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Monthly Archives: February 2013

Tuesday Tales – Sand(y)

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It’s another Tuesday Tales! This week’s word prompt is sand(y). And don’t forget to check out the other fantastic writers on Tuesday Tales!

stream

 

Thatcher and Miranda talked and laughed as they wandered along the sandy bank of the stream, dreaming the plans for their wedding.  Miranda felt Thatcher tense beneath her fingers holding his hand as they ascended the path to their village.  She watched the euphoria drain from his eyes, the sapphire blue becoming cold.

“You have changed your mind,” Miranda whimpered.  “You will not marry me now.”

Thatcher gazed down to her.  The warmth returned to his eyes.  “I had planned on waiting until I spoke to the commander of the king’s army before I spoke to your father.  However, I cannot wait that long.  I will speak to your father now.”

“But you are tense.”

Thatcher cocked a half smile at Miranda.  “It is not a simple task, Miranda.  I am asking your father for you, his daughter he loves so dearly.  I have always believed he found favor with me.  But is it enough to allow me you as my bride?”

Miranda rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to Thatcher’s cheek.  “He loves you, Thatcher.  He will be overjoyed for you to be my husband.”

“I hope so.”

Thatcher clasped Miranda’s hand tighter as they strolled along the dirt roads of their village.  They stopped as they approached the lane that led to Miranda’s cottage.  The road was filled with the king’s soldiers and noblemen.  Miranda’s father was amongst them.  Miranda ran to the group of men with Thatcher on her heels.

“Father, what is happening?” Miranda pleaded.

The man standing beside her father turned, his gray eyes gleaming in a mysterious triumph.  “Ah, Lady Miranda,” he greeted.

Miranda looked at her father, her emerald green eyes bewildered.  “Father, what is he saying?”

“I am Count Brunon,” the man introduced.  “You are Lady Miranda, daughter of Lord Roderick, the late brother of the King.  I am here to take you home to the palace.”

“But this is my home.  And my father.  “Miranda looked pleadingly at the man she had always known as her father.

“Does he look like your father?  Your hair is dark, my lady.  His is sandy blond.  Did your mother have dark hair?”

Miranda shook her head no silently.  Brunon motioned to the carriage, “Your belongings have been gathered.  We must go, my lady.”

Thatcher rushed past Miranda and Brunon and approached Miranda’s father.  “Sir, I have come to ask for Miranda’s hand in marriage.  Please give me that reward and keep her here in our village.”

Miranda’s father shook his head sadly.  “Forgive me, Thatcher.  There is nothing I can do.”

Thatcher turned, his sapphire eyes narrowed in rage, as Brunon’s laugh echoed through the street.  “His majesty will certainly not give her hand to a poor son of a farmer.  Let us go, Miranda.”

Miranda stared at Thatcher as tears streamed down her cheeks.  Her dreams were shattered.  She heaved a heart wrenching sob.

“Now, my lady.”  Brunon grasped Miranda’s arm and shoved her towards the carriage.  Thatcher charged the tall, thin man.  No man would treat his love in such a way.

A half dozen swords froze Thatcher in his place.  He watched helplessly as Miranda stepped into the carriage.  The soldiers mounted their horses.  With a shout, the procession surged to life and disappeared around the corner.

Thatcher stared down the empty dirt road.  “Then my choice is made,” he growled.  “His majesty won’t give me her hand as a farmer’s son.  I have better fortune to win her hand as his trusted knight.”

 Don’t forget to check out more incredible short stories on Tuesday Tales!

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Tuesday Tales – Spider

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This one was a challenge because I hate spiders.  So there won’t be any graphics of my subject because I’d give myself nightmares if I did.  I am jumping back to Thatcher and Miranda starting at the very beginning of their tale…

Miranda wrapped her arms around her knees as she watched the rays of sunlight twinkle off the clear water in the stream.  The large oak tree she sat beneath shaded her from the summer sun.  Hopefully she could sit beside this stream all day.

