Can't Get There From Here!

I went home for Mother's Day and surprised my mother. It was wonderful. She never suspected because in the twenty-six years I've lived up here, I never have been home for Mother's Day! A quick trip down home- much needed I might add. I was without a computer for three days! Three days! A break. An adventure. Well for some of us sitting waiting at the airport is an adventure. The good news is that I got to read...a lot!

Got up at 3:30. The first flight went fine; the second not so much- a two and a half hour delay- but I got home, surprised my mother and had a wonderful weekend. Living in a rural part of Mississippi doesn't make for easy travel, but it does make for a great trip. Going home brings back a simpler time for me. I loved growing up in the country on a farm. One of my favorite things was lying back in the grass and looking up at the wide blue sky and make people and animals out of the clouds- big fluffy clouds. The exact kind of clouds I found myself flying through over Texas when I  was coming home to Boston.

Now you may ask what I was doing flying over Texas. I asked myself the same question when I got to Huntsville Airport after driving from Northeast Mississippi. It was one of those 'Can't get there from here!' moments. According to the board, my flight was on time, but in reality it was late- at least an hour if not more. There wasn't a chance I was going to make my flight from Washington, D.C. to Boston in time and it was the last flight out. Now this is why I love the South. Instead of asking me where I wanted to spend the night either Huntsville or Washington (driving back another 2 hours home wasn't an option), the lady behind the counter went on her computer. The next thing I know I'm on a flight that was leaving in 20 minutes...to Dallas, Texas. The lady didn't even tell me what she had done. I was handed a ticket and told to get to the gate as soon as possible. Looking down at my tickets, I couldn't believe I was going to Dallas. Just didn't feel right. Going backwards to go forward. Can't get there from here you know! My husband laughed. But do you know - it worked! I guess sometimes you can get there from here! I got to Boston just a little behind when I should have. I know people have horror stories to tell about the airlines. I know I've lived through a couple, but this time I really appreciated the efforts both United and American Airlines made to make sure I got back to Boston even when I thought I was going to get stuck in Dallas. I could just see me trying to explain that one!

THE PROMISE

So it keeping with this spirit of adventure- I have a new release. The Promise, Part II of the Tides of Charleston Series.

Blurb

Cathryn Blankenship Eversleigh suffered greatly in England. Returning home to Charles Town widowed and with child, she seeks safe haven from the heartache she left behind. She quickly finds that much has changed since her departure. Now she is caught in the midst of the rebellion against the Crown. Jake Pennington is determined to convince Cathryn to return to England. Rekindling the flames of their love, Jake promises Cathryn he will return for her. Only now the tide of war has shifted and Cathryn lives in constant danger. Can Jake keep his promise to Cathryn before it's too late?

THE JUDAS KISS

If you missed the first part, The Judas Kiss, here it is! The third part, Another Night Falls, will be released in September!

Creative Beginnings by Jena Galifany

What does it take to get an author started writing? Some times, it only takes a man with a sign. While driving home one day, I noticed a nice looking young man standing on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign that stated simply, "Day Labor". It got me thinking.

It takes me about ten minutes to drive from where I saw the man to my home and in that ten minutes, I'd mapped out the basic story. What would the man do? What was he willing to do? What if he looked like someone's husband? What if he looked enough like someone's husband that he could sire a child that the husband was unable to father? Yeah, I know. I'm warped that way. Work with me here. =) Day Labor began just like this.

I allowed the idea to roll around in my mind for about two years. Last year when I lost my day job on October 28th, I decided it was my chance to join in the fun of NaNoWriMo for the first time. Day Labor became my project for the month of November. From November 1st to November 29th, I worked each night on my project and finished up with a novel 50,448 words long.

I still need to polish it and get it out to a publisher, but at least I know I have one more novel finished. It's a good feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unedited Excerpt of Day Labor by M.J. Conrad (Jena Galifany)

Chapter 1 – 2005

Mark Langston stood in the doorway to the Chief of Detectives, Grant Langston's office. Grant took his time in responding to Mark's knock. Obviously annoyed, he tossed down his pen and leaned back in his large leather chair as Mark entered and closed the door.

"What do you want?" As usual, Grant showed no pleasure at seeing Mark.

