What Makes a Man a Memorable Hero?

My question for you today is this: when reading a novel, what is the main characteristic you love in a man?

Writing a hero who is neither overly alpha nor a wimp can be challenging. Long ago my aspiration was to write for Harlequin and Silhouette, so it became natural to write alpha males. I started several dozen novels over a period of years. I’m highly qualified to write alpha males because my first husband was one. He could have walked right off the page of a Harlequin Presents story.

So, being a creature of habit, when I started writing in earnest a year and a half ago (new writing cycle) I wrote alpha male heroes. Until I noticed they reminded me of my ex-husband way too much.

I wanted to write a different kind of strong man, who was not an alpha, didn’t hide his emotions or need to control a woman. My new heroes should be more like my husband #2. He is a man of power but not in the traditional sense. He is quiet and emotionally demonstrative. He can cry as easily as he can laugh. He does the dishes and gives a great foot massage. He is 110% man, wears his power well, and is respected by most.

Why are short-fused hot-tempered macho men seen as strong just because they build fortunes and wield power? Their emotions are a closed book until the last few pages of the story. In fact, they are usually emotionally dysfunctional and bad relationship material.

Why are easy going, good-natured men who show their emotions and are willing to compromise often seen as pushovers and wimps?

The modern hero’s strength is his energy, self-confidence, and integrity. Please share your thoughts on what qualities make for an unforgettable hero. Share your favorite hero if you have one! Thanks for stopping by!

You’ll find alpha heroes in the Sheikhs of the Golden Triangle series and modern heroes in To Kiss A Leprechaun and Autumn Masquerade. More stories coming soon!

GEMMA JULIANA is a multi-published author who lives in an enchanted cottage in north Texas with her handsome hero, teen son and a comical dog. She loves making new friends and hearing from readers. Exotic coffee and chocolate fuel her creativity. She writes romance, mystery and suspense with a splash of the paranormal.
Buy Gemma’s books on Amazon.
Connect with Gemma
GemmaJuliana.com | Twitter | Facebook

Please help me welcome my friend E. Ayers to my blog today. She has one of the best columns we’ve had and I know it will resonate with all of you.

Remember when we played cowboys and Indians? I had a metal toy gun, and it even took rolls of paper with gunpowder dots. When you cocked the gun, the paper slid forward so when you pulled the trigger, the hammer slammed against the little dot and it went POW! It was so cool! I have no idea how many dots were on a roll (25-50?) only that I had to “save” them and not use them all up frivolously. Huh? It was a toy, and it’s called playing. Maybe that meant I was supposed to be certain of my aim before I pulled the trigger, unlike the TV shows where everyone shot into the air and made lots of noise. Anyway, I had it all, thanks to two older brothers. I had the felt hat, the tooled leather gun belt and holster, the gun, the suede vest and even the sheriff’s star.

Also in my toy box I had the tomahawk, knife, the headdress with colorful feathers, and a reed flute. Thinking back, it makes me wonder. Was the flute a last resort weapon? Maybe they could blow it in the enemy’s ears and ruin their hearing before scalping them. Or were my parents hopeful I might learn to play a musical instrument. I only remember that I was not allowed to throw the tomahawk or the knife with their wooden handles and rubber blades, because someone might get hurt. Most likely that would have been the dog, as it was extremely rare for me to have playmate when I was very young.

But if I had a playmate, I never wanted to be the Indian. The Indian always had to die. The cowboy with the gun always won, and Indians were always the bad guys. The only fun part of being an Indian was dying creatively. That meant you got to dive into the grass and roll down the long hill, lift the tomahawk as if you were going to throw it, then in a dramatic flourish fall back and die.

No one ever questioned why the Indians were the bad guys. They just were.

Fortunately, I grew up in the north in a pocket community of educated people. I never knew a thing about prejudice and even when I came face-to-face with it, I had no comprehension of what it was. Life was simple. You went to the Presbyterian church, the Baptist church, the Catholic Church (you always spelled their church with a capitol C), or you were Jewish, which meant they were still waiting for somebody like Jesus. But they were okay and didn’t need Jesus, because they were God’s chosen people. Yep, life was simple.

