Please welcome my guest today Karen Docter. This wonderfully supportive author has some great stories to offer. I hope you’ll check out her website (link below) after you’ve read this dynamite 1ST KISS from COP ON HER DOORSTEP.
In the six years since her husband was killed by S.W.A.T., Carrie Padilla has spent long hours at work, rebuilding a life for herself and her son. The little time she has at home is spent keeping her eight-year-old son out of trouble, but he is all too eager to try to be the man in the house. When a handsome cop shows up on her doorstep, her errant son in tow, Carrie’s heart stutters. The sexy Italian cop sets off all kinds of bells in her system, and she knows there’s only one thing she can do to save what is left of her family, her husband’s memory, and her heart…avoid her new neighbor at all costs.
Jake and Carrie return from their first date…
“We’re home,” he said, pulling into his driveway.
Dragged from her reverie, she watched him walk around to assist her out of the car. With his large hand cupped around her elbow, he strode across the street. She had to take two steps to his one and, in no time, they came to a stop outside her front door.
Jeez. What was the rush? All of a sudden, Jake had become a stranger. Under the glowing porch light, his eyes looked calm enough—unreadable, in fact—but somehow, she sensed an edginess in his stiff stance.
“Do you have your keys?”
She handed them over and, within seconds, the front door was open and Jake was again standing two feet away.
His hasty retreat had the oddest effect on her. While she should be happy he didn’t seem to expect the requisite goodnight kiss of a real date, she only felt rejected. It was unnerving to know the woman inside her was still willing to court emotional chances.
Remember what happened the last time you jumped off that particular cliff.
The mental reminder was unwelcome, but it moved her to action. “Good night, Jake.” She leaned up to brush a kiss against his jaw.
It was a mistake, of course. The stream of electricity that arced from his skin to her lips caught her completely unprepared. It jolted sluggish nerve endings to life and randomly short-circuited what remained of her brain cells. Her legs unsteady, she searched his face.
It was surprisingly blank. Except for his eyes. They were no longer calm. Far from it. They were now dark and turbulent and fixed on her with hot intensity.
Only a fool played with fire, but she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she walked into the flames. Would they warm her or burn her to a crisp? The only way to know was to kiss him again.
Did she dare? How could she not? This was their one and only date, wasn’t it? She’d never get another chance.
“Good night, Carr—“
Her lips cut off Jake’s words and, for an instant, the heavenly feel of his mouth melding with hers was enough to quench her curiosity. His heat thawed her insides, filled the cold, empty spaces in her heart. It raced to keep up with the electrical impulses zipping through her body.
When she realized their lips were their sole point of contact even though she stood on her tiptoes to reach his mouth, she swayed into his body. “Jake?”
Carrie’s husky plea against his mouth, her taste, the feel of her yielding curves burrowing into his hard length…Jake couldn’t hold out against the relentless assault on his fractured senses. He’d wanted her to take the next step. She had and, damn his clamoring libido, he craved more.
Lowering his head, he took what he needed. His arms surrounded her, lifting her into his body until they meshed from chest to thigh. Her lips parted on a gasp of surprise, of acceptance. She wriggled against him. He groaned his approval.
His tongue thrust past the edges of her teeth, probing deeply. Without preliminary, without hesitation. He plundered her sweetness as he blindly pushed into the house, carrying her with him. He didn’t stop moving until they bumped into one of the entry walls.
Caught between two equally unyielding surfaces, Carrie moaned and dropped her purse to the floor. He kicked it aside and tossed the ring of keys that bit into his left hand after it. Reluctant to drag himself away from her drugging kisses, he sucked air into his starved lungs. “I didn’t mean, we shouldn’t, ah, hell.”
Recapturing her lips, he eased back so she could slide down his body. His hands gentled, trailed caresses along her spine beneath her jacket until they came to rest on her backside. With a low, tortured sound, he ground his erection intimately into her softness to alert her to his tenuous hold. “Carrie, honey,” he groaned at last, “tell me to stop.”
“Mmm.” Carrie responded to the rumble of his deep voice with an instinctive, feminine moan. Stop this? It had been too long since a man held her, made her feel so alive. So desirable and, oh, so desperately needy. Never had she encountered such a burning need to get near someone.
To alleviate the problem, she dragged her hands from his thick hair and worked her way down until she discovered a gap in his jacket. She dove inside where taut muscles rippled against her palms. The soft feel of only one thin layer of cotton between her fingertips and his naked skin set off tremors deep in her belly. Moving forward, she touched—
Something cold.
