This book kicks off the Romance on the Ranch Series with Sarah Carter, a.k.a. Mims Murphy, meeting gorgeous model, Sage Tanner. Unknown to Sarah, Sage is owner of the Lazy M Dude Ranch. After an embarrassing incident in a coffee shop, she hopes never to encounter Mr. Tanner again. Guess whose dude ranch she chooses for hands-on research? Yep.

Chapter One
Male Model

Mims Murphy followed Sissy Johansen, chief editor and co-owner of Imaginings Publishing, through an ornate door and into a large photo studio on the fiftieth floor of a high-rise in New York. Sissy had insisted that Mims meet the cover models for the first book in her Kisses Series. After writing five novels with Imaginings with moderate success, she'd finally scored big on the sixth, a chick-lit romance. Because of that, the publisher had contracted with her for three books in the new series: Dream Kisses, Honey Kisses, and Baby Kisses. Based on readers' exuberance, the books were expected to be hits.

The shoot had already begun when they slipped into the studio. Sissy motioned her to a spot near a side wall. Mims leaned against the wall, her eyes riveted on the models. Lights flashed and the photographer, a short skinny man with a balding pate, called instructions. "Move in, Sage. Yeah, give her that sexy, hot hot HOT look. Make her sizzle. Chastity, let him know who's in charge."

Sissy smothered a giggle and whispered, "Can you believe her name is Chastity?"

Mims bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"Okay, models, let's try a kiss. The title of the book is Dream Kisses, so how about some dream kisses. Make my toes curl."

With a rather bored expression, the male model glanced in Mims direction. Her heart tripped when their eyes met, something that only happened to characters in her books.

Sissy whispered, "He's absolutely the most gorgeous model I've ever seen, and I've seen my share. If I were twenty years younger, I'd throw myself at him unabashedly." She sighed.

"Sissy, you're kidding, right? You're married," Mims shot back.

"I think I'm kidding; not really sure."

Mims shook her head and looked back at the models now sharing a passionate embrace and kiss. The female had hit the genetics jackpot: curvaceous body, flowing blonde hair, sexy sky blue eyes, and full pouty mouth. Of course, maybe it wasn't genetics; maybe it was implants, hair salon, contacts, and Botox. Whatever, she's still gorgeous.

A fan gently billowed the female's lavender silk drape around her luscious body and lifted her golden hair off her shoulders. The male model bent her slightly backwards, all evidence of his boredom gone when he laid a whopper on her. His hair, the color of rich mahogany laced with sunlight, also moved in the breeze of the fan. His linen shirt, falling off his shoulder and open to the waist, revealed tanned skin and washboard abs.

Sissy said, "My God, I think I can scrub clothes on his abs."

Mims choked and shook her head at Sissy's forthrightness.

For the next hour they watched the photographer command the models, and the models perform magic. The experience transported Mims into the pages of her book. It was as if the characters had found life—a special world of romance, adventure, and a happily ever after that she wanted to step into.

"Okay, boys and girls, I think we can call it a wrap," said the height-challenged photographer.

The male model stretched and the female model ran her hands through her hair.

For obvious reasons, Mims had expected the models to gravitate toward each other, but with the shoot finished, they appeared oblivious to one another. Then, to Mims astonishment, the female walked to the photographer and bent to kiss him on the lips. He responded and whispered something in her ear. She blushed and giggled, pushing at his chest. "Hon, gotta run and pick up the kids. I'm making lasagna for dinner."

Mims mouth fell open. Sissy saw the look and chuckled. "Oh, yeah, you've never met Chastity and Chuckie Chambers. They're the best in their fields and been married since their teens. Got two kids, but always act like they're on their honeymoon. It's a shock when people find out they're married. We never give it a second thought around here 'cause we see them so much. Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone. Now, the male model, Sage Tanner, he's new, so I don't know much about him; only that he's in demand." Sissy elbowed Mims, "Wonder why?" She grabbed Mims' arm and pulled her forward.

"Hey Chastity and Chuckie, I'd like you to meet the author of the book for the cover you were just shooting." The Chambers greeted her with warm handshakes.

"OMG, I just love your books. When Chuckie told me I was going to be the model for your next one, I got so excited I kept him up half the night talking about it. It's such a pleasure meeting you!"

"Chastity, I should be thanking you for creating such a beautiful cover," Mims said warmly.

Sissy turned to Sage who'd slipped off his unbuttoned-to-the-abs linen shirt. He reached for an old T-shirt and when his head popped through the neck, she said, "Sage, Imaginings is extremely pleased you're doing this book cover. When our artistic designer saw your portfolio, she refused to look further. The shoot was awesome."

"Thank you, ma'am," he politely replied with a slight drawl. He glanced toward Mims and her heart did that "thing" again. You write about this stuff, girl, you don't live it.

Sissy introduced them. "Sage Tanner, I'd like you to meet Mims Murphy, our best selling author."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Murphy."

"Likewise, Mr. Tanner. But please, call me Mims."

"Okay, only if you call me Sage."

Mims felt utterly tongue-tied. A woman could drown in the man's Caribbean blue eyes and never want to be saved.

She found her voice. "Thank you for the lovely photo shoot. The cover of a book is so important." Lovely photo shoot? What a lame thing to say. How about unbelievably incredible, undeniably sensuous, mesmerizing, and sexy photo shoot?

"I'm glad you liked it."