Then my parents decided it was time to expand my six-year-old world and teach me about the United States. They yanked me out of school, but brought my schoolbooks with them, and to make matters worse, they added a few extras to the pile. I got to see forty-six of the forty-eight States.

A few things happened on that trip and with it came the realization that not all people were considered equal. I remember seeing signs for whites only. My unfortunate mom was coping with this inquisitive, precocious child who couldn’t imagine why Negroes were any different from white people. The only thing different about them was the color of their skin. And she’s trying to explain not everyone feels that way while hissing we are not going to have this discussion in public!

But I’m thirsty. Why can’t I use this water fountain? Why do I have to wait in line for the one that says whites only? They both work. What difference does color make?

Later, she explained how incredibly stupid such an attitude was but also tried to explain why people embraced prejudice. Then she told me how people hated the Jews. What? Why would anyone hate my friends and their families? My mom bought books on slavery, and Hitler. Ugh! More books.

I saw chain gangs wearing striped uniforms and real heavy chains that hooked these men together at their ankles while they worked on the roads. I saw people picking cotton. My mom said to remember this and don’t ever forget it. I never have forgotten any of it.

I had begged my parents to let me see an Indian as we drove westward. My mom promised there were plenty of Indians where we were going. I remember the first Indian male I’d ever seen. He was working at the gas station where we had pulled in to fill up the car. Thinking back, he was in his early twenties and probably closer to twenty. He didn’t look like an Indian. He wore regular clothes, jeans and a tee shirt! His dark blue-black hair was cut short, the way my much older married brother wore his. The Indian had sharp, chiseled features, and even at my young age, I knew he was extremely handsome. In my excitement, I jumped out of the car and asked, “Are you a real Indian?”

If looks could have killed, I probably would have died on the spot. I don’t think he ever answered me. But my mom almost killed me and with it came another lecture about people being prejudiced.

That was it. I decided that half the world hated the other half and the other half hated the first half because everybody thought they were better than anyone else. And in my childish, idealistic way, I decided we’d all be better off if we just stopped hating each other over the stupidest things and accepted the differences. I also realized I had been prejudiced by TV into thinking that Indians ran around in buckskins and said ugg! They were just people who lived in houses and went to school or work like everyone else.

We must have traveled through a reservation, because suddenly everyone around us was an Indian. Something broke on the car and we had to stay a few days until the part came in. We stayed at a motel in a small town and I assume the children I had found belonged to the owners. We had fun. They were little girls just like me, except they had the most beautiful color to their skin, sort of sun-kissed reddish brown.

Later, my mom bought me a doll dressed in traditional Navajo clothes. She was one of my prettiest dolls and I loved playing with her. I also never wanted to play cowboys and Indians ever again. It was wrong and I knew it. But many a time, I played Indian princess.

Fast forward to the present. Over the years, I’d picked up tidbits about our American Indians and their cultures. I’m on the east coast and there’s not many true-blooded Indians left on the east coast. Those we didn’t kill, we married. So most all have other blood mixed into them. And our dirty-laundry history said if you weren’t white you were colored, therefore any color was colored. (And everyone knew colored was just another name for Negro.)

It took until the 1960’s and a huge advertising campaign before most people woke up and realized that our American Indians were people who were just as entitled to an education as any other American. They were employable, and they deserved equal pay and benefits. The list goes on and on. Who remembers the childhood jump rope ditty rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer, Indian chief? Today that doctor or lawyer just might be an Indian chief as more American Indians have access to universities and scholarship monies are made available to them.

Bigotry is a difficult attitude to erase. There are plenty of people who are reading this wondering why anyone would feel any prejudice towards another person based on the color of their skin. That idealistic six-year-old in me is shouting with joy, because children know there is no difference between people. They recognize the differences and happily will play with anyone who will play with them. We’ve come a long way since 1896. (At least, I hope we have.) But we haven’t achieved world peace.

It’s only been in the last fifteen years and with the help of the Internet that I’ve really had an education in American Indian history. And even what I do know is still very limited. It’s getting better, and the various tribes are starting to create websites with information on their culture and their history. As an outsider looking in, it’s important to remember that each tribe is different.

