#MySweetBroc #HistoricalRomance

Title: My Sweet Broc

Author: Christine Young

Genre: Historical Romance

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Bliss MacTavish finds the repercussions more than she bargains for when she gives herself bad boy, Broc Wallace.

BLURB: MY SWEET BROC

He's a bad bad boy...

Broc Wallace is a fun-loving rake who never thought any beautiful woman could melt his heart. He lives life in the present enjoying the camaraderie of his friends and the pleasures of his mistress. When Bliss races into his life, he is ill prepared to deal with her secrets or give up the tenor of his life. When the truth is revealed, he finds himself unable to forgive and forget the betrayal. 

...but she's sweet for him

Bliss MacTavish knows she's playing with fire when she refuses to tell this bad boy her name. He tempts her with sweet whispers of seduction knowing her innocent nature will be unable to refuse all he yearns to give her. Deciding to follow her heart, she finds the repercussions more than she bargains for when she gives herself to this bad boy.

EXCERPT: MY SWEET BROC

Broc didn’t want to let go of her hand, at least not until she made it clear she didn’t like this tiny advance. He was inexplicably drawn to her and hoped she wasn’t some debutant who would seek a commitment. He liked his freedom and didn’t mean to lose it anytime soon.

            “Bliss,” he paused, “where do you live?” he asked, trying for a bit more information from her. The thought of a debutante seeking him out sent a wave of precaution through his head. But what would some random debutante be doing riding hell bent across a meadow on MacTavish land? A debutant would not have to earn a living.

            “Why?” Her answer was curt.

            “Just curious. It seems you know more about me than I do you. It’s only fair, don’t you think?” 

            “No, fairness has nothing to do with any of this. I barely know you,” she said. “I’m not going to give you my address. A lady needs an air of intrigue about her.”

            “You know me well enough to watch me half naked chopping wood,” he told her, thinking he’d like to see her naked. Her dress hid her curves fairly well, but he could still tell quite a lot about her body. “I’m sure you know exactly where I live.”

            “And you weren’t a wee bit bashful either. I also saw a beautiful woman ride to the stables. I saw you kiss her. When you were half naked. So,” she paused gazing at him, her eyes simmering, “I’m sure you don’t care if I saw your chest and rippling muscles.” With that said she looked away as if she didn’t want him to see her reaction. He was sure he saw more than she intended.

            “Jealous?” Good lord but that was at least two months ago. His mistress paid him an unusual visit and he sent her away with the order to never come to his home again.

            “Of course not,” she protested to quickly.

            “The blush rising on your cheeks tells me you’re not speaking the truth. I think you should apologize or let me kiss you. Perhaps we should make a bet. Every time you lie you have to kiss me.”

            “No, I wouldn’t like to make a bet like that with you. I’ve been told you’re a very bad man where it comes to women.”

            “Who told you that?” He could only think of a few people who would say that about him, and it would be in jest or to warn a debutant away.

            “Just heard it. Don’t remember where. Probably one day when I was in town to sell my paintings.” She smushed her lips together, squinting, her eyebrows drawn together as if she was thinking.

            “Something doesn’t ring true.” 

            “Don’t know why you say that?” 

            “Back to my question, are you jealous? Should we find out if you like my kisses?” He grinned at her hesitancy, but the way her tongue swept across her lips told him she was thinking about telling him yes, or at least about a kiss.

            “Probably not a good idea.” She backed away from him, but she didn’t take her hand from his. “A kiss. No something like that could lead to other things a lady shouldn't do.”

            “Other things? What do you know about other things?”

            “Nothing really.”

            He decided a bit more persuasion might be appropriate here. He traced gentle circles on her wrist with his thumb and he watched her eyes cross for a second. “Probably not, but what if kissing you is a very good idea? What then? You’d miss something you would enjoy.”

            “Again, I barely know you. It’s not proper to kiss a man when you’ve only known him for a few minutes. One must wait...”

            “Proper!” he roared then chuckling. “You are the least proper woman I’ve ever met. And we’ve known each other over an hour now, not a few minutes. So a kiss would certainly be proper.”

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He's a bad bad boy...Broc Wallace is a fun-loving rake who never thought any beautiful woman could melt his heart...but she's sweet for him Bliss MacTavish knows she's playing with fire when she refuses to tell this bad boy her name. He tempts her with sweet whispers of seduction knowing she will be unable to refuse all he yearns to give her

#TellTaleTuesday #ATouchOfBlarney

Title: A Touch of Blarney

Author: Christine Young, C.L. Kraemer, Genene Valleau

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: AMAZON

BLURBS; A Touch of Blarney

Tumble through time… 

…to Ireland in 1817, when tensions are high between Protestants and Chatolics and faey people guide the fate of villagers. A lovely Catholic lass stumbles upon the weakly ritual fisticuffing between Irish lads. She falls into the lap of a handsome young Protestant. Family ties, grudges, and two conniving faeries threaten their budding love. But the faeries outsmart themselves when they hijack a time machine that has mysteriously appeared in their forest and are whisked to…

…Eugene, Oregon in the 20th century, amid a property feud between the local faeries and night elves. The conniving faeries from Olde Ireland try to stir up more mischief. However, a warrior gnome convinces the magic folk to control their own destiny, and forces the intruding faeries to take refuge in the time machine again, spinning their way toward…

…A modern day castle in western Oregon. An eccentric inventor is determined to reclaim his wayward time machine and save his beloved wife from her latest misadventure. If only they can travel safely past the black hole…

EXCERPT: A Touch of Blarney

Star Crossed

Christine Young

Ireland 1816

The ring of knuckles hitting flesh thundered through the brilliant spring morning. Casey O'Connell lifted her skirts and raced up the little knoll behind the old white church. She knew her big bro was fighting. They always fought after church on Sunday. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.

"No! Stop it, I say. Patrick O'Connell, you--" Breathing hard Casey barreled through the ring of brawling men.

"Of course, Casey, anything you say," her brother and his friends laughed as he stepped aside.

"Get him, Casey! Land a punch for your big brother and St. Patrick," one of the young men called out.

"The O'Connell's are getting their women folk to fight their battles now?"

"I'll have your head for that, Shaunasey," another joined in.

"Watch your mouth and where you're a starin' or you'll have a black eye so swollen you won't be able to see."

"Woo--eee!" The brawl escalated then seemed to settle around Casey and her off-balance charge through her brother's foes.

Surrounding her she heard raucous cheers, cat calls, and whistles as well as her name. Her arms flailing, she ignored them all and tried desperately to keep her balance.

"Hmph!" She hit hard--a solid rock of muscle--heard the slightest grunt from the object in front of her. Air rushed from her lungs and stars seemed to circle inside her head.

"Oh…" she wailed as the object she hit cradled her with his arms on their way to the dampness of the ground below. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She let her head rest on a muscled chest. She heard a slow even heartbeat then a low rumble of laugher.

Meadows of Gold

C.L. Kraemer

A gentle breeze sighed, undulating the meadow grass lazily and whispering past the forlorn figure slumped on the tree trunk, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Thomas, a forest leprechaun, released a long melancholy breath between his cracked, dry lips. A single plump tear meandered down his stubbled cheek.

The sun sent bright shafts of light through the pine boughs and around the wooden pedestal upon which the morose figure resided. Ignoring the dancing beams, the leprechaun pulled a shuddered breath into his lungs and stared at a spot in front of the stump where a crumpled daisy chain necklace lay withering in the warmth of the afternoon. Another plump tear snaked down his unshaven face.

In the distance, a lone figure scuffed up the lane, which crossed in front of the tree stump. Thomas paid no heed to the approaching form, pulling a thin silver flask from inside his rumpled vest. He blindly opened the lid, placed the opened top to his lips and pulled a deep draught from the container. Refitting the cap to the top, he slipped the silver spirit holder back into his vest. His next shuddered breath was interrupted with a hiccup.

The figure on the road drew closer. Thomas raised his head and squinted his eyes. Was she coming back? He hiccupped and straightened up. Maybe she had been teasing him when she ran away and now she realized how much he cared for her. His eyes brightened and a smile began to touch his lips.