For a second, there was an uncomfortable silence. Sissy said, "Why don't we all walk across the street for a java fix. I understand there's another shoot tomorrow for publicity photos that are going on our website. We can all throw out ideas."

Chuckie said, "I could use a break, sounds great, Sissy."

Chastity declined, "Sorry, I've got to pick my kids up from school."

Sage agreed, "Sure, that sounds nice," but he didn't sound very enthused.

Sissy grabbed Mims arm. "I'll let the powers-that-be, namely, my husband, know where we're going. Mims and I will meet you in the lobby in five minutes. She pulled Mims from the room.

"Sissy, I really need to go."

"And do what? Hack away on your computer? Give it a break, girl. I just got the most gorgeous man on the planet to join us for coffee. If you say you're not interested, I'm calling the paramedics. Better yet, I'll call the white-coats to have you committed."

"Sissy, what are you talking about? I'm not even in that guy's league. Besides, I'm older than him."

"Not more than five or six years. Cougars are out there dating men decades—yes, that's plural—younger than themselves."

"Sissy, guys like that do not go for gals like me. It only happens in books."

"Mims, I saw the guy give you that look."

"No way, Sissy."

"If you try to get out of this coffee break, I'll…I'll…refuse to publish your next book."

This is the last book in the trilogy. It is the story of Davide Beowolf, son of Roth and Rainey; and Zoe, daughter of Wade Spencer and step-daughter of Fawn Woods Spencer. Our star-crossed lovers are in for the adventure of a lifetime!

Chapter Three Excerpt: "Get a Life"

Zoe closed her eyes and let the music take her away. She listened for her cue and then lifted her violin bow. Again, magic flowed through the simplicity, yet complexity, of moving the bow over the strings of her Stradivarius. Thank you, Mrs. Porter, for giving me piano lessons and tapping my love of music. For the next hour, she became one with the song. Into her music, she poured her heartbreak and love for Davide.

All too soon, the orchestra reached the crescendo and began their musical descent back to the land of the living. The song ended and Zoe removed the bow from the strings. She stood with the others and bowed after the Maestro indicated they should with a wave of his hand. The curtains closed, opened again to accolades, and then closed again. She stretched and reached for her violin case, gently tucking her beloved instrument away. She would be forever grateful to the Beowolf family for gifting her with such a fabulous violin.

"Hey Zoe, want to join us for drinks?" asked Jose Vargas. "We can party since this is our last night in Barcelona." She started to decline and then remembered her resolve to "get a life." After tossing the birthday card in the toilet and resisting the urge to stick her hand in the bowl to retrieve it, she'd promised herself she'd stop pining for a relationship that was never going to happen. To Davide, she'd always be his babysitter and older friend.

"Sure, Jose."

"Good, meet us at Hilliard's van in fifteen minutes. Oh, and by the way. You played awesome tonight. You had the audience in tears. Your music always bypasses the mind and grips the soul."

"Jeez, thanks Jose. You've turned poetic and have me blushing."

Jose looked at her intently. "I meant every word, Zoe."

Zoe didn't know how to respond.

Jose chucked her under the chin. "See you in fifteen."

Precisely fifteen minutes later, she pulled her sweater on and headed for Hilliard's van. The van didn't really belong to their driver, but everyone called it his van because he was so possessive of it. The metal surface fairly glowed in the dark it was so shiny and clean.

The traveling symphonic orchestra had three buses, the van, and a semi truck they used to travel throughout Europe. After the last performance in every town, the musicians wanting to celebrate would join Hilliard for whatever fancy nightclub he'd picked out. Because Hilliard suffered from a "type A" personality, it amused everyone that he was such a party animal. Of course, he was a "type A" party animal, and didn't drink anything stronger than ginger ale.

Zoe had only joined the group a few times in the past three years. Tonight, she decided to put her new resolve to the test. Maybe she'd even start up a conversation with some interesting business man. She envisioned herself having a relationship with a wealthy investor, or maybe an entrepreneur. Being a violinist for a successful symphony orchestra had its perks. It let you meet a diversity of people. Zoe's imagination took flight and she saw herself married to the investor who loved her unconditionally and they had two children. She sighed and came back to reality.

Two hours later, "party animal" Hilliard drove them back to the hotel parking lot. The tipsy musicians crawled out of the van and staggered to their rooms. Only on the last night of a performance were they allowed to drink. Since Zoe didn't like the taste of alcohol and stuck with virgin daiquiris, she didn't have a problem navigating to her room. She exited the elevator with some other musicians on her floor. Waving goodbye, she entered her room and started pulling off her clothes, dropping them on her way to the shower. She'd retrieve them tomorrow. Fastidiousness wasn't one of her hang ups.

The shower spray running down her hair and body felt wonderful. Leaning her head against the glass, she closed her eyes while unbidden images of Davide escaped her resolve not to think about him. Her mind conjured up his form. For a minute, she allowed herself to feel the rush of him: longish midnight black hair, intense sky blue eyes under thick black lashes, sculptured cheekbones, aquiline nose, five o'clock shadow, a body sculpted by the gods and a mouth designed for passionate kisses.

She smiled at her own description. As much as she loved looking at Davide, however, it was his aura that held her captive. She was madly, deeply, and hopelessly in love with his essence. Stop it! Stop torturing yourself. Think about your resolve. Think again about what happened at his twenty-third birthday party.

