My Favorite Villains by Amber Leigh Williams

Last October, I counted down my favorite monsters. This year, I decided to do something similar and just as fun – counting down my favorite villains!

There are different categories of villainy: 1) Villains I love to hate, 2) Villains I somehow wind up rooting for even though I know I’m not supposed to, and 3) the villains that give me the serious, creep-fest heebie-jeebies no matter how many times I read and/or watch them….

VILLAINS I LOVE TO HATE

Jane Austen Antagonists…
Lady Jane is great at many things. You hear much about protagonists like Lizzie and Darcy, Mr. Knightley, and Miss Elinor Dashwood, among others. You hear even more talk about her revolutionary style – the wit, the irony, the dialogue. Those are the things that keep us coming back to her novels time and time again. But one of my favorite things about a Jane Austen book? There will always be that one character (or two…or three) that I want to rap over the head with a walking stick. Chief among these is Lady Catherine de Bourgh from Pride and Prejudice. While the main antagonist of the book is the manipulative Mr. Wickham, Lady Catherine runs a close second…with Mr. Collins and his winding rhetoric bringing up the condescending rear.

Dolores Umbridge…
While Tom Riddle comes to mind when anybody brings up Harry Potter villains, there’s another name that occurs to me and that’s Dolores Umbridge. Umbridge first appears in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. At first glance, the squat little lady underneath the pink hair bow might not appear too threatening. Midway through the book, however, it becomes clear that Umbridge is another kind of villain altogether – that of the psychological variety. To say readers love to hate Dolores might be the understatement of the century.

The Queen of Hearts…

“We’re all mad here.” Indeed. But maddest of all might be the ill-tempered monarch who reigns the climax of Alice in Wonderland. As a girl, I loved to hate the Queen of Hearts…even if I sometimes chased my little sister around with a red crayon yelling, “WHOOOOOOO PAINTED THE ROSES RED?” Looking back, it’s still easy to hate the Queen of Hearts. She’s pretty much just a brat in big girl britches with a penchant for beheading her own subjects.

Cersei and Joffrey Lannister…

Technically, Cersei and Joffrey from George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire (otherwise known as Game of Thrones) series count as two separate villains but seeing as one went a long way toward creating the other, I thought they’d be best lumped together. The character of Cersei Lannister steps onto the scene as the stone-faced yet beautiful queen of Robert Baratheon. However, readers soon learn she’s an incestuous adulteress whose children, Joffrey included, are the byproduct of her relationship with her twin brother. She’s the grand architect behind her husband’s death and Joffrey’s rise to the throne. And that’s just the first book. As far as Joffrey is concerned, the apple doesn’t far from the tree. The tree and the apple are both rotten, by the way, and pretty much beyond redemption.

Dimitri Chernenko…

The Bronze Horseman is one of my favorite works of historic fiction. That being said, I spent much of the book wishing that the character of Dimitri who serves as both friend and foe to hero Alexander would find some way to disappear. It’s not often you see a coward as a villain. Dimitri uses what he knows about Alexander’s past to blackmail him to get him out of Russia. He shoots himself in the foot to avoid combat. He parades the heroine Tatiana around under Alexander’s nose (knowing the latter is in love with her yet is unable pursue his feelings for her). What becomes of Dimitri is almost disappointing in lieu of what readers WANT to happen to him by the end of the book. Personally, Dimitri is a character that is easy to hate because he’s terribly realistic.

 

VILLAINS I ROOT FOR (EVEN WHEN I SHOULDN'T)

Severus Snape…

Another Harry Potter antagonist. The books are written almost entirely from young Harry’s perspective. Because of that, the sneering, hook-nosed Potions master is tragically misunderstood from the onset of the series up to its near-completion. Not that he helps matters much. He antagonizes Harry for his lack of know-how in class. Also when you dress like a bat, continuously dock points from Gryffindor House and bemoan the hero’s resemblance to his mischievous father, it’s easy to get lumped into the bad guy category. Interestingly enough, Alan Rickman refused to play the character on screen until J.K. Rowling told him in confidence that Snape is actually a good guy in disguise.  

The Grinch…

His brain is full of spiders. He has garlic in his soul. He’s a mean one, but for those who’ve read How The Grinch Stole Christmas, it’s not hard to love this baddie. The king of sinful sots might ruin Christmas for those poor Whos down in Whoville. However, in one of the most beloved plot twists in children’s literature, he comes to regret his dirty deeds and grows himself a proper (termite-free) heart. It doesn’t matter how many times I read the book, I always root for that scurvy green Grinch.

The Wicked Witch of the West…

She started out as a static character in L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, but through the years The Wicked Witch has morphed into one of the most beloved villains of all time. All the lady wanted was her sister’s shoes. And Dorothy did drop a house on said sister. Even if you don’t love the original version of The Wicked Witch, it’s hard not to root for her in author Gregory Maguire’s Oz reboot, Wicked, The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West. Maguire reveals the real story behind The Wicked Witch, AKA Elphaba. Bullied for being different from her peers, feared for the sheer magnitude of her magical gift, it’s easy to say that Elphie is just another one of those deeply misunderstood characters. (Maguire’s Wicked, of course, became a wonderful Broadway musical by the same name.)

The Joker…

“I don’t hate you ‘cause I’m crazy. I’m crazy ‘cause I hate you.” He’s absurd. He’s creepy. He does terrible, terrible things. He’s got a vendetta for Gotham’s caped crusader. Those who have seen Jack Nicholson's portrayal of The Joker, however, might have a hard time actually hating him. I don’t think I’ll ever forget sitting in a silent movie theater the night The Dark Knight opened and being absolutely riveted by Heath Ledger’s turn as the super-villain. The actor’s death should have foreshadowed the film yet the performance spoke for itself. As despicable as his version of The Joker was, it even made the audience laugh on occasion. A bad guy with a sense of humor? Twisted, yes, but difficult to loathe entirely.

Darth Vader…

Cue the John Williams overture. Darth Vader started out seeming like the typical, cardboard cut-out villain. But with The Empire Strikes Back, it became apparent that Vader’s character is a little more complex than all that. Now that Vader’s history as Anakin Skywalker (father to the Luke and Leia of the original series) has been unveiled in its entirety, we know that he is a complex character that with a bit of brainwashing and the influence of real series villain, the emperor, went from very good to very bad in a very short amount of time. Vader is rightfully redeemed in the end so we no longer have to hate him. And next time you’re nervous or lacking confidence in a social situation? Sing “The Imperial March” in your head while walking into a room. I dare you not to feel like the ultimate badass!

