Jill Hughey http://www.jillhughey.com Mon, 18 Jul 2016 14:16:35 +0000 en hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=4.2.32 Our First National Park #MFRWHooks http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/03/our-first-national-park.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/03/our-first-national-park.html#comments Wed, 04 Mar 2015 06:00:31 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/?p=964 It might seem odd to include anything about National Parks in a blog hop for short book excerpts, but I always like to have a topic to tie in, and Yellowstone’s birthday was on March 1, and my Yellowblown™ series is based around the eruption of the Yellowstone super caldera, so this week’s hook is from the scene where Violet Perch learns about that life-changing fictional event. Phew, that was a long sentence. (If you’re interested in reading more about the establishment of Yellowstone back in 1872, click here for my Happy Birthday, Yellowstone blog post.)

In this scene from Eruption: Yellowblown™ Book One, Boone, the Geology TA who is also Violet’s freshman-crush-starting-to-turn-into-sophomore-boyfriend, first breaks the news. Neither of them fully understand the potential impacts, though Boone has a better idea than Violet.

Eruption_SmallEXCERPT

“You’re starting to freak me out,” I said. He looked like he was going to tell me someone had died, but he didn’t know anyone in my family, and surely the Dean of Students would not give him the responsibility of passing on bad news after three weeks of talking.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t decide if I’m freaked out or not.” He took a deep breath. “Yellowstone is erupting.”

I stared at him, not a flicker of comprehension illuminating my dim-bulb mind. Nothing. “Yellowstone? The place with the, umm, geysers?” Obviously I’d heard of Yellowstone, never been there, not sure I could place it on a map in the murky part of the U.S. between where I lived and Hollywood.

“Yeah. Yellowstone sits over a hotspot that’s been around for millions of years.”

“Instead of steaming it’s now erupting? As in lava erupting?” We’d covered igneous rocks in a very general way already so I knew hot liquefied rock below the ground was called magma and, when it erupted, became lava.

“Dr. Potter says nobody knows what it’s doing. It blew this morning. I mean explosively blew. All the local sensors went offline. Satellite pictures show a big brown cloud of dust. Like two hundred miles across.”

Boone’s voice shook a fraction. I put my hand on his forearm. He sat back so he could hold it in his.

I asked, “Do you have friends out there, or family?”

“Not close. Dr. Potter knows I’m from Nebraska. He asked me where—made me point to it on a map. He said my family might want to stockpile supplies, or better yet, leave.” He paused, prompting me to scoot to the edge of my seat. “My house is nine hundred miles away from Yellowstone, Violet.”

END OF EXCERPT

I’ve incorporated little science tidbits throughout the book, but especially in the next scene after this excerpt, to give the average reader a respectable understanding of Yellowstone and some geological concepts. If you’d like to know more about the science, I’m in the middle of a series of blog posts about it, starting with I’m a Geek about Yellowstone, some low-key talking points to impress your friends that I then expand upon in subsequent posts.

BTSawardfinalist_2014_webBLURB for Eruption: Yellowblown Book One.

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

My lame name is Violet and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

Buy it now  on Amazon

Eruption is book one in the Yellowblown™ Series and is a BTS eMag Red Carpet Finalist.

BookHooksDon’t forget to visit the other Book Hooks bloggers this week by clicking where it says “Click here” below.

Powered by Linky Tools

Click here to find the other Book Hooks blogs!

 

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/03/our-first-national-park.html/feed 0 Written in the Cards on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-the-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today Lauren Linwood brings us her western historical romance, Written in the Cards. Lauren is a former history teacher who sprinkles all kinds of historical tidbits and trivia into historical romances.

SETUP OF SCENE:  Ben and Maggie saw each other from a distance in the Abilene stockyards as he brought in a herd of cattle from Texas.

EXCERPT:

Ben stepped up on the wooden planks that ran along the outside of the saloon and stopped. Standing next to the swinging doors was the copper-haired beauty from earlier. She spoke to a cowboy and then waved him off, sending him into the bar with a laugh. 
Without thinking, he rushed over to her. “What on earth are you doing standing in front of a saloon? Do you realize how rough and rowdy –”
“Oh, there you are.” Her hazel eyes twinkled, as she looked at him from head to toe. “My, you certainly clean up well.”
Ben stood dumbfounded at the beautiful stranger assessing him like a buyer would a Longhorn steer.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You’d left the stockyards by the time I headed back your way. I checked the bathhouse, but you hadn’t been there yet. I went to the biggest mercantile, but they said I’d just missed you.”
She shook her head. “I figured sooner or later you’d make your way to this street, so I thought I’d simply wait for you to turn up.”
She smiled at him as if waiting for a strange man in front of a cow-town bar was the most natural thing on earth for a pretty woman to do.
“You are some crazy lady,” he blurted out.
The woman chuckled, deep and throaty. Ben swallowed at the way the sound made him tingle. “You have no idea, sir. My aunt Harriet thinks I went off the rails years ago. But that’s another story. I’m here to hear yours.”
He frowned. “Beg pardon?”
“Oh, I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? Usually I display better manners.”
She held out a gloved hand to him. “I’m Maggie Rutherford, formerly from New York City. And you just came off the cattle drive. The Chisholm Trail, I presume?”
He nodded, unsure of where their conversation headed.
“Perfect!” she declared. “You are exactly the man I’d like to interview.”
“Interview?” He viewed her with suspicion. “Why me?”
She laid a hand on his sleeve. Electricity crackled between them. She pulled her hand away, a puzzled look on her face. 
“I, sir, am a dime novelist. Have you read any Lud Madison books?”
“Yes,” he said, still wondering about the brief contact between them. “Madison’s actually my favorite of the dime novel authors.”
Her hazel eyes sparkled. “You are talking to Lud Madison in the flesh. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
Ben sputtered his name. This heavenly creature wrote dime novels?
Maggie smiled, and his heart did a flip-flop. “I see I’ve given you a bit of a start. It’s true, though. I am Lud Madison. I simply write under a pen name because there are those who deem it unlikely that a woman could write such adventurous tales of the West. I not only write my novels, but I illustrate them.” Pride was evident in her voice. 
“How can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
“I’m doing research for my next novel, and I need to talk with someone who’s familiar with cattle drives. You caught my eye, Mr. Morgan. I feel you have a story to tell, and I’d love to incorporate some of it into my next book. I am happy to pay you for your time.”
Ben had no intention of sharing any of his life’s story with Maggie Rutherford, no matter how interesting the fiery redhead seemed. 
“I’m sorry, ma’am –”
“Please, call me Maggie.” 
“What I mean to say is –”
“You don’t have to tell me, Mr. Morgan. I’ve waylaid you from your mission. You intended to have a drink and unwind after long weeks on the trail. Well, I know with your fancy new clothes and those rather expensive boots, plus the bath and haircut, you probably have very little of your trail pay left.”
She turned and started to push open one of the swinging doors.
He grabbed her elbow, ignoring the heat in the contact. “You can’t go in there! It’s not respectable.”
Maggie’s brows rose. “You need a bottle of whiskey, sir, something you sorely can’t afford at this point. I aim to remedy that situation. We’ll sit. You’ll have your drinks. I’ll ask you some questions about being a cowboy on a cattle drive, and I’ll even pay for a night’s rest at a decent hotel.”
She tugged and pulled away from him, entering the bar full steam ahead.
A bemused Ben followed her inside. Under his breath, he muttered, “The little spitfire sure has gumption.”
END OF EXCERPT
How intriguing to have a writer as the heroine! If you want to visit more with Lauren or find Written in the Cards, try these links. 
Website       Facebook          Twitter          Blog          Amazon Author Page

