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Monthly Archives: February 2020

My name is Herbert Grosshans. I’m a writer. Most of my stories are Science Fiction, but I also write  Erotica, Thrillers and Mysteries.

Interview with Jeremy John Sheppard

Beverley: What’s your name?

Jeremy: My name is Jeremy John Sheppard. I’m a Captain with the Solar Union Special Forces.

Beverley: Where did you grow up?

Jeremy: I was born and raised on Ceres, an asteroid in the asteroid belt of the Solar System. I’m a Belter.

Beverley: During what time period does your story take place?

Jeremy: About a thousand years in your future, give or take a few centuries.

Beverley: What’s your story/back story? Why would someone come up with a story about you?

Jeremy: I joined the Solar Union Space Navy when I was 18 years old, against my father’s wishes. He was an asteroid miner and he would have liked to see me follow in his footsteps, like my younger brother, Alfred. I wanted to get away from all of that. I dedicated my life to the military. At age 26 I became a member of the Solar Union Special Forces. I always believed in law and order, and in a way that was my undoing. I rose quickly in the ranks, and when I became a major, I joined a Special Crimes Unit. We investigated corruption in the upper ranks of the military and we found plenty. When I accused one of the generals of having ties to the drug cartels, I was framed on trumped-up charges, stripped of my rank and sent to a prison planet.

I won’t go into details how I managed to be exonerated of the alleged crimes. You can read all about that in my story. Let’s put it this way, I had a benefactor who believed in me. I didn’t get back my rank, but I did manage to rise to Captain. I worked mostly undercover with a Black Ops unit. It seems history repeated itself. I must have stepped on somebody’s toes and was sent on a suicide mission. We ran into an ambush, all the members of my team were killed, only I survived. I was accused of collaborating with a criminal organization. Nothing could be proven, but I was sent to the outpost on this godforsaken planet I’m on right now. They call it Savanna, a backwards planet, populated by hostile natives. All of the other men on the outpost are nothing but a bunch of losers. This place is supposed to be the end of the road for any of us. The commander of this post, Colonel Wainwright, is a drunk and doesn’t care about discipline or anything else.

At first, after arriving here, I was resigned to the fact that my career was over, but I soon discovered a sinister plot that could change life on Savanna and threaten the peace between humans and the other spacefaring races in this part or the galaxy.

Beverley: What’s your goal in this story?

Jeremy: My goal is to survive on a hostile planet and thwart the plot planned by one of our own.

Beverley: What conflicts are you facing?

Jeremy: I am facing conflict with one of my superiors and the criminal organization behind him. I also must save a group of civilians incarcerated on the outpost under false pretenses.

Beverley: Do you have a plan for resolving them?

Jeremy: Yes, I do. Of course, I can’t do it alone. I must rely on the help of a civilian, a colonist by the name of Dennis Collins. He inadvertently stumbled upon the reason for this conspiracy.

Beverley: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?

Jeremy: Perhaps I should mention that I was a trooper under the command of Master Scout Terrex Stonewall on the planet Epsilon. That was more than fifteen years ago. Scout Stonewall was not a military man, but he was the equal of any military commander I ever served under. Commodore Chelzic put him into a position of command a lesser man would have struggled with. Scout Stonewall was a man of honor and dignity and he was the reason I joined the Solar Union Special Forces.

You can read about my story in a book written by Herbert Grosshans called ‘Savanna’.

Blurb for Savanna:

Assuming the existence of a Star portal on the planet Savanna to be a secret, the humans don’t know that the Accilla, the Spiders, and other spacefaring races are fully aware of it.

Jeremy Sheppard, a newly appointed Captain of the Solar Space Force to the military outpost and Dennis Collins, a civilian, must join forces to thwart a conspiracy to control the Star portal.

Buy Links for Savanna:

Melange Books, LLC:


Nook press:




Follow Herbert Grosshans at:



Melange Books:   http://www.melange-books.c om/authors/herbertgrosshans/index.html

Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?



Buy links:


The four shadowy forms in black crouched low, inching closer to the Shiraz prison wall. Darkness blurred the outline of the prison and its towers. Dense clouds blocked any shard of moonlight from slipping through the ebony night, providing cover for the four. The fall rain had stopped.