Captain James Hook…
Hands down, my favorite villain. Before the captain of the Jolly Roger was a kooky Disney character, he was (in the words of the man who created him, J.M. Barrie), “not wholly unheroic.” He might spend a goodly amount of time trying to kill a (albeit immortal) child. But the kid did feed his hand to a crocodile. Some interesting facts about Hook? He’s originally described by Barrie as “the handsomest man I have ever seen, though, at the same time, perhaps slightly disgusting.” Aside from the crocodile who pursues him, his chief fear is the sight of his own blood. He’s a master of diction and can play several instruments with skill. Hook might be one of the most re-created fictional characters of all time. I love Dustin Hoffman’s take on Neverland’s captain opposite Robin Williams’s Pan in the movie Hook. Though my favorite reincarnation of Hook might be that of Colin O’Donoghue in the TV series Once Upon A Time.

 

VILLAINS THAT GIVE ME THE WILLIES

Jaws…

It doesn’t matter how many times I watch Spielberg’s film. That fish gives me chills every time. Sharks might attack humans when they need a nip, but they aren’t vengeful creatures. I know this. Yet when I hear that Jaws theme song and see that big, gray fin break the ocean’s surface, my heart starts pumping ninety-to-nothing. As far as thrillers go, you can’t beat Jaws. And you definitely can’t beat a classic villain like a blood-thirsty great white.

Injun Joe…

Even as an adult, Mark Twain’s Injun Joe gives me the creeps. As a child reading The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, it’s all-too-easy to get scared when Huck Finn overhears Joe plotting Widow Douglas’s mutilation. If that weren’t enough, he murders Doc Robinson in cold blood and frames poor Muff Potter for the crime. You won’t find a more sinister villain in children’s literature.

Lash…

J.R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series features a merry-go-round of chill-inducing villains, not least of which is the ultimate, omnipotent baddie himself, The Omega. The villain that gave me the willies, however, didn’t surface until midway through the series when the character of Lash took a turn for the worse, going from simple-minded bully to heir of The Omega himself. Maybe it’s because I love the character of John Matthew so much, but in Lover Mine when Lash’s deeds go from bad to worse to…even worse than that, I need the light on the keep reading.

The Man In The Green-Feathered Hat…

One of the best books I’ve had the pleasure of reading is Robert R. McCammon’s Boy’s Life. Like Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, Boy’s Life cannot be classified by one genre alone. It’s a thriller. It’s historic. It’s a coming-of-age story. It’s real. It’s fantastical. It’s tragic, lyrical, ironic, humorous… Summed up, the story revolves around a 1960’s small town as seen through the eyes of twelve-year-old Cory Mackenson. In the first chapter, Cory and his father witness a murder. Cory then sees the silhouette of a man in a hat with a green feather, the unidentified murderer, watching from afar. The man disappears but the hat reappears throughout the story, haunting Cory and his friends and leaving clues for them to unravel the mystery behind the crime. Like Injun Joe, this mysterious villain is just as creepy from an adult’s perspective as it is from young Cory’s.

Black Jack Randall…

Speaking of Outlander… Aside perhaps from Hannibal Lecter, there has never been a more despicable literary foe than Jonathan “Black Jack” Randall. A sadist by definition, he leads by instilling fear in his subjects and becomes obsessed with the protagonists of the book, Claire, and her husband, Jamie Fraser. Using his rank as an officer as well as his status as a gentleman to hide the more loathsome parts of his personality, Black Jack molests both the bodies and minds of his victims. Suffice it to say, there’s no redeeming this bad guy. If I had the choice between facing down a hoard of zombies or Black Jack Randall…I’m pretty sure I’d pick the zombies….

There you have it, readers! My Halloween-inspired Favorite Villians list! Now chime in with your own. What villains do you love to hate, what villains do you root for, and what villains would you never hope to meet in real life?

Follow my virtual book tour for my latest Harlequin Superromance novel, His Rebel Heart, all October long! Find more details on my website at www.amberleighwilliams.com!

A Stormy August on the Coast + An Excerpt by Amber Leigh Williams

Walking "our beach" a few weeks before our boy became a big brother....

 

August is here. Hard to believe, right? For those of us on the Gulf Coast, it means one last month (hopefully) of intense heat. Unfortunately, this is the month where we really have to start watching the tropics for potential hurricanes. Though the tropics have been pretty quiet this year, it doesn’t stop those crazy summer storms from sweeping over our house at a moment’s notice.

Last week, I put my newborn in her bouncy chair where she likes to take short power naps during the day so that I could get her big tough toddler brother to sleep for an hour or two. As I closed the living room curtains to help bring on the sleepies, I noticed that it looked slightly overcast. Toddler guy and I settled into the rocking chair and slowly began to wind down for naptime.

Ten minutes later, as he was just starting to close his eyes, I heard thunder rumbling. It sounded close and began to shake the house. My guy likes watching big storms roll in from the window overlooking our front porch so when he heard the storm getting closer and closer, sleep became the last thing on his mind. As rain began to lash the front of the house, I sighed. Naptime’s hard enough as it is for him to do. Add in the noise and excitement of severe weather and this mommy can count out any quiet time for writing during the day.

However, this storm seemed to be gaining in intensity. I peeked out through the curtain and was shocked to see the wind all but laying down the trees in our front yard. I could hardly see the street, the rain was coming down so hard. I got that eerie feeling. You know, the one you get if you’ve ever seen hurricane or tornado weather. That instinct that tells you to head for the cellar.

Calling my guy away from the window, I picked up my newborn (bouncy chair and all) and ran for the bedroom closet (our version of a cellar). As I set her deep in the closet amongst winter boots and hanging coats, I noticed that my guy wasn’t with me. Alarmed, I rushed back to the front of the house to find him…that’s right…sitting at the front window between the parting in the curtain watching nature’s fury in awe. You see, this is the problem with daredevil boys. That “no fear” mentality is great when we ride on the family boat at high speeds or when we want him to try something new like sports or sleeping over at grandma’s. But when it comes to those things that are clear “no no’s” yet are just too irresistibly thrilling for him to resist (like, I don’t know, scaling the back of the sofa like a tight-rope walker…or doing a Superman dive off the dock into the water at the lake all by himself…) I really wish common sense was there to take over. Alas, I had to pick him up (no easy task; he’s a two-and-a-half-year-old inside a five-year-old’s body) and haul him back to the closet.



