Monthly Archives: August 2013
Breaking the Cycle – Post Twenty-One
Another Breaking the Cycle…
So, I have a plan. I was hoping to have Breaking the Cycle done by now. Best laid plans…
I have a goal of 2000 words per minute. Anyone who would like to be drill sergeant for me I would appreciate!
Thanks for stopping by! Please feel free to leave comments!
Life with Liz at home changed things dramatically. Chloe smiled softly to herself as she slipped her phone into her purse and set the purse in her locker. She was still jittery having Max in the house all the time. Especially after I pretty much confessed I love him.
But having the two people she cared most about at home every night to share supper and talk with made her the happiest she had ever been in her entire life. Max quickly became the son Liz never had. It didn’t take them long to figure out that, despite…
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Tuesday Tales – Wave
Happy Tuesday everyone and welcome to Tuesday Tales! We are back with Miranda and Thatcher in The Thirteenth Knight. And when you are done reading, please check out the other incredible inserts from my talented friends at Tuesday Tales!!
There is a gap from last week’s story to this week’s. The reason is that I wrote it months ago. And I apologize…it’s the scene where Miranda sneaks off to see Thatcher (sorry!!). You can find it here… Tuesday Tales – Light
After a sweet night in Thatcher’s arms, what could possibly be waiting for Miranda the next day? Let’s find out…
The heat from Thatcher’s kisses still burned Miranda’s lips. She rubbed the tender flesh, moaning softly as she made her way through the dark hallways to the knight’s bedchambers. She pulled her fingers away to readjust her cloak. She was sure she wore her courtier’s clothes more than she wore her gowns now.
She stepped inside Thatcher’s room finding everything as it normally was. The purple crystals glowed softly, the black shadows inside a little more erratic than normal. There were new maps pinned to the wall. Despite the passing of time the room still smelled of Thatcher. Miranda moaned again as memories of the previous night filled her mind.
She was distracted from her thoughts as a piercing white light filled the room. She squinted against it as she attempted to find its source. The purple crystals suddenly flashed pure white, pulsing out beams of light in waves that filled the room. Riding out of the crystals on the waves drifted the black shadows. Each fell to the floor then stood on newly formed legs. A small army of black clad soldiers slowly filled the room.
Miranda screamed. She grabbed a walking staff leaning against the wall and swung at each of the crystals with all her might. As she made contact with each crystal it fell to the floor shattered. When the last crystal was destroyed the room fell dark.
She felt a powerful hand clench down hard on her shoulder. A foreign voice spoke. “The Master will wish to speak to this one for shattering his stones.” Her breath was ripped from her lungs as she was dragged roughly from the bedchamber towards the throne room.
Don’t forget to stop and check out the other authors of Tuesday Tales!!
The Secret Cravings Blog Hop
Hi Everyone and Welcome to the Secret Cravings Blog Hop!!
Today I want to share some excerpts from my medieval/historical fantasy romance Queen of Savon.
***Leave a comment below for your chance to will an e-copy of Queen of Savon in the format of your choice!!**
Cassandra is brought to the palace by her grandfather, the sorcerer Malicar, after her parents are brutally murdered. After being presented to King Thomas she is raised alongside two boys – Thomas’s son, Matthew and Victor, the young man chosen to be Matthew’s commander of the army.
However her life in the royal palace comes at a price. She is vowed into a life of servitude Matthew’s advisor, forfeiting the dream of having a husband and children of her own.
As they mature into adults, childhood curiosities turn to jealousy and burning desire. Cassandra finds herself caught between the two men and forced to make a decision – to throw away her vows for the life she dreamt about with a man she does not love or to stay shackled to the promises she made as a child to be with the man she wants with her heart, body and soul but cannot have.
Excerpt:
The next day, Cassandra sat in the window seat of the library chomping furiously at an apple in one hand. She gingerly turned pages of a large, ancient book with the other, which was wrapped tightly in a cloth. A torrent of rain pounded behind her, leaving barely enough of the afternoon light to read.
Matthew stood in the entryway watching her study. She was so engrossed in her work that she never noticed him there, his gaze memorizing her gentle face, her soft hair, her delicate body. She is so beautiful. So perfect… His heart was filled with such fascination of her.