The figure came around the bend and toward him. The last he'd seen her, she was wearing a diaphanous, thin dress. Had she changed? The form nearing him was clad in leather breeches, a braided leather tunic, and knee-high, soft leather boots. A sword blade strapped to the figure's back flashed in the sunlight. Was Cary so angry she meant to cut him in little pieces? His heart began to pound in his chest and inside his mouth his tongue stuck to the roof.

The figure stopped two lengths from him and raised a hand to shade its eyes from the brightness of the day.

Thomas realized he was shaking. This was it…his life was over. He hung his head.

"Thomas?"

The voice was familiar but it didn't sound like Cary. If it wasn't her…

St. Batzy and the Time Machine

Genene Valleau

Horace Ainsworth patted the side of the giant red fire hydrant towering two stories above him then addressed the terrier mix dog staring at him curiously. "It's finished. Now don't you dig in my Maddie's roses any more or potty on the pansies."

Batzy stared at Horace's retreating back for a moment before he hiked his leg on the nearest flowering plant.

Then he turned his attention to the odd-looking structure the Big Human had erected. Not like any fire hydrant he'd ever sniffed. A canine would have to be the size of King Kong to give this thing a proper marking. 

Though it did smell like the water that sprayed out of the hose when the human across the street yelled at him. Batzy grinned and lifted his leg, imagining he was returning the spray of the yelling human. 

As he circled this mysterious structure, the smell of fresh paint and overturned earth drifted into his nostrils. It was bigger than the merry-go-round at the park where his human, Chloe, sometimes took him. 

Wonder what's inside?

Batzy scratched at the side of the structure then trotted another few steps and scratched again. About halfway around he found an opening. Not tall enough for the Big Human, but just about perfect for his little girl, Chloe.Batzy darted inside and lifted his face to sample the aromas. 

No scents of danger but much to explore. Like this box of dirt. Odd. Big humans usually didn't appreciate the joys of digging. Hadn't he just been told not to dig in the rose bushes? A sniff and a poke with his paw uncovered a bone. Fresh out of the package. Batzy looked around. What game was the Big Human playing? 

"Batzy!" his little girl was calling him. 

Batzy stepped out of the digging pit. Hmm. I smell peanut butter.

He put a front paw on a cabinetfor balance and nosed a button. A bone-shaped treat fell into a bowl below. Also fresh out of a package. The Big Human was definitely up to something. Batzy gobbled it down quickly before looking around again.

"Batzy!" 

Drat!He had to go. On his way out, Batzy stepped back into the digging box and snatched up the bone. Outside once again, he pushed the bone through the gap under the fence, and squeezed through after it. 

He popped up on the other side with only a few more streaks of mud on the white of his belly and wagged his tail at Chloe. He'd go back to explore the Big Human's structure later. 

#MysteryMonday #Fantasy #Romance

Title: a May Day anthology

Author: Christine Young, C. L. Kraemer, Rosemary Indra, Genene Valleau

Genre: Fantasy

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: 

Amazon

May Day has been celebrated since Roman times with dancing, baskets of flowers, and bonfires. In this collection of May Day stories, Rogue's Angels--Christine Young, C.L. Kraemer, Rosemary Indra and Genie Gabriel--continue the celebration with humor, faeries and falling in love. 

BLURBS: A May Day Anthology

Highland Miracle -- Christine Young

HURTLED THROUGH TIME, Sean Michael Sterling, landed in the midst of a May Day celebration he didn’t understand, assuming the role of Laird Sterling. 

ILLIGITAMATE CHILD OF NOBILITY, Reagan Douglas searches for a way out of her half brother’s house. 

Defying the Odds -- C.L. Kraemer

The night elves on the hill aren't happy without their magic. They concoct a plan to punish those who were involved in the act that rendered them almost human. Meanwhile, Uther, the rogue night elf, has returned to woo the Librarian to be his eternal mate.

Love in Bloom -- Rosemary Indra

When childhood friends reunite it takes two fairies and a matchmaking daughter to help them admit their true love for each other.

