The special starts Friday and ends Tuesday, so don’t miss your chance.

Excerpt

Jessie glanced out the front window. “It’s cloudy. Won’t it be awfully cold?”

“Not really,” Luke said. “We’ll bundle up and put an extra pair of socks on. It’s nice up there this time of year. Do you remember Cheyenne Canyon? Helen Hunt Falls?”

Jessie chuckled, thinking of her ragged copy of Ramona, Helen Hunt Jackson’s famous novel of a California woman and the Indian, Alessandro, she loved. Jessie had discovered a dusty copy in the library when she was fourteen and read it three times—just that year. She’d lost count of how many more times she’d picked up the beloved book. “How could I forget?”

Luke grinned, and his face was suddenly ten years younger. He’d often teased her about falling in love with him because she had loved Alessandro first.

And in a small way, it was true. The first time she had seen Luke, hammering nails into the frame of her father’s new study, she had been riveted. As he worked in the heat of a California afternoon, his long black hair braided and dark skin shimmering with sweat, he’d been the most singularly attractive man she’d ever seen. His back was bare and long and dark, his arms strong and hard-muscled. A red bandanna tied around his forehead kept the hair from his eyes. She stared at him through her bedroom window, her stomach tight, unable to believe he was real. He paused, wiping a forearm across his brow. And then he looked up.

Jessie, romantic and young, had thought with a painful pinch, Oh, it’s Alessandro! Her heart flipped when he gave her a slow, mocking, sexy smile…..

####

In the mountains….

“You forget, Jessie, I was your number-one fan a long time before anybody else realized how good you were.”

Her gaze didn’t stray, but he saw a flicker of something oddly stricken cross her face. “I didn’t forget.” With a little shrug, not looking at him, she said quietly, “I’m pretty sure there would have been no paintings at all if it hadn’t been for you.”

He touched her hand on his arm. “So tell me about them.”

She looked at him, then back toward the up sloping path. “Well, I just sold a group called ‘Canning Time.’ It’s kind of a historical feeling, I guess—the thirties. Four women doing all kinds of things in a kitchen—getting the fruit, washing it, laughing.”

“I’d really like to see them.”

Suddenly she seemed to realize how intimate they’d become, walking close on the snowy path, enveloped by the silence of the winter day. She snatched her hand back and slipped it deep into the pocket of her coat. His coat.

Luke let her retreat. In a moment, he heard her breathy hum start up again. This time, the song clicked in. “I’m On Fire.” Evidently, he wasn’t alone in remembering how it had been between them.

Biting back a grin, he started humming along, loud enough for her to hear. A bright pink splash of color flooded her cheeks. He nudged her gently, chuckling.

She bent her head, but said nothing.

They walked for a long time in the soft gray day. Jessie finally protested that she needed to rest, and they paused at the edge of a wide, high field, blanketed with unbroken snow. Giselle and Tasha raced into the snow, kicking up sprays and tumbling each other into it.

Luke felt the cold air and the brisk walk in his blood as a tingling glow. Next to him, Jessie leaned against a pine, laughing as she watched Giselle. “I should get her a dog,” she said. “I had no idea how much she liked them.”

“Tasha’s not just any dog. She’s the greatest dog I’ve ever had.”

“Really?” Jessie grinned up at him, cocking her head. A fall of hair rippled down her arms. “What about Boris?”

“Yeah, Boris was great, too.” He rubbed his cold nose with cold fingers, thinking of the shepherd that had accompanied him on his wanderings for ten years. Every night for three weeks after Jessie left him, Boris had paced the house and howled mournfully.

“What happened to him?”

“He was so big, his hips started to go. I had to have him put to sleep. He couldn’t walk anymore—I even had to carry him outside to do his business.”

She regarded him steadily, a softness of sympathy in her eyes. It struck him all at once that it was Jessie standing here next to him. She was smiling gently, as if she wanted to tell him she knew how hard that had been for him, that she knew he’d wept privately when he buried his dog. She was the only one he’d ever let close enough to see that weakness in him. Embarrassed, he glanced away.

Overhead, an enormous blue jay—a camp robber—claimed a branch. With a flurry of wings and noisy straightening, he harangued the intruders, screeching at them like a fishwife to get out of his territory. Jessie laughed.

