Saturday Sensual Scenes...

Saturday morning. Its time to take that cup of coffee back to your favorite easy chair and fire up that computer in search of your next great read... If you are looking for western adventure filled with romance, try The Rancher's Irish Bride.

One hard neck rancher - one Irish beauty. Sparks fly when their worlds collide.

When rancher Clay Roberts finds his prime grazing land in flames, he doesn't expect to see a woman battling the flames. Maeve McKenna will do anything to get Clay Roberts to see that she's the woman for him, even if it means using a bit of Irish magic to win his heart. When Clay stumbles onto a secret that involves local ranchers missing cattle, will it turn their budding romance into ashes?


Clay paused. The scream came again from the right. He turned his head and his heart dropped to his boots. Her arms flailing, Maeve rushed away from the smoke and flames, the hem of her skirt consumed by orange. The more she ran, the faster the fire grew.
"Stand still!" he yelled. Turning to the man next to him, he snatched the wet bag from the wrangler's hand and rushed toward her.
"Stop running," he ordered.
Grabbing her closest hand, she turned, clawing at him, trying desperately to get away from the heat. With a jerk, she stumbled. He took the pause in her fight to open the wet rough cloth. His arms held out wide, he captured her body. They fell to the ground, his body covering hers to smother the flames. In order to silence her, Clay pressed his mouth to hers. As the heat melted away from his legs, suffocated by the wet burlap, another type of heat, one more consuming settled in his groin.
For a mad woman, Maeve McKenna tasted just short of heavenly. Her cries lessened, turning into soft moans. Instead of beating his chest, her fist gathered the loose cloth of his shirt and she clung to him. Unconsciously, his lips moved over the fullness of her bottom lip, capturing it for the merest of seconds before he let it go. His chest heaving, Clay broke the kiss and pulled away.
The light from the flames danced across her face as she stared at him in wonder, her lips full from his kisses. His body hard from want, he drew his brow together and knew he should not be there, should not be doing this. Steeling his mind from desire, he turned his attention to her skirts.
Slowly, he eased his body away and sat back. He lifted the wet burlap away from her, revealing the burnt edges of her skirt and petticoat. As his heart ceased to hammer against his chest, he could hear Maeve's own rapid breaths. His eyes rolled up her frame. The sodden blanket not only smothered the flames but it transferred its dampness to her clothing, making the muslin blouse nearly transparent.
Clay closed his eyes to count to ten and swore under his breath. "Are you hurt," he asked, looking at her again.
She shook her head. A soft breeze whisked away the remaining body heat and he watched her nipples pebble. The sight sent a molten finger of desire spiraling through his body to make itself at home in his stones.
Clay glanced away and spied the blackened shawl on the ground. Leaning to the left, he snatched it up and tossed it over her upper body. "Cover yourself," he growled.

To purchase your copy for $1.99 please use the following links...

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-ranchers-irish-bride-nancy-oberry/1038310448?ean=2940014083218&itm=1&usri=the+rancher%27s+irish+bride

http://www.amazon.com/The-Ranchers-Irish-Bride-ebook/dp/B007567YRO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1328318096&sr=8-2

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/129195

God bless little boys and frogs.

Yes, I know it's an odd topic for a writer, but let me explain. My grandson, who is five going on six is infatuated with nature. He enjoys going fishing whether its in the dog bowl or with his daddy on the boat. If its sunny, he's outside playing, observing, cataloging information about life because at five the world is his oyster.

So when my daughter heard him talking the other evening her own curiosity drew her to the door that opened onto their back patio. There crouched close to the ground, his head bent with a look of deep concentration on his little face. Her gaze drifted, following his line of vision, to the ground where a big green frog sat staring back.

I know she had to have smiled. Perhaps even stifled a giggle that threatened to emerge as he urged the creature to follow him. Rising, he tugged on the end of the string that he somehow managed to tie around the frogs slender leg. "Come on, follow me." and according to her, he gave a little tug. The animal had no choice but the follow. She said she watched for a few moments enjoying the sheer determination of the child to get his 'new pet' to follow and the determination of said 'pet' to not.