No More Poodle Skirts -- Genie Gabriel

After drifting for years in the innocent age of the 1950s, a woman struggles to join today's world by finding a career and a new love, with some help from her zany family.

EXCERPTS: A May Day Anthology

Highland Miracle -- Christine Young

Sean hit the side of his head. "I'm hearing things." Meet my true love, a soul mate, find a miracle in the highlands...?

Trust?

Who the devil am I supposed to be trusting? There isn't anyone around. I'm the sole person in Central Park. But he leaned forward, inching his way closer to the portal of the crazy machine. He'd be pure loco if he stepped inside but Bandit seemed fine. The dog had disappeared a couple of times into the darkness only to return again, sit down and bark at him.

I can do this.

He stood half in and half out, inhaled deeply then stepped inside. Behind him the door clanged shut. He jumped out of his skin at the realization he might be trapped. 

The quiet was eerie then suddenly lights began to blink and something hummed. It was as if the machine had sprung to life. His nerves sizzled and terror crawled down his spine. He searched the room for the dog.

Bandit sat on a chair in front of a panel of buttons and blinking lights. It appeared the dog meant to drive this contraption. But drive it where?

Oh, to his one true love, to his soul mate and a miracle. Sean let out a loud roaring laugh.

Praying it wasn't too late, Sean turned to leave. But the door was shut tight, and he couldn't find another way out. Banging on the door did not make it open. He ran his hands up and down his arms in hopes of warding off the deathly chill seeming to take over his body as well his senses.

Bandit jumped from his perch and sauntered to the wall where he pulled down a handle and dog food poured into a bowl.

Well, at least the dog wouldn't starve.

"Please sit down and fasten your seat belt."

Sean jumped and looked around for the source of the voice. His heart raced as if it was going to run right out of his body. 

Defying the Odds -- C.L. Kraemer

In a meadow east of Eugene, Oregon

Bram ambled up the roughly hewn stairs to the willow lounge chair located at the front of his home. He pulled the scrimshawed pipe from his pocket and filled the bowl with his favorite blend of black cherry tobacco. The paced routine of loading the ivory bowl with fragrant leaves and tamping them firmly into place was one of his favorite after dinner rituals. Withdrawing a matchstick from the inner pocket of his vest, he struck the sulfured end against a river rock he'd placed on the root of the towering oak that served as his home.

The fading evening sky showered the mountains in hues of gold and red. Pushing away the light, a blanket of dark blue velvet sprinkled with luminous star points soon prevailed. Bram puffed smoke rings at the darkening heavens.

"Evenin'." A scruffy black and tan terrier mix meandered up and, after circling three times, lay next to the chubby gnome.

"Evening, Silas. How's the family?"

"Well, thank you. Daisy announced we're expecting--again."

Bram chuckled into his beard. "Congratulations."

"Humph. I'll be glad when we're both too old to care. I came over to ask if there are any jobs in sight. I'll need to be working as much as I can now."

It seemed he got one batch of kids out of the house and another was on the way.

Silence stretched between the business partners. Bram pulled deep draughts on his pipe, blowing the smoke away from his friend. His eyes were drawn to the large block of light spilling from the picture window of the behemoth on the hill. The Saun clan, night elves whose callous actions nearly destroyed the fae population of the meadow and surrounding forests, owned the out of place monstrosity.

Bram squinted his eyes to focus his vision on the methodical movement that broke the beam of light. He could just make out a figure pacing rhythmically in front of the casement. Unable to ascertain which of the night elves was engaged in the determined striding, Bram was sure of only one thing…if the night elves were restless and unhappy, the rest of the valley was in trouble.

Love in Bloom -- Rosemary Indra

Mattie Harrison sat up in bed when two golden lights floated down beside her. The shimmering lights from her fairies caused excitement to bubble within Mattie in anticipation of their visit. For as long as she could remember the two fairies were her constant companions. Tonight she had something important to ask them. 

Cara sat cross-legged on Mattie's pillow. Kendra adjusted her green dress several times before she too sat down. Mattie looked down at her small friends then crossed her legs in front of her mimicking the way they sat.

