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Monthly Archives: February 2021

It’s time for a monthly group blog. Thanks, Rhobin for pulling this together every month. This one looks like a fun one. Where do you get your ideas for stories? It’s also a little difficult. I write romantic suspense and ideas come from all over. I may hear about a mystery or crime. Or a character comes to me with a history.

For example, cloning was big at one time and there was a lot of discussion on allowing it pro and against. That got me thinking about possibilities and I did some research and By Design became a book.

I attended a conference in Reno, and we visited the Sheriff’s department. One of the female officers worked the Cyber Crimes Against Children Unit in internet chat rooms. She tracked down and caught pedophiles trying to lure young people into sexual situations. Don’t Go became a book.

I was at another conference. This one was held in the Empress Hotel in Victoria, BC. There’s a balcony overlooking the grand lobby and registration area. I was looking down on it and I imagined a cowboy, with spurs, striding across the marble floor in the lobby. A total contrast. He became the hero, and I wrote the book Hunted . It was the first in the series and the next books build on it.

After visiting New Orleans, and seeing a ghost (but that’s another story), I decided It was a perfect spot for a murder and a mystery with a touch of voodoo and paranormal. So I wrote Death Southern Style. 

I believe women are equal to me (if not superior). I feel women should be valued and not exposed to physical, mental, or emotional abuse or treated as second class citizens. I think I read about a woman being put to death, maybe in Saudi Arabia for adultery. The man went free. I wanted to write about women who were saved by other women. I developed a team of trained, funded, women who could save other women. That book is The Foundation, Sara’s Story, The Fourth Victim . It’s the first in a series.

So. where do I get my ideas? They can develop from so many different ways. I think you have to stay open to what you see, hear and feel and take that kernel of an idea and write it from your perspective and with the help of your muse. In my case, I also add a romance and a Happy Ever After ending.


I’m looking forward to seeing where all these other authors get their ideas.

Skye Taylo r  http://

Anne Stenhouse   http: //

Connie Vines /

Diane Bator   http: //

Dr. Bob Rich

Fiona McGier

Helena Fairfax  http ://

Marci Baun

Victoria Chatham  http: //

Judith Cope k  ht tp://

Rhobin L Courtright   http: //


Brenda Whiteside is the author of suspenseful, action-adventure stories with a touch of romance. Mostly. She and her husband are gypsies at heart having lived in six states and two countries. For now they’ve settled in Central Arizona, but won’t discount the possibility of another move in their future. They share their home with a rescue dog named Amigo. While FDW is fishing, Brenda writes.

2020 Character Interview

Beverley: What’s your name?

Magpie: Magpie Muse MacKenzie

Beverley: Where did you grow up?

Magpie: I was born and raised in Joshua, Arizona, a mining town of the late 1880s and early 1900s. When mining died, Joshua turned into a ghost town then a hippie haven, and now a tourist town hanging on the side of Spirit Mountain.

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

Magpie: The story takes place in modern day Joshua, but there is a 1960s story within the story that helps to solve the mystery.

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

Magpie: My parents came to Joshua with the first wave of hippie and artist settlers. My mother was well-known for her mystic talents. She died when I was twelve. My father mourned deeply, wallowing in alcohol. When I was fifteen, his relationship with a woman ended with her murder. My seventeen-year-old boyfriend disappeared the same day. No one was ever charged. A doppelganger for my missing boyfriend walks into my mercantile the same day skeleton remains are found in the ruins. The universe sent me a message…solve the decades old mystery or become the next victim.

Beverley: What’s your goal in this story?

Magpie: My father is suspected of the murder of his girlfriend and complicit in the disappearance of my boyfriend decades earlier. I have to clear him.

Beverley: What conflicts are you facing?

Magpie: Is it possible my father is guilty? I’ve become attached to Zac, the look-alike for my missing boyfriend. He’s younger than I am, and, well, he looks like Mark. The vibrations and déjà vu moments he’s experiencing are leading us down a dangerous path to discover the truth.

Beverley: Do you have a plan for resolving them?

Magpie: Zac and I have come up with a sting operation to draw out the murderer. Hopefully, we can have each other’s backs and not fall victims.