Something hard.
As if stung, she jerked both hands out of Jake’s jacket away from the holster tucked high against his body. “You’re wearing a gun?”
He trailed kisses along her jaw. “I always wear one,” he said, the words distant, unfocused, against her ear.
She tilted her head to grant him better access to the tender skin beneath her earlobe. Then harsh memories reverberated through her head like a sledgehammer, knocking down the walls of desire she’d been building like an ingenuous child with a new set of blocks.
What are you doing? Jake’s a cop. He wears a gun. Even on a date. The man’s a walking, talking risk, and your risk-taking days are long gone. She gulped for air to smother the panic.
“Carrie?”
Her brain barely functioned, but she knew she had to escape the question forming in his too sexy, hot chocolate eyes. She pushed him back several steps so he once again stood on her doorstep. “Good-bye, Jake,” she choked out before closing the door in his face.
Refusing to listen when he called her name, she locked the deadbolt with nerveless fingers and backed up until she knew she was far enough away to resist the temptation to reopen the door. To her house. Or to her heart.
Last week I shared a snippet from my book, MONTANA COWGIRL. Today, you’ll be happy to see snippets from my co-authors, Melissa McClone and Alissa Callen. If you’re a NOOK reader, here’s your chance to grab three heart-warming stories for under a buck apiece! If you don’t have a Nook, you can still buy these books individually from the vendor of your choice (just not in a bundle). See below.
From CHERISH ME, COWBOY:
“Come on, who says I don’t ever have any fun?”
Payton’s eyes shone with such golden life, her smile contained such uninhibited joy, all Cordell could do was nod and follow. Getting wet was a small price to pay for stealing a few brief minutes with the cowgirl in a swirling and surreal world. When the clouds parted and the rain stopped, reality would return. He’d have a promise to keep and a city existence to return to.
Within seconds, he was saturated. Water seeped through his cotton T-shirt and ran down the back of his neck. But as cold as the water was, the feel of Patyon’s fingers entwined with his, heated his blood. Thunder boomed followed by an almost instantaneous lightning flash. The storm was almost directly overhead. Knowing the wind would steal his words, he tugged her toward the porch. Again, she shook her head. Baxter, his tail between his legs, fled to the safety of his dry kennel.
Thunder again roared. Cordell snagged Payton’s slender waist and slung her over his shoulder. He reached the porch just before a jagged bolt splintered the sky.
Chest heaving, he firmed his hold on the back of her knees as he readied himself to return her to the ground. Cool air brushed his lower back and stomach. Payton must have gripped the bottom of his T-shirt to balance herself and had pulled it midway up his torso. He carefully took her weight and lowered her to the porch floorboards. But as he did so her full breasts pressed against his chest and her bare skin slid against his. He bit back a groan. The wet friction between the cotton of his shirt and her tank top had caused her own shirt hem to ride upward. There was now nothing between their naked midriffs but the wet lick of water.
His hands moved to her waist to steady her as her feet touched the ground. Beneath the pads of his fingers, he could feel the jut of her hips and the ripple of goosebumps over her soft skin. He fought for control. She’d be mad at being slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. It would be okay. She’d tell him off and step away before he did something they’d both regret.
She didn’t move.
The soundtrack of the storm’s fury dulled to a whisper.
Every breath she took pushed her chest closer to his. Every breath he took threatened to shatter his self-control. When had she laced her hands around his neck? Another three seconds, and he’d be finishing what they’d started in his parked truck.
He didn’t even make it to two.
His mouth covered hers. She tasted of rain and sweetness and smelt of summer and mountain wildflowers. As she stood on tip-toe to match his hunger, the sky could have caved in over him and he wouldn’t have cared.
As much as she took, he gave. And as much as he asked for, she granted.
Her hands unclasped from behind his neck and slid over his water-slicked abs and under his T-shirt. He shuddered, knowing he was exposed but powerless to hide how she moved him and what she made him feel.
“Payton,” he groaned as they came up for air. “I can’t hurt you. I can’t stay.”
“I know,” she said, before again fusing her mouth with his.
His hands found the neat curve of her butt and pulled her even closer. This time she was the one who spoke as they drew apart to breathe.
“Please, tell me you’re feeling.”
“Oh, I’m feeling all right,” he growled as he plundered the delicate line of her soft throat.