Every so often Kendra's wings fluttered. Mattie knew she preferred playing than sitting still but tonight Mattie needed someone to talk to. Like always Cara listened quietly as Mattie described her day and her plans for tomorrow.

When the fairies stood, their transparent wings flapped as they started to take flight. "Can you stay a little longer?" Mattie asked quickly.

Cara gracefully bowed her head and moved closer to the little girl. "What's troubling you tonight lass?" 

A smile touched Mattie's lips at the sound of the fairy's soft voice. Cara had brown hair similar to her own. She always had suggestions and Mattie felt calm after talking to her.

They'd visit every evening when she went to bed to say goodnight. Mattie had asked her father for a nightlight not because she was afraid of the dark but so she could see the fairies easier without scaring them with the bright overhead light.

"My dad is very lonely." Mattie knew what she wanted but all of a sudden she didn't know what to say. She looked at her friends. "Can you help me find a wife for him?"

"Mattie it's bedtime. Quiet down," her father's voice carried down the hallway. "Tell your friends to go home." 

Cara tapped her index finger against her lips and looked thoughtful.

"He doesn't believe in fairies," Kendra whispered. "That might be hard. He doesn't have faith in us." 

"We haven't even started and you're already negative." Cara put her hands on her hips then glanced at Mattie, "You have to remember a non-believer doesn't like interference."

Feeling disheartened Mattie's lower lip started to tremble. She'd given this a lot of thought. After much consideration, Mattie knew she'd needed help to find a wife for her dad.

"We'll see what we can do." Kendra looked at Mattie her expression softened. "We'll help you." 

.

No More Poodle Skirts -- Genie Gabriel

Life seemed much simpler when all a girl had to worry about was keeping her bobby socks and the pompom on her poodle skirt a brilliant white.Daphne Madison wiggled and gyrated into panty hose that seemed determined to twist around her like a boa constrictor squeezing its prey.

A modern woman was expected to have it all--a husband, a family, a career--with never a wrinkle in her face or her confidence.

Daphne zipped up her dress and drew a shaky breath as she stared at herself in the mirror. The form-fitting pink dress wasn't as comfortable as her skirts, and the high heels shoved her feet down into the pointy toes. 

I can do this,Daphne reassured herself. She hadn't even been born in the fifties, but it seemed like such an innocent time. If she could pretend to live in that time, surely she could live in the current millennium.

Something doesn't seem just right,she thought, as she fastened a strand of pearls around her neck. However, she refused to wear the short skirts she had seen on television programs. The pencil thin skirt that ended just above her knees was as daring as she would go. 

She slid her arms into the pink jacket that matched her dress and considered herself once again. Something still seemed amiss. She settled a pink pillbox hat borrowed from her sister on top of her smooth blond hair. Better.

White gloves restored her confidence even more. 

With another deep breath, Daphne swept down the stairs to garner the reaction of her family. She knew her adult son, Ryan, would be of little help but to offer a gourmet breakfast gleaned from the latest cooking show on TV. A meal Daphne knew her jittery nerves wouldn't tolerate. 

Her sister wouldn't be stirring yet, but Linda would be organizing the house for the day. She was the mother of Daphne's daughter's husband. Did that make her and Daphne sisters-in-law? No, that wasn't quite right, and thinking about it made her brain hurt.

She gave her head a slight shake. It didn't really matter. Linda was quite practical and had motivated Daphne out of her fantasy life. She would know if Daphne was dressed appropriately for her job interview.

"So what do you think?" Daphne turned slowly as she entered the kitchen. 

#MysteryMonday #AHowlInTheNIght

A Howl in the Night

By Courtney Rene

ctnyrene@aol.com

YA/ROMANCE PARANORMAL

Buy at Amazon: 

BLURB: A HOWL IN THE NIGHT

Sweet Sixteen is supposed to be a turning point in your life. The world is before you in all its glory, just waiting for you to reach out and grab it. Right? For Abigail Staton no, not so much. Not only does she suddenly lose her best friend due to a fight, but suddenly her mother expects her to believe that the father, she has never met, is actually a werewolf. With that revelation, Abby is thrust into the world of two wolf clans who are not only fighting each other, but also fighting for Abby, one of the few females born to the shape-shifters. Her father is determined to pair Abby up with Derek, a very dominant and overwhelming shifter. Abby vehemently balks at this union to disastrous results. When war is declared between the two clans, Abby has to decide what side she is actually on.