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

Magpie: I have an older brother and a younger sister who want their stories told. Although I didn’t inherit my mother’s gift, both of my siblings are mystics to some degree. Harlan and I have not gotten along since our mother died. He’s the older sibling, but I was left with the responsibility of keeping our family together. Elidor hasn’t lived in Joshua for many years, but she’s coming home.

Blurb for Secrets of the Ravine:

When a ringer for her long-dead love walks into her life the same day skeletal remains are found at the edge of town, Magpie MacKenzie can’t ignore what the universe is telling her…solve the mystery, or become the next victim.

Lawyer Zack Peartree’s life is orderly and entanglement-free until he visits purportedly haunted Joshua, Arizona, and meets free-wheeling shopkeeper Magpie. Despite experiencing troubling visions and odd moments of déjà vu, Zack’s instantly drawn to Magpie and to the unsolved murder which troubles her so.

Using clues from her father’s past and Zack’s déjà vu moments, Magpie and Zack race to solve the mystery, avoid a murderous fate, and to discover their future…together.

Excerpt from Secrets of the Ravine:

Zac picked up the sack with the music box. “Are you the owner of this great store?”

“I am.” She returned his smile. “Magpie MacKenzie. And you are?”

“Zac Peartree. Is that your real name?”

Accustomed to his reaction, she gave her standard reply. “It’s a long story.”

“One I’m sure I’d enjoy hearing. Will you be working at your mercantile all weekend?”

She swallowed down the recurring flutter. “Mostly.”

“You all should have a drink at the Apparition Room tonight, the bar below the Copper Mountain Hotel down the block.” Phaedra finished stuffing paper around the sculpture for protection and then handed the box to the man with the redhead. “Our very own Magpie MacKenzie will be singing.”

Magpie scuffed a boot against her friend’s foot to quiet her.

“She’s on at eight.”

The blonde clapped her hands. “Great. Sounds fun.”

“I guess that means we’ll see you later, Magpie.” Zac followed his friends but peered over his shoulder with an unreadable expression before he disappeared out the door and into the chilly wind.

Slightly lightheaded, Magpie braced herself on the counter. “Honestly, Phaedra, I could—”

“Now, Mags, you haven’t been this tongue-tied over a guy in years.” She retrieved her purse from behind the counter where she’d set it when she came in. “I need to get going, and you need to enjoy the quivers that guy is giving you. I’d guess he’s only thirty or close to it, but what the hell, he’s hot. Every man should fill his jeans like that, not to mention his shoulders.” She stopped by the door. “You two looked at each other as if—”

“As if we know each other?”

“Know each other? I agree he bore a resemblance to Mark, but that’s all.”

“Really? Sacrebleu , Phaedra. When I stared into that face, I saw Mark…a soul…from twenty-eight years ago.” The soul of someone she’d loved.

Who might have been a murderer…or worse, murdered by my father .

Buy Links for Secrets of the Ravine:

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I had two guest bloggers scheduled this week. Unfortunately, they both bailed on me.

So… I thought I’d talk about Marketing. Marketing is not my strong point. And not only that, if I blog and post to loops, I find it interferes with my writing.

My marketing includes my blog and my website, and I send out a newsletter four times a year. I’m on Facebook, Twitter, Triberr, Pinterest and Instagram. I haven’t figured out how to use Instagram so I don’t use it. I retweet other authors. I do guest blogs, and group blogs, on other blog sites. I join NN Light and other writing promos and contests. They all take time.

I do Amazon ads but I should be spending more time looking for categories. I also put my last book in Kindle Select. I try to write reviews when I read a book, but I find that also takes time away from my writing.

I’m not sure any of it makes a significant difference. It takes a fair amount of time and that time comes from my writing. It takes me longer to write a book. After working on marketing when I switch to writing my muse says sorry, not today. I may write one hundred words or so, but it doesn’t flow. If I skip marketing and just write I do much better.

And even with Covid I have a bit of a life, walking my dog at least twice a day, grocery shopping, cooking meals, exercising, an occasional Zoom Board meeting and talking to family. More time away from writing. Sigh…

How do you cope with it all and do marketing? And how much marketing do you do?

Hello, I’m Shari. By day, I crawl out of bed, mainline coffee, walk the dog, get my kid to class, and save cities within the four walls of   my office. Usually by email.

