Excerpt from Bayou Rhapsody: (The second book in the Hearts of Marshall's Bayou Historical Romance Series; order your copy from Echelon Press -- novels.)

In the back corner, the passenger in question sat draped over the side with only the back of his head visible. As Mae approached, she heard him groan quietly.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said, "but I thought maybe you'd like a drink of water."

The man turned toward her, trying his best to smile, his face white as new cotton. "Yes, thank you, that might help."

Mae hurriedly filled a tin cup from the captain's water jug and returned to the stern. "Here you are," she said.

The mystery passenger took the cup with trembling hands and nodded his appreciation. He gulped a few swallows, then closed his eyes for a moment.

Mae noted just how nice-looking he was, with golden hair, dark blue eyes, and a sharply chiseled face. His muscular arms and brown skin, exposed by rolled-up sleeves, must be the result of physical labor. Maybe oilfield work. Yes, he had the broad shoulders of a laborer. And he was a charmer, no doubt, a real lady's man.

She sat on the edge of the boat near him, leaned back, and crossed her feet.

"Thank you for the water, Miss..."

"Strickler," she said. "Mae Strickler. And you are?"

"Daniel Griffin."

"Well, Mr. Griffin, it looks like boat travel doesn't agree with you."

"No," he said, cringing as his face reddened, "I guess it doesn't."

"Are you headed to Texas?"

"No. I'm going to Marshall's Bayou."

"You are?"

He nodded.

"You know," she said, "when it rains, this boat is about the only way in or out of Marshall's Bayou."

He visibly lightened a shade or two. "No, I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. And I'm afraid you'll be real disappointed in the action. The only gin joint in the whole marsh is Theriot's."

"Is it?"

She nodded. "With Prohibition and all, I suppose Buddy Theriot is serving under the counter. I haven't been back since Christmas."

"You don't think he's obeying the law?"

Mae stared at Daniel Griffin for a moment and then decided he must be teasing and laughed.

He smiled at her and took a drink of water.

When she'd recovered her composure, she looked out at the marsh grass that whipped past them. A heron standing at the water's edge returned her gaze.

"I sure hope Buddy doesn't get shut down," Mae said. "I'll be bored silly if he does." She looked back at Mr. Griffin who, it turned out, was studying her intently. He blushed when she caught him and dropped his gaze to his cup.

"Are you a hoofer, Mr. Griffin?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you dance?"

"Me? No, I'm not much of a dancer."

"Really? I would have thought you were."

"Why?" He looked up again.

She grinned. "Why? Well, with a keen face like yours, and those shoulders, you look like a regular lounge lizard. And there's nothing like a little cheek-to-cheek to warm a girl up, you know? Or maybe you're better at necking."

Mr. Griffin chuckled. Honest warmth filled his amazing smile, making him even better looking.

Mae took a slow, deep breath. Maybe her trip home wouldn't be such a terrible bore after all. Mr. Daniel Griffin ought to be good for at least a week or two of fun.

"So, Mr. Griffin-"

"Please, call me Daniel." He took another long drink of water.

"All right, Daniel. Why would a good-looking fellow like you want to go to Marshall's Bayou?"

"Work."

"Really? What kind of work?"

"I'm...oh." He covered his mouth with his hand, quickly leaned over the side of the boat, and lost the water he'd taken in. When his stomach quit convulsing, he groaned, and dropped his head to his arm.

Mae stood. "I imagine you want some privacy. If you need anything, just yell. I'll be around the other side."

"Thank you," he muttered.

Excerpt from Just Kiss Me: (The first book in the Hearts of Marshall's Bayou Historical Romance Series; order your copy from Echelon Press -- novels.)

    "Yippee!" Lydia Yelled.  She and Mae jumped up.   "They're back!"

    Refusing to act like a barbarian, Alberta carefully folded her needlework, stood, and brushed grass from her skirt. Long before she started for the house, she heard the screen door slam behind her sisters. She couldn't imagine running around like a child because of a man.

    Her traitorous heart pounded against her ribs.

    By the time she had her hair brushed and pinned up, the sounds of horses and voices floated in from the yard. Alberta rose from her dressing table. Glancing around to be sure that no one watched, she leaned down to study her face in the mirror once more, then quickly pinched her cheeks and licked her lips. At least she would look her best when she refused Isaac Broussard's advances.

    If he made any.