Mark pulled an envelope from his pocket. He held it up, and crossed the plush carpet in the large office. As he reached the mahogany monster of a desk, he tossed it onto the surface, and watched it slid to a stop at the edge of the blotter. "I want an explanation."

Grant didn't look at the envelope. His gaze locked instead on Mark, his jaw clenched and released before he spoke. "Now that you're married, I wanted you to know that you will receive nothing from my estate in case of my death. You have no part in my will. Just so you can let that new wife of yours know it."

"Why would Beth care? She has her own money. She doesn't care about yours." Mark burned with anger at the insinuation. Beth had more money than Grant Langston ever dreamed of having.

"So my name and my status didn't get you a bride? Congratulations." Grant commented in bored monotone.

Mark slammed his hand on the desk as he leaned toward his father. "I've done everything I could my entire life to please you. I've worked my ass off through school and college to be the son you'd be proud of. I've solved several cases that were beyond anything even you've ever handled. Now, after one of my greatest successes, I get this letter. What kind of a father are you that you’d expend so much energy hating your son?"

Grant carefully weighed his words before he let them spill from his lips. "The kind of father who only has a daughter." He smirked, and rocked back in his chair, his trained eyes watching Mark's face for a reaction.

Mark felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach. "What are you saying?" He knew damned well what was said but couldn't wrap his mind around the words, or believe them. Not after thirty-five years. Why wouldn't Grant, or at least his mother, have told him before?

"You’re the fancy detective. Figure it out." Grant leaned his forearms on his desk, and continued before Mark could respond. "Do you recall a local incident some thirty-six years ago. A criminal was shot during a home invasion. You probably read the case file when you studied local issues."

"The man was into pornography and drugs." Mark thought back to the case. "Rape, too, I believe."

Grant nodded and clapped his hands with sarcasm. "He gets the gold star."

"What? Rape?"

Grant folded his hands on the desk. "The man had taken a gun from the home office and attempted to shoot the homeowner when he walked in on him. It was a cut and dried case of self-defense."

"What's that got to do with rape?" Mark was confused. He saw by the look on Grant's face that the older man took pleasure in traveling the long road to where he was going.

"What the report didn't say – because it was covered up – was that the bastard raped the man's wife. That woman was your mother and that bastard that I took great pleasure in shooting was your father. I don't think he left you anything in his will either."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope to get the chance to polish up "Day Labor" before much longer and get it out to the public. What does it take to get you started? What stirs your creative juices? Feeling that you need a new idea? Take a drive around town!

Cheers!

Jena'

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Creative Beginnings by Alison Henderson

I’m stoked! May is Creative Beginnings month, so it’s only appropriate that I’d be embarking on a new creative venture. On May 1^st, I received a contract for a new historical novella, The Treasure of Como Bluff. This story is a first for me in two ways. Number one: It’s the first piece of “new” writing I’ve sold. My first two books were originally written many years ago, so it’s reassuring to know I haven’t completely lost the touch. Number two: It was my first venture into writing a novella length story. Because several writers have expressed an interest in trying out this format, I thought I’d share my observations and experience.

When you’re used to writing 90K word novels, telling a complete story in 24K words is a challenge. At first, the rhythm didn’t come naturally to me. I had to stop and think about the structure far more often than I usually do. One technique I used to help with pacing was to shorten my usual 20 page chapters to 10 pages. For me, that helped moved the story along.

My long novels generally take place across several months, but for the novella, I compressed the time period to a couple of weeks so I wouldn’t have to scrimp on the number or quality of scenes. The abbreviated time frame also affected the progression of the romance. This is the first story I’ve written without a consummated love scene because I wanted the relationship to develop in a believable way within the context of the novella format.

Also, I sacrificed description, exposition and internal narrative in favor of dialogue. My books are always dialogue-heavy, but after the first chapter (when the hero is unconscious), this story is at least 75% dialogue. In some ways, it was more like writing a screenplay than a novel, but it forced me to let the characters drive the story. I’m happy to say they pulled out a few surprises and did a terrific job!

Here’s the blurb for The Treasure of Como Bluff:

In a race against rival bone hunters, the last complication paleontologist Caroline Hubbard needs is a dead man with a love letter in his pocket cluttering up her dig site. Her troubles multiply when she discovers the “deceased” stranger is still very much alive. He might have the chiseled features and impressive physique of a classical statue, but she’s not about to let him hamper her quest to unearth a new species of dinosaur and make her mark on the scientific world.