 Lauren and I welcome any questions or comments. Please come back every Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt.

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 4 Falling Forward – Falling Behind http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/falling-forward-falling-behind.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/falling-forward-falling-behind.html#comments Tue, 10 Jun 2014 16:50:03 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/?p=223 This is a quote from a daily “inspiring” email I get.

“Put your heart, mind, and soul into even your smallest acts. This is the secret of success.” 
 
– Swami Sivananda

I can’t handle that much pressure. In fact, it would paralyze me. I can’t give each small act in my disjointed day so much import!

I’ve created a life in which I never feel “done.” Choosing to write means there’s always a story to outline, write, edit, or market. My part-time day job could be expanded — the responsible thing to do — except I already don’t have enough time for my writing. Of course my top priority, my family, requires expected and unexpected inputs that make me feel like I’m failing everyone. Never being done and feelings of failure lead to awakening in a minor panic every single day.

Eldest Son ends his high school junior year today. College search time. He’s been so busy with an exciting track season we’ve been unable to engage him in the discussion. What are you looking for? What do you want to avoid? Size? Major? Urban or rural? How far from home?

The answer to all of those questions as recently as 36 hours ago: I don’t know.

Gah!

Pole Vault

Two days at my 25th college reunion only added to my unease about where we are. Friends said, “Oh, Jill, you are way behind at getting him in front of people.” So, I spent Monday filling out athlete questionnaires for schools that may be a stretch athletically and cover the gamut academically. Progress made, and I’m proud Eldest Son has a special talent to (hopefully) attract the interest of a wonderful university. Yet college forms hadn’t been on my list of things to do on Monday. At all. Our family future stumbled forward while I fell farther behind on my other responsibilities. (Why isn’t Eldest Son filling out these forms? Fair question. Anyone who has parented an average seventeen-year-old boy can answer it.)

Interestingly, my latest writing project is New Adult, a genre defined by the college age/recent graduate dilemmas of personal responsibility, change, maturity. I love remembering those days, even the mistakes I made, and, in a sense, reliving them through my character, Violet. All motion was forward back then. All possibilities stood open, and it is an exciting period to capture in a character’s life.

I need to remember as long as the general trend is positive and not 180 degrees opposite of my long-term aim, things aren’t so bad. Recall, when I worry about launching this website and whether the book cover is right and WHEN!?!? will I finish editing, a year ago, the book wasn’t written, so even when I’m falling behind, I’m falling forward. Just because I now have these other human beings to launch, and many small acts to perform on their behalves, I shouldn’t feel more behind. I try to savor these days because soon my sons’ day-to-day lives will be off my radar, and I’ll be sitting here with only my hubbie, my blog and my characters for company.

So, today is the day that I fell farther behind while trusting my path continues forward. Plus, I’m dragging Younger Son, pictured above, to all of Eldest Son’s college visits so two years from now he will know exactly where he wants to go and save me this agony!

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/falling-forward-falling-behind.html/feed 0 Silver Sweethearts on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #historicalromance #firstsight http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 07 Jun 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-historicalromance-firstsight.html Each week a guest author shares a first meeting excerpt. Today I welcome Jackie Leigh Allen with her historical romance, Silver Sweethearts. Jackie enjoys traveling, and is always planning her next trip.

