What a pleasure being on Sarah’s stylish, entertaining blog. Thank you, Sarah for having me.
The other day a friend told me about a book she thoroughly enjoyed reading that was written from a dog’s point of view. My dog, Rusty, could write a good “Day in the Life Of” book. He helps put up paper products when I get home from Costco, and on laundry day he helps me carry the dirty clothes down to the basement. He’s very busy keeping the mailman, FedEx and the man in brown from breaking into the house and stealing all his dog toys. He could write about his inner clock that is quite punctual and his super powers such as his hearing – when my husband turns the corner a block over, Rusty is at the window. He could write about his daydream of having a couple of three year old humans around that would always have something good to lick off their faces. No doubt he could write a best seller if he could get the paw thing right on the keyboard or, better yet, dictate to me. I could get a byline.
All my books have an animal in the storyline. (Hmm…wonder if all animal books have a human in the storyline.) A useless, but loved, old hound makes a walk-on appearance in my YA historical romance. In my contemporary western romance, which I am in the throes of editing for publication, a sixteen pound Siamese cat named Kirby causes a little havoc. Chip the chipmunk has an important supporting role in Sleeping with the Lights On. Sandra has suspicions Chip may be a Chipette the way the little critter takes to Carson, the handsome cowboy crooner.
A dog, a cat and a chipmunk – maybe next I’ll have a talking cockatoo with secrets.
I’d love to hear your animal stories, pets or otherwise (I had a mouse recently cause me an AC repair when the little devil chewed the wiring running into the unit). Leave me a comment and I’ll draw one of you to receive a print copy of my book, Sleeping with the Lights On. Don’t forget to include your email so I can reach you.
After two failed marriages and countless relationships, Sandra Holiday thinks she’s met the man to end her years of less than perfect choices; choices that not only derailed her travel-related career plans but also left her single and broke.
Carson Holiday, a Las Vegas country crooner with swoon-inducing good looks, spent his adult life pursuing a recording contract and love, never holding on to either. After eighteen years, he drops back into Sandra’s life, reigniting an attraction he can’t deny.
When Carson reappears, Sandra must choose again. Only this time, nothing’s as it seems. A secret admirer, a redheaded stalker, and an eccentric millionaire throw her on a dangerous path, with Carson her only truth.
As life confronts her with yet another turning point, will her decisions find her eternally sleeping with the lights on – or will she finally discover a way to turn them off?
EXCERPT:
“When do you go back to Vegas?”
Carson hesitated. “In a day or two.”
“You sound rather vague.” And still allusive. What could be the big secret about this charity gig he couldn’t divulge?
“I have a few more things to find out. I’ll be out of here as soon as I get all my questions answered. It’s complicated.”
We’d reached the edge of my apartment complex.
“Carson, honestly, how complicated can a gig—”
Pulling me around, we stopped, facing each other. My head said run like hell, but my legs wouldn’t respond. Mushy from wine or Carson and moonlight. I couldn’t be sure which.
“Have lunch with me tomorrow, darlin’.” His fingers slipped from mine to gingerly brush along my forearm. The moonlight caught in his eyes. “Another hour of your time with a long lost friend?”
“Yes.” My voice went all husky and come-hither. I wanted to kick myself for being so easy.
“Good.” Grasping my hand again, he led me toward the door. “What’s the address of your office?”
I struggled to shake off the moon shadows and to remember where I worked. Once inside the building, I took a scrap of paper from my purse and wrote the address.
“I’ll walk you to your door and say goodnight,” he said, tucking the scrap of paper in his pocket. “Unless you want to have me in for a goodnight drink.”
I didn’t answer. If he’d only known the extent of my uncertainty at that moment, a little persistence might have made me cave.
“Okay, then—” His mouth gaped.
I followed his bewildered look to my apartment door.
TRAMP
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Brenda Whiteside
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