My guys, the aforementioned daredevils....

The closet has a light in it, thank goodness. I was able to calm the little one enough to hear what was going on overhead and give my husband a call to make sure he was out of the storm. When he heard how bad the weather was at home, he decided to drive straight to us. Yep, through the torrential downpour. (Like his love of cars, sweets, and power tools, Big Tough Toddler Guy gets his daredevil streak honestly.) I wondered how I was going to keep the boy from escaping the closet when he found a box of vintage toys from my childhood. In a rare moment of sibling comradery, he paraded half-dressed Barbies and Kens in front of his sister. He giggled over the naked ones and puzzled over the ones with missing limbs. (My sister and I once joked that if a child psychologist ever got a look into our toy box, their best guess would be that we turned out to be coroners or serial killers.)

It was difficult to hear anything over newborn’s raspberries and my guy’s chatter. When the door to the closet opened, we looked up to see the hub. He surveyed the explosion of Barbies and their counterparts crammed with the long-legged toddler, baby’s bouncy, and me with knees drawn up to my ears all in close confines and had himself a good laugh. “Storm’s over,” he announced before crawling into the fray and delicately explaining to one curious little dude the difference between naked Barbie and naked Ken.

This was the first storm in a long time that has scared me enough to hunker down. I’m pretty sure the last one involved one itty bitty boy baby. (Crazy to think that at one time he was that small….) Long before he was born, I remember walking the beach with the hub while a hurricane boiled in the Gulf. There was little room between the raging waves and the windblown dunes. The windows of the condos we walked passed emitted a loud, rattling sound. Remembering it all these years later still makes my spine tingle. That night the salt in the air from the wind crystallized on the power lines and caused massive power outages. I remember sleeping in the truck after Katrina with our dogs because the house was too oppressive without air conditioning. I also remember driving back from the lake after Hurricane Ivan and the destruction we came across as we cruised slowly with the rest of the evacuees down I-65. Not to mention the National Guard patrols who greeted us once we arrived home. Storms are a fact of life on the Gulf, one my stalwart son doesn’t seem to mind all that much. Ah, well. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a storm-chaser or a hurricane hunter. (I foresee long years and high blood pressure ahead for this mommy.)

He was in some serious trouble….
Cole Savitt does not want to deceive Briar Browning. But if he wants to see his son again, he has to find the weaknesses in her charming bed-and-breakfast, then get out of town fast! But the quaint inn isn’t the only thing charming him….
Cole’s straightforward plan becomes anything but when he begins to fall for the beautiful innkeeper. Suddenly everything’s on the line—his future with his son, a chance at happiness and the love of a good woman. Cole must rethink his priorities…and the stakes have never been higher.

When I wrote the first book in my Harlequin Superromance series, A Place With Briar, set in my hometown here on the Gulf, I couldn’t help but include some impressive tropical weather to help draw the hero and heroine closer together. If living in the same place for twenty-some-odd years has taught me anything, it's what it's like to have a category storm barreling toward my house and being helpless to stop it. Here’s a little Throwback Thursday excerpt from Briar and Cole’s summer romance….

Even with the fan cooling things somewhat in the bay-view suite, Cole couldn’t settle. He lay on top of the sheets in T-shirt and shorts, frowning at the ceiling and listening to the low-tuned, battery-operated radio he’d found downstairs.

The DJs promised to stay up through the night with listeners, providing the latest updates on Hurricane Brett, whose slanted eye was now staring straight down the watery barrel of Mobile Bay. The treacherous east side of the storm was already pounding the Alabama and west Florida coastlines. Several tornado warnings were in effect. Early damage reports trickled in from cell phones.

One message was clear for those who’d not evacuated – don’t venture outside. Law enforcement officers and meteorologists stated imperatively: stay away from windows. In case of tornado, find a safe, windowless room in the lowest part of the house for cover.

With Briar upstairs, Cole didn’t feel at all comfortable drifting off to sleep. Why had he left her alone? 

Suddenly, a deafening crash outside launched Cole out of bed. It subsided quickly. In the dim silence that followed, he heard the quick patter of footfalls in the hall.

He crossed to the room and peered out just in time to see the white tail of Briar’s robe disappear down the stairs to the first floor. Hot on her heels, he reached the landing as she ran to the back door.

When he saw her disengage the dead bolt, he rushed forward. “Briar, no!”

She didn’t stop or look back, yanking the door open.

“Don’t go outside!”

His voice was drowned by the banshee scream of the wind. The door sailed out of her grasp, crashing against the wall. She didn’t stop there. Gripping the doorjamb, she battled the wind, stepping over the threshold and moving out into the storm.

“Holy hell,” he muttered. It might have made him as crazy as she was, but he went after her without hesitation. Leaves scattered into the den as he made his way to the door and chased her onto the porch.

The clouds flickered with devilish light, illuminating the churning, rising bay—an animal all its own under the storm’s manipulation. The strobe quality helped him spot Briar at the far end of the porch, looking at the thick branch that had fallen over her vegetable garden and torn through the roof of the porch. Gripping the rail and driving himself into the sucking wind, Cole raised an arm to fend off the stinging slap of rain. Reaching out, he gripped Briar’s arm in a viselike hold and dragged her back.

It took forever to reach the door. Finally, he shoved her to safety and fought the wind again to wrestle the door closed. When it bolted, he whirled on her. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I had to see,” she explained, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice sounded close to feeble. “I heard something break….”

As panicked as he’d felt when he saw her go through the door, he could’ve railed at her. But seeing the slight quiver of her knees and her pale features, he swallowed his fury. “You’re soaked.”

“You, too,” she noted. “I’ll go upstairs and wash off.”

He grabbed her by the hand. “You’re not going anywhere without me. We’ll both be safer together downstairs. We should be comfortable enough here.”

Before she could answer, another ominous clatter broke through the silence. Her face fell, stricken. “The porch.”

He reached for her. “Here, sit.” Gently, he ushered her down next to him on the sofa. “Just sit. There’s nothing we can do until morning.”

“Right,” she said, swallowing. “You’re right.” Another crash. “God.”