Miranda glanced back to her village.  The king’s nobles had returned once again to speak to her father.  Their presence terrified her.  Almost viciously they thanked her father for his service to the king but his duty was now over.  They would soon return for the maiden.  Ever since their first visit Miranda’s father would no longer look her in the eye.  He found every excuse to be absent from their cottage.

Miranda wiped the tears that suddenly sprung into her emerald green eyes.  Could it be true?  Could the man who raised her, loved her as his own not be her father?

Miranda lifted her eyes to watch the stream ripple past her.  A scream erupted from her throat as her eyes locked on a spider, its thin spindly legs rappelling down from its silk web.  Miranda scuttled backward colliding against a very solid object.  Her eyes traced from the spider to its web to the stick it was fixed on.  Thatcher met her terrified gaze with a mischievous grin.

“Hello, Miranda,” Thatcher crooned.

Miranda scrambled from beneath Thatcher’s arm holding the spider and rose to her feet.  Thatcher was Miranda’s other heartbreak.  Thatcher had been part of Miranda’s life since she could remember.  His father was a farmer and hers was the town miller.  The two men were business partners and best friends.

As small children Thatcher was as close to Miranda as a brother.  They did everything together.  They spent their days gathering color filled stones in the stream.  They spent the evenings singing songs around the campfire and chasing fireflies.

But as they matured Thatcher became so much more than a brother to Miranda.  He grew from a lanky youth to a tall, sensual man.  His body was chiseled, every muscle rippling and strong.  He kept his black hair cropped short.  His eyes burned in a beautiful sapphire blue.

Yet Miranda was sure Thatcher did not feel the same as Miranda.  Miranda would always be Thatcher’s sister to him.

Thatcher balanced the tiny spider on his arm allowing the creature to climb across the fabric of his tunic.

“Settle, Miranda.  It is just a spider,” Thatcher laughed.

“It was not funny, Thatcher,” Miranda chided.

“Yes it was.”

Miranda took a deep breath.  She felt her heart break to pieces.  “I see the king’s army has made their camp nearby.  Have you gone to talk to the commander?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They leave in two weeks.  I will leave with them.”

“And your father is all right with this?”

“Yes.  He is proud that I will become a knight of the king’s army.”  Thatcher cocked his head to the side, his mouth still turned in his devilish grin.  “How does my Miranda feel about it?”

“I do not believe I have an opinion, do I?”

“Of course you do.  I value your opinion.”

Miranda bit her lower lip nervously.  “I do not approve.”

“Why not?”

“It was not our plans.”

“What were our plans, Miranda?  I had no plans in this village.”

“Oh,” Miranda squeaked.  She glanced back to the village then to the paths and brush.  Despite the king’s nobles she needed to make an escape back to her cottage.  Soon.

Thatcher gently brushed the spider to the ground then slowly strode to Miranda.  “Miranda, what were your plans of me?” he demanded.

Miranda gazed up to him as her face flushed red.  “That you and I would be…wed,” she whispered.

“Wed?  You and I?”

“Yes.”

Miranda braced herself for his laughter.  In his ears her wishes were probably ridiculous.  She felt the tears of humiliation rush into her eyes again.

Miranda gasped in surprise as Thatcher swept her into his arms.  Her gasp was smothered by his kiss, a deep, soft, delicious kiss.  Miranda wrapped her arms around Thatcher’s neck, clinging to him as his kiss deepened.

As their lips parted, Thatcher’s voice rasped, “Are you certain you wish to be my wife?”

“Yes,” Miranda breathed.

“Then I will go speak to the commander of the army tomorrow.  I will also speak to your father.”

“But your desire to be a knight,” Miranda protested.

Thatcher kissed Miranda again.  “This is my true desire.  I want nothing more than you as my bride, Miranda.  I love you with all my heart.”

Miranda’s heart thundered in her chest at his words.  “I love you also, Thatcher.”

Miranda’s thoughts of the village, her father and the king’s nobles disappeared as she melted against Thatcher’s hard, warm body and lost herself in his kisses.

