Tag: Charity Sunday

Charity Sunday: Save Our Allies

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

I’ve written about Save Our Allies (https://saveourallies.org) before, but back in 2022 the focus was on the rescue missions done to save Americans and allies in Afghanistan after the U.S. withdrawal. This great organization is also serving here at home, particularly after Hurricane Helene in western North Carolina, where they’re rescuing people cut off from towns, homes, even roads. My dad, as well as Jack’s family, was from the Asheville area but “up the mountain,” if you know what I mean.

Fortunately, I know that my folks are all safe and helping each other recover. But there is still so much to do and so much help needed. The mission of Save Our Allies is to serve where Americans need them the most. Please post a comment and I will donate to this worthy outfit. Thank you!

For Asheville, NC:

Even having lived in Virginia Beach for many years, my experience with hurricanes was small. But my senior year of high school, in Florida, I experienced a somewhat mile Hurricane Camille. Somewhat mild in Florida. When she raced north, through Alabama, Tennessee, North Carolina and up the Shenandoah Valley into Virginia, she somehow gained strength in destruction. She wiped out the town of Vesuvius in Virginia and caused a 100-year flood on the James River up the road from what would one day become my hometown. Now, Helene has done the same to the area of North Carolina that I visited so often as a child. Dad was from an area outside Asheville called Sandy Mush. I have no idea why. Now the population is 344 but it was much less back in the day. It was a mystical place filled with hard-working people who dealt with hardship and praised God for their blessings. The terrain was so mountainous that my uncle’s barn and cows were on one steep slope, while across the road the land dropped off so sharply, the roof on his house is all you could see from the road. Having grown up in the city, Sandy Mush was like going to a different planet. But it was fun. In that regard, I could identify with Jack/Kyle in my book.

This excerpt is from what was originally titled It’s All Relative. This book will be republished very soon and I don’t even have a working title or cover yet. It’s the closest thing I’ve written that pays homage to Asheville and Wonderful Western North Carolina and too my family still there—and thankfully safe (though not sound, yet) after Helene.

Blurb:
When Jack and Sally meet one weekend in Nags Head, neither are prepared for the instantaneous attraction they feel. It makes both of them nervous, and while it was wonderful, there’s relief felt when the weekend ends. Months later, in a city on the opposite side of the state, Geneva Jameson is shocked to meet Kyle McCaislin, the cousin she’d never met—and the man she’d known as Jack. Sparks fly between the two as they try to deal with their quandary, not knowing the many surprises before them. Will their hearts discover what their minds already know? That in passion as in life, things aren’t always what they seem.

Buy link:
Coming soon

Excerpt:
Just when she thought they were finished, the minister gestured for her to come forward. What was this? She didn’t have a part in the service. She had turned slightly to see if someone behind her was getting up, when Kyle stood and walked to the front. He moved behind the podium, rested his hands on each side and looked out into the church.

“Good morning. I know it’s late and hot and I won’t keep you. My name is Kyle McCaislin and my father was known to some of you here.” Geneva heard a murmur of voices in acknowledgement. “I only wanted to share with you some few remembrances of my namesake, my grandfather. I can’t say I spent much time with him, but he ensured that the time we had together was meaningful and exciting. Especially to a young boy.

“My sister and I grew up in New York City, in a brick building in a block of other brick buildings and concrete streets. It was a nice section of Manhattan and we had a good childhood, but starting from when I was quite little my dad brought me home, here to Asheville, to spend a month each summer with his parents, and I saw a world totally different from where I lived.” Kyle glanced at the front row of people. “Unfortunately, these visits always took place during the time you and your families were off on vacations, so we never got the chance to get to know each other. Based on the fact that we never had contact, I’d say that was all planned, for some reason.” He looked at Geneva, and then out into the church again. “Feelings between my dad and Grandpa weren’t good when Dad left home, but they made things up over the years, and by the time of our last visit, when I was eighteen, the love between them was evident.”

Kyle cleared his throat and looked down at the podium for a moment before continuing. “When I was small, I only remember a big man. Gruff to everyone but me, with whom he was gentle as a lamb. I sat on his stomach as he lay on the sofa and read me stories. He was a horse on the living room floor when I wanted to be a cowboy. He was an endless source of stories about the fairies and magic of Scotland, and a boon companion when grandma baked scones and we sat on the back steps eating them slathered with butter, watching the clouds.

“When I was older, Grandpa took me on hikes around the estate, pointing out trees, flowers, bushes, animals. He was a genius when it came to planting and gardening, and he knew every bird in the forest.” Kyle smiled, as he noted heads nodding in agreement. “Visits to the Biltmore gardens were frequent, and we went on other trips, too. He showed me where O. Henry had once lived, out in Weaverville, landmarks for Thomas Wolfe and the Carl Sandburg home. He once slid off Slippery Rock with me, and we admired the view from Blowing Rock. He showed me Grandfather Mountain where the highland games are played, and Cade’s Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, where we watched bears lumber across our path. These things all inspired a boy who spent most of his year surrounded by mountains of skyscrapers rather than mountains covered with trees and mountain laurel, and Grandpa knew it. He wanted me to know his world and be able to imagine it when I was home, so far from him. And I did.

“He had a good philosophy for life too, and as a teenager, when I began to feel the urge to rebel in some way, he told me stories replete with life lessons. His eyes would twinkle when he got to the ‘punch line’ and he saw that I got it. Usually his parables were laced with the Golden Rule, the importance of being true to one’s self, the joy that comes from being generous, in business, life and love, the vital connection between family—I think he emphasized that because of the trouble between him and Dad—and that nothing—nothing—is as important as love itself.” Kyle glanced at Geneva.

“These were all tenets he embraced, as was obvious to anyone who ever knew him. I’ve tried hard to keep these lessons in mind as I’ve grown and gone into business for myself, and although I can’t say I have always paid attention to them, they’ve been in my heart as a compass for me to find my way back to the right path. I hope I’ve grown into a man he would be proud of. As proud as I was that he was my grandpa.”

Geneva felt a lump in her throat. What her uncle and the others had said about granddad had been touching, but hearing these things about her grandfather from someone she didn’t realize even knew him, was very moving. Kyle’s recollections of granddad were somewhat different from her own, but basically it was obvious that they had loved the same man. She could hear sniffling coming from several points behind her and knew that Kyle was touching a chord with more people than just her. She wondered why her grandfather had kept all of this such a secret. And here Kyle had kept in touch with him until he was eighteen. She wondered why he had stopped.

“Finally, although my visits stopped when I started college, Grandpa and I always kept in touch. We wrote constantly and exchanged gifts at Christmas.”

Geneva stared at Kyle in shock. It was like a movie she had seen on TV once where a man died and it came out that he had two families in different parts of the country. Her granddad had led a whole secret life right up until he died, evidently. She knew it was selfish, but she had always thought she was her grandfather’s favorite and now a small part of her felt betrayed. She still loved him fiercely, and missed him horribly, but here was a side of him that she hadn’t even known. Right along with a cousin she hadn’t known.