The more I’ve learned about the Crow Nation, the more thrilled I am that I had chosen them in be part of my Creed’s Crossing, Wyoming stories. They were one of the most feared tribes by the other nations, yet they were one of the most peaceful tribes. In other words, they didn’t want to fight, but if pushed, they would fight to their death. They were also one of the few tribes that held woman in very high esteem.

When I wrote A Rancher’s Woman, I wanted to portray history as accurately as possible. I refused to hide what we did to not just the Crow tribe but to all the tribes, and to show the prejudice against these people. I want people to see Mark “Many Feathers” Hunter, not just as an Indian but also as a man. One who is as fascinated with Malene’s milky white skin, golden-blonde hair, and blue eyes, as she is with his dark handsome looks. He is a man with that pioneer spirit to succeed where there is nothing – a man who is willing to learn new things as a way of protecting his people and preserving who they are.

Malene had grown up in a protected environment of upper middle class. Pushed and pulled along in the tide of the conventions of the time, she has to find her own footing and with it the confidence to break away from what she is supposed to be doing. It isn’t enough to admit that she loves an Indian – she has to be strong enough to step away from society’s strict standards and forge her own path.

Pick up your copy of A Rancher’s Woman on Amazon http:// www. ayersbooks.com

(Email)
e.ayers@ ayersbooks.com

(Shared Blog)
http:// authorsofmainstreet.wordpress.com

(Amazon Author Page)
http:// amzn.com/ e/ B005AYJ0XE

***
Other Books by E. Ayers

Wanting (A River City Novel)
A New Beginning (A River City Novel)
A Challenge (A River City Novel)
Forever (A River City Novel)
A Son (A River City Novel)
A Child’s Heart (A River City Novel)
Coming Out of Hiding (a novel)
A Rancher’s Woman (a historical novel) *
A Fine Line (a novella) *
Mariners Cove (a novella)
Ask Me Again (a novella)
A Skeleton at Her Door (a novella)
A Snowy Christmas in Wyoming (a novella) *
A Cowboy’s Kiss in Wyoming (a novella) *
A Love Song in Wyoming (a novella) *
A Calling in Wyoming (a novella) *
Sweetwater Springs Christmas (anthology) *
Exquisite Quills’ A Holiday Anthology (anthology) *

* sweeter reads

Please help me welcome Susan Macatee back to my blog with her newest novel, The Physician’s Irish Lady. Also be sure and leave her a comment for a chance to win a copy of the the ebook.

My newest release, The Physician’s Irish Lady, has it roots in my award winning Civil War romance, Confederate Rose.

In Confederate Rose, the hero had a friend who served as a surgeon in the Union Army. Elliot James befriended Southerner Alex Hart when he stayed in York, Pennsylvania to attend the university before the war.

Now, in this new book, Elliot is the hero of his own story. The heroine, Keara Fagan, is an Irish immigrant, imprisoned as an indentured servant for a time in Australia. She escaped on a ship bound for America and found herself prey to an Irishman recruiting young women for a brothel in New York City.

She escapes him as well and finds herself on a train bound for the Pennsylvania countryside. And it’s there she meets Dr. Elliot James as he’s headed home after a medical conference in Philadelphia.

The Physician’s Irish Lady is available in ebook form from Amazon and today is the worldwide release from The Wild Rose Press, Barnes and Noble, All Romance Ebooks and other ebook merchants.

Blurb: Keara Fagan is falsely accused of insurrection against the British and sentenced to indentured servitude in Australia. The Irish native escapes on a ship bound for America with no money and the clothes on her back. Now, she must stay on the run while trying to survive in a strange land.

As Dr. Elliot James travels by train from Philadelphia to York, a young woman faints at his feet. He’s sworn, as a physician, to aid the sick and injured, but fears this woman needs more than medical help. Enchanted by her beauty and touched by her dignity, he buys her a meal and offers her a place to stay in his small Pennsylvania town.

But a mysterious Irishman pursues her to the idyllic town surrounded by scenic farmland. Is he the abusive husband come to claim his runaway wife, or someone more sinister?

And how about an excerpt to whet your appetite?
The doctor led Keara into the dining car. Small tables with bench seats were set in rows by the windows with an aisle between. He seated her on one side of a table and took the bench opposite.