Don’t forget to check out more incredible romantic stories at Tuesday Tales!

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!
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Just wanted to share what my sweet hubby gave me…
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Have a great day!! <3<3<3

Character Profile – Mary Wright

I have had another request for a character profile – this time Mary Wright, Abbey’s Mom.  Since I am home again with my ubber-painful shoulder (ugh) it seems like the perfect time to explore Mary!  And once again if you have a suggestion for who you would like to meet next leave a comment either here or on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/t.l.andersenauthor).

Onto the profile…..

lemonade

Mary Wright 

Nicknames/Alias: Mary

Age: Mid 50s

Quote:  Mary smiled at her.  “Go home.  Call.  See what they want.  Remember, if they want money upfront, hang up the phone.”

Eye Color: Hazel brown

Hair Color: Auburn

Birthplace: White Bear Lake, MN

Species: Human

Occupation: College Librarian

Relationship Status: Divorced (for now)

Love interest(s): Gordon Finnion, Walter Wright

Goals:  For her daughter and her family to be happy

Hardships to overcome: Prejudice of people in the college and the town, a questionable past

Faults: Overprotective, naive, mother hen

Talents:  Loving, devoted

Hobbies:  Gardening, reading, playing board games

Once again, if you would like to meet any more of my characters please message me either here or on my Facebook page!

Character Profiles: Abbey O’Riley & Gordon Finnion

Since I posted my character profile on Sloan, I have gotten requests to meet TWO of my characters!  So in this post I will profile both characters – Abbey and Gordon.  And once again if you have a suggestion for who you would like to meet next leave a comment either here or on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/t.l.andersenauthor).

Onto the profiles…..

black heels

Abigail (Wright) O’Riley 

Nicknames/Alias: Abbey

Age: Late 20’s

Quote:  “I was an idiot, ok?” she cried.  “I threw myself at you like some desperate slut.  It was killing me watching those women crawling all over the guy I love and it made me jealous.  I am embarrassed by the way I acted.”

Eye Color: Hazel brown

Hair Color: Brown

Birthplace: Mount Vernon, Iowa

Species: Human

Occupation: Children’s book author, art gallery co-owner, COO – Sloan Enterprises

Relationship Status: Married

Love interest(s): Sloan O’Riley (until #3…)

Goals:  To have a happy, fulfilling marriage, to be less dependent on others in the event she is left alone again

Hardships to overcome: Her insecurities that she doesn’t belong with her husband, the prejudices of those around her who would agree with her

Faults: Insecure, jumps to conclusions without the facts, doesn’t listen

Talents:  Very talented, loving, devoted

Hobbies:  Writing, reading

and…

hummer

Gordon Finnion

Nicknames/Alias:  Gordon

Age: Mid 50’s

Quote:  “For lack of a better term, they are bodyguards.  They were originally hired after an attempt on Sloan’s life.  But in reality we are brothers.  We are family.”  Gordon gazed at her as he smiled.  “All five of us are family.”

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Salt & Pepper

Birthplace: Belfast, Northern Ireland

Species: Human

Occupation: Handler of an infamous former IRA bomber/current billionaire

Relationship Status: Single (as of now…)

Love interest(s): Mary Wright

Goals: To keep Sloan and his family safe from harm and keep Sloan from getting into trouble.

Hardships to overcome: To be constantly aware of his surroundings to keep those around him safe, to begin a relationship when he didn’t think he would ever find love

Faults: A little too paranoid, short temper

Talents:  Protective, constantly aware, well trained in weapons and hand to hand combat, deep sense of family

Hobbies:  Gardening, board games, reading

I once again reiterate my original offer – if you would like to meet any other of my characters comment below or on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/t.l.andersenauthor).  I’d be happy to introduce them!

Tuesday Tales – Picture Prompt: Red Gift

First of all, I so apologize.  I left last week as a cliffhanger and this week’s picture prompt just didn’t want to work with that.  So this week’s Tuesday Tale is from another project I am working on – one that is near to my heart and I hope to finish soon.

red gift

Rico limped on his cane across the sterile hospital room.  His smile widened as he placed the small red box in Max’s hand.

