A Life Long Love Affair

The past few weeks I have started attending a small writer's group at the local Senior Center. (Yes, I do qualify as a senior although I am sure I look, act and think about thirty!! And if you believe that I can sell you some great Arizona ocean front property!) Anyway, the focus of this group is encouraging folks to get down stories from the past, their stories, because in the last fifty or seventy or ninety years things have changed so much! So I join in and write a short essay each Friday afternoon and read it aloud as the rest of the group does. We laugh, sigh, even tear up a bit at times. It is fun!

I've shared a few of those short pieces over at the deirdre-fourds blog but this one may fit better here. Bits and pieces of it have appeared on both I gusss so if you have read some of it, just skip a few lines!

I titled this one "A Love Affair With the Written Word."

As the first child and an only for eight and a half years, I was the focus of much of my parents' attention during my early years. Some of my first memories involve sitting in Mom or Dad's lap while they read me a bedtime story. A favorite was a big red book of Mother Goose Rhymes which was illustrated with lovely Victorian line drawings. I still have that book, a bit faded and dog-eared but no less beloved.

The ritual was they'd read several rhymes and then color one drawing with colored pencils which my Dad used for drafting and schematics stuff as he had worked for an early electronics firm for awhile and been in ham radio as a boy. It wasn't long before I began to recognize those odd black squiggles were a kind of code and that certain ones had sounds and groups of them made words!

By the time I started school, I had pretty well claimed the alphabet and phonics came easily. I zipped through the little paperback pre-primers and was into the bigger 'real' book in a few weeks while many classmates were still struggling with, "Run, Spot, run. See Spot run."

By second grade I had met Nancy Drew, gotten through most of the Little Golden Books and was looking for new worlds to conquer. During the summer between second and third grade while my parents operated a US Forest Service fire lookout, I wrote my first verses, original spelling and all. I even illustrated them with line drawings in bright crayons. By then I was hooked and have remained so all the passing years. I devoured books by the score and was reading outside the kids' section of the library before I was a teen if not sooner.And soon I was rewriting some of those tales as I thought they should be and then inventing or interpreting my own.

The idea of writing never seemed strange to me. Shortly after my parents with toddler-aged me moved to Arizona from the Midwest, my father spent a year or two writing what was to be the next great American novel. It was never published but already I saw writing as a thing grown ups did and I was going to get a head start. He went on to write for a number of outdoor adventure type magazines so the role model continued.

From Nancy Drew and some girl-and-horse stories, I soon moved on to classic westerns like Zane Grey and the tales of Edgar Rice Burroughs, especially the Tarzan series. Somehow I didn't get into science fiction for many years. From there it was a natural step to historical novels and I read many: Thomas Costain, Willa Cather, Anya Seton, Frank Yerby and so on. But none of them had enough of my favorite part--Romance!! Still, books were my friends, my escape, my substitute for the movies and TV I seldom saw. I read and read and read.

And I wrote--what one might call 'ranch romances' scribbled in many steno notebooks and sometimes shared with my mostly younger girlfriends. They all were sure I'd be a famous author even though most were not avid readers. I also wrote lots of bad poetry, mostly maudlin, mushy and filled with teenage angst. But now and then one was not too bad. In between high school and college--a period of a few years since with my Dad I operated a business training and selling horses and mules for trail riding and did some guiding--I even wrote my own girl-and-horse story. It's now painfully outdated but might work as a "this was how grandma lived" sort of book--if young girls still read in this day of electronic wonders.

Even though college I still read, nights when I should have been studying or felt I was caught up enough. Once I went to work and then soon married, time got scarcer but I also discovered science fiction and fantasy from my husband's reading habits and delved deep into that. I met the wonderful characters and worlds of Ursula LeGuin, C.J. Cherryh, Tolkein, Marion Zimmer Bradley and Andre Norton to name just a few. Finally it was 1986 and I discovered category romance. Oh wow, just what I always wanted. Real love stories!!