The corner search lights swung slowly in a circle, cutting through the darkness. The first form held up a hand. The rest flattened onto the dry terrain. The lights swung back across the area. The total rotation took three minutes.

Two uniformed guards marched past. They followed the perimeter toward the far corner of the tower.

Several seconds after the guards past, the shadows raced toward the main road. Two dived to the ground by the side of the road. The other two raced across the road and disappeared into the bushes against the outer prison wall. They slumped down onto the Iranian soil.

After a quick survey of the area, Fareeda, the taller, sturdier figure, stood up. She checked her shoes and adjusted her harness before shooting a light-weight hook, specifically designed by The Foundation, to the top of the wall.

A thud echoed through the silence when it landed. Both women held their breath. There was no response from inside. They exhaled slowly.

Fareeda grabbed the rope attached to the hook and began her climb up the stone surface.

At the call of a heron from the other side of the road, Fareeda paused and flattened herself against the structure. Below her Assif dropped face first to the ground.

Two more guards advanced. They continued past on another trip around the perimeter and disappeared around the corner.

Seconds later Fareeda resumed her upward climb. She stopped briefly when the lights swept past. Three more minutes and it would be back again. She scrambled the last few feet to a small ledge where she swung a second large, grappling hook over the barbed wire. The hook locked onto the edge of the wall. The prisoner could slide down, once Assif rescued her from her cell.

Fareeda grabbed the ropes, swung out from the wall and rappelled down quickly. At the bottom, the shorter, smaller framed person grabbed the rope.

“Your turn, Assif. Be careful,” Fareeda whispered into her headphone. “There are more guards on they said, and the search lights are shorter than reported. Our information isn’t

accurate. If she’s not in the cell, rappel down quickly. We can come back later if we have to. We don’t want to get caught in this country.”

Fareeda watched Assif grab both ropes and began her upward scale of the wall. She paused at a small window fifty feet above and peered through the bars.

Another heron cry broke the night.

Four guards marched into the escape area. Searchlights flashed on, focusing on the area.

“Assif, abandon the project! Get down here now!” Fareeda whispered into her headset.

A man’s voice shouted in Arabic. They ran toward Fareeda.

Assif rappelled down in two or three long jumps. She started to run as soon as her feet hit the ground. Over her shoulder Fareeda saw two guards grab Assif. They hit her over the head. Her last view was Assif being pulled toward the prison gate.

Shots rang out.

“Shoot them!” She yelled as she raced toward the road. “Shoot them!”

The two women on the far side of the road responded with their own fire. Flashes of light from their weapons shot through the darkness. Fareeda heard the bullets whiz by as she raced across the road toward her companions.

At the next volley of shots she felt a burning pain in her leg. She grabbed her leg and collapsed to the ground. Warm fluid seeped through her fingers. She crawled across the road, dragging her leg.

“Here! Over here!” Sabhita and Marley, her teammates stood up and grabbed her. With Fareeda supported between them they raced into the darkness.

Behind them more voices shouted in Arabic. Bursts of light from their guns briefly illuminated the night.

“They got Assif when she hit the ground. We can’t help her. We’ll do her more good if we escape. Fareeda, can you make it?” Sabhita whispered. They pulled her forward.

Sweat dripped down her back. Her pants stuck to her leg. Fareeda nodded. Nausea swept over her. “I’ll need help.”

“No problem. We’ve got you.” With one woman on each side of her, they hauled her into the blackness.

Rifles blasted through the air behind them. Men shouted. More search lights flashed on. Crashes grew louder. The guards raced after them.



Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?



Buy links:


“Ohmigawd,” Diane groaned. “I had no idea you guys were all nuts. You see people’s past, see ghosts and talk to ghosts. This is all a big hoax. I didn’t realize I signed on with a bunch of nut cases. Let me out of here.”

“Diane, please sit down. It may be difficult for you, but please respect your teammates.”

Diane slouched back in her chair.

“So you can hear the ghosts talk?” Mr. Mogee asked.

“Like I said, sometimes. I don’t hear anything right now.”

“You’ll need to work on being more open and receptive so the ghosts can find you easier. How often do you see them?”