“Good, because if you’re feeling, as per our talk the other night, that means I need to learn to accept help.” He’d never seen her eyes so luminous or heard her voice so breathless. She jumped and he caught her as she wrapped her slim legs around his waist. “And I think I’ll start by you helping me get out of these wet clothes.”
The sun disappeared beneath the horizon. Darkness surrounded them. Zack didn’t care. Charlie didn’t seem to either.
A good thing. She was his lifeline, his way back to the civilian world, a place he felt disconnected from at the moment. He talked, and she held his hand. He cried, and she comforted him.
She wiped away his tears with her fingertips.
Embarrassed, he looked away.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
No, it wasn’t, but if she could pretend, so could he.
Charlie sighed. “I wish…”
Her compassionate tone made Zack look up. The lantern glowed softly, giving off enough light so he could see her face.
She leaned forward, toward him. The connection between them intensified. He came closer, driven by an urge he shouldn’t be feeling. Not with Charlie.
Zack stared into blue eyes filled with empathy, wanted to know what she wished and was about to ask…
She kissed him.
A kiss so tender and sweet, Zack knew she’d been heaven-sent to get him through this night. He didn’t plan on kissing her back—that would be against his rule—but she wasn’t stopping.
I’m so excited to be part of this great Mother’s Day Bundle from Tule Publishing. If you–or MOM–is a NOOK reader, here’s your chance to grab three heart-warming stories for under a buck apiece!
I’m a big fan of forgiveness and second chances. Most people would give Paul and Bailey ZERO chance of making up for past hurts and heartbreak, but, sometimes, love can beat the odds.
From MONTANA COWGIRL:
She opened the door and carefully lowered her good foot to the ground. The ache in her ankle was back, but she’d be damned if she’d play the cripple in front of Paul.
“I can take one of those,” she said, meeting him at the tailgate of the truck.
He pulled the bigger of the two out first, setting it on the sidewalk. His muscles really were quite impressive, she realized. Wishing she had some reason to touch him.
The idea unnerved her. When he suggested she let him make two trips, she didn’t argue. She needed some distance, a little down time. Right now.
“Do you have the key?” Paul called out as he dashed up the ramp, the first of her giant suitcases in tow.
“I don’t think Mom’s ever locked the door in my entire life.”
He tested the handle. Sure enough, it swung inward. He wrestled the ungainly, soft-sided suitcase across the threshold then dashed past her for its mate.
She’d barely stepped inside when her phone rang. Mom.
“Hi. We just got here.”
“Wonderful. I have more good news. Oscar’s doctor is letting him go home today. The discharge papers will probably take an hour or two, we’ll be there in time to have dinner together.”
Today?
“Great.”
“You should invite Paul to join us. To thank him for picking you up.”
“Really, Mom? Do you think that’s a good idea? Dad’s first night out of the hospital? He and I haven’t seen each other in a couple of years. Maybe we should keep it family for awhile.”
“Oh, of course. You’re right. What was I thinking? We’ll do something nice for Paul later on. I have to go. The nurse wants Oscar to shower before he leaves since we don’t have that kind of equipment at home yet. See you soon, honey. I’m so glad you’re here.”
A few seconds later, Paul lugged her other ridiculously over-weight bag across the threshold.
“We have rocks in Montana, Bailey. You didn’t have to bring your own from California.”
She tried to smile, but the erratic thudding of her heart interfered with normal reactions.
Paul cocked his head. “What’s up?”
She shoved her phone in her bag. “OC is being released today. They’ll be here soon.”
She took a step, planning to make some effort to appear the gracious hostess. Unfortunately, her ankle locked and she lunged off balance, grazing her hip on the side of her father’s worn leather recliner.
Paul pivoted as precisely as Daz “heeling” in the arena. He caught her elbow and stepped in to help her regain her balance.
Close enough to smell his cologne and see the tiny strips of facial hair his razor missed. Close enough to kiss the lips that looked more familiar than they should have.
What the hell was wrong with her? This man hated her, cursed her, and she dropped into his arms like some stupid damsel in distress?
To celebrate HER FOREVER GIFT, my Montana Mavericks’ holiday novella, going FREE on all platforms, I’m sharing a recipe–and excerpt–from the book.
Louise’s trifle isn’t something to be trifled with…and, as you’ll see, your options for fruit is varied, to say the least. Pick what your family likes and run with it, as Louise did.