He closed the door, causing her to jump.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am studying the counter spell so I can retrieve your things. That is,” she looked out the window, “when the rain stops.”
She threw the core of her apple into the fire then crossed her arms. He smiled at her. “What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, I burned it this morning when I was helping Cook. I have lost my healing powers along with my magic.” She sighed, frustrated. “I hate this. I feel so helpless. So, so…”
“So much like me?” Matthew asked, laughing. Cassandra blushed, embarrassed, and then patted the spot next to her in the window. Matthew stared at the book in awe. “There is a spell in here for everything,” he whispered as he flipped through.
“Nearly.”
“Even love spells.” He stopped turning the pages and gently smoothed them.
“Yes. If you ever want my help to win the heart of a young maiden…” Cassandra looked into Matthew’s eyes, hers twinkling with their own mischievous light.
“So, this is where your magic lies?” he asked, hearing his voice go weak.
“Some of it. Most of my magic lies within. That is why Grandfather has pushed so hard for me to find it. And that is the magic that is gone. Such as, I could read your mind just by doing this.” She gently pressed her fingers against his temple. His heart thundered as he watched her eyelids flutter shut.
After a moment, she opened them again. “But I cannot.” She gazed into his eyes, her fingers still pressed to his face. She suddenly brought them to life, brushing stray locks of hair from his brow.
They stared into each other’s eyes, forgetting the rain, forgetting the large book of magic. Matthew’s mind raced as he protectively took her wounded hand in his. He touched her chin with his other hand as his gaze drank in her skin, her mouth. He leaned towards her slowly, feeling her body draw towards him as his eyelids fell closed and his lips parted.
“Your majesty, my lady. Lunch is ready,” Cook announced as she peeked in from the door. They both looked at her dazed.
“Yes, Cook,” Cassandra squeaked. Slowly, they rose and followed her to the dining hall.
That night, Matthew laid in his bed, watching the flames in the fireplace consume the logs fueling its rage. He stretched his legs, feeling the linen sheets slide against his skin. He listened intently to the rain pound on the stone tiles of the roof. She flooded his thoughts, invaded his senses. She had frightened me as a child…or had she? Had she captured my heart then, as she did now?
Is this fascination…or is it more?
He closed his eyes, seeing her image in his mind—surreal, beautiful. He opened them again and sighed. I am falling in love with Cassandra. Does she love me?
***
Cassandra firmly capped the bottle of herbs with a cork and slipped the container in her bag. She marked her books, stacking one on top of the other. Glancing out the window, she watched as Matthew gently kissed Stephana before helping her into the carriage.
Sighing, she pulled herself away from the window to gather more herbs. She picked up her books and the bag of bottles. Then, she hobbled to the door and struggled to open it with her one free hand.
Cassandra jumped back, startled, as she discovered Matthew standing in the doorway. He clung to the doorframe as he stared at her.
“How may I serve, my lord?” she greeted as she awkwardly bowed to him.
“Where are you going?” he asked, barely audible.
“Home. I have much to do before I return in the morning and you leave for battle.”
Matthew paused. “I did not propose to Stephana.”
Cassandra set her items on a table nearby. “That was unwise, my lord.”
Matthew stared at her as he dug his fingernails into the wood of the frame. “Cassa, do not leave me like this.”
Cassandra swallowed as she heard the urgency in his voice. “Like what, my lord?”
“Like this—the formal address, the subservient nature. This.” Matthew stood up straight, taking a step to grip her arms in his hands.
“Tell me her name,” Matthew demanded.
“There is no one.”
“Tell me her name,” Matthew begged. “Tell me, and I will give her my heart and make her my bride. I swear this.”
Cassandra stared at him, tears filling her eyes. “What if she belongs to another man?” She looked away as the words she spoke seemed to crush him. He closed his eyes, fighting to defeat the truth, the truth he already must know. Capitalizing on his weakness, Cassandra pulled away. “I told you there is no one.”
He grasped her hand, pressing it to his heart. “No, my lady, I will win her. I will fight, and I will not stop until she is cradled in my arms. This I promise you. Do you hear me? This I promise you.”
Her tears burst their floodgates as she slipped her fingers from his. “I must go,” she stumbled out. “I have much to do. I must go.”