“I came to return this to you,” Rico informed Max as he winked.  “Maybe you should show Zoey.  I think she’d like to see it.”

“Rico,” Max warned.  “Now is not the time.”

“I would like to see it.”

Max turned, his warm brown eyes meeting Zoey’s.  Her blue eyes glowed hopefully against her pale skin.

Max’s heart clenched in his chest.  He couldn’t put this pressure on Zoey, not while she was lying in this hospital.  The stress this kind of step could cause would really do Zoey harm.  It would certainly set off her CVS*.

“Zoey, I promise.  I will show you later.  Not here.”

Zoey’s face fell.  “Why not here?”

“Zoey, sweetheart, please.”

“Max, just show me.”

“You need to show her, Max,” Rico chimed in.

Max shot a glare at Rico.  He slowly exhaled as he approached Zoey’s hospital bed.  He gently opened the red wrapped box and turned it towards Zoey.  Inside, nestled in a seat of velvet, was the most beautiful diamond Zoey had ever seen.

“Max, it’s beautiful!” Zoey glowed.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Who is it for?”

Max paused.  “For you, Zoey.”

“Me?”

“I wanted to take you to dinner then to the lake.”

“To do what?”  Butterflies swarmed in Zoey’s stomach.  If the IV stuck in the back of her hand hadn’t been pumping anti-nausea drugs through her veins, Zoey knew she would be sick to her stomach right now.

Max slowly dropped his knee to the tile floor as he held the ring out to Zoey.  “Marry me, Zoey.  I love you with all I am.  I love you just the way you are.  Be my wife.”

For those of you wondering what CVS is, this is a link to the Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome Website.

And for more incredible romantic short stories – Tuesday Tales

Character Profile: Sloan O’Riley

My friend Heidi has dared me to introduce you to one of my favorite characters through a character profile.  Call me predictable, call me out for my lack of creativity but guess who you are going to meet?  That’s right!!!  (By the way, I added a category Heidi).   If you have a suggestion for who you would like to meet next leave a comment either here or on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/t.l.andersenauthor).

Onto the profile…..

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Sloan O’Riley

Nicknames/Alias: Sloan

Age: Late 30’s

Quote:  “Then I will explain it to you as plainly as I can, my lady,” he whispered.  “Abigail, I love you.  I have since I laid eyes on you.  I don’t want to frighten you away from me, so I play the game as your moods change.”  He brushed a lock of hair from her face as he continued.  “I need you, Abigail.  I see my babes when I look in your eyes.”

Eye Color: Ice Blue

Hair Color: Black

Birthplace: Belfast, Northern Ireland

Species: Human

Occupation: Renown Artist, Art Broker, Illustrator, Real estate complex developer, CEO – Sloan Enterprises

Relationship Status: Married

Love interest(s): Abigail O’Riley

Goals: To make Abbey happy; to crush the competition; to protect his family from his past in the IRA

Hardships to overcome: Abbey’s insecurities that she doesn’t deserve him; to live a normal life despite his past

Faults: Arrogant, narcissist, headstrong, stubborn, careless

Talents:  Extremely intelligent, smooth talking, protective, incredible artist, creative, expert with chemicals

Hobbies:  Rugby, Painting, nice cars and motorcycles

I’m not sure who I could pass this along to so I just reiterate my original offer – if you would like to meet any other of my characters comment below or on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/t.l.andersenauthor).  I’d be happy to introduce them!

Tuesday Tales – Silver

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It’s time for another Tuesday Tales!  This week’s word prompt is the word Silver.   This week I want to answer the most asked question from last week – how would Thatcher react when he learned the truth about Ewen.  Well…

Miranda stumbled between Brunon’s men as they dragged her mercilessly to the throne room.  She dropped her head forward allowing the oversize hood of her cloak to hide her face.  The men stopped to a sudden halt as they arrived before the throne.  Brunon slid his slight frame upright.

