And Jerenda F. - thank you for letting me borrow your Poppo and Nanny. I appreciate you!
Then there’s my writer friends. My NovelSista, Jessica Keller Koschnitzky, sister of my hear. She is part of my BritCrit gals. Joanna Politano (who has talked me down off more virtual ledges than anyone), Jen Cvelvar (the best case of misidentification ever), Kristy Cambron (who is more beautiful inside and out than any one person should be allowed to be), and Stacey Zink (who never, ever fails to have a fabulous encouraging word) are BritCritters, too. We do a lot more living than we do critting, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. All five of them are beyond gifted as writers, and I thank God they’re in my life. There’s my MozArks ACFW peeps who laugh with me, critique, and encourage to no end. And Melanie Dickerson. What would I do without you?
Then there’s the InspyRomance crew, the CIA, my Spicy peeps (you know who you are!), and all of the others who’ve helped me along on this journey.
I’ve said it before, but I could go on for days about beloved mentors like Janice Thompson who has poured her time and energy into this newbie, going above and beyond for me. People like one of my spiciest friends, Pepper Basham, who inspires me daily, or Julie Lessman, who has prayed me to this point. People like Jeane Wynn (the top publicist in the business) and Kathleen Y’Barbo (one of the top authors) who take me along on late night Wal-Mart runs and kidnap me to Chili’s so I’m writing on a full stomach. All of these and so many more are not only mentors, but friends - I am beyond blessed! And, of course, there’s Tamela Hancock Murray, agent extraordinaire, who believed in me enough to want to be my agent and encourages me always.
I said I could go on for days, and I could keep going. On and on. I know I’ve forgotten many people and I hate that. But you, dear reader, would quickly get bored.
So THANK YOU to all of those who have helped me along the way. I couldn’t have done this without you and you have my eternal gratitude. To the HUNDREDS of you (I’m gobsmacked!) who pre-ordered and encouraged me without knowing it as that little number continued to climb, you have my eternal gratitude. I hope you stick around for the next one!
And, of course, last but never, ever, least, to Jesus Christ, without whom none of this would be possible - or worth it.
Protecting
the
Prince
Available FREE for
newsletter subscribers -
November 2015
Tony Browning stepped off the plane in the capital city of Athmetica in the Sovereign Commonwealth of Athmetis. The unseasonable weather caused heat to roil off the tarmac in visible waves and threatened to give Tony heat stroke. The suit he wore was perfectly in keeping with the current weather in Ravenzario but much too warm for Athmetis. Why hadn’t he thought to check the temperature?
No chauffeur would meet him at the airport. No car would whisk him away to his destination. In fact, no one official knew he was here. He’d used his position as Queen Christiana’s head of security to gain him diplomatic status in the island nation, but only because it afforded him less hassle. If, as he feared, he would end up in the United States, he’d travel even more conventionally.
Once through the airport, skipping the baggage claim entirely, he hailed a taxi and took it to the hotel where he’d be staying for the next couple of days.
If he couldn’t find any sign of them here, he’d move on to the next location on his list.
“Sir?”
Tony blinked as the driver got his attention. “Yes?”
“We’ve arrived.”
He shook himself out of his stupor. “My apologies.” Tony started to open the door, but paused. “Are you familiar with this area?”
“Of course!” His chest puffed up, as though offended Tony would ask such a thing. “I grew up on this very street and rode my bike around the entire town as a child. You want to go somewhere, I know the best way to get there.”
“You grew up here?” Could this be the stroke of luck he needed?
“Two streets over. My Yaya worked at this very hotel.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rex Cromer, sir.”
“Rex, can I hire you for the next couple of days?” He could see the confusion on the other man’s face. “I need a guide who knows this area well. You would need to be on call twenty-four hours a day, but you will be well-compensated.” Tony named a figure he new would entice the other man.
“What’s the catch?” Rex’s eyes narrowed.