Cassandra scooped up her books then swept by Matthew and ran down the stairs. She cringed as she heard him call her name, his voice betraying his pain.
Cassandra could not sleep. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling of her room as the night passed by. As dawn brushed the sky, she pulled herself from her covers, dressed, and trudged her return to the palace.
In no time, she stood in the courtyard, the soldiers around her completely oblivious to her presence. She glanced up as Victor rode next to her. “Lock yourself in the tower. I will see you when I get back,” he instructed as he kissed her on the cheek.
“Stay safe,” she murmured.
Cassandra looked to the ground as Victor’s horse trotted away. Then, she raised her head as she heard hoof steps approach. Matthew wandered across the courtyard, leading his stallion behind him. His eyes, yearning and desperate, locked on her.
She shuddered as he approached, his stride determined as he wove his way around the soldiers scattered around the courtyard. He stopped, dropping the reins of his horse, when he reached her.
Without warning or care for decency, Matthew cupped Cassandra’s face in his hands drawing her lips to his and parting them in a soul-wrenching kiss. She clung to his arms as he tasted her, clearly searching for confession, answers—her love for him. As he pulled away, he whispered, “Lock yourself in. I could not live another day if anything happened to you.”
Matthew’s fingers caressed Cassandra’s skin once more before they slipped away to grasp his horse’s reins. He glanced at her over his shoulder before he disappeared behind the wall. Cassandra hugged herself tightly, her limbs shaking in uncertainty.
Collecting herself as much as possible, she wound her way to her tower blindly. Her thoughts were incoherent. Matthew? Victor? She rubbed her fingertips against her swollen lips. Both had made their feelings for her abundantly clear. And both were riding out to battle. Above all, the vows she had taken as a child dictated she could have neither of them.
Tears filled her eyes as she collapsed onto her cushion. The only thing she knew with clarity was that she needed to get her thoughts together. It wouldn’t be long before she would be joining them on the battlefield.
Want Another Tricia Lit Fix?
I am very excited – I will be writing a sweet serial story for Secret Cravings Publishing…and the posts start Sunday! The cover art is above. What do you think? I think it is be-au-ti-ful!!
Watch for the link to follow Innocent til Proven Guilty starting Sunday!!
Tuesday Tales – Rough
Hi everyone! Welcome to another Tuesday Tales! This week’s word prompt is “rough”. This week we are back with Thatcher and Miranda in The Thirteenth Knight. Miranda, dressed as the courtier Ewen, is caught between Thatcher and Brunon. However neither knows it’s her. Will she be found out?
Don’t forget to check out the other excerpts from the very talented authors of Tuesday Tales!
Relaying information to both Thatcher and Brunon was exhausting. Miranda had been doing it for weeks. Holding the deception for Brunon was terrifying as she continued providing him false information. Sooner or later he would see through her deception. And if he discovered that his newest stooge was actually his betrothed? She trembled at the thought of his reaction.
And Thatcher – to deliver the critical information he needed to stay one step ahead of Brunon was heartwrenching. To see his radiant sapphire eyes, to see his angled, beautiful face, to bask in the warmth of his smile and not be able to tell him her true identity shredded her heart.
Miranda tugged on a final boot and trudged from her room. Being one of Brunon’s men now, Ewen had free reign to come and go from the palace. She pushed at the large, rough, wooden entrance door to open it.
Miranda jogged down the dirt path weaving between the forest trees in the direction of the knights’ newest campsite. It took a better part of the morning before she arrived. She searched among the men for Thatcher unable to find him.
“Ewen, what the devil are you looking for?” Thaddeus chuckled as he caught Miranda’s arm in his hand.
“Sir Thatcher,” she replied as she smiled at her uncle. I’ve even fooled my own flesh and blood. “I have my report.”
“He’s down by the stream. He’s been by himself all morning.”
Miranda made her way through the trees until she heard the trickle of water. Through the clearing she could see the large, majestic frame of her knight. She fell to her knee before him, bowing her head low.
“My lord,” she breathed.
Thatcher glanced down at her. “For the millionth time, Ewen. Stop bowing to me. You are part of this band. Rise.”
Miranda watched as he gazed over the stream forlorn. She frowned. “What is troubling you, my lord?”
Thatcher sighed. He spoke, his voice rough with emotion. “I miss Miranda, Ewen. It’s been too long without her. I fear Brunon has done to her.”
