grief than in all seven years of his life combined.

At the sound of the bell over the bookstore’s front door, she smoothed the loose curls escaping from her braid and, ran a hand over the front of her dress. Halfway through the office doorway, she froze. Her mouth hung open, the greeting she’d intended to call out shriveling on her tongue, sliding back down her throat, curdling in her stomach.

Her “one more straw” had arrived.

A man stood at the front of the store, framed between a pair of ceiling-height bookcases.

Tanner Jones seemed to fill her vision, standing taller and more broad-shouldered than she ever remembered, but looking, unfortunately, all too familiar. Except for the deputy sheriff’s badge decorating his chest and the gun resting on his hip.

A frown rumpled his brow and his hand gripped the back of a bright blue T-shirt, pulling up with just enough pressure to keep the boy inside the shirt dancing on tiptoe.

A single mother’s worst nightmare. Doubled.

The son she never wanted to see in trouble.

The man she’d once loved. Once lost. And never wanted to see again.

~~

Hope you enjoyed the clip. I would love to hear your thoughts about reunion romances!

I’m giving away one reader’s choice of an autographed print copy of this book in the original version or one of my available backlist titles. (US mailing addresses only, please). To get your name in the hat, share a reunion story—one of your own or of someone you know.

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.

Barbara’s new series, The Hitching Post Hotel, features a matchmaking grandpa determined to see his three granddaughters wed. The series began with The Cowboy’s Little Surprise, and the latest book is The Lawman’s Christmas Proposal (just released in December). Cowboy in Crisis will debut in July 2016, with other books in the series to follow.

Her first book, The Sheriff’s Son, has been reissued (today! J ) in both larger print and a new e-book version, available exclusively from Harlequin:  http://bit.ly/TSS-LP-HB.  The original version is also still available at most major e-tailers, including Amazon: http://www.amzn.com/B00N79F94I.

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