Authors: Loves Wine
There was the sound of his body hitting the water, then the thrashing of alligators as they fought over the evening’s offering.
Roger Bonham’s screams of terror were soon garbled by the water rushing into his lungs, then disappeared altogether as he was pulled beneath the surface.
Scott and Holly held each other tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
She knew he meant her mother.
“She loved you,” he said somberly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “And she did give birth to me again, because she gave me my life when she gave me you.”
Misery and anguish lay in their past. Joy awaited them. His lips pressed against her face. “I told you once that your kisses should taste of warm, sweet wine. Let’s find the wine, my love, and drink to the future. It’s time to say good-bye to the past.”
Above them, clouds dusted with gold moved apart, allowing the moon to shine down on them. Enraptured, Holly murmured, “There’s a poem I always loved.” She looked up at Scott and recited, “‘The wine of love is music…and the feast of love is song…and when love sits down to the banquet…love sits long.’”
“Then we begin the banquet now,” Scott said huskily, wrapping his arms around her more tightly, “for we have the wine of love.
“We have,” he smiled down on her enchanting face, “love’s wine.”
About the Author
Patricia Hagan might be the New York Times bestselling author of 38 novels and 2500 short stories, but she can also lay claim to being among the vanguard of women writers covering NASCAR stock-car racing. The first woman granted garage passes to major speedways, she has awards in TV commentary, newspaper and magazine articles, and for several years wrote and produced a twice-weekly racing program heard on 42 radio stations in the south.
Patricia’s books have been translated into many languages, and she has made promotional trips to Europe, including England, France, Italy, Norway, Greece, Turkey, Croatia, Spain and Ireland.
Hagan’s exciting eight-book Coltrane saga, which spans from the Civil War to the Russian Revolution, has appeared on every major bestseller list and is one of the most popular series published in France, never having been out-of-print in that country in nearly 30 years.
Born in Atlanta, Georgia, Patricia grew up all across the United States due to her father’s position as a federal attorney, finally settling in Alabama where she graduated from the University of Alabama with a major in English. She now resides with her husband in south Florida where she volunteers as a Court-appointed Guardian Ad Litem for abused children.
But of all her accolades and accomplishments, Patricia most of all loves to boast of being the proud mom of a Navy SEAL.
Look for these titles by Patricia Hagan
Now Available:
Golden Roses
Souls Aflame
Passion’s Fury
This Savage Heart
The Coltrane Saga
Love and War
The Raging Hearts
Love and Glory
Love and Fury
Love and Splendor
Love and Dreams
Love and Honor
Love and Triumph
Coming Soon:
Midnight Rose
Heaven in a Wildflower
Ocean of Dreams
A Touch of Love
An innocent beauty in a foreign land…
Golden Roses
© 2012 Patricia Hagan
Travelling to Mexico to reunite with her beloved father, Amber Forrest is devastated to find him dead. Left under the thumb of her hateful stepmother, Amber must fight for her freedom.
A golden-haired beauty, Amber is desired by all who see her, including a handsome matador and a dashing and passionate American. Torn between the two men, Amber finds herself a prize to be fought over. In order to win her freedom, she must choose her destiny, and embrace the fiery desire of true love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Golden Roses:
1871
The young woman sat alone on the worn leather seat, her gaze transfixed through the grimy train window. Lost in her thoughts, she was unaware of the admiring glances men had given her during the long journey, the envious stares of female passengers. But Amber Forrest had never dwelled on her looks. She supposed she was as attractive as any girl of nineteen. She neither grimaced nor fawned over her mirror reflection. A bit on the slender side, she was occasionally sorry not to be larger and stronger. Her diminutive size sometimes restricted her.
Across the aisle, unnoticed by Amber, a well-dressed, prosperous-looking young man stared openly, thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Now and then his fingers opened and closed, as though he longed to entwine them in the silky mass of silver hair trailing wistfully round her face and slender shoulders. He had never seen hair like that before.
She had glanced in his direction only once, and he gasped as she smiled absently at him, bright blue eyes sparkling beneath long, silky lashes. How could anyone have such incredibly long lashes, he wondered. And her ivory-smooth skin. How he longed to touch her, to trail his fingertips down those satin cheeks. Her lips were full, almost but not quite petulant. She wore a traveling dress of lime velvet, and he could see that, despite her petite build, there was a definite swell to her bosom. Yes, she would have nice breasts. Once more his hands opened and closed and his chest rose with a quick intake of breath.
The most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
He could contain himself no longer. He had to meet the goddess. He lifted his hand to his lips and cleared his throat. “Is this your first trip to Mexico, miss?” he asked in what he hoped was a pleasant but masterful voice.
Amber turned to stare at him curiously, blinking as though seeing him for the first time. “I beg your pardon?” It was not proper for a young lady to speak with a stranger. Grandma had always said so.
“I said, is this your first trip to Mexico?” He flashed a bright smile, leaning closer to the aisle, eager.
Amber nodded silently, then turned her gaze resolutely back to the window.
The man stiffened. He would not give up so easily. “Where are you going?” he asked boldly. “To visit relatives?”
Amber sighed. She did not want to be rude, could not remember being rude in her whole life. And what harm, she wondered, would it do to speak to the man? He was probably feeling as lonely as she was—though she had not been feeling sorry for herself because she was so excited to be seeing her father again after all these years. Turning to look at him, she murmured shyly, “I am getting off the train at a place called Suevlo.”