Christmas Trifle
Recipe Type: dessert
Cuisine: American
Author: Debra Salonen
Prep time:
Cook time:
Total time:
Serves: 6
This dessert if light and refreshing and easy to prepare. Plus, you can pick your family’s favorite fruits. Be creative! These are the fruits my family likes best, my heroine, Louise Jenkins, chose other variations. Nuts and dried fruits might be interesting, as well.
Ingredients
Ingredients
1 packaged Angel Food cake or 2 packaged sponge cakes, broken into pieces
1 package fresh blueberries
1 package fresh blackberries
4 cups frozen strawberries (fresh are okay, too, but frozen are easier to come by at Christmastime)
4 C whipping cream prepared to taste (I like mine not overly sweet with a couple of drops of vanilla)
4 Tbsp sugar
optional: 1/4 C liquor (I use Cointreau for the hint of orange.)
optional: 1/4 C chocolate syrup
Instructions
Wash fruit and drain completely. Reserve 1/4 cup of raspberries for decoration.
Break cakes into bite-size pieces, set aside.
Prepare whipping cream to stiff set, sweeten as you desire.
Slice strawberries and mix with sugar and liquor, as desired.
Layer cake on the bottom, fresh fruit, strawberry mixture, then whipped cream.
Repeat.
Arrange reserved raspberries on top, then drizzle with chocolate, if desired.
Refrigerate until ready to serve. The longer it sits the more the flavors mingle.
3.2.1290
Excerpt:
“The soup is fabulous, Louise,” her new son-in-law said.
“Really great, Grandma, can I have more?” Chloe asked.
“Of course. Eat up.” Louise stood to reach the ladle. “What about you, Mark?”
The youngest of them shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m leaving room for dessert.”
Everyone’s gaze followed Mark’s to the tall-sided glass bowl that held Louise’s trifle. She’d removed it from the refrigerator moments earlier so it could come to room temperature before serving. Three distinct strata were visible: coarsely torn bits of white cake topped by marinated cherries, blueberries, mandarin orange slices and pineapple, and lastly whipped cream. Each portion would be topped with warm Copper Mountain Chocolate Company’s decadent and nearly immoral dark chocolate syrup.
Mark wasn’t the only one to lick his lips.
“Where’d you learn to make that, Mom?” Bailey asked. “We’ve had it on Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember.”
Louise looked at OC. The intensity of his stare made her blush. “I made it up. Our first Christmas after we were married, we were too poor to make anything fancy and I remembered reading that in olden days, people served stale cake with fruit that they marinated in rum or brandy then poured over the cake to make it palatable. So, that’s what I did.”
OC let out a laugh that made everyone look his way. “First time I ever saw your mother drunk.”
“Mom doesn’t drink.”
“She didn’t have to–every bite was like taking a shot.” OC slapped his knee. “It was funnier than heck. Unlike some people–” He tapped both thumbs to his chest.” –Luly was a happy drunk. But, boy, did she have a headache in the morning.”
Markie sat forward, rubbing his hands together. “Am I going to get drunk eating it?”
Paul elbowed him. “No.”
Paul looked at Louise for confirmation. “That was the last time I used whiskey to make my trifle, Mark. Sorry to disappoint you, but the brandy flavor comes from the little bit of natural fermentation produced by the fruit.” She leaned over and squeezed his thin little arm. “It still tastes yummy and you won’t have a terrible, horrible headache in the morning. Like I did.”
And my husband won’t have fallen off the wagon when he’s been doing so well, she didn’t add.
This evening is the start of Hanukkah. What better way to celebrate than with a sweet, charming story and a delicious family recipe from author Karen Sandler.
She told me:
This recipe for potato pancakes came from my late father-in-law, Merle Sandler. We’ve made these latkes for decades for Hanukkah, and I had this recipe in mind while writing “The 8th Gift,” my contribution to the CELEBRATE Romance! anthology.
Potato Latkes
Recipe Type: side dish
Cuisine: Jewish
Author: Karen Sandler
Prep time:
Cook time:
Total time:
Serves: 12
This wonderful recipe for potato pancakes came from my late father-in-law, Merle Sandler. We’ve made these latkes for decades for Hanukkah, and were what I had in mind while writing “The 8th Gift,” my contribution to the CELEBRATE! anthology.
Ingredients
4 large russet or Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and grated
1/2 c onion, grated
2 eggs
2 tbsp flour
3/4 tsp salt
dash pepper
oil for frying
applesauce and sour cream
Instructions
Mix all ingredients in a large bowl. Heat oil in skillet, keep at a depth of ¼”. Have cookie sheets with paper towels ready. Heat oven to low heat to keep latkes warm while other batches are cooking.