    What if he didn't make any? What if he'd taken her at her word about wishing to be left alone? She had meant it, hadn't she?

    In a way. He certainly had been rude, and his teasing had caused her face to burn and her pulse to race, just as it raced now as she pictured his tall, muscular figure standing before her, and his warm, dark eyes twinkling with a mischievous smile.

    Alberta shook her head at her own silliness and started toward the door. She'd spent entirely too much time listening to Mae's wild stories.

    Outside, the men, caked with dirt and sweat, tied their horses to the fence and began removing their saddles. Mae, James, and Lydia surrounded them, peppering them with questions. Mae's laughter rose above the rest of the noise like steam from a stew pot.

    Isaac looked up and met Alberta's gaze as she walked through the doorway. His good looks–not the least bit concealed by the dirt–brightened with a smile.

    Alberta searched the area, her face burning at the thought of facing him, trying to find a reason for being there. The only thing she found was a broom propped against the house, so she grabbed it and started sweeping the steps. Unfortunately, there was nothing much to sweep away.

    "Hello."

    She gulped at the sound of his voice, not daring to look up or respond. But when one dusty boot suddenly appeared in front of the broom to stop her progress on the bottom step, she had no choice.

    Dirt and sun had darkened Isaac's handsome face, and sweat had matted his hair into strands. Standing straight as an arrow, he held his hat at his side.

    "Still not talking to me?" His eyes glinted with amusement.

    "Of course I'm talking to you. I'm not rude."

    "No," he said, "you're anything but rude."

    With her heart dancing wildly in her chest, she stood very still, denying the urge to take a deep breath. Poised on the second step, she stood a little taller than he and looked him squarely in the eye.

    "We're all going to the beach for a swim," he said.

    "Would you like to join us?"

    "No," she answered. "I have work to do."

    "Your sisters and brothers are going."

    "I'm sorry they don't share my feeling of responsibility. If they want to waste the day–"

    Lydia barged between them and ran inside. Mae followed right behind her, but slowed on the steps.

    "We're going to the beach," she said to Alberta. "Are you coming with us?"

    "No."

    "Why not?"

    "I have too much to do."

    "Like what?"

    "Like...like weeding the garden. And feeding the chickens."

    "That's it?"

    "And other things," Alberta added, searching her addled brain for an excuse. "Miranda Redmond is coming by to try on her dress." She was thankful that she'd suddenly remembered something that would justify staying home, even if it wasn't completely true.

    "Oh. Well, I'm taking Lydia and Jim with me." Mae slipped past the screen door. "We'll be back in an hour or two," she added from inside.

    Alberta looked at Isaac and found him still wearing the most disconcerting smile. Why couldn't she be at ease around him? As Mae would be the first to point out, he's just a man.

    "I guess," he said, "I'll leave you to your work. It has been a great pleasure to see you again, Miss Strickler."

    She tilted her head slightly. "Mr. Broussard."

    "Au revoir." He turned, put on his hat, and walked away.

    There was something about the way he moved that communicated both authority and grace. It took a great deal of effort for Alberta to tear her gaze from him.

*   *   *

    Antoine raised both eyebrows in question.

    "Non," Isaac answered.

    His cousin smiled and shrugged. "I fed your horse for you."

    "Thank you."

    "It's not a problem." Antoine slapped Isaac's back. "My girl doesn't require so much chasing." They both turned to the noise of Mae and Lydia running from the house hand-in-hand, clad in heavy bathing clothes.

    James led the horse and buckboard from the barn and everyone climbed in. Mae started a round of "Row Your Boat" as they bounced down the road to the beach.

    Isaac looked back, searching for a glimpse of Alberta, but couldn't find her. If he hadn't been so anxious to wash the grime from his clothes and body, he would have stayed behind–welcome or not.

    The ride wasn't long. A steady breeze blew Gulf waves into the shore with determination. Most of the group jumped from the buckboard when it slowed, and made a beeline for the water. Will and Isaac were the only ones who didn't run.

    Isaac slowed to let Will catch up with him. "They have a lot of enthusiasm, no?" He nodded toward the group ahead.

    "Youthful vigor," Will said.

    "Hey, we're not that old."

    "Are you sure? I feel old today." Will held his lower back and stretched as he walked. "Must be that sleeping on the ground doesn't agree with me anymore."