“You still like those evil creatures?” Luke asked.

“Yes, I do.” She grinned. “They’re sassy and strong.”

Drawn by her grin, he stepped closer and then paused. All at once, the tumult of emotions that had risen at the surprises of the past day dropped away. Left in its place was a calm, sharp desire—a hunger that had never ceased, not in eight years; a need that still thrummed through him, like the eternal sound of drums in a heartbeat. He wanted her. Plain. Simple. Clear.

He licked his lip. “You’re a blue jay,” he said, touching the array of bracelets on her wrist and then the earrings winking through her hair.

“Am I?”

Earlier, she had kept up walls of fear between them when he stood this close. Now there was nothing, only Luke and Jessie the way they’d always been. Before she could protest, he bent and brushed a kiss over her cold lips.

The contact sent a zinging rush over his nerves. In the tiny second it took, he felt the slight dryness of her chapped lips and a hint of the warm moisture beyond. Her hair brushed his cheek, and her chin jutted up a little so she could meet him halfway.

He lifted his eyes to meet her surprised gaze. A snowflake caught on her cheek and he brushed at it, feeling his heart thump and his soul swell a little from the headiness of finding something lost. In her eyes he caught a flicker of pain and fierce desire. He winked.

Before she could protest, he quickly stepped away and joined his daughter in the snow.

* * *

The walk back took much less time. Jessie felt oddly free and calm as they hiked down. She and Luke didn’t speak, but she felt his kiss lingering between them, not quite a promise, not fierce enough to be a threat. He seemed as content as she to simply be quiet.

Back at the truck, Giselle begged to be allowed to ride in the rear with Tasha. Jessie frowned, and Luke shook his head firmly. “Nope—there are tools and all kinds of other junk back there right now. Maybe another time.”

Exhausted by the long walk and her romp with Tasha, Giselle looked mutinous. Jessie recognized the expression and stepped forward to gather her into a hug before she fell to pieces. “I think,” she said to Luke over her daughter’s head, “we have one very tired young lady here.”

He returned her smile. “I’ve got some stew at the house. Some lunch and a nap and she’ll be fine.”

“I really think we need to go back to the hotel.”

“Why would you want to pay good money to eat at a bad restaurant when you can eat my home cooking for nothing?” he said lightly, opening the bed to let Tasha into the truck. “If you want to go back to the hotel after lunch, I’ll take you.”

Holding her daughter close to her chest, Jessie looked at him. His black, glossy hair was tousled from his play in the snow, and the wind had stung dusky color into his high cheekbones. Tasha leapt into the truck and turned to give an adoring, thankful lick to her master’s chin. Luke scrubbed her ruff, smiling fondly.

It was so easy for Luke, Jessie thought. He just opened up and loved things—dogs and cats and cloudy days and little girls. So easy. And they all loved him right back.

Just as Jessie had.

Her silence stretched a long time. Luke seemed to sense her gaze and he turned. Across the snowy ground, with a child of their making and a cold wind between them, they looked at each other. His strongly chiseled face was grave. She hoped hers showed nothing, but was afraid he could still read her all too well.

“Hotel or rabbit stew?” he asked at last.

Jessie couldn’t repress the chuckle that rose in her throat. “You didn’t tell me it was rabbit.”

He slammed the doors closed on the back of the truck and winked. “Tastes just like chicken,” he said, tongue-in-cheek.

Jessie inclined her head, thinking with relish of his fragrant stews. “It’s been a long time.”

“Is that a yes?”

She nodded. “I guess it is.”

He grinned, and the expression gave his eyes a devilishly sexy tilt. “Will you show me how to make Mrs. O’Brien’s biscuits?”

“I don’t know,” she said, pretending reluctance. “Maybe her biscuits are one of those things that just needs a woman’s touch.”

“Maybe. It’s worth a try, eh?”

“Sure.”

Giselle fell asleep before they had driven out of the canyon. She slumped against Jessie’s shoulder. “I am definitely buying this child a dog,” Jessie said quietly. “Tasha wore her out—and believe me, that’s no small feat. She’s like that battery—she just keeps going and going and going…”

Luke glanced at the girl. “She’s out cold now.” He shook his head and signaled to join the main street out of the canyon. “She’s so much like Marcia, it’s almost eerie.”