Finally, she announced her presence and came outside to sit on the steps. The conversation that followed, were deep ones explaining the fact that all wild creatures must be free to follow the plan, the call of life. If he would let the frog go, then he would be doing nature a deep service because frogs help keep the mosquitoes down. I can imagine the look of surprise that turned to disappointment as she got him to agree and he knelt down and untied his 'leash'. Now free, the amphibian disappeared into the green of the grass and my little one went in to wash his hands.

Later that night, after bath and a story, he was tucked into bed ready to dream what wonderful dreams come to the young of flying ships, western plains, and horizons we can not see because our eyes have been limited by life. As my daughter cut out the light, she heard a sound just outside his window. A deep vibrating ribbit that was answered by another. Sleepily, the little head turned. "Good night, froggie," he whispered.

Now, every night before sleep, he calls out to his new found friend, who lies beneath his open window and sings him to sleep blessed by the wisdom of my daughter and the imagination of a little boy going on six.

Tuesdays Taste of Romance

Okay, we made it through Monday. Now, comes the long stretch between Tuesday and Thursday. Why not take a moment and savor a bit of romance in the afternoon. Here's a bit from my latest work in progress.

The dim light coupled with the dark sunglasses made reading the menu nearly impossible. She pulled the glasses down the end of her nose and did a quick scan. Pot roast, chicken fried steak, burgers; didn’t these people know about eating healthy?

“You know, if you took those sunglasses off you’d blend in better with the crowd.”

His nonchalant words made her look up. He seemed to be intently studying the menu, yet she was fully aware he knew every move she made. Her heart tripped over itself, as he looked up then reached over, and pulled the plastic from her face. Without a word, he folded the earpieces over one another and laid them beside her paper coaster. Then he returned to the menu and began reading. When she didn't speak, he glanced at her. “Your ball cap is pulled low enough that in this lighting, not even your own grandmother will recognize you.”

If only he knew, that was the whole point. A sinking feeling of uneasiness washed over her. She dampened her dry lips and looked down at the words and pictures of the meals served. Across the way, someone placed a coin in the jukebox and soon Kenny Chesney's newest single blared. A glass of tea with a lemon wedge materialized before her. She glanced up and watched Sandy poise a pencil above a pad.

“What will it be?”

Delaney looked to Logan to begin.

“Ladies first.”

She swallowed and pointed to the friend chicken salad. “I’d like this please.”

Sandy’s hand flew across the pad. “Ranch, Italian, or French dressing?”

“Um, Italian dressing,” she mumbled and folded the edges of the plastic over one another, pushing the menu toward the end of the table.

“I’ll have the All American,” Logan replied.

“Be ready in about ten minutes.” Sandy said as she walked off.

Another awkward silence enfolded around them. Delaney fiddled with the paper band around her napkin. She should say something nice, but what? Her eyes moved around the room. “This is a nice place.”Her comment made Logan look over at her. A bit of tension left the lines in his face. He leaned against the booth back and lifted the edges of his lips. “Locals love it.”

He wasn’t a bad looking man, she decided. Tall, tanned, he had the feel of the outdoors about him. His dark blonde curls made him look like the hero typed that belong on a book cover. She noticed he was staring back at her. Delaney was glad the lighting didn’t allow him to see how her cheeks. If the heat she was experiencing was any indication, they were flaming red. “Have you lived out here all your life?”

“For the most part, I spent some time in Colorado but when my dad wanted to start raising horses, I came back to help him.”

She nodded and looked away. The small bowl of artificial sweeteners suddenly seemed of great importance. Moving the packages around, she began to line them up according to color. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean forward and fold his arms, one on top the other, across the table.

“You sure you don’t have other questions?”

She offered him a shy glance, then shrugged. “Everyone has questions.”

“I’ve got one.”

She stopped what she was doing and looked across the table at him.

“What are you hiding from?”