“My lord, Brunon has not harmed Lady Miranda. She has been in hiding from him. And he seems to less that interested in seeing her. That is, until their wedding.”
“I won’t let her marry him, Ewen. That is for certain.”
Miranda paused. “My lord, what if I could sneak Lady Miranda here to you?”
Thatcher’s gaze spun to her. “You believe you could get her from the palace?”
“Aye. As I said, Brunon has no interest in her as of now. But she cannot stay with you. You cannot run off with her. Brunon will send his black clad soldiers and that will be the end of you. And most of the kingdom.”
“Aye, I know that, Ewen.”
“All right. Then tonight. Here. At this stream. I will bring you Lady Miranda.”
The smile that spread across Thatcher’s face was brighter than the blazing sun overhead. “Thank you, Ewen. You are a true friend.
“You are welcome, my lord.”
Miranda scampered through the woods towards the path. She stopped and turned to watch Thatcher. The joy on his face at the thought of seeing her made her heart race.
Don’t forget to stop by and check out the other blogs of the talented writers of Tuesday Tales!
Breaking the Cycle – Post Nineteen
More from Breaking the Cycle!
Because I want to explore my two favorite secondary characters further I am posting twice tonight. Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment!
Max quickly dressed then drove to the gym. An uneasiness filled him. Chloe hadn’t arrived yet. She should have arrived by now. He stepped out of his car and stormed inside. His first stop – Phoebe at the receptionist desk.
“Phoebe, has Chloe called?” Max near begged.
Phoebe’s big blue eyes glimmered at him. Max was well aware of Phoebe’s crush on him. She made it apparent every single day. “No, Max.”
“Can you let me know if she does? Right away?”
“I guess.”
Max stalked off to the locker room. He slipped off his tennis shoes and stowed them in his locker. He glanced at his watch anxiously before he stored it and his cell phone inside as well. He slammed the locker door…
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Breaking the Cycle – Post Eighteen
Another Breaking the Cycle…
Ok, I may have screwed up. I posted a pic of what I thought Max looked like. Go figure – as soon as I did I found this Max – Colin Wayne. Now I can’t decide!!
As always, thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave a comment!
It was a little jarring waking up in a new place for the first time. Max sat up in his new bed and rubbed his eyes. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Chloe slept through the night without incident. It was not the way I wanted to start out my first night living here.
He slipped from under the covers and shuffled down the stairs to the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. He smiled sleepily as he leaned against the door frame. Chloe stood at the counter in a snug fitting tank and…
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Help!! I Need Your Help!!
Black Irish was nominated for July Read of the Year! Would you vote for me please?http://sslyblog.wordpress.com/2013/08/10/ssly-july-read-of-the-month/
Thank you!!
Tuesday Tales – Picture Prompt
Happy Tuesday, everyone!! Welcome to Tuesday TalesII Today’s picture prompt takes us back to by other WIP, Breaking the Cycle. After they leave Max’s nephew’s birthday party, they stop at the state park. Don’t forget to stop by and check out the excerpt of the other extremely talented Tuesday Tale’s authors!!
Max and Chloe walked along the trail of the state park. She looked up at the towering trees, the blue sky that stretched above the loft canopy of green leaves. In the distance she could hear the rush of water.
They stepped off the trail onto a beach alongside a slow running river. Buried deep into the course sand was the footing of a rickety, rough wood bridge that stretched across the water to the other side. Max took Chloe’s hand and tugged her toward the bridge. As they ascended the steps he nudged his leather sandals off. Chloe did the same as she followed him.
Max leaned his bent arms against the rail. Chloe watched him with a smile. “Did you used to come here often?” she asked.
“All the time. I used to daydream on this bridge,” he answered.
“About what?”
“Oh, lots of things. Going to college, my MMA career. Most of the time I imagined kissing the girl I loved on this bridge.”
“So, how many girls have you kissed here?” Chloe pried with a big smile.
“None. I wasn’t in love with them.”
“Oh.” Chloe gazed at the water rushing under the bridge.
“The ironic thing is that I am now on this bridge with the girl I love and I can’t kiss her.”
Chloe stared at him. “Me?”
“Do you see any other women on this bridge?”