A waiter approached. “What might I get for you, sir?”

The doctor glanced at Keara and winked. “The lady and I would like a bowl of soup and whatever cut of meat you’re serving today.”

The waiter nodded. “The soup for today is potato and beans, and I’ll bring a plate of roasted beef.” He glanced toward Keara.

She nodded not sure what she should say. Her gaze drifted over the other diners, and her stomach grumbled at the aromas of soup and cooked meats the passengers had set before them.

The waiter returned with a tray and placed bowls of soup and spoons on the table. “I’ll return with your plate of meat and other delicacies in a moment.”

Keara glanced at the doctor and wrinkled her nose. “Other delicacies? You shouldn’t be spending so much on me.”

“You need food,” he emphasized. “I can’t have you fainting in the aisle again, now can I?”

She sucked on her lower lip, suddenly ashamed in the presence of so refined a gentleman.

He motioned toward her spoon. “Now, eat. Doctor’s orders.”

She grinned and lifted the soup spoon. Taking care to delicately sip and not gulp her soup, Keara ate slowly and studied her companion. His gaze barely left her, causing a tightening in her stomach not caused by hunger. His sculpted lips tilted pleasantly into a smile as he gazed at her. His hands appeared strong, but fine, not work-roughened, like the men she’d known.

“I suppose, since we’re dining together and sharing a seat on the ride, I should introduce myself. Doctor Elliot James.” He studied her as if expecting her name in return.

She swallowed. “I’m Miss Keara Fagan, and I’m very grateful you came to me aid, Doctor.”

“My pleasure, Miss Fagan.” He grinned, and her stomach fluttered with pleasure. “So, your relatives live in York, you say?” He lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips.

She had trouble concentrating.

“Ah—yes, in York.” She hoped he didn’t see through her lie. She planned to find any hovel she could for a night’s stay, then continue her travel by foot, if she had to. She’d disappear into the countryside so Rogan would have no chance of finding her.

“I’ll be getting off at the York station but live farther out amid farm country. The town is called Fairfield.”

Keara nodded as the waiter approached with the tray of meat. The aroma nearly caused her to grab the plate from him. “Sounds like a nice place to live, it does. You’re the town physician?”

“And I also treat the nearby farmers.” He nodded. “I travel a lot and have a small carriage. I left it in York, to provide transportation home.”

Keara’s stomach tightened again. He’d see her off the train, then be leaving. Relief flooded her, knowing he wouldn’t discover her shameful secret, but her heart sank with regret. She’d never met so fine a man and would have liked to know him better. But sadly, a gentleman doctor wasn’t meant for the likes of her.

Once they’d finished their meal, the doctor escorted Keara back to their seats for the remainder of the trip.

About the Author

Susan Macatee writes American Civil War and American Victorian romance, some with a paranormal twist. From time travels to vampire tales, her stories are always full of love and adventure.

She’s spent many years as a Civil War civilian reenactor with the 28th Pennsylvania Volunteer Regiment. She’s a wife, mother of three grown sons, and has recently become a grandmother. She spends her free time inhaling books, watching baseball games and favorite old movies.

Visit Susan’s website www.susanmacatee.com

Leave a comment to be entered in the drawing for a copy of the ebook. I’ll announce the winner in the comments here tomorrow.

The Physician’s Irish Lady available at Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/The-Physicians-Irish-Ladyebook/dp/B00FDXQ684/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380111260&sr=1-1&keywords=the+physician%27s+irish+lady

The Wild Rose Press http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=195&products_id=5497

Barnes and Noble, All Romance Ebooks and other ebook merchants.

Visit my website http://susanmacatee.com for all available links. And thank you, Cynthia for having me as your guest today.

Today is release day for my friend Jennifer Zane’s new book, LIAR, LIAR, HEARTS ON FIRE. Below in addition to the cover of the book are some of the pictures Jennifer took on her research trip to Alaska and one of her with a reinactment actor of the real Jubel Early as she mentions in her book. I hope you will all get the book and enjoy it. It’s laugh out loud funny in the trademark Jennifer Zane tradition.

