Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

“Look there, Viv!” Billy he cried.  “Looks like two more boys are comin’ home to Florence !”

Vivianna turned—her heart leaping in her bosom.  It was true that her heart had grown weary of leaping—only to find disappointment and renewed aching.  Over the past few weeks—each time a lone soldier, or a group of soldiers traveling together, meandered past the Turner place on their way to Florence —Vivianna hoped.  Even after years of no letters from her brothers…still she hoped.  The pain she’d tried to leave beneath the honeysuckle vine returned.  She wondered how any human being who had survived the war, continued to survive it.

Still, hope had already enveloped the two boys.  As Nate began to whistle When Johnny Comes Marching Home, Billy ran off down the road toward the two approaching men.

“Billy!” Vivianna called.  “Come here!  You come back right this minute! We don’t know who…”

Nate’s whistling died—Vivianna held her breath.  As Billy ran toward the two men, one of them spread his arms wide—dropped to his knees and embraced the boy…

 “It can’t be,” Vivianna breathed, shaking her head—still afraid to hope.  Yet, as she watched Mrs. Turner collapse into the welcoming embrace of one of the men—she knew…

Civil War.  No one could flee from the pain and misery of it—from the nightmare of battle and the countless lives it had devoured.  Everyone had sacrificed—everyone had suffered profound misery and unimaginable loss.  Vivianna Bartholomew was no exception.  The war had torn her from her home, orphaned her—and finally—the war had taken the man she loved.  

Yet, what was to be done, but to go on—to exist?  And exist she did.  Though heartbroken and weary, Vivianna yet knew gratitude and indebtedness—for Savannah Turner had taken her in—loved her like a daughter.  Savannah had lost much as well—a husband—a son.  Still, as General Lee surrendered signaling the war’s imminent end—Savannah was blessed in having three sons yet living—one who had returned home battered and broken—and two too young to have ever marched off to battle.   

Thus, the fighting began to wane as Vivianna remained with Savannah Turner and her sons—laboring hard—and keeping close the letters written to her by her lover—her lost lover—Savannah Turner’s son—the son who had not returned from battle.  Vivianna’s heart would never heal from the loss of her love—she knew it would not.  How could it?  How could a woman’s heart forget such loving and tender words penned only to her—such beautiful promises—promises made that would now never be kept?

Still, it is often in the world that miracles occur—and one balmy Alabama morning—Vivianna knew!  As she watched two ragged soldiers walk up the road toward the Turner house, Vivianna Bartholomew knew—that miracles do exist!

Order Beneath the Honeysuckle Vine

Saphyre Snow

The fire burned hot and red in the pit, and Saphyre's eyes again began to long for the sweet respite of slumber. Still, she dared not close them for a moment in the presence of these strangers, and so it was she continued to study the men—wonder of their lives before the keep—and their secrets. It was certain they owned secrets—for did not she? All human beings owned secrets—some more than others perhaps—but all owned them. Thus, she sat in contemplation. What secrets would drive men to such solitude?

"Have you sorted us all out then?" he asked unexpected. His gaze bore down upon her like the red heat of the sun. "Have you sorted the gentlemen from the miscreants? Determined who will serve as your lover and who will be your footman?" 

Descended of a legendary line of strength and beauty, Saphyre Snow had once known happiness as princess of the Kingdom of Graces. Once a valiant king had ruled in wisdom—once a loving mother had spoken soft words of truth to her daughter. Yet, a strange madness had poisoned great minds—a strange fever inviting Lord Death to linger. Soon it was even Lord Death sought to claim Saphyre Snow for his own—and all Saphyre loved seemed lost.

Thus, Saphyre fled—forced to leave all familiars for necessity of preserving her life. Alone, and without provision, Saphyre knew Lord Death might yet claim her—for how could a princess hope to best the Reaper himself? 