Nicholas Bancroft has come to Wyoming in search of silver, but after a blow to the head, he finds himself at the mercy of a prickly, determined female scientist. Despite his insistence that he’s just passing through, Caroline persuades him to help her stage an elaborate charade to save her job—a charade which casts Nick in the role of her husband.

Once the masquerade plays out, they face a big decision. Will they be able to look beyond their separate goals and see the true treasure right in front of them?

Alison Henderson

www.alisonhenderson.com

Gifts From the Garden Month

I absolutely love my backyard garden. I’ve got a peach tree, blueberry bushes, grape vines, herbs, and dozens of flowering plants. In this space, I find so much beauty, peace, and creativity. I thought I’d share a few original poems that have been inspired by my garden.

Dragonfly

On wispy wings

you take to flight

flittering through

bright sunlight

Spring blossoms

draw you near

I’ll love you

from a distance here

Stopping for

a moment’s rest

before continuing

on your quest

Glittery trail

left behind

a touch of magic

to remind

Natural wonders

although small

are treasures

for us all.

Summer is over.

The sun feels it.

The gardens feel it.

I feel it.

It brings such bitter sadness

that perishing with the fragrant blossoms

tempts me.

The cardinal's song,

once a lively melody,

now falls like a dirge on my ears.

Summer is over.

and yet, the leaves,

once August green,

have donned an autumn costume.

Chestnut, amber, crimson, maize,

the colors, like a harvest paintbox,

wave in the crisp air.

Cinnamon and cider breathe

a second wind into me.

I shall face a season more

among the pumpkins and apples of fall,

and await a new Summer’s dawning.

Listen

the Earth whispers my name
on her caressing breezes
her hearbeat drums
in time with my own
birdsong echoes in my mind
sweet music
if only we'd all listen to her plea
she'd stay beautiful
for eternity 

I challenge you to sit outside somewhere with a notebook and a pen. Empty your mind of everything. Leave the stress, the tension, the annoyances of life inside. Keep your eyes open and on the nature around you. Let the Muse whisper in your ear on the breeze and see where you end up. I’ll guarantee you two things. One, you will write something on that page whether you meant to or not. Two, you’ll feel so in sync with nature you’ll wonder why you don’t do this every day.

How does a garden inspire you?

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com  

Gardens I have known

I'm one of those people who needs to have something to focus on. I need something more than my day job -- I want a challenge.

Before I discovered writing for publication, I discovered other things: needlework (made many an afghan, sweater, wall hanging, table runner in my day), painting (never was good at that), reading (I was always an avid reader, but I did some reviews). Then I found gardening.

At our first house in Pittsburgh we did some extensive gardening: retaining walls, new flower beds, front yard makeover. It was an odd yard since part was "up top" near the house and part was down a hill (if you've ever been in Pittsburgh, you know of what I speak). We couldn't grow up "down hill" because of shade, but I had fun trying.

Then we moved to Minnesota and I really got into gardening. I remade the back yard of our house into an English country garden. It took years to do because there was a LOT to do, but it was interesting. Put in a pond, made paths through the garden, tried different plants. I got a degree in Landscape Horticulture (AAS) and did garden designs and plans for friends.

Then I discovered writing. And alas, all other things were put aside. I work full time so my writing occupies all of my free time. But I still love gardening. So this year, I set aside some money and I hired someone to re-landscape the front of my house. I now have about 80% of it planted by the landscaper, with plenty of spots for me to add my own touches. I can't tell you how nice it was to watch guy after guy wheel past me with loads of mulch, dirt, rocks, etc. I remember doing all of that myself, and it was SWEET to watch somebody else do it.

So now I can garden and write. In fact, I can write IN my garden. I has the Happy.

If you want to see the garden, check out my Facebook photos (https://www.facebook.com/jayellwilson). I can't wait to get out there and write!

Thoughts from Stacy Holmes, Editor of Honky Tonk Hearts series.

First, let me say Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms, grandmothers, aunts, caregivers and really any female who influences the lives of children both young and old.  My mom read a lot and that of course is where I get my love of books.  We’ve branched out on our choices of topics and genres, but it is still something we connect with today.