    Isaac laughed. "I'll second that." He didn't add that he hadn't really slept much–that thoughts of Will's sister had kept him awake until just before dawn. He was fairly sure that comment wouldn't be appreciated. "Maybe we'll feel better after we're clean."

    "Maybe." Will raised his voice as they approached the splashing group. "Mae, you and Lyd have to close your eyes so we can get undressed."

    Mae covered her little sister's eyes and grinned.

    Will unbuttoned his shirt. "You, too," he said.

    "Don't be silly," Mae said. "I've seen you in your shorts hundreds of times."

    "Mae."

    She rolled her eyes and then closed them. "Hurry. I came here to swim, not play hide-and-seek."

    The three men stripped to their underclothes and carried their outer clothes into the water with them. Isaac scrubbed the dirt from his pants and shirt, then rung them out. Splashing back through shallow, muddy waves, he found a piece of driftwood on the beach and draped his clothes over it. At least they wouldn't be quite so wet when he dressed.

    Then he turned, ran into the water, and dove over the first wave. Refreshing water cooled his face and bare chest as he pushed his way through it. He tried to open his eyes, but found it impossible to see through the silty water, so he just went along blindly until he broke the surface. Then he straightened out and swam with long, steady strokes. Swimming was one thing he'd always loved.

    When the muscles in his shoulders began to burn, he stopped, turned, and searched for the group on the beach. With his return coarse plotted, he rolled onto his back and squinted up at the cloudless sky. Swells pushed past, lifting him gently and easing him back down–simple, unlike some things in his life.

    What was he going to do about Alberta Strickler? He'd never experienced such an absurd infatuation before. Not that he hadn't been attracted to other women–he had. He'd just never found the thought of one keeping him up at night.

    Especially when he'd just met her, and she didn't even seem to like him much.

    Of course, he hadn't missed the blush in her cheeks. She reacted to his gaze, but he guessed that it could easily be embarrassment on her part. She didn't act like a woman who'd spent much time in the company of men.

    Or maybe she was attracted to him, and simply didn't want to show it. Or didn't know how.

    The thought stilled his arms. Was that it? Was she just shy?

    Isaac smiled, then rolled over and started back to the shore in earnest.

    Mae's eyebrows shot up at the sight of him walking bare-chested out of the water. The young woman covered her sister's eyes and grinned. Isaac grinned back as he hurried to his clothes.

    "Are you going to help with this?" Antoine asked. He and James dragged logs and ancient planks from the beach into the water to make a raft.

    "No, sorry, I've got things to do," Isaac answered. He pulled his pants up, buttoned them, and slipped on the shirts. His clothes were still dripping, but at least they were relatively clean.

Excerpt from Flight of the Raven: (order your copy for only $1 from Echelon Press -- Dollar Downloads - Horror/Paranormal)

"Who are you?"

Amanda screamed and spun around to the voice in her ear, dropping the flashlight and stumbling at the same time, managing to regain her footing before she fell to the floor.

The flashlight rolled away and stopped, the beam slicing a line along the floor and highlighting the desk.

A man stood less than five feet from her.

He wore black and had dark hair, making him appear as a shadow with a face and hands. His face was very pale, almost powdery white, ghostly, with holes for eyes.

"What--who--"

Amanda had never been one to scream or stammer. Within two seconds, she'd done both.

"I asked first," he said. "And you have invaded my home."

He didn't move at all.

She considered making a run for it, but he blocked her path. And she'd just dropped her only weapon. Not that the small flashlight made much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing.

Which is what she now had.

No, that's not true. She had her wits. Best to make him think she was calm and in control, and then watch for a chance to escape.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know anyone lived here."

He stood very still for a few more seconds, then picked up the flashlight and studied it. When he switched it off, the room and Amanda were engulfed in complete darkness.

"Hey, I said I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking in spite of her best effort to control it. She extended her arms forward, chest high, so she'd know if he was trying to sneak up on her. "I've taken karate."

The flaring match blinded her for a moment, then she realized the man had moved across the room without a sound and was now lighting candles.

This was her chance; the doorway was open. She took two steps, but stopped.

"I didn't mean to startle you," the man said. He turned, holding the candelabra. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Griffin." He nodded in her direction.

"Griffin? That's it?"