At night, the other Shari emerges.  With a glass of wine by side, I curl up on the couch with my computer nestled in my lap and let my imagination play until stories take shape.  I also periodically check on my teen-ager, hiding out in the bedroom. Once I’ve reassured myself she’s not plotting world domination, I pull out my alter ego, who definitely is.    As my alter ego, I save cities in a cape and spangled tights, wander space and time on a surfboard, fly over the Himalayas on feathered wings, make six-toed footprints in indigo talc snow on the sixth planet in the Andromeda galaxy or eavesdrop on Olympian gods while pretending to whip up a bowl of ambrosia.

In all these wondrous worlds, romance and passion blossom. I can’t resist a happy ending. And I am particularly prone to writing happy endings for those who have given up on ever getting one.


Character Interview

Beverley: What’s your name? 

Marisol: My name Marisol Martinez.

Beverley: Where did you grow up? 

Marisol: I grew up on the planet Nordika, one of the first planets colonized by Terrans after the great environmental devastation that destroyed most of Earth. Nordika follows an elliptical orbit so its winters are particularly long and cold. We have a tundra-like terrain with clusters of mountains that are impassable during that season. Nordika’s economy relies on mining crystal dust which powers the grid.

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

Marisol: We are over three hundred years in the future.  It’s the Terran year 2357.

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

Marisol: I am hacker by trade, a master of the intergalactic grid—the so-called internet on your earth today.  The grid connects all the planets in the Terran-Magaran Coalition. Once, I was engaged to the most wonderful man. Aren, my fiancée, led a mining team but at heart, he was an artist, a truely creative and gentle soul.  Twelve years ago, the mining shaft collapsed, killing him and so many others. Although never proved, sabotage was suspected. We have a small population, so the loss devastated the planet. Two weeks after his death, I learned I was pregnant with his child, which became my lifeline. From that moment on, I centered my life on revenging his death. I joined a clandestine rebel faction who believed the coalition government and the corporations that funded it were corrupt and were behind the mining accident as well as many other accidents on many other planets. We didn’t know why, but that was one of the things we were working to find out.

Beverley: What’s your goal in this story?

Marisol: W hen the story begins, my only goal is revenge and justice for Aren and the other Nordikans who lost their lives. When Aren arrives on Nordika as a cyborg soldier twelve years later with no memories of his past life, my goal switches to finding a way to restore his memory.

Blurb for The Scent of Memory

Twelve years ago, Marisol lost Aren. Now he’s back – pointing a gun at her head and treating her like a stranger.

Rebel hacker, Marisol Martinez, never thought volunteering to keep the hospital safe from cyborgs would lead her back to the man sabotage ripped from her arms. The man she swore to avenge by any means possible.

For over a decade, Cap protected the cyborgs under his command from every danger. Until he meets an insurgent, whose scent wreaks havoc on his control. She calls him Aren and insists she knows him. But she’s wrong. He has no past, no present, no future – only orders he’s programmed to complete.

Forced together, Marisol and Cap can’t resist the passion that keeps building between them.  With time running out, Marisol must use her computer skills to restore Aren’s memories or Cap will kill all subversives on the planet – starting with her.

Excerpt from The Scent of Memory

“I’ll take you there,” Marisol volunteered. “Follow me.” She rushed out of the room. He was by her side in seconds.

“Explain your interest in me.” He turned off his scent sensors to prevent himself from being sucked into the pungent turbulence of emotions spilling out in her aroma.

“We were to be married.” The gentle emotion vibrating in her voice stroked his remaining flesh like a caress. He shook it off. It was dangerous.

“Was it arranged?”

“No, we chose each other. We were living together when you were killed—abducted—after a mining accident.”

“We were intimate?” Heat roared through him. He shut it down reluctantly. He was starting to like the way he felt around her.

“You have no memories of me? Of us?” She blinked rapidly as though to force back tears threatening to spill.

He shook his head. “Cybercorp wipes our long-term memories. Periodically, a memory fragment may surface, but our systems are programmed to shut down if that occurs. If a cyborg suffers from too many of these recalls, he is decommissioned.”

“That’s brutal.”

“We’re brutal. You’d be wise to remember that.”