Everything I had ever written had a love story as a big part of the plot from early teens on. This new genre was wonderful and I had to try my hand. But lo and behold, after a time, a steady diet of love did get a bit cloying. I wanted adventure, too. So that was what I wrote. My tales never quite fit the mold for Harlequin and Silhouette even though I got "good" personal rejection letters from several of the editors. I wasn't fluent enough then in editor-speak to figure out exactly what they wanted.  I never sold there but about that time e-books came to be and a flock of small indy publishers sprang up. The good, the bad and the ugly were well represented and I got burned a few times but eventually some of my books were published and finally I found some good publishers and have made a happy home there! If you are a reader of mine, you know who they are!

So that is my life long love affair with the written word, fiction that always includes some kind of a love story and poetry that always has a romantic slant, either in the literary or the 'true love' way. Now you know the rest of the Gwynn Morgan/Deirdre O'Dare story! And I will read and write until I die, may the Powers That Be grant me that privilege.

Yikes and darn!

Boy does the time get away from me. Catastrophe has been out almost two weeks and I didn't remind everyone. They tell me it is selling well along with the other four tales in the Purrfect Tales  Amber PAX(c) all featuring feline shifter characters.

I will be featuring it in the Urban Fantasy themed Book Brew event over at Coffee Time Romance and More's blog site, www/coffeetimeromance/CoffeeThoughts/ this coming Monday, June 2. There will be other good urban fantasy tales as well as we have about ten guest authors appearing. I serve as host for the event under my "AzGaye" alias! The party runs from noon until eight pm EDT so factor in the hour by hour across the US for your time but you can check in any time until midnight and comment. Most authors do have giveaways as will I--a download of Catastrophe or the winner's choice from my backlist. (comment to get your name in the hopper) There is also a $25 gift certificate to the Coffee Time Bookstore and a good number of publishers and authors are featured there.

The second heads up concerns Kit's Ultimate Deal. For the die-hard 'real book' fans, it is now available in paperback from Amazon.com (under Gwynn Morgan) and I will have a few signed copies available at 40% of list plus postage to ship them to you--by your choice of priority or media mail. Email me at azwriter427@yahoo.com  to order one and I do take Paypal!

I just turned in a new story, release date TBA and will have another in by June 1 which is set to come out the last week of June. The first one is called A Game of Hearts and has a very unusual plot twist. It's part of the upcoming Silver Foxes PAX group that features stories of older and younger men hooking up. The latter is called Red Tails in the Sunset and is about a reclusive former military pilot who now flies the "slurry bombers" to fight wild land fires and a persistent investigative reporter determined to track down some fire-related stories. Stay tuned for much more about both of these upcoming offerings in the weeks ahead. I am on pins and needles to see the covers and will share as soon as they hit my desktop!

Fun stuff from Amber Quill Press

Amber Quill sports a new and redesigned web site with lots of new user friendly features for readers and fans. Be sure to stop by and look around. As part of the grand opening events check out this contest on our Facebook page! If you are staying home from RT this year here is one celebration you can still be involved in and a chance at some kewl freebies!  You might even be able to win my new Gwynn Morgan release Kit's Ultimate Deal or perhaps Deirdre's Catastrophe, which will be out on the 18th--if it isn't included since it is not yet on the market, well, comment to me here and I will pick one or more winners for it!!

Contest Time!

June 1-14, 2014

From June 1 through June 14, 2014, Amber Quill Press will be running a contest via the Facebook Page at (www.facebook.com/AmberQuillPressPublishing). The name of the contest is “Rediscovery Roulette.”

The ultimate prize to be given away for this contest will be a Kindle Fire, although there are lesser prizes to be won. There will be 3 ways to win during this contest:

1. People who “share” the contest notice (which will be pinned to the top of the AQP Facebook page) will be entered to receive a $10 AQP gift certificate. This “Share” Contest will run from now through the end of the contest period (June 14th).

2. Each day of the contest, running June 1-14th, an ebook will be given away. To enter this contest, people should do the following:

a. Go to www.facebook.com/AmberQuillPressPublishing and “Like” this page.

b. Go to www.amberquill.com and search for a book you would like to win from one of three imprints, Amber Quill Press, Amber Allure, or Amber Heat. On the AmberQuillPressPublishing Facebook page, in the comment section for the appropriate message for the day’s contest graphic (which will have the specific date), provide the following information: (i) name of book; (ii) a one-sentence line quote from the excerpt on the site; AND (iii) the link to the book sales page. One entry per day per person.

One winner will be picked each day.

3. From the winners of the ebooks, on June 15th, one grand prize winner will be drawn from the 14 ebook daily winners, the prize being a Kindle Fire.

Full rules are posted on the AQP Blog at: http://aqpauthors.blogspot.com/2014/05/rediscovery-roulette-rules-to-play-game.html.

We have a range of graphics that authors may use if they wish to promote this contest and their AQP books. I’ve uploaded them to the AQP_Promo files section in the “Rediscovery Roulette” folder. If you are unable to access the folder, please let me know and I can send graphics for you to use via email.

If you have not already “liked” the Facebook page, feel free to do so, and perhaps comment on the page, post excerpts, etc., to help keep the energy level up, and perhaps to get people to check out your book page at AQP and post to perhaps win your book.

We will be promoting this contest at RT next week via business cards available to hand out. If you are attending RT, and would like to pass out a few of these promotional business cards, please let me know. (Look for Adrianna Dane/Darcy Abriel at RT). I will be at the “Pimp Your Badge” reader event at the very beginning of the conference, so that might be an easy way to find me. Other than that I will be out and around the conference.

First Peek at Kit's Ultimate Deal

I'm now reading the galley for any final typos and fixes so feel safe to give you all an excerpt. The book will be out the first weekend of May in electronic formats with the print version to follow later in the month. I still want to put that lovely cover on my wall  and am tempted to give away a nice print of it on glossy photo paper. Any takers?

Anyway, here's an excerpt from near the beginning when Kit and Bret first meet! Enjoy!. Buy link and related info will be along in the next couple of days and probably dates and possible links for some guest blogs etc. BTW, this is longer than the usual novella excerpt but this one is a full length novel!

Excerpt:

Bret McClintock peered through the windshield of his Dodge Ram, straining to find traces of the road. Even though he knew it almost as well as his own drive—make that the drive at Aunt Melba-Jean’s, where he’d lived the past eight years—nothing looked normal. The snow covered everything, and visibility was down to a nose and a half.

He should have stayed home, but when Jason called last night to tell him old Tracks Three was willing to talk, he’d jumped at the chance. The oldest man in the White River Apache tribe, Tracks Three had first-hand knowledge of events long forgotten by most people. He’d heard tales of the legendary Apache leaders from people who had actually fought and fled with them. The old man’s tales might confirm some of Bret’s personal theories. Though not yet accepted by anyone else, they were ideas that, once published, could change the academic view of Native American tribes of the Southwest and their history. Storm or no storm, he couldn’t miss this opportunity.

The clouds brought an early twilight. Even with the truck’s lights on, Bret couldn’t see much besides snow. Then he saw a dark shape, only half-covered with white, loomed ahead. The sight sent jumbled thoughts racing through his mind. A car? What’s someone doing out here on a night like this? I bet whoever it was missed the turn-off to Sunrise. Hope he had sense enough to stay in the car’s shelter. The wind chill must be twenty below.

Bret braked gently so he wouldn’t skid. The truck crunched to a stop behind the stalled vehicle. Leaving the engine running, he got out to investigate. As he approached the driver’s side, the door cracked open to reveal a woman’s pale face, surrounded by a damp, fur-edged hood.

“Oh, thank God! I was beginning to think nobody would evah come by. Surely there ought to be more people going to Sunrise. The skiing will be great once this storm cleahs.”

The voice sounded feminine, a strong hint of Boston in the dropped Rs. In the dim light, Bret couldn’t clearly see her face.

“You aren’t on the road to Sunrise, miss. You passed that turn-off three miles back. This road leads to an Apache settlement down in White River Canyon.” Darn newcomers, why can’t they stay out of harm’s way?

“Oh, no! How am I going to get to Sunrise? Would it be asking too much for you to pull me out and help me get turned around?”

Bret shook his head; snow fell off his battered Stetson. “Wouldn’t do much good. Your little car’ll never get there in this weather. There’s one more steep grade before you reach the lodge. I’m starting to have trouble on the level here, even with high clearance and four-wheel drive.”

