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How I Met My Husband: The Real-Life Love Stories of 25 Romance Authors

Page 6

by Michele Stegman


  The Story Behind Lyn Cote Self-Publishing La Belle Christiane

  About La Belle Christiane, my very first manuscript—never published until now!

  When I began writing my first manuscript, I literally ran after my two toddlers with a clipboard in my hand and wrote whenever they paused! I wrote that story without knowing anything about writing or marketing fiction. In fact, I told myself just to write the book and then I’d think about polishing and marketing it. The thought of that was overwhelming at the time. It took me three years of writing to finish my first manuscript-1,000 handwritten pages. Whew!

  When I began trying to market it, I found out that while it garnered interest from agents and editors, it never found a publisher. I think that’s because there are “unwritten” rules for inspirational fiction and I didn’t know them or follow them. I still think it’s a good story and I’ve revised it and improved it once more. And now it’s FINALLY available in digital and print. I did this because I didn’t want it to sit ignored in my files forever. So now I’ll let the readers decide whether it deserved to be published or not. I hope you agree with me and let others know about it.

  Excerpt from La Belle Christiane

  British Canada, July 1774

  Tonight, I’ll lie beside some stranger as his wife. Christiane blinked away the bright morning sunlight but could not blink away the dread. Once again she had embarked on another journey that would change her life. She sat between her Algonquin father Shaw-nee-awk-kee and his son in a birch bark canoe. To the rhythm of the dipping paddles, they were gliding farther down the Ottawa River. In the cramped space, she hugged her knees to herself and pressed her forehead against her tattered skirt.

  She glanced sideways into the remorseless current, wishing for time, for control. But instead, the river, shimmering with molten sunlight, gave her glimmers of the past—candlelight on silver, soft lace against skin, frosting on the tip of the tongue. But she’d fled France with her father, here to Canada and then. . . She thrust all thoughts of the past year aside. She had to face today. Tonight, I’ll be some stranger’s wife.

  The thought brought fear, a rush of sensation—as if the bottom of the canoe, her protection, parted, and she was plunged into the cool water. She fought her way to the surface of this feeling, gasping for air, pushing down panic. She pressed her face harder against her knees. I will not shame myself. Ever.

  For information on Lyn’s books and where to purchase them, go to her website: http://LynCote.net or http://www.BooksbyLynCote.com

  Patricia Lieb

  Lumps in the Mattress

  During out eighteen years of marriage we beat many lumps from our mattress. Like beating feathers into place with a broom, we managed to smooth it. Though no one mattress can ever completely please two people, we were comfortable.

  We were married on a sunny winter day. I smile now remembering how we went to downtown Chicago, to the cook County Court House, and got married by a cranky Judge and his balding lady secretary. That day, we started beating lumps from our mattress.

  The biggest lump ever to enter our mattress was the tumor growing inside you, eating and growing behind your stomach, as if it were as welcomed as a sunny winter day.

  The mattress slid then, and the spread was never on straight, and it sank on the side where you spend your days and nights. I wondered what was going through your mind. Were you angry? If so, you never let it show. Surely you felt anger. I know when you told me of the tumor, I just said, “Dammed.” And you said, “Damned is what I said.” I wondered how you could contain your feelings. Rage. Didn’t you fee rage as in Dylan Thomas’ poem, “Do Not Go Genteel Into That Goodnight. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Rage.

  We had good in our marriage. I will not pretend we were saints here, pretend everything was always in order for it certainly was not. We had our differences. But differences usually made us closer. Once you said, “If we never disagreed we would not be communicating.” Our disagreements usual led to our clinging to each other thought the night and walking, our hands locked, in places we had never been.

  I walked to your hospital room after talking with your doctor and I knew you would never be well again.

  I learned a lot from you. I adopted so much of your philosophy. I discovered the important things in life. I learned from you that material things are not most important. I learned to think about what is real in life and to pursue my dreams.

  Dreams. Yes, my husband, I remember all our dreams. I remember all the things you taught me.

  About The Adventures of a Squirrel Named Peanut

  Peanut tells of his adventures of life in the “lady’s” yard and how he gets into trouble but she loves him anyway. The “Lady” lectures him and hand-feeds him peanuts daily.

  Judy Lynn Hubbard

  Destined

  I believe in love at first sight and I guess I have my parents to blame for that. My mother had car trouble and my father, who was a mechanic, just happened to stop and give her a hand. They met by chance, but the two of them knew then and there they were destined to be together—and six children and sixty-one years later, proves they were right!

  About These Arms of Mine

  When Alesha Robinson abruptly ended her brief relationship with Derrick Chandler, she earned his wrath. Now she needs his cooperation to save her brother. To her amazement, he promises to help her—if she agrees to marry him.

  Alesha is convinced that all Derrick wants from her is revenge; however, whenever they are in the same room together and especially when they touch, smoldering passion each had thought long ago extinguished, flames to vibrant life resulting in passionate days and oh-so steamy nights!