BUY LINKS for The Scent of Memory

Evernight The Scent of Memory by Shari Elder – Evernight Publishing

Amazon The Scent of Memory (Green Rising Book 2) – Kindle edition by Elder, Shari. Romance Kindle eBooks @

Barnes and Noble The Scent of Memory by Shari Elder | NOOK Book (eBook) | Barnes & Noble® (

Kobo The Scent of Memory eBook by Shari Elder – 9780369502759 | Rakuten Kobo United States

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Goodreads: Shari Elder   (Author of Race to Redemption) | Goodreads

Twitter: @ShariElderBooks  or https:/ /



Kryssie Fortune grew up climbing trees and playing with imaginary dragons. She still loves dragons, and if she can sneak one into her books she will.  Her pet hates are unhappy endings and books that end on a cliff-hanger.

Kryssie’s books are hot and explicit but the plot always comes before the sex. Since she writes erotic romance, she guarantees a happy ending.  

Blurb for Claimed as Theirs

When she is captured and thrown into a cage filled with ravenous vampires, Gwen assumes she will be devoured. But among the horde is a huge, terrifyingly powerful berserker who has other plans for her. She will belong not only to him, but to all of the vampires of his triad, and her beautiful body will be theirs to use and enjoy as thoroughly and shamefully as they please.

Gwen soon learns that her new masters will demand obedience from their little human, and it isn’t long before her defiance has earned her a painful, humiliating spanking. But even with tears still running down her blushing cheeks, her helpless arousal cannot be denied, and as she is claimed and ravaged again and again her pleas for mercy are soon lost amid her cries of pleasure.

Publisher’s Note: Claimed as Theirs is a stand-alone novel set in the same world as Taken as Theirs. It includes spankings and rough, intense sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Excerpt for Claimed as Theirs

Naked, one arm twisted behind her back, Gwen stumbled down the spiral stairs. The stench of stale urine and filth stole her breath. The cacophony of hisses echoed toward them, chilling her soul. Red eyes peered through the darkness. Focused. Hungry. Inhuman. Fixed on her.

A huge natural cavern spread before her, colder than the North Pole. Iron bars stretched across its narrowest point, each thicker than a bodybuilder’s thigh. Mold crept from algae-covered puddles and stained the rock walls.

One glance at the red-eyed, skeletal mob penned inside and her knees buckled. Goosebumps erupted over her naked body and her stomach churned. Pressed against their cage, blood-starved vampires waited, fangs bared as they howled for fresh meat—for her.

Darkness blocked her vision until only the smell of neglect and dirt remained. Bile rose in her throat. Her muscles trembled like half-set Jell-O, and she struggled to breathe. If her captors tossed her in with those monsters, she’d be toast. Well… vampire catnip. Whatever, she’d end up dead.

The fat warder’s breath came straight from a pigsty. His celery-stalk–thin friend sported enormous boils on his cheeks and hands. Don’t these creeps understand personal hygiene?

The way Fatso groped her exposed breasts made her flesh creep. Until today she’d delighted in her Marilyn Monroe curves, but around this pervert, she felt dirty and ashamed. When the boil-covered guard unlocked the entrance, hungry blood-drinkers surged forward.

The other guards approached the cage, nightsticks swinging. The prisoners howled, wrapped their arms around their heads, and dropped to the floor. Weakened by their hunger, they were no match for well-fed soldiers. Wary now, they backed off and formed a semicircle, penning her in the entrance.




For her.

Fatso released her arm and whacked her between her shoulder blades. Her breasts bounced as she stumbled farther into the dark cavern. Behind her, the door shut with a clang. The sound of the oversized key turning in the lock sounded her death knell.

She slammed one hand over her bare cunny and wrapped her other arm across her chest. Darkness choked her and terror froze her bones. As her eyes adjusted to blackness, a mass of ragtag creatures shuffled toward her. Their fangs gleamed through the cavern’s endless night.

When her spine pressed against the bars, they felt like icicles branding her flesh. Worse, her generous curves stopped her squeezing between them. Her pulse hammered three hundred beats a minute.

Palms clammy, she batted away the filthy hands that clawed at her naked body. Not that she had a hope in hell of coming out of this alive. “I’m a trained killer. Come near me and die.”

The feral vampires parted like the Red Sea before Moses. For one brief, beautiful moment, she thought her bluff scared them. No such luck.