Still, fate often provides rescue by extraordinary venues, and Saphyre was not delivered into the hands of Death—but into the hands of those hiding dark secrets in the depths of bruised and bloodied souls. Saphyre knew a measure of hope and asylum in the company of these battered vagabonds. Even she knew love—a secreted love—a forbidden love. Yet it was love itself—even held secret—that would again summon Lord Death to hunt the princess, Saphyre Snow.

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Monet held her breath—allowed her hands to fist where they lay in her lap. The sound of the horses charging—of powerful hooves beating upon the ground—of leather straining and armor braced for battle echoed—thundered as a violent storm. The Crimson Knight’s lance struck—splintered into a thousand pieces just above its base. As Sir Ostler fell back—tumbled from his charger and to the ground—Monet closed her eyes—offered a thankful prayer for Sir Broderick’s victory, and thus his safety.
…The crowd in the stands roared with approval as the Crimson Knight turned his horse. Monet watched as the black charger carrying Sir Broderick Dougray paused before the place where she and her father were seated. The charger reared, and Sir Broderick raised his splintered lance as tribute to his king. 

Beloved of her father, King Dacian, and adored by her people, the Scarlet Princess Monet endeavored to serve her kingdom well—for the people of the Kingdom of Karvana were good, and worthy of service. Long Monet had known that even her marriage would serve her people. Her husband would be chosen for her—for this was the way of royal existence. 

Still, as any woman does—peasant or princess—Monet dreamt of owning true love—of owning choice in love. Thus, each time the raven-haired, sapphire-eyed, Crimson Knight of Karvana rode near—Monet knew regret—for in secret, she loved him—and she could not choose him. 

As an arrogant king from another kingdom began to wage war against Karvana, Karvana’s king, knights and soldiers answered the challenge. The Princess Monet would also know battle. As the Crimson Knight battled with armor and blade—so the Scarlet Princess would battle in sacrifice and with secrets held. 

Thus, when the charge was given to preserve the Heart of Karvana—Monet endeavored to serve her kingdom and forget her secret love. Yet, love is not so easily forgotten… 

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…Gina nodded and tossed a juicy apple core to the grassy orchard ground below. “How can we expect to be successful in love when there aren’t any real men left in the world?”

It was a subject Aspen and her best friend had plowed through time and again—the sad lack of “real men” in modern society.

“I mean,” Gina began…“where did they all go? All those guys our grandmas talk about?”

...“The kind of guy who would sew up his own wound, while defending a woman’s honor with a bare-fisted mean right hook,” Aspen added.

“Yeah,” Gina sighed. “What happened to those kinds of guys?”

...Aspen bit her lip. Should she tell Gina? Should she tell her what she’d discovered just two weeks before? …Gina was her best friend—her trusted and loyal friend. They’d shared nearly every secret of their entire lives. It was time to share this one.

Aspen lowered her voice and said, “I know where one is.”

“One what?”

“A real man.”

Aspen Falls was happy. Her life was good. Blessed with a wonderful family and a loyal best friend—Aspen did know a measure of contentment. 

Still, to Aspen it seemed something was missing—something hovering just beyond her reach—something entirely satisfying that would ensure her happiness. Yet, she couldn’t consciously determine what the “something” was. And so, Aspen sailed through life—not quite perfectly content perhaps—but grateful for her measure of contentment.

Grateful that is, until he appeared—the man in the park—the stranger who jogged passed the bench where Aspen sat during her lunch break each day. As handsome as a dream, and twice as alluring, the man epitomized the absolute stereotypical “real man”—and Aspen’s measure of contentment vanished! 

Would Aspen Falls reclaim the comfortable contentment she once knew? Or would the handsome real-man-stranger linger in her mind like a sweet, tricky venom—poisoning all hope of Aspen’s ever finding true happiness with any other man? 

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“Who knows?”  Sighing, Aunt Myra waved her hand, gesturing ignorance as to the answer.  “I’ve no idea even how old he is.  Could be twenty…could be a hundred.  Like I said, I don’t think anyone’s ever seen him clean shaven...”

