Stop by the Exquisite Quills blog today and read the story behind the story about how my first book, Lonely Places, made it into publication, and how thankful I am for that. The story is a somewhat autobiographical account of my younger years. I wrote this book under my other pen name, A.L. Debran.
Here is the Tiny Teaser opening from Lonely Places, a sensual western romance set in northeastern Colorado in 1890:
Wrapped in a worn and soiled wool blanket, she rode steadily into the night. She trusted the sorrel gelding to take her away from Greeley and into the obscurity of the vast eastern Colorado plains. The roan packhorse followed doggedly in their wake. Fading in and out of twilight consciousness with pain and boneweary exhaustion, thoughts of the Man troubled her foggy mind. Is he dead? Is he still coming? Why didn’t I make sure he was dead when I had the chance? I shot him with his own pistol. Surely, he’s dead.
The cool night breeze ceased with the welcome daylight warmth that touched her face. Realizing the gentle sway of her ride had ceased, she opened her eyes to discover the horses standing at the edge of a river, drinking deeply. With a twinge of guilt, she knew she’d pushed the horses too hard. But getting as far away from the Man as fast as possible had been her first priority.
Turning her head to scan the area for shelter, she caught her breath at the sharp pain. She touched her neck and winced. Her wound needed cleaning and suturing, as did the one on her leg. Nudging the sorrel with her heels, they crossed the river…
Until next time,