“We found the cur, Your Excellency,” the thug with the tightest grip on Miranda’s arm announced.  He shook her violently for emphasis then forced her to her knees.

Brunon slowly stood taking one step after another until he hovered over Miranda.

“You insolent traitor,” Brunon spat.  “I trusted you to serve me.  I had hopes for you to become one of my men, Ewen.  But you betrayed me.”

Miranda remained silent, keeping her head low.  Brunon slowly slid his sword from its scabbard, the silver glint of the blade radiating in the sunlight that shone through the multi-colored windows of the throne room.  He continued.

“I want to see the terror in your young eyes when I end your life.”

Brunon grasped Miranda’s hood and ripped it from her head.  She looked up to her betrothed with defiant green eyes.

“Miranda,” Brunon breathed in surprise.  The sudden deep murmurs that filled the throne room echoed his amazement.  He erupted in laughter.

“You,” Brunon accused.  “You have been the spy.  You.  You have given our tactical movements to the King.  And why?  For your precious knight Thatcher?  Have you secretly plotted my demise so you can find yourself in his arms once again?”

Brunon grasped Miranda and pulled her to her feet.  He rummaged in his linen shirt until he pulled free a vial of thick crimson liquid.  The glass was wrapped in a thin strand of silver and hung from Brunon’s neck by a silver chain.

“Do you know what this is?” Brunon questioned Miranda.  She stayed quiet but slowly shook her head no.  Brunon continued.

“This is your brave knight’s blood.  I took it from him as he hung in the dungeon.  I don’t need to draw my sword to attack Thatcher.  I can destroy him with his.  It will be an excruciating death.”

Miranda felt her stomach turn.  Her face turned a ghostly pale.  “Do not please.  I beg you.”

Brunon’s lips curled in an evil smile as he caressed Miranda’s cheek.  “You will obey me.  You will do exactly what I wish.  And you will become my bride.  Understand?”

Miranda’s breath trembled as her eyes filled with tears.  She nodded.

“Very good.  To your chambers,” Brunon ordered.  He glanced at his men.  “Guard her door.  Do not allow her to leave.”

Miranda trudged ahead of Brunon’s men as they disappeared down the corridor towards her bedchamber.

Thatcher studied the new documents Ewen brought him.  He smiled warmly.  Inside the parchments Thatcher had found one of Miranda’s favorite hair ribbons.  He pressed the ribbon to his lips affectionately wishing to see her again.

“Thatcher!”

Thatcher spun around.  He found Xavier, one of his best soldiers, scrambling down the dirt road to him.  Thatcher turned to meet him.

“What is it, Xavier?”

“Brunon captured Ewen.  He knows what Ewen’s been doing,” Xavier reported breathlessly.

Thatcher shook his head sadly.  Brunon would punish the boy severely, probably kill him for betraying the Count.

“Ah, poor lad,” Thatcher sighed.  “We could mount an attack to free him.  It may be too late…”

“No, Thatcher.  That is not the trouble.”

“Then what is?”

“Ewen is not real.  Ewen is Lady Miranda!”

Thatcher’s heart slammed in his chest.  Nearly every day his beautiful love came to him, assisted him, brought him information to end Brunon’s tyrannical reign.  Yet Thatcher never knew.  Those eyes seemed so familiar…

Thatcher’s nerves quaked in disbelief and panic.  He did not know what Brunon would do to Miranda now that he knew the truth.

“Xavier, get the King,” Thatcher ordered.  “We need to mount an attack.  Now.”

Now read some more romantic short stories from extremely talented authors!  Tuesday Tales

I Really Need Your Help!

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About a couple of months ago, I entered Black Irish in a contest called the JABBIC Book Cover Contest.  Today the Readers Voting opened and I really need votes!  So if you would be ever so kind would you please go to their site and vote for me and my wonderful novel?

Black Irish can be found under the Romantic Suspense category.  https://jabbic.hbarwa.com/readers/

Thank you so much!!!