A giant of a man strode toward her, his muscles bulging beneath his black leather jerkin. Shaven-headed, with a goatee beard and neat moustache, he could have passed for a member of an old-style biker gang. His dominant swagger and bulk made her pulse pound in a mix of bone-deep attraction and stomach-churning fear. Again she tried to cover her nakedness with her hands.

This gorgeous man-mountain’s eyes glowed with smoky red-gray lights—burning coals that illuminated the darkness. He dominated the other vampires by sheer force of will. “Disperse. Now.”

The mob dropped their chins and edged away.

His wide-legged, chin-high stance proclaimed him the biggest, baddest thing in there. To her, he seemed like sunshine and strength, a savior come to rescue her—unless he considered her his next meal.

With his pointed fangs and red-eyed gaze, he should terrify her. Instead, her tongue crept over her lips, and her nipples pearled as she took a step toward him. Then her common sense kicked in. He was a vampire—a natural-born killer who’d drink her dry.

His arm shot out, yanking her against him. The contact made her cunny ache for more. Determined to escape him, she thrust her knee toward his balls. Lightning fast, he stepped sideways, but his grip on her wrists tightened.

With a sexy growl, he hoisted her over his shoulder. “No dirty tricks, cupcake.”

God, his voice. Rich with bass notes, it reverberated through her bones. Everything about him, except his incisors, sent wicked desire blazing through her. But cupcake? She’d show him cupcake.

An amused laugh rumbled around his chest as she pounded her fists on his spine. He landed a single hard slap on her bare bottom. She squealed at the unexpected pain. Her cunny clenched, but hung like a slab of meat over the giant’s shoulder, she felt powerless and vulnerable.

His oversized hand stroked her naked behind before he slapped it again. The sound echoed around the cavern. Squealing, she beat on his back. Another inmate drooled as he crept closer. “Need a taste.”

Her captor shoved at the overfamiliar vamp’s face. “Don’t touch what’s mine.”

A blast of dark, sensual heat shot through her as he claimed her as his. If she wasn’t careful, this mammoth with the toe-tingling, growly voice could consume her in more ways than one.


Buy Links for Claimed as Theirs

Amazon UK

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T wo writers in one. Daryl Devoré writes hot romances with sexy heroes and strong heroines. Victoria Adams is Daryl Devoré’s alter ego when she’s inspired to write sweet romances with little to no heat.

Daryl (@daryldevore) lives in an old farmhouse in Ontario, Canada, with her husband, a large salt water aquarium full of fish, a black cat named Licorice and some house ghosts. Her daughter is grown and has flown the nest. Daryl loves to take long walks on her quiet country road or snowshoe across the back acres, and in the summer, kayak along the St. Lawrence River. She has touched a moon rock, a mammoth, and a meteorite. She’s been deep in the ocean in a submarine, flown high over Niagara Falls in a helicopter, and used the ladies room in a royal palace. Life’s an adventure and Daryl’s having fun living it.

Blurb for The Last Dragon

What do dragons, knights and romance have in common? Grab a copy of multi-published author Daryl Devore’s medieval fantasy romance – The Last Dragon and discover the answer.

A sorcerer craving dominance merged with a dragon, the power overwhelmed him causing him to split into three dragons. Demora ruled thought, but was lost in time. Yidithe offered protection, shining like the light of the sun. Ayrradex craved chaos, revelling in destroying souls.

Many knights died, attempting to slay the devil beast. One knight, Prince Hawkyns, did not fear death. He’d lost everything. Away on a mission when Ayrradex attacked his father’s kingdom, Penrythe, Hawkyns returned to find his noble father – feeble and defeated. His wise mother – crazed. His beautiful wife and unborn child – dead. Only a pile of ashes remained for him to bury. He knelt before his King and vowed to slay the devil-beast or be slain.

Derry was born with powers that terrified her parents. They delivered her to a nunnery to be raised in secret. Jathe, a wise sorceress, discovered the young girl and trained her to one day use the secret hidden in her soul.

Legends spoken around campfires hinted the sole way to destroy Ayrradex was when the hearts of a knight and a golden dragon became one. But after a vicious battle with Ayrradex, the golden dragon was thought to be dead.

Can Prince Hawkyns’s bravery and Derry’s powers end the reign of the devil-beast’s terror?