Using a slotted spoon, squeeze liquid out of potato clumps and add to hot oil. Flatten using back of spoon. Once brown (about 5 minutes) turn over and cook other side (about 4 minutes). Drain on paper towels and keep hot.
Serve with dishes of applesauce and sour cream.
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The Eighth Gift — a Hanukkah story from Karen Sandler
And here’s an brief excerpt from Karen’s Celebrate Romance contribution, The 8th Gift:
The garage door opened, startling her awake. Unbelievably, she’d fallen asleep on her feet. “What is it?”
“I’m done. Front and back door both have deadbolts.”
She glanced up at the clock above the workbench. Nearly half-past midnight.
“I moved the laundry to the dryer,” he added as he descended the two steps to the garage.
She felt heat on her cheeks again. The thought of the thieves handling her intimates had sickened her. Imagining Jake’s big hands tugging her panties from the washer and tossing them into the dryer filled her with an entirely different sensation.
His gaze fixed on her again, the way it had sought her out when she’d been in the kitchen. Then he looked away, and his eyes found the special box, the one she’d received from Ian’s commander.
Jake crossed the garage and read the return address. He drew his hand across the packing tape sealing the box. “Ian’s personal effects?”
“I don’t even know what’s in it,” she blurted out. “I haven’t been able to open it.”
He just nodded. Of course he understood. “Are you going to be okay?”
Tears filled her eyes in an instant. “They took Aaron’s Hanukkah gifts. All of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Then she lost all control, sobbing, covering her face with her hands. When Jake wrapped his arms around her, she clutched him as if she’d die without him to hold onto. Her sobs were ugly and hurt her throat, her heart. All the pain of the last twelve months seemed to flood her all at once.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jake whispered. “Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll figure it out.”
~~~
Celebrate Romance!
5 holidays/5 authors/ 5 heart-warming love stories.
I’m excited to introduce a new-to-me author, Kaira Rouda. She’s got a book coming from Tule Publishing in the near future, but her newest release, IN THE MIRROR, just hit bookshelves–and it sounds wonderful!
“I am one of those people who look up the recipe each time I try something – no recipe loyalty, so to speak, but everybody needs a good recipe for a Mother’s Day Brunch, right?” Kaira says. “And this one sounds delicious!”
So, that’s what you get to try today–Skillet French Toast & Preserves!
Skillet French Toast & Preserves Casserole
Recipe Type: main dish
Cuisine: brunch
Author: Kaira Rouda
Prep time:
Cook time:
Total time:
Serves: 6-8
Perfect for Mother’s Day!
Ingredients
3 cups whole milk
8 large egg yolks
1/4 cup maple syrup
1 tablespoon vanilla bean paste or pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup Fruit Preserves (your choice)
8 croissants, torn into rustic 2-inch pieces
1/2 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup raspberries
Confectioner’s sugar, optional
Instructions
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Combine the milk, egg yolks, maple syrup, vanilla, and salt in a large bowl and whisk until frothy. Heat the preserves in a small saucepan until warm and pourable, 1 to 2 minutes.
Arrange half of the croissant pieces in the bottom of a 2 1/2-quart cast iron skillet and drizzle with half of the warm preserves. Pour half of the egg mixture over the croissants. Repeat with remaining croissant pieces, preserves, and egg mixture. Lightly press the croissants with a spoon to help saturate with liquid, but do not submerge completely. Set aside for 20 – 30 minutes before baking.
Sprinkle the casserole with pecans and raspberries. Cover the skillet with aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove the aluminum foil and continue cooking until puffed and golden, 15 to 20 minutes. Let stand for 10 to 15 minutes before serving; garnish with confectioner’s sugar if desired. Serve warm or at room temperature.
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Now, check out IN THE MIRROR–What choices would you make if you knew you may die soon?
EXCERPT
Warning: Prompt medical attention is critical for adults as well as children, even if you do not notice any symptoms.
Chapter 1
Rolling over to get out of bed, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and cringed. My reflection said it all.
Everything had changed.
I looked like death.
I blinked, moving my gaze from the mirror, and noticed the calendar. It was Monday again. That meant everything in the real world. It meant groaning about the morning and getting the kids off to school. It meant struggling to get to the office on time and then forcing yourself to move through the day. It meant the start of something new and fresh and undetermined.
But Mondays meant nothing at Shady Valley. We lived in the “pause” world, between “play” and “stop.” Suspension was the toughest part for me.