REVIEW: A HOWL IN THE NIGHT

A Howl in the Night

Courtney Rene

978-1-936403-84-4

Reviewd by William Delamar

On a scale of 1-5, the rating is 5 by William Delamar.

I don’t generally read novels in this genre, but a friend recommended it, so I read it and I’m glad. The author, Courtney Rene, writes clearly and the story unfolds with purpose and intrigue. It’s the kind of book that’s hard to put down. Abigail Staton’s mother has a strange reaction to a gift to Abigail from Dad. Abigail is thrust into a world not of her choosing. Finally she has to make a choice and face serious consequences with any decision. This novel is a grabber. If you dare read it, be prepared for a shock.

EXCERPT: A HOWL IN THE NIGHT

Then a new thought crashed into my brain. “Wait a sec. If my father is a werewolf...?"

“Not a werewolf, just a wolf,” my mom said, interrupting me.

“Okay, fine,” I said. If her story was true though, I had to wonder, what did that make me? It was my turn to pop up off the bed and pace around. What about me? Was I going to grow hair and fangs and run around trying to bite people? “Oh, God.”

It felt as if my life was over. How was I supposed to finish school if I turned into a wolf every time the moon was full? 

Would it hurt to change? It always looked like it did in the movies. I had seen that werewolf movie where the guy runs around London eating people. The change was always accompanied with screaming and pain. Was I going to hunt down my friends and family and eat them?

I didn’t know if that was really how it worked or not, but before I could work myself up into a real freak fest, my mom said, “I have watched you all your life Abby, and I have never seen anything wolf-like about of you. I promise. That worry has always been in the back of my mind, but nothing has ever come of it. You’re fine. Come on, you don’t even like meat.” 

I had to admit, thankfully, that she did have a point there.

She gave me a sideways look then said, “How do you think I felt? There were times that I was worried I was going to give birth to a puppy. How would I have explained that to my doctors?” My mom said this with a raise of her eyebrows and a grin. 

This threw me for a moment. She was actually teasing me? At a time like this, she was cracking jokes? “That’s not funny,” I said. 

“Oh, come on. Yes it is.” 

Maybe it was a little funny, but there was no way in the world I was going to admit it then. 

“Whatever,” I said with a shake of my head. “So, now what?” I was still holding onto the hope she had only hit her head that night and didn’t real know what she saw. 

“I don’t know, honey. I just thought with your dad finally getting in contact with us, well, that you should be prepared. That it was time. You know?”

No, I didn’t know. In that moment, I felt a little lost. The day was supposed to be a great day. It was my sixteenth birthday. My world was supposed to have been great. Instead, I may have lost my best friend and found out that I not only had a father, but one who may or may not be a wolf. It was not a fabulous day after all. In fact, I decided that birthdays kinda sucked. “No. He may be my father, but he’s not my dad.” 

“Abby.”

I shook my head at her and left to go to my own room. I needed to think, and I couldn’t do that in her room with her looking at me with her sad eyes. 

Mine was your average teen room. It had a bed, dresser, desk, and full mirror. There were clothes thrown about, but that was to be expected. I was a teenager, after all. 

I dropped down on my bed with a huff. I had so much swirling around in my head I was getting a headache. I felt it coming behind my eyes. It figured. It was one more thing to go wrong that day.

I looked longingly out my window at Brian’s little yellow house and wished I could go over and talk to him. I could see he was home. The light from his room was spilling out into the night. Maybe he would laugh at me and tell me I needed to go have my mom checked out. I would have agreed. Maybe he would have helped me do some research and we could try to figure it out for ourselves. Instead, I felt so alone and lost and overwhelmed. 