His arm wrapped around her shoulders. Comforting, he told himself. Strictly comforting.

But his need to protect, to enfold, overwhelmed him. He leaned back with her hugged close at his side. Tension loosened from his chest when her head fell to his shoulder and she didn’t hesitate to curl into him.

 

A Place With Briar is on sale for just $3.99 at Amazon, along with the two sequels, Married One Night (October 2014 Superromance) and His Rebel Heart (July 2015 Superromance)! I hope you enjoyed the throwback snippet!

 

A toast to hot August nights and summer reads!

 

Amber Leigh Williams lives on the Gulf Coast. A southern girl at heart, she lives for beach days, the smell of real books, relaxing at her family’s lakehouse, and spending time with her husband, Jacob, and their two children. When she’s not trying to keep up with rambunctious little ones and two large dogs she can usually be found reading a good romance or cooking up a new dish in her kitchen. She is represented by D4EO Literary Agency. Visit her on the web at www.amberleighwilliams.com!

The Neurotic's Guide to Book-Borrowing by Amber Leigh Williams

Before I get into this month's topic, I wanted to share some great news. My latest Harlequin Superromance novel, His Rebel Heart, is on sale now! You can buy it for just $3.99 this month from Harlequin, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, and All Romance eBooks!

Can a rebel ever change his ways? 
Being a single mother and successful florist is tough, especially when your new next-door neighbor is the man who shattered your heart. Eight years ago, bad boy James Bracken walked away from Adrian Carlton…and their unborn child. Now he's back. And Adrian's desire to protect her son from the truth of his biological father isn't enough to hide the wild blue eyes of father and son, or to keep Adrian from surrendering to the raw passion between her and James. But is he truly the changed man he claims to be? Maybe this time his rebel heart really is home to stay.

Read the first chapter here!

All month long at Facebook, I'm giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card and more to celebrate the launch of His Rebel Heart!

When it comes to the safety and welfare of my books, I'm like Monica from Friends. The yellow gloves come on and the neurotic is unleashed upon the world.

I was once that person that took books in like strays from the street. If they didn’t have a home, people knew where to bring them—to my house where I would cram them in every empty nook and cranny I could find. My husband once opened a rarely used closet in the back of the house to put away Christmas decorations and was buried under the resulting avalanche of poor, rehabilitated paperbacks. He tried to tell me I had a problem, especially when I admitted that I hadn’t read all of them and there were several I probably would never get around to reading. “They have nowhere else to go,” I tried to tell him. “They’re not puppies,” he tried to tell me. Still, the man loves me. Despite the fact that hording in general and the sight of clutter makes him scratch, he’s put up with my neurotic book-related tendencies admirably well.

When mommy gets a box of books....

 

Then our son was born. Around his six-month birthday it became apparent that he loved books, too. In fact, he loved books so much, he ate them. He tore them. He threw them against the wall. The bigger the book, the better. To him in that first year of his life, there was nothing more satisfying than teething on the corner of a hardback. There was nothing that could make him giggle so much as shredding the pages of a mass market paperback. If I left a book I was reading anywhere within his reach, I would later find the bookmark a hundred or so pages forward or back from the place I had last read—and the bookmark itself would be tellingly damp. (Hey, at least he tried to put it back, right?) My love of books, that thing that had sustained me through tough times, butted heads with my devoted love and delight with my first child. Guess who won that little battle.

There was a shift. It started when he got a little older. The teething slowly died off (oh, thank goodness!) and the paper-shredding stopped. He liked his kiddie books, sure. But I noticed more and more that he liked to fan through the pages of my books, listening to the swish, smelling the lignin (that magic, vanilla-y scent that rouses every book lover), and watching all those words on all those pages merge together in one rushing wave. This thrilled me to pieces because I understood. This was once what I did. This was how my lifelong love of books was born so I was determined to encourage it. 


My boy and his books....

I went through my old paperbacks, riffled through boxes and closets and presented him with several of them to call his own. He’s almost three now. More than he loves being read to, even more than he loves the bright colors and fun pictures of his own library, he loves taking a few moments out of his day to spend with these old paperbacks. Every now and then, a page will rip by accident or I’ll have to throw one away because it got a little damp from a spill or the spine isn’t holding up to all the new handling from little hands. I learned to let go. I learned there are more important things than clinging to certain things, even my sacred books.



 

During the months of my second pregnancy, I went through my library. I sorted out of the books I truly loved, the books that I hadn’t read that I really wanted to read. I rearranged them on my shelves with loving care. The rest I put in two boxes – one for my little guy, another for the Salvation Army. I donated the latter. Those little hands wondrously devoured their new stack. My husband was tickled by the decluttering and the free space (which we desperately needed to put away all the baby boy things to make room for incoming baby girl things).

Story time with daddy....

Am I still a neurotic when it comes to my books? Absolutely. It might even be a little worse now because I know that all those books I have on my shelves, gated off to discourage kiddie activity, are special. Those are my collectibles, my keepers, my darlings. So when it comes to friends asking if I can loan them a certain title…there’s still hesitation. That’s how the Neurotic's Guide to Book-Borrowing came about….

On Twitter, I once discussed Kresley Cole's A Hunger Like No Other and absurdly felt the urge to mention that I'd loaned my copy out to a friend and hadn't seen it since. Those Lachlain fans threw righteous fireballs at my head. And rightly so. Some of the nicest people I know break spines and dog-ear pages (or have children like me who like books, too).

What's a book-lover to do? The following is the form potential borrowers must fill out before I'm able to decide whether or not to let them anywhere near my shelves. If you’re a book neurotic like me, I invite you to use it for your own purposes….

1)  List three references - including relation and phone number

2) Are you willing to submit to a background check?

3) Have you ever committed any of the following offenses: spine-breaking, dog-earring, or bathtub reading? (Note: Owner has the right to demand a polygraph.)

4) Do you agree not to eat while handling this book?

5) If the book is damaged, are you willing to pay for a replacement? In advance?

6) Do you agree to return this book within a two-week period?

7) Can you demonstrate how far you open a book to read it? Four inches? Five? (If you open it further, please stop filling out this form and refrain from speaking to me while I reevaluate our friendship.)

8) If a dispute over a borrowed book does arise, please keep in mind that owner has the right to utilize her attorney and will not hesitate to do so….