Buy Links for The Last Dragon



B&N : m/w/the-last-dragon-daryl-devore/113850443                                       Books2Read: https://books2

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$10 Amazon giftcard – 1 winner,

ecopy of Love a Billionaire Collection – 2 winners

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Hello readers! Beverley has graciously allowed me to post on her blog today. My name is Fiona McGier, and I write romances.

I sub in high schools during the school year. Otherwise I’m writing and blogging about my books–and reading and writing reviews. Not only do I write erotic romance, I love to read it too. I often read while camping with my long-time HEA.  Our four adult kids sometimes join us. I also enjoy sewing–mostly masks these days– crocheting afghans to keep my loved ones warm, and baking–cookies, muffins, and especially pies. I’m known for my never-fail pie crust, so I put the recipe on my website under the pies tab, along with some of my family’s favorites, that I featured in one of my books that had a heroine who baked lots of pies.

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

Fiona: My usual genre is Contemporary, because as I point out on my blog page, the idea of sex without birth control is very scary indeed! I’m old enough to remember when it wasn’t available at all for Mom and my aunts–and I worry for my children, that the choices might not always be there for them. 

That being said, I’ve had dreams that present me with entire story arcs. I even had one character speak to me directly in a dream, telling me I was having writer’s block because I was giving the heroine the wrong hero–it had to be him. That one turned out to my only vampire romance (so far.)

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

Fiona: That would be my mom and her sisters, who used to trade grocery store bags full of romances back and forth. I was allowed to read them when I got older. I can remember watching as Mom drop-kicked a book across the room, yelling at the author, “All that build-up and NO sex? I’m never reading YOU again!” LOL. So I make sure that there are steamy, open-door scenes in all of my books. I like to read stories like that, and I know Mom did–I hope there are other readers who agree with us!

Beverley: What gets your creative juices flowing?

Fiona: Inspiration for my muse can come from anywhere. A picture of someone I can envision as a heroine or hero–glancing at someone in a public place–dreams–or just fleeting thoughts during a daydream. Sometimes my muse gets bossy, but I like her like that. I hope she never stops prodding me to write!

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

Fiona: I’m going to show my age here, but I’ve always liked the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. My favorite character is Natasha Fatale, the Russian spy who works with Boris Badenov. (a play on an actual Russian name–“Goodenov.”) Natasha knows that the guy she’s working with is an idiot, but she has no choice–he’s her boss. I’ve always thought it would be really cool to be the secret agent who gets to travel all around the world, doing things that hopefully make the planet a safer place. That’s why I like to write about female spies.

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

Fiona: Me faither (father) was from Glesga (Glasgow), brought up poor. After WWII was over, he moved to Chicago. He took his bride home to meet his parents once, but back then it was a long journey on an ocean liner. Mom got pregnant with me on that trip, and once you have kids, you have lots more expenses. We were never able to go visit my grandparents, and they couldn’t afford to come here. So I never met them. If I could, I’ve love to travel to Scotland to meet them–and to let my gramma know that I got her wedding ring after her daughter passed away, and it will be on my right-hand ring finger until I pass on–then it will belong to my daughter.

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

Fiona: Unless I’m actually camping, I always want to be–so if I got any time off, I’d love to head into the woods, set up our tiny Scamp camper, and make myself at home. Then I could hike in the woods to enjoy breathing in the fresh oxygen, and hug a few trees. I’d go back to my campsite to listen to the birds while I read.

Beverley: What are you working on now?

Fiona: I have 3 or 4 stories in various stages of completion in my laptop. I alternate which one I’m working on. I’m also re-editing 3 more of my books I self-published on Smashwords. And I’m reading and reviewing for the TBRPile review site. I’m also sewing masks for family and friends. I keep busy.

I never set out to write a series–I just write a story. But often I get so fond of the supporting characters, that I have to write subsequent book(s) after that, because the characters loudly demand that I do so.  I wrote Secret Lover because I’ve always loved spy movies and TV shows, but I’m always frustrated that the only females are usually either damsels in distress, or villains. I want to BE the agent with the mad skills that can save the day. I wrote 2 sequels to this book, Undercover Lovers , and No More Secrets , which also has characters in it from my Minnesota Romances series.