And loneliness.
Sure, I had visitors, but it wasn’t the same as being surrounded by people in motion. I’d been on fast-forward in the real world, juggling two kids and my business, struggling to stay connected to my husband, my friends. At Shady Valley, with beige-colored day after cottage-cheese-tasting day, my pace was, well – I had to get moving.
I supposed my longing for activity was behind my rather childish wish to throw a party for myself. At least it gave me a mission of sorts. A delineation of time beyond what the latest in a long line of cancer treatments dictated. It had been more than 18 months of treatments, doctor’s appointments, hospitalizations and the like. I embraced the solidity of a deadline. The finality of putting a date on the calendar and knowing that at least this, my party, was something I could control.
I noticed the veins standing tall and blue and bubbly atop my pale, bony hands. I felt a swell of gratitude for the snakelike signs of life, the entry points for experimental treatments; without them, I’d be worse than on pause by now. I pulled my favorite blue sweatshirt over my head and tugged on my matching blue sweatpants.
Moving at last, I brushed my teeth and then headed next door to Ralph’s. He was my best friend at Shady Valley—a special all-suite, last-ditch-effort experimental facility for the sick and dying—or at least he had been until I began planning my party. I was on his last nerve with this, but he’d welcome the company, if not the topic. He was paused too.
My thick cotton socks helped me shuffle across my fake wood floor, but it was slow going once I reached the grassy knoll—the leaf-green carpet that had overgrown the hallway. An institutional attempt at Eden, I supposed.
On our good days, Ralph and I sometimes sneaked my son’s plastic bowling set out there to partake in vicious matches. We had both been highly competitive, type-A people in the “real” world and the suspended reality of hushed voices and tiptoeing relatives was unbearable at times.
“I’ve narrowed it down to three choices,” I said, reaching Ralph’s open door. “’Please come celebrate my life on the eve of my death. RSVP immediately. I’m running out of time.’”
“Oh, honestly,” Ralph said, rolling his head back onto the pillows propping him up.
I knew my time in Shady Valley was only bearable because of this man, his humanizing presence. Even though we both looked like shadows of our outside, real-world selves, we carried on a relationship as if we were healthy, alive. I ignored the surgery scars on his bald, now misshapen head. He constantly told me I was beautiful. It worked for us.
“Too morbid? How about: ‘Only two months left. Come see the incredible, shrinking woman. Learn diet secrets of the doomed,’” I said, smiling then, hoping he’d join in.
“Jennifer, give it a rest would you?” Ralph said.
“You don’t have to be so testy. Do you want me to leave?” I asked, ready to retreat back to my room.
“No, come in. Let’s just talk about something else, OK, beautiful?”
Ralph was lonely, too. Friends from his days as the city’s most promising young investment banker had turned their backs—they didn’t or couldn’t make time for his death. His wife, Barbara, and their three teenage kids were his only regular visitors.
Some days, I felt closer to Ralph than to my own family, who seemed increasingly more absorbed in their own lives despite weekly flowers from Daddy and dutiful visits from Henry, my husband of six years.
Poor Henry. It was hard to have meaningful visits at Shady Valley, with nurses and treatments and all manner of interruptions. We still held hands and kissed, but intimacy—even when I was feeling up to it—was impossible.
So, there we were, Ralph and I, two near-death invalids fighting for our lives and planning a party to celebrate that fact. It seemed perfectly reasonable, at least to me, because while I knew I should be living in the moment, the future seemed a little hazy without a party to focus on. “Seriously, I need input on my party invitations. It’s got to be right before I hand it over to Mother. I value your judgment, Ralph; is that too much to ask?”
“For God’s sake, let me see them.” Ralph snatched the paper out of my hand. After a moment, he handed it back to me. “The last one’s the best. The others are too, well, self-pitying and stupid. Are you sure you can’t just have a funeral like the rest of us?”
I glared at him, but agreed, “That’s my favorite, too.”
Mr. & Mrs. E. David Wells request your presence at a celebration in honor of their daughter Jennifer Wells Benson
Please see insert for your party time
Shady Valley Center
2700 Hocking Ridge Road
RSVP to Mrs. Juliana Duncan Wells
No gifts please—donations to breast cancer research appreciated.
~~
Oh, wow! What would you do if you only had so long to live? Click HERE to go to Kaira’s website where you’ll find buy links to BN and IndieBound, or click HERE for Amazon Kindle.