She turned off the shower and reached for a thick towel. Wrapping herself in it, she studied her unremarkable image in the mirror while brushing her teeth. She didn't want to think about the birthday party yet. Instead she reflected on her life. If not for Mrs. Porter, she might now be employed in a job she hated, instead of the one she loved. Her neighbor had insisted she was a gifted musician. Her Dad and Fawn had always encouraged her to try new things. She'd taken dance lessons, guitar lessons, art lessons in just about every medium, and lessons she couldn't even remember, but it wasn't until she'd taken violin lessons that she'd known what to do with her life—become a violinist.

She rinsed her mouth, tried to pull a brush through her muddy blond corkscrew curls, gave up, and then crawled into bed. Reaching and turning out the bedside lamp, she turned her face into her pillow and remembered what she wanted to forget.

This is Fawn Woods' story, the second book in the Shapeling Trilogy. Fawn was introduced in Book One. This book has spoilers to Book One, so you may want to read Roth's story first. As with the first book, the cover tells a story.

Excerpt:

Wade glanced at the beauty from the corner of his eye. A dimple indented one cheek as she smiled at something obviously personal. Beneath lovely arched black brows, azure eyes glanced quickly at him and darted away. He'd never seen eyes that shade of blue. Crap! What had the employment agency been thinking to stick a beauty like her in a cow town in the middle of nowhere to care for an emotionally challenged child and oversee the household of a ranch? She'd probably throw in the towel and leave before the day was over.

Wade led her to his decades' old, rusty Ford pickup and set her suitcases in the back. Sam, his ancient hound, sat stoically in the bed among a bale of hay, ropes of varying lengths, a tool chest, and several empty coke cans. When she reached to pet Sam, Wade warned, "Careful; he don't take well to strangers."

As if to make him a liar, Sam sidled over to the woman's hand and licked it like she was his best friend.

"Now, aren't you a sweetheart," she cooed, while Sam shivered and wagged his tail uncontrollably.

Wade had never seen Sam take to anyone the way he'd taken to her, and it pissed him off. The dog actually cried when she turned to enter the cab. She wasn't tall, maybe 5'2", and Wade cringed when he realized he'd have to help her into the raised cab. He sighed and placed his hands around her tiny waist to give her a boost. As soon as her butt hit the seat, he jerked his hands away.

He rounded the old truck and easily hoisted himself into the driver's seat. When he turned the ignition, Sam barked and circled the bed of the truck. Wade pulled out of the small airport parking lot and headed west of the town of Cortez, Colorado, population just under 9,000.

The silence in the cab grew uncomfortable. The woman finally said, "So, Mr. Spencer, why don't you tell me about Zoe and your ranch?"

He didn't want to waste his breath since she'd be leaving soon, but he couldn't see any way to not answer without appearing rude.

"Zoe's seven, and, as I'm sure the agency told you, a troubled child. The death of her mother when she was five changed her from a happy little girl into…well, let's just say she can be challenging. She's been analyzed by every kind of doctor imaginable, and nothing's helped. They want to put her on medication, but I refuse. As far as the ranch, it was started by my great-grandfather and originally named Broken Heart Ranch because he'd lost his young wife shortly before purchasing the land. The ranch passed to my father at a fairly young age because of his father's untimely death, and my grandmother not wanting the responsibility of it. When my father asked my mother to marry him, one of her conditions before accepting his proposal, was that the ranch be renamed. She'd said she wanted to change the karma of Broken Heart Ranch.  My dad was so head-over-heels in love, he told her she could name it whatever she wanted. My mother loved dreamcatchers, and that's how the ranch got its new name. Unfortunately, the karma didn't change and she died when I was ten. My father, in his grief, removed all the dreamcatchers she'd hung throughout the house. I inherited the ranch when he died ten years back. It's a cattle ranch, which is a lot of hard work." Wade wondered why he was revealing so much history to a stranger and clamped his mouth shut.

"What a sad, but lovely story," she responded. Silence filled the cab again.

Unexpectedly, the woman asked, "Why don't you like me?"

Wade choked. "Uh…I don't know what you mean?"

"Yes, you do. You discounted me the moment you saw me."

Wade was caught like a deer in headlights. He could either lie or fess up. He cleared his throat. "Ah, well, you see, we go through nannies like water. Longest any of em stuck around was two weeks. And when I saw you, I thought…"

"Yes?"

Wade spit out the words, "I thought you probably wouldn't have the stamina to care for Zoe and run a household. You're kinda…small." He felt his face turn pink. He'd wanted to say: You're gorgeous, so what the hell are you doing at a cattle ranch instead of posing before a Hollywood camera?

 She replied, "So size matters?"

Wade almost drove the truck off the road. He jerked the wheel back and glanced in the rear view mirror, watching a dust cloud swirl. He sneaked a glance at the woman; was she being facetious? Her face looked as innocent as a babe's. Maybe she doesn't realize what she just said.

"Ah, no, I guess not," he said lamely.

"Good, then let's not worry about what I'm capable of."

Wade took a deep breath. God, where was this woman from? Who talked like that? Maybe it was just him and he needed to get his mind on another topic.

"So, you've had lots of experience with kids?"

"Yes, over the years, I have."

"Why did you choose this profession?"

"I guess you could say it kinda chose me. It's something I was born to do."

Born to babysit and clean house? She's a strange one.