TITLE: Liar, Liar, Hearts On Fire

AUTHOR: Jennifer Zane

AUTHOR BIO: Jennifer Zane has lived all over the country–from Georgia to Maryland, New York to Colorado, including an exciting five years in Montana. Her time in Big Sky country was the basis for this book. When she’s not writing, she savors the insanity of raising two boys, is figuring out how many meals she can make with a pressure cooker, and teaches a pretty mean karate class. She currently lives with her family in Colorado.

AUTHOR CONTACT INFO:
jennifer@jenniferzane.com
Twitter: @JenniferZane
Facebook: JenniferZaneWriter
Web page: http://www.jenniferzane.com

GENRE: Contemporary Romance & Romantic Comedy

PUBLISHER: Jennifer Zane

RELEASE DATE: January 16, 2014

Available in e-book from Amazon http://amzn.to/1d4RTs9 and All Romance eBooks
Paperbacks available just about everywhere, online.

Goodreads Book Page (with pre-release reviews): https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18803814-liar-liar-hearts-on-fire?ac=1

BLURB:
Violet Miller is a teacher savoring her summer break until she’s been called in as emergency reinforcements—of the dating kind. She volunteers to help an old flame by pretending to be his girlfriend. In Alaska. At a family reunion. Since the guy is a handsome, lumberjack-sized doctor she’s never quite forgotten, faking a relationship won’t be hard work.

Mike Ostranski is a desperate man on vacation. His mother wants grandchildren and sees a crazy Alaskan woman as a candidate for daughter-in-law. Mike needs Violet by his side to deflect the lady’s advances.

A week in Alaska as boyfriend and girlfriend should be easy for them. They grew up together, even had a brief fling. What could go wrong?

Everything.

EXCERPT:

Liar, Liar, Hearts On Fire
© Copyright 2013 – Jennifer Zane

Summer vacation. No two words hold more allure for kids; what they dream about all school year long. To me, they are equally potent, equally daydream-worthy in the dead of winter when those long summer days are months and months away. No, I’m not thirteen. In fact, I’m twenty-nine. I’m Violet Miller and I’m a school teacher. A first grade teacher, to be exact. So when that last school bell of the year rang last week and kids ran screaming out the doors of Irving Elementary eager to ride their bikes, swim, camp and all the other possibilities of the ten weeks of summer break, I was about ten minutes behind them.

Unfortunately, I won’t be manning a lemonade stand or zipping down the water slide at the Bogert Pool, the outdoor swim center downtown. Instead, I’ll spend my days working at Goldilocks, Bozeman’s only “adult” toy store. I have to squeeze in my fly fishing, hiking and camping on my days off. At least until my sister, Veronica, gets back from her cross-country road trip.

“No, honey, you can’t mix the flavored in with the glow-in-the-dark ones,” Goldie West told me as I restocked boxes of specialty condoms. Goldie had opened the store back in the sixties and had catered to every unusual, and some very kinky, whims ever since. Both she and the store were Bozeman icons. Infamous and quirky.

Goldie was like the Tasmanian devil, all fluffy hair, long nails and the ability to wreak havoc on anyone in her path. Today, her nails sported a cotton candy pink and her blond hair was teased up like a Southern pageant queen. She wore a T-shirt with a red-sequined heart in the center, black Capri pants and black clogs. Pushing seventy, she looked pretty darn good, although I wasn’t sure if all that hair spray was good for her health.

She had a mind like a vault. Not only did she know everyone in town—their brothers, cousins, wives, dentists—she remembered everything about them since time began. Nothing slipped by her or her Rolodex for a brain. Because of this unique and often annoying ability, I try to keep as low a profile as I can around her. Goldie knows everything about Veronica, since she’s been a faithful employee since college, but being her identical twin didn’t mean I was fair game—or knew what I was doing.

“Whoops, sorry,” I replied, looking closer at the boxes and rearranging them into their appropriate shelf space. It was my first time in the condom section, as I was just filling in for Veronica on a short term basis. She was enjoying Florida and all its steamy summer weather with her boyfriend Jack Reid, packing up his belongings and driving back across the country. Since we lived in Montana, a few time zones away, they were going to be gone a few weeks.