“While I was in the service and again after I started in business, I was able to travel. I got to Scotland several times and have been able to visit the town where he and grandma grew up. As he would say, it’s a bonny place, and very much like the area around here, which I’m sure is one reason he loved Asheville so much. I’m sorry he’s gone from our lives, but I’m glad he and grandma are together again, and I’m glad to be able to get to know, finally, the family I’ve missed knowing these many years. Thank you.”

When Kyle returned to his seat Geneva noticed moisture in the corners of his eyes. She leaned her arm against him to give some small comfort. The final hymn was announced and she nudged him with her elbow. He leaned down and under the brim of her hat. “That was very nice,” she whispered, suddenly aware with every nerve in her that his mouth was enticingly close. But he simply nodded and stood up again.

A little about me:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Caldwell Institute for Public Safety

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

I’d like to highlight a brand new charity this month, the Caldwell Institute for Public Safety

The institute was founded by Gianno Caldwell who has personal experience with crime and how it affects communities. His brother was shot and killed in Chicago two years ago. Chicago is a city I love and the crime rate in the city breaks my heart. Hopefully, Gianno’s new organization will make a difference in Chicago and every other city in the country where crime is a major issue.

“The Caldwell Institute for Public Safety is … dedicated to ensuring a justice system that prioritizes the safety and security of all law-abiding citizens by strategically supporting anti-crime candidates, advocating for legislation that makes communities safer, and providing comprehensive support services for victims of violent crime. We aim to create and foster solutions that effectively combat crime, support law enforcement, and uphold the principles of fairness and justice for every American.” Please comment and I will send a donation to the Institute. Thank you!

Blurb:

As family wage earner and pawn shop manager, Evelyn Collins thinks she’s kept a good watch on everything in her corner of the world. That is, until Harve Liddell, son of a local crime family, and Detective Joshua Rosen step up to show her just how much she’s missed.

Evelyn Collins inherits the family pawn shop and thinks things are starting to change for the better. Now, if she could keep her younger brother out of trouble, and handle two surprising suitors, things would be great.

Harve Liddell suffers from the reputation of his family’s involvement in organized crime, but Evvie Collins has always treated him as a friend. Far from friendship, he wants to set her blood afire with passion. When Harve’s ready to move, he finds Detective Joshua Rosen is, too.

For years Josh Rosen has wanted Evelyn in his bed, but stayed away because Jews were second class citizens in Minneapolis. He’s no longer willing to wait. The only thing blocking him is Harve Liddell, and the trouble Josh is sure he’s embroiled Evelyn’s brother in. He must find a way to trap Liddell without causing Evelyn pain before he can claim her.

Buy link:
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Unlikely-Bedfellows-Publishing-Menage-Everlasting-ebook/dp/B009HA6D9Q/

Excerpt:
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go in and have a drink. Our dinner reservations aren’t for half an hour yet.”

The valet opened Evelyn’s door and extended his hand to help her out. Then Joshua was at her side. He slid his arm around her waist and led her inside.

At a desk near the front door, a man in black tie looked up. “Rosen,” Joshua said. “We have reservations for eight, and we’ll be in the bar.”

“I’ll let you know when your table is ready.”

“Thank you.” Joshua guided her to the right, into a room lighted with candles and low illumination from wall sconces. The only point in the room with decent lighting was behind the bar, where two men busily mixed drinks for the many people seated at the oak bar and tables scattered across the floor. Joshua pointed out an empty booth against the far wall. “If you’ll wait there, I’ll order for us. What will you have?”

Evelyn rarely drank, but this evening’s adventure called for something celebratory. Her dad drank whiskey, but that was too strong for her. “A screwdriver, please.”

He nodded and turned to the bar.

The walls were a mosaic of the cities’ skylines, done in silver against black—sleek but comfortable somehow. A stage and dance floor were at the far end of the room. She didn’t realize Harve offered dancing, too, and live performances. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never come to his restaurant. It was far too pricey for her, but now that she saw the place, she realized that it said a great deal about him. Sleek and modern. Relaxed and comfortable. Efficient yet personalized. So many contrasts all rolled into one establishment, into one man.

She looked around. People were having a good time, laughing, talking. Drinks and cigarettes were in handy supply. She almost wished she smoked so she’d have something to do with her hands. Then Joshua came and slid in beside her. Taking one of her hands and thus ending her dilemma, he rested their hands on her thigh.

“The waitress will be here in a minute with our drinks.” He looked around, too. “What do you think of the place?”

“I like it. It’s relaxed and yet modern. I’m not sure how Harve pulled it off.”

“Yeah, old Harve is a real wunderkind.”

The thick sarcasm threw her for a minute, and then she laughed. “You two are like oil and water. Is there anything you agree on?”

He faced her. His black eyes glittered like polished onyx. She blushed under the intensity of his stare, but she couldn’t turn away. His hand tightened over hers, and he rubbed the backs of his knuckles on her dress, at her thigh.

“I’m pretty sure there’s one thing.”

“Your drinks, sir.” The waitress bent low, showing off a generous cleavage. To Evelyn’s surprise, Joshua seemed not to notice. He tipped the woman, handed Evelyn her drink, and focused on her once again.

“To many more evenings,” he said.

“I’ll go along with that,” she replied. The vodka burned on the way down, but the orange juice sweetened the sip. Her second taste was smoother, and the third, downright refreshing.

“What happened to that pin you had in the case yesterday?” Joshua asked.

The alcohol spun through her system, made her settle into the soft leather banquette seat and feel warm all over. “What pin?”

“The one in the front display case. The circular one with the stones set into it. It wasn’t there when I stopped by earlier today, and I just wondered if the owner came back for it.”

Evelyn took another sip and then examined her glass. It was nearly empty. How had that happened? She blinked and focused on Joshua. “Circular stones pinned in my display case?”

Joshua smiled and removed her glass. “You don’t drink very often, do you?”

She plopped her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm. “Nope. Maybe if I had a friend to drink with.”

“I’ll be your friend, Evelyn,” Joshua said quietly.

She swiveled her chin in her palm and squinted at him. “I like that, Joshmea.”

He brushed a tendril of hair from the corner of her mouth to behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Evelyn.”

She started to giggle. Good God! When had she ever giggled? No one with brass balls giggles. And she giggled again.“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Oh, Joshea, I’m just avmerage. You are handsome, though. You and Harve both, just damned handsome.” She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops! I said damn.”

Joshua started laughing. “Wow. You’re in trouble. Shall I go and find some soap?” He looked over her shoulder and then nodded at someone. “Our table’s ready. Are you able to walk, Evelyn?”

She sat up straight and waved her hand. “Oh sure. I learned how to walk a long time ago.” He laughed again. What had she said that was so funny?

She scooted to the edge of the banquette, but somehow her legs didn’t obey the command to stand. Joshua held out his hand, the sweetheart, and she grabbed hold. Rising to her feet, she wobbled in her heels for a second or two and then steadied herself. How far was it to their table? She’d stay on her feet if it killed her. With great confidence, she stepped off.

