The Cover for Heartland is HERE!! Plus – the Next Excerpt from Heartland

It’s here!!  It’s here!!  I am so in love with this cover!  I can’t wait until release day!


And to celebrate the Cover Reveal, here is the next excerpt from Heartland (Black Irish #2)…


Bartholomew grasped the manila file in his large hands as he took a deep breath and held it.  He really didn’t want to do this.  He slowly let his breath go as he pulled open the curtain shrouding this bay of the emergency room.

“Hey there, little fella,” Bartholomew half-heartedly greeted the freckled red head ten-year-old perched on the gurney.  The boy tucked his arm against his stomach like a broken wing.  “My name is Bartholomew.  I’m here to check your heart rate and your temperature.  What’s your name?”

“Austin,” the boy grumbled.

“Austin…” He led as he checked the forms in the folder.  He glanced up to the child’s mother.  Dressed in a tight fitting, navy business suit, the woman typed frantically on her phone ignoring him and her son.  He looked back to the boy.

“Franklin,” the boy huffed.

“And that’s what my papers say too so I’m in the right place.”  Bartholomew set the file on the nearby counter.  He picked up the blood pressure cuff.  “First, let’s start with your blood pressure.”

Bartholomew strode to the gurney, carefully wrapping the cuff around Austin’s good arm while doing his best to avoid the wounded limb.  He strapped the Velcro closed then pressed the cool metal of the stethoscope into the crook of Austin’s elbow.  He gently pumped air into the cuff as he listened intently for Austin’s pulse.

“Are you a doctor?” Austin demanded.

Bartholomew stared at the little boy startled.  He smiled.  “No.  I’m just here to get some information before the doctor sees you.”

“You’re a nurse?” Austin quizzed, suddenly confused.

Bartholomew swallowed hard.  Lord, this was difficult.  “Yes.”

“You can’t be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re a boy.  You’re not a girl.”

“Boys can be nurses,” Bartholomew defended.

“No, they can’t,” Austin insisted.

Bartholomew shot a look at Austin’s mother, his blue eyes pleading for help.  It was no use.  The self-absorbed woman was more concerned with her smart phone than her child.  He tore free the cuff and dropped it back on the counter then scooped up the file.

“A doctor will be with you shortly,” he mumbled as he stepped past the curtain and far away from the precocious red-head.

He slid the boy’s chart into its slot then shuffled to the nurses’ station.  He leaned against the wall as he let go an exasperated sigh.  He looked down, studying the aqua blue smocks that covered his tall, sculpted body.  This whole job sucked.

Bartholomew’s head shot up at the sound of soft, sweet giggles.  His eyes met with a pair of ice blue ones framed by a cascade of ebony curls.

“Rough day so far?”  Maggie surmised.  She glided past Bartholomew, her small frame dressed in the same type of aqua blue scrubs.  She lifted herself onto one of the counter high clinic chairs as she eyed Bartholomew amused.

“You could say that,” he confessed.  “I don’t do well with kids.  I work well with adults.  The last time I dealt with a kid it didn’t work out well for me.”

“You could work at the gallery.”

Bartholomew shook his head.  “No.  Sloan has been more than generous to me.  I need to make my way on my own for a while.”

Maggie gently rubbed Bartholomew’s shoulder.  Her touch sent shivers through his body.  “I understand.”  She paused for a moment.  “Now that is a man I cannot see doing well with a child.”

“Who?” Bartholomew asked puzzled.

“My brother.  He is cold, clever, calculating.  I don’t know if he has ever been near a child.  Or if he knows how to care for one.  Or if he even has a warm spot in his heart for one.”

“He has a warm spot for Abbey.”

“Yes, but she also has things he wants.  One of which brought the conception of my future niece or nephew.”

True.  However, Sloan has been preparing for this baby more than Abbey.  And that woman is precious to him.  Any baby she would give him would be too.”

Bartholomew noticed the sudden silence between them.  He looked up at Maggie, staring deep into her eyes.  They sparkled in amazement at his words.  Her cheeks flushed pink.  Bartholomew smiled.  If Maggie thought what I said was romantic, do I have a shot with her?

Maggie broke the silence between them.  “Bartholomew, what you said at dinner about being in the Army.  The dishonorable discharge.  What happened?”

Bartholomew gazed at Maggie for a few moments more studying her, gauging his trust in her.  He picked up a stack of medical charts and sorted them.

“Nothing.  I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.

“You can trust me,” she pried.

“Maggie, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

They both turned as a voice boomed through the nurses’ station.  “Who treated Austin Franklin?”

Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed to slits as he inspected the man at the end of the hall.  He was roughly the same height and build as Bartholomew and relatively the same age.  The man had short cropped brown hair and deep brown eyes.  The shirt, tie and slacks under his white medical coat indicated one thing – doctor.  Bartholomew glanced at the women scattered around the station – some visibly swooning, some purring for attention, some whimpering over love lost.  Bartholomew raised his hand.

“I did,” he admitted.

The man strode across the room and slapped the chart against his chest.  “I want all his vitals, cowboy.  Go get them.”  He then turned to Maggie, smiling slyly at the ebony haired beauty.  He took her hand in his.  “And you are?”

“Maggie O’Riley,” Maggie croaked.  She flushed embarrassed at her voice.  Bartholomew saw the sudden dreamy look in her eyes.

“Pleased to meet you, Maggie.  I am Doctor Jackson Davis.  Can I take you to get a cup of coffee one of these days?  Your accent is intoxicating.”

Maggie giggled uncontrollably.  Bartholomew fought desperately to suppress the growl lodged in his throat.  Jackson straightened his stance and pointed towards the ER.  “Hey, cowboy.  Now,” he ordered.

Bartholomew snarled as he gripped the chart in his fist and stormed down the hall.


About triciaandersen

I am the author and illustrator of the children's book "The Peculiar Princess". I am also the author of two adult fantasy romance novels, "The Sorceress of Savon" and "The Woodcutter King of Muladin". Along with being an author I am married to a wonderful guy and have three beautiful children. I coach youth track and field, sew and chase my children around to their various activities.

Posted on July 15, 2013, in author, books, fiction, novel, romance, story, Uncategorized, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: