As a Western Romance author, I spend a lot of time in Cowboy World. I was invited by a friend to join them in their yearly Cowboy Limo ride for the Holidays. I was so excited! I had seen previous pictures of everyone dressed up in finery for a night on the town. I asked about the dress code and was told it would be less dressy than last year, more semi-formal. Great! I love wearing skirts, and since it is winter it would give me a chance to wear the tights I had bought years ago. I hate pantyhose and have maybe worn them once in the last twenty years. However, this was a special occasion. Plus, it is fun to dress up once in a while. So I sandblast my feet so I won’t rip a hole in them with my heels and carefully rip open the new package. There must be some mistake. These pantyhose are four inches wide. I look at the package and double check the size. Size is correct. And I notice the “Tummy Control” lettering highlighted as well. I guess they will stretch, a lot. I proceed to get into my Yoga pose and carefully insert my foot. The first one is fine. The second foot was more trying, and I wondered if Harry Houdini could pull off this trick. I start the slow painful process and watch my legs disappear. I grasp the waist for the final hoist and rippppppppp, my thumb goes through the control top waste. But they are on, and even with the added hernia, they aren’t moving.
The package lies, these are not tummy control, it is more of a butt corset. Nonetheless, I am thrilled by my accomplishment. I finish dressing and head off to meet the limo. I arrive full of good cheer! Then I notice...everyone else is wearing jeans.
May everyone have a Happy and Joyful New Year! And hugs for Cindy and Beverly for taking me a long on their magical journey!
I grew up believing in Santa Claus. And I still do. I tried to share this with my children. My oldest welcomed Santa with open arms, and had a LONG list of requests every year. When his brother was born he dutifully informed Santa of Michael’s wishes as well as his own.
Michael was not appreciative of Santa’s generosity and getting a picture with the Head Elf became harder and harder. Lots of tears and kicking. About the age of five I finally gave up on the perfect Christmas Card picture.
In fact, getting both of my children in a picture together while smiling was becoming a great challenge. So much for the wonderful dreams I once had. My world shifted from happy pictures of toothless babies to grumpy teens. Time certainly does change, but Santa is still the same.
And that awkward moment when I was questioned if he was real or not?
Well, Santa only brings presents to those who believe.
So Santa still visits my house every year.
I was even fortunate to recently meet the real Santa. (I have been advised, I am on the nice list.)
Imagine my surprise when I found out he rides a motorcycle and does volunteer work with the Patriot Guard Riders (PGR) for our Veterans. I was fortunate to be able to work with him on a charity project. And we would like to share it with you.
Because the most important thing about the Holidays isn’t found under a tree.
It is in our hearts. Patriot Guard Riders Tribute
Several weeks ago, I realized I couldn’t smell. It wasn’t
something I really noticed until I visited a fudge shop in Helen Ga. Helen is a
quaint German town nestled in the GA mountains, where else would you go for
Oktoberfest?
I was very excited to visit with my family and as always,
our first stop: the fudge shop. The small shop was lined with people and we
squished our way in. My sons wife, Tamara, grabbed my arm and says “Oh my God!
It smells so good in here!”
I sniffed.
“I don’t smell anything.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “You can’t smell the cocoa?”
“I can’t smell anything.”
And for the first time, I bought no fudge. Not even a
sample, I didn’t have the craving for it.
Since then, I began to ponder when I had stopped smelling.
Everything smells like normal. All the time.
How long has this been going on? All the times I had sniffed
my laundry, or previously worn clothing and came away satisfied. Now I wonder.
Did they stink? Do I stink?
Showering has become an obsession for me, as well as doing
laundry.
Cooking is a challenge. I have to constantly watch the stove
because I can’t smell when the food is close to being done or burning.
Walking the dog has been a pleasure. Picking up poop is no
problem without the odor.
The hardest part I guess is my family, they are constantly
“testing” me.
From holding fresh bags of coffee under my nose, to steaming
cups of herbal tea. No. I don’t smell it.
No fresh baked cookies, or bacon, or the gift on the floor
the dog left.
My helpful friends: “You know that’s a sign of Alzheimers.”
If I didn’t have sinus problems, I would be more worried. Even after sinus
surgery several years ago, I am still snotty.
One side effect is I have no cravings for food. I don’t
smell the awesomeness of food, so I am eating less and only when I am hungry.
Best diet ever.
The downfall, walking through the mall looking for Christmas
gifts. Choosing scented candles by color or description. My son likes cologne
and I can’t smell them. I can still picture the blank stare I have received
from the sales clerk armed with a spray bottle when I informed her I was smell
blind.