And fell flat on her ass.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: DAV Charitable Service Trust

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

In my normal quest to find organizations that benefit the military and service families, I don’t think I’ve ever donated to the DAV—the Disabled American Veterans Charitable Service Trust. This charity rates a 100%, 4-star rating from Charity Navigator. The DAV Charitable Service Trust is: “dedicated to one, single purpose: empowering veterans to lead high-quality lives with respect and dignity. To carry out this responsibility, the DAV Charitable Service Trust supports physical and psychological rehabilitation programs; enhances research and mobility for veterans with amputations and spinal cord injuries; benefits aging veterans; aids and shelters homeless veterans; and evaluates and addresses the needs of veterans wounded in recent wars and conflicts. For those of every era, the Trust also supports programs that benefit the caregivers and families of ill and injured veterans.”

Please comment! For each comment I will donate to this worthy organization.

Desire Me Again

Blurb:
The hopeless romantic believes that a soulmate exists for each of us. That there is one person who makes us feel how good it is to love them. For some couples, things trigger them to push that love away. They find out too late they’ve lost true-love. Sometimes genuine love deserves a second-chance at the happy ending that eluded them the first time.

Desire Me Again is an eclectic assortment of short stories exploring a second-chance at love. The collection is as diverse as the authors who wrote them. Here’s a chance to read the work of talented writers you may not have read before. Within these pages, there are blends of tender, often moving and thought-provoking stories.

Featuring: Annabel Allan, Patricia Elliott, R.M. Olivia, Carol Schoenig, Virginia Wallace, Gibby Campbell, Dee S. Knight, Alice Renaud, Jan Selbourne, Zia Westfield

Buy link:
Amazon

Excerpt:
From Second Chance:

“Tom,” Mrs. Henderson exclaimed. Like everyone he knew in their town, she stretched the one-syllable word into two. Tah-um. Until he’d joined the Corps he didn’t really know what people meant when they talked about southern accents. Now he considered the soft consonants and extended vowels charming. Part of being home.

Glancing over her shoulder, Tom saw Sandy stick her head around the kitchen wall. “Hey,” he called out to her. Then concentrating on her mother, he held out a bouquet. “These are for you, Mrs. Henderson.”

She flushed like a schoolgirl when she took the flowers. “How did you know that tulips are my favorite?”

He hadn’t.  He’d asked the florist to put together something cheerful that an older lady might like. He hoped the brightly colored blooms might bring a smile to Sandy, too.

“Just a guess,” he answered.

“Come in, come in,” Mrs. Henderson backed up and held the door wide.

He stepped into a living room that had seen very little change in the last two decades. It was neat but held a slight whiff of shabbiness. Mrs. Henderson would probably call it comfortable rather than shabby. Tom wondered what Sandy thought of it.

Finally, the woman in question emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. The night was warm and she looked as though she’d just finished doing dishes. Her hair was damp and stuck to her forehead, and a light sheen of sweat clung to her cheeks. His groin tightened when he noticed that her shorts hugged her hips and her sleeveless blouse was slightly dampened, too, showing her white bra through the thin fabric. His mind filled with ways he could make her body slick with sweat, the ways he could make her much more than warm.

“I know I said we should try to get together before I leave, but I didn’t actually mean tonight.”

“I’m sorry to barge in, but I wanted to ask you to dinner tomorrow night.” Before Sandy could form “No, thank you,” as her lips where shaping up to do, he interjected, “And your mom, too.”

Her mother’s eyes widened and she slapped the hand holding the tulips to her chest. “Oh, my! Sandra, we have a beau!”

Sandy smiled. Then she turned to him. “I don’t know. We have so much to do here.”

“Sandra, please. It will be so much fun. I haven’t had dinner out since your father last took me, and that’s been…at least three years.” She turned to Tom. “Could we go to that cafeteria up on the highway?”

Tom laughed. “We can go anywhere you want.”

Mrs. Henderson snapped her head back toward Sandy. He knew the minute Sandy gave in. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she smiled at her mother. “If Tom is willing to make every other man in town jealous by escorting the lovely Henderson women out to dinner, who am I to stand in his way?”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Boot Campaign

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

The mission of Boot Campaign is: “At Boot Campaign, our mission is to unite Americans to honor and restore the lives of veterans and military families through individualized, life-improving programs. … Our individualized programs are designed to show gratitude to our nation’s veterans, brighten the holiday season for their families and provide high-touch, customized care to treat the root cause of invisible wounds of war, such as posttraumatic stress, traumatic brain injury, chronic pain, self-medication and insomnia. programs are designed to show gratitude to our nation’s veterans, brighten the holiday season for their families ” The incidence of suicide is far greater in veterans than in the majority of the population, but helping end the threat of suicide isn’t the only help our vets need. Check out the Boot Campaign website and see what all they do.

Naval Maneuvers by Dee S. Knight

The book for the month is Naval Maneuvers, one book near and dear to my heart! It’s dedicated to my dad, who proudly sailed the seas for 24 years, for my second father, who believed “once a Marine always a Marine,” and who demonstrated the finest qualities of the Corps in love of his family, and to my own hero who has always shown the best military traits in living life and loving his women. And to all the men and women who serve daily, and to their families: thank you!

Blurb:
Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or setting a course for renewed love with anchor home. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
“And what is your name, pretty?” Mel Crandall addressed the dinosaur bones in an undertone, bending nearly to face level. The skeleton displayed an open mouth and rows of fierce, sharp teeth.

“Roger,” a man standing next to her said in a low voice. Startled, she looked up. Up being the operative word. She stood a decent five feet ten inches, and he beat her by a good half foot. She studied him. He ignored her.

The guy had a solid profile, strong chin, chiseled cheekbones, and a straight back with muscular shoulders. Short brown hair. He wore glasses and stared straight ahead, but glasses couldn’t disguise the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes. His posture was near perfect and he was not overweight, as evidenced by the trim fit of his jeans and red polo shirt that clung enough to give evidence of a low body/mass index number.

As a doctor, she immediately noticed body characteristics before actual looks. But with this guy, examination in lieu of admiration was hard. Men were often put off by the fact that she paid attention to whether they looked sallow or flushed, or if their hands were cold or warm before she “saw” them. She noticed if a man’s eyes were dilated or glittered with fever before she registered eye color. Dates started with mini examinations before she relaxed enough to enjoy personalities, but that’s just the way she was. Men had to take it or leave it. Sadly, most left it. Which was why she talked to dinosaurs at the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History all on her own.

Mel moved on to the next exhibit, a shorter built specimen but still tall and with a nasty spiked tail. “I wonder what you looked like,” she murmured. “What color were you, what did you eat, and what’s your name?” She bent to read the exhibit information.

“Gray. Grass.” That same guy had followed her. Rather than having a strong profile, she was beginning to think he was a weirdo. “Annnd, roger.”

Quickly, Mel moved to the next exhibit. “And you are–”

“Roger.”

He stood beside her again! Mel started to look for a museum guard but saw none. Great. Planting her hands on her hips, she turned to him. “Stop following me,” she said loudly enough that people in the general area turned to see what was happening.

The guy said, “Hold it.”

Hold it? Hold it, as in “Wait a minute, little lady?” She opened her mouth to lay into him when he turned and removed his glasses, showing her the richest, most chocolatey brown eyes she’d ever seen. The words stuck in her mouth.

“I’m sorry, what?”

In a lower voice she said, “You’re following me from exhibit to exhibit and talking to me. I want you to stop.”