I know I'm not alone. Any other neurotic booklovers out there? Sound off, my friends!

Researching the Story: Grandmothers, Gun Ranges & Doohickeys

Okay, picture this…a woman in her seventies sitting on the second floor balcony of her house overlooking her perfectly kempt, picturesque backyard. The backyard is divided into four sections: the vegetable garden all the way to the left next a clear blue swimming pool, a grassy lawn complete with  a long, wooden swing, and to the right what the woman likes to call her “secret garden.” Here there are birdfeeders and birdbaths surrounded by a stone path and flora in abundance—confederate jasmine, ferns, butterfly bushes, and big, poofy, blue hydrangeas even the most seasoned gardener would envy. The secret garden is shaded by large, leafy trees and invites all winged creatures to enjoy what it has to offer. It’s summer and it’s Florida so the air is warm, damp, and tepid. It’s early in the morning, though, so the air isn’t yet heavy or hot enough to chase her back into the air conditioning. There’s a languid quality to the air and the early sun spills like liquid gold through the morning mist. The woman sips her coffee and watches the birds start to gather in the garden.

Suddenly, there’s a disturbance. The birds scatter from the feeder as a large squirrel climbs from the trees above and stealthily begins to shimmy his way down the feeder. The woman sighs. Along the back fence line, she and her husband have set up feeders designed for these nosy squirrels. They were a summer craft project for two of her six grandchildren. Yet this squirrel is deliberately worming his way to her “squirrel-proof” bird feeders instead of easily partaking breakfast from the squirrel feeders not ten feet away. “I don’t think so,” she says. She slowly reaches for something set against the wall to the left. It’s an old BB gun her father gave to her years ago. Still moving slowly as not to draw the attention of the animal, she rests the butt of the gun against her shoulder and sights it over the squirrel’s rear-end. A handful of seconds later, a loud report pierces the peaceful, morning lull. Birds scatter from the trees. The offending squirrel chitters his way back to the fence line and over it into the neighbor’s yard after being taught a thorough lesson.

This is a true story. In fact, I’m related to this woman. She is my grandmother. Next month when my new Harlequin Superromance novel hits the shelves, you could say this story is given its very own reincarnation. In the opening scene of the first chapter, the heroine, Adrian Carlton, is sighting her seven-year-old’s BB gun over the half-door leading out onto her own covered porch and she’s about to teach a squirrel a similar lesson. The squirrel gets away in this version but comes back later for another go-round, resulting in a trip to the emergency room for the book’s hero, James Bracken, who winds up in the crosshairs by accident.

Inspiration comes in many forms to the writer. For me and my July Superromance, His Rebel Heart, one of the many inspirations packed into this contemporary romance is my grandmother.



Can a rebel ever change his ways?  
Being a single mother and successful florist is tough, especially when your next-door neighbor is the man who shattered your heart. Eight years ago, bad boy James Bracken walked away from Adrian Carlton…and their unborn child. Now he’s back. And Adrian’s desire to protect her son from the truth of his biological father isn’t enough to hide the wild blue eyes of father and son, or to keep Adrian from surrendering to the raw passion between her and James. But is he truly the changed man he claims to be? Maybe this time his rebel heart really is home to stay.

 

When it came time for researching His Rebel Heart, I found my knowledge of BB guns sorely lacking. With a son well on his way to that "cowboy" age where interest in things like water guns and NERF guns becomes a reality (dear sweet lord, help me), I realized that I might need to know a bit more and not just for the purpose of my story. Fortunately, my husband knows quite a bit about guns and ammunition. He’s a cracking good shot. Or should I say “crack shot?” (Gun lingo? Not my forte.) When I started asking questions, he not only gave me the answers I needed, he asked if I would like a shooting lesson.

One afternoon we go into the woods—sans kiddies, of course. The hub tells me to put a few rounds in an old printer that once tormented me with regular error messages and random whining noises. “Only fair to put it out of its misery,” the hub tells me before we begin and I heartily agree. My shoulder tingles from the kick of the old weapon. He teaches me gun safety and marksmanship all in the course of a few hours. All the while, I ask what might seem like random questions to an outsider. (“If you accidentally wound up in the crosshairs, how bad would it hurt?” “Would you need a trip to the ER?” “How long would it take you to heal?”) The hub is accustomed to me peppering him with strange questions. He’s my live-in scuba diving, automotive, ammunitions, building and handyman expert. In the rare case he doesn’t have an answer for me, he does the research himself and gets back to me quickly. In return for my questions, he asks things like “At what range?” (“Fifteen to twenty feet,” I answer.) “Where’s the wound?” (I clear my throat and answer a little sheepishly. “In the hind quarters.” At this, he raises a brow. “It’s the dude, isn’t it?” he asks. I smile. “Of course!” He shakes his head and the corner of his mouth lifts into a wry smile. “That’s mean.” “It’s not out of spite,” I explain. “It's important to the story that I get him to the hospital.” He frowns “Does the shot have to be down below?” “Yes,” I tell him. “Why?” he asks. “Because it’s funny?” I say, again a bit sheepishly. He pauses, considers then nods. “You’re right. It is a little funny.”) And we go back to shooting.

 

When we’re done with the BB gun, I expect the lesson to be over. The hub looks around, makes sure there’s no one in the area and reaches back into the waistband of his jeans. “While we’re here…” he says and takes out his pistol. I frown. “Is this where you kill me?” He points to a target twenty feet away. “I want you to practice with this. Aim for the inner circle.” I give him my I-don’t-like-handguns face. I don’t. I really, really don’t. It took me a while to reconcile myself with the fact that we keep weapons in our home. However, I married a man who was introduced to guns at a very young age and who was raised a hunter and not likely to change. He understands the responsibilities that go hand-in-hand with gun ownership. He keeps all his guns locked up tight and up high away from little hands. When he comes home at night, I hear the comforting clicking sound which means he’s double- and triple-checking that there’s nothing chambered. (Another comfort? Knowing that if we’re ever in a bank or a store or anywhere else in public with our children and there’s a gunman at large, the steadfast and levelheaded man next to me has a conceal-and-carry and won’t hesitate to defend their lives.)