Blurb for Secret Lover:

Sheena has spent 12 years saving the world, one assignment at a time .  She enjoys the work, but is getting bored.  She tries her usual cure; a new man. What starts out as a hot affair with a famous action movie star becomes serious–she develops feelings. And in her world, even having feelings is dangerous. Indulging them by falling in love can be deadly–for both of them.

Excerpt from Secret Lover:

Sheena had to leave the man she fell for in a hurry, when she got her next assignment. She hasn’t seen him for two years–agents are not supposed to get attached to anyone, for everyone’s safety. She walks into a Hollywood party with the IRA cell she’s embedded with, so the boys can bed some babes while they wait for a gun shipment. She’s horrified when the man she can’t see again is up on the stage, playing with the band–while watching her. She runs upstairs to hide in the bathroom, to figure out how to leave without being outed –or worse.

            She jumped at the sound of someone pounding on the bathroom door. “It’s occupied.”   She shouted loudly, hoping to get them to go away.

After a short pause, the pounding started again.

“Go away! Find another bathroom!”   She yelled louder, starting to channel her emotional upheaval into the safety of controlled anger, which instantly made her feel calmer and more herself.

The pounding only got more insistent.

Anger is good , she thought, as she stomped over to the door to fling it open, yelling, “What the fuck is your problem?”

“You are.” Hickory Woods pushed her back into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

“What are you doing up here?”   She hated the panic that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her, as she felt his raw anger wash over her in waves. “Why aren’t you still on the stage? With the band?”

“Why the hell are you with him ?” His anger, made the room feel cramped. “I thought you said you couldn’t be seen in public with celebrities like me. In you stroll with him, the current flavor of the month, and I had to watch him groping you?” He loomed dangerously over her.

  She backed away from him, to find herself trapped by the wall-to-wall counter of the sink behind her. “That’s none of your business.”   She was aware of how vulnerable her voice sounded, but not able to get it under control yet.

“Just like your leaving me in Berlin was none of my business?” His face was dark, and his voice dripped with scorn and anger. “You never told me what your business is. At this point, I’m guessing high-class hooker. Was I a freebie, or are you just behind in your billing?”

“Cory, just let me leave, and forget about me, okay?”   She tried not to sound like she was pleading.   She had spent years perfecting how to order men around, but right at this moment, she would have begged if it would get her away from this man she still wanted so much, but had hurt so badly.

His eyes were wild as he pushed forward with his hips, to trap her between the sink counter and the unmistakable bulge in his pants. “I can’t forget about you, damn it! That’s the problem. You’re in my blood. I want you so bad I can taste it!” His hands grabbed her urgently, and he ran them along her naked back, down to the cleft in her behind, watching his hands move in the mirror behind her. He gripped her hips and ground himself into her. With a groan, he moved one hand up to grab her hair and force her face up to accept his kiss, a punishing battering of her lips with his.

She cried out from the pain of her hair being twisted around his hand, and he forced his tongue into her mouth and laid claim to her, despite her objections. Gasping, she tried to push him away, but since she didn’t want to actually hurt him, she couldn’t use any of the skills she had honed over the years. And the truth was that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Her hands crept up along his back as she leaned into him, pressing herself against him with strength of passion equal to his own.

  He groaned again, as he became aware that she had stopped denying him.

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Targeted by Beverley Bateman

Well, Covid is still with us. Many of us are in lockdown. We’re having a cold spell for a couple of weeks, where I live. Lows of -4 F and highs of 0 F. I don’t know about you but I’m suffering from Covid fatigue and I think Covid brain. I also think I’m developing the characteristics of a hermit. The only exercise and fresh air I get is walking the dog.

2020 was a difficult year. The most challenging I remember, and the challenges are not over yet. We’ve got a few months to keep ourselves and our communities safe, so wear a mask, wash your hands and social distance. 

I do believe that 2021 will be a good year, certainly a better year. There is a vaccine. Actually, there are two vaccines and maybe more coming. In four or five months we should all be able to receive the vaccine. A new normality could be starting to set in by then. 

And February is the shortest month of the year. So, keep a positive thought. Hopefully the ground hog won’t see his shadow and winter will be almost over. 

I am starting to write routinely again. I’m working on the draft of a novella but not finished and no cover. I’m hoping to get back to working on Lydia’s story. So, I’m going to promote one of my books I really like. Hope you will too.