Enjoy your Tuesday and see you soon,
Nancy

Looking for Love? Check out the Greenhorn Heart by Sherri Thomas

GREENHORN HEART Sherri Thomas ISBN 978-1-59578-882-5 At her dying mother’s bedside, Jolene Norris promised that she would keep her baby sister safe from her money hungry aunt and uncle. Unfortunately, keeping that promise is proving a lot more difficult than Jolene thought, and she needs help. Her aunt is out to prove Jolene is unfit or at the very least unstable to take care of her sister, forcing Jolene to seek Seth Morgan’s help. She needs his home, his land, and his name. Too bad he’s as welcoming as the bulls he raises. Scared that she’ll lose her sister, Jolene makes Seth a deal he can’t refuse. Seth doesn't have time to take care of a petite woman who is as green as her eyes or the small drooling complication on her hip. He doesn't do babies or marriage, not after his ex-wife killed herself and their three-year-old son. But he desperately needs the money Jolene offers him. Together they arrange a marriage of convenience, which quickly becomes so much more. http://www.king-cart.com/cgi-bin/cart.cgi?store=linda018&cart_id=25108.63230&product_name=Greenhorn+Heart&return_page=&user-id=&password=&exchange=&exact_match=exact

Congratulations, Sherri, on your newest release! Check out her other books with these links to Liquid Silver Books Mad About Maddie - Liquidsilverbooks.com Holding On -- Liquidsilverbooks.com Greenhorn Heart - Liquidsilverbooks.com You can find Sherri at these locations. http://www.sherrithomas.blogspot.com http://twitter.com/sherlynromance

Wednesday's Western Heroes...

Do you like your heroes tall, dark, and handsome? Are they always topped with a Stetson hat?

Check out Wednesday's Western Hero... Dobson Winters from A Cordial Christmas now out at Amazon, Barnes and Nobles, and Smashwords.

With a half turn, he slammed the wood at the entranceway so, the windows along the front of the great room rattled. His left hand reached out and swiped the weapon off the table surface. He took one-step toward his desk and spied his Chinese cook peering around the edge of the dining room. His eyes rounded, a meat cleaver raised in his right hand. Dobson leveled him a hard glance.
"Ain't you got some meat that needs fixing?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the little man disappeared. He rushed toward the kitchen, his queue waving madly down his back, with a stream of gibberish echoing in his wake.
"Good." he huffed.
Stomping to the gun cabinet, the cattleman removed the loose lock and stowed the firearm away. He put the unspent shell beside the weapon in case any other do-gooder ventured into his path. The door closed, he turned the key in the lock and secured the guns from prying hands. Staring at the silver key, the edges of his mouth turned down.
Who was he kidding? There weren't any prying hands. That dream ended ten years ago like so many others. His fingers closed around the key so tight, he could feel the cold metal cut into his skin of his palm. Damn them all for reminding him of the season.
A log in the hearth split. The sound echoed across the room and sent sparks leaping up the chimney. He heard the wood break apart with a heave; then give something akin to a human gasp of despair. A sudden chill filled the air. He shook it off and walked to the fireplace to stare. One hand on the mantle, without thinking, he placed a boot upon the stone edge, and reached for the wrought iron poker to shove the timber further back.
Ten years ago, next week, he sighed and it seemed like yesterday.
Not wanting to dwell on the memory, he placed the poker back, and moved across the room to his desk. Issuing a grunt, Dobson sat down and picked up his pencil, intent on resuming his work. There were only two pages to put in his ledger. Concentrating on the figures, he could push all the other thoughts from his mind.
Two hundred cattle marked to make their way down to the winter pastures. From that, he and his men would cut out the heifers due to calf and move them closer to the barn. He wanted the accounts up to date so they could order supplies against the first snows of winter that were bound to fall soon. Tomorrow, he'd make the journey into town and lay in the basics. His thoughts drifted to the conversation with the men from town. On second thought, he'd make sure to double it. That way, he wouldn't be bothered to go into town and have his ear bent about their foolish notions of celebrating a holiday meant to line a merchant's pockets until long after the first of the year.
He counted the tallies again and as he worked, the pale sunlight moved at a steady pace across the desk. A twinkle flashed and caught his eye. He brought his gaze up and found the golden light centered on the woman pictured in the framed tin-type. He paused. His heart tightened as he remembered the luminescence of her blue eyes, similar to smoke. Her dark hair, as she always wore it, in one long braid and coiled at the nape of her neck. His mouth softened. In the picture, he could see the two hairpins, which held that thick braid in place.
Another memory surfaced making him wince. He'd ridden a loco horse at the county fair that summer in order to earn enough money to buy the jade combs she'd seen in the window down in Austin. They were building this home back then. Most days, he hardly had enough money to make ends meet let alone give 'em extras. But, oh, how her eyes had lit up when she saw those pretties. She'd never asked, just given a soft sigh that turned his heart over as they walked away.
It was something a man couldn't forget. Scrimping and saving added enough to the winnings. In the middle of a blinding snowstorm, he'd ridden down and shown up at the door by daybreak. Curled up in an old thin coat, he sat and waited, till they opened. The wrapping was worse than any kid's. Still, when he'd given them to her, she'd cried. Unable to stand her crying, he'd kissed her and kept right on kissing until all traces of her tears were gone. Forgotten were the chores and the cattle. Alone in this cabin, they did what a man and woman did best - made love.
How his heart ached. The memory of lying in her sweet arms made his heart ache. He placed his pencil down to rub the sear from his chest as he reached out and picked up the frame. She might be gone, but the hurt was never far from the surface. That day, in that cold creek, the rushing water took her laughter, took everything that made living so easy. Worse, it took the innocent bundle she held close to her heart and for that, he'd never forgive.