The woman sat silent for a moment, apparently contemplating his statements.

“What am I going to do?” Her voice held both a plaintive note and a touch of frustrated arrogance—almost as if the storm was a personal affront, interfering with her plans.

“Come with me. We’ll get your car tomorrow or the next day, whenever it clears. I’m going to try to make it to a cabin, about a mile farther on. It’d be suicide to go down into White River or attempt to get to the lodge tonight.”

He heard her ragged sigh.

“Oh-kay. My car won’t start again, and without the heater, I’m chilled to the bone. I guess I can’t stay here, can I?”

“Not unless you want to freeze.”

She clambered out, sinking into the snow. “I’ve got to get some things in the trunk: my overnight bag, my briefcase.” She waded toward the rear of the car, weaving as if the whirling whiteness made her dizzy. Once there, she fumbled, scraping snow away to find the lock, while she struggled not to drop her keys.

“Here.” Bret took the key from her stiff fingers and jabbed it into the icy lock. After he twisted hard, there was a grating sound and then the trunk swung open. Snow slid in soft chunks to the ground. He reached in, grabbed the cases, and slammed the lid shut. “You’ll have to get into the truck on my side. Try to step in my tracks—that way you’ll get less snow in your boots.”

When she followed him without protest, instinct told him she was being uncharacteristically mild and obedient. Bret snorted.

She sounds like a real New England princess, so it’s probably a safe bet she’s never suffered much discomfort. Like Barb—she thought roughing it was a regular motel instead of the five-star hotels she was accustomed to. Might do her good to learn how being scared and miserable feels. Why do I always have to get mixed up with these damned society women?

After Bret boosted the woman into the cab, she slid across the wide bench seat to let him in. He shoved her bags onto the floor at her feet before he settled behind the wheel. Gingerly, he backed up enough to clear her car, then started on once more.

He stared into the gray infinity ahead, mesmerized by the slow sweep of the wipers. They shoved sluggishly at the accumulating snow, barely clearing the glass. The headlights faded into the grayness; he couldn’t see more than one truck-length ahead. Bret swore under his breath. Another mile was going to be tricky. He didn’t attempt to make conversation. Distraction from the difficult task of driving was the last thing he needed. Tracks Three and his stories would have to wait. Right now, Bret’s primary goal was survival.

This must be the longest mile I’ve ever traveled. Even worse than the last mile of the Mule Mountain Double Marathon last May. Probably slower, too. Bret wiggled his shoulders, fighting off the ache of tension that tightened his back and arms. He relaxed one hand at a time, flexing fingers going numb and stiff.

Finally, he recognized the lightning-blasted old Ponderosa pine that marked the turn-off to the cabin. A solid, ageless structure, the stone and log building belonged to an old family friend. Over the years, he’d spent a lot of time there. He eased the truck off the road, rolling to a stop with the bumper almost touching the porch rails.

Turning to his passenger, he saw she’d slumped, leaning against the door. He flicked on the cab lights so he could look at her. Somehow, she’d gotten wet before he picked her up. Even the blast of the truck’s heater hadn’t counteracted the resulting chill. He realized she was slipping into hypothermia. Bet she started to walk and changed her mind. Lucky for her, or she’d be as good as dead now.

“Wake up. We’re here.”

She jumped, shook her head, and muttered something. Yep, she was overcome with the typical grogginess brought on by drastically lowered body temperature.

“Le’ me ’lone. Wanna sleep.”

“No way. Come on.” He reached over and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward him. She moved, floppy as an old rag doll. Scooping her up, he backed out of the truck, heading for the cabin door. Hope the old key still works. Hope Bill Kent hasn’t sold the place or changed the lock. Ms. Boston needs to get warmed up fast, and I’m feeling a bit chilled myself. Good thing I brought the old sleeping bag along.

***

Kit came awake slowly, loathe to leave the warmth of sleep, the comfort of a pleasant dream in which she snuggled in the arms of a man, the perfect man she’d never had time to look for. His masculine strength and heat surrounded her, protective yet not restricting… She jerked upright, shoving aside the restraining flap of a down-filled sleeping bag in the process.