This is the first book in the Shapeling Trilogy. In Roth Beowolf's story, you meet the main characters of the next two books, Fawn Woods and the Great Prince (well, you kind of meet the Great Prince). As always, be ready for adventure, mystery, and romance!

Excerpt:

Roth soared high again, intent on reaching the Cave of Thirteen before sunrise. He arrived in record time. Gently landing and pulling his wings closed, he lowered his head and prayed to the Source, repeating the Prayer of Secrecy he had been taught as a child by his Guide. Before the last word in the prayer had been uttered, he no longer had wings or talons; he now stood tall on two feet, his raven hair long and whipped by the wind. Pale blue eyes that observed everything looked upward in a gesture of respect for the Source. Wearing only white linen breeches, he flexed and stretched his lean muscular form, feeling the rush that always accompanied a shapeshift.

Shapelings, unlike humans, gave no consideration for his looks. Their focus rested in an elusive goal beyond shapeshifting: mastery of wisdom.  Honing wisdom, however, presented as a two-edged sword—becoming another creature in totality, while at the same time maintaining shapeling faculties and awareness. The difficulty in abating the thrill of being only the creature—to becoming both creature and shapeling—required intense practice and concentration over countless sun risings.

As a Shapeling Master, Roth would receive increasingly complex assignments aimed at developing wisdom. Eventually, consistent evidence of wise choices would bestow the title of Prince Thirteen upon him, a title his father had been about to receive before his untimely death during Roth's childhood.  Roth pushed himself toward that goal for the sake of his heritage and envisioned his ultimate destiny, reigning as Prominent Prince as his ancestors before him.

He glanced at the glow in the eastern sky. Soon the edge of the sun would appear. He smiled and walked the short distance to the Cave of Thirteen. At the exact moment the sun made its appearance, he stepped inside the cave lit by fire torches. Reverently, he approached the Thirteen and knelt, speaking the Prayer of Respect, "May the embers of truth always glow."

"Rise, Roth," commanded the Prominent Prince.

"Come closer," the remaining twelve voiced in unison.

Roth rose and took the few steps that brought him directly in front of the Prominent One.

"You have accomplished your latest mission, Roth. We congratulate you."

Roth nodded his respect. "Thank you, Prominent Prince."

Another voice spoke, "You are well aware, of course, that this next assignment may usher you into the ranks of Mastery."

"Yes, Prince Two." Roth could not hide his grin.

"You have mastered all the creatures of your assignments…"

"Thank you, Prince Five."

"…except one."

Roth’s smile faded. Out of respect, he did not argue. His mind, however, raced to understand. He had shapeshifted into a wolf, a lion, an eagle, a horse, an owl, a dolphin, a human, a dog, a tiger, a panther, and multiple others, including reptiles and insects. He had never failed an assignment. He did not understand.

The Prominent Prince spoke again. "Although your assignments have been successful, we believe you have yet to acquire the full nuance of being human. This next mission will determine if you are ready to begin missions as a Master. It requires you to again shapeshift into a human."

"As you command. But may I ask in what way I came short?"

"That is something you must discover on your own. We will speak no more about this."

"Yes, Prominent Prince." Roth waited for his instructions, quelling the disappointment and frustration trying to find vent in his heart. He did not want his decisive assignment to be as a human. He had protected and saved the lives of innumerable humans throughout his previous missions as animals. He had also completed many assignments in human form; his last one being as a Yankee soldier during the American Civil War. He had been sent to protect a man whom the co-Princes believed would change the course of human history. On many occasions, Roth had deflected a bayonet intended for the man, or pushed him out of the line of fire. He had also saved him from being trampled by a horse, and even gone so far as to befriend him. After the war, they had gone their separate ways and Roth had returned to the Cave of Thirteen for his next assignment.

Prince Thirteen spoke. "I will reveal the details of this decisive mission."

This novella was selected for inclusion in the Celebrate the Season Anthology by Solstice Publishing in 2010. It's now available as a separate ebook novella. The location for this story is Bend, Oregon and the outlying areas; perfect for trans-location of a Fairy from Flitter Town. Jazmine's adventure in the human realm can be enjoyed by all ages.

Chapter One Excerpt:

“Here…here…listen up Fairies-in-Training, I have your human assignments from Boss-at-the-Top.”

At the mention of Boss-at-the-Top’s name by Teacher-Fairy, the Fairies-in-Training gasped and rushed to their appointed toadstools—their hard work was about to be rewarded. Ten specially chosen Fairies-in-Training would receive human assignments. For some, like Jazmine, this was their last chance to visit the human realm. So far, Jazmine was the only fairy from her clan that had succeeded in making it to Fairies-in-Training School in Flitter Town. Even so, making it this far did not guarantee a human assignment. Although Jazmine had completed three trainings, the maximum number allowed, she had yet to be chosen by Boss-at-the-Top for a real assignment. If she wasn’t chosen this time, she would be sent back to her clan, the Fragrant Flowers. Home again; she would continue working in the fields to ensure that her namesake, jasmine, maintained its sweet fragrance. It wasn’t that Jazmine didn’t love her job as a jasmyster; it was just that, in her heart-of-hearts, she had always longed to experience the mysterious world of humans.

Teacher-Fairy opened a rose petal and cleared his throat. “Hmm…hmm....”

Jazmine crossed her fingers and held her breath.