My mom was not the loony type. She always had her feet firmly on the ground. She never lied to me and always tried to tell me the truth. I didn’t know if I should believe her now or not. I know I didn’t want to believe her. Who would?

I looked down at my hands. They looked like just normal hands. No claws, or hair. They were just small, thin, girly hands. 

#RomanceSunday #WildIrishRogue

Title: Wild Irish Rogue

Author: Genie Gabriel

EMAIL: genene@genenevalleau.com

Genre: Mystery/Romance

Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble

TAGLINE

Can a hot-tempered Irish rogue become a loving dad, a heroic cop, and a small town legend?

BLURB: Wild Irish Rogue

After a series of tragedies, Bernie O'Shea turns his Irish stubbornness to becoming a loving dad, a heroic cop, and a small-town legend. He doesn't plan on finding a woman who becomes his courageous life partner or enemies among those he thought were his friends.

EXCERPT: Wild Irish Rogue

Bernie's heartbeat stuttered as his old pickup topped the gentle rise of land that marked the boundary of his grandparents' farm. The burned out remains of the old house slammed memories as hard as a fist into his gut as he braked to a stop.

The flames licked greedily up the brick chimney, consuming the tinder dry wood siding, and lighting up the night sky. Bernie bellowed in helpless rage, dunking himself in the water trough used for livestock before plunging into the flames and toward the bedroom his grandparents had shared since their marriage decades earlier. 

Fury fueled his strength as he cradled his grandmother in his arms and carried her outside, then returned for his grandfather. He laid them side by side on the cool, damp grass, searching frantically for a pulse. But he knew it was futile. They were already dead. 

Tallie laid her hand over Bernie's whitened knuckles. Through the sheen of his tears, he saw the mirror of his sadness in her eyes. He turned his hand over and clasped hers tightly.

Together, they would rebuild. A house. A family. A legacy this town would never forget. 

Bernie lifted his foot off the brake and drove the pickup a short distance past the site of the old house.

"Is the barn safe?" Tallie asked. "Perhaps we could set up the tent near there so the boys would have a place to play if it rains?"

"Good idea." Bernie smiled at her. "I married a woman who is both beautiful and smart. We'll check it out."

~ * ~

Bernie pushed open the door to the general store and stepped inside, pausing to fill his lungs with the remembered smells of ripe cheese, pickles, cured meats, leather, and tobacco smoke that had permeated the building's walls since the store opened over a hundred years before. 

Even the old pot-bellied stove remained in one corner, flanked by several wooden chairs that once invited pioneers to sit a spell and swap stories. 

However, shelves once crowded with treasures that fascinated Bernie as a boy now held only a few sparse items.

"Well, Bernie O'Shea. I heard you were back in town." A white-haired old man with a curved back limped slowly toward him with the assistance of a knobby cane.

"Mr. Haroldson." Bernie walked across the plank flooring and stretched out his hand in greeting. "I need a few things to build a house on my grandparents' place."

"So it's true?"

"Yessir."

"Took you long enough to come back, boy."

"I have a wife and two boys now. We plan to make our home here."

A slow smile curved the older man's mouth. "The hell you say."

"Think you could order some lumber, nails and roofing for the house?"

"Might need some plumbing supplies and paint too."

"That we might. I can give you the cash up front."

The old man grinned and clapped Bernie on the shoulder. "Welcome home, boy. Welcome home." 

~ * ~

A satisfied feeling settled in Bernie's gut as he drove back to his grandparents' property. The feeling lasted until he topped the rise of land from where he could see the site of their future home—and a police car parked in the driveway. 

Bernie pulled his shotgun out of its rack as he drove the pickup around the cruiser. He stopped beside Tallie and the boys, opening the door so it shielded her. When he stepped out of the pickup, the shotgun was pointed at Randall Weston's chest. "You're trespassing, Weston."

The chief of police eased back toward his cruiser. "Just checking out a report of squatters at your grandparents' property."

"My property. My wife. My kids. Get off and don't come back."

"Well, that's not very neighborly—"

The metallic ka-ching of Bernie cocking a shell into the barrel had Weston back-stepping quickly. He slid behind the wheel of the police cruiser and sped away.