  As weeks turn into months, Alesha finds herself longing for a traditional marriage with the man whose heart she now realizes she had needlessly broken. If he knew the true circumstances surrounding her previous betrayal, would he consider giving her a second chance to stay in his arms and in his life—forever?

  Excerpt from These Arms of Mine

  “What if I told you that I wouldn’t press charges against your brother?” His unexpected words halted her rapid departure.

  Had she heard him correctly? She turned and her puzzled eyes encountered his enigmatic, serious ones.

  “What did you say?”

  “I think you heard me.”

  “Don’t toy with me.”

  An arrogant half-smile turned up the corners of his mouth at her chastising tone.

  “I never play, unless I choose the game and am assured of victory.”

  She believed him; he was a man used to getting his way—always, except once with her. She slowly walked back until she was standing in front of his desk again.

  “You’re serious about letting Robert off the hook?”

  “Yes, deadly.”

  Something in his tone worried her, yet she stood her ground. She had the feeling she would regret her next question; however, she had to ask it.

  “What do you want in return?”

  He stood and slowly, deliberately walked until he was standing in front of her, so close that their bodies were almost touching. She resisted a strong impulse to turn and run, or more disturbingly, take the few steps necessary to bring them breast-to-breast. She faced him unwaveringly as she waited apprehensively for his response.

  His eyes roamed over her from head to toe, leisurely, thoroughly. His blatant inspection made her feel as if she were a piece of prime meat he was preparing to devour with that wicked, pleasure-evoking mouth of his. Her heart began to beat erratically, but not from fear, from another just as strong emotion.

  “Something only you can give me.”

  “Which is what?” She tilted her head up his tall frame staring at him uneasily.

  He continued to subject her to his slow, highly disturbing scrutiny, eyes lingering unnecessarily long on her moist, slightly parted lips, before lifting to meet her eyes once again. His thorough examination was more disquieting than anything she co
uld have imagined he would say; however, his next words proved her wrong.

  “I want you.” He truthfully answered.

  He was unblinking and serious as he continued staring into her huge, horrified eyes. After a few seconds of pregnant silence, he laughed out loud at her apparent, absolute shock. He knew his declaration was the last thing she had expected to hear; it was honestly the last thing he had expected to utter.

  She didn’t make a move as his brief laughter reverberated in the deafeningly quiet office before silencing again. He made no further attempt at speech and she was unable to formulate anything remotely akin to intelligent verbiage; therefore, she stared at him unblinkingly, a hand slowly going to her suddenly constricted throat while her heart thudded loudly in her ears.

  When she finally found her voice it was hushed and strained, “You can’t be serious!”

  “Can’t I?”

  She searched his face for signs that he was being facetious, yet found none. Still, he had to be joking! That had to be it; at least, she hoped that was it. Her other hand moved to her suddenly throbbing temple and she tried to laugh dismissively; she couldn’t have heard him correctly.

  “I must have misunderstood you.”

  “Did you?” Piercing eyes studied her pale face carefully.

  “Did you say that you want…me?” She forced herself to repeat his ridiculous statement.

  “You did understand me.”

  “What do you mean by want?” As she articulated the question, she was petrified of his response.

  “Want: A transitive verb meaning to desire, to have need for, to crave.”

  Every word he used to describe his meaning brought vivid, not undesirable pictures to her whirlwind mind. She swallowed hard to dispel the lump that had rapidly risen in her throat, but to no avail. She stared at the man in front of her, amusement still twinkling in his eyes; yet, underneath the levity something else lurked—a seriousness that terrified her.

  Eileen Cook

  Christmas Tree Magic

  I met my husband Bob at a Halloween party in college. He was dressed like Friar Tuck from the Robin Hood series. I’m not sure why I found that attractive, it could have been all those years at Catholic school. I suspect the more likely reason was the vast amount of cheap beer I’d consumed that evening. He was also pretty cute.

  The moment I knew I would marry him was more romantic and would come years later. It was Christmas. I had my first official post-college job earning less than I earned waiting tables while in school. (Oh English degree- you were enjoyable, but not marketable.) I couldn’t afford to go home for the holidays that year. I lived in a dumpy apartment, I made nowhere near enough to support my book and shoe habit, and I was in a job I hated. It is safe to say I wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit. I made Scrooge look like a perky cheerleader in comparison to my mood.

  Bob was living across the country. We kept our relationship going through long distance phone calls and the occasional visit. The night before I had a weepy phone conversation where I told him that there was no point in Christmas even coming that year. When I got home from work that night there was a florist waiting for me. The fellow told me he owned the shop and normally didn’t make deliveries, but he wanted to make this one. He’d never gotten this type of order before.

  The florist opened the van and pulled out a giant six foot Christmas tree. It came complete with a stand, lights, and ornaments. He helped me set it up in my living room. The florist gave me a pack of foil wrapped cookies that his wife had made. He said that Bob hadn’t asked for that, but he felt like throwing it in. No charge.