She studied him in the summer sun. Max had been her hero. He protected her. He was to take care of her after her CVS episodes. She loved him with all her heart. She wanted to kiss him badly. She plunged her hand into her shorts pocket, her fingers wrapping around the tube of lip gloss. She smiled. She could do this.
She pulled the tube from her shorts and held it up to him with a smile. The wide grin on Max’s face made her heart race. “Really? You are all right if I kiss you?”
Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales!!
A
Secret Cravings Publishing Sweet Blog Hop!!
Welcome to the Secret Cravings Publishing Sweet Blog Hop!!!
I love to write Sweet Romance and currently I have two out – both of which are part of the Black Irish series! Heartland (Black Irish #2) was just released Friday – and I’m very excited!
And – I am excited to announce that Black Irish is a Recommended Read with SSLY’s blog!
***I am giving away a copy of BOTH Black Irish and Heartland to one lucky commenter who answers the following question: The city on the Heartland cover is a real city. What city is it? HINT – the city is found in the excerpt on the Heartland buy page on Sweet Cravings Publishing website (click here to check it out!) I will draw for a winner Sunday evening!!***
From Black Irish:
Abbey couldn’t believe he was gay. She nearly ran away from her dreams of being a children’s book writer when she was introduced to her illustrator Sloan O’Riley, a dark, sensual Irishman with incredible blue eyes. He certainly couldn’t be good for Abbey’s relationship with her boyfriend back in Iowa. How could she stay in New York and work with the sinfully sexy Sloan even if he was gay? And when Sloan is threatened to be deported, how far would Abbey go to keep him in the US?
Sloan was forced to tell a little white lie. He had no choice. He couldn’t let the sweet, beautiful, Abbey Wright flee from his life – not without a chance to explore the sudden desire he felt for her. But what would Abbey do if she ever discovered the truth about Sloan’s sexuality – or learned the deeper, darker secret he’s been hiding?
And an excerpt from Heartland (Black Irish #2):
Mary scrambled down the huge, wooden staircase of her Victorian style home as she heard the doorbell ring. “I’m coming!” she called. She scooped her purse off the dining room table and slung it over her shoulder.
Mary scuttled across the floor to the front door. The house was way too big for one person. It had been too large for two when Abbey had lived there with her. But she loved its age—its leaded windows, its creaky wood floors, its carved moldings. Its beauty along with its proximity to Cornell College made the place perfect for her.
She flipped the lock of the old brass doorknob then turned around. Parked along the curb was a black Hummer limousine. It wasn’t a standard limo, plastered with obnoxious company logos and filled with dents and scrapes left by countless rowdy wedding parties or by high schoolers attending dances. The vehicle at Mary’s curb purred cool sophistication with chrome running boards and tinted windows.
The chauffer’s retreating figure stopped at the passenger-side rear door. He opened the door, waiting patiently for her.
Mary stared at the vehicle, stunned. “What the devil…”
The chauffer motioned to her. “Ma’am, we do need to leave. The plane will arrive shortly.”
Mary shook her head, confused, as she descended her porch steps and crossed her sidewalk. She accepted his hand to help her inside. She settled into the soft, beige leather seat as they pulled away from the curb.
The twenty-minute ride was amazingly short as Mary examined the interior of the limo. Finally, Mary fell back against the seat as she remembered her last trip to the airport as if it were yesterday. It had been to put her only baby girl on an airplane for New York City, so that she could chase her dreams.
That had been so long ago. Abbey had stopped calling. Mary had panicked. She had worried. She had been sure Abbey was dead. Now, several months later, Abbey was coming home with her new husband in tow, soon to be a mother herself.
Mary was shaken from her thoughts as she watched the main entrance sail by the window. She gingerly scooted from her seat to the other then knocked on the tinted glass window that separated the driver from the passenger compartment.
“Hey!” Mary called. “You missed the turn! You need to go back!”
The chauffer never acknowledged her. He did, however, turn at the next available road. Mary sighed in relief, thinking they were heading back.
Except the limo did not turn around. The kept trekking up the dark road, weaving between several large, metal-framed buildings. She caught a sign as they passed.
Private Hangers.