“Did you try out some of the things I put in the box for you?” Goldie stood at the counter pulling red lace thongs from a brown shipping box. To the average person, a conversation about a box from a friend might revolve around hand-me-down clothes or even homemade cookies. To Goldie, it involved a sampling of Goldilocks’ wares: nipple clamps, a vibrator, a sampling of lubes, scented lotions and other things I still couldn’t exactly name. “I hope the Goldilocks Training Program has helped.”

With what? My personally-delivered orgasms or learning the ins-and-outs of a sex store? Nipple clamps weren’t a solo thing and if I told her I’d taken the vibrator for a test drive she’d pull that little nugget of information out when I least expected it. She was fishing here and it wasn’t for trout.

I tried some of my yoga deep breathing to keep from mangling the condom box in my grasp. Goldilocks’ Training consisted of watching ten pre-selected XXX videos, sampling a variety of sex toys, thus the take-home box, as well as taking a field trip to the nearest BDSM club, which was halfway to Butte. All had to be completed within the first month of employment. “Um, yeah,” I replied, hoping to sound non-committal. Since I was only subbing for only a few weeks, I was hoping I didn’t have to fulfill all of the requirements. I didn’t know anyone I could call who would want to venture to a club devoted to varying kinky lifestyles. I had no doubt Goldie would volunteer, but that was a girls’ night out I never wanted to consider.

“It’s like working at the kitchen supply store in the mall. If you’re going to sell the product, you’ve got to test it out first. My employees need to be the experts in the field because people are counting on us.” She had neat little piles going of variously sized lingerie on the counter.

Goldie talked as if we were testing fire trucks or life jackets, and a person’s safety and well-being were held in the balance. In fact, I’d spent the past three evenings watching Big Boobs III, Junk In The Trunk and Rump Pumping. It was still up in the air whether all that porn was going to give me the expertise I needed to work at Goldie’s, or a backup career as an adult film star.
Sadly, watching those movies was the closest thing I’d had to sex in a long time. My sex life was practically nonexistent. Unless you counted the vibrator test run from Goldie’s box. There was more in that package than I could handle. At least alone. She’d provided everything for my sexual pleasure and then some. Everything except a man.

“Right. Kitchen supplies.” I finished the glow-in-the-dark and moved on to piña colada flavored. “Although I’m not sure if this is the same thing as cooking.”

Goldie waggled her eyebrows, her poufy hair going up an inch. “But it can get just as hot.”

You are never too old to set another goal or dream a new dream. ~C.S. Lewis

Greetings from Atlanta in this new year of 2014!

I’m Connie Gillam and I write both adult and young adult mystery and suspense.

The beginning of a new year is always the opportunity for me to start fresh, shake off what didn’t work the previous year and dream something new, dream something bigger and better.
I enjoy setting new goals. It gives me hope and motivates me. Off with the old, on with the new. (yeah, I know it’s a cliché.)

The past two years have been rough ones, full of personal loss and unrealized dreams. I thought I’d lost my love of writing, lost my ability to complete a novel. So you see, the beginning of a new year definitely means hope to me.

My goal for 2014 is to publish (traditionally or self-pub) three adult novels and one free novella. That’s a tall order because one of the adult novels and the novella haven’t been written, and I’m a slow writer.

I challenge you to dream and set goals−goals that scare you. If it’s not scary, it’s not big enough.

In 2012 I went out on a limb and completed a young adult paranormal romance set in New Orleans (a city I love), The 5th Realm. I self-published it. Below is the blurb.

The 5th Realm:

Embrace who you are because you can’t escape your destiny… Even if it means accepting a huge responsibility and facing a challenging battle.

Meet Lisette Beaulieu, an orphaned Creole teen living in New Orleans. Follow her as her life changes after learning that her mother’s family is alive and practicing Voodoo in the bayou.

Her world spins further out of control when she discovers she is to be the next Priestess. She must accept and learn to master the power that’s destined to be hers as the next Voodoo Priestess of her mother’s family. She will need all her new found skills when her best friend makes a deal with a demonic force to save the life of his brother. But those are the least of her problems.

Something demonic and immortal wants her life force for its own sinister purpose.