To purchase your copy of A Cordial Christmas for $0.99 please follow the links below,

http://www.amazon.com/A-Cordial-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005POOES0/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/91873
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/A-Cordial-Christmas?keyword=A+Cordial+Christmas&store=ebook

Amy Atwell talks about social media and the writer.

Good Morning to all this fine Monday. I'm bringing in a friend to discuss the writer and social media. Its true that writing is a verb. Writers - write, but it's also true in this day of limited attention spans that we must labor to not only write but get our "name", our "brand" out in the public eye. So I brought in the big guns, Amy Atwell a fellow RWA member, a mover and shaker in the world or writing. Here's a bit of back ground on Amy. You'll quickly see that Amy doesn't flirt around. She's on a mission and when you best step up to the plate when you hang in her circle.




Amy Atwell worked in professional theater management for 15 years before turning from the stage to the page to write fiction. She now gives her imagination free rein in both contemporary and historical stories that combine adventure and romance. Her historical romance AMBERSLEY hit the Top 100 on both Kindle and Nook and has sold over 30,000 copies. When not writing, Amy runs the WritingGIAM online community for goal-oriented writers and has recently launched Author E.M.S., the online business resource library for authors. An Ohio native, Amy now resides on a barrier island in Florida with her husband, two Russian Blues and a demon kitten. Visit her online at her website, Magical Musings, Facebook, Twitter and/or GoodReads.

Amy has agreed to give her expertise and answer questions today, so don't hesitate to ask. If any one knows.. its Amy.

Thank you, Nancy, for inviting me to meet your readers today. I’m a bit of an extrovert, so I love meeting new people!

Social Media: Balm or Bane for Authors?

How many of you use some form of social media? Facebook and Twitter seem to be the bastions most popular with authors today. But there’s also LinkedIn, Google+, Pinterest, StumbleUpon and more. Social networking is what drives GoodReads, Shelfari and LibraryThing. Even Pandora radio lets you create a profile page and encourages a community of listeners.
Many authors find it all overwhelming. It’s a challenge to find enough time to write fiction, much less post and pin and tweet. So where is the sweet spot? Just how important is social media to authors?
If you’re serious about a long-term writing career, social media will continue to be an important and viable source of promotion and audience building. But, and here’s the key, it’s only going to work for you if—

1. You find at least one of social network that you enjoy.
2. You strike a balance between your online social networking and your writing.
3. You approach social networking with the same imagination and commitment you bring to your writing.