“It depends. I didn’t used to see them at all. Then occasionally, maybe every few months or more one would come up to me. I see them more often now.”

“Ah, it means your gift is becoming stronger. Do you sense anything, like Sara?”

“Nope, suddenly they’re there, in a room or on the street. They come up to me and usually ask me to help them get a message to a friend or family member.”

“That’s good. Stay open and continue to help them. The more you help them the stronger you will become. Now Diane, let’s see what talent you have.”

“I don’t have any stupid talents and seeing ghosts or reading palms isn’t a talent. It’s a damn freak show.”


“No,” Diane snapped.

“Ah, what are you feeling right now?’

“What do you mean? Diane glared at him.

Mr. Mogee smiled. “In your gut, what are you feeling right now?”

Diane stared at him. “Nothing.”


Diane crossed her arms over her chest, sank her chin down and glared at the man. “Something’s upsetting Sara. She’s afraid for someone.”

“Good, very good Diane. Sara?”

Diane continued to glare at the man. “Big deal, it’s a gut reaction,” she mumbled. “Anybody can tell when a person’s worried. Read their damn body language.”

Sara stared at Diane. She wanted to deny it, but if they were a team, honesty was important. “You’re right, Diane. I’m worried about my daughter. I’m afraid she might be in danger.”

“Thank you, Sara. You see Diane, you sense what people are feeling or seeing. We’ll work on it so you understand it better. What about the other thing?”

“What other thing?” Diane shot him an angry look.

“I understand you’re a witch.”

“Aw, shit.” Diane tried to slide farther down in her chair.

“You’re a witch? I mean a real honest to gosh witch?” Sara stared at her.

“Okay, I’m a witch. I can cast spells, big friggin’ deal.”

Mr. Mogee smiled. “Yes, Diane, it is a big deal. It could come in very helpful for your friends. Maybe you can explain to them how it works over dinner tonight. You know how you don’t wear the hat and use a broomstick?”

“Okay, I get it. I don’t understand any of this, but I’ll try and explain how spells work and that there really are witches out there.”

“Good and don’t forget to get in touch with your gut as well. We’ll work on that. Diane comes from a long line of witches. You might get her to talk about her family. Okay ladies, your assignment is to work on your talents by taking these items. See if you get any message or information from them. Share them, pass them around. Do you have any questions?” Mr. Mogee handed each woman an item.

They glanced at what they had received.

“This looks like a man’s glove.” Sara looked up.

Mr. Mogee had disappeared.

“We’ll figure it out.” Maggie stared around the room.

“Sometimes you can use a spell. It causes people to see, or not see, what is really there. I’ll check it out.” Diane offered.




     Lorelei Confer lives on a peninsula in the mid-west coast of Florida with her high school sweetheart, now husband, and AJ, her long-haired Chihuahua.

     In the fourth grade, she wrote her first story—something about getting a shot at the doctors—that was produced by the teacher for parents and students in an assembly. When she was older, she spilled her guts in a journal every night and wrote long newsy love letters to Vietnam.

     She is a multi-published author of romantic suspense with two series: The Deadly series and the Saddle Creek series. She also has written numerous novellas and short stories.

     She loves to hear from her readers so if you want to stay “in the know” visit her website, sign up for her newsletters and contact her.

Beverley: Which genre or genres do you write or prefer to write? And why?

Lorelei: I prefer to read and write romantic suspense and thrillers, even some true crime, i.e. Sandra Brown, Harlan Coben, Nora Roberts, etc. It’s what I grew up reading and it’s stuck.

Beverley: Who influenced you the most in deciding to become a writer?

Lorelei: My fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Spotts, made one of my writing assignments, something about a ‘going to the doctor to get shot’ into a play where a few of the students were cast members. The parents and other classes were invited to attend the assembly as well. It was a huge pat on the back. She also suggested I keep a diary and later I kept a journal and wrote every night. When my high school sweetheart left for his first tour of duty in Vietnam I wrote newsy love letters to him every night. Writing has become a great outlet for my angst and fear of the unknown. I give some of my worries and concerns to the characters in my books. LOL

Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?