“I guess you’ll want her to meet Giselle.”

A strange expression flickered over his face. “Mmm.”

“‘What?”

He touched his jaw, shifted the truck and glanced in the rearview mirror. “I, uh, already made arrangements. She’ll be here this afternoon sometime.”

“You had no right do that without my permission.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I did it last night when I was feeling so blown away. If you want me to take you to the hotel now, I will. Marcia doesn’t know it’s you guys—I just told her there was somebody I wanted her to meet.”

Jessie stared at him, holding the warm weight of her child against her, and suddenly realized it was not only Jessie who was upset by all this. Luke, too, had to grapple with the demons of the past. “No,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”

He gave her a grateful smile and reached over to touch her hand. “Thanks, Jessie.”

All at once she realized how much she had relaxed in his company. He was so damned easy to be around, so easy to talk to. He never seemed to expect anyone to be anything except just what they were.

Alarmed, she moved her hand gently from his and saw a ripple of hurt cross his features. Pressing her lips together, she resolutely turned her face to the window. “It’s only fair.”

His voice sounded tired as he said, “Fair doesn’t have much to do with any of this.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “I guess it doesn’t.”

Luckily, it is free for the next five days on Kindle.  Grab it while you can.

EXCERPT

It was Zeke’s habit to rise early, one born in childhood when he’d awakened to help his mother weed the garden, knowing it would be the only time he could have her to himself in a day.

So even now, when his work was in the evenings and sometimes ran very late, he found himself wide-awake as dawn broke the night sky. Over the past months, he’d developed a habit of going to the canyon, knowing that if he got there early enough, as with his mother, he’d have it to himself.

Of all the flyspecks on the map he’d blown through the past eighteen months, Kismet would be the hardest for him to leave behind, a thought that bothered him this morning – just a little. He had a rule about getting attached to things. When you got attached, you got in trouble. People, animals, places – he didn’t let himself get too comfortable with any of them. Probably time to move on.

But this morning, he was here, and that was good. He stripped at the edge of the river, taking deep pleasure in the brush of cool morning air against his skin. Overhead, a tangle of larks and sparrows sang to the light, as if it were a unique event. He smiled at them, standing on the bank for a moment to brace himself . Taking a deep breath, he touched his stomach in preparation, and with a whoop, jumped into a deep pool.

The water was a biting, icy shock – exhilarating as it stabbed through his hair and needled his flesh. He touched bottom and pushed himself back up, then lazily paddled in the broad pool, admiring the colors around him.

Back in Mississippi, rivers were wide and muddy and slow, as if the heat sucked their energy from them. Their banks were covered with cattails and grass. This river was crystal clear and mountain-cold and ran fast through the canyon it had carved from red sandstone. There was no mud to speak of, because the streambed was the rock itself.

The beauty of it was that the water had played capricious games with the soft rock, creating slides and carving pools and ignoring little flats, with no rhyme or reason. Later in the day, it would be crowded with tourists, come from the campgrounds nearby to enjoy the miracle.

He kicked out and submerged himself again, now used to the invigorating cold. He looked at the sky, vividly blue above the red of the rocks, and wondered that such color could exist.

It was only then that he became aware of a prickling uneasiness. With a flush of embarrassment, he wondered if some campers had wandered over. He’d been coming here since summer started and had never been discovered. After a few weeks, he’d shed his cutoffs in favor of skinny-dipping just because it seemed natural to do so in such a place. Keeping himself covered to the shoulders, he spun around slowly, peering into the trees at one side of the water. Nothing moved but a squirrel, who chattered in some irritation at Zeke’s gall invading the quiet so early. He grinned to himself, relieved, and splashed backward to lean on a rock in the warming sunlight.

It was only then he caught sight of her, standing at the foot of a path that probably led straight back to her little cabin.

Mary. He wiped water from his face and straightened. “Well, well, well,” he said. “I’m just runnin” into you all over the place.”