Doesn’t sound too scary, does it?
Here’s why I think it’s important—the Internet isn’t likely to disappear. Millions of people are on it, and millions more are buying smart phones and tablets because they can’t get enough of it. In some ways, our society is growing more fragmented, with less person to person interaction in real life. At the same time, people seek out and savor their interactions on social media.
This is where social media works so well for authors. Most stories have some element of human connection at the core of the story. A hero learning to trust. A heroine returning to confront her hometown memories. A family on the brink of disaster brought whole again.
The readers who love those kinds of stories are out there in social media as squawking and hungry as birds. Keep tossing out birdseed on a regular basis, and those birds will find their way to you. Readers who connect with you and your stories will become loyal fans. They will spread the word for you. Remember the old shampoo commercial? “And they’ll tell two friends, and they’ll tell two friends…” and so on and so on.
That’s the magic of social networking.
You may be a pantser when you write but plotting or, rather, planning ahead will save you a lot of headaches with social media. Make a game plan for yourself so you can make the most of your social networking. And if you’re not published yet, it’s not too early to get a jump start on this. By all means, start to build your tribe now.

1. Study the different social networks and decide which one(s) best match how you want to communicate with potential fans and fellow authors.
2. Secure your profiles on any (frankly, I would do all just in case) social network you plan to use. Ideally, use your writing name.
3. Find an image and write a short bio so your profiles are consistent.
4. Make a list of the topics you will discuss—and not discuss—on social networking. You want to be personable and friendly in your interactions, but remember anything you say can come back to bite you and your career.
5. Start slowly and blend in. Join in other conversations, repeat items of interest, help your fellow authors. Don’t just pop in and shout about your book.
6. Ask questions! Experienced users love to help newbies.
7. Set aside some time weekly, 30-60 minutes to seek out people to follow and friend.
8. Be gracious. Send thank yous to people who repeat your messages.
9. Tend your social network account(s) daily, whenever possible. Each day you miss, you will lose a bit of momentum. 15 minutes is all it takes, really!
10. Be prepared to adapt as the social networks grow and change.

I’ll mention that Facebook is in the midst of rolling out its new Timeline design. Both personal profiles and business (author) pages are changing. You can read a full article on it on Author E.M.S., the online business resource library for authors.
I hope some of that was helpful. I’m happy to field any other questions you might have about social media—so, tell me, what’s your biggest fear or frustration with social networks?

What are you doing to jump start your career

We all know that writing is a verb. Writers duh write. But in this day and age, with the opportunities that abound, writers need to do more than just huddle in our cold dark cave and labor over a raw manuscript. Shaping and reshaping until the clay becomes the mold of a great story. Writers need to not only converse with other writers, but to take charge of their careers.

With the explosion of ebooks, writers have been in some ways given their emancipation from agents, which, in itself, is a double edged sword. Agents are needed to submit work to New York publishers and in some cases e pubs, but in order to attract agents, writers need to have published work. So how do we handle this seemingly double standards?

First and foremost, writers need to be aware of opportunities. Yes, they do only knock once. While on the trail of a good agent, writers need to show they can produce work. So, it is important to know what publishers are looking for. A writer must gleam the slush pile quotes and needs from editors by keeping abreast of what the market is looking for.

How many of you make list for the grocery store? We know that going into the store without one means we often spend more money by picking up unwanted items. The same can be said for our writing. Yes, its important to write the story of your heart. But, it can also help your career to pick two to three targeted publishers both standard and E then read what their editors are searching for. Does it fall into your interest? Can you craft a synopsis or outline of a story by looking at their new lines. If so, do it, write it, send it. Choose to have your work in your hands. It is always so much better to be proactive than reactive.

Once you have submitted your idea, get on with your other writings. Yes, you'll obsess by checking your emails, wondering, marking the days to come, but who knows after 6 to 12 weeks you might get the go ahead on the project and propel your writing into new markets. Isn't that just what you wanted?

So get started by perusing epubs, making a target list, reading some of their books and throwing caution to the wind, take your pen and write. The world is your oyster, cave and all.

Happy March writing,

Nan