But Vaden smiled.  A mystery!  Only one hour into arriving for their adventurous year and already a mystery at hand!  Something inside her leapt with anticipation.  Her mind began to burn, visualizing potential circumstances.  A criminal, perhaps?  Hiding out in this small, western town?  The possibilities were endless in Vaden’s imagination.”  

Youthful beauty, naïve innocence, a romantic imagination thirsting for adventure…an apt description of Vaden Valmont, who would soon find the adventure and mystery she had always longed to experience…in the form of a man.

A somber recluse, Ransom Lake descended from his solitary concealment in the mountains, wholly disinterested in people and their trivial affairs.  And somehow, young Vaden managed to be ever in his way…either by accident or because of her own unique ability to stumble into a quandary.

Yet the enigmatic Ransom Lake would involuntarily become Vaden’s unwitting tutor.  Through him, she would experience joy and passion the like even Vaden had never imagined.  Yes, Vaden Valmont stepped innocently, yet irrevocably, into love with the secretive, seemingly callous man.

But there were other life’s lessons Ransom Lake would inadvertently bring to her as well.  The darker side of life…despair, guilt, heartache.  Would Ransom Lake be the means of Vaden’s dreams come true?  Or the cause of her complete desolation?

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“Yes, father,” Coquette said, returning his embrace.  She would leave him on the ‘morrow.  She hugged him, never wanting to release him, inhaling deeply the scent of him…

Coquette watched him go…allowing herself to release more tears, to sob.  Dropping to her knees, she buried her face in her hands as fear and anxiety overwhelmed her. 

To travel to an unfamiliar township—to marry a stranger—how could it all be so?  After several long moments, she raised her head from her hands, her gaze falling to the lavender rose which now lay abandoned on the floor.

“I am lost,” she whispered.  “And all for the want of a rose.”  

With the sea at its side, the beautiful township of Bostchelan was home to many—including the lovely Coquette de Bellamont, her three sisters, and beloved father.  In Bostchelan, Coquette knew happiness, and as much contentment as a young woman whose heart had been broken years before could know.  Thus, Coquette dwelt in gladness until the day her father returned from his travels with an astonishing tale to tell.

Antoine de Bellamont returned from his travels by way of Roanan bearing a tale of such great adventure to hardly be believed.  Further, at the center of Antoine’s story loomed a man—the dark Lord of Roanan.  Known for his cruel nature, heartlessness, and tendency to violence, the Lord of Roanan had accused Antoine de Bellamont of wrong doing and demanded recompense.  Antoine had promised recompense would be paid—with the hand of his youngest daughter in marriage.

Thus, Coquette found herself lost—thrust onto a dark journey of her own.  This journey would find her carried away to Roanan Manor—delivered into the hands of the dark and mysterious Lord of Roanan who dominated it.

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“…Dusty’s heart panged a twinge with she saw the bullwhip strapped to the saddle of one of the horses tied to the corral fence.  “Why today?” she wondered.  Why was her memory tarrying on a young cowhand from five years ago?

…Well…now,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind her, “if it ain’t Miss Dusty Britches!”

Dusty felt the color drain from her face…felt the blood seem to drain from the rest of her body and puddle in her feet.  She was dizzy and nauseated all at once.

…There was only one person on the whole of the earth who ever called her Dusty Britches, and that was the cowboy who gave her the nickname in the first place.  ...Dusty slowly turned around to see standing before her a man whose eyes were those belonging to a boy she’d once known—a boy who had grown into a man.”

            Angelina Hunter was seriously minded, and it was a good thing.  Her father’s ranch needed a woman who could endure the strenuous work of ranch life.  Since her mother’s death, Angelina had been that woman.  She had no time for frivolity; no time for a less severe side of life.  Not when there was so much to be done—hired hands to feed, a widower father to care for and an often ridiculously lighted-hearted younger sister to worry about.  No.  Angelina Hunter had no time for the things most young women her age enjoyed.

