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Red is for Rookie – Blitz

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Mystery, Suspense
Publisher: Elk Lake Publishing, Inc
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RED IS FOR ROOKIE
RED IS FOR RACE
Tracking a kidnapper is an unusual assignment for a private investigator. But Matt is Holly’s lifelong friend. During the race to save him, Holly discovers a lot more than she bargained for. Matt’s in love with her.
RED IS FOR RISK
Holly’s world has never been more dangerous. Her mother’s convinced Holly will end up dead, so she hires a PI to protect Holly. She needs Stryker’s savvy and expertise and is eager for his help, though she risks her heart working with the danger-loving man.
RED IS FOR REVENGE
Stryker’s past returns to haunt him. The kidnapper wants revenge. Stryker risks his life Holly. The dangerous race transforms Holly from a Rookie into a seasoned PI. But with the two men turning her life upside down, can Holly take the heat?
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Excerpt
          As I turned away to retrace my surveillance route, my gaze swept across a man I hadn’t noticed before. He stood near the ballroom door with his back to me. I did a double-take. An off-duty cop. I could spot one a mile away. The way he walked, stood, and observed his surroundings. A cop couldn’t disguise his identity. Calm, professional, strong, he looked as though he controlled the world. With legs braced wide, right foot behind, he kept his piece away from the crowd. Even from the rear the guy looked cocky.
                Someone touched my shoulder. I jumped. While I’d been eyeing the cop, Matt had crossed to my side of the room.
                “Who invited the police?” Matt jabbed a thumb toward the ballroom door.
                “My question exactly. Maybe one of the rich types demanding extra protection. Or maybe the cop’s moonlighting as a bodyguard.”
                Matt rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “Maybe. Don’t know.”
                “Whatever. I’ll find out.”
                “You do that.” Matt sauntered back to his side of the ballroom.
                I planned to check the cop out but didn’t want to meet him this way. I had an image to project. I was an investigator. A professional. Strong. Independent. Cool. Granted, I had a lot to learn, but I sure didn’t want to be seen on Valentine’s night appearing to shop for a man. In a town as closely-connected as Dallas, if we met in the line of fire–and I had no doubt we would—he’d never take me seriously. Some time tonight I’d inform the cop I was actually working.
                I policed my half of the room then headed back toward the Champion Wrestler table.
                Big, warm fingers grasped my arm with just enough pressure to make me brake and take notice. The dark-haired, fine-looking man extended his other hand. A sense of recognition nagged me. But I didn’t know him.        
He sat with his back to the wall at the Attorney table catty-cornered to the wrestlers’ enclave. I shook his waiting hand, feeling warmth and solid strength. He wore his dark suit like other men wore uniforms. Daring. Proud. Indomitable. Candlelight reflected mystery in his brown eyes. With the kind of smile you see on a man given an unexpected dish of ice cream, he stood and offered me the empty chair his polished wingtips had guarded. With the chair now free, a bevy of females flew over from different tables and circled him.
                “Sit a while.” 
His compelling expression excluded everyone in the room but me. It was an invitation I didn’t want, but my feet, aching from the unaccustomed spike heels, did. So, I slid into the seat.
“Thanks, but just for a minute.”
                Sophisticated women glared—shoppers vying for the man’s attention. He flashed them a smile and motioned to the nearby Champion Wrestler table. “Those men want to meet you.”
                “I’ll be back.” One woman, wearing heavy eye liner, trailed her hand along the top of the man’s chair and threw him a seductive glance before she moved away. The other ladies stepped over to the strong men’s table.
                “Thanks, man.” One wrestler nodded, his long blonde hair falling into his square-jawed face.
                I turned to the man, a real James Bond type. Unwanted sparks ignited my insides. Too intense to be handsome and too electric to be ignored, he was big, tense, and concentrated. I’d never met a man who looked so ready for adventure.
                Here was trouble masquerading as charm.
                “They’re gonna love this at the office,” Bond drawled.
                I blinked. The heat in his eyes warmed me like sun-melted chocolate. The challenge in his steady gaze stiffened my backbone.
                “The office?” I noticed the bulge under his armpit not quite hidden by his well-fitting dark suit jacket. Tingles trilled my spine.
                “Stryker Black. You’re Holly Garden.”
                Recognition hit me. The out-of-uniform cop I’d spotted standing in the foyer with his back to me. How had he settled in so quickly? His proximity caused my eyelid to do its thing. Most people never see my twitch. I hoped Stryker didn’t. The quivers make me look unprofessional.
“How do you know my name?”
                “Looked up your file at our office.”
                Suspicion brought sudden anger biting into me like the Genesis serpent. To keep my temper in check I whispered. “You’re a police officer?”
                “Used to be. Now a PI. Ace Investigations.”
                I shot to my feet, snagged a four-inch stiletto on the chair rung and lurched forward, catching the table’s edge to keep from landing in his lap.