“I didn’t realize…” He wiggled the glasses at her. “I’m working here and I’m afraid I didn’t notice you.”

Well. What was worse, that he was a pervert following her place to place, or that he wasn’t a perv and hadn’t even noticed her?

His brow furrowed while he studied her. “Yes. Yes.” Then he shook his head. “Roger.”

Again with that Roger.

“Gotta go. Later.” Then he smiled at her. “Just a minute, okay?” He folded the glasses and put them first in a protective case. Squatting, he placed a briefcase on the floor and opened it. He stored the glass case inside a pocket. Then he removed something from his right ear—an earbud?—protected it and also put it in the case.

Mel watched all of this with curiosity. He expected her to wait for him? What arrogance. And yet, wait she did. When he stood, holding the case in his left hand and smiled once more, her heart stuttered. The guy was drop dead gorgeous—at least to her understanding of the word. Normally, she appreciated the male form, mostly from a medical viewpoint. This man she enjoyed with pure pleasure.

And Good God. He hadn’t been talking to her, he’d been talking to whoever was on the other end of that earbud. Embarrassment flooded her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you were…” She slid her hand between the two of them and then to the exhibits.

“No,” he said. “I apologize. I shouldn’t be testing this stuff around people. The last time I did it a kid thought I was calling him Roger.” His voice had a soft drawl to it. Western Virginia or North Carolina, maybe? Somewhere in the mountains. It felt like a cool stream as it ran over a body hot and tired from hiking: refreshing and invigorating, at the same time soothing and relaxing. She wanted him to talk more.

Stop that! She laughed. “I thought you were naming each dinosaur.” He smiled and dimples indented his cheeks. His eyes crinkled and Mel’s breath caught. This guy should come with a warning label. Approach with caution. Could bring on lustful intentions and ultimately, broken hearts. Take only in small doses and in public places.

He held out his hand. “David Stimson.”

She took it gingerly, half expecting lightning to bolt between them. Nope. Nothing. So much for romance novels. He had a nice hand, large and warm with healthy pink nails, and she grasped it firmly. “Melissa Crandall.”

“Nice to meet you. Do you mind if I wander along with you?” Grasping the briefcase with his left hand, he deftly moved to the left of her.

“No, please. It’s a free country.” She walked to the next dinosaur re-creation. “And this one is…” She half waited for his pronouncement.

“Not Roger,” he said, stopping her heart with that killer smile again. He leaned over to read the information. “Torosaurus latus. It says here that these bones were dug up in North Dakota, but that the Torosaurus roamed from Canada to Texas, and that he had the biggest head of any land mammal.”

“Well, I guess that’s something to be proud of,” Mel responded. David laughed and she found herself smiling back. When she moved to the next exhibit, he strolled along with her.

He pointed to the next specimen. “Poor guy. Starved to death.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”

“Can’t you tell? He’s all bones.”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: RWJ Barnabas Field of Dreams

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

A few weeks ago, I saw a news feature of a playground in Toms River, New Jersey. The B.W.J. Barnabas Health playground is very special because it’s designed to fit every level of ability a child can manage. (The playground can also be used by adults who have special needs and even some recovering from surgery.) The design of the playground is phenomenal, all due to the vision of Christian Kane, the town of Toms River, and corporations who pitched in to help. Kane’s brilliant idea is to benefit his son who was severely injured in a car accident as an infant, but who now, and age 8 or so, wants to play baseball.

The mission of the complex is: The Toms River Field of Dreams (TRFOD) is a project with a mission to encourage and engage our communities (Monmouth and Ocean Counties), with a focus on those with special needs, in physical and social activity by building a community complex to provide opportunities for special needs individuals of all ages and abilities to engage, explore and socialize together.

If you check out the website, scroll down the Home page and watch one of the videos that describe this amazing place. You’ll see why I’m so impressed. This donation will be going to the Toms River complex, where they still have work to finish. But these types of playgrounds can, and should, be available all over the country. Think of the joy! Thanks for your help!!

My book this month is a fantasy and study in adults who need special things, things that will—mysteriously—make their dreams come true. Your Desire

Your Desire by Dee S. Knight

Blurb:
Your Desire. A mysterious shop appears in town for one reason: to bring the spice of passion and the thrill of love to one special person. Magic is in more than the item purchased—it’s in the heart of the buyer, often hidden, usually surprising. And after enchantment takes hold and the fantasy is fulfilled? The store fades from sight and memory, only to reappear somewhere else. Maybe in your town…?

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
The whir of a sewing machine traveled across the ether. As intended, the sound blended with the those of a lawn mower in Cleveland, a blender in Dallas, an electric razor in Seattle. Some people, those specially attuned to properties outside the normal realm of humans, heard buzzing that could have been a sewing machine, but it was faint and truly indistinguishable for what it was. More like a mosquito at the ear. They heard it but couldn’t decipher exactly where to swat, so they did their best ignore it.

Of course, the sound was not supposed to be heard, and therefore not investigated. The very few who did hear it clearly, who also heard Nigel and his granddaughter clearly, well, they generally resided in a hospital setting where three squares a day were provided and tranquility came in the form of little green pills. At the least, they saw a shrink three times a week. Their knowledge wasn’t taken seriously.

This worried Nigel, but what could he do? It wasn’t his fault humans had devolved to the point where they no longer believed in enchantment. He shook his head and tsked as he sewed. When he was a boy learning the business from his grandfather as his granddaughter now learned from him, no one would have believed the universe could get to this point, where people believed in the “magic” of technology but not the magic that could be found in their own hearts.

Of course, challenges were exciting, and skeptical humans certainly kept him on his toes.

Absently, he hummed as he completed the final seam on the full, purple satin skirt. He pulled it from the machine, snipped the threads and shook the material out before pinning it on the dress form.

“Edwina! I have the skirt finished. Come here, dear.” Standing back to cast a critical eye over how the skirt hung, he held up an artist’s rendition of what the final product should be. He looked from drawing to garment, made a few small adjustments to the pleating around the waist and nodded in satisfaction.

“Hey, Gramps,” his granddaughter said, bounding into the room.

For the millionth time, he mentally cringed at the lack of style in today’s youth. Their kind had the ability to appear any way they wished. Glancing in the mirror, he saw a debonair David Niven reflected back. The sleeves of his snowy white shirt were rolled to his elbows, but the Windsor knot in his tie was perfect, as was the knife-sharp crease in his trousers and the shine on his shoes. When he rolled down his sleeves and put on his jacket, he would look every inch the gentleman. Quirking his brows in approval, he unconsciously ran a fingertip lightly over his moustache. Instead of selecting what he would consider an appropriate shell, Edwina—a name which screamed propriety—chose to look like a bag lady gone wild.

Like today, for instance. Long blond hair, streaked with pink and purple, pulled up into a ponytail to hang down the side of her head. Black lipstick and eye shadow. Two earrings in one ear and four in the other. A bright orange tank top and faded jeans—separated scandalously by a good three inches of bare stomach—looked as though they’d been worn (and torn) for centuries. And her feet—her lovely, dainty feet!—were shod in horrid, ugly brown things that not even the most desperate soldier in Caesar’s army would have donned.