The term smell blind is not my own, it is a quote from the
movie “Walk Hard.” My son declared me smell blind when I relayed my odd symptoms
to him. In a crazy sort of way, it fits.
Is this permanent? Too soon to tell, but apparently, many
people have this problem. Some have never been able to smell.
Back Cover: Amelia is enraptured by Chase's charm and his touch. Will she fit into his world? Or, will Chase give up everything to fit into hers? Set in Mississippi 1886 Meet Chase Stafford. Chase inherited his mother's Comanche blood and his father's sense of humor. After receiving a wedding invitation from his brother Brock, he heads off on a train to Mississippi.
Along the way, he runs into Amelia. Half asleep, he mistakes her flowing alabaster hair for that of a banshee. After starting off on the wrong foot can Chase's charm persuade her to give him another chance? Amelia's initial encounter with Chase was unsettling to say the least. The glamorous city girl was taken aback by Chase's forwardness. Nevertheless, she is bound and determined to awaken the sensations that only he can unleash.
Excerpt:
Amelia stood at the end of the platform waiting impatiently for her luggage to be unloaded. A cool breeze swept by and she inhaled the fresh air. It felt marvelous to be free from the stifling compartment. Spotting one of her bags, she grabbed it, slung it over her shoulder with the strap, and waited for her suitcases. Amelia frowned as she saw them tossed haphazardly and land hard on the ground. Annoyed she marched up grabbing them by the handle. Her arms burned as she awkwardly lifted the heavy bags. Gritting her teeth, she waddled away with her load.
Her father had loaded the bags earlier so she was not aware of the sheer weight of them. In hindsight she wondered if she really needed all of the things she had packed. She heard a soft click and suddenly felt her burden lighten. Looking down she saw a pile of her things strewn out on the dirt as one of the locks had given way.
With muttered curses she flung down her load and started to collect her belongings. Seeing her plight, a passerby hurried over to assist her. He grabbed a handful of lace and she looked up at him appalled. Recognizing his features as the man who accosted her on the train she hissed.
“Would you please give me my bloomers? I do not need your help.”
Chase looked down at the limp ruffles in his hand and was glad that his hat and dark skin hid most of his reddening face. He tossed it into the suitcase and stammered out his apologies.
“Sorry ma’am. About what happened on the train; I wasn’t quite awake.”
She looked up at him from her knelling position and he looked down upon her beautiful porcelain face framed with luminous hair and set off by her deep blue eyes. How the hell did he ever mistake her for a banshee?
“Let’s start over.” He held out his hand to her. “Chase Stafford.”
Instead of grasping his hand, she frowned at him as she climbed to her feet dusting the street off her skirt. Still eyeing him warily, she grudgingly held out her own hand as the qualities her father tried to instill upon his children took hold. She felt her own face flushing as his large warm hand engulfed hers and she pulled away a bit reluctantly.
“I’m Amelia, Amelia Lovett.”
“Lovett? Are you any relation to Sabrina?”
“Yes, she’s my cousin. I’m headed to her wedding.”
Chase laughed out loud. A rumble that made Amelia’s body tingle. “So am I, She’s marrying my brother, Brock.”
“May God help her.” Amelia murmured to herself as she again knelt to finish stuffing her once neat belongings back into her bag. Why was fate so cruel to her? Well she guessed it was Sabrina’s problem that she marrying into an insane family. To tell the truth, the others all seemed very kind. Just Chase had issues. Maybe too much sun she thought noticing his darker skin.
She allowed him to help repack her suitcase and he grumbled when he had to hold it down while she redid the clasp.
“Do you really need all of this stuff?”
“Yes.”
“How the heck did you get this locked before?”
“I sat on it.”
Chase snorted as he carefully removed the pressure; he was relieved when it remained shut. However, he continued to eye it warily as if it would spring open at any moment.
The train whistled again and he cursed as he hurried over to retrieve his families’ baggage before it left the station. He was relieved to see they had already been unloaded and stacked on the platform. There was only a small trunk and a saddle bag with his belongings. Grabbing them both, he made his way back over to Amelia who was watching him.
She blushed as he looked down to meet her eyes. He perfectly balanced the trunk on his shoulder and held it securely with one hand as he walked over to her and lifted her largest bag with his free hand. Wow he’s strong she thought.
Together
they will discover a passion for each other,
for life, and for freedom.
Following along after
Washington’s Army, was not what Sarah Fanum had planned. Nonetheless, sometimes
fate is cruel. Deciding to control her own future, she accepted a role as a
spy. Gathering more courage than she knew she had, she headed to New York City.