EXCERPT

Smoothing her blue traveling dress, Susan Marie Van Pelt picked up her carpetbag and stepped off the stage. Soon she’d see her beloved Papa. After ten years of reading letters, she’d hear him tell his wonderful stories.
Boldly, she met the gaze of the man with the watch, the most reputable looking man in the lot facing her. “Could you tell me the whereabouts of Joachim Van Pelt? He has a big mine here, the Silver Skates.”
Timer rubbed his jaw. “You’d better talk to Jed. He’s over to Lily’s. I’ll take ya.” He held his arm out stiffly in a parody of a city gentleman.
Timer walked her down the boardwalk lining the single block of the town, past the office of Henry Fox, Attorney at Law, and the tiny general store. At a break in the hitching rail that lined the street, he stepped off the walk and proceeded across the dirt street. Little puffs of dust rose with every footstep. He opened a door in a two-story building under a sign reading, LILY’S.
Papa had written about the hotel started by a woman named Lily. Susan admired a woman who took charge of her own life. She planned to do the same.
“In you go.” Timer waited politely for her to enter.
A redheaded boy and a gangly brown-haired youth appeared. “Ma’s out back with Jed,” said the older boy. He pointed toward the rear of the building.
“Adam, you and Johnny fetch the young lady’s bag from the saloon.” Timer’s request eased one of Susan’s worries.
Susan started toward the kitchen. 
“Better wait for Lily and Jed to come in here,” Timer said as he followed the two boys out the door.
Wait? Not one second longer.
She stepped out the back door and directly in front of her, a big red-haired woman enveloped in a white apron leaned over a tub.
“Lily?” Susan queried.
The woman turned toward her with a wet sponge in her hand that threatened to drip onto Susan’s skirt until she stepped back into the kitchen. 
“I’m Lily Maguire,” the woman said. She looked at Susan with wide blue eyes. “Who’re you?”
“Susan Van Pelt. I understand you knew my papa.”
Lily dropped the sponge behind her. “I surely did know your papa. He was a wonderful man.” 
“I’d like to speak with you about Papa and also with his partner. Could you direct me to Mr. Jedediah Miller?”
Lily’s body shook. Her face got red. A laugh emerged. “Sorry to appear unfeelin’, but Digger would have liked the humor.” She stepped to one side revealing the broad back of a large man with golden-brown, shoulder-length hair. 
The very large, very naked man sat in a tin tub with water up to his waist.
Frozen in place, Susan didn’t know any manners for this situation.
“Meet Jed Miller.” Lily whacked the man on the back. “Turn around and say hello to the lady.”
The man turned, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense. Water dripped from his mustache and beard to run in rivulets through the curly hair plastered against his chest. 
Susan jerked her gaze to his. His golden eyes blazed at her, thawing her chill. With his long tawny hair and topaz eyes, he looked like a wet lion. She’d seen one in the circus behind bars, but this one was free. She quivered inside.
Determined not to let the man see her trepidation, Susan stepped forward and extended her gloved hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Miller.”
Lily laughed. “I see you can take care of yourself. I’ll put the kettle on.” She went into the kitchen.
#   #   #
Jed watched the little lady step forward stiff as a cactus and about as friendly. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to join Papa. To take care of him.” She stared at him with eyes as blue as the clear Nevada sky. Her pale blonde hair gleamed like silver in the afternoon sun. 
Shaking his head to rid it of the fanciful idea, he sprayed her with his bath water.
Her gaze went down his chest, and her cheeks flushed pink as dawn. 
“If you’d turn your back, I’ll get some clothes on.” 
After she did, Jed stood, grabbed a length of toweling from a stool by the tub and wrapped it around him. Digger was dead. How could she take care of him?
“I took care of your pa.” Jed had done his best, but hadn’t been able to save Digger.
“I wish I’d gotten to see him before he died.” She sounded ready to cry. Digger would have soothed her with flowery words, but Jed didn’t know how.
Pulling on his drawers, he puzzled over her presence. His wire had told her to stay in the East and he’d send her share of the silver at summer’s end.
“Are you decently covered?” Her voice quavered.
“Almost.” He stepped into his denim pants. “There.” He attacked his hair and beard with the toweling as she turned.
Her blue eyes widened as her gaze fastened on his chest. “You aren’t covered,” she accused.
“Hell, I’m decent.”
“There is no need to swear at me.” She tilted that Van Pelt chin at him just like Digger used to when he dug in his stubborn heels. 
Damn. She was a complication he didn’t need.

END OF EXCERPT
I love the description of the hero as a lion, and the heroine finding her lion at his bath.
You can find Silver Sweetheart here http://tinyurl.com/oojrp9z
 Jackie invites you to visit her at JackieLeighAllen.com

We welcome comments and questions. I hope you’ll come back each Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday.


]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight.html/feed 4 Dream Student on First Sight Saturday #firstmeeting #excerpt #NewAdult http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 17 May 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday-firstmeeting-excerpt-newadult.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today on First Sight Saturday, I’m joined by J.J. DiBenedetto with a New Adult Paranormal Romantic Suspense call Dream Student (Dream Series, Book1). And isn’t this a beautiful cover?

A fun fact about J.J.:  I was married at Graceland — in the private chapel on the Elvis Presley estate.

I have to admit that is the first time anyone has had that fun fact.  LOL

So, on to the first meeting!

EXCERPT

So we’re wandering over to the bar.  I look over at a table in one corner with a red and gold neon fighter plane hanging right above it.  My eighth grade boyfriend would have known exactly what it was called and all the vital statistics about it.  I just think it looks kind of funny.  And…
And what?
…Sara is in the stands, watching a basketball game, watching herself down on the court cheering for a tall, dark-haired guy who’s getting ready to take a shot.  Watching herself, watching someone else who’s dreaming about her…
It’s him.  The guy at the table under the fighter plane is the guy on the court.  The one from the dream.  It’s definitely, absolutely, bet-my-life-on-it him.  That’s impossible, isn’t it?  It wasn’t real, he wasn’t real.  It was just a stupid, weird dream.  But he’s sitting right over there!
And so what?  I’m in uncharted territory here, but I know it has to mean something.  I didn’t just dream about him.  I was inside his head, or he was inside mine.  Whichever.  There was him, and then there were the nightmares.  
At least the dream with him, as weird as it felt, wasn’t all creepy and horrible.  Actually, if you take away the weird, it didn’t feel bad at all.  So if the nightmares are making me crazy, maybe this guy will–what?  Make the nightmares stop?  Make me sane again?  I don’t know, but I have to find out.
 “Hey, what’s going on?”
It’s Beth.  I assume she’s wondering why I stopped dead in my tracks and why I’m staring at some random guy.  “Nothing.  I just need to talk to somebody over there.  You go get a drink, I’ll find you in a little while.”
I don’t wait for an answer.  I head straight for my mystery man.
***
I’ve seen love at first sight happen.  When I say that, I mean two people seeing each other for the first time and the moment their eyes meet there’s an instant connection.  It’s almost like electricity, everybody in the room can feel it.  I’ve been there when it happened, and there’s no doubt at all that’s what it was.  Say what you want about it being silly or sappy or just plain BS, I don’t care.  I know it’s real. 
That’s what it feels like when I’m halfway over to him, and he turns his head, sees me, and we make eye contact.  Everything else disappears.  There’s me and him and nothing else in the world.  We’re connected.  I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.
And now I’m there and he’s staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real.  It’s OK, I feel the same way.  I reach out, put my hand on his arm and I really expect to feel sparks or something, but I don’t.  It’s just him, just the fabric of his shirt.  
I slide my hand down his arm and I can feel the goosebumps as I go.  I’ve got them too.  I take his hand, and now I’m pulling him away from the table and everything else is starting to come back.  It’s louder than it seemed a few minutes ago, and it feels much too crowded all of a sudden, and what I need right this second is quiet and just him.
 “We have to talk,” I whisper in his ear, and he doesn’t say anything but he does follow me.  There’s a back door, it looks like there’s a patio for when the weather’s nice.  I head for it, and I need it to be open and it is and out we go.
I don’t feel the cold at all.  It’s perfect, just the two of us, and with the door closed the noise from the club is all drowned out.  He can feel it, too.  He knows we’re connected; he knows this is exactly where we’re supposed to be the same way I do.  Neither of us says anything at first.  We’re just looking at each other, trying to think of the appropriate words.  The silence goes on for probably only a few seconds, but it feels like minutes or even hours.
Enough.  I say the first thing that pops into my head: “You’ve been spending your nights with me.  I think I deserve to know your name.”  No, that’s all wrong!  “God, did I really say that?”  He nods his head.  “I’m sorry, let me start again.  I’m Sara, and I don’t know who you are.”
He looks so nervous, he’s got exactly the same expression my dog Lumpy gets whenever someone starts up the lawnmower.  It’s a long story.  He manages to shake my hand.  “Brian Alderson,” he says, but I guess he doesn’t think that’s enough.  “I’ve been dreaming about you.”
Now I think about it, I have seen him before–outside the dream, I mean.  I’ve seen him on campus.  He’s–I think he lives over in Allen House, the dorm right next to mine.  Which means he lives probably two or three hundred feet away from me.  I never really gave him any special notice before, but now that he’s right in front of me, he actually is kind of handsome.  He’s on the tall side and pretty slim and he’s got short, dark hair and the brownest brown eyes I think I’ve ever seen.  
And besides all that, we’ve got some kind of psychic connection, apparently.  I can keep telling myself that I don’t believe in it, but I can’t ignore the fact that it’s happening to me anyway.  “I know.  I was there, remember?”  He nods.  He still looks nervous, worse than poor Lumpy ever gets.  I reach over and take his hands in mine.  “Calm down, OK?  I’m nervous enough for the both of us.”
He relaxes, almost.  At least he looks slightly less nervous.  But to be fair, why shouldn’t he be nervous, too?  This has to be just as weird for him as it is for me.  “You’re not–not angry about it?” he stammers.  “I mean, I understand if you are.”
Angry?  Not at all.  Freaked out?  Yes, very much.  But not angry.  “No.  Why should I be?  I’m–I’m flattered, I guess.  I didn’t think anyone dreamed about me like that.”  If I hadn’t seen it, I never would have believed I was a part of anybody’s romantic fantasies.
END OF EXCERPT
Interesting premise, to know there is going to be a connection before you actually meet. Love before first sight!
Links to purchase Dream Student and to find J.J.
Links:


J.J. and I both welcome questions and comments. Come back next week for a first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday. And in case you’re wondering why I have a New Adult author visiting…hmmm…could this be a hint of things to come?


]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 4 An Irresistible Temptation on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #firstmeeting http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first.html#comments Sat, 05 Apr 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-firstmeeting.html Each Saturday, a guest author entertains us here with a first meeting scene – that moment when the sparks start to fly and anything is possible. Today, I welcome fellow Love Historical’s author Sydney Jane Baily who claims to be slightly psychic, at least where color is concerned. This is her fun fact: “If you hold a handful of items of different colors, say crayons or ribbons, and you choose one and concentrate hard on that one color, I can see it (or guess it) with my eyes closed with a fairly high rate of success. Psychic super-heroine? Maybe, but it’s a rather useless super-power in my humble opinion! Unless I am called on to defuse a bomb and need someone to telepathically tell me which color wire to cut.”

Now, let’s move on to some red sparks with an excerpt from Sydney’s Americana romance An Irresistible Temptation.

SETUP OF THE SCENE: In An Irresistible Temptation, heartbroken Sophie Malloy has just disembarked a train from Boston to Spring City, CO. Expecting to be met by her sister-in-law’s friends, she finds herself alone in a small and dusty western town. Not one to sit around waiting, she drags her trunk while carrying her carpet bag along the town’s main thoroughfare.
EXCERPT
“Main Street” stated the sign, as she approached the first block of buildings and she paused. It had to be a joke as she saw no other streets at all. But on the horizon were mountains, grand, even awe-inspiring. She shivered despite the heat of the day and the difficult task at hand. She really was on the edge of nowhere.
All the buildings looked similar, with flat fronts and squared off tops, though she could see behind the frontage that the roofs were slanted as any in the east. Some had a second story, with two windows over two, but that was the highest she saw. No wonder her sister-in-law had walked Boston’s streets staring up at the buildings for months after she’d arrived. 
Sophie had no idea a town could still look so . . . so primitive in this day and age. She saw no brick at all, only wood, even the sidewalks were wood, raised up a step from street level. 
Along the sidewalk was the occasional barrel, a trough, or a hitching post. Wagons were parked and horses pawed at the road that bisected the town before stretching, it seemed, all the way to the mountains in the distance. And, of course, there were people—not a lot, but some sitting on benches in front of stores, some standing in doorways. And every one of them turned to look at Sophie.  
She knew what she needed to find, either Fuller’s Hotel and Restaurant or Doc Cuthins’ surgery. She had to locate the people whom Charlotte considered friends and whom Sophie could ask for help. She dragged her trunk a few more yards, wishing she could set it down and walk briskly along unhampered, but she feared everything she’d brought would disappear in the blink of an eye. 
With almost all the strength gone in her arms, she was attempting to heave the trunk up onto the sidewalk, perching one end on the wooden planks, when someone collided with her from the rear.
“Oomph,” she expelled all the air from her lungs as her stomach caught on the tilted edge of her trunk, then she slid slowly down the length of it back onto the dirt road, head and hands first. For a dreadful moment, she sprawled there, knowing her dress was up at her waist and her drawers, lavender-colored and lacy, were on view. 
“Damn,” she heard before she could right herself. The man’s sentiment echoed what was in her head, though she was too much of a lady to voice it. And then, “Oh, Jesus, ma’am” as strong arms lifted her off the ground. 
Sophie was not one to take offense, though she was getting sorely tired. Anything she was about to say, however, died on her lips at the spectacle of the man who now had hold of her. 
To compose herself, she looked down to see what had happened to her things—her carpet bag was upended in the street—then she looked back to the man’s mud-splattered boots, up his worn, fitting blue jeans, and to what had once been a pale blue shirt now covered in grime. 
Her gaze traveled higher to his equally grubby but ridiculously handsome face that had stopped her cold for a moment, with his burnished brown eyes, dark eye lashes, and inviting mouth that curved as though it tended to smile often. 
He tipped his black brim to her, with a quick tap of his hand.
“Ma’am,” he said and gave her a brief smile that showed a dimple in his right cheek, his teeth looking all the whiter for appearing in the midst of his dirty face. Dirty and devastatingly attractive—a combination she hadn’t experienced before.
He was tall, clearly, for she had to look up to him, despite her own uncommon height, at least for a woman. And she realized he was still holding her arm with one hand, a strong capable hand. She felt his warmth right through the fabric of her dress and her mantle. 
Letting herself feel his fingers gripping her for a moment more, she then shook him off by taking one step back.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Sophie looked at her hands, stretching them in front of her and wriggling her fingers. Everything seemed fine except for her white gloves being torn and filthy. 
“I’m fine,” she said at last, seeing as he was watching her careful examination. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Me neither,” he offered. “I was talking to Dan and walking out of Drew’s.” He gestured to the feed store. A man standing in the doorway, wearing a heavy apron, chuckled. 
“Yup, he was,” Dan confirmed. “Riley, don’t you know better than to leave a store ass first? Unless you’re trying to drum up future business for yourself.”
Riley laughed and looked back at Sophie, who tamped down the inappropriate notion that he had a very sweet, even sexy laugh and that his eyes sparkled wickedly when he was amused.
“Most women would have given me a tongue lashing for knocking them into the street and ruining their gloves.” 
“As long as you don’t make a habit of it,” she said, glad that she hadn’t been in Boston, where she would have been run over by a brougham within seconds. 
“I’ll try not to.” He treated her to a broad grin—a very sensual grin, too, Sophie mused. She must be very tired and lonely to keep having these incorrigible thoughts. 
“Can I make it up to you?” he asked. 
Without waiting for an answer, he lifted up her traveling trunk as though it weighed nothing and deposited it on the sidewalk in front of the feed store. 
      She retrieved her carpet bag from the street and stepped up beside him.
END OF EXCERPT
I’m guessing that Riley will make it up to Sophie in more ways than one!
An Irresistible Temptation along with Sydney’s other books are at http://www.amazon.com/Sydney-Jane-Baily/e/B009LAIOM6/
Sydney and I both welcome your questions and comments. Make sure to drop by every Saturday for a new excerpt from a visiting author!
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/an-irresistible-temptation-on-first.html/feed 8 The Angel and The Prince on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-prince-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-prince-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 29 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-the-prince-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week on my blog a guest author shares a first meeting between two characters. Today on First Sight Saturday, Laurel O’Donnell , a fellow Love Historicals‘s author, brings an excerpt from her medieval romance The Angel and The Prince. Laurel’s fun fact is that she learned to sword fight when she work at the renaissance faire in Wisconsin. That is a cool skill to have!