When he had questioned her once about her appearance, she’d said with delight that she was starting her own trend. A Lauper-Madonna-Pink look. It was not something he’d understood. Today, after a quick perusal, he leaned closer.

“What is that?” He swiped his thumb across her cheek, then examined what was on the pad.

“Body glitter. Isn’t it cool?” She grinned at him.

Her enthusiasm, as well as her utter lack of self-consciousness, brought the slightest of smiles to his eyes, even as his mouth formed a moue of reproach.

“Yes, well.” He wiped his thumb on a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket, hanging on the wall behind Edwina. “‘Cool’ is what ice cubes provide. I don’t know what body glitter is good for.”

Giggles flowed from her, reminding him of when she was a small girl instead of the nearly grown youngster she was now. Where had the centuries gone? Despite the shudders her wardrobe caused, he loved Edwina enormously and strove to give her the very best education in what they did, which was make dreams come true.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! On the last Sunday of the month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Sign up for her newsletter for exclusive access to free novellas, poetry, and stuff.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Center for Disaster Philanthropy

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

With all of the bad news in the world, I wanted to select a charity that had a wide-reaching effort. I found Center for Disaster Philanthropy and selected the segment focusing on Ukraine relief. The mission of the CDP is to “Leverage the power of philanthropy to mobilize a full range of resources that strengthen the ability of communities to withstand disasters and recover equitably when they occur.” Their vision is “A world where the impact of disasters is minimized by thoughtful, equitable and responsible recovery for all.” They have a phenomenal rating on Charity Navigator of 96.8% of donations going toward their projects. Please comment and I will donate! Thank you!!

I wrote Naval Maneuvers as a kind of homage to Navy men and women, and in the book I talk about the difficulties placed on families with members in the service. Thanks to all those who serve their country and to those who serve their service member!

Naval Maneuvers

Naval Maneuvers by Dee S. Knight

Blurb:

Men and women of the armed forces experience lust and love pretty much like everyone else. Except, well, there is that uniform. And the hard-to-resist attraction of “duty, honor, service” as a man might apply them to a woman’s pleasure. All things considered, romance among the military is a pretty sexy, compelling force for which you’d better be armed, whether weighing anchor and moving forward into desire, dropping anchor and staying put for passion, or in anchor home, setting a course for renewed love. Explore the world of love and the military and see just how hot Naval Maneuvers can be.

Buy link:

Amazon Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:

Carie made her way around the side of the building and nearly ran into Todd, who lounged against the weathered wood siding. He looked better than good in a pale blue polo shirt and jeans. Top-Sider boat shoes with no socks gave him that naturally casual look that no model could successfully carry out.

“I was hoping you’d come,” he said.

“You were pretty obvious,” she said dryly.

“I knew you were smart enough to catch the hint. I just didn’t know if you’d follow it.”

How could she not? The moment she noticed him she’d remembered the feel of his being deep inside her. But that didn’t change a damn thing. They shouldn’t be here, not together.

She held her head high and tried to look down her nose at him—nearly impossible since he was taller than she, but she had perfected the attitude long before meeting Todd Baxter. Senior Chief Todd Baxter. “I wanted to walk the beach while I was here, that’s all.” Todd grinned and Carie melted inside.

“Lucky for me, I wanted to walk the beach, too,” he said. “Quite a coincidence, huh?”

She snorted in disbelief and slipped off her sandals. Brushing by him, she was glad he didn’t try to kiss her or hold her. But then she frowned. Why didn’t he try to kiss her? She’d wanted to jump his bones right there in that Norfolk hallway. They had to maintain propriety then, but here, no one would see them. What held him back? She knew an unfamiliar sense of self-doubt. Had she mistaken his feelings before?

Nonsense. Carie knew what they’d had was more than mere lust. It had been lust of stupendous proportions, far beyond a few days of burning out. Then what held him back? Knowing the military regulations preventing officers and enlisted personnel from having a relationship, you idiot.

Damn. She finally found someone she clicked with, and he had to be an enlisted man in the Navy.

The sand felt good between her toes, cool and squishy. Gulls screeched overhead and on the sand, where they snatched up sand crabs and poked around for scraps sunbathers might have left. Surf pounded to the shore and then surged forward, the sharp white of its foam sharp against the dark, wet sand before the water was absorbed. The sun beat down, making her wish she’d worn her bathing suit under her jeans and tank top so she could take a quick dip, and remembered to bring a floppy hat to shield her face.

Suddenly, something was plopped on her head. She dragged it off to look at it. SFC Baxter was stamped on the inside of a white sailor hat, brim folded down.

“I kept it for sentimental purposes when I made chief,” Todd said. When she raised her brows, he continued. “I brought it in case you came without a cover. I remember you were sensitive to the sun when we went to pick up your clothes.” He smiled. “And I know you’re quick to freckle. Not that I don’t like your freckles a great deal. Ma’am.”

She cringed at his use of “Ma’am,” though it was the proper term for him to use when a superior officer was a woman. But she smiled inside that he’d remembered such a small thing like the sensitivity to the sun suffered by all redheads. Chagrined, she put the hat on and pulled it forward, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“After all that time in North Carolina, how in hell did we never mention what we did for a living?” She couldn’t believe her stupidity. Martha had nothing on her for not asking the right questions.

“In Carolina we had lots of other things on our minds. I knew you’re a lawyer. When I thought of you, I never wondered how you spent your time at work. I just thought of how you spent your time with me.”

“That’s pretty shallow.”

Todd laughed. “Not to a man.”

Stupid answer. But it had been his very maleness that captivated her. Well, and orgasms. Who’s shallow now?

“Look,” he said, his hand out in a request for understanding. “It isn’t as though I didn’t want to get to know you better. I did. I do. But when we’re together I can’t keep my hands off you. I can’t stop thinking how I want to touch you, kiss you, do other things to–”

“When were you going to tell me you were in the Navy?” she asked.

He sighed loud enough that she heard it over the sound of the waves. “I don’t know. I guess when we slowed down enough to talk. There wasn’t much time.”

There hadn’t been. In Asheville, if they hadn’t been eating or sleeping, they busy in other ways. And there hadn’t been much eating or sleeping going on.

“I think they should put a plaque on the outside of that room for the fewest number of times the occupants left in four days. I couldn’t get enough of you.” Carrying his shoes in his left hand, he stuck his right hand in his pocket and strolled along beside her, barefoot. “I still can’t.”

“You didn’t exactly write and tell me that.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to assume too much, not knowing if you wanted me again as much as I wanted you. Call me shy.” He grinned, and she burst into laughter. “Besides,” he continued, “you’re the one who left saying, ‘It’s been fun.'”

She dipped her head, acknowledging the fact. “And you agreed.”

“Carie, I was scared.”

He sounded sincere, but really? He stopped and stared out across the breakers. She stared along with him, wondering what he saw out there. “I’m pretty set in my ways,” he said, and she had to strain to hear him, he spoke so low. “I’ll be honest, I haven’t been a monk, but sex with you was different. You made me think of things I’d never considered before.” He studied her face. “Do you understand?”

“I think so,” she said softly. “I wanted you more than anything. I’ve never had time or energy for a relationship. I’ve given all I have to my career. But I think I want more now.”