                “I knew it!” Mom.
 With my nose inches from his ear, his masculine scent broke through my protective aura. Trying not to breathe in his woodsy, nautical aroma, I scooted away.
                Because I wasn’t breathing freely, my whisper sounded weird and nasal. “I want you to leave. At once.”
                “Why should I?”
                I stared and forgot to lower my voice. “You’re not needed.”
                The four lawyers seated around Stryker perked up. Fat and thin, they gazed at me like I was a valuable bequest in a contested will. One leaned so far forward on the table his French cuff dipped into his coffee.
                Stryker remained cool. “I’m sure you’re acquainted with a lady named Violet Garden.” 
                My palms turned sweaty.
                My own mother thought I couldn’t fill Dad’s shoes. She thought I didn’t have the guts to be a detective. She thought I’d fail. Knees weak, I slid back into the chair and gazed down. My fingers itched to fiddle with the clasp on my glittery bag, but I held them still. I couldn’t let the PI see how his words curdled my self-esteem.
                “Security was the word Ms. Garden used.”
                I spoke low, not wanting anyone else to hear. “She didn’t. She couldn’t.” I clamped my lips. Striker didn’t need to know how his words upset me.
                “Hard to believe?” He gave me a hard-boiled, tight-lipped Bogart smile.
                Sitting so close, he didn’t look like a cop. Or a PI for that matter. More like a very, very sexy bad guy. Mafia or something. My throat closed. How could Mom do this to me?
                “Mom asked for you? Personally?”          
“She asked for Ace’s top man.” His dark eyes spoke of secrets, hinted of danger. Pulled me in even as they warned me off.
                I whispered, “Luck of the draw?”
                We’d been talking in hushed tones, but now the PI, a beguiling smirk on his face, spoke louder. “I won the lottery.”
                One lawyer said, “I’ve got to remember that line.”
                The other lawyers grunted agreement.
                Their responses helped me regain my poise. I turned back to the PI. “Okay, you work for our competition . . . and you’re here?” I’d staked out Ace Investigations to see what I was up against, so why hadn’t I laid eyes on him there? And he was an eyeful. Plus, he was feeding me a line. And good at it. Too good.
I scooted my chair away from him. Not that long ago I’d been dumped by another charmer. I wasn’t about to nibble this bait.
                Even if I had wanted to chance another romance, I had a new vocation. I had Dad’s murder to solve and his reputation to sanitize. I needed to prove to the city of Dallas and its entire police force that Dad hadn’t been a dirty Private Investigator. If I failed, our investigative firm would dribble on down the drain. I lifted my chin. Even if I had time to spend with a man, I’d never choose this smoothie. But I did need to size up the competition.
                Investigator Rule Number One – know your enemy.
                So, I did an about face and turned on the sugar. “Stryker, is it?” I smiled sweetly. “I thought I had every PI in Dallas pegged. Glad to meet you.”
                Stryker’s focused expression didn’t change. “Likewise.” He laid a strong hand on my bare arm, raising the hair with a single light touch. “Stay a minute more. Tell me about yourself.”
                A male voice interrupted Stryker. “Let’s be judicious here. Fair’s fair. There’re four attorneys at this table and one lovely woman. Time to share. My name’s Jeff Davidson of Davidson, Hillyer & Greene. I’m sure you’ve heard of my firm. And this is . . . .”
                While Jeff introduced the other three suits, Stryker leaned back and scanned the room, doing his security thing. With me quickly shaking hands around the table, the trio of women who’d huddled around Stryker earlier made their move. Rising from the nearby Champion Wrestler table as if directed by an unseen choreographer, they mobbed Stryker.
                I sucked in a breath. His mouth hanging ajar, Stryker looked stunned. Three wrestlers stood too, pushed aside their chairs, and towered over Stryker. I glimpsed Matt striding across the ballroom toward us, security face on.
                The big blond wrestler, who seemed to be their leader, rasped, “We wasn’t just twiddling our thumbs over here. We was talking with these ladies.” His expression looked downright testy. He raised a fist, looking about to deck Stryker.
                The three glamour girls stepped away from Stryker and melted into the crowd.
Prepared to intervene, I grabbed my purse and wriggled to the edge of my seat, curious to see what Stryker would do. This was plain screwy. Were the wrestlers trying to pick a fight?
                Stryker’s face grew leaner, showing clear bone definition. A paper-thin scar slicing through his cleft chin whitened. He stood and faced the three muscled men, their crimson cummerbunds flashing.
“So?”
                “So, we want our ladies back.”
                “Take them.”
                “Cool it you guys.” I unclasped my purse, thinking I might need my gun.
                The fourth wrestler jumped to his feet, tipping his chair backward. It landed with a thud on the carpeted floor. A solid wall of red cummerbunds circled Stryker. I shot off my chair. One mat-pounder grabbed my arm and hauled me toward his table.
“We want this one too.”
                I jerked my arm loose. My abrupt movement caused my ankle to turn in one of the tricky stilettos.
“Yeow!” I stumbled. Before I could catch my balance, I lost the shoe on my twisted ankle, and fell to my knees.