And then there’s this cute but mysterious new boy in her school…

Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/n76zmhr

Where can readers find me:

Website:www.constancegillam.com
Faceook:www.facebook.com/authorconstancegillam
Twitter: www.twitter.com/conniegillam

Hello, everyone! In my crazy life, guess what? I forgot that the wonderful Cynthia Woolf had invited me to blog. It’s nuts around my house, and I have company coming. The way I look at it, I could ask all of you wonderful people reading to come help me vacuum and dust or I could throw myself on the Court and Cindy’s mercy and do a book giveaway.

I have a new book out; it’s called BETRAYED, and Irene Turner was amazingly fun to write—and in my mind should be every woman’s hero.

What would you do if you were a trap shooting/gun expert and the child you thought was stillborn was very much alive, and people you trusted help betray you? That’s the crux of BETRAYED. Irene gets in a lot of trouble in this book, but I promise she gets her happily ever after. And though it may not look at it, she’ll even get some help from this guy:

Excerpt from Betrayed:

“I’m looking for Mr. Peter Trevelle,” she said.

“Speaking.”

Irene let out a breath and rushed on. “Mr. Trevelle, my name is Irene Turner. It’s very important I see you. Unfortunately, I can’t come to you.” Her gaze wandered her four-star prison. “I’m prepared to pay handsomely for your time. If you’ll meet with me, I’d be happy to buy you dinner.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

Damn accent. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “No. Will you meet with me or not?”

“No can do. Does your call have anything to do with your husband’s murder, Mrs. Turner?”

Irene closed her eyes. “You read the paper?”

“Sure did. You kill him?”

“I did not.”

“That’s what I was thinking when I read The Post. I thought why would a trap shooting champion off her old man in Denver, when she could’ve easily disposed of him in her own state of Oklahoma?”

“The police hold your opinion, too, Mr. Trevelle,” Irene said dryly. “But that’s not the reason I’m calling.”

“Oh? What is the reason you’re calling?”

There was no way she was having this conversation over the phone. Up on the murder, he might not be somebody who was merely well read. He might be the scoundrel who had something to do with Stephen’s death.

Irene cleared her throat. “As I said, I’d feel better if we had this conversation in person.” And in front of witnesses.

“I repeat, ‘no can do.’ I’m in a wheelchair. Traveling’s a problem for me.”

Lord. “Would you meet with me if I came to you?”

“Are you still prepared to pay handsomely―and buy me dinner?”

“Are you still at the 869 Eagle Ridge address?”

“I am.”

“Well, then, I’m on my way.” Irene pushed end, gritting her teeth that her life had turned into one major pain in her backside.

The police had explained she should contact her insurance about her Mercedes, but what about Stephen’s SUV? How long would it be off limits?

She shuddered as Lieutenant Montoya’s warning of Stay Put went from nagging to screaming. She could call, explain what she wanted to do, but he’d nix her scheme in a Denver minute.

She rode the elevator back to her room, changed into a pair of capris and a light jacket, then she stopped at the front desk. “If anyone from the Denver Police Department calls or comes looking for me, and only the Denver PD,” she said to the clerk, “I need you to do two things.”

A fresh-faced young man, who reminded her of Danny, widened his gaze. “Yes’ ma’am?”

“You check his credentials, then you may give him my cell phone.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Irene sighed. She supposed she should face reality. She really did look like a ma’am. Outside, she spotted a waiting line of taxis and almost reconsidered meeting with Trevelle. Should she or shouldn’t she?

You try to stay put when someone’s kidnapped your daughter, murdered your husband, and tried to set you up with your own .38.

The shoulds won. Irene flagged a cab.

Did I mention BETRAYED takes place in Denver, Colorado? I hope you’ll check out BETRAYED along with my other releases from Bell Bridge Books. I’ll be doing a $25 Book Certificate form either Barnes and Noble or Amazon to one commenter and a book giveaway of BETRAYED to another. So here’s a question for Cindy’s readers: Have you ever been to Colorado, and, if so, what’s your favorite thing about living here or visiting. Thanks, Cindy!

Donnell Ann Bell is the author of three books, The Past Came Hunting, Deadly Recall, and her newest release, Betrayed. Her debut and sophomore releases have been e-book best sellers and Deadly Recall is a 2014 EPICON nominee for best thriller/suspense. Check out her webpage at www.donnellannbell.com