Back in the woods, he sees my hesitation and he reminds me of several break-ins in our neighborhood through the years, most of which took place during the day. He also mentions the break-in at my other grandmother’s house months before while she was away from home. I think of the scene in the latter half of the book that I'm dreading writing during which the heroine's life in endangered by her abusive ex-husband. More so, I think of our babies and the frightening world we live in and I take the pistol. I get another lesson in gun safety. “Red is dead,” he tells me. “Wait,” I say. “Red means the gun is dead or the person you’re aiming at is dead?” “The person,” he tells me, making sure that gets across. I digest that tidbit before the hub teaches me how to load the clip and how to check to see whether or not there is a bullet in the chamber. He stands behind me as I face the target. There’s much more of a kick to the pistol than the BB gun so he stands behind me and fixes both my hands in place over the gun. I’m shaking like a leaf by this point so he holds my arms steady as he counts off and I squeeze the trigger. Despite his front braced against my back and his arms locked on mine, I still shriek like a girl and jerk at the report, so much so that the empty shell pings back and hits me in the nose as it is ejected from the gun. The hub curses and says, “Should’ve brought safety glasses.” “You’re damn right,” I say, shaken up a good bit more. The gun feels heavy in my hand, a foreign object I sense that I have no business touching. It occurs to me more than ever that my dislike and fear of guns stems mostly from the fact that I know nothing about them or how to handle them. So I listened carefully as he walked me through it again. By the time we are done and I watch the hub put the now unloaded pistol back into the waistband of his jeans, I’m still not comfortable with the weapon. I believe firmly that it’s never safe to be too comfortable with firearms. But I now know enough to use one in the event that I ever have to. As we walked out of the woods, I tell him how much I hate that our children live in a world in which we have to learn to use weapons to protect ourselves. Knowing how much that keeps me up at night, the hub puts his arm around me and assures me, “You’ll probably never have to.” I say, “Even if I don’t, all this will be great book fodder one day.” He laughs and says, “That’s my girl.” (I encourage everybody to learn about gun safety or to take a gun safety course, especially those with access to firearms. You can never be too careful.)

A few days later, the hub gets peppered with more research questions. He’s out in the garage changing the brakes on the truck. Our son is sitting next to him on the concrete floor, rearranging the shiny, silver pieces in the hub’s master socket set. I pick up one of the tools spread across the floor around them and ask, “What’s this doohickey?” He glances up and answers, “Torque wrench.” I pick up another tool and ask, “And this one?” He looks at me like I should know this one. “A crescent wrench,” he says. “Hm,” I reply and glance over the tools again. “Would you say you need all these to work on car engines, too?” “This is about your book, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I say. I explain that the hero is a skilled automotive mechanic. “Why do you ask?” I ask him. He reminds of that time he was working on his brother’s truck early in our relationship and he tried to walk me through basic engine mechanics. “Oh,” I say, remembering that interlude well. Even after the thorough lesson, I failed to understand how an engine works. I still have only a rudimentary knowledge of engine parts. Battery. Starter. Spark plugs. That’s about it. It’s really fortunate that I married such a know-it-all who can tell me these things (and fix them if needed). The hub smiles and says, “If you’re interested in tools or engines, that usually means you’re up to something.” “Guilty,” I say with a grin.

 

In the "Dear Reader" letter at the beginning of His Rebel Heart, I couldn’t help but note my husband’s influence on this book in particular. It just so happened that over the course of writing the story that the hero slowly evolved into somebody tall with a beard and at one point (probably one of my favorite scenes of the book) with a tool belt slung low around his hips, much like the man I’m married to. (Sh! The name James might come from the hub's middle name, too.) I owe a good chunk of the character of James to him, just as I owe the opening scene of the book to my grandmother. Hopefully neither will mind finding small reincarnations of themselves in the book when they read it.

Just for you, Roses, I'm revealing the first excerpt of His Rebel Heart here on the blog today. I hope you enjoy! You can preorder your copy of the book for just $3.99 at Harlequin, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo today....

 

"I don't want you to be alone..." 

 

Adrian sighed. "James, I have been alone, for a really long time." 

 

"I'm sorry," he said. "Adrian...I am so, so sorry." 

 

When he drew her into his arms, she was helpless to stop him. She felt his lips come to rest on the top of her head. His arms wrapped around her back, closing her in, tightening. 

 

He simply held her, for what seemed like ages. 

 

A small eternity passed in the space of moments. Memories stirred, whispering to life, ghosts of what had been.  

 

When his lips touched hers, it felt so natural. The simple press of his lips brought her back to life. Her heart fluttered, lifting and soaring.

 

She should have pushed him away. After everything, she should shove him back, make him leave. Instead, she let the moment stretch, deepen until she felt him brush up against the soul she'd buried from everything and everyone...

A Slice of Life by Amber Leigh Williams

Sometimes I like to flash forward in my characters’ lives even after the completion of their book and their happy-ever-after. As we all know, the journey doesn’t simply end with a proposal of marriage or the “I do’s.” This is why I’ve found so much enjoyment in writing my contemporary hometown romance series for Harlequin Superromance. I love the characters of these books. Bringing a hero and heroine like Briar Browning and Cole Savitt (from A PLACE WITH BRIAR) back as secondary characters for the second book in the series, my October 2014 release, MARRIED ONE NIGHT, was great fun! I enjoyed giving readers a peek into their married life. Not only that, I liked that although Briar and Cole are married, their relationship never stops evolving. Whenever I read a series of books that brings back characters from previous titles, these people feel so much more real to me if I can see their lives unfold a bit more, even if it's just in small ways, and I see them grow as individuals and together as a couple. 

 

Book One (Briar & Cole's story)

When I completed work on the third book in the series, HIS REBEL HEART (due on shelves July 2015), I got to do it again – bringing back the whole clan, including the hero and heroine from MARRIED ONE NIGHT, Gerald Leighton and Olivia Lewis. The laugh-out-loud moments between these two and their furry Irish wolfhound, Rex, definitely play a part in HIS REBEL HEART.  But sometimes even this isn’t enough. Sometimes the characters don’t stop talking to me after the series wraps. Sometimes I have to go back to the page to make those voices rest. On my website, I have a special EXTRAS feature which includes an “after-HEA” exclusive scene starring some of my western romance characters, cowboy Casey Ridge and his heroine Josie Brusky from BLUEST HEART. Now, in honor of my favorite holiday – Valentine’s Day – I’m doing it again with my hometown series….