SETUP OF THE SCENE: During the One Hundred Years War, Ryen DeBouriez, a renowned French knight, has just captured her adversary, Bryce Princeton, an English knight.

EXCERPT

            The cloud of white parted slowly before Ryen as she stepped through the soft, whirling smoke created by the smoldering candles placed around the tent.  Quivers of anticipation rippled through her as she saw the whisps swirl around the shadowy shape.  She stopped, not wanting the thrill to dissipate from her veins.  So often in the past did a man not live up to her expectations that she was afraid she would be sorely disappointed by him, the mightiest of legends.  But his shadow beckoned to her and she pushed any doubts aside.  She had to know his secrets.
            Ryen continued to move through the frosty smoke, the dark blur of his body forming into a solid shape.  He had fought to the end, she thought, just as I would have.  Lucien said it had taken twenty men to bring him to his knees.  Twenty men?  She wanted to believe this, but surely Lucien must have been exaggerating.  Yet it wasn’t like him to inflate the truth.  She moved toward the figure chained to a post in the tent, stepping out of the mists.
            His head was hanging down, his long black mane draping over his chest.  So he did have black hair!  Was it truly hiding horns?
            Ryen moved closer, slowly, her gaze appraising him, his body.  He was no disappointment there.  The urge to touch him was overwhelming.  She stretched her fingers toward him and touched the hair on his naked chest, running her hands along his torso, marveling at the size of his muscles.  They were hard, sculptured curves of warm flesh.  Magnificent, she thought.  The smell of him, the heady musky scent of him, enveloped her.
            Her prisoner stirred, his head moving slightly from side to side, as if he were struggling to clear his mind.  His head slowly lifted.  A thrill of anticipation touched Ryen’s spine as his dark eyes, the eyes of midnight, rose like the moon to gleam at her.
            “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice low, suggestive. 
            Through the darkness he wore like a veil, she saw the flash of his white teeth.  Ryen pulled her hands away and watched the shadows slide off his features as his face slowly came into the flame’s light.  A shiver snaked its way up her spine.  The candlelight revealed a sensual mouth with a cynical twist to it, a Spartan chin hewn from an ancient line of warriors.
            Ryen realized that she had been holding her breath and released it slowly in admiration.  She could not believe the sight that greeted her.  This is the man who was born without a heart?  The man who is in league with the devil?  The most feared barbarian in all of England?
            Then how can he be so handsome?
END OF EXCERPT
You can find The Angel and The Prince at the following places:

Amazon – http://amzn.com/B004LGTR1M

If you want to keep up with author Laurel O’Donnell, you can find her here:
Laurel and I would love to have some questions and comments. I hope you’ll return every week for a new First Sight Saturday excerpt from a visiting author.