Lorelei: Thinking about the characters in my story I have plotted in my head but have yet been able to put on paper. Plot points, their sacrifices, their conflicts, and their motivations are swirling and dancing in my head so when I do sit down to write it all comes right out.

Beverley: Do you have a favorite cartoon character? Why?

Lorelei: I remember Might Mouse, ‘came to save the day.’

Beverley: Who would you love most to meet ‘in person’ and why?

Lorelei: I would love to meet Harlan Coben. He is such a prolific writer and his research is spot on and in-depth. I can’t imagine his process from beginning to end and how long it actually takes him to right one of his complex thrillers.

Beverley: If you had an unexpected free day what would you do with it?

Lorelei: Read…Never enough time.

Beverley: What are you working on now?

Lorelei: I have a new release, Deadly Homecoming, the 5th in the Deadly series on preorder now and releases Feb 18th , 2020.

Then, April 14th , A Cowboy’s Sweet Spot, will release and ne a part of Romances on the Range 2020 Cowboy/Western Anthology.

Lost and Found (working title but another book in the Deadly series) will release in Jun/Jul.

Moonlight Kisses and MugShots, 4th in the Saddle Creek series will release about Sept, 2020.

And then I have Saddle Creek Christmas Romance 2 which will release early November.

My plate is pretty full with release but I also have a couple others written and in various stages that I’ll carry over into 2021.

Blurb for Deadly Homecoming

One is the loneliest number…

Madelyn (Maddy) Morris returns home to arrange her mother’s funeral.  While struggling with her grief she encounters the one man she never wants to see again, the ex who broke her heart and, in more ways, than one.

Garrett Fisher,   her closest childhood friend and now an FBI agent assigned to the human trafficking task force, never stopped loving Maddie. When he sees her at her mother’s funeral, he decides to finally tell her his true feelings. 

Does Garrett have a second chance or has her ex stolen her from him again?

Buy Links for Deadly Homecoming

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A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex.

After a while, Dee split her personality into thirds. She writes as Anne Krist for sweeter romances, and Jenna Stewart for ménage and shifter stories. All three of her personas are found on the Nomad Authors website. Also, once a month, look for Dee’s Charity Sunday blog posts, where your comment can support a selected charity.

Beverley: What’s your name?

Sara: Sara Richards

Beverley: Where did you grow up?

Sara: I grew up a Navy brat, so we lived many places. Until I was 17, I lived with my parents in Virginia Beach, Virginia. That summer—the summer of my high school graduation—I was sent to live with my aunt in Beaufort, South Carolina, and that’s where I became an adult—and had my baby.

Beverley: During what time period does your story take place?

Sara: 2005, with flashbacks to 1970.

Beverley: What’s your story/back story? Why would someone come up with a story about you?

Sara: Why Anne Krist decided to tell my story in Burning Bridges I’m not sure. Back then, living in a Navy town, with sailors, marines and soldiers still going off to Vietnam, my story was probably a common one. I think she loves Beaufort, and that’s what decided her. Also, she fell in love with a guy in Virginia Beach that her father didn’t approve of, so maybe from that respect she thinks we’re somewhat alike. I’m just glad she decided to write the book!

My story is, I met a guy. I know, all romances start that way. He was 20 and I was 17—jailbait, as they used to say back then, but I wasn’t too young to know when I fell in love. Just before he left for Vietnam, we spent a night together. Then he was gone, and I never heard from him again. When I discovered I was pregnant, I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. I went to live with my aunt in South Carolina and to have the baby, then give it up for adoption. Then I heard that Paul had died. After that—despite the fact he’d never written or tried to contact me—I couldn’t give up our child, our beautiful daughter. The life I built is one in which I burned lots of bridges.

Beverley: What’s your goal in this story?

Sara: To keep my life as it is. I have a good relationship with my mother who lives nearby, and a wonderful adult friendship with my daughter and her boyfriend. They live in Charleston, about 72 miles away, so we get together frequently. I also have a boyfriend, if a grown man can be called that. He’s a Marine stationed here at Parris Island. I have a job I love, and a family I love. My life is perfect. My goal is to keep it that way.

As my father used to say, some people are born to be disappointed. Life doesn’t “stay” for anyone.

Beverley: What conflicts are you facing?