The following scene takes place somewhere between my first Superromance novel, A PLACE WITH BRIAR, and the second, MARRIED ONE NIGHT. It takes place at Hanna’s Inn, the setting for A PLACE WITH BRIAR, on none other than Briar and Cole’s wedding day! I hope you enjoy this after-HEA snippet….

“Oh, dear God. You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Olivia Lewis, dressed in her canary yellow bridesmaid dress, asked. She set aside the second glass of champagne she’d been ready to down and peered closely at Briar’s face. “I can get you out of here. But it’s not going to be easy with all the guests milling around the place.”

Briar rubbed her lips together. The warm light of humor made her want to smile at her first cousin and maid of honor. Still, she folded her hands together in front of her and kept a straight face. “I’m not getting cold feet,” she explained. “I promise. My toes are plenty warm, as a matter of fact. I just need you to do me this one favor.”

“If it’s his feet you’re worried about, I can sneak some hard liquor into his drink,” Olivia offered. “Just say the word and it’s done.”

Briar did smile now but only a little before her lips fell back into a straight line. “Liv,” she said, lowering her head and eyeing her cousin. “Please.”

Olivia combed Briar’s face once more before giving in. “All right. But it’ll have to be quick. If Roxie gets wind of this, we’re all up a creek.”

“It’ll be quick,” Briar promised. She carefully stopped her hand from squeezing the other. Her wedding planner, Roxie Honeycutt, had worked so hard to schedule a mani/pedi session for her earlier in the week. It hadn’t been easy with Briar’s duties as innkeeper at her second-generation bed-and-breakfast, Hanna’s Inn, and all the last minute wedding details that had to be seen to. She smoothed her palms down the front of the empire-waisted wedding gown Roxie had designed for her. There was no veil to contend with. Her hair had been carefully braided down her back and strewn with white blossoms. Still, she had been instructed not to sit in order to avoid wrinkling the gown’s linen train.



Book Two - Olivia & Gerald's story

As Olivia left her alone in the grand dining room of the inn, Briar walked carefully to the window, keeping herself hidden behind the drape. Her heart rapped nervously when she saw how many guests were indeed milling around the garden where the ceremony would take place. She took a deep breath to tamp down the flutterings under her skin when she thought how soon she would be walking down the makeshift aisle to the jasmine arbor where her groom and their officiant would be waiting.

Briar closed her eyes for a moment and pictured the view from the front of the inn – the one she couldn’t see from this vantage but knew was there beyond the picturesque garden sanctuary she kept well-tended.

It would be sunset when the vows were spoken. Roxie had timed it down to the wire so that the kiss would take place just as the sun was sinking toward the horizon. Sunset was Briar’s favorite time of day. At sunset just weeks after he had come to Hanna’s Inn, Cole Savitt had kissed Briar on the dock overlooking the tepid waters of Mobile Bay. Briar remembered exactly how golden sunlight had slanted perfectly across the water’s surface in a blinding sheen of gilded pinpricks. It had made her feel like they were floating amongst the stars….

Her mother had had a name for the spectacle. Fairies dancing. Briar remembered, too, how as a girl she had stood with her mother on that very same dock, admiring the breathtaking sunset vista. She’d easily been able to imagine that those shiny pinpricks were fairies dancing over the waves.

Her mother wouldn’t be with her today. Hanna Browning had passed away several years ago after battling cancer. But Briar had wanted to take a moment shortly before the ceremony to gather the warmth of her mother’s presence around her. Hanna’s serene countenance was something Briar had always desperately wanted to emulate for herself, especially on days like today. She wanted to keep the feeling of Hanna close so that in some way she could be a part of the nuptials. If not physically then perhaps spiritually….

Footsteps broke her out of her reverie. Briar sucked in a breath and turned to find the man standing in the archway across the room. The dark suit and tie made Cole’s shoulders appear even wider, his waist lean and trim. It suited his dark hair and she knew when she looked into his eyes, they would appear darker, denser.

Her heart rapped again, but not with the nerves she had felt before. All semblance of bridal jitters disappeared as the love she felt for him beamed to life inside her. It spread from her fingers to her toes. It danced against her breastbone as her lips spread into a wide grin at the sight of him. She chuckled quietly when she saw the blindfold over his eyes. “Oh, Liv,” she muttered.

“She made me wear it,” Cole said, his lips curling up at the corners in amusement as his head tilted in the direction of her voice. A moment’s silence passed over them before he added, “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said, beaming still. She tried to tamp down on some of the joy cresting inside her and couldn’t quite manage it. Here was her groom. The man of her dreams. On the verge of marrying her. She indulged in a blissful sigh. “Oh, Cole, you look wonderful.”

“You do, too,” he replied quickly. “I’m sure you do. If I could see you, I’m sure you’d knock me flat.” The smile slowly faded. “Is everything okay? Liv said you had something to tell me.”

Briar’s smile froze on her face as she thought over what she wanted to say to him. She cleared her throat. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We are getting married today, Cole,” she hurried to assure him.

“I know,” he said, his faith in her – in them and what they had already built together thus far – radiating through the simple words. “I know we are, and I couldn’t be happier.”

She sighed again, unable to help herself. “I couldn’t be happier either.” She crossed to him slowly, her heels clacking across the hardwood floor. “But before we do get married, there’s something…” She lost her breath, nerves beating their way back to the forefront. She cleared her throat and tried again. “There’s something I wanted to…” When she faltered again, she searched his face. She scoffed. “I can’t do this. Not like this. Please take off the blindfold.”

His lips parted. “Are you sure? Roxie will tan my hide if she finds out I saw the bride before the wedding.”

“Please,” Briar insisted, the plea wavering as emotions she didn’t know how to tuck behind composure spread clean through her. “I need to see you, all of you. And you’re probably going to need to see me, too—after I tell you.”

He let out a careful exhale. “All right.” He reached up, loosening the knot on the back of his head. The blindfold lowered.

She blinked as his dark eyes latched onto hers. In them she saw all the love and faith she felt as well as trust and a few nerves of his own he was trying to wrangle. His gaze arrested on her face and widened before it ranged over her hair and the flowers in it. He took a step back, stunned, as he glanced over the dress, taking in her full appearance. “Wow,” he said, his voice lost. “I was right. You look…incredible.”

She gave him a small smile. “You're still on your feet.”

 

"Only just."

 

Swallowing against the tide of emotions, she reached out with both hands.