            And yet, Angelina had not always been so hardened.  There had been a time when she boasted a fun, flirtatious nature even more delightful than her sister Becca’s—a time when her imagination soared with adventurous, romantic dreams.  But that all ended years before at the hand of one man.  Her heart turned to stone…safely becoming void of any emotion save impatience and indifference.

            Until the day her dreams returned, the day the very maker of her broken heart rode back into her life.  As the dust settled from the cattle drive which brought him back, would Angelina’s heart be softened?  Would she learn to hope again?  Would her long-lost dreams become a blessed reality?

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SHE HAD ALWAYS LOVED HIM…FOREVER IT SEEMED SHE HAD LOVED HIM. YET, WHEN SO MANY OTHERS LOVED HIM, TOO—WHAT HOPE DID SHE HAVE OF OWNING HIS LOVE IN RETURN? 

Jacey Whittaker couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved Scott Pendleton—the boy next door. She couldn’t remember a time when Scott hadn’t been in her life—in her heart. Yet, Scott was every other girl’s dream, too. How could Jacey possibly hope to win such a prize—the attention, the affections, the very heart of such a sought after young man? Yet, win him she did! He became the bliss of her youthful heart—at least for a time. 

Still, some dreams live fulfilled—and some are lost. Loss changes the very soul of a being. Jacey wondered if her soul would ever rebound. Certainly, she went on—lived a happy life—if not so full and perfectly happy a life as she once lived. Yet, she feared she would never recover—never get over Scott Pendleton—her first love.

Until the day a man walked into her apartment—into her apartment and into her heart. Would this man be the one to heal her broken heart? Would this man be her one true love?

Purchase Love Me

“…The stranger gasped, released her hand and demanded angrily, “Who are you?  What kind of trick is this?”

“Sir I assure you I’m only here to help.  My name is Lauryn Kensington.  I’m bound for my home in Franklin and I only…” she stammered.

“Kensington?  Franklin ?” he mumbled seeming confused.  Then much to her dismay, he began tugging at the lighter patch protecting one eye.

“Sir, please!  I meant you no harm!  I only, wanted…” Lauryn began, tears unexpectedly filling her eyes and threatening to spill.

He took her chin firmly in one hand, his thumb traveling caressively and rather intimately over her soft lips as he whispered, “Who am I?”  She felt the moist tenderness of the soldier’s lips caress her own in the softest, rather saddest of kisses.  The sensation of his lips meeting her, however brief, was almost unendurable in its perfection.

Then he pressed his unshaven cheek to her own soft one and whispered quietly into her ear, “The only person alive who understands exactly what you’re looking for.”

            Love, the miraculous, eternal bond which binds two souls together.  Lauryn Kensington knew the depth of it.  Since the day of her eighth birthday, she had lived the power of true love; witnessed it with her own heart.  She had talked with it, learning not even time or death can vanquish it.  The Captain taught her these truths.  And she loved him all the more for it.

            But now, a grown woman, Lauryn’s dear Captain’s torment became her own.  After ten years, Lauryn had not been able to help him find peace—the peace his lonely spirit needed so desperately; peace he’d sought every moment since his death over fifty years before.

            Now, what of her own peace?  The time had come and Lauryn’s heart longed to do the unthinkable—selfishly abandon her Captain for another—a mortal man who had stolen her heart, becoming her only desire.

            Would Lauryn be able to put tormented spirits to rest and still be true to her own soul?  Or, would she have to make a choice—a choice forcing her to sacrifice one true love for another?

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Purchase Born for Thorton's Sake

Faris gasped as a gloved hand of a sudden covered her mouth from behind… “Be still. The Highwayman of Tanglewood owns ya now.”  Faris’ smiled…as he whispered, “Do not struggle. I’ll not harm ya, lass...Come away with me, sweet Faris,” the highwayman whispered. “What say ye?”

…“I say, who are you, highwayman?” Faris breathed…All romantic thoughts of knights riding to win the fair lady were driven from her mind.  A rogue’s manner was vastly more delightful!