Nervous, Mary reached into her purse and dug through her things for a hair tie. She swept her graying auburn hair up in a ponytail. She knew it was a strange habit—to tie her hair up when she was panicked. Yet, she couldn’t remember a time she was more unsettled than she was now. Where the devil is this driver taking me?
The limo came to a slow stop at the final hanger. It bordered the mouth of one of the runways. Mary looked out each window, seeing the car surrounded by luxury airplanes of every shape and size. She slumped back against the seat as she watched the chauffer step out and stride into the open overhead door, leaving her alone.
Mary watched the planes land and take off as she trembled. I don’t understand any of this. Did I take the wrong car? What trouble am I in?
Minutes later, the man returned and opened her door, offering his hand to help her step out. Mary shifted her weight from one foot to the other then turned her attention back to him.
“I’m supposed to meet my children at the main airport terminal. What is the meaning of bringing me here?” she demanded.
“I just spoke to the tower,” he informed her. “The O’Riley’s plane is just landing now.”
“At the main airport.”
The driver swept his arm towards the runway, motioning for Mary to turn around. She stared as the plane’s wheels touched down on the pavement. As the aircraft decelerated, it coasted the maze of runways, slowly inching its approach. Mary’s breath caught in her throat as she read the corporate name newly emblazoned on its side.
Sloan Enterprises.
My son-in-law owns his own plane?
A ground crew raced to the parked aircraft, towing a set of steps with them. Once the stairs were flush against the body, the door opened. Out stepped a young, blond man, tall with rippling muscles. Behind him bounced a small, pretty woman with black curls.
Mary gasped. The next to step from the plane was Abbey. Her hair was long and tied up in a ponytail. Right behind her was Sloan, with his towering stature and wavy black hair. He rested his hand on Abbey’s hip to guide her down the stairs.
Abbey’s eyes flew open wide at the sight of her mother. “Mom!” she exclaimed.
Mary ran to the base of the stairs as Abbey jogged past the young couple, the young man stepping aside, amused, to let her by. Abbey threw her arms around Mary’s neck, hugging her tight.
Mary gazed at her daughter. The Abbey she had sent to New York was fresh-faced and innocent. The Abbey standing before her had been betrayed, been hurt, been left to fend for herself. She also had been loved, been cared for, been cherished. She was truly a woman now.
“I am so happy to see you, sweetheart,” Mary breathed.
“I’m happy to see you too, Mom.”
Mary felt a large, powerful hand brush her shoulder. Another one brushed Abbey’s. Both women looked up to see Sloan standing beside them. Mary wrapped her arm around him and squeezed. “Hello again, son. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Mom,” Sloan purred in his thick, Irish brogue.
Mary looked past them to watch those who had come from the plane. “I understand why you insisted I not come to get you in my Beetle. I couldn’t have fit the four of you in my car.”
Sloan laughed. “Yes, that’s why. And there are five of us.”
Mary stepped to the side to see whom Sloan was referring to behind him. Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes fell on a tall, built man with the warmest brown eyes she had ever seen. His salt and pepper hair was neatly trimmed. And for—she guessed, sixty years old—he clearly had a chiseled physique beneath his expensive, designer suit. The man stalked towards the three of them. “Sloan, there is no protection here—”
Sloan stopped him. “Gordon, I would like to introduce you to Mary, Abbey’s mother.”
Gordon stopped short. With a curious look, he took Mary’s hand and placed a tender kiss against it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mary,” he crooned.
Mary giggled, and then realizing she did so, flushed with embarrassment. Sloan chuckled as he continued, “Mary, this is Gordon.”
“Nice to meet you, Gordon,” Mary squeaked. She took a deep breath to steady herself before addressing the young couple. “The house isn’t furnished yet, is it?”
“No,” Sloan answered. “I have rooms on hold at the motel in town until everyone finds a place of their own.”
“Nonsense,” Mary interjected. “I have two guest rooms, Abbey’s old room, and a couch. You all can stay with me.”
“Mary, it may be awhile,” Sloan objected. “We don’t want to impose…”
Mary’s hazel eyes flashed in warning. She heard Abbey fight back her giggles as he stared at her in surprise. No one must have shut down the great Sloan O’Riley in quite some time.
Slowly a grin crept across his face. “Very well. Thank you, Mom.”
“Good,” Mary agreed. “You two can have Abbey’s room.”
Inside This Writer's Mind 