While I’m working on creating a user-friendly site, I’d like to post about my latest Contemporary Romance, the first in a series featuring Second Chances. Currently, it’s available in digital format at Amazon, B&N for Nook, Kobo, iBooks, and more! Don’t worry, links will be included.

When the series came to me, it happened on a cold, winter’s night, and I’d wondered what would happen when Mackenzie Chance, a Bostonian accountant turned whistle-blower who’d inherited her grandfather’s rustic inn in South Dakota just outside of Deadwood, becomes stranded with Ace Blackburn, her teenage crush, and lead guitarist for one of the biggest rock bands in the country. What happened was kismet, a chance for both to rediscover who they are and who they want to be. Along the way they bare their souls, fall in love, and witness a miracle, all while danger lurks just beyond a fierce winter storm that’s stranded everyone in Hawthorn, South Dakota.

Here’s a sneak peak:

Still singing along with Dead Man’s Hand, she jumped clear out of her skin when loud banging resounded from the front door. Who would be at her doorstep when it was snowing outside?

Why worry? It wasn’t as if Hawthorn was a hotbed of illegal activity. She was sure there was crime and troublemakers, but more than likely it was the town’s mayor or a neighbor checking in.

More pounding, more insistent this time met with a voice that she never, ever, in her wildest dreams thought would overpower the playlist on her laptop. “Hey, Mackenzie Chance? It’s Ace Blackburn. I used to work for your grandfather, remember? Open up! Come on now, it’s freezing out here.”

No! No way. It was her imagination. He was not at her door.

“Mackenzie? You okay in there? Please tell me I don’t need to call for an ambulance or something.”

Certain she was going to find nothing but cold wind and a face full of snow, Kenzie took her mop with her. What she’d do with it, she’d no idea, especially as she heard a curious rumble outside. Was that thunder?

“Hold on a sec,” she shouted, uncertain it was necessary, though the howl against the windowpanes increased. As did the rumbling, rolling thunder. Holy cow, it really was thundering.

Quickly, she unbarred the door, cracking open one side. There he was, larger than life, than she remembered, Ace Blackburn stood there. In. Her. Doorway. Right there! His long dark hair and badass leather jacket covered in snow.

“Hi, you gonna let me in, sugar?” he asked in that sexy, gravelly voice that could tempt a saint to sin. “Or are you about to beat me with that stick?”

“What stick?”

“In your hand. What the hell is that?”

“It’s called a sweeper or a dust mop, whichever you prefer. I’ve been cleaning the floor.”

“Okay. You gonna open the door all the way or hit me with that thing? If you choose the second option, please don’t hit anything vital. Someday, I’d like to have kids.”

“What?” Completely stunned, she was certain he was some sort of an apparition made from a snowstorm that was, in fact blowing, howling, and sending icy flakes through the door into her face.

“Never mind, sorry. Please, invite me in, the storm’s getting worse. Swear, even if you don’t remember me, I won’t hurt you.”

“I know who you are,” she said, telling herself that she was not going to react like a teenaged girl with a crush.

“In that case, lower the sweeper thing and let’s make nice.”

“Not making anything with you,” she murmured, hoping the rush of wind and ice prevented him from hearing her suddenly pounding heartbeat.

Telling herself to calm down, she stepped back and let the door swing wide. In a flash, he was inside, the door closed and barred as he stomped snow off his boots.

“Let’s start over,” he said, sticking his hand out, the sleeve of his jacket riding up some, exposing an array of tattoos running from the back of his hand upward, beneath his sleeve.

Holy moly, did he have to be so hot, even when his straight shoulder length raven-black hair was dusted with snow? With his chiseled, devilish features and a seriously sexy well-trimmed mustache and goatee, she wondered if he hadn’t just fallen out of heaven itself. Even his deep brown eyes were molten.

“Nice to see you again, Mackenzie,” he went on, the ink catching her attention the two black eights, two black aces, and unknown hole card, fanned out on the back of his hand. Known as poker’s dead man’s hand, the cards were supposedly held by Wild Bill Hickok when he was shot in Deadwood.

Ow, hell, just when she thought she was going to handle this without freaking out, the lack of lunch and the heavy lifting caught up with her. Next thing she knew, her tummy rumbled louder than the thunder snow outside and the world went gray, then black.

To find out more, check out Second Chance Inn at the following links:

Amazon

Kobo

Apple

Nook

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