“No catch. I’m doing research into some people I believe came here in late 1999 or very early 2000. I need to find them. They may or may not still be in the area, but if at all possible, I need to know where they went.”
If possible, Rex’s eyes narrowed further. “Why? Are you a hit man?”
Tony laughed. “Quite the opposite. They ran from a family member who was quite dangerous. He has finally been put in prison for the rest of his life, and it is safe for them to come home, but no one knows exactly where they are anymore. I know where their first destination, here in Athmetica was supposed to be, but beyond that, we don’t know.” Time to lay most of the cards on the table. “To be honest, I’m not even completely sure what names they used, just that they didn’t use their real names.”
He could see Rex turn the proposal over in his head. “Very well. You were to have been my last fare for the day and I have two days off. You should talk to my Yaya. She knows everyone in this area for the last sixty years or longer.”
Within ten minutes, Tony had been ushered into Yaya’s home. After exchanging pleasantries, he got down to business. “Do you remember seeing either of these people around the turn of the century?”
Yaya took the photos and examined them carefully with the help of a magnifying glass. “So young,” she murmured, the photo of Prince Nicklaus in her hand. “So sad.”
“So sad?” Tony’s heart constricted. Had something happened to the prince and his caretaker in the intervening years? He hadn’t even considered that possibility.
“So sad his parents died so young.” She looked up and stared Tony in the eyes. “His sister and he were the only remaining members of their immediate family, no?”
She knew? How?
Yaya must have seen the questions in his eyes. “Rex, please get our guest something to drink.”
“Of course, Yaya.” His gaze shifted between Tony and his grandmother, but he left.
“Who are you?” she demanded as soon as Rex was out of earshot. “What do you want to know about these two people for?”
Tony pulled out his credentials. “I am the head of Queen Christiana of Ravenzario’s security detail, ma’am.”
She took them and examined them closely. Satisfied, she returned them. “Very well. You may call me Yaya.”
He bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.
“Do you believe in fate?” she asked.
Tony shook his head. “No, ma’am. But I do believe in divine guidance. I believe the Lord leads us places we need to be, when we need to be there.”
“It is why your queen is still alive.”
“Correct. She was sick...”
Yaya waved a hand. “No. I read the papers, young man. I saw the stories about Henry Eit.” She spit into the planter next to her chair. “No good, that man. I know this for many years. But, if the papers are to be believed, the only reason you were finally able to arrest was because Prince Alexander overheard something he should not have, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then you understand when I tell you I believe God brought you to the right taxi driver today.”
Tony blinked slowly. “What do you mean?”
“Come. I show you.” Yaya slowly stood. Tony reached for her to give her a hand, but she waved him off.
He followed her to the courtyard and toward a decorative door, covered with hanging plants. One of Yaya’s wrinkled hands reached through the greenery and did something Tony couldn’t see. The door swung open revealing a
small room behind it. He looked at Yaya. “What is this?”
“This is the place Michaela and Nicklaus stayed when they fled Ravenzario.”
* * *
Be sure to sign up for the newsletter to follow Tony’s search for Michaela and Nicklaus! Coming November 2015!
Finding
Mr.
Write
Available FREE on all retailers!
Local Woman Arrested For Stalking Favorite Author
Dorrie Miller could see the headline now. She held the phone between her ear and shoulder as she shoved a pair of jeans in the drawer. “Did you really buy night vision goggles?”
“What do you think?” Sarcasm deepened the Appalachian accent until Dorrie could barely understand Anise.
Of course she had.
Anise had bought the night vision goggles and the ear wig thingies, the ones that looked like hearing aids, and heaven only knew what else.
Within two days of being at their first major national conference for writers, they’d be cooling their heels in a jail cell, hoping no one would use their escapades for story fodder. CANDID stood for Christian Author’s Network, Dedicated to Inspirational Distinction, not detention.