“Suevlo?” he echoed loudly. She moved back in her seat. Laughing softly, he gestured and said, “Don’t be frightened. I was surprised, that’s all. Suevlo isn’t anywhere at all. It’s in the middle of a wilderness. I hoped you were going all the way to Mexico City.”
“No,” Amber said quickly, shaking her head. “I am being met by my father…and my new family. They have a large ranch and breed bulls for fighting in Mexico City bullrings.”
“Do you think you will be coming to Mexico City?” he asked, too eagerly. Amber withdrew again. Scribbling down his name and a hotel address on a scrap of paper, he held it out to her. “Here. If you do get there, be sure to look me up. I would be honored to take you to dinner.”
Reluctantly, Amber took the paper, knowing she would throw it away later. “Thank you,” she said coolly, then added hastily, “If you will excuse me, I would like to take a nap now.”
She turned her back to him, settling down in the seat, her face to the window. For a long time she could feel his eyes on her, hear his agitated breathing. She knew he wanted the conversation to continue, and she hoped he was not hurt.
Amber allowed her mind to wander back to her childhood. She had been only twelve when her mother died. Her father left her in Louisiana in the care of her maternal grandmother and went to Mexico. He had seldom written, and Grandma hinted that he would never return, as much as saying that he had abandoned Amber. One day, there was a letter, telling of his marriage to the wealthy widow Allegra Alezparito.
Amber would not let herself believe that her father had abandoned her. After all, he had written that when her schooling was finished, he would send her the money to join him in Mexico. He wrote page after page describing the happy life she would have on the bull ranch. She read that letter until it was worn to tatters, for through the next years there were only a few lines at Christmas and on her birthday.
Life with her grandmother was far from happy. The old woman insisted that they live in almost total seclusion. Amber was not allowed friends, and heaven help any young man who dared to come calling! Grandma chased people from the front porch with a corn shuck broom. Their only outings were church on Sundays and occasional shopping trips to town. Even church socials were forbidden. Grandma did not hold with square dancing or picnics or other frivolous activities.
Amber counted the years, then months, until she could escape her miserable life. But just when freedom drew near, her grandmother took to her bed and stayed there for two long years before she died. Amber nursed her night and day, pushing her dreams far into the recesses of her mind.
When the old woman died, Amber sent a wire to her father. The response was immediate. He regretted that he was unable to be there for the funeral, but he enclosed money for Amber’s train ticket. No one attended the funeral except Amber, the preacher, and a few church members. A day after her grandmother was buried, Amber hastily disposed of her grandmother’s small home and belongings.
What lay ahead? Her father had told her she would love life on the ranch in Mexico, and he had mentioned that his wife had a son, Valdis, in his twenties, and a daughter, Maretta. How she hoped they would all be close; a real, loving family. Amber had missed all of that.
More exhausted than she realized, she fell asleep. When someone touched her shoulder, gently shaking her awake, she sat up and stared around in bewilderment. Night had fallen, and the conductor was telling her that they were only minutes from her destination.
As the conductor left, Amber thanked her stars that she knew Spanish. It wouldn’t be the first time she would do so. Since her father’s decision to settle in Mexico, she had cherished a hope of someday living with him, and had fed that dream by studying Spanish, getting books however she could, making up conversations with herself, and engaging a storekeeper who knew the language fairly well in endless talks. She smiled now, thinking of his mock exasperation every time she begged him to teach her Spanish. She sent him a silent thank-you.
She quickly gathered her worn tapestry bag and purse. A large trunk containing her clothes was in the baggage compartment. She checked her reflection in the grimy window, patted her hair, then took a deep breath and closed her eyes, whispering a prayer that the future would hold everything she had longed for all those years.
Can the answer to her curse lie in the dreams of the past?
Once Upon A Dream
© 2012 Jennifer Archer
When Professor Alex Simon moves to Canyon, Texas from England, he welcomes the opportunity to change his locale. Not only would he be aiding his recently widowed sister, but he would have a chance to forget a failed relationship.
Robin Wise is less than impressed by her new neighbor– and his little devil-cat. The feline taunts her dog, and its stuffy owner has the gall to blame her pup for the squabbles. But at a second glance, Alex isn't quite as nerdy as he seems. As a matter of fact, when he isn't insulting her dog, he can be quite charming.
But Robin has her own problems. An inherited curse looms over her impending thirtieth birthday, and until Robin can overcome the hex, she can't indulge in any fantasy she might have regarding the more-perfect-by-the-minute professor. No matter how she wishes she had the courage to act on the awakened desire in her heart.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Once Upon A Dream
Alex began his usual bedtime ritual: floss three minutes, brush two, gargle one. Then he told himself Johnny Amigo wouldn’t preoccupy himself with such finicky grooming habits. So, disgusted by his own tendencies, he turned his back on his dental floss and went to bed.
But the beer he’d consumed tasted stale in his mouth, and he couldn’t sleep. So, ten minutes after turning out the light, he rose again and resigned himself to resuming the habitual routine.
He still couldn’t sleep.
For the second time, Alex got up. He opened the window wider, hoping fresh air and the sounds of the summer rain shower would do the trick. He couldn’t quit thinking about the caller who’d followed him on Doctor Dave’s radio program. Finally…a woman who claimed to understand him, and he’d never know who she was. Just his luck.
Her fears were as illogical as his own. More so. As an academic, a professor of both botany and entomology, Alex didn’t believe in curses and other such superstitions. Still, he could understand how a woman, even an intelligent one, with the caller’s family history might become obsessed with such beliefs, logical or not. Although she was a stranger, for some reason, he wished he could help, that he could convince her the so-called curse could only hurt her if she believed in it.