                Events fast-forwarded. Two wrestlers pummeled Stryker. Someone kicked my evening bag. On hands and knees, I chased it under the Attorney Table to rescue my gun. I glimpsed Matt confronting the other two wrestlers and attempted to squirm out to escort the muscle-jocks to the nearest exit. Crouched on hands and knees, my dress tightened around me like shrink wrap and stopped me cold.
                A lawyer squatted beside me. “Let me help—”
One of the wrestlers slammed him backward with an open palm. With a crash and tinkle of broken glass, the table flipped onto its side. A white and silver rain of crockery and cutlery poured down. A plate of romaine lettuce and blue cheese dressing slapped against my thigh, releasing the odor of salad-splashed velvet. My vision slowed as if I starred in a surreal movie. Mind scanning possible actions, my skirt creeping higher above my knees, I crawled free.
                Was this a diversion for a robbery? I had to take control. Still on hands and knees, I smelled something acrid and sulfuric. The lighted candle centerpiece smoldered at the edge of the tablecloth. With a soft whoosh, flames leapt to life. I grabbed the closest thing at hand, a large slab of prime rib probably from the same uneaten place setting as the salad and beat the flames with the semi-rare meat until they died in wisps of smoke beneath charred beef. Smelling cooked steak mixed with scorched hair and fearful of what I would find, I touched my eyebrows and bangs. Crispy but still there.
                Gasps and murmurings told me the crowd grew around us. Heavy feet shuffled, and I jerked my hand back to keep it from getting trampled. Fists struck flesh accompanied by grunts and colorful language. I couldn’t believe such a brouhaha erupted in our little corner of the big room with so little provocation. Something smelled fishy and it wasn’t the shrimp cocktail sauce dripping onto the carpet. I was about to spring to my feet when a body thudded to within an inch of me and lay still.
                Stryker. One look at Stryker’s bloody face and I all but keeled over him.
My pulse spiked, pushing me into Unthinking Mode. Okay, so I lost it here. Thoughts of my job flew out the window. But only for a few seconds.
Still on my knees, I fished in my clutch for my cell, and dialed 911. Dead zone. Resisting the urge to throw the instrument at a wrestler, I dropped the useless thing back into my purse.
As quickly as the commotion started, it ended. The dull thud of fists on flesh died. Fingers and knees digging into the thick carpet, I lifted one hand and pressed two fingers against the carotid artery in Stryker’s muscular neck. Warm skin. Steady pulsing.
                Lord, please don’t let him be badly hurt.
                With all quiet above me, I assumed Matt held everything under control. I loosened Stryker’s red power tie and rubbed his big, limp hand between both of mine. His lashes, fanned across those high cheekbones, looked longer than any man had a right to own. Other than being a little bloody and lying motionless, he looked fine. Too fine. But I didn’t have to remind myself that Mom hired him. A twinge of joy that it was him, not Matt or me lying on the floor, layered in an uncomfortable guilt that squashed the relief, so I said another quick prayer for the competition PI.
He groaned, and his eyelids fluttered.
                Men’s polished dress shoes, accompanied by glittering high heels, moved close enough for me to touch. One wrestler squatted next to me. “Here, let me—”
                “No. Don’t touch him.” I swatted the man’s beefy hand away from Stryker.
                Stryker opened his eyes, relieving my worry about him. But Mom would arrive any minute for her grand entrance, and I desperately wanted her to gawk at her security being carried away in an ambulance.
I said to the wrestler, “I’ve got to call EMS.”
                Furor at the ballroom doors made me look up. “That was fast. Matt must have gotten through to EMS.” But doubt nagged my brain. Too fast. Way too fast.
                Before I could follow up my hunch, the crowd opened up and two blue-uniformed men, carrying oxygen paraphernalia, a stretcher, and a medical kit hustled to the table.
                The EMS team ignored Stryker who lay concealed by a drooping tablecloth, with only his long legs and feet protruding. One Medic knelt beside another stretched-out body. I struggled to my feet, red dress hiked almost mid-thigh, to identify the victim.
                “Matt!” I rushed over in time to see the medic jab a syringe into my co-investigator’s limp arm.
                Electrical impulses spiked my nerves. I’d never seen an emergency team do that. The first medic finished a cursory check for broken bones, then both men heaved Matt onto the stretcher and hustled him through the crowded ballroom.
                Juggling on one four-inch heel and one bare foot, I elbowed my way through the crowd after them. “Which hospital?”
                They mumbled something incoherent and disappeared through the hotel’s exterior door.
                Lord, please take care of Matt. He’s a good friend. Keep him safe.
                I started after them.
                The blond wrestler clutched my arm, stopping me from following them out to the ambulance. Then he smiled crookedly, straightened his bow tie, and righted his cummerbund. “Don’t look so worried, the PI’s in good hands.”
                I stiffened. “How do you know Matt’s a PI?”
                The wrestler frowned and clamped his lips.
                Shivers snaked my spine. Something was very wrong.
About the Author