She carried a small paper bag and a thermos. “I come here every morning to eat my breakfast,” she said, and pointed to a small outcropping of rocks on the other side of the stream. A natural staircase led to the perch. “I won’t bother you.”

“Maybe I’ll bother you.”

“I doubt it.” He saw that it took some effort, but she resolutely headed toward the perch, leaving her sandals at the edge of the stream to splash through the shallows to the stairs. When she reached the top, she settled herself primly with her bag in her lap. “You mind your business and I’ll mind mine.”

Zeke half smiled. She probably had no idea he’d left his clothes in a pile at the edge of the water, or she wouldn’t be quite so calm. The pool he stood in was deep enough to cloak his nakedness, but if he moved at all, the clear water wouldn’t hide much. “Nice sentiment,” he said, “but we’ve got a little problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, Miss Mary, all my clothes are over there on the bank.”

A flash of something crossed her face – satisfaction? She raised her eyebrows. “I guess you’ll have to wait until I’m finished with my breakfast

The original cover

to finish your swim, then, won’t you?”

Zeke licked his bottom lip. It had been a mistake to underestimate this woman. She might look young and naive, but there was something hard as barbed wire running beneath it all. If he hadn’t been so rattled by that mouth yesterday, he would have realized it, too.

“Not necessarily.”

She shrugged, cracking open a peanut. Her composure was utterly unrattled this morning, and he wondered what had brought about the change.

“I think you’re pretty mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Why would I be mad? You deliberately tried to embarrass me at the restaurant, then you followed me home, dropped all these innuendos, then made it sound like I was the one who initiated things.” A blaze of color touched her cheeks. “Not to mention the fact you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong.”

“All right, all right.” He raised a hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Sunlight angled through the high trees and over the canyon wall to strike her face. “I’ll turn around if you want to get out.”

“Much obliged.”

She stood up, and Zeke frowned over her clothes – a dowdy pair of baggy shorts with an equally dowdy, baggy tank top. He winced at the waste of that body in those clothes as she turned around, putting her back to him.

For a moment, he paused, struck by the tenderness of her nape. He followed the path of her spine downward to the barely visible outline of her rear end, down farther over the taut thighs and strong calves, tanned to a deep golden hue.

“You’d better hurry up,” she warned. “I’m not going to stand here waiting forever.”

Zeke pushed out of the water and dashed for the bank, feeling a little tightening of his muscles as he scrambled into his briefs and cutoffs. Much as he hated to do it, he tugged his shirt on, too. Cover the scars.

He turned around and saw to his relief she was still standing with her back to him. “All right,” he called.

She settled once more on her perch. “Maybe you shouldn’t be out here skinny-dipping.”

He waded through the shallows toward her, even though he told himself he ought to be moving in the opposite direction. “You’re the first person who has ever come here.”

“There’s not really room for two up here,” she said as he began to climb up the slope.

“Sure there is. Move your fanny over.”

She scooted like a little brown mouse, her mirth and bravado shrinking as he sat down next her. He chuckled. “What’s wrong, Miss Mary? You scared of the giant?”

“I’m afraid of falling off here.”

“You could sit on my lap.”

“I think not.” To avoid his eyes, she dug in her bag and came up with a handful of peanuts in their shells.

“Some breakfast,” he commented and grabbed the bag to peer inside. Peanuts, another apple, a paper carton of orange juice and a small thermos. “Will you share?”

“Help yourself.”

He held up the thermos. “Is this coffee?” She nodded. “But I’m afraid it has cream. I never did learn to like it black.”

“That’s okay, Miss Mary. I’ll drink it your way.”

She didn’t make a response, just cracked open a peanut and picked out the nuts from within. As he poured a cupful of the still-steaming brew, he caught her sidelong glance sweeping over his bare legs.

“So, what are you doing up so early?” he asked.

“I have to be to work at five-thirty. Even on my days off, I can’t sleep past four.” A shadow crossed her eyes, and she was suddenly not with him here on the sandstone table, but lost somewhere inside herself. He narrowed his eyes and wondered again what she was hiding. A violent husband? Maybe. It was plain she was scared to death.