“The first human assignment goes to…goes to…Honey Dew!”

A squeal erupted from Honey Dew and she jumped off her toadstool to run and stand before Teacher-Fairy.

Teacher-Fairy squinted at the rose petal again and said, “Your assignment is in—goodness…goodness—it’s in New York City.”

Honey Dew let out another squeal. New York City was a coveted area. All the former fairies who had received New York assignments had returned with amazing stories of its grandeur. They swore their experiences were something they would remember for the rest of their thousands of years.

Honey Dew’s face lit with excitement when she was given the details of her assignment.

“You will become a hotel maid at the Waldorf Astoria. There is a young, single mother working in the laundry room. Your assignment is to befriend her. She is lonely and impoverished. It is up to you to make sure she meets the nephew of the hotel manager. His uncle is training him to assume the running of the hotel. The young man is also lonely. Boss-at-the-Top believes these two would be very happy together. Can you be ready to leave by first-ray-of-sun tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, Teacher-Fairy, I’ll be ready.”

“Good…good. Meet me on the eastern boundary of Flitter Town. In fact, anyone who receives an assignment must meet me there at first-ray-of-sun. Understood?”

“Yes, Teacher-Fairy,” the class replied in unison.

“Good…Good.” Teacher-Fairy perused another rose petal and called another name. “Pink Petunia, you’ve been chosen.”

Jazmine listened as name after name was called, her heart sinking each time she was passed over. “I guess it’s just not meant to be,” she sighed, blinking back tears.

“And now…now for the last fairy assignment, Boss-at-the-Top has chosen—Jazmine!”

“Huh?”

“Jazmine, are you coming forward? Do you want to pass on the assignment?” Teacher-Fairy furrowed his forehead and squinted at her.

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean, yes, I’m coming forward, and no, I don’t want to pass on the assignment.” Jazmine slid off her toadstool and missed her footing, landing on her backside and crushing her new tulip-skirt. Ignoring the snickers of the other Fairies-in-Training, she rushed to stand before Teacher-Fairy.

“Now…now, Jazmine, Boss-at-the-Top has given you a very important assignment. You will be trans-located to the town of Bend in the State of Oregon in the United States. There is a boy, eight years of age, whose mother transitioned to the final-realm a year ago. His name is Jake. He’s very precocious, and constantly in trouble. His father has been unable to fill the void left by his mother’s transition. His father’s own grief has made him incapable of giving his son the guidance and understanding he needs. Your assignment is to help Jake. Boss-at-the-Top believes that by helping Jake, you will assist his father in getting back on track with his son.”

Jazmine inhaled sharply—Boss-at-the-Top had entrusted her with the care of a little boy! She was truly blessed.

“I’ll see you at first-ray-of-sun, Jazmine.”

“Oh, yes, sir. I’ll be there!”

The idea for this book captured my imagination when I began seeing the numbers 11:11 all the time. I did some internet investigation and discovered untold numbers of people were experiencing the same thing. Kinda weird...but makes for a great paranormal romance.

Chapter One Excerpt:

Spring 2011

Theo

Theo unlocked the door of his newly rented apartment. Flipping the light switch, he scanned the shabby interior. Tomorrow morning would be his first encounter with Eve. His objective–-gain her confidence.

Eve

Listening to the silence while watching moon shadows dance across the ceiling, I tried to remember when the recurrence of the numbers first seemed odd. I think it started about two years ago. I know it sounds crazy, but that's when the numbers 11:11, with some variations, began appearing over and over.

The numbers were everywhere–-on digital clocks, license plates, books, advertisements, billboards, and scores of other places I can't even remember now. At first I laughed at the bizarre occurrences. When they kept happening, I thought it was weird. Now, it’s not so funny.

Waitressing full time and attending night school were an exhausting combination, so I'd gone to bed earlier than usual. Punching my pillow, I rolled over and craned my neck toward the digital clock. A little voice inside my head whispered, 11:11. The premonition proved correct. Damn.

Since my hectic schedule didn't leave much time for study, I decided to use my sleeplessness to concentrate on legal terminology. The college program I was enrolled in would jump start my life with a new career as a paralegal. My thirtieth birthday loomed.

De minimis…ex parte…pro se…pro bono… Where was the Sandman when you needed him? Right now I needed to get some shuteye, not study or rethink my life-crisis. However, my wayward thoughts refused to cooperate, and I remembered a few months back when I'd read an advertisement on the Internet about the great career choice of becoming a paralegal. The advertised phone number was to be expected–-(800) 555-1111.

Finally, I drifted into a restless sleep. In a dream, I rode the metro bus through the streets of San Francisco. Everywhere I looked, graffiti marred buildings and bridges with those blasted numbers.

The alarm blared. It took several minutes for the annoying sound to penetrate my mental fog. I hit the snooze button. It blared again five minutes later. I hit the snooze button again. The next time it sounded, I groaned and staggered to the shower. Pouring a blob of shampoo in my hand, I saw the price sticker on the bottom of the bottle–-$1.11. Ugh!

By six A.M., I entered the hallway outside my apartment contemplating another hectic day of bus riding, waitressing, and school exams; then studying until midnight, before getting up and doing it all over again. What an exciting life.

I heard the door to the apartment across the hall open just as I turned the key in my lock. It had been empty for a couple of months. I wanted to meet my new neighbor and hoped it would be a nice elderly person or a couple. Pasting a smile on my lips, I twirled and locked eyes with a man. My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the wrong pipe, coughing uncontrollably.