I’d also like to start by thanking Vonnie and the Roses of the Prose for inviting me over today.  The only problem is that Vonnie didn’t give me interview questions; instead, she gave me almost free reign to write about any number of things.  Hmm, I wonder if she realized how chatty I can be.

One thing Vonnie did mentioned caught my eye though.  She made reference to a ‘sweet list’ as in, how do you get on the sweet list, whether a series sweet list or an editor’s sweet list.   Well, it’s easier than you think…if you are willing to put in the work.  Simply put, do your homework.


Since it’s nearly Mother’s Day, let’s go back to a childhood memory.  You know how your mother always asked, “Have you done your homework?”…and somehow she could tell from the look on your face if you had or not?  Well, an editor has that same ability, we can tell who’s done their homework and who hasn’t, and that goes a long way to your chance to make the sweet list.


Let’s start from the beginning:  Homework…studying…study your craft. 

Take the time to read books from the genre you want to write and to read various books on writing. I say various because not all writing books work for all writers.  There are many good ones out there, but you need to find the ones that speak to you, that you can relate to and understand in a way that makes sense to you.  For some, that means more technical books on grammar etc., while for others, a more biographical outline from an author’s point of view works better.  But the more you read, the more you pay attention and find what you like and don’t like, and the more you end up finding your own voice.

The next step is to write, and just keep on writing.  Every story, every project, every trial and error, every critique or rejection teaches you more and more.  This includes finishing a story.  Why I say this is that a lot of writers work so hard polishing and perfecting the first three chapters in overexcitement to submit something.  The problem here is that stories have these funny ways of going off track, of changing, growing, dropping off here and overcompensating there as you write that first or even second draft.  But by doing this, you are cheating yourself, and your story. 

You see, you really never know if a story is going to work unless you write the whole thing. Only then can you see the full scope and any holes that need filling.  A story can take so many twists and turns along the way, how will you truly know all the story can be until you discover each thread, each path that takes you to the happy ever after?  Not to mention all you learn about the craft and yourself along the way.

Trust me, nothing worse than getting a great partial submitted and eagerly requesting the full manuscript only to have the rest of the story falls apart because it was rushed or not given as much attention as the first three chapters.

Now, once you do get your story written, that is the time to start the next part of your homework….studying publishers.  This is VERY important.  Read ALL the submission guidelines to the various publishing houses you are interested in.  It is hard to get on a romance editor’s sweet list when you submit a contemporary intrigue story that has lots of adventure, but no love story. Or you submit a story with no faith element to a Christian publishing house.  Believe me, it happens, more often than you would think. 

Along with this is studying their basic submission instructions, too.  For instance, if the submission guidelines say a manuscript should be double spaced, Times New Roman 12 font with one inch margins then that is what you should send in. 

I really don’t like to use the term “test” but in effect, that is a bit of what you could consider submission guidelines.  For the most part, they are there to keep all manuscript formats uniform, but at the same time, it is a small test to see if the author did their homework, the simplest of homework at that.  *Raising my hand* I admit it, if I request a manuscript, I often give a general format I prefer in my request email.  And if I get a manuscript back in a weird font with two inch margins etc, well, it definitely gives me pause. For I am then concerned that if the author didn’t follow my basic instructions for formatting, then how are they going to handle more in-depth edits?

Lastly, when you’ve done all your homework, the best way to get on my sweet list is to capture me, right from the 1^st paragraph.  Put me right in the action from the get-go and you’ll get my attention pretty quick.

Take the Honky Tonk Hearts series that we’ve just launched at the Wild Rose Press.  How did these authors stand out amongst so many submissions? How did they get on my sweet list? For exactly the reasons above….they did their homework, they studied their craft and proofed their work, they read the submission guidelines for both the publishing house and the specific series, they asked questions to be sure of the HTH guidelines and they queried and submitted as requested….then they captured me, each and every one right from the get go. 

For example, take Vonnie’s submission, here’s how she started her story…

Win Fairchild leaned his low-rider onto the gravel parking lot of the Lonesome Steer on a cloud of dust and a tank of fumes. He eased his modified Harley to a stop next to the door of the honky tonk and stood. After more than five hundred miles of bone-jarring road, Win stretched, trying to work the kinks from his body.

 A couple came barreling out of the bar, startling Win who pivoted to nod in greeting. The man charging ahead, red-faced with clenched fists, was clearly pissed. The woman behind him carried her own dose of attitude on shoulders muscled from hard work or hours spent in a gym.