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/the-angel-and-prince-on-first-sight.html/feed 2 An Accidental Affair on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #romance http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 22 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-romance.html
Each week a guest shares a first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday. Today I welcome Heather Boyd, a fellow Love Historicals author, with her new release, An Accidental Affair. Take it away, Heather!
Hi Jill and readers! Thanks so much for inviting me to visit today to share an excerpt from my latest regency romance, An Accidental Affair. 
Jill asks us to share a fun fact about ourselves and I must admit that seemed easy in the beginning. I’m a woman of many vices (though nothing illegal). I’ll go out of my way for good coffee and cheesecake, I don’t skimp on entertainment (movies, TV or books) and I’m probably a great source of humor for my children. (I don’t mind them laughing as long as its with me.) The one fact about me, though I’m not sure if it’s fun or just odd, is that I have done a 180 turn and followed a complete stranger down the street on foot. He was smoking a pipe and the scent reminded me of my grandfather and his very bad habit. LOL
I’m so happy to share an excerpt from my latest novel, An Accidental Affair. This scene is from the heroine’s point of view and we get a glimpse into how she moves through the ton. Please enjoy…
EXCERPT:
Arabella studied the men around her as she moved through the crowd in search of Cecily and contented herself yet again with inspecting the lords present. Arabella was tall herself, so her eye was drawn to the men of equal or greater height more often than not.
When it came to choosing a lover, Arabella also had a short list of requirements: Cleanliness was essential, though not the suggestion of it that came from heavy-handed application of perfumes. Unmarried and unattached by affection for the season was her main requirement, however. She could not contemplate usurping another woman’s place. What she wanted was someone to be hers alone when they started, someone who did not mind that one short affair might be enough but would not be averse to a repeat meeting if their tryst proved enjoyable. Arabella blushed as she gained the entrance hall and looked around. She didn’t have the first idea under what circumstances that might be possible. She only had the guidance of a distant friend’s confidences to rely upon that the sexual act was both pleasant and worth repeating.
As she traveled through the card room and came up empty-handed, she marveled that there were so many widows in London for the season, many of whom already seemed in the company of unattached men. She envied them their confidence. Arabella couldn’t look at a certain well-known rake with whom she was acquainted without a blush heating her cheeks. But from all she’d heard, Lord Rothwell had a similar effect on every woman.
She fanned her face quickly, then snapped the fan shut. Now was not the time to dwell on her own interests. She had a niece to find before society noticed her absence and scandal caught them. She was almost satisfied she would survive one more night without incident until she ventured to the retiring room. Cecily was not there either, and Arabella retraced her steps, hoping they had passed each other unseen.
As she regained the ballroom and looked around for her niece, an elegant, silver-haired matron caught her eye. Lady Penelope Ford, society’s most intimidating stickler when it came to propriety, met her gaze steadily as she drew closer. Arabella straightened her spine instantly, even while concentrating on appearing as unperturbed as possible.
“Good evening, Lady Farnsworth,” Lady Penelope Ford murmured as she drew near.
“Good evening, Lady Penelope. A pleasure to see you again.”
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Lady Penelope nodded regally and returned to her own party, a half dozen members of the Ford family by their looks. Arabella continued on with as much calm grace as she could manage, but her heart was pounding. Quite frankly, Lady Penelope’s scrutiny terrified her. It always had. One curt word from that lady would ruin Cecily’s chances of making a good match and put the family out of favor with those who mattered.
She glanced behind her self-consciously and shuddered. Every time she crossed paths with the Fords, Arabella developed an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Society called them the Fighting Fords. Navy men, every last one, and with tempers little suited to conforming to society’s expectations. No one doubted their loyalty to king and country, but they were said to fight as much amongst themselves as against the French.
A prickle of awareness caressed her neck. She turned her head a fraction, startled to meet the Earl of Rothwell’s intense stare. Lady Penelope Ford’s wayward nephew was known to her through a neighbor and friend in Wiltshire, so she smiled kindly.
His attention did not waver when dancers formed lines between them, and he did not smile at her as he had done with Lady Harrison. Heat swept up her neck and cheeks, making her wish her discomfort wouldn’t be obvious should she reach for her fan and beat it furiously before her face.
Arabella returned her gaze to the path ahead, determined not to appear as virginal as she felt at that moment. Rothwell’s scrutiny, even from across a crowded ballroom, was worse than his aunt’s. He had the most remarkable effect on her nerves, sending them in all directions at once. Yet when she peeked in his direction again, Rothwell had vanished, leaving her to sadly conclude that he’d certainly had no trouble forgetting her as soon as his gaze moved on.
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt and if you’re interested you can visit my 
or read the first three chapters on Wattpad http://bit.ly/1e90A6E
AUTHOR BIO: 
Bestselling historical author Heather Boyd believes every character she creates deserves their own happily-ever-after, no matter how much trouble she puts them through. With that goal in mind, she weaves sizzling English set love stories that push the boundaries of regency era propriety to keep readers enthralled until the wee hours of the morning. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she conjures new storylines. While writing full time north of Sydney, Australia, Heather collects dust bunnies in all corners of the house and does her best to wrangle her testosterone-fuelled family into submission. You can catch up with her at www.heather-boyd.com,  Facebook http://bit.ly/heatherboyd  and Twitter http://bit.ly/1cjN6X5 
BUY LINKS:
Heather on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1gmKOn1
Heather on Apple iBooks: http://bit.ly/1cjMtwJ
Heather on B&N: http://bit.ly/1gJMEOI
Heather on Google Play: http://bit.ly/1i2ZTzr 
Heather on Kobo: http://bit.ly/1gOQDfn 
Heather on Smashwords: http://bit.ly/NfUVBn 
Thanks so much for visiting, Heather. I hope everyone leaves comments and questions, and I especially hope for readers to return each Saturday for a fresh new excerpt from a visiting author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/an-accidental-affair-on-first-sight.html/feed 3 Chapter 8 – Becoming Mrs. Thornton #sequel #northandsouth http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/chapter-8-becoming-mrs-thornton-sequel.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/chapter-8-becoming-mrs-thornton-sequel.html#comments Wed, 19 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/chapter-8-becoming-mrs-thornton-sequel-northandsouth.html
I loved North and South so much that I wrote a sequel that I am sharing as a free serial. This week, Margaret finally comes to Milton for good, and shares the happiness of her upcoming wedding with the mill workers. If you need to start at the beginning, click to go to Chapter One.
Chapter 8 – Becoming Mrs. Thornton 
– copyright Jill Hughey 2014
Two days before the wedding, Margaret once again rode the train into the Milton station, this time accompanied by Aunt Shaw and all three Lennoxes. She saw John almost immediately, his tall hat in one hand as he searched the passing cars for a glimpse of her. When he spied Margaret, her nose all but pressed to the glass, he strode down the platform alongside the car until it glided to a stop.