“We’re really going to stalk this woman? I know you want to meet her. I do, too. But stalking? That’s a felony.” Or a serious misdemeanor. Whichever. It wouldn’t be good. “We’ll have restraining orders and never be able to show our face at CANDID again.” Dorrie checked her appearance in the mirror once more. Passable. “And how do you know MEL is going to be at conference, anyway?”
As administrator of the Mya Elizabeth Linscott Facebook page, Dorrie should know when the author had appearances scheduled. Dorrie had read all of MEL’s books so many times she could quote large sections of them. Her collection would be complete with autographs, but the only way to get signed copies was to get them off MEL’s website for twice the cover price. Sure, the extra money went to charity but Dorrie still didn’t have that kind of cash. Instead, she had a standing order with the local Christian bookstore to get the latest book as soon as it released.
She’d even emailed with MEL a few times. Okay. MEL’s assistant, but still.
How did she not know MEL would be making her first public appearance ever?
Anise hemmed and hawed for a second or two. “Well, I don’t know for sure MEL’s coming. But the bookstore coordinator sent me a list of authors who are going to have books and she’s on it.”
“One of her books is up for a CANDID Award,” Dorrie pointed out. “Those are automatically stocked. She’s up for an award every year. Those books are always there.” Not that Dorrie had been at the other conferences, but she knew people and heard all about it.
“I know that. But she has ‘five books’ in parentheses next to her name. She’d only have one if it was just the book up for a CANDID Award.”
Anise had a point. “Okay. She might be there.”
“Let’s plan how we’re going to make sure we get to meet her. And bring your copies because they have a place where you can put them to be signed.”
“You really think she’ll sign them for free? Everyone else does, but she never has. She gives away ten free signed copies of each book when it comes out, but that’s it.” Dorrie had never won, no matter how hard she tried.
“You never know.”
A glance at the clock showed Dorrie she had ten minutes before it was time to leave for her fourth ever local CANDID meeting. The one she was in charge of. What had she been thinking when she volunteered to be the coordinator? Dorrie half-listened to Anise prattle on as doubts assailed her once again.
Visions of George Costanza danced in her head to a Brad Paisley soundtrack as a dull ache began to seep into the edges of her brain. So much cooler in the online world. She should stay home where no one would discover she didn’t belong with the cool kids.
Online, Dorrie knew she was a blast. Always fun. Always up for something. Or pretend something anyway. There weren’t any real consequences to plotting with other readers to cyber-steal a flash drive with a manuscript on it from a favorite author when nothing actually changed hands. Or to resort to bribery with her peanut butter cookies. Dorrie had been known to send a box or two. Not that it had gotten her anywhere.
Another look toward the bookcase where her first edition Mya Elizabeth Linscott novels sat, unsigned, spurred her onward. She had to go. She had to follow her dream of becoming an author. No matter what anyone, especially her dad, said about it. In two and a half months, Dorrie could finally have a chance to meet her writing hero. If she was really lucky, have two, maybe even three, minutes to pick MEL’s brain about the publishing world.
“Dorrie!” Anise’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Can you get the walkie talkies?”
With a sigh, Dorrie turned to the conversation at hand. “Yes, I have walkies. I fail to see why we need them if we’re using earwigs.”
“Back-up. You know that. Back-up your back-ups. It holds true for manuscripts and trying to meet your favorite authors.”
Anise was even more obsessed with back-ups than Dorrie had ever been. The advent of “the cloud” and “cloud storage” helped, but one could never be sure it was enough. The loss of a Publisher file with hours worth of tweaks to a floor plan for her character’s house proved that.
Dorrie heard something in the background. A dog barking. Dishes crashing. Followed by, “I gotta run, darlin’, and I know you’ve got your meeting. I’ll talk to you soon. Knock ‘em dead.”
“Ha! Love you, Licorice.”
“I’m not licorice. I’m Anise.”