“I’m tired of you huntin’ me down, Evie, embarrassin’ me in front of my buddies. You act more like my wife than my sister.”

“And you act more like an irresponsible child than my older brother. Grow up. I need help at the ranch.” She planted her hands on jean-clad hips. “Dooley Caldwell, don’t you walk away from me while I’m talking to you!” Her brother raised an offensive finger over his head and kept striding toward a Jeep.

The woman swept her eyes toward Win, as if she suddenly realized he stood next to her, taking in the heated exchange.

Violet.

Violet eyes that tugged him into their depths.

His dust-covered tongue rolled into a tight knot.

“Well, what the hell are you staring at?”

Good God, her eyes were like magnets. “Those beautiful eyes of yours.” Win winced at the lack of polish in his remark. Damn if he didn’t sound like an awkward teenager.

The dark-haired woman blinked those mesmerizing eyes and then jerked her pointy chin to the helmet under his arm. “Hunh. Just what the world needs, Don Juan on a Harley.” She turned on her heel and marched toward an old red Nova, the paint splotchy and faded.

Win pursed his lips and exhaled a long breath. He did like a spirited woman. With her violet eyes, nine feet of attitude crammed into a petite frame and a make-his-palms-itch-to-touch behind, she was one fine package.

To his surprise and amusement, she crawled head first through the open window of her car, that world-class ass shimmying as she wiggled her way onto her driver’s seat. What a sight. He shifted his stance to accommodate his body’s reaction.

Her car door must be broken, and he briefly wondered why her brother didn’t fix it for her. Just then the Wrangler eased to a stop in front of Win.

“Stop starin’ at my sister.” Dooley Caldwell peeled out leaving Win in a shower of dust and gravel.

His gaze slid to Evie backing her rusty car away from the Lonesome Steer. He shook his head, hoping to erase the whirlwind sensation one encounter with the feminine dynamo created. Maybe moving here held more possibilities than he planned.

In her synopsis, included within the body of the email--as instructed--she gave me a man on a Harley, a wounded Vet /cowboy, and a heroine with a saucy attitude. Who could resist?

Here is the Blurb for Those Violet Eyes --

Evie Caldwell hoards every penny for her escape from the servitude life created by a worthless brother and the endless work on a ranch that will never be hers. The last thing she wants is a muscled man with a macho Marine attitude complicating her life. But, oh, how that man can make her insides do the twitchy thing.

Wounded vet, Win Fairchild, returns to Texas to heal, find a piece of his soul and open a ranch for amputee children. Finding someone to love was not on his agenda. Nor was dealing with a wildcat, until she captures his heart with those violet eyes.

But now that he knows what he wants, can Win convince Evie to stay in Texas—and his bed?

The series was fairly open for setting so long as one pivotal scene took place at the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk, so I was looking to see the various ways authors interpreted this.  And no, not every submission contracted was perfect from the start and not all were from established authors.  I asked for various revisions from a number of them before contracting.

When I asked for revisions, each author did her homework yet again. I saw the effort from each one, that strive to be the best they could and create the best story they could. Each author was open and willing to work to bring out the most in their stories and the series, and that also reflected highly with me.

Vonnie here to share an example: Near the end of my story, I mentioned, in Evie’s point of view, a rough night Win had. Dreams of the day his Humvee ran over an IED had him trashing and crying out in his sleep. Stacy said she thought it would be stronger if I wrote this scene in Win’s pov. She wanted the dream told in detail.

My stomach tensed. How…how was I to do that? How could I write such a detailed scene with any authority? My son’s best friend is a Colonel in the Green Berets. I emailed him, asking how traumatic IED explosions were. What had he witnessed serving in Iraq? I used his reply as a basis for my new chapter. I’m comfortable with the realism portrayed by my efforts. But I will admit to some “OMG, I can’t do this” moments.

95% of the time I end my email notes to authors with “As always, any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to let me know.”  And I mean this, every time to every one.  I’m here to help, to guide and to bring out all a story can be and all an author has for that story.  

Uh, yeah, I did mention I can be chatty, didn’t I? But I hope, like a mother, I gave some advice that you can use…and like the mother I am, I wish only the best for each and every writer and a great, lose-yourself-in-the-story for every reader. 