Todd reached to cup her cheek but then dropped his hand. “Like I said, I’m not a monk but there’s been no one since you.”

She wanted him. More, she needed him. “Nor for me. It wouldn’t have been the same. Nothing before you was ever that intense. Nothing else has ever touched me.” Pain struck her heart. “I want to kiss you so damn much.”

Before he could say anything, she turned and began walking again, sticking her hand in her pocket so she wouldn’t be tempted to reach for his hand. She’d had to hold herself back from stepping into his arms in the hallway on base. Here, on a near-empty beach, she had to exert even more will power. “That was then, and this is now. Vacation and real life seldom mix.”

“Funny,” he said. “Given the chance, I’d mix vacation and real life in a New York minute”

“Me, too,” she admitted. “But we can’t now. You’ve ruined everything.”

She felt him stiffen beside her. Idiot! You make a living saying the right thing to sway people’s opinion and you screw up like that?

“This is my fault how?” he asked quietly. She hadn’t seen him angry, but she had an idea this quiet voice was the prelude.

“You’re in the Navy but you’re not an officer.” It might sound petty, but regs were regs. “Why aren’t you an officer?” Okay, and that sounded whiny. But damn it, she felt whiny. “That attorney friend of yours said you were a mechanical engineer. Weren’t you offered OCS?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. After I received my BS and again after I earned my Masters. I didn’t accept because I didn’t want to be an officer.”

“Why not?” She spun to face him, the arm holding her sandals outstretched in confusion. She’d never met anyone who would turn down the chance to make more money and have more prestige.

“I like working, using my hands, being with my men—on the job and off.”

She started walking again. “Well, too bad you like sleeping with me. Or you seemed to. God knows, I loved being with you. And now it’s all over.”

“I’m surprised at you, counselor. The regulation obviously was written for two people who work together. It’s to keep one from having undue power over the other. We don’t work together.”

“It’s military regulations. You don’t mess with them. I don’t mess with them. I work to uphold them, not bend them to suit my desires.”

“I love your desires.” He pulled her hand from her pocket. Linking their fingers, he stepped closer and they continued their stroll across the sand as though the world hadn’t just turned on its axis. “Right here, right now, it feels like we never left Asheville. The view is different but we’re the same.”

Carie opened her mouth for air, suddenly needing more than she had a moment ago. But she couldn’t gather the strength needed to take back her hand. “The view isn’t the only thing different.”

He frowned. “Was I the friend you had planned to surprise this weekend?”

“Yes.” She sighed.

He laughed out loud. “You succeeded wildly.”

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

I’m dedicating this month’s Charity Sunday to Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation because the book I’m featuring is Finding a Christmas Miracle (written with my pal, Jan Selbourne). Jan and I wrote two novellas to make up the book and our heroes are enlisted men in their respective armies during Vietnam. They don’t die but dying is a chance every military member knows could happen. And if it does, Children of Fallen Patriots Foundation is here to help pick up the pieces for the children who need help with school expenses and counseling. This is a 4-star rated organization in Charity Navigator with 100% ratings in both Financial and Accountability arenas—I haven’t seen that before.

“Our mission is to provide college scholarships and educational counseling to military children who have lost a parent in the line of duty.” Please comment on this post and help me send a good donation to this worthwhile group!

Finding a Christmas Miracle by Jan Selbourne and Anne KristFinding a Christmas Miracle
Two exceptional novellas by award-winning authors, Jan Selbourne and Anne Krist

Blurb:
Two men are engulfed in a war no one understands or wants—Vietnam. They’re both hoping for a miracle with little expectation of finding it.

Finding a Christmas Miracle by Jan Selbourne and Anne KristJan Selbourne lends her award-winning writing talent to A Miracle in the Outback. Nick Saunders is in a hurry to escape a family argument and also to return to his Army base in Wagga Wagga. He doesn’t need another complication. Rachel Garth is a woman with a broken down car, a small girl, a deadly snake, and a baby on the way. She needs Nick’s help. He doesn’t know it, but he needs hers, too.

In award-winning author Anne Krist’s The Miracle of Coming Home, Army PFC Tom Stabler wins a trip to his parents’ Nebraska farm for Christmas. He needs the time away from the war. Lately, he’s been feeling lost and too alone. Trouble is, being home is almost as bad. Then Susan Swensen arrives, just as sweet and pretty as he remembers. Can Susan help him find himself again, or will it take a miracle?

Buy link:
Universal link https://books2read.com/u/3n2KvK

Excerpt:
Awake now, Tom wondered if he’d ever adjust to the feeling of safety again, ever truly believe it existed. He feared he’d always be peering into shadows for the hidden enemy or listening for the almost silent, deadly snick of a landmine trip.

Falling back on the pillow, he stared at the posters on the opposite wall, illuminated by weak moonlight shining through the window. One was for a rock concert held in Omaha four years ago. He’d wanted to take Susan Swensen, but her father wouldn’t let her go the hundred-plus miles into the city with him. Too far, he’d said in his thick Scandinavian accent. Too much can go wrong with a car. Young people can get stranded. Alone.

The last was said with a long, thoughtful stare right into Tom’s soul. How had the man known of Tom’s evil intentions to fake a car breakdown in order to make time with his daughter? Eventually, when she was accepted into nursing school, Mr. Swensen had let Susan go to Omaha. By then, Tom had gone much farther. All the way to Hell, in fact.

The other poster hailed the Fighting Hawks, his high school football team, on which he’d been the star linebacker. Those were heady days. He’d made a great linebacker at the university, too, but a lousy scholar, which was what put him on academic probation and placed his ass squarely in the middle of that worthless strip of land called Vietnam.

Now he wouldn’t even make a linebacker. He skimmed his hand down his chest and across his stomach. Lean—skinny almost. Where once had been bulk there was sinewy muscle. He could still run, though. Oh, yeah, he got lots of practice running. From firing position to firing position, from cover to transport helicopters—black birds hovering over open kill zones to lift guys out of danger or drop them in—and from helicopter back to cover. Some days it seemed he ran the whole damn time.

It felt that way now. But what the hell was he running from?

Tom sighed. There was no going back to sleep. Throwing off the covers, he roused himself from the warmth and sat up, looking at the four walls and feeling dislocated.

This room held the bed where he’d slept since he was six. Today, Christmas Eve, he turned twenty-one. After all those years, the bed should be familiar, and it was. The bed and the room. Both fit, both were comfortable. But Tom no longer was.

It was the same with the house. When he arrived early yesterday morning, he’d sensed something was off but hadn’t been able to put his finger on the problem. Now he knew. Somehow, while he was gone, things had changed, and no one had told him.

His bedroom, the kitchen where he’d watched his mom bake cookies, the living room where he’d beaten his dad at chess for the first time, all felt cramped and alien, as though he’d read about them but hadn’t lived in them. Even his family was all wrong. Gray threaded his mom’s hair, and his dad moved slower. As for his granddad, he was a frail replica of his previous self, with a wrinkled face and almost translucent skin. The loss of grandma had taken him hard. He’d greeted Tom with a smile and firm hug but Tom hardly knew what to say to him.