With a startled look, the man began patting me on the back and asking, "Are you okay? Are you okay?"

Much to my mortification, every pat of his hand felt like an electric jolt. Stepping backward, waving one hand in the air, and bobbing my head like an idiot, I squeezed out the words, "Okay…swallowed…down…the…wrong… pipe."

"Let me get you some water," he said, and rushed back into his apartment.

Still gasping, I scolded myself for behaving like a silly schoolgirl. It wasn't as if good-looking men didn’t come into the diner, but OMG, this specimen was out-of-this-world gorgeous. The word handsome didn't even come close to describing him; raw sensual beauty would have been more accurate. Walking fantasy worked, too.

He reappeared with a glass of water. I couldn't even look at his face for fear of another coughing spell. I looked at his hands instead–-beautiful hands–-wide and long-fingered with well-trimmed nails. No ring.

Settling my eyes on the drinking glass as a point of focus, I raised it to my lips, but my eyes went cross-eyed from staring at the glass so close to my face. I looked up. The man’s crooked smile did weird things to my stomach.

I took a sip and forced myself to swallow. His smile widened. I took another sip and then another. The Gift from the Gods spoke again.

"My name is Theodore Baldwin." His voice reminded me of warm honey. "But please, call me Theo."

"My name is Eve," I squeaked.

"It's my pleasure to meet you, Eve."

The meaning of the word swoon became apparent, because my head went fuzzy when he said "Eve" with enough sensuality to make my toes curl.

"Nice to meet you, too," I squeaked again.

He seemed uncertain for a moment before saying, "I'll see you again."

Feeling like an idiot, I watched him walk down the hall and turn into the stairwell. I looked at the glass in my hand. I would have to return it. Maybe I would keep it and save myself from more embarrassment. Where was my usual common sense? His ego was probably the size of Jupiter.

Unlocking my door, I slipped the glass onto an inside table and locked up again. I would have to run now if I wanted to catch my bus on time.

* * *

For the next two weeks, I continued running into my gorgeous neighbor: in the hall, at the entrance to our building, taking out the trash, checking my mail. It seemed the more I tried to avoid him, the more I ran into him. Not only was he "eye-candy," he was nice! God forbid I should develop a silly crush on someone so utterly and completely out of my league. For all intents and purposes, we could have been born on separate planets.

I couldn't move from my apartment because of my lease. Beside that, the rent was reasonable. Get a grip, girl, I scolded myself when I realized I was actually contemplating moving because of my new neighbor.

I found myself wondering why a man of Theo's looks and intelligence, who could easily grace the cover of GQ magazine, or any magazine, was living in an almost-poverty-level apartment building. What did he do for a living? Somehow, I couldn't imagine him in any sort of mundane job. The man was becoming too much of an obsession.

Meanwhile, the appearance of the numbers 11:11 continued. They cropped up several times a week. My overreaction was becoming a source of concern, and although I toyed with the idea of seeing a therapist, I couldn’t bring myself to use my hard-earned savings on a shrink.

I've always wondered what the Unified Field Theory aka The Theory of Everything might be. My imagination soared in this novel.

Chapter One Excerpt: The Call

A Cry for Help

*I need you.*
I know you do.
*I'm lost in this darkness.*
You must help me find you.
*How do I do that?*
Tell me something about the location of your physical body.
Silence.
*I'm so alone.*
I know you feel that way. But I'm here. Where is your physical body?
*I don't know. Everything is so hopeless.*
There's always hope! Don't give up!
*I'll try. I'm walking into a large building. I have a class to teach.*
What do you teach?
*Numbers.*
What's the name of the school?
*It's a university.*
What's the name of the university?
Silence.
__________________________
Mariel

Distracted by the image and voice in my mind, I didn't hear Mrs. Johnson. The vague image and distressed voice only conveyed two words. Help me!

Mrs. Johnson touched my arm. "Mariel…Mariel, did you hear what I said?"

"Hmm… I'm so sorry, Mrs. Johnson. Please tell me again."

My client looked concerned. "The advice you gave me at my last appointment proved to be entirely accurate. I did exactly what you said. I called my sister, even though I was sure she would hang up on me, and told her we needed to reconcile–that the breach between us had lasted way too long. I certainly didn't expect what happened next; she started crying. We have completely healed our rift and become best friends again. I can't thank you enough! It's sad when gifted people like yourself are targeted by the religious faction in our town. It's like a modern-day Salem witch hunt."

I smiled. "People always fear what they don't understand. Thank you for your support. I've been dealing with this most of my life. I once tried to deny my gift, but it only brought me frustration. I'd rather face a little opposition than the agony caused by suppressing what God has blessed me with."

Mrs. Johnson stood and I accepted her payment.

"Same time next week?" I asked.

"Of course, dear. The do-gooders can't scare me away."

After Mrs. Johnson left, I went to the kitchen to prepare dinner, still pondering the vision and impression that had distracted me earlier. In less than two weeks, the same soul had contacted me five times. In my mind's eye, I envisioned the vague outline of a man. He appeared neither old nor young, nor had he transitioned to the other side. He remained in this dimension, and he was crying out; or rather, his soul was crying out to me for help. That concerned me. Rarely, did the soul of a living person call for help separate from its body. My grandmother said she had encountered the phenomena only once. For me, this was a first. People came to me and asked me for help while still in their bodies. Apparently, this soul had partially detached from its physicality. I had no idea where to begin looking for the owner of this confused soul, but one thing remained certain, its cry was becoming stronger.