Targeted by Beverley Bateman

U.S. Cover

Here's An Excerpt

Someone had shot her back tire. Janna gripped the wheel to keep the vehicle on the road. She debated whether to try and outrun the shooter, wherever he was, or find cover. The windshield shattered as a third bullet entered the passenger side. 

So much for outrunning the shooter. 

She scanned the area and spotted an outcropping of rocks a few feet ahead on her right. She aimed the vehicle in that direction.

Two more shots, and both the back tires went down. 

Definitely find cover. 

Janna ducked low behind the steering wheel until the vehicle reached the rocks. When the car stopped, she grabbed the keys from the ignition and her purse and dove out the door. Bullets bounced off the rocks behind her as she scrambled for cover. Whoever was doing the shooting was serous. Anyone of the shots could have hit her. 

She reached the rocks, keeping low until she got to the middle where she curled up as tightly as possible, her back against a rock. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing came in gasps. This was getting to be a habit. First someone tried to kill her in Seattle, and now, out in this god-forsaken country. 

What the hell is going on? Why are they shooting at me? Was it the same person who shot at me in Seattle? That doesn’t seem likely, but who even knew I was coming here? Maybe it’s someone just trying to rob a stranger.

Yeah right, be honest, Janna, does this road look like many strangers came this way? And if they did, would they have a lot to steal? You really think this person selected a spot in the rocks where he would have a good shot at my vehicle. Coincidence? Not damn likely.

At least she’d worn boots and jeans—even if they were designer jeans. Now they were filthy, and so was her red sweater and jean jacket.

Another shot hit the rock behind her. She rolled over onto her stomach, shaded her eyes, and squinted into the sun. He must be up on the cliffs straight ahead. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have glimpsed a light, maybe a reflection off his scope.

Terrific! Now what? My gun is in my purse. I could fire back, but that would be a waste of bullets at this distance. 

She yanked out her cell and punched in 9-1-1.

Damn—no reception.

A pounding pulsed through the ground and came closer. Janna could feel the vibrations. It felt like horses. She glanced around, without raising her head, to see what was coming.

Suddenly there was a hand in front of her face.

“Grab it and jump on.”

The deep, rumbling voice was not asking. It was an order.

Janna grabbed the strong hand. In one smooth motion, she swung up behind a man on his horse. Seconds later, she had her hands wrapped around his well-developed, muscular chest, as the big chestnut thundered across the ground, out of the bullets’ range.

The man wore a leather jacket over a sweater. Her hands slid under the jacket for better grip. Even through the sweater she could feel sinewy muscles. She laid her head against his back and his braid. She took a breath in, inhaling the rich scent of leather, trying to calm her racing heart rate.

She glanced behind her. The cliffs were fading into the distance. The muscles of his well-developed shoulders bunched and relaxed as he led the horse at a gallop across the field. She felt safe for some unfathomable reason.

He had a familiar woodsy scent that made her think of sex under pine trees, not that she’d ever made love there. In fact, her sex life was pretty negligible these days.

They’d been riding for several minutes when Janna leaned forward. “You can put me down any place. I can manage now.”

“Really? And just what are you going to do out here, miles from town, by yourself, with someone shooting at you?”

The voice was deep, but soft, and rolled over her like warmed brandy. It triggered something in the back of her memory. The earthy scent, the sinewy body, the braid, the voice… She knew this person who had ridden up out of nowhere to save her.

“I have my cell. I’ve already called 9-1-1,” she snapped.

“And did you get an answer?”

Janna yanked her cell phone up where she could see the screen again and re-tapped in 9-1-1. And then there was that famous phrase—No Service.

There was a deep chuckle. “That’s what I thought. There’s no service in this area. The mountains block it.”


I’m not doing a lot of guest spots in February. I don’t have a new book this month but you can find me at a few places. I’d love to have you drop by and say “hi.” You might also be eligible for gift certificates at some of these sites: 


February 1 - I’m guest blogging on Amber Dalton’s blog at

February 13 – I’m on Pam Thibidoux’s blog at

February 19 – I’m a guest on Dee S. Knight’s blog at

Beverley Bateman Blogger


And you can follow me follow me on my blog Tuesday and Thursday at for how I’m doing, tips, hints and guest authors. There are some exciting authors and their new books this month.