“What the hell’s wrong? You’re letting the warmth out. Get back here before we both freeze.”

The surly words were not part of her dream. This voice didn’t murmur sweet assurances or tender phrases of tribute, but it was a masculine voice with a pleasant western drawl. Panic briefly arrested, Kit turned, peering down at her companion by the uncertain light of smoldering logs, flickering dimly in the massive fireplace to her right.

“Where am I and why am I in my underwear? What are you doing in my bed with me?”

“This is my bedding, Boston. My grandpa gave me this sleeping bag in 1998 when I joined the Boy Scouts.”

Kit refused to be mollified. She wanted to hit something, to jump up and get the blazes out of here, to scream for help—none of which were feasible. From the looks of things, she was totally alone with this stranger in a place she’d never seen before. She wanted answers and she wanted them five minutes ago. “Who are you and how did I get here?”

“My name is Bret, and I carried you in here. Now lie down and pull up the damned bag, okay? You aren’t in any danger except from the cold.”

Kit still couldn’t make out the man’s face, but his voice sounded gruff, unfriendly.

He probably isn’t bent on rape or he’d already have done it. Anyway, I’m getting cold again—fast. She scooted into the warm cocoon of the bag, drawing the edge up over her bare shoulders. She didn’t want to touch him, but she had to until she turned on her side and scrunched away as far as she could. Then she touched the zipper, which felt like a long narrow ice cube.

“So you say you rescued me?”

“You got stuck in the snow yesterday evening, remember? I came along and brought you here to this cabin. You were getting hypothermic, so I did the best I could—rolled out this sleeping bag and got in with you. Works best if everyone’s nude, but I figured I could leave our skivvies on.”

“Oh God.” Kit remembered, all right. She almost wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to think about how he’d undressed her while she was unconscious. All she needed to do was figure out how to extract herself from the current situation and get to the lodge. “Has the snow stopped yet?”

“I doubt it. Storms like this usually lasts at least twenty-four hours. I don’t intend to look either because that would mean opening the door and letting more cold in. But I’d better put some more wood on the fire.” As he spoke, he began to move, wiggling backward until he could sit up without dislodging the bag from around Kit’s shoulders.

Even in the dim firelight, she saw his chest was bare. He scooted a little farther. She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. He wore briefs, and that’s what they were, brief. A very minimal patch of navy blue in the strategic area, nothing more.

Oh for goodness sake! Cowboys and outdoorsmen are supposed to wear woolly red union suits that cover them from neck to ankles, not some thong, like a dancer in a male strip club! Still, he does look delicious. With that thought, Kit no longer felt cold.

He stood in a single, smooth motion and stepped out of sight behind her head. A moment later, he reappeared, crouching inches from her, and began to stack an armload of logs in the fireplace. Bending forward, his elegant nearly-bare tush almost in her face, he blew into the coals until the flames jumped to begin their greedy work on the new fuel. He sat back on his haunches for a moment, then gave a self-satisfied grunt. Crawling around behind Kit’s head, he wormed into the sleeping bag.

Kit stiffened and held still. It was difficult, but she tried to banish the image of his beautiful, tanned body, to ignore the touches of his warm flesh against hers.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” She ground out the question through gritted teeth.

“Prob’ly about three or four in the morning. Go back to sleep. We can’t do a thing until daybreak, anyway.” Moments later, he began to snore.

Every nerve hummed and tingled. She stared into the flickering flames, but that only made her feel hotter, itchier, and more out-of-sorts. She had never been more aware of anyone than she was of the sleeping man behind her. All the while, he slept on, snoring in contented peace. There was no justice in the world, none at all! She should be tucked into a comfy bed at Sunrise Lodge, anticipating a gorgeous day on the slopes. Instead, she lay on a hard floor, with only the inadequate padding of half a sleeping bag between her and what felt like stone. She couldn’t turn over because that would leave her face to face with…a gorgeous man who snored.