Sara: In one fell swoop, my life became a maelstrom of change. My daughter is leaving, my mother betrayed me, and even my close friend, Matthew is being transferred. My business has to move or close. I feel empty and at a loss as to how to continue. Then, something even more catastrophic happens. I feel that I’ve been tossed into a whirlpool in the middle of the ocean.

Beverley: Do you have a plan for resolving them?

Sara: What does one do but take things step by step. I have to accept that I have no control over some things. Those aspects I can control, I just try to do my best. No plan, not really. Maybe that’s been my problem for a while—I’m too reactive instead of proactive.

Beverley: Is there anything else you’d like us to know about you?

Sara: I try to be a good person. I loved a good man, and that action affected my whole life, and then the life of my daughter. But I can’t regret that love. That’s what I’d like people to remember me by when the time comes to be 

  remembered—that I loved strongly, and that love is something I would never regret.

Blurb for Burning Bridges:

Letters delivered decades late send shock waves through Sara Richards’s world. Nothing is the same, especially her memories of Paul, a man to whom she’d given her heart years before. Now, sharing her secrets and mending her mistakes of the past means putting her life back together while crossing burning bridges. It will be the hardest thing Sara’s ever done.

Excerpt from Burning Bridges:

Sara stared at the letters arranged before her in numerical order. The moment in time she and Paul shared was long ago, yet her dream had conjured his presence as though she’d just seen him. In her mind, his blue eyes darkened with passion before his lips captured hers, and he moaned his appreciation when their tongues met. She tasted his sweetness and knew the steel of his arms as he held her. How many nights had she put herself through hell reliving those memories? Too damn many.

After the concert, they’d met clandestinely on weekends, mostly at Sandbridge, where they could walk and talk undisturbed. With each meeting, stirrings built deep in Sara that pushed her to want more, but Paul insisted they restrain themselves because of her age.

Then the weekend before he shipped out, she’d planned a surprise and her life changed forever.

The kettle screeched, bringing her back to the present. Sara prepared a cup of tea and then picked up the envelope marked twenty-eight. At one time, she would have given her right arm to hold this letter. Now, curiosity and the desire for a brief escape drove her more than the passion of youth. Blind love had faded when she’d had no word to bolster her during the long weeks after the ship left.

First had come the waiting. No letters arrived, even though she wrote him daily. There were no phone calls, no notes, no anything, for days that dragged into weeks then crept into months.

Anticipation morphed into anxiety. She worried he was sick or hurt and unable to write.

One day sh e admitted that Paul must be afraid to write for some reason, and she feared what he would say if she did receive a letter. That their time together had been a mistake, that she was too young to be in love. That he really loved someone else and Sara had been only a stand-in while he was in Virginia. Perversely, she began to sigh with relief when she arrived home and found no word.

Now, knowing why she hadn’t received mail, what would she feel if she opened this letter and her old fears proved to be true?

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Paul’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore.” At the very least, his letters might allow her to put his ghost to rest. For that reason alone, she had to read them.

She slid her thumb under the flap and ripped the envelope open. A single sheet held his hurried scrawl.

Buy Links for Burning Bridges:




Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women and on the track of a serial killer.Mac is been responsible for training women in special ops techniques, so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara, sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?



Buy links:


The office said he’d had a heart attack. Was he alive? Did she want him to be?

The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.

Sara fumbled through her purse and counted out her meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash. She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.

“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I...I ... Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.

The driver spun around. A short stubby finger waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there - No Checks.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husbands had a heart attack and I ... I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers through her hair and scrunched the tight bun at her neck.

The driver shook his head. “Aw, shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”

Sara pulled the single crumpled check Gordon allowed her carry for emergencies out of her purse. When she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.

She froze and rapidly blinked her eyes. She only saw the ghosts of dead people. Gordon didn’t believe her and forbid her to ever mention it.

Could he really be dead?

“Gordon?” she whispered.

“Lady, are you writing that check or not?”

“Yes, sorry.” Sara scribbled her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you, thank you so much.” She clutched her worn purse to her chest, slid out of the cab, and scurried through the emergency room doors.

What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her. How would she manage?

Twenty years ago she could have handled it. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.

His face flitted in front of her, fixed in an angry glare.