“Pa-tay-to, pa-tah-to. Same thing.” The spice, anise, had a licorice flavor to it. Dorrie rarely let an opportunity to mention it pass her by. Of course, the spice was pronounced an-iss, but her friend hailed from Appalachia and said her name uh-nese.
“Love you, too. I think. See you in a few weeks!”
They hung up. Dorrie headed from her hometown of Serenity Landing, Missouri to Springfield and her first CANDID meeting with a for-real published author as the guest.
She just prayed she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
* * *
Dorrie sat at a table in Panera Bread wiping her hands on her dress slacks. The nice ones. The ones that made her feel a little more professional than jeans or her usual scrubs. It was only the fourth meeting but who was she to think she should be the one running a group like this? At twenty-three, Dorrie felt woefully unprepared to run the local meeting of the country’s premiere group for Christian writers. Unpublished. Unagented. Uneverything. And inadequate.
And with a line-up of such prestigious guest speakers coming? Why her? Right. No one else volunteered to do it.
And just one guest speaker for now, .but Dorrie had to introduce her to everyone.
So what if “everyone” meant seven people?
Kathleen Watson really was very nice. Dorrie knew because they’d been talking on Facebook for months.
Dorrie took a deep breath and jumped in. “Okay, everyone!” Her voice echoed in the almost empty room as her nerves took a beating. “I think everybody’s got their food, so it’s time for the Springfield Area Christian Authors’ Network, Dedicated to Inspiration Distinction group to welcome best-selling, award winning author, Kathleen Watson.” What a mouthful! It made her even more grateful everyone just called the organization CANDID.
The half dozen or so writers gave a polite smattering of applause as Kathleen moved to sit on the table at the front of the meeting room. “Thanks so much for having me today. I was thinking I’d tell you a bit about me, my journey to publication, and life since then. Afterwards, we’ll open it up for questions.”
The door opened and in walked Prince Caspian – fresh off his voyage through the Seven Seas on the Dawn Treader. Dorrie’s logical side knew it couldn’t be the Narnian king, but had to be his doppelganger. Her romantic side didn’t care. He was, after all, about six feet tall with longish chestnut colored hair th
at looked silky enough for every girl in the room to be jealous, and eyes the color of Hershey’s chocolate.
“Is this the CANDID meeting?” His voice, smooth as velvet, melted Dorrie’s insides.
“Um, yes,” she managed to stammer. “Have a seat. We’re just getting started.”
He smiled, though Dorrie had the impression his full grin was much more drool-worthy.
Before she realized what he was doing, he slid into the chair next to her. If he got any closer Dorrie would be wearing his cologne. Very nice smelling cologne, too. Not at all like she expected from someone who spent most of his time on a boat with a giant talking mouse.
How was she supposed to concentrate? Ask insightful questions? Keep everyone on task during the Q and A if she spent the next two hours wondering if he’d take her back to Narnia with him?
Somehow, Dorrie managed to focus on Kathleen. She talked about what the industry had been like twenty years earlier when she first broke into publishing and how it differed now.
After about thirty minutes, Kathleen looked at Dorrie. “You know what? Why don’t we skip straight to questions? You guys ask me what you want to know about life as an author. I don’t know all of you so why don’t we do introductions, then questions?” The look she gave left it up to Dorrie.
Dorrie moved to the front of the room to direct the conversation and told them a bit about herself when one of the other gals interrupted.
“Did I see your name on the New Beginnings list?”
Heat rose in Dorrie’s cheeks. “I had two manuscripts final in different categories.”
“New Beginnings is the CANDID contest for unpublished authors, right?” The question came from the other new member. Dorrie didn’t think she’d heard the lady’s name yet.
With a nod, Dorrie confirmed the statement but turned to the next person. All but two of the other seven people she’d met several times and halfway tuned them out. The newbie who’d asked about the contest introduced herself as Julie Harders. And then they got to Prince Caspian.
Winning the Queen's Heart: Contemporary Christian Romance (The Brides of Belles Montagnes Book 2) Page 29