He restrained himself from asking any more questions, however. Bad enough he’d crawled up here to sit with her. “I like early morning,” he said, admiring the sky. “Private, quiet, peaceful.”

“I never knew I did until—“ She broke off, bowing her head in consternation.

“I’m not gonna pry this morning,” he said quietly. “Promise.”

She raised wide brown eyes. “I never got up this early before I started working at the restaurant. I guess you do it all the time?”

“Pretty much.” He cracked a peanut and poured the nuts into his palm. “You ever wait tables before?”

A small, rueful smile touched her mouth. “No. It wasn’t a pleasant sight the first few days.”

He chuckled. “Roxanne train you?”

“Yes. She was so patient, too. She never yelled at me once.”

“She’s a good lady. Good waitress, too.”

Mattie looked at him, and he could see her weighing something in her mind. “She – um – rather likes you.” She pinched an earlobe. “That’s not really the right word, but you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not mutual?”

“Are you matchmaking, Miss Mary?”

With a little shrug, she tossed the stem of an apple into the water. “Maybe.”

He inclined his head, wondering why she would take that role when he’d been getting pretty clear signals that she “liked” him, as she put it. He touched her bare arm with one finger, liking the silky pale flesh and the jolt it gave her. “Why don’t you match make me with you?” he drawled. “Might be more successful.”

She didn’t look at him. “You aren’t my type, and I’m not yours.”

Only yesterday, Zeke had told himself the same thing. Two different worlds, lifestyles, values, everything. But he found his gaze wandering over the smooth length of her long neck, down to the shadow he could glimpse between her breasts, over her smooth, pretty legs.

“How do you know until you try?” he said.

She turned her head, and now she was so close, Zeke could see the green and blue and yellow flecks in the brown irises. “I know,” she said, but the huskiness in her voice betrayed her.

Below their dangling feet, the water rushed merrily over the rocks. Birds twittered and cheeped. A soft breeze, smelling of all the best of the outdoors, swept a lock of her hair over her forehead. Zeke let his fingers trace her upper arm and fall into the hollow of her elbow, tracing the path his fingers took with his eyes. An abrupt and insistent heat spread through his groin.

It would be so easy to disarm her, he thought. She was ready to fall right now. All he had to do was lean forward and press his mouth someplace that would surprise her – the sensitive hollow below her ear, the edge of her shoulder, her palm.

She swayed just a little toward him, and the motion brought Zeke to his senses. Alarmed, he snatched his hand away and swore softly.

He’d done it again.

In one day, this soft little mouse of a woman had tempted him into all kinds of thoughts he didn’t let himself have. He shook his head. Just hungry, he guessed. A man couldn’t go without forever, after all. Obviously, he was getting to the end of his celibacy.

But it would be a mistake to let himself go with this woman. A big mistake.

“I gotta go.”

He turned and scrambled down the rock, skinning his heel in his haste to get away from her.

“Zeke?” She climbed down after him, running a little to catch up. “Wait a minute.”

He steeled himself and spun around, pasting an annoyed look on his face to discourage anything sweet coming from her.

It worked. A little bit, anyway. She stopped a foot away, her bare feet sunk to the ankles in silvery water. She was still too close. He could smell her shampoo and see a gleam of that innocent hunger in her big brown eyes as she stared up at him. Way, way up, because she wasn’t real tall and Zeke didn’t meet many men bigger than he was.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply you were—“ she shrugged. “I don’t mean that you’re not good enough or anything like that. I’m just not your type.”

He took a breath. “You’re right. And I’m not yours.” He stuck out a hand to shake. “Friends?”

She smiled, and the expression was dazzling, innocent and sweet and damnably delectable. She stuck out her hand. Zeke caught sight of her burns again. It triggered that odd sense of déjà vu and as he took her hand, he turned it over quizzically. “How’d you get these burns, honey?”

She sighed and lifted her hands in front of her. “A teddy bear,” she said. “My parents were killed in a house fire when I was six. I was there, too, but the firemen got me out in time, but they couldn’t get the bear away from me in time. It stuck to me.”

Ah, hell. Now if that wasn’t just about the saddest story he’d ever heard—

Irritated with himself, he frowned. “Why do I think I know you? It’s driving me crazy.”