This life, these people, belonged to a Tom Stabler who no longer existed. The man he was now would have to adjust his thinking to live here again, and learning how would sure as hell take more than one week.

Loneliness clawed at his insides. Here, in the one place he should have felt a part of things, solitude engulfed him. It would have been better to stay in Nam than be here with everything wrong, no longer a part of his home, his family.

Reviews:

Jan Selbourne and Anne Krist creatively interweave emotional circumstances with developments that are frequently unexpected, and the result are stories which I will long remember for their realism. Both novellas are stirringly heartwarming holiday romances. 5 Stars, Amelia Richards

Well done, both ladies. 5 stars, Lesley Wilson

For heart-warming Christmas romance, the two novellas in Finding a Christmas Miracle certainly fit the bill. 5 stars, jcbooks736

5 stars on Amazon with no review Thank you, whoever you are!

Author Anne Krist:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749
Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

Charity Sunday: The Heroes Journey

Charity Sunday: Dee S. Knight

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

THE HEROES JOURNEY: WARRIORS FINDING THEIR VOICE AND TELLING THEIR STORY IN TRANSITION

Every year, hundreds of thousands of veterans and first responders transition from service into civilian life. It’s a challenging time that often results in loss of identity and changes so significant it seems like they are changing planets. For our warriors to live the life of prosperity they deserve, they must rediscover their voice and tell their story. That is our Mission at The Heroes Journey.

As writers, we have learned about Joseph Campbell’s Heroes’ Journey to tell how our hero (or heroine) goes from the ordinary world at the beginning of a book to completing a mission to a successful ending. That is the same journey some of our military are taking to resolve the same kinds of changes in their lives: leaving the familiar world behind to be thrust into an environment of war and then to return home. Telling their story in order to understand the adjustment is a fitting use for the method so many of us use for our own storytelling. Except the results are more life-changing!

The Man of Her Dreams
The Man of Her Dreams by Dee S. KnightBlurb:
A woman who has traveled thousands of miles searching for a tall man with brilliant blue eyes, a man she’s been dreaming of for months. A man whose life is in danger—or so the screwy woman having dreams and visions says—but who doesn’t believe for one minute in the occult. A man who has been thought dead for two years and who disappeared with a bundle in stolen cash. How will these three people come together? And who will be left standing at the end of their encounter?

Buy link:
Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt:
“What did you mean that after seeing me you thought you might be in the right place?”

A few moments passed while Cassandra considered what to say. People so often took her precognitions the wrong way. Finally, she screwed up her courage and turned to him.

“This is going to be hard for you to understand. I’ve… seen you before. I’ve had dreams for the past several weeks that feature you pretty prominently. I recognized you as soon as I saw you.”

Dan glanced at her, incredulity plain on his face and then he chuckled. “I have to admit, I don’t think any woman has ever told me that she dreamed about me before. Not literally, anyway. You mean you had a dream about a guy like me.”

“No, I mean I dreamed about you, you specifically. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true.” She looked out the window to the side of the road, seeing only pines and a house here and there, in the growing darkness. Dan didn’t speak immediately.

“What is it you dream? Something enjoyable, I hope.” His words were light but his tone made it clear that he wasn’t happy with the subject.

“Actually…” She turned to look at him again, “I’m glad you asked, because I wondered how I was going to bring this up. I dream that you’re dying. Drowning. You need to take special care around water.”

Dan glanced at her again, his lips compressed and his eyes narrowed into slits. “Not so pleasant then. Good thing I don’t believe in that sort of stuff. I noticed you’ve got California plates. The land of nuts, they say. No offense, but maybe there’s some truth to that.”

Cassandra glared at Dan. “You’d do well not to toss around old clichés and misconceptions, considering how many there are about the South. I appreciate your stopping and helping me as you have, but let’s not go any further down this path of conversation.” She lapsed into silence.

Fortunately, Dan didn’t try to engage her in any more talk. She’d have to consider how to bring up the subject of her dreams again when maybe he’d be in a more receptive frame of mind. She hadn’t traveled over three thousand miles to give up after one brush off.

After several minutes of tense silence, he pulled up in front of the Green Hills Inn. “I’ll wait here while you find out if they have a room.”

Cassandra went inside, returning shortly with a key. Opening the back door to reach for her suitcases, she said, “Thanks very much, Dan. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Wait a minute.” Dan jumped out of the truck and grabbed her suitcases. “I’ll take these up for you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Just get on inside, will you?” he said harshly.

Cassandra scowled, but walked through the lobby to the elevators, where she jabbed the Up button. At room 410 she slid the keycard into the slot and opened the door just enough to admit herself. Turning, she wrestled her suitcases from Dan.

“Thanks again. Bye.”

As she backed into the room and dropped her bags beside the bed, Dan put his hand against the door to stop it from closing and followed her in.

“Wait just a damn minute,” Cassandra started, “you’ve got no right to come into my room. Just because you helped me out doesn’t give you any claims, and I’ll thank you to leave. Now.” Fire filled her tone. She’d been single long enough to know how to take care of herself, but she was a little tired for a fight.

“I’m not asking for any claims, lady. I’ve just got something to say to you, and I think it will be in your best interest to listen up. There’re a lot of superstitious notions still believed by some people in the South, but most people are going to look at you like you’re crazy if you go around telling them you’ve been seeing and hearing things. And rightly so, to my way of thinking. So just a friendly word of warning. However long you’re in my town, you’ll get along better if you keep your little loony visions to yourself.” He had stepped right up to her and looked directly down into her eyes.

“Your town?” She felt the heat from his body and his breath softly blowing her hair. Although she knew she was frowning and appeared in control, inside she trembled. Like a tug-of-war, he had the power to pull her closer while she fought to remain steady, cool, and calm. Or at least appear that way. With effort, she steeled herself.

“My town, California.”

“Point taken. Now you can leave. Or do you have any other words of wisdom to pass on?”

His eyes fell to her mouth then slowly moved back up to her eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you,” he murmured. Grasping her shoulders, he lowered his head and kissed her, softly at first, but then harder as his body began to respond.

Without meaning to, Cassandra moaned, falling into the kiss as she leaned into him. His lips were soft and warm. He used them to massage hers and coax them into opening. His tongue was light on her lips, silky, brushing them as if to imprint their texture and form. She forgot for a moment that she had only known this man for a couple of hours.

Just as he tried to slip his tongue between her lips, she came to herself and pushed against him. She caught her breath and without thinking, slapped him hard across the face.

Shock filled his eyes, and then anger as he stepped back. She could see her handprint on his cheek and knew that it had to have hurt, because her hand hurt. Putting her fingers to her lips as though to erase his kiss, she stared at him.

“I hope you enjoy your short time in Greenwood and have a safe journey when you leave. Dill will take good care of your car. Goodnight, Ms. Hudson.” He turned and stormed from the room. A minute later, alerted by the unmistakable noise from the diesel engine, she strode to the window and watched him pull away from the motel and onto the street.

Cassandra took her bag of toiletries into the bathroom and undressed for her shower. Although she was shaken from the kiss and her initial reaction to Dan Morgan, the water beating against her body helped relax her. By the time she had put on her soft cotton gown, she knew she could sleep.