He had come to London only once during the month before the wedding, visiting for only an evening and one morning last week before returning to his duties at the mill. The interlude had not been enough for either of them.
Now, she was finally here.
He brought her fingers to his lips. “Never to be parted again,” he said against her hand, his back to the others so that only she could hear the quiet, fervent words.
The waiting had, indeed, seemed endless, once they knew one another’s hearts. She smiled up at him, her eyes a little teary. She’d been glad she’d had the cakes to make with the help Dixon and Edith’s cook. They had chopped, stirred, and baked for ten days, until enough fruitcake for seven hundred slices sat wrapped in rum-soaked cheesecloth, finished and ripening before Mr. Thornton’s visit, in fact. Aromatic crates packed with cake now rode in a freight car, Miss Hale having personally supervised their loading while her family stood back, lamenting that she displayed less gentility with every passing day.
“You no longer smell like cloves,” John added with a spark in his eye.
She blushed, quelling the unseemly retort that he smelled just as he always did, of masculine soap with a hint of the mill.
He led the party to two carriages. She could not stop from looking over her shoulder at the freight car.
“The bride is worried about her cakes,” Captain Lennox said.
“Then let us see all the luggage into the wagon while the ladies wait,” Mr. Thornton suggested.
Aunt Shaw offered a beleaguered sigh to Miss Hale and Mrs. Lennox as she leaned back against the squabs. “Such fussing over these cakes, Margaret, yet you could hardly be bothered to choose trimmings for your wedding bonnet. You are becoming eccentric.”
“Yes, Aunt,” Margaret said. Nothing would mar this day. Not Aunt’s criticism or the prospect of entering the dragon’s lair. Nothing would dampen her spirits when she could look across the platform to see Mr. Thornton engaging two porters to move her precious crates, her trousseau and her companion’s traveling cases. Never to be parted again, he had whispered to her, with enough yearning in his voice to match her own. 
k
Margaret spent the next morning as might be expected: consulting with Mrs. Thornton, Aunt Shaw, and Edith about the details of the upcoming wedding day. Aunt Shaw pursed her lips through most of the discussion, but managed to limit her final comment to “There is a shocking lack of flowers, lace, and attendants, but what is one to do with a bride who is more interested in making cake for peasants than ornamenting her own wedding?”
Mrs. Thornton nodded slowly, not sure if the insult targeted her, Margaret, or both of them.
Finally, in the late afternoon, Margaret was free to find Mary Higgins at the cookhouse to finalize their plan for the end of the shift, then Mary returned to the house to help with the cutting of so many slices. 
Margaret borrowed an apron from the cook and settled in at the servants’ table, since the beleaguered servant needed her kitchen free to prepare another fancy dinner for tonight.
Mary tasted a crumb of rich, tawny cake that broke away as she cut her first slice. “Oh, Miss Hale,” Mary sighed. “Such a treat this will be for the hands. All the boys have been guessing at what kind of cake you’ll serve and all the girls are talking about how they’ve never seen a proper bride.”
Margaret continued slicing while she thought about that expectation. She’d planned to wear an old gown with a serviceable, plain cloak from her prior time in Milton. She did not want to be pretentious. Perhaps, though, she should wear something nicer, for the girls. She and Mary worked steadily yet still barely finished in time for Jane to dress her for dinner.
Years of training from both her mother and Aunt Shaw prevented her from fidgeting like a child at the table. In truth, her arms were so tired from slicing cake that she could barely lift them to feed herself while the toes of her left foot tapped an irregular rhythm of excitement, safely out of sight. She had, by some miracle, been placed at John’s right. He indulged her by checking his watch regularly, knowing she wanted to be at the serving tables in the yard from the very first hand’s arrival to the last. Her commitment to the project baffled him but the anticipation in her eyes was payment enough to make him adhere to her plan.
“It is 7:45,” he said quietly as he set his napkin aside.
k
“This is nonsense,” Aunt Shaw said. “You cannot mean to go out among those hordes in a satin gown. Your slippers will be ruined. Honestly, Margaret, what do you mean by all this? Isn’t it enough that you baked all those cakes by your own hand?”
Mrs. Thornton remained blessedly silent, having uttered not another word against the project after her outburst during Margaret’s visit.
“I know I am a disappointment, Aunt,” Margaret said as she allowed John to lead her from the room. Jane waited at the door with her best cloak, an elegant black creation lined with a shimmering pale blue satin that matched her gown.
Mrs. Thornton, Aunt Shaw and all the Lennoxes were watching from the house windows as the noisy mill equipment ground to a stop. Streams of disheveled workers, eager to get home, poured from the buildings. Mary and her crew had set up five tables far enough apart that separate lines could form, two for men, two for women, and one for children, to try to avoid any bullying. Boys ran ahead of the crowd at full tilt to be the first then cried out with excitement as they shoved the first bites of the treat into their mouths. The queues at the tables quickly lengthened.
Margaret stood among the waiting women and children, her gown gleaming like liquid silver in the light of the lamps as she greeted her special guests. The workers stood back timidly until one girl with her head wrapped tightly in a kerchief pointed to the silver comb in Margaret’s hair. “You look like a princess.”
“I am not. I’m just a regular person, like you.”
An older girl asked if she could touch her cloak. Soon, women clustered around her and sighed at the smoothness of the satin. “Feels like a puppies ear,” one said.  “Or a baby’s ass,” suggested another. They all laughed companionably, including Margaret.
John stayed by the men’s tables, tall enough to keep an eye on Miss Hale over the crowd. Some of the men who knew him offered congratulations and gave him joking permission to be off work for his wedding tomorrow. “We’ll keep your place for you for one day, master,” they said, mocking the overseer’s voice. “After that, off you go.”
He nodded with uncharacteristic familiarity and humor. “Fair enough.”
Most of the workers stood in the yard to eat their cake, taking this unprecedented moment to talk with friends without the clatter of the workplace interfering. They admired the pretty young bride who seemed such an amiable contrast to the unbending master. She moved among the clusters of people now, urging extra slices on them to take home to their families. A clump of boys followed her, hoping for third or fourth servings. 
Someone began to play a tiny flute. With the unplanned music came singing and even dancing for a few tunes, until the cakes were gone and the exhaustion of the workday caught up with the hearty laborers. John had come to Margaret’s side when the joviality began, and Higgins and the overseer stood behind, so she felt quite secure as a few of the workers made free to thank her for her kindness to them.
One of the rougher men bobbed before her, a nubby cap clutched in his hands. “All the lads will want to work here at Marlborough when they hear that pretty ladies hand out cake at the end of the day.”
“I am sure the master is satisfied to keep those of you who have been so productive and loyal,” Miss Hale assured him. She smiled and waved as the last of them left.
She thanked Mary and her helpers before John led her toward the house. She paused in the shadows of the front steps, rising on tiptoe to give John a quick, shy kiss.
“Well done,” he murmured. “Now, will you be content to concentrate on marrying me instead of feeding my employees?”
“I have always been concentrating on that. I wish the sun would begin to rise right this minute so our wedding would be that much sooner,” she said wistfully, earning another, deeper kiss.
“We must not forget this,” he said as he dug in a jacket pocket. “Though I will expect you to give it back to me tomorrow.”