He shifted, edging closer, until his hairy, muscular legs pressed against hers. She couldn’t move away. There was nowhere to go. Now, she felt his chest against her back. Its furring of coppery hair, just on the soft side of prickly, brushed her. Her sensitized skin tried to ripple like a horse’s hide shaking off flies, with even less effect.

“Damn it, I’m not cold anymore. Give me some room!” Though her sharp whisper sounded thunderously loud in the silence, he didn’t stir. The snores changed rhythm, but there was no movement to prove he’d heard her. Kit didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What a dilemma. Any one of her friends, finding themselves in bed with such a hunk, would make the most of the opportunity. Trouble was, she didn’t know how to proceed. Especially since the man seemed completely unaffected by her proximity. Even if she wanted to make the first move, to let him know she was definitely interested, what should that first move be?

Starting college at sixteen, she’d been too busy racking up courses that guaranteed success to spend much time socializing. Dating was for girls who sought a MRS rather than an MBA. What did one do with a man who climbed into bed with you only to fall asleep?

“Try an elbow in the ribs,” an imp whispered in her ear. No, that could hardly excite anything but his wrath.

A Poindexter has certain standards. We make the best of every situation and capitalize on the appearance of misfortune. Her father’s oft-repeated admonishment echoed through her mind. What would you do, Daddy, if you were in my…er…my place? If her father’s ghost heard her plaintive query, he chose not to reply. She was on her own.

Nothing learned at Harvard had prepared her for such an occasion. She could visualize no way to turn a profit from this chance encounter. Probably the best she could hope for was that the storm would end the coming day, they’d get her car out and turned around, and she’d get back to Tucson before Monday morning—with nothing at all to report to Les Bernard. Sheesh! She’d figure out something plausible to tell Joy and Madge, who she was supposed to meet at Sunrise.

Her companion shifted again, slinging one arm across her. His broad, warm hand splayed out, seeming to cover all the exposed flesh between her bra and panties, and there was plenty of that. She bit back a groan. I can’t believe this is happening.

Cover and Count Down to Kit's Ultimate Deal

Good Saturday! Gwynn here today because my book is coming out the soonest. ;-) Right around May 1, Kit's Ultimate Deal will be available in e-versions and it will be out in print later in May. This is another reissue but I updated it quite a bit. The plot is still basically the same and so are my two lead characters: hard-charging financial adviser Kit Poindexter, fresh out from Boston with her Harvard MBA and poor easy-going Bret McClintock, anthropology prof and handsome dude often mistaken for being just another  pretty face. They run into each other in an Arizona blizzard up in the high country and travel a very bumpy road before they become the perfect mismatch HEA pair.

I just got the cover a few days ago and I love, love, love it!  Our wonderful cover artist at Amber Quill never disappoints but now and then he outdoes himself and this is one of those times. I want this one in frame-able art style to put up on the wall!! It's just yummy and like Trace read my mind. See for yourself:

I'm doing the edits right now and will share an excerpt or two as soon as my editor gets the final version back in my hands. I don't like to share unedited mss stuff although this one isn't getting too much red ink for me to fix. Actually it is blue Track Changes (c) but you get the idea. I had a tremendous amount of fun with the first writing of this some years ago and modernizing it was just as much fun. I injected a good deal more humor, although mostly of the dry and droll type, than often appears in  my novels although there is plenty of angst, sexual tension and even a bit of sizzle before we get to the end. I think you'll enjoy it. It's been off the market quite awhile and was not a huge seller so I expect it will be brand new to most of my readers. I'll be offering a freebie or two once it is out so watch for links to chats and such elsewhere where these will be given.

Catastrophe cover and guest blog at All Romance Ebooks

I was a guest blogger today over at ARe. I talked about some of my menage tales so if you'd like to check that out, here is the link: http://www.arecafe.com/cafe-news/deirdre-odare-three-tango-triad/

And I got my cover for Catastrophe! You are the first besides me to see it. I just love it and I'm very excited for this story to come out--just a bit over a month now since PAX releases come out the middle weekend of each month. For May that should be the weekend of the 17th-18th. I want to get my hands on the rest of those tales too.  Don't you want to take this pair home and make pets of them??

Normally I do not do excerpts from unedited mss but I will give you a very small sneak peek here from the opening scene. Enjoy! 

