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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It’s here! Navy SEAL Survival is here! I hope you all run out and get your copy now. This is what you’ll find in the book:

• Hot Navy SEAL
• Strong heroine/former secret agent/bait for a human trafficking ring
• Lush Cancun setting
• Romance
• Suspense
• Escape!
• Great start to a new series

Navy SEAL Survival

SEAL OF MY OWN Series Book #1
by Elle James
Available now!

Amazon | Amazon UK | Kobo | Nook | iBooks | GooglePlay

Sign up for my newsletter for your chance to win these two great prizes! I’m drawing for winners March 3rd. Hurry!

Elle James’s Newsletter

After feeling the heat in Honduras cleaning up a terrorist training camp, Duff Callaway is ready for some serious chilling in Cancun. Fun in the sun becomes a perilous rescue mission when the Navy SEAL saves his beautiful diving partner from an underwater attack. Except Natalie Layne wasn’t chosen at random.

Setting herself up as bait is the only way Natalie can find her abducted sister. But all her survival training can’t prepare the former SOS agent for the irresistible stranger she has to trust with her life. Giving up isn’t an option. Neither is giving into the powerful desire smoldering between them…

 About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author ELLE JAMES also writing as MYLA JACKSON is an award-winning author of stories including cowboys, intrigues and paranormal adventures that keep her readers on the edges of their seats. With over eighty stories in a variety of sub-genres and lengths she has published with Harlequin, Samhain, Ellora’s Cave, Kensington and Avon. When she’s not at her computer, she’s traveling, snow-skiing, boating, or riding her ATV, dreaming up new stories.

Elle’s Links: Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | GoodReads | Newsletter | Amazon Author Page

Today, I woke to a thundershower. Which, usually, I don’t mind. Today, however, it’s dragging me down. The sky’s dark. The clouds are heavy. The air feels heavy! I almost didn’t blog. Can you imagine that? And I don’t want to write. Egads!

What I’d really like to do is head into the living room, settle into a deep, soft chair, and watch a sad movie. Then I want to follow it with another viewing of The Martian. Now, there’s a movie that inspires.

Have you seen it? Yes, it’s a space adventure, a fantasy, but the feel of it is the same as the real-life space drama, Apollo 13, and Matt Damon makes it feel just as believable and urgent. You’re rooting all the way! So, maybe, that’s what I’ll do today.

What’s your current pick-me-up movie? 

For me, the most traumatic scene in Star Wars (the original trilogy) was when Darth Vader took off his helmet and he wasn’t the hot, hunky sex god his voice promised he’d be. I loved Darth Vader’s (James Earl Jones’) voice. I fell in love with it. I dreamed about it. It was deep and low and oh so very dominant.

Forget Luke and his issues. I wanted Darth to be MY daddy. (naughty grin)

In Crash And Burn, the most recent standalone story in my cyborg romance series, Safyre, the human heroine, falls in love with Crash’s, the cyborg hero’s, voice (though she’d never admit to that). They talk for months before they meet face-to-face. She doesn’t know what he looks like but she knows how he thinks and how he sounds.

And, woo wee, does he sound sexy!

When I first met my dear wonderful (now) hubby, we lived in different cities. We met in person and then mostly talked on the phone for the next four months. I fell in love with him at first night but man, oh, man, hours of listening to his sexy voice sealed the deal.

For some women, it’s an accent that does it for them. Scottish accents. (bites fist) Slow Southern twangs. That Irish accent I always associate with bad boys.

For some women, it’s how deep the man’s voice is, that low rumble that rolls along our spines and settles inside us, hot chocolate for the eardrums.

According to Smithsonian Magazine ( http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/why-women-like-deep-voices-and-men-prefer-high-ones-41492244/ ), we subconsciously use voice to determine how large a possible mate is. Women are more attracted to deep voices because deep voices signal that men are physically large. We also like ‘breathiness’, which indicates lower aggression and anger toward us.

My brothers-in-law tell me they always know when my hubby is talking to me, simply by listening to his voice. The caring wrapped around his words is obvious.