Her face drained of expression and she backed away. “I don’t know. And I’m not going to talk about it again.” She whirled and splashed back toward her rock.

Good. That was that. He stalked through the trees without a second glance. Time to get out of town, all right. Trouble was brewing. He could smell it.

These are my 12 personal commandments, which are connected to the secrets of adulthood.  I used Rubin’s list as a model, but adapted them to me and my reality. Maybe you have a list of your own you’d like to share.

1. Be Barbara
This is taken directly from Rubin.  It reminds me to be ME, not some idealized version of me.  Or as my old Unity minister used to say, “I am God expressing as….Barbara.”  Which is an exhilarating thought, really.

2. I am 100% responsible for my own happiness

Never as easy as I think it will be.  For example, when I am driving and some rude driver cuts me off, how can I be happy?  But I can, as my friend Heather does, tell myself another story about the action.  Maybe that person has a sick child or is rushing to the beside of his best friend.

This also counts when I am irritated with some aspect of daily life or a person in my life….100% means all the time. The weird thing is, this particular secret carries a huge amount of relief.

 3. If I look good, I feel good.
This doesn’t mean trying to be botoxed and skinny.  It is to remind me that while it’s okay to wear yoga pants and my hair in a scrunchy while I’m working, I feel 10x better if I  get my hair cut on time and wear only clothes I really love.  It means putting on the nicer shirt and taking the time to do my hair before CR comes home.  Little stuff, that’s all.  (And this probably makes me sound like a slob, which would be impossible for a daughter of my mother.)

4. An Uncluttered Environment Leads to an Uncluttered Mind
Simple. I don’t have to have sparkling clean floors, but need to reduce visual clutter as much as possible.

 5. Exercise always helps
I need daily walks and fresh air and lots of hard, physical exercise.  I am grouchy without it.  If I’m cranky or overwhelmed or tired, I almost always need to get outside or go swimming or go work out.  The deeper the grumpiness, the more I need to do.

 6. Sleep Gives You A Clear Head

I am a morning person.  Like, obnoxiously so.  I like to wake up early and get going on the day.  That means I’m genuinely tired and ready to quit by 8 or 9.  Because I grew up with vampires, I sometimes feel sheepish about this and will often try to stay up until 11, like other people.  All this does is make me tired.  Going to bed with a good book at 9 is a great choice for me.

 7. Overindulging Always Has A Price
 Just what it says.  Too much sugar or wine, too many video games, too many cookies…and I don’t feel great.

8. Work and Meeting Goals Makes Me Happy
I am lucky enough to adore the work I do.  Sometimes, however, I can procrastinate myself into a corner and then I have to work too hard to be able to enjoy the process.  Much much better to set reasonable goals and show up every day to get the work done.  I feel so much better this way.

 9. Tracking My Progress Is An Effective Tool for Conscious Living
I am a born diarist, and seeing my day to day habits in black and white makes me aware of what habits and actions actually form the basis of my life.  That allows me to be accountable and to make changes if I so desire.

 10. Celebrating others makes me feel happy
Everyone likes to be noticed, honored, get presents and cards. 

11. Meditation is my way of listening to God
I like meditation, but I am surprised how often I’ll say to myself, “I don’t have time this morning.”  Making time makes a difference.

12. I am always practicing to be an elder
Our society revers youth, not elders, but we need our elders to guide and help lead.  To be the Wise Woman I hope to be one day, I have to learn what that means, and how to embrace it. That means listening to my elders instead of dismissing them.  It means seeking instruction and guidance.  It means practicing awareness of what I say and how I say it and how that influences others.

How about you? Can you think of some things you’d put on your list?  

I am madly in love with Bartholomew and Alia and the world they are revealing to me. I love having the the little deadline every few days so I can write some pages, and stick with it, but I also love that I’m writing it for me. I always write for myself, of course, but the artistic freedom in doing whatever I want for pure, total fun is rejuvenating in a way I hadn’t expected.

Now I’m off to soak in the hot springs and put together a vision board for the new year.

If you want to follow along, go to http://theotherlandchronicles.com/2011/12/chapter-9-scene-2/

In the meantime, hope you are all having a day as fine as mine.

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