San Mirabal Zoo

Southern Arizona

Late spring

Carlton Donahue wiped his dripping nose yet again and shoved the wadded paper towel into the hip pocket of his jeans. He might as well start carrying a roll of them. Regular tissues were totally inadequate. So far this new allergy drug wasn’t doing squat for him, either. Although the idea was almost as palatable as a pile of steaming dung, the thought of seeking a new career sometimes crossed his mind.

No. He’d stick it out. There had to be a way to deal with these damned allergies. A new drug, some miracle no one had thought to try for him. Animals were his life, his love. From the time he’d been a small kid, he’d worked toward this very job—a vet tech in a zoo. Not that working to help and save animals in the wild wouldn’t be even better, if it were possible, but at least here he could be sure his charges got the best possible care and protect them from the worst harm and abuse. He might even help save some rare creatures from extinction.

If only he wasn’t the most allergic of all to anything in the feline family. Of course that was the section of the zoo to which he was especially drawn as well as his current assignment…  Cats drew him like iron to a magnet. It didn’t matter what size, color or type. From a house cat to a giant tiger or African lion, they all had the same miserable effects on him: running nose, itchy, dripping eyes and at times mild to severe hives if his unprotected skin came into contact with their fur. They also made his heart beat faster and sent a thrill to the depths of his soul.

This new allergist had him on desensitizing treatments, plus the latest corticosteroids and antihistamines. So far he could discern no improvement, none at all. He must be crazy to put up with it but he felt a connection to the cats near to an obsession.

He paused for a moment and looked into the habitat area where the cheetahs were housed. Ye Gods, they were beautiful. Their very appearance said swift. Lean and lithe, the sheer artistry of their sleek bodies enthralled him. They were endangered now, a fact that tore his heart. How much poorer the world would be with such marvelous creatures gone. He’d wracked his brain for things he could do to help save them but so far had come up with little.

Some yards away, one of the lean, spotted cats stopped and looked at him. A shiver passed over his body. Those keen green eyes touched him with the jolt of an electric current. He’d almost say the creature was trying to tell him something, but what? In that fierce gaze, he read intent although not meaning. After a moment, the cat turned away shaking its head in a near-human motion that seemed to speak of disgust. It glided off into the thicker foliage, vanishing in an instant.

With a sigh, Carl moved on, headed for the puma area where a female was due to give birth soon. He checked his belt for the dart gun should he have a need to tranquilize the lioness for her safety or that of the unborn cubs—Dr. Moreno believed she carried twins, fairly common among the American clan of lions.

At least the puma or cougar as they were also called were not endangered—yet. Although habitat had been reduced by growing towns and suburbs, they seemed to be adapting well in the wild and mostly staying in the remote wilderness areas where they safest. However, the jaguar tribe, increasingly working north from Mexico and Central American, were crowding them a bit. Jaguars were larger and warier. Various experts were still not sure how the two species would get along in closer proximity, or if the food supply would adequately support both groups. Yet another worry Carl nursed in private moments. There were so many needs and so little he could do.

Spring is coming

and with it the month of May right around the corner.

That month will see the release of a Gwynn Morgan novel, Kit's Ultimate Deal and a new Deirdre O'Dare AmberPAX story, in Purrfect Tales, Catastrophe. I don't have the cover for either of mine but here is the yummy cover for the PAX. If that does not get your attention you may be dead!! You can bet these will be hot and exciting tales featuring cat shifters as main characters. All kinds of cats! I may be allergic to felines but I bet these will cause no symptoms except make me purrrrr! There is just something awfully sexy about a sleek, fluid and powerful cat, isn't there?

As soon as I have my covers, I will share them too and there will be some snippets from both tailes--er, tales--in the coming days as well. Oh, I amost forgot!!. AQP is unveiling a brand new spiffy and user-friendly web site for our fans and customers. The basic URL is still the same but those to reach author pages and other areas will be different. I think the old ones will hand you over for awhile but I will post my new key ones in the next few days . One change is that author pages will now show all books by that author and not divide them by the line they appear in. Still, Gwynn and Deirdre will each have a page.