“Aye! But that ye should know, sweet Faris,” the highwayman whispered.

…“I know you not, sir,” Faris said in a whisper. “Surely I would remember such a shape of a man.”

            …“Indeed, would ya, lass?” he asked.

            “I would, sir,” she answered…

            “’Tis well ya know who I am, fair Faris,” he whispered, kissing her neck again. “I am the Highwayman of Tanglewood…”

            A chambermaid in the house of Tremeshton, Faris Shayhan well knew torment, despair and trepidation.  To Faris it seemed the future stretched long and desolate before her—bleak and as dark as a lonesome midnight path.  Still, the moon oft casts hopeful luminosity to light one’s way.  So it was that Lady Maranda Rockrimmon cast hope upon Faris—set Faris upon a different path—a path of happiness, serenity and love.

            Thus, Faris abandoned the tainted air of Tremeshton in favor of the amethyst sunsets of Loch Loland Castle and her new mistress Lady Rockrimmon.  Further, it was on the very night of her emancipation that Faris first met the man of her dreams—the man of every woman’s dreams—the rogue Highwayman of Tanglewood. 

Dressed in black and astride his mighty steed, the brave, heroic and dashing rogue Highwayman of Tanglewood stole Faris’ heart as easily as he stole her kiss.  Yet, the Highwayman of Tanglewood was encircled in mystery—mystery as thick and as secretive as time itself.  Could Faris truly own the heart of a man so entirely enveloped in twilight shadows and dangerous secrets?  

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             As her family abandoned the excitement of the city for the uneventful lifestyle of a small, western town, Brynn Clarkston's worst fears were realized. Stripped of her heart's hopes and dreams, Brynn knew true loneliness. Until an ordinary day revealed a heavenly oasis in the desert . . . Michael McCall. Handsome and irresistibly charming, Michael McCall (the son of legendary horse breeder Jackson McCall) seemed to offer wild distraction and sincere friendship to Brynn. But could Brynn be content with mere friendship when her dreams of Michael involved so much more?

Purchase To Echo the Past

“Don’t go playin’ with fire, Miss…It’s mighty unpredictable.”

She opened her eyes and beheld, for the first time, the face of Jackson McCall.  Ruggedly handsome and her noble rescuer, she knew in that moment, he would forever hold captive her heart, as he then held her life in his protective arms.

            Yet, she was a nameless beauty, haunted by wisps of visions form the past.  How could she ever hope he would return the passionate, devotional love she secreted for him…when her very existence was a riddle? 

Purchase Desert Fire

“She imagined for a moment that he’d awakened, pulling her into his arms and kissing her…She thought of his mesmerizing blue eyes, his soft brown hair…He was simply a living dream!”

Sayler Christy knew chances were slim to none that any of her silly little daydreams would ever actually come true—especially any daydreams involving Mr. Booker, the new patient—the handsome, older patient convalescing in her grandfather’s rehabilitation center. 

Yet, working as a candy striper at Rawlings Rehab, Sayler couldn’t help but dream of belonging to Mr. Booker—and Mr. Booker stole her heart—perhaps unintentionally—but with very little effort. Gorgeous, older, and entirely unobtainable—Sayler knew Mr. Booker would unknowingly enslave her heart for many years to come—for daydreams were nothing more than a cruel joke inflicted by life. All dreams—daydreams or otherwise—never came true. Did they?

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Sage’s hands trembled as she held her cards.  One card. That’s all she needed.  Just one more three to finish her set and she would win!  Reb had won the first hand they’d played, Sage the second.  Now Sage sat holding everything she needed to beat him, save one silly three.

...Sage sat, mouth gaping open in astonishment.  She had lost!  She had actually lost! 

Reb looked at her…“Well, Sage,” he began, …“…I’ll drop in Saturday and collect my winnin’s.”

“Now…now, Reb,” Sage stammered, a nervous smile, a pleading expression washing over her face.  “Why…why don’t I just fix you up a nice supper on Saturday…some of my special sage gravy….”