Have you ever fallen in love or lust with a person’s voice? What accents do you find sexy? What actors do you think have the sexiest voices?

***

Crash And Burn

Crash was manufactured to be one of the best warriors in the universe. The cyborg has spent many human lifespans fighting the enemy. But, unlike his battle-loving brethren, he doesn’t enjoy killing. When he escapes the Humanoid Alliance, he vows to never end another life.

Then he meets Safyre, an infuriating human female, and he considers breaking his vow.

Safyre will do anything to save her friend, the being she loves like a sister. She’ll ravish a huge hunky cyborg, kiss his best friend, and invoke scorching hot desires the male never realized he could feel. Dark soulful eyes, a quick wit, and a tempestuous passion won’t divert her from her mission.

Love, and a planet-destroying weapon, however, might stop her permanently.

Buy Now: On Amazon US | On Amazon UK | On ARe | On B&N | On Kobo

Excerpt

She paused outside the medical bay and swiped a cleaning cloth under her dripping nose. The fabric sucked up the blood, rearranging the molecules into air, removing all evidence that the device was affecting her.

Tifara would have a solar storm-sized meltdown if she realized the operation had aftereffects. She’d force Safyre to remove the device, and that couldn’t happen. It was Safyre’s only means of contacting Crash.

He wasn’t one of the warriors. Half human, half machine, cyborgs were designed to follow orders. Crash didn’t blindly obey any being.

He was a human conduit, a go-between. His communications device was more modern, having once belonged to an E model cyborg, and he claimed he could access transmission lines she couldn’t reach.

Female, the mysterious male transmitted through the cyborg communications device.

Did you speak with the cyborgs on board the freighter? That intergalactic freighter was her ride to Tau Ceti. It was transporting cyborgs to the planet and had the landing clearance she required.

Yes. The male’s deep voice coiled around her heart and tightened her nipples. A female could come simply from listening to him. If her head wasn’t splitting in two from pain.

Safyre winced. Can you control them? She’d crafted a plan. He’d control the cyborgs, ordering them to subdue the crew. She’d sneak onto the freighter before he arrived and take command of the vessel. That would give her control over Crash.

They’ll follow my direction. The certainty in his transmission reassured her.

Safyre was a pilot, not a warrior. She couldn’t defeat one cyborg on her own. The freighter carried one thousand of the manufactured warriors.

This is a reckless plan, female, Crash told her yet again. Discard it before you cause lasting damage to yourself.

The plan is set. She wasn’t changing it. Worry about yourself, not me. For a male interested in obtaining a cyborg army, he was overly concerned with her well-being. That was a strange experience for Safyre, a war orphan. She didn’t know how to deal with it.

And if I back out of the plan—

I’ll implement plan B. There was no plan B, not yet. She’d been contemplating other options, fearing no being would respond to her communications, when he answered. None of the alternatives were feasible.

You will not implement plan B, Crash barked and her spine straightened. I’ll meet with you on board the freighter in one planet rotation.

The line went silent. He must have severed their connection. Crash had the ability to open and close their transmission line, controlling communications. She hadn’t yet mastered that skill.

Crash would communicate with her again. They’d been conversing several times every planet rotation. She couldn’t sidestep Tifara’s questions and avoid his subtle probing at the same time.

She wiped the cleaning cloth under her nose, stuffed the fabric into the front pocket of her navy-blue flight suit and hurried into the medical bay.

About Cynthia Sax

USA Today bestselling author Cynthia Sax writes contemporary, SciFi and paranormal erotic romances. Her stories have been featured in Star Magazine, Real Time With Bill Maher, and numerous best of erotic romance top ten lists.

Sign up for her dirty-joke-filled release day newsletter and visit her on the web at www.CynthiaSax.com

Website:  http://cynthiasax.com/
Newsletter:   http://tasteofcyn.com/2014/05/28/newsletter/
Facebook:  facebook.com/cynthia.sax
Twitter:  @CynthiaSax
Blog:  http://tasteofcyn.com/