He instantly took them, wrapping his warm around them and giving them a squeeze. His eyes had gone soft by the time they locked on hers again. “Now,” he said, his voice lowered to match hers, “what was it you wanted to tell me?”

She took a gulp of air, needing it to clear her head. “Before we speak our vows, there’s something I wanted you to know.”

“Oh?” he said. Concern broke across his face. “You’re all right? I thought you might have looked pale yesterday morning. And you’ve been tired.” When she began to protest, he shook his head. “I know you have. I just assumed it was the wedding on top of everything with the inn.”

Briar lowered her eyes to the lapels of his suit jacket—finely pressed with the boutonniere affixed on the left. She licked her lips and forced herself to keep going. “I…I have been tired,” she forced herself to admit. She hated admitting weaknesses, those of the physical variety in particular. “But it’s not the wedding.”

When she paused, she heard him swallow and saw his Adam’s apple dip as he did so. He tensed, his hands unknowingly squeezing hers again. “Briar,” he said when again she hesitated. “I’m, uh…I’m getting a little worried here. Tell me what’s going on. Are you…” He stopped and had to start again, just as she had before. “Are you sick?” he asked, wrenching the last word out.

Her gaze rose to his. His concern had mounted into fear. She closed the small bit of space between them, lifting her hands to his face. They framed his jaw as she raised her mouth to his for a brushing kiss, desperate to comfort him. “No,” she said and found herself laughing a little as the tense line of his body went slack against her with relief. “I told you I was fine and I am. Perfectly healthy.”

“Thank God,” he said, eyes closed tight as his hands closed over her waist, bringing her closer. He breathed a sigh of relief. “For a moment, I thought—”

He’d thought she was really sick, as her mother had been. She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. I promise. I’m sorry I made you think for even a moment that there was something that troubling going on.”

“It’s not,” he said as much to reiterate the fact for himself as for her. He gave a tight nod and opened his eyes to search her face again, steadier. “What is it then?”

"Since we’ve been planning the wedding, I’ve let the fact that I’ve been more tired than usual go unnoticed. Earlier this week, I dozed off while I was folding sheets. They were fresh and warm from the dryer and I couldn’t seem to help laying down in them and closing my eyes, just for a few moments. When I woke up a half hour later, I realized that I needed to talk to someone about this. I went to Liv and…she said that maybe I should take a test.”

“A test?” he asked, brows coming together.

She beamed when it didn’t click for him automatically. “A pregnancy test, Cole.”

Again, his jaw slackened and his lips parted in surprise. “A pregnancy test,” he repeated. The hands gripping her waist tightened by a fraction when she paused once more. “And?” he asked, features taut with anticipation as he waited for her answer.

Book Three - Coming Soon!

She broke into a full-fledged grin. “Yes,” she said. “I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant, I mean. Nine weeks already. I should’ve realized sooner, but we were so busy—”

“Briar,” Cole said, his eyes still searching hers desperately though beacons of hope were beginning to bubble up for her to see. “This is real? This isn’t some wedding day prank Liv’s trying to pull on me before I officially become a part of the family, is it? I wouldn’t put it past her. She tried spiking my drink earlier....”

She laughed, unable to contain another moment’s happiness or mirth. “That does sound like something she would do, but no. This is real. We’re going to have a baby. We’re going to be a family!”

He made an unintelligible but no less gratifying noise in the back of his throat and wrapped her in his arms as he buried his face against the column of her neck. He held her, breathing her in as she wrapped her arms around him in return. “Briar, ten months ago when I came to Hanna’s as your guest, I thought I’d lost hold of what family I had. But you changed that. If I’ve learned anything since last summer, it’s that you are my family and nothing is ever going to change that. And now we’re having a baby together….” He trailed off in disbelief as he lifted his head to touch his brow to hers. “I don’t have the words to tell you how lucky and happy I feel right now.”

"You're doing just fine." She sniffled, trying her best to blink away tears. If she cried, she would ruin her makeup. And then they’d really be up a creek, as Liv had suggested. "I’m sorry I didn’t wait until the honeymoon. But it felt right to tell you now.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, grinning. His lips lowered to hers once. Then again. They lingered the second time as he inhaled her, his chest inflating, seeming to grow in size as he swelled with love and pride. “I’m really glad you did. This way when I see you coming down that aisle, I’ll know more than ever I’m looking at my family.”

“Okay, you have to stop now,” she told him, raising a hand to her cheek when a tear slipped past her guard. “Roxie’s going to kill me.”

“Not a chance.” He chased the tear with the pad of his thumb. The faint sound of a string quartet and “Canon in D” wafted through the walls from the garden outside. “Speaking of Roxie…I’ve got to sneak back upstairs. I’m surprised Liv hasn’t come after me already with her bat.”

“Go,” she said, reluctantly letting him back away. She pressed a hand to her heart when he didn’t turn away, just stood looking at her, drinking her in. In turn, she gazed at him. He wasn’t just the man of her dreams, she realized. He was every dream she’d ever had come to life. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Soon,” he nodded and gave her one last, promising smile. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” she said softly.

The sound of Roxie’s chirpy voice made them both snap to attention. Cole dodged through the swinging door into the kitchen and disappeared. Briar covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud when she heard Olivia shrieking at him as the door swung closed silently behind him and Cole fumbled through an explanation. Moments later, Roxie entered the dining room through the archway, looking brisk and only slightly harried. “Are you ready?” she asked, handing Briar her hand-tied bouquet of sunflowers. “The procession’s about to start.”

“I’m ready,” Briar said, clutching the blooms. Her hands were steady. Her heart was full. “You have no idea how much.”

I hope you’ve enjoyed this bonus “slice of life” from Briar and Cole’s wedding day! Down the road, I’ll be adding more for each of the couples from my hometown series. (I can’t wait to write Olivia and Gerald’s. They’re a riot!) Stay tuned for upcoming details on HIS REBEL HEART’s launch in July. You can add the book to your TBR list on Goodreads. Until then, check out the Inspiration Boards for the first two books on Pinterest!

Happy Valentine’s Day to my fellow Roses and our readers! If you're looking for some love-themed reads, the books from my hometown series are on sale this month for Kindle readers for $3.79. If you're in the mood for a little historical romance, FOREVER AMORE is on sale this month for $2.99 as well as the first two books in my western romance trilogy.

 Happy reading!

Amber Leigh Williams