Rafe

Rafe slammed the portable whiteboard against the wall in his den and grabbed an eraser. Wildly erasing the scribbled equations, he cursed a stream of profanities. The answer had eluded him again. Did a Theory of Everything really exist, or had the quest for it become a carrot dangled before him by an impartial universe?

He slumped into a chair and ran a frustrated hand through wavy black hair, always on the longish side, because he couldn't be bothered with spending the time required for haircuts. The same held true of the stubble on his face; a shave every three days suited him just fine.

Dropping his elbows to his knees, he lowered his head into his hands. "If only…"

Wouldn't you love to travel to another time in history by jumping into a portrait from the 1800s? I did the next best thing...I went there in my mind and wrote it down.

Chapter One Excerpt: The Poem

It was late, very late. Ella closed her laptop and placed it on the bedside table. She sank down under the covers and hugged a pillow to her chest. The haunting words echoed; she knew the poem by heart. Every night she awoke and felt compelled by something beyond herself to flesh it out. Tonight she had finished it.

She whispered the words against her pillow.

Far into yesterday,
And beyond the realm of reason,
Memories of another love,
Another time,
Imprison my mind.

Silhouettes of his face,
Beyond the milky glass,
Touch my life with softness
For this other time
Within my mind.

A whispered phrase,
Beyond all hearing,
Communicates his devotion.
It transcends time
To lay still in my mind.

A passing fragrance,
Evoking nostalgic impressions,
Causes my breath to come deep.
The scent of his time,
Makes me wish it was mine.

Exhausted, Ella slept.
* * *
Ella Montclair, woman extraordinaire—that’s how she thought of herself today. She was preparing for her trip to London, compliments of a new job. Her organizational skills had finally landed her the job of her dreams. She had been hired as research assistant to Sir Byron Thomas, the famous historian.

Ella grinned and reached for another empty box to store her belongings. Pulling out the bottom drawer of an old desk, she grabbed the contents. She had sublet her apartment and rented a storage unit for the items she was not taking with her. The more she could trash, the better. She flipped through the papers in her hand. Trash… not trash… not trash… trash… she paused; it was the poem.

In the years since it had been written, she’d gradually purged it from her memory. For a long time after it had been written, however, she’d quoted it nightly; and every night she’d been gripped by longing and loneliness. Finally, in an effort to salvage some semblance of peace of mind, she’d tucked it away, hoping to erase the haunting words from remembrance.

Ella moved her hand toward the trash pile. At the last minute, she changed her mind and slipped the poem into her briefcase.
* * *
The flights from Los Angeles to New York, and from New York to Heathrow Airport in London, were long, tedious, monotonous, but exciting: exciting because Ella felt like she was now doing something constructive and relevant with her life. She had always felt “out-of-the-loop” as far as the direction of her life and her connection with other people. It was probably partly due to her upbringing as an only child by emotionally distant parents—parents that had been not only distant from her, but from each other. She could not recall ever having seen them touch in an intimate gesture, or even share an intimate glance. They were gone now: her father to a heart attack when she was fourteen, and her mother in a car accident five years later.

But were her parents the only reason she felt the way she did; why her preferred choices of recreation consisted of losing herself in historical novels or watching Victorian movies?

Ella pushed the thoughts of her parents aside as the international flight taxied to the terminal. She was finally in the United Kingdom. Lillian Thomas was going to meet her on the ground floor of Terminal One.

After exiting the plane, Ella followed the posted signs to passport control. With her passport and supporting documentation tucked neatly in her briefcase, she was ready to check through customs and begin her new life. The screening process, however, took longer than expected, and she felt nervous about making Lillian wait. Lillian was Sir Thomas’s daughter, and had been her interviewer in Los Angeles.

At the interview, they had connected immediately after a shaky beginning in which Lillian had given her a startled look and stared at her with widened eyes. She had then apologized profusely for her rudeness. After that strange encounter, however, the interview had gone well enough.

Lillian had liked Ella’s references as a historical research assistant for a respected, albeit, small travel magazine. Ella had been with the magazine since graduating from college seven years previous with a Bachelor’s degree in history. When Lillian had called two days later offering her the job, she had been shocked. She had expected they would hire someone with at least a Master’s degree.

Finally, Ella was permitted to leave customs and she followed the signs to baggage claim. Most of the travelers had already retrieved their baggage. She waited for hers to circle back around the loop. After claiming her luggage, she turned her attention to locating Lillian.

“Ella…Ella.” She heard her name being called, and turned to see Lillian hastening toward her. She was a lovely young woman, probably in her late twenties, the same as Ella.  Ella was thrilled at seeing her again.

“I was worried about you, so I decided to see if I could find you…and here you are.” Lillian smiled warmly.

“Going through customs took longer than I expected. I’m so—”

“Not to worry.” Lillian waved her concerns aside. “Let me help you with your luggage.”

Within minutes, they were outside the terminal and being greeted by the chauffeur of a sleek black limousine. “We wanted to impress you,” Lillian laughed. The chauffeur opened the door for the ladies and then loaded Ella’s luggage. Ella leaned into the exquisitely upholstered seat and expelled a long sigh, releasing some of the tension caused from the long flights and building excitement.