She admired the heavy gold band. “Does it fit?”
“It does.” He kissed her again, with more passion than he had allowed to rise between them before, until she was breathless and her hands gripped his coat. He reluctantly released her lips to move his mouth to her forehead. They stood quietly until the autumn air cooled them enough to return to the house.
Margaret might have been floating on clouds high in the sky for all that she heard of her aunt’s scolding. “Look at the smudges on your gown. Some urchin has been using your skirt for a napkin!”
Mrs. Thornton again remained blessedly quiet.
*  *  *
Click here to continue to Chapter 9, the wedding, which will be posted on March 26!
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/chapter-8-becoming-mrs-thornton-sequel.html/feed 0 Unraveling Secrets on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 15 Mar 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight-saturday.html
Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. I’m happy to have Lana Williams, a fellow Love Historical’s author, here this week with her paranormal historical romance. Take it away, Lana!
Hi Jill! Thank you so much for having me! 
You asked me to share something fun about me…I am hopelessly addicted to M&Ms! I don’t think a day passes when I don’t have them. My husband always teases me, asking me why I bother to work out if I’m going to eat candy, and I tell him that I work out so I CAN have candy! 
I’m excited to share the “First Meet” of the hero and heroine from my latest release, Unraveling Secrets, set in Victorian London. I must say, the first meet is a little unusual.  Take a look and see if you agree.
Here’s the blurb to set the stage:
When her father’s murderer returns from the dead to threaten her family, Abigail Bradford attempts to warn him off, but soon learns chasing a ghost is no easy task.
Stephen Nolton, Viscount Ashbury, stumbles upon Abigail in the dirty streets of London’s East End. Able to read auras of good and evil after an electromagnetic experiment went terribly wrong, Stephen hovers on society’s edge, keeping secret his unique skill and personal mission. Despite his fascination with the lady and her unique golden aura, he intends to keep his distance.
Desperate to protect her family, Abigail turns to the one man she believes can aid her. In Stephen’s arms, she finds so much more than she hoped. Stephen tries to resist his desire for the independent beauty, afraid she’ll unravel his secrets. But when he discovers the murderer is linked to his own past, he must decide how much he’s willing to risk for love.
And here’s the First Meet:
As Stephen Nolton, Viscount Ashbury neared the corner of an alley, a muffled curse sounded. The hair on the back of his neck rose. In recent years, he’d become adept at detecting trouble.
Angry voices grew distinguishable and Stephen eased forward, trying to catch the words and locate the speakers.
“Tell me what rock!”
Stephen frowned at the educated diction to the woman’s voice—something completely out of place amidst the hopeless poverty of this neighborhood. He looked around the corner of the building into the alley where three shadows came into view.
The shadows of three men.
He studied the area more closely, trying to ascertain what was happening. The smallest—a boy judging by his size—aimed a gun at a man with a knife. The third man, dressed as a servant, stood just to the side of the boy. He couldn’t see where the woman was, but it was the boy who caught his full attention.
Despite his obvious ill intent as he aimed the pistol, golden light hovered around his head and shoulders.
In Stephen’s experience, a light-colored aura meant a good, honorable person. Yet this aura, speared with deep blue and yellow, defied description and left him speechless. The vibrant yellow meant success and intelligence. The dark blue indicated spirituality.
He doubted he’d ever get used to his ability to see auras, and rarely did he see anything but gray and black. But in the ten years he’d had the damned skill, never had he seen anything like this one.
The nervous servant’s aura was gray and murky—the color he saw most often as people’s auras were a mixture of their thoughts. The man with the knife had the imprint of the street on him—a worn, dirty jacket, a few days worth of beard on his thin, pale face, soot smeared on his cheek. His aura was dark with flashes of black permeating it, proof of bad intentions for certain. Auras told Stephen only a small part of the story, giving him clues to follow. The rest he had to discern by listening and observing.
“Answer me,” the woman’s voice demanded.
Not a boy after all. Even as Stephen processed that fact, the man with the knife lunged forward.
“No!” The servant yelled as he rushed toward him, using his hand to block his advance.
“Thomas!” she cried out. The gun she held quivered, just like her voice, but she quickly steadied both. “Get back,” she ordered the knife holder.
Though she put on a brave front, she was clearly frightened and unwilling to fire her weapon. Stephen didn’t blame her. Killing a man was no easy feat, nor was it easy to live with.
He stepped into the alley. “What goes here?”
As he feared, the lady swung the pistol at him. He held up his hands to show her he had no weapon. He preferred to use his fists when the occasion called for force. “Aim that elsewhere,” he ordered.
“Who are you?” she asked as she moved the gun toward her intended victim. The bill of her cap cast a shadow over her eyes, but the delicate line of her jaw was visible. An overly large jacket covered her frame. Her disguise was quite effective and hid the majority of her femininity. Despite yielding the weapon, her aura remained bright and colorful. She held steady, obviously not allowing her fear to overwhelm her.
What on earth was she doing here?
“I was passing by and thought you might require assistance,” he answered at last, then tore his gaze from the woman to glance at the man with the knife.
Her intended victim remained in place, trying to decide if he should fight or flee, the lady’s wobbling gun seeming to add to his uncertainty. Stephen’s presence helped block his escape route.
“You’ve interrupted a discussion of a personal nature,” she informed Stephen. “Please continue on your way.”
“Miss?” The servant held out his hand. Blood dripped from a deep cut across his palm.
She gasped, her gun trembling when she saw the blood. “Thomas, are you all right?”
“We’d best hurry this discussion along.” The servant withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around his hand.
“Answer me, damn you!” Clearly angry, she steadied the pistol once again at her target.
Stephen lowered his hands and eased closer, watching the cornered man’s aura to see what he would do next. The thoughts and urges people had, even if only temporary, shot out spears of color. The man’s aura remained black as coal, his gaze fixed on the pistol. Not a good sign.
“Leave off,” the man snarled at her. The knife he held glimmered in the faint light.
Though Stephen couldn’t deduce what had brought the lady to this alley with a gun, her aura put him squarely on her side. She might have the more effective weapon, but her inexperience created a huge disadvantage. Stephen doubted she’d be able to pull the trigger, not with her aura.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man lunge toward her.
“Christ.” Stephen rushed forward to block him.
A shot echoed in the alley, disturbing the quiet of the night.
Stephen jerked, his arm no longer his own. Blinding pain speared through him, stealing his breath.
“Damn me! I’ve had enough.” The intended victim plowed past Stephen, knocking down the footman as he flew into the street.
“Oh!” The woman cried as her pistol clattered to the cobblestones. “Sir, are you all right?”
Stephen dropped to his knees, shocked at the depth of the pain in his body. He’d known this night would come but hadn’t expected it quite so soon.
END OF EXCERPT 
Thanks again for having me, Jill!
Unraveling Secrets is available at:
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1cyNx9I 
Find more about Lana and her other books at:

Lana and I both welcome questions and comments, and I hope you will come back each week for a fresh excerpt from a visiting author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/03/unraveling-secrets-on-first-sight.html/feed 12