"I beg your pardon?" The candlelight made his face more human, illuminating brown eyes, a narrow, regal nose, and wavy shoulder-length dark brown hair. He wore black pants and a black shirt with a high collar--a style she'd never seen before. He was tall and lean, almost gaunt, and stood perfectly straight.

"I, uh," she frowned at the curiosity that kept her from dashing away. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Kerr."

"Amanda Kerr," he said softly. He turned and walked toward the fireplace. "Interesting name. Is it English?"

Amanda followed, maintaining her distance. "I don't know."

"Really?" He stopped in front of the fireplace and placed the candelabra on the hearth.

"You live here?" she asked.

He turned his head just enough to see her. "Yes," he said.

"Why?"

"It suits me."

"A mine suits you?"

"A mine?" He looked around as if seeing the place for the first time.

"Well, yeah, that must be what it is," she said, taking a few tentative steps closer. "Why else would there be a gallery like this in granite? I assume they were looking for gold."

"They?"

She shrugged. "The mining company, or whoever."

"Ah." He clasped his hands behind his back in a move that made him look less threatening.

"What I can't figure out," she said, glancing around, "is why they cut this all by hand. I don't see any sign of drilling."

"Do you know a great deal about mining?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I took a few courses. I'm a geologist."

"Really?" He looked at her with wide eyes. "A geologist," he said softly.

"Yes."

They stood in silence for several long moments.

"What is...karate?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You said you had stolen karate. What is it?"

Amanda's face warmed at the memory of the desperate lie. "I said I'd taken karate. You've never heard of it?"

He hesitated for a moment. "No."

"How long have you lived here?"

He sighed. "A very long time."

Excerpt from Night Life: (order your copy for only $1 from Echelon Press -- $1 Downloads - Mystery/ Suspense)

The Nest lived up to its reputation. There were at least thirty people in various states of undress, scattered around a huge room, glowing under black lights and moving to a strange heartbeat bass. The pierced bartender had fluorescent orange spikes of hair and wore a dog collar and a ripped T-shirt. I'm still not sure if he was a he or a she, and I can usually tell.

I ordered a beer. "I'm looking for someone," I said.

The bartender shrugged and walked away.

"I'm someone."

Before I could turn to see the owner of the low, sexy voice, a long, black razor-sharp fingernail ran across my shoulder and down my arm. The owner of the nail was a woman at least five-ten with long black hair. She was large in all the right places and had legs that stretched halfway from the floor to heaven. She looked damn tasty in leather.

Her gaze ran shamelessly over my body, twice, before she leaned close and sniffed.

"Hmm," she whispered, "you look a little like a cop, but you don't smell like one."

"Dan," I said, extending my hand.

"Kala." She reached up, wrapped her fingers around the back of my neck, and kissed me.

I don't think I've ever been so solidly kissed.

Then she walked off, motioning for me to follow.

I took a deep breath, picked up my beer, and followed Kala to a dark corner. She slid into a padded velvet booth and I sat beside her, wondering if I'd lost my better judgment.

Kala leaned against my arm and played with the buttons on my shirt. "You aren't a regular."

"No."

"What are you into, Dan?"

"I, um, I'm looking for someone."

"So you said."

I gulped. "I'm looking for White Dog."

Her eyebrows lifted a little and she grinned.

Her eyes seemed to be a glittery gold color–had to be contacts. "You're into the heavy stuff?"

"Like what?"

"Like White Dog's game."

"What is White Dog's game?"

"You know–creature of the night and all that."

"He thinks he's a vampire?"

"Oh, yeah."

I frowned at her.

"Look around," she said. "Half the people in here have fang implants. And most of them will be trading blood before the night's over."

I followed her gaze around the place, suddenly feeling a little sick at my stomach. People writhed as couples and in larger groups, undressing each other and groaning. Several clusters disappeared into back rooms.

"Don't they worry about AIDS?"

"Oh, Dan," she cooed, "now you sound like a cop."

"Yeah?" I turned back to Kala. "Maybe that's because I used to be one."

"Really? How interesting." She stroked her fingernails down the side of my neck.

I barely suppressed a shudder.

"What are you when you aren't here?" I asked.

"Me?" She leaned close and whispered in my ear. "I rent cars. I try harder."

I smiled, trying to picture Kala behind the counter at Avis. I just couldn't see it.

"Are you into this…vampire stuff?"

She grinned, raising her upper lip to reveal perfect pearly whites–no fangs. Then she sighed.