“You must be so happy to finally arrive,” Lillian said in her beautifully proper English.

“I am.” Ella smiled contentedly.

“As we already discussed, we’re going to Thomas Manor, about an hour away. My father’s country home is just outside Farnham Village. We have a room for you in our home, unless, of course, you choose to live in the village. But we so hope you will remain with us. Once you’re settled, my father is anxious to begin research on his latest book.”

“I’m anxious to begin work, too. I’m ready whenever you are.”

Lillian laughed, a musical sound, and said, “We don’t expect you to start for a least a few days. You need to acquaint yourself with the area. We want you to be happy here.”

Lillian’s friendliness was contagious and Ella informed her that she didn’t need a few days; only long enough to unpack and get a good night’s sleep.

“Well, we’ll talk about that later,” Lillian assured her.

The drive to Farnham Village was lovely, with rolling green hills, wooded expanses, and gentle rivers. It was everything Ella had expected, and more. Although she had researched the area before moving, she listened enraptured as Lillian proudly described the Old English market town in the County of Surrey. When the limousine drove into the village proper, Ella caught her breath at the beauty awash everywhere. Baskets and troughs of flowers of every imaginable color graced the businesses and homes lining narrow medieval brick and stone streets.

Lillian pointed toward Farnham Castle, which was within walking distance of the town. “It was built in the twelfth century.”

Ella gazed out the window at the ancient edifice standing sentry as it had for hundreds of years. The sight sent a tremor down her spine. She had never been here before, and yet … .

She chastised herself. Of course it seems familiar, you goose; you’ve been reading about it on the internet. Still, the strange feeling persisted.

Less than a mile outside the village, the limousine pulled up before a country manor. Built in classic Georgian style architecture and created to harmonize with the landscape, it appeared warm and inviting. Lillian said the house had been erected around 1780. It was two-storied and boasted a center front door topped with an elaborate crown. Two windows appeared on either side of the door, and five windows stretched across the second story.

When Ella climbed from the limousine and gazed at the home of Sir Byron Thomas and Lillian Thomas, the same feeling quaked through her as when she had viewed Farnham Castle. She pushed the feeling aside, and exclaimed, “I love your home!” The goose bumps persisted.

“Your room is the last one on the right, on the second floor.” Lillian pointed. “You have a lovely view of Farnham Castle from your side window.”

Ella looked toward the castle and shivered.

Can 12 year old Roscoe save 'Tween Time and keep it from becoming like the Here and There World of Humans? Perhaps with the help of a grumpy gnome and a singing fairy he can locate Kiaia, Deva of Earth, who knows the identity of the Sound Holder who holds the answer.

Chapter Three Excerpt: Vaproness

Emerging on the other side, the three travelers gazed in awe at an endless beach. Golden sunlight, filtering through luminous clouds, cast its glow as far as the eye could see. Waves, reflecting the golden hue, crashed against glittering sand over and over, creating a shimmering mist that twinkled and sparkled. For a long time they stood drinking in the beauty of Beach Land.

Quite suddenly, the sky darkened and a drizzle of rain turned into buckets of giant drops. Plop, splash, plop, splash!

"Drat! Run for cover!" exclaimed Askuonas.

"Oh, my! Oh, my!" squealed Medallioness.

"Over there!" shouted Roscoe, running in the direction of a copse of palm trees.

Huddled together under a huge palm leaf, the trio watched the rain pound the waves. It was Medallioness who first heard a strange sound.

"Listen! Do you hear that?"

Roscoe heard it, too. It sounded like a chant, but the words were unintelligible. As the chant became louder, the words became clearer.

"We are liqeudd! We are liqeudd! We are liqeudd!"

To Roscoe’s amazement, the huge raindrops began mixing and merging, creating a form. The more the raindrops merged, the larger the water creature became.

"We are liqeudd! We are liqeudd! We are liqeudd!"

The shapeshifter twisted and stretched and the chanting grew louder and louder until it roared.

Askuonas covered his oversized ears with his hands. Medallioness cowered behind Roscoe’s head.

The water creature grew to the size of a palm tree and continued to writhe and twist and stretch, and then it shouted, "Why are you here?"

"We…we…" Roscoe stuttered, "We are here to s-speak with Vaproness."

"Impossible!"

"T-‘Tween Time has been breached. If we don’t speak with Vaproness, then…T-‘Tween Time will become like the Here and There World."

"What!"

Suddenly, the creature shrank and was no longer as tall as a tree, and just as suddenly, it took on the form of a beautiful water angel. The angel glided toward Roscoe and said in an angelic voice, "Can you see me?"

"Yes...yes... I can see you."

Askuonas chastised, "Drat! That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. He can see us and he’s not supposed to see us."

Medallioness sang, "That’s why we must speak with Kiaia, but we cannot speak with Kiaia until we speak with Vaproness, and then with Methos."

The lovely being floated until she was eye-to-eye with Roscoe. "What do I look like?"

"You look like a beautiful angel, but before you…"

"Say no more, human child! We must do everything possible to save ‘Tween Time. I will direct you to Vaproness, Deva of Water. Go into the palm woods and find the shallowood treeplant. Tell the shallowood treeplant that the liqeudd sent you and you must speak with Vaproness immediately. Go now!"

Roscoe thought to himself, "I must speak with a plant?"