  I pulled out some Christmas music and put it on. I had the sense that maybe things weren’t that bad after all. If there was someone who loved me enough to make all this happen from half a world away, then who knew what else we could tackle if we were together. I decided right then and there that I was going to marry that man. Eighteen years later I don’t have a single regret.

  About Do or Di

  A laugh out loud romantic comedy, from the author of Unpredictable and Getting Revenge on Lauren Wood. Erin Callighan has given up on the idea of a fairy tale romance. Having dated her own version of the Seven Dwarves (including Grumpy and Sleepy), she’s letting go of the idea of Prince Charming and settling for Prince Good Enough. Erin’s focused on reaching her dream of having her own talk radio show, even if it means having to temporarily co-host with the annoying “Voice of Seattle”, Colin Stewart. To score points with her station manager, she agrees to be a part of the Positive Partnerships program that matches her with Diana, a troubled pre-teen who swears she’s channeling the spirit of the late Princess Diana. She’s supposed to be mentoring Diana, but the channeled princess has a lot to teach Erin about love and happily ever after endings.

  Excerpt from Do or Di

  There comes a time in a woman’s life when she must acknowledge that her pursuit of Prince Charming has failed and that she is merely kissing frogs. I didn’t want to give up on the idea of fairy-tale romance; I’d merely accepted reality. However, my best friend Avita wasn’t ready to surrender on my behalf.

  “There’s a guy who just started working with Darsh. He’s really cute.” She took her chai tea from the barista.

  “No,” I said. Avita meant well, but I had to shut this down. Once she got a plan in place she was like a rabid military general. She didn’t surrender easily.

  “You can’t say no, you haven’t met him yet.” She held up a perfectly manicured hand to stop my protest. “Besides, don’t think of it like a blind date. If I happen to have you over for dinner, and Darsh happens to invite over one of his single co-workers, then it’s just a lucky coincidence.”

  I blew on my tea. “That’s not the kind of luck I need. You know I’d do just about anything for one of your dinners, but no more blind dates. I am declaring myself to be a blind date free zone.”

  “You can’t give up. You never know when you’re going to meet the right guy.” Avita was like the kid who still believed in Santa and no matter how much you pointed out that it was awfully odd that Santa was able to be at all those malls at the same time; she would still cling to the fat guy in the suit. I can’t say that I blamed her. I like the idea of a gift-giving jolly elf as much as the next person.

  “I have officially filled my quota of bad dates. I have the list to prove it,” I said. I held open the door for her so we could walk back to the office. I had other reasons for not wanting for her to try and fix me up, but there was no way I was going to get into with her.

  “You’re not still doing that dwarf thing are you?”

  “The last guy you hooked me up with, the one from your gym, slotted in nicely as Sneezy.”

  “His name was David, and I’ll admit he was a bit focused on his health.”

  It isn’t that I wanted to give up the idea of a fairy-tale romance; it’s just that rather than a prince, I could lay claim to having dated each of the seven dwarves:

  1.Grumpy: Richard was a tortured artistic soul. He taught photography at the community college. It was difficult for Richard as no one understood him or appreciated his genius. Initially I found his dark, brooding moods sort of sexy, but I would later realize he was just cranky.

  2.Doc: Keith worked in the finance district and came across as sort of the Clark Kent type in his glasses and button-down suits. I found his knowledge of arcane trivia sort of fun and quirky until I realized we could never have a conversation without him correcting my grammar or tossing in some bizarre fact like the annual rainfall in the Congo.

  3.Bashful: Joel was so shy I had to ask him out. He blushed and stuttered any time someone spoke to him, including on voice mails. I kept hoping that once he grew comfortable we would fall into a relaxed relationship where he would open up his deep, sensitive soul to me. This never happened. He made me anxious. It was like dating a bomb squad guy who had palsy.

  4.Happy: Kirk was my first younger man. At twenty-three he was annoyingly happy. I couldn’t t
ell if it was because the world hadn’t kicked him around enough or if he would always be this way. You would think being around someone with a positive attitude would be refreshing in today’s cynical world. However, one too many “Turn that smile upside down!” moments and I wanted to make him cry. This is not the basis for a lasting relationship.

  5.Sleepy: Liam was a believer in not subjecting himself to the tyranny of “the man.” He found regular employment to be too restricting and kept him from reaching his “goals.” In the three months that we dated it appeared that the scope of his goals including sleeping until noon and laying on my couch scratching his balls while watching reruns of America’s Next Top Model.

  6.Dopey: Carter was without a doubt the most attractive man I ever dated. He was Calvin-Klein-underwear-model handsome. He was so attractive I could almost overlook that I had stuffed animals smarter than him. Almost. We were out at a dinner and I was discussing euthanasia and my views on the meaning and value of life. When I asked him what he thought and he said he knew there were a lot of youth in Asia, I knew it was over.

 

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