Tristan Radcliff was a pampered playboy. He was used to having his own way, and
lived for the next adventure on the high seas. He was caught off guard by
Sarah’s unpretentious ways, and taken by her beauty. Could he defy not only his
family, but also his country to taste her charms?
Will they realize that love is always worth fighting for?
Excerpt:
She could hear the city before she saw it. It was not
the grandeur of Philadelphia, that she had expected. It seemed… somewhat
darker. Perhaps her feelings were betraying her perception. Thoughts of retreat
fluttered through her mind as she spotted the roadblock. With no other choice,
she squared her shoulders as she moved forward.
“State your business,” the young soldier demanded, he
sounded more bored than anything.
“I have come to stay with my Aunt.” Sarah replied,
remembering that less is more.
He barely glanced at her, and not finding her a threat,
moved to let her pass.
“Hold up there!” A more seasoned officer called.
Sarah somehow kept her face calm, even though her heart was pounding again.
This man was more keen, and his grey eyes seemed to glimmer in anticipation.
She supposed he would have been considered handsome, to most, with his brown hair
and strong features. Of course, the British Uniform quelled any passionate
thoughts on Sarah’s part.
She tensed as his gaze swept over her body. Her eyes met
his, and narrowed, as a sneer crossed over his face. “I think we need to check
this one a bit more thoroughly.”
He was close to her, too close, she wondered how far she
would get if she kicked him in the face and set the mare into a run. Looking
down at her feeble companion, she decided not far enough.
The soldier grabbed her horse’s harness and placed his
free hand on her ankle as he ran his hand up her leg, and under her skirt. She
instinctively drew away from him, and with a shriek, toppled off the horse on
the other side. Cursing, she pushed herself to her feet and turned on her
offender.
Lynn
Hubbard is a Historical Fiction author. She has been writing for over ten years
and has five titles. Three of which are westerns. Lynn is fascinated by the Old
West and her books portray when life was simpler. When, people worked hard, and
sweated to make an honest living. And when justice wasn’t always blind.
I was trolling through Facebook and ran across my friends post. Like me,
she has two boys. Unlike me she is pregnant with twins, more boys! Apparently
people keep asking her if she wants a girl. As if it’s a choice.
Personally, I wouldn't know what to do with a girl.
Case in point: My niece came to me one day with several hair things and
was like "fix my hair!" I just stared at her dumb founded. Mornings
are easy at my house, with boys, a couple of swipes with a brush and you’re good.
This was more challenging. Not only did I have to brush through the
tangled mop on my niece’s head, but to construct some kind of topiary with it.
How did it end up in brambles anyhow? It was quite straight and tidy when she
went to bed.
Perhaps there were fairies frolicking in it during the night. Nonetheless,
I bravely grasped the brush and attempted to tame it. A half hour later, she
ended up with almost straight pigtails. And I was pondering if it was too early
for wine.
It has come to me, that not only are there cat & dog people, there are
girl & boy people. Take my mother for instance. She raised two lovely,
delicate girls. So when my fist son was born, she was very dotting but naïve.
One day when Nicholas was three, we were talking in the garage. Nicholas
walks up to Grandma with his grubby fist outstretched where he had been digging
in the dirt. She automatically held out her hand to receive whatever treasure he
had found. His fingers open and a brown spider drops into my mom’s hand and
immediately runs up her arm. There was much screaming. *sigh*
And with boys, come boy scouts. I had never been camping in my life, but
being a mom of a boy, you have to escape your comfort zone. So I became adept
at putting up a tent, and changing clothes inside a sleeping bag. I still have
scars from chigger bites, but good memories as well. A bad boy scout memory: running a weekend concession stand at Nascar,
but therapy has helped.
Speaking of therapy, boys are harder to potty train than girls. My
youngest son, was almost four before he managed both tasks. After discussing my
potty training woes with his doctor, he recommended a therapist for my son. So…
he would get to play in a play room
with his brother; while I discussed poo for an hour with a stranger. She
explained that boys don’t have as many nerve endings ‘down there’ as girls and
that boys don’t always pick up on the subtle clues. (This has also explained a
lot of my dates.) We made up a poo chart with a Gameboy as the grand prize.
Bribery works every time.
Shopping for clothes is fairly easy, no accessories needed. My oldest son
is ‘sensitive’ so I shop for him by feel. My youngest would wear anything. I do
have a major complaint of clothing stores. Most unisex stores have three racks
for boy clothes and 20 for girls. Really?
My boys are older now, and my sister has one of each. Recently, my mom
came back from a shopping trip exhausted from chasing after my nephew.
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