He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want her to be free. If he knew she could see him he’d be furious.

Sara shuffled toward the reception desk. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she had seen him. She clung to the edge of the transition counter, her head down, chewed on her lower lip and waited to be noticed.

Finally a brusque voice snapped, “Can I help you?”

Sara looked up to see a heavy set, older woman in a loose blue top. The woman’s thick dark brows met in a v in the middle of her forehead.

“I’m sorry, I ...I’m looking for my husband. His office phoned to say he’d been brought

here.” Sara shrunk into her body.

“Name?” the woman commanded.

“Gordon, Gordon Peters.” Sara stared at her worn black oxfords, then at the scuffed, gray linoleum with the red, blue and yellow lines that led to different areas. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe she should have waited for Gordon to call and tell her whether she should be here or not. But if he was dead, she would have to make her own decisions. Her pulse raced. Her heart pounded. For the last nineteen years she had never made a decision. Gordon made all of them for her.

“When was he admitted?” The woman reminded Sara of a sergeant major.

“I’m not sure, less than an hour ago. They told me to meet him here. Maybe he’s been discharged already?” She chewed her thumbnail. If Gordon had been discharged, he’d be furious at her for spending all that money on a taxi.

But she’d seen his ghost.

Tension twisted her stomach into knots. The pain caused her to clutch her purse even tighter against her abdomen. She needed to get home and start dinner. She’d have to take a bus. Did she have enough money? She opened her purse.

The woman moved to a second pile of folders and pulled one out. “You’re his wife?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. Can I see him?”

A sob slipped out. If she didn’t find see him soon, he’d be furious. He’d think she was too stupid to even find him in a hospital and he’d be right.

His ghost floated in front of her. This time confusion mixed with his anger.

“Have a seat, Mrs. Peters. I’ll have the doctor speak to you.”



Kathy L Wheeler loves the NFL, the NBA, musical theater, travel, reading, writing and karaoke. She recently migrated from Oklahoma to the Pacific Northwest with her musically talented husband, her sweet dog Angel and snooty cat Carly.

Beverley: Which genre or genres do you write or prefer to write?

Kathy: I write historical and contemporary romance. All, usually, with a twist of suspense. The historical ranges from Regency, to Vintage, to Western. The why? That is the story that hits closest to home I suppose. 😊

Beverley: Who influenced you the most in deciding to become a writer? Kathy: Jayne Ann Krentz and Susan Elizabeth Phillips come to mind. I read and reread a lot of their books because I love them so much and every time I reread I feel I learn something new.

Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?

Kathy: Sitting my ass in the chair and typing…or going to the sports bar up the street and pulling out my paper and pen. (I can tune anything out.)

Beverley: Do you have a favorite cartoon character?

Kathy: I used to LOVE Mighty Mouse. He was the cutest. Why? I’m not sure why. I will state however, that there were two and I didn’t like the skinny one. I liked the stout one.

Beverley: Who would you love most to meet ‘in person’ and why?

Kathy: Ellen DeGeneres because she says “Be kind to one another” every day.

Beverley: If you had an unexpected free day what would you do with it? Kathy: Sleep!!!!

Beverley: What are you working on now?

Kathy: I am currently working on two things. The first is the second book in my Rebel Lords of London series, The Marquis’s Misstep.

The second book will be interesting. My sisters wanted to write a mystery and they are not writers, per se. The good news is that we are spending a lot of time skyping and have planned a sisters’ retreat to Kansas City in late February. Why KC? Not for the weather, that’s for sure. One sister lives near there, so I will be flying from Seattle to Denver, intercepting the other sister on the way.

Blurb for Mail Order Bride:  The Counterfeit: 

After a disastrous first marriage, Will Jeffers hasn’t the stomach for another emotionally entailed union. All he needs is a wife to cook, nurse his mother, and look after the homestead. But good women are few and far between in Colorado mining country. A mail order bride is the perfect solution.

Amelia Johannasen is running for her life. Her mother has decided it’s time her daughter joined the family business, shattering Amy’s dreams of marrying for love. Imagine her surprise when she is mistaken for Will Jeffers mail order bride. She’ll take it

With a head for numbers and talent for spinning tall tales but no notion of how to cook or nurse a manipulative old woman how can she reach the heart of a man once burned so badly, he’s sworn off love?