 “Oh, I like the flavor of sage, all right,” Reb interrupted, smiling at her as he smoothed his mustache with the side of an index finger….“Yes, ma’am!  I do love to savor the taste of sage!  And I plan on gettin’ my fill of it Saturday night…but supper won’t be necessary...Sage.”

Sage felt her cheeks run vermillion as the other ladies in the room giggled.   

After the death of her parents, Sage Willows had lovingly nurtured her younger sisters through childhood, seeing each one married and never resenting not finding herself a good man to settle down with.  Yet, regret is different than resentment.

            Still, Sage found as much joy as a lonely young woman could find, as proprietress of Willows’ Boardinghouse—finding some fulfillment in the companionship of the four beloved widow-women boarding with her.  But when the devilishly handsome Rebel Lee Mitchell appeared on the boardinghouse step, Sage’s contentment was lost forever. 

Dark, mysterious and secretly wounded, Reb Mitchell instantly captured Sage’s lonely heart.  But the attractive cowboy, admired and coveted by every young, unmarried female in his path, seemed unobtainable to Sage Willows.  How could a weathered, boardinghouse-proprietress resigned to spinsterhood ever hope to capture the attention of such a man?  And without him, would Sage Willows simply sink deeper into bleak loneliness—tormented by the knowledge that the man of every woman’s dreams could never be hers?  

Temporarily Out of Print

An Old-Fashioned Romance

As she sat studying and appreciating her good friends, Breck was too preoccupied to perceive the hush that fell over the patrons at Marcelli’s in that moment.  In fact, it wasn’t until she noticed her friends all looking at her, smiles stretching from ear to ear, that she realized something was afoot.

            …Suddenly, she gasped as a black-gloved hand covered her mouth from behind.  Next a man’s voice, his breath hot on her neck, whispered in her ear, “Be still. The Highwayman of Tanglewood owns you now.”

            …Breck tried to push the man’s hand from her mouth so she could turn and see him.  But he tightened his grip, coaxing her to rise from her seat as he whispered, “Do not struggle.  I’ll not harm you.  I simply intend to have you.”  Whoever was playing the Highwayman was delivering his lines straight from the book and with perfection.              …Once she was standing, Breck felt the Highwayman’s free arm encircle her waist from behind, pulling her back against his body. He bent, resting his chin on her shoulder for a moment before nuzzling he neck playfully.

            “Come away with me, sweet Breck,” the Highwayman whispered.  By this time, every patron in Marcelli’s large group dining area was staring at the scene.  “What say you?” he added, removing his hand from her mouth and letting it rest at her throat.

            Slowly, Breck began to turn in the man’s arms in order to better view the secreted  Highwayman of Tanglewood.  But suddenly, the lighting in the room burned even more dimly, someone having turned them down.  Still, enraptured by the entire event, Breck smiled as she saw she was standing in the arms of a man dressed head to toe in black.  A large, draping cowl hung down over his already masked eyes and nose, a flowing cape drooped from his shoulders reaching nearly to the floor.  Breck looked down to see that he was indeed wearing black ‘breeches’ and black boots that cuffed just below his knee.  Reaching out she took the silky fabric of his shirt in her hand, unable to believe the perfect detail of his costume…his mouth was easily seen and she tried to recognize the grin he wore.  But his mustache and goatee hid even the shape of his lips well.

            …Breck reached out, running her hands, caressively the breadth of the Highwayman’s shoulders.  Two could play at this game, and her friends deserved a good show for all their trouble.  

Life went along simply, if not rather monotonously, for Breck McCall.  Her job was satisfying, she had true friends.  Bur she felt empty…as if party of her soul was detached and lost to her.  She longed for something…something which seemed to be missing

            Yet, there were moments when Breck felt she might almost touch something wonderful.  And most of those moments came while in the presence of her handsome, yet seemingly haunted…

Temporarily Out of Print