"No, Dan, I don't drink blood." Her hand moved down the front of my shirt. "I'm into other things."

A ruckus rose from near the bunkhouse.  Ian stepped outside and squinted against the morning sunlight to see what was causing the scene.  He thought he'd heard gunshots.

It looked like most of the staff stood gathered along the side of a corral, watching two riders inside the fence.  One of the horses jumped around, sending up a cloud of dust.

The rider's body moved in fluid motion with the horse, holding Ian entranced by the raw beauty and honest power.  His heart raced at the vicarious thrill.  It was a moment right out of the Old West: one brave man pitted against a wild Montana bronco.

Watching the rider, he joined JB on the far side of the corral, trying to keep his voice calm in spite of his excitement.  "Wild horse?"

JB nodded.  "Mornin', Mr. Drake.  Just a bit of a problem with one of the geldings."

The horse tossed the rider around like a rag doll.  A bit of a problem was putting it mildly.

In the middle of a nasty jump, and the rider's hat flew off.

Ian's jaw dropped when he realized the rider's blond ponytail belonged to Meg, the attractive young woman he'd mistaken for the cook the night before.

"What the hell?"

He could hear Meg's voice over the sound of pounding hooves, although he couldn't make out the words.  She spoke softly and appeared calm.  The young man on the second horse pulled alongside Meg for a moment, and Ian saw the surprised look on his face even before he heard her yell.

"Get back!"

The shocked rider quickly veered away from the frenzied horse.

Ian watched, transfixed, his gaze following her as she rode.  Her body--yielding, yet dominant--moved seamlessly with the fury of the animal.  The strength of her will showed in the firm line of her jaw.

The horse continued to buck for several seconds and then hopped in a wide circle.   Slowing to a gallop, no doubt exhausted, he circled the corral three times before he stopped.  His nostrils flared and his sides heaved.  He stepped sideways once or twice, and his hide twitched as if electrified.

When the horse finally calmed down, Meg swung from the saddle and moved slowly to the horse's head, talking to him in a soft, reassuring voice.  She stroked his neck, working calm into the beast many times her size.   Her hands didn't even shake; in fact, she looked a lot more relaxed than she had standing in the study in a dress the night before.

And every bit as attractive, he mused.  Susan was attractive, but the contrasts of this woman intrigued him.

Meg looped the lead rope in her hand and leisurely led the horse from the corral.

A quiet buzz of discussion floated over from the onlookers.

Ian blinked and turned to JB.  "What's going on here?"  He waved a hand toward the corral.

"We had high hopes for that gelding, but he's--"

"No, I mean what was she doing on that horse?"

The old man grinned from behind his moustache.  "Oh, that's right, you met Megan last night.  Well, I'm pretty sure she was trying to gentle him."

"I can see that, JB.  But why was Meg risking life and limb trying to gentle him?"

"Well now, 'cause that's what Megan does.  She gentles horses for the Green Ridge.  Around these parts, Megan Richards is about the best horseman there is.  I guess you might call her a horse-person down in California, but we don't stand on formality in these parts.  We just call her a horseman."

The old man was dead serious, even though he teased Ian with his talk of political correctness.  Not only was this woman not the cook, she rode wild horses for a living.  That was something he hadn't found in the videos.  A shiver skittered down his neck and he shook it off, hoping the old man didn't notice.

"I told you to stay back!  You could have gotten us both hurt!  Don't ever do that again!"

Everyone, including Ian, focused on Meg's voice as she reprimanded the contrite red-haired cowboy.

She stood in front of him, her finger pointed at his face.  He was a good foot taller than Meg, but he backed up nonetheless.

In a huff, she whirled on her heel and marched off to where she'd lost her hat.   Grabbing it, she sent a puff of dust into the air.  She smacked the battered hat against her thigh several times, and then placed it on her head with a forceful tug as she strode past the group without a word.

Ian kept his gaze on the fiery woman's backside as she walked toward the barn.   "Wow."

 "Yep, she sure can be a ball of fire when she's riled."  JB cleared his throat.

The group started moving away from the fence and JB raised his voice to be heard.   "Okay everyone, we're meeting at the back porch of the main house.  Grab your coffee mugs.  You got two minutes to fill 'em."

Excerpt from Murder in Marshall's Bayou : (order your copy from Zumaya Publications -- mysteries.)