Blurb for Mail Order Bride:  The Breakaway: 

Tragedy sent Sherman Elias McHuay west twelve years ago. But his troubled past barrels in like a runaway train or—more appropriately—smacks him over the head in the form of a violet-eyed miss without a lick of common sense to her name. If one could actually determine her name.

Amaris Johnston’s carefully laid plans to head west as a mail order bride ratchet up when an announcement for her impending nuptials to the son of a prominent US Senator are set to go public. Not that she’d agreed to marry in the first place. A forced engagement and her family—a conniving slew of ambitious and power-hungry tyrants—send her running for the Colorado hills.

Can a slow talking sheriff and a headstrong girl bent on recklessness outwit her powerful family?

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Born and raised in New Orleans Julie Ann Dupré senses things other people don’t. She’s living in New York when she’s told her mother has been killed in an attempted robbery, which is odd because Perrine didn’t have anything valuable to steal. Julie Ann comes home to find the truth and discovers there’s a family secret, hidden for years. She searches to find the real reason for her mother’s death. Now someone is trying to kill her. Will her psychic senses, a little dog and a detective keep her safe?


Detective Connor O’Reilly, a native of New Orleans and comes from a family of police. He’s an honest cop but realizes there is corruption in the division. He meets Julie Ann at her mother’s house and is immediately attracted to her. After telling her about the attempted robbery he checks into the case and finds no one is investigating the death. Julie Ann deserves the truth and he wants to know what really happened. He starts a thorough investigation. He’s warned off the case and then he receives a death threat.


Julie Ann and Connor work together to unravel the real reason behind Perrine Dupré’s murder, Julie Ann’s mysterious past, and why people want her dead, while developing their challenging relationship. Can they both survive? And what about their relationship?

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Marie L. growled a low guttural sound deep in her throat and stood up on the bed.

Julie Ann rolled over and automatically moved her hand toward the dog. “It’s okay. Good dog, good girl. Go back to sleep.”

She closed her eyes.

Marie uttered another growl. This time the hairs on the back of Julie Ann’s neck stood on end. She could hear a noise downstairs. Footsteps? A door?

Damn, she’d forgot to put the chair in front of the front door, but she’d put the new lock on.

She laid quietly, patted Marie and shushed her. She could hear a creak on the stairs.

She reached for Marie, but the dog jumped off the bed and ran toward the stairs.

Julie Ann hesitated then moved to the closet and pulled the hangers aside. She closed the secret room door and climbed on to the cot. She wrapped her arms around her legs, listened and waited. She couldn’t believe someone was back again, especially after the attack on Savannah. The stakes appeared to be getting higher. Perrine had died but that wasn’t enough. What did they want? What were they afraid she knew and might expose?

She heard Marie growling and barking.

A man’s voice shouted, “Go away and get out of here. Damn dog, go.”

The barking continued.

Julie Ann heard steps come into the bedroom. The cupboard door was opened and slammed shut. The man swore and stomped off into Perrine’s room. Marie continued to bark and follow him. Julie Ann could tell where he was by the sound of his feet. She wasn’t sure but it sounded like he might have a limp.

Maybe he had a bite on his ankle.

She sat quietly and shivered at the sound of someone wandering through her home, sure that it was the same man who had killed her mother and probably attacked Savannah. He probably had a gun. She offered up a silent prayer that he didn’t decide to shoot Marie.

Why was he back here? This was the third time. He hadn’t found anything on his previous visits so the only reason she could think of for this one was that he wanted to kill her. There was no other motive she could think of and so far, no one had found a motive for any of the killings. Why?

Maybe Connor was right – maybe she should move to a hotel.

No, she wouldn’t let them chase her out of her home. Besides, she was safer here anyway. If they wanted her dead, they could find her in a hotel. They had the first night. And she might not have the same safety she had here, in Perrine’s secret room. Still shivering she listened to the steps move downstairs and out the door, Marie barked at his heels.

There was silence, then a scratching at the closet door.

“No, Marie – go away.” Julie Ann whispered.