And on that note, I have a special little something to give away today--a special Honky Tonk Hearts envelope filled with a Wild Rose Press coupon, Honky Tonk Hearts bookmark, magnet and other fun stuff from the series and authors.  I’ll be randomly picking a commenter from today’s post soooooooo, as always, any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to let me know and I’ll do my best to answer them here or feel free to contact me at stacy@thewildrosepress.com.

MEMORIAL DAY - MARGARET TANNER

MEMORIAL DAY – A BATTLEFIELD SCENE

Call it blatant self promotion if you will, but I thought as it is only a couple of weeks to Memorial Day in the US, I would post this battlefield excerpt from my latest romance novel, Daring Masquerade, which is set during the 1^st World War.

 In Australia we remember our war dead, on ANZAC Day, 25^th April and also Remembrance Day/Armistice Day on 11^th November.

ANZAC Day commemorates the landing at Gallipoli in Turkey by The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZACS) on the 25^TH April, 1915. And the 25^th April is now sacred. It is when we remember the brave men and women who paid the supreme sacrifice in the 1^st World War and in subsequent wars, 2^nd World War, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan. These battlefields are also stained with American blood, as you would be well aware.

DARING MASQUERADE – Out on Kindle from Books We Love Publishing

The third battle for Ypres had begun. The first and second Australian Divisions marched through the ruins of Ypres in Flanders, and fought their way along the Menin Road ridge. Their ultimate destination was Passchendale.

It had been raining steadily, the front had turned into a sea of mud, criss-crossed with miles of concrete German blockhouses. A German arc of machine gun fire dominated the landscape and the casualties were terrible.
Ross despaired of the carnage ever ending. After one battle another always followed. Men died or were wounded; many simply disappeared into the mud.
Reinforcements came and went, followed by more reinforcements. Few old faces were left now. Increasingly, he feared he might never leave this chamber of horrors and return to Harry at Devil’s Ridge. Never get the chance to utter the words, ‘I love you,’ to his wife.
How much longer could his luck hold out? He had suffered several minor shrapnel wounds that only required a dressing.
On the morning of the fourth of October, 1917, Ross’ unit was sent to Broodseinde Ridge. Forty minutes before the attack, soldiers waiting in the rear a mile behind the line saw white and yellow German flares through the hazy drizzle.
0530 hours.  Heavy trench mortars fell on Ross’s men as they sheltered in shell holes. At 0600 hours, the British artillery barrage opened up and he waited. Another attack—more casualties in this endless saga of death and suffering.
White tapes marked the jump off area. When the signal for attack came, he urged his men on.
“Come on, come on.”
He stood up and started running. Officers led by example, he remembered from training. The men charged forward now, yelling and screaming.
A line of troops rose from some shell holes a little in front of them, and Ross suddenly realized they were Germans mounting a counter attack. Too late to do anything but keep on going.
He did not see where the firing came from, but felt a thud, first in one leg then the other. As he sank to his knees, he felt a bullet slamming into his chest. He toppled forward.  Soldiers ran over him. Boots pressing into his back forced him deeper into the mud.
This is the end. I’ll never see Harry again.
He regained consciousness. It was daylight. How long had he been lying out in no-man’s land? Groggily, he got to his hands and knees. Pain and exhaustion racked his body. Breathing was agony. The landscape see-sawed. Shell fire echoed in his ears.
What’s the use? All I have to do is close my eyes and sink back into the mud and oblivion.
Too tired to fight any more, he started slipping away. His body floated upwards and the pain disappeared.
“Ross, don’t leave me. Fight Ross, fight for me.”
“Harry?” He opened his eyes but he was alone.  Only dead men, twisted and grotesque lay out here in no-man’s land with him.
Did he want to leave Harry a widow at twenty? Never hold his son? Oh, God, he couldn’t die like a dog out here. His body might never be recovered. Harry would wait and mourn, but keep on hoping for years. She would never hear the words ‘I love you,’ fall from his lips. What a bloody fool he had been obsessing over Virginia, instead of letting himself fall in love with Harry. Now it was too late.  She would never know the true depth of his feelings for her. He couldn’t do it to her. He must survive.

http://www.amazon.com/Daring-Masquerade-ebook/dp/B0081CJECY/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTG8&qid=13364772888&sr=1-10