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Anne Greene lives in the quaint antiquing town of McKinney, Texas, a few miles north of Dallas. Her husband is a retired Colonel, Army Special Forces. Her little brown and white Shih Tzu, Lily Valentine, shares her writing space, curled at her feet.
Besides her first love, writing, she enjoys family, friends, travel, reading, and way too many other things to mention. Life is good. Jesus said, “I am come that you might have life and that you might have it more abundantly.”
Anne’s an award-winning author of twenty-three books. She loves writing about alpha heroes who aren’t afraid to fall on their knees in prayer, and about gutsy heroines. She hopes her stories transport you to awesome new worlds and touch your heart.
Contact Links
Purchase Links
RABT Book Tours & PR
The Cleansing by Richard Luciano Publication Date: June 2, 2019 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Suspense, Thriller
  Book 2 in a three part series. Suspense/Romance Publisher:  The Wild Rose Press Date
The Cleansing by Richard Luciano Publication Date: June 2, 2019 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Suspense, Thriller
Greed The Elite Seven Series by Ker Dukey and K Webster Publication Date: May 30,
Book 2 in a three part series. Suspense/Romance Publisher:  The Wild Rose Press Date Published:

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Angel With Steel Wings – Blitz

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Women of Courage Series
Historical Romance / Women’s Fiction
Publisher: Elk Lake Publishing
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DESPITE THE DANGER
At a time when most people in American have never flown in an airplane, spunky Mandy McCabe test-pilots repaired war planes as part of the Women Air Force Service Pilots. If the Army Air Corp shuts down the WASP program, she must return to life in her hard-scrabble home and face her past.
DESPITE THE OPPOSITION
Army Air Corp Major Harvey Applegate lost his WASP wife test-piloting planes and doesn’t want any more women killed on his watch. He fights to close the WASP program. Women aren’t designed to fight wars. Men fight to protect women freedom, and the American way of life.
DESPITE THE RAGING WAR
This World War II romance shows Steel Magnolias meeting Band of Brothers. Can Mandy escape from her past? Can a man burdened with memories of death agree to added danger for the new woman in his life? Will their new love survive the test of opposing desires and the pain and separation of war?
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Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
“She’s late! Where is she?” Insides churning like pistons, Major Harvey Applegate stared hard at the tiny blonde standing in front of him, her hands clenched behind her back.
Her chin trembled. She looked so young he wanted to pat her on the back and send her to the hangar for a hot chocolate, but majors didn’t do that. So he gritted his teeth. He was supposed to show respect for the WASPs invading his air base. That was asking a lot. They were young and unpredictable. Men fought wars to protect American women. Men died in wars. Not women. He restrained his impulse to pound the metal side of the wet hangar and slapped his thigh with his cap instead. 
“I can’t lose another WASP on my watch. Not two in as many days.” He plowed his hand through his short, dripping hair, frowned, and reminded himself not to get his underwear wrapped around an axle.
“She’s only half an hour late, sir.” Doreen’s lower lip quivered. 
“Didn’t that pilot get the word this morning?” Harvey wrung his cap. He wouldn’t take his temper out on this innocent blonde. 
“No, sir. Corporal Jones ran up to tell me we were grounded twenty minutes after she was in the air.”
Above the wail of the wind, Harvey picked up the faint lilting song of a Merlin engine running slightly rough. He gazed toward the windsock blowing straight out and pivoted toward the landing strip. A P-51 came in fast and low, circled the field, made a perfect three-point landing, and taxied to a halt.
He snapped his cap onto his head. He didn’t have many men who could land in a crosswind that well. Even he would have had trouble. Boots splashing water, he dashed across the tarmac and reached the craft before the propeller stopped spinning. The canopy of the single-seater flew open. A slight figure, clad in a man’s too-large flight suit, climbed out onto the rain-slick wing. He stretched up his arms and grabbed her waist to lower her to the ground. Even with the weight of her boots, flight jacket, and gear, this one felt light in his arms.