However, she hadn’t been in deep sleep very long before the dream started again.

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

 

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Charity Sunday: Folds of Honor

Charity Sunday: Dee S. Knight

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!

This month’s charity is Folds of Honor. https://www.foldsofhonor.org/ The mission of Folds of Honor is: “To provide educational scholarships to spouses and children of America’s fallen and disabled service-members. … Honor their sacrifice. Educate their legacy.” So, this charity helps two ways that are near and dear to my heart—it helps give people who need the boost an education they might not be able to afford, and it honors those who have given much. Please comment!

Burning Bridges by Anne KristI wrote Burning Bridges as Anne Krist. It’s not an erotic romance, but it’s a book full of emotion and is a true love story. The hero, Paul Steinert, is in the Navy and is about to ship out for Vietnam when he first meets Sara Noland. Perhaps his child could have benefited from Folds of Honor!


Excerpt:
Virginia Beach, Virginia – January, 1970

“Of all days to debate about whether to wear the short skirt or the shorter one,” Sara wailed to her best friend, Cindy. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t late.”

The blue Volkswagen Beetle sped down the highway. Or as fast as it could speed, with the tiny engine pushing from the rear, and Sara having to shift gears so often because of traffic and lights. She huffed in frustration.

“Oh, we have plenty of time. I had to make sure I looked just right. You never know who we’ll see,” Cindy replied with her usual assurance.

“I hope you’re right.”

“You worry, Sara, and things always turn out okay. Just keep your mind on driving and we’ll be fine.” Cindy clasped her hands and shrieked with excitement. “I can’t believe our parents bought us tickets to see Michael Wales!”

That brought a real smile to Sara’s face. “I know! Our parents are the best.”

She flicked a knob on the radio as she veered into the parking lot, silencing Neil Diamond’s “Holly Holy.”

“See? I told you. You worry too much. We’re here with a good ten minutes to spare.” Cindy flipped her straight blonde hair over her shoulder. She turned the rearview mirror toward her and applied a fresh coating of lip gloss.

“We’re only ‘here’ if I can find a place to park.” Sara maneuvered her little car up one aisle and down another, until finally, “Good! There’s one.” Before she could get to the space, a sleek, red Corvette swung in.

“Oh, no! That was our space,” Cindy cried.

Two men unfolded themselves from the little sports car, the driver with olive skin and hair as dark as the passenger’s was golden. The men started toward the building. Suddenly, the passenger looked at Sara and then back at the space.

The low-hanging sun framed him, a fair giant with short hair and the physique of a warrior. For a brief moment, Sara pictured him with sword and shield at the helm of a Norse sailing vessel. Her heart fluttered and her breath caught. Then she brought herself under control.

The girls watched as he talked to the dark-haired man and gestured to them. The driver looked around then shook his head before continuing toward the building. The blond shrugged apologetically at Sara and followed his friend.

“Shoot! I thought maybe he would have a heart.” Sara eased off the clutch and started forward again.

“They were cute.” Cindy swerved in her seat to watch the men as they picked their way through the parked cars. “I wonder what the chances are of seeing them–”

A piercing whistle cut through Cindy’s words. “Stop, Sara! The blond guy is waving at us.”

Sara turned to look behind them. The blond man was indeed waving, gesturing for her to come toward him. “What does he want?” she muttered. Deciding to ignore him, she drove on, turning to the right.

He whistled again.

“He wants you to pull around there. He’s still waving.”

“Oh, all right,” Sara grumbled. “But make sure your door is locked, Cindy. And don’t roll your window down.”

Cindy laughed. “You sound like my mother. What do you think is going to happen right here in the parking lot?”

Sara managed a U-turn and drove to where the man stood. Rolling her window down an inch, she said loudly, “What is it?”

He bent down to peer through the glass at her, a lopsided grin on his face. Good Lord, he was cute. Muscled shoulders and arms, angular, strong features, hair a rich blond, and dark, sapphire-blue eyes.

“Oh, my heavens,” she heard Cindy say under her breath.

For once, Sara understood her friend’s meaning. His grin made her stomach do flip-flops and her palms sweat.

“I don’t bite,” he said around a chuckle, motioning to the almost closed window. “I just wanted to tell you, there’s a place right over there. I think you can squeeze your Bug into it.” He turned and pointed at a half space at the end of the aisle, a couple of cars away.

Flashing him a look of gratitude, she put the little car in gear and pulled into the spot. The tall, handsome stranger followed.

When Sara turned off the engine, the guy opened the door for Cindy and held out his hand to assist her. Out of nowhere, a sharp pang of jealousy struck Sara. Its intensity and suddenness disturbed her. After all, she didn’t know this man; what difference did it make if he and Cindy hit it off?

By the time she collected her purse, stepped out and made sure the doors were locked, Cindy and the mystery man were like old friends. Again she felt the Green Monster strike, and gave a mental shake to rid herself of its clutches.

“Sara,” Cindy said, smiling dreamily at the tall man, “this is Paul Steinert. Wasn’t he just wonderful, finding us this space?” She tittered.

It was all Sara could manage, not to gape. Cindy always flirted but tittering was something new.

“Paul, this is my best friend, Sara Noland.”

Paul smiled and held out his hand. “Hello, Sara. I’m sorry about the other space. This one is closer to the door, though.”

She locked gazes with him and her tongue twisted in her mouth. Surges of heat flew through her body. If his smile had that effect, what would his touch do to her? Something wonderful.

No, something forbidden.

Buy or Read for free on KU: mybook.to/BurningBridges

About me:
A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. And all three offer some of the best romance you can find! Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity. Be sure to check out Jan Selbourne’s and my newsletter where you can find exclusive free stuff to read.

Where to find her (them):

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas: http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

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Charity Sunday: Warrior Canine Connection

Charity Sunday: Dee S. Knight

How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. That’s it—that’s all you have to do. Your comment = my donation. Thanks for your help and your participation!

Mission Based Trauma Recovery

I recently heard about a new charity and I am featuring it this month. It’s called Warrior Canine Connections. “Warrior Canine Connection is a pioneering organization that utilizes a Mission Based Trauma Recovery (MBTR) model to help recovering Warriors reconnect with life, their families, their communities, and each other.” The program uses golden retrievers and Labrador retrievers for their longevity, strength, and temperament. One thing I like about the program is warriors train the dogs for service, and that connection—from puppyhood through adulthood—helps the warrior/trainer as much as it helps the eventual warrior/owner as he or she recovers from a stressful duty. Please visit their website for some amazing videos and graphics. This is truly a worthwhile organization!

No book excerpt this month. Thanks for joining me!

Author Dee S. Knight:

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website (www.nomadauthors.com). Fortunately, Dee’s high school sweetheart is the love of her life and husband to all three ladies! Once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Author links:

Website: https://nomadauthors.com

Blog: http://nomadauthors.com/blog

Twitter: http://twitter.com/DeeSKnight

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN

Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6

LinkedIn: http://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

Sweet ‘n Sassy Divas http://bit.ly/1ChWN3K

 

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<a href=”https://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=294166&amp;type=basic”>Click here</a>  to see the list of other authors participating in today’s blog hop! I hope you’ll visit them too, to find out about the charities they are supporting.