Marie continued to whine and scratch. Julie Ann jumped up, opened the door and let the dog in. “Shh, be quiet.”

Marie jumped up on the cot and snuggled next to Julie Ann. Julie Ann patted her absently, “Good dog, good girl.”

Everything had gone deadly quiet.

She waited for another few minutes. There still wasn’t a sound. “Okay girl, let’s check and see if he’s gone.”

Julie Ann slid the door open and slipped out into her bedroom. She stopped, pressed her back against the wall and listened.


“Okay girl, we’re going downstairs to make sure he’s gone, so no barking.”

The house was in total darkness. Julie Ann crept out into the hall and down the stairs. Silence echoed through the house.

She flipped the light switch. A soft yellow light flooded the room. There was no one there. The front door had been closed and locked. He’d picked the lock. She should get a new one with a bolt.

Julie Ann noticed a scrap of paper caught under the front door frame.

He must have dropped it when he left.

She scuttled across the room and grabbed it. It was folded in squares. She opened it and read it. Blindly she reached for a chair and collapsed into it, the note clutched in her hand.

I can’t continue. The guilt is too much.

I don’t want to live without her.

This is the only way I can escape.

Julie Ann




February is Super Bowl, Valentine’s Day and Heart Health Month

And we’ve already shot through January and Ground Hog Day. Depending which ground hog, you believe neither Punxsutawney Phil nor Wiarton Willie saw their shadows so it’s an early spring. However, Shubenacadie Sam did see his shadow so it’s six more weeks of winter. Make your own decision.

I’m still working on my first goal of 2020 – Finish the Damn Book. Yes, I have been writing but not enough. I’ve written, edited and rewritten and I’m still about five thousand words from finishing. I’m beginning to wonder if this book is meant to be written.


January was a bit of a challenge. I lost my beloved Sachi. My writing chapter suddenly turned upside down and the whole board resigned, and it devolved into a total disaster, so after more than twenty years I resigned. I don’t do that kind of stress anymore.


I’m hoping this means that February I will concentrate on my writing, get the book off for editing and maybe, just maybe, off for formatting. (fingers crossed) Once it’s gone for editing, I want to get back to working on The Foundation – Lydia’s Story. The pressure’s not on as much for that one. I have a couple of months to work on it.


Once again, I’m not doing a lot of promotion this month. I want to finish and publish Death Southern Style and start promoting it. So hopefully next month.

I’m on the Valentine’s Day Countdown on The Red Carpet at 


February 22 - Group Blog – start at this month  the topic is an extension of January’s topic.  Current trends (those that your like and those that infuriate you) that might end up in a story. How should fiction set in today’s times treat politics?


February 22 – I’m a guest on Viviana MacKade’s blog at 


Check out my blog and meet some great authors with their new books and other information at and I’d love to have you post your comments and thoughts.


Don’t forget it’s Heart Month. So, check it out and do something healthy for your heart.



Writing can be a lonely profession. It can be nice to have the support of others who hear voices and talk to characters in their head. It’s also nice to have other writes to bounce ideas off and use as sounding boards. Some people are lucky enough to live near a writing group or have several friends they can meet with and discuss their books. Others live in areas not near writing support.

After many years I’ve recently resigned from my online writing group. Instead of continuing to be a supportive group, a small number of members, some who joined recently, have decided to tear it apart. So now I’m looking around to see what else might be available. I write contemporary romantic suspense, some with a paranormal twist and some set on ranches in Montana. I’m Canadian and there’s nothing in my area, so I’m mostly looking for online support. Here’s a list of some groups I’ve found and I’m researching.

Would love to hear your thoughts and suggestions.    

Sisters in Crime Started in 1986 – online presence (Guppy Chapter $12/year) plus local meetings (not in my area) $50/year 

Mystery Writers of America – 11 regional chapters some online presence $115/year

Women’s Fiction Writers Association – Online – Started in 2013 $48/year

Western Writers of America – Not sure if online support – Started in 1953 $75/year

Authors Guild -Started 1912 – supports writers and authors rights but not really an online presence $135/year

Association of Writers and Writing Programs Started – 1967- support but not really online access $85/year

Paranormal Romance Guild – Online – Started in 2009 $50/ year