The pilot glanced at his insignia. If she’d actually been military, she’d have had to salute. But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. The minute her feet touched ground, the slender woman pulled off her goggles and gazed up at him. Wide blue eyes circled with goggle marks.
Another starry-eyed angel. Harvey swallowed hard. His chest hurt. She looked so vulnerable.  He scowled, picturing that slender nose smashed and those winsome lips closed forever. He couldn’t face seeing another woman killed. He wanted these women off his air base. Wanted no more sleep lost over these young ladies. Wanted no more sending them into danger. Wanted no more funerals that tore him apart. He slapped the cowl of the plane so hard she jumped. No more charred women in downed planes. Trista took on a man’s job, and look how that turned out. Agony pierced his chest. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the memory.
“I’ll see you grounded!” Harvey thundered. “You were due back half an hour ago. Can’t you women obey rules?”   
Ruby lips rounded into an O of surprise. Her sapphire eyes widened. Her dark brows arched. “What?”
“Women pilots!” He slammed his fist into his palm. “I’ll shut down this program.”
Her brows furrowed. Her chin poked out. Her hands flew to her hips. She looked ready to jump all over him. As long as she was alive and safe, he didn’t care. He could handle her. “You head-in-the-clouds dreamers think you’re on your own private missions. This base is no place for a woman!”
“You men have such a high opinion of yourselves. Women could fly in combat, but you keep us home.” Flames tinted her wet cheeks. “You won’t admit our country desperately needs us to fly these planes.” She stressed each word passionately.
Harvey could tell she wanted to say more, but she clamped her lips. He glared.
She glowered back.
Tough if she thought he had an inflated opinion of himself. Better that than for her to guess he had a soft spot for these female pilots. “I don’t want any more dead women.”
She cringed. Her face crumpled.
Why hadn’t he kept his trap shut? Even on a base this big, she probably knew the missing WASP pilot. But he’d wanted to scare her into obeying the rules. Obedience gave the women pilots some semblance of safety.
She recovered from her first reaction and blazed. “Connie’s alive. I know it. And rumor patrol says it’s just a couple of you big shots who want to shut us down. Most fellas like us testing repaired planes and towing targets. They want to be free to fly combat.”
He shrugged. She was right. And he couldn’t dredge up a comeback. 
She stomped stiff-legged toward the open hangar door, parachute bumping her backside, rain blurring his view. 
“Feisty pilot, you’re the kind gets yourself killed,” he yelled just as she reached the hangar door. 
About the Author

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Anne Greene lives in the quaint antiquing town of McKinney, Texas, a few miles north of Dallas. Her husband is a retired Colonel, Army Special Forces. Her little brown and white Shih Tzu, Lily Valentine, shares her writing space, curled at her feet.
Besides her first love, writing, she enjoys family, friends, travel, reading, and way too many other things to mention. Life is good. Jesus said, “I am come that you might have life and that you might have it more abundantly.”
Anne’s an award-winning author of twenty-three books. She loves writing about alpha heroes who aren’t afraid to fall on their knees in prayer, and about gutsy heroines. She hopes her stories transport you to awesome new worlds and touch your heart.
Contact  Links
Purchase Links
RABT Book Tours & PR
Women's Fiction Date Published: June 2019 Publisher: Riverpoint Press Laura Beckman’s comfortable suburban life would
Women’s Fiction/Contemporary Romance Date Published: 6/18/2019 Sometimes love is just too powerful for one lifetime…
Women’s Fiction/Contemporary Romance Date Published: 6/18/2019 Sometimes love is just too powerful for one lifetime…
Romance, Women's Fiction A Seashell Cottage Book Publisher: Wild Quail Publishing Release Date: June 11,
Sweet Romance, Contemporary Romance, Women's Fiction The Riverview Series, Book 2 Publisher: Y&R Publishing/Arrow Book

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SPUR OF THE MOMENT – PROMO BLITZ

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Historical Western Romance
Date Published: March 2017
Publisher: Forget Me Not Romances, Winged Publications
FREE on Kindle Unlimited!!
 
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Heiress Abby Hollister’s Papa demands she stop toying with young men’s hearts and marry within a month or be disinherited. After reading an ad for a mail-order bride in untamed Laramie, Wyoming, Abby makes a list of characteristics she expects for her husband and sets off to claim the perfect mate and secure her personal fortune.
 
Stage coach driver, Zach Tyler likes his exciting job where he outsmarts robbers and Indians and keeps the stage running regardless of weather, break-downs, and ornery passengers. But passenger Abby Hollister proves to be an unusual challenge. He protects her on the journey to Laramie, but in that town women are as scarce as a bird’s nest in a cuckoo clock, and men go crazy when the beauty arrives seeking a husband. And Zach doesn’t know Abby’s arrived to marry him.
 
 
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Excerpt
 
The stage driver halted his four horses with a screech of brakes and huffing of animals, their breath wafting clouds in the cool air.
The driver slammed down from his high perch to stand before her. He tipped his dusty hat. “Ma’am, are you boarding?”
Brown eyes stared at Abby Hollister above a face smothered in black whiskers.
She swished her long skirts to brush off as much of the dust as she could. “Yes, I am,” she managed before she sneezed into her handkerchief.
“Sorry about the dust. I failed to see you standing there.” He tied the two handfuls of reins he held to the hitching post. “We don’t stop here long. I’ll get this luggage loaded.” He turned toward her, long-lashed brown eyes wide. “Are these all yours?”
“Yes. I’m planning to stay in Laramie for a period of time.”
He nodded and yelled to the man riding shotgun. “Uri, catch these will ya?” He tossed her heavy bag laden with books up to the other man kneeling on the top of the coach as if her luggage weighed no more than a sack of flour.
Well, she shouldn’t stand here with her mouth hanging open. She closed her lips. None of her rejected beaus could have loaded her belongings without breaking into a sweat. He was so efficient. Well, of course, this was the man’s job, so he was accustomed to tossing heavy items to the compartment above the coach. She need not be surprised. And yet, she stood, her brain registering his strength and ability. True, he was tall and the distance wasn’t so far for him. And his mackinaw hid his build, but he must be somewhat muscular to heave her trunk up on one shoulder when Moses and Caleb had lugged it to the wagon and jimmied the big trunk aboard as if the leather box weighed as much as a steamship. How beautiful to watch the man in action. But she must not stare. T’wasn’t lady like.
“Are you ready, Miss?”
Why he wasn’t even breathing hard. “Yes, I am.”
He opened the stagecoach door for her.
She gathered up her skirts and tried to set her boot on the first high step.
He held out his hand and all but heaved her up into the coach.
She looked back down at him. “What is your name, Sir?”
He lifted dark eyebrows above dangerous-looking brown eyes. “Zach Tyler, Ma’am.”
Even his resonant voice stirred her blood. Her heart tripped faster. Blue blazes, had she been hoping to hear he was Corky Callahan? She settled herself inside the coach on the leather seat. Well, God had been known to work miracles. But usually He didn’t place the perfect man right in her path. Though after Papa’s mandate, she’d asked Him to. He could have done just that for her, knowing she’d been in somewhat a frenzy lately. Anyway, despite the dense collection of whiskers, Mr. Tyler appeared to be too good-looking.
Her future husband had to be ugly.
 
 
About the Author
 

ANNE GREENE’s home is in the quaint antiquing town of McKinney, Texas, just a few miles north of Dallas.
 
Her husband is a retired Colonel, Army Special Forces. Her little brown and white Shih Tzu, Lily Valentine, shares her writing space, curled at her feet. She has four beautiful, talented children who keep her on her toes.
 
She’s traveled to every location of each book she’s written, and each book is a book of her heart. Besides her first love, writing, she enjoys travel, art, sports, reading, sailing, snorkeling, movies, and way too many other things to mention. Life is good.
 
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