The Return of the Wolf

Ryan's Treasure Available HERE

By Becca Dale

The Minnesota border is only an hour drive from my home, but it’s worlds away in many ways. South Dakota has one of the lowest population densities in the lower 48 with only .26% of the nation’s people, which in my mind is a good thing unless I want to do some serious shopping. ;-) Minnesota on the other hand has a whopping 1.7% of the US population.

Now, why would I feel the need to share all this? Well, because in addition to people, Minnesota also has something we do not have – wolves. Despite the larger human population in MN, the wolves are free to run in the northern timber away from livestock and the animosity that proximity brings. The state has regained control of its wolf populations from the federal government as a reward for the diligence in restoring the animal numbers. So in honor of my newest shifter release I lift my glass to the rangers, politicians, and citizens of Minnesota and their noble efforts to save these beautiful animals.

Ryan’s Treasure (Book 2 in the Sanctuary Series)

Nadi has no family and no home beyond the puppy mills where she has lived since birth. Freedom calls to her until she cannot resist risking everything for a chance to run. But being free comes with dangers she’s ill-equipped to handle and a guardian who promises to protect her even as his size and brute strength terrify her.

Ryan Jones spends his life rescuing abused women by day and tortured animals by night. Nothing stops him from watching over those smaller or weaker until a half-starved she-wolf leaps between him and the barrel of a gun. In a night of passion with the gorgeous shifter, everything changes. Suddenly, by pack law, he faces an unexpected role that may destroy his image and their future.

Can love enable Ryan’s treasure to come home to his arms?

Excerpt:

Life is hope. The motto often whispered in the darkest hours urged her onward. She slipped past the sleeping guard, the one called Dane by the humans, Diablo by the animals he supposedly protected. He lolled at his post, sprawled in his chair with his feet up and his head thrown back against the crib wall, throat exposed. A trickle of drool dampened his scruffy beard, and the scent of violence rolled off of him, bitter and oppressive. If she had any strength to spare, she’d rip his throat open for the times he’d left his chair to beat or humiliate the helpless females under his care.

Too weak to attack with only bared fangs, she slunk onward, silent and cautious, hugging the buildings to hide her shadow from the harsh, yellow yard lights. Brittle grass and sharp stones cut the tender pads of her feet, leaving a slick blood trail across the dark farmyard. She had made it outside the shed, but liberty remained beyond the compound. Her pulse drummed loud enough to wake the dead and would not settle, its thump the only sound in the mocking silence. A misstep, a startled night bird, anything could shatter the stillness and destroy her chance.

She stopped and scented the air. Something or someone waited beyond the unguarded gate. The subtle whisper of agitated breaths floated on the breeze. Hesitating, torn between escape and whatever lurked in the tall grass, the bitch crouched low. A coyote’s howl echoed through the long valley, emphasizing the distance between hell and the promise of peace.

Then she saw them.

Eyes glowed in the darkness. One, two, twenty pairs attached to unseen enemies. Frightened, she huddled into the niche between the babies’ play yard and the building which housed the nursing mothers. A little one whimpered, and its mother woofed it silent.

She couldn’t stay. Her womb remained barren, and it wouldn’t be long before a bullet ended her misery as it had the suffering of so many through the years. For a fleeting second, death called with sweet relief. Perhaps a similar finish lay beyond the gate in the jaws of hidden beings. Perhaps not. Searching for a path between the unknown creatures, a place to slide though undetected, she waited, trembling with fear and anticipation.

Before the answer came clear, the group rose en masse. Great beasts the likes of which she’d never seen before emerged from the shadows. Fangs gleamed in heavy jaws. Broad hairy monsters with two-inch claws stood upon the legs of men. Growls low and savage rumbled through the group. Then he spoke. The largest of the creatures hushed the others.

Get in, free the animals, and get out.

What if we get caught?

Do what you must.

Emancipation had come with glowing eyes and a comforting command.

Leave a comment about why you love Shifter romance stories, and tell us what your favorite type of shapeshifter. One commenter will be chosen to receive a copy of any book from Becca Dale's back list in our catalog, along with another shapeshifter ebook of their choice from our catalog. Don't forget to leave your email address in your comment!

Don't miss Book 1 in The Sanctuary Series

 Tender-hearted and lonely, Kya yearns for heritage and home. The staff and animals at the sanctuary where she works have become almost family, but it is not enough. She craves the stability and acceptance she hears in the voice of her dream lover and sees in the eyes of a wounded wildcat.

   Chosen to guard the royal heir, Ja claims his lost charge in a desperate attempt to save her from enemies she can not imagine or comprehend. At every turn desire and obligation clash as Kya tests his loyalty to the clan and his will to walk away. Touching her breaks the rules that he has pledged his life to uphold, but fulfilling his duty might destroy everything worth fighting for.
   Both must face the roles they were born to play. Hers to lead. His to protect. Can Hannah blindly accept her responsibility as queen or will she turn her back on the extended family she longs for in order to keep the one who destroys her loneliness? Does she even have a choice?

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What happens when characters play too nice?

By Becca Dale

For me, it meant my first series had to be put on hold. Kya’s King introduced the Sanctuary Series two years ago, and I had every intention of Ryan’s Treasure following in a timely manner. Ryan and Nadi had different plans. Did they hate one another? Nope – that I could have worked with. No, these two had to fall madly in love from the start.

I hear you asking, “So what’s the problem, Becca? Isn’t that what romance characters do?”

Yeah, but these two were so impressed with one another they had no conflict and no story to tell. I could have written the entire thing in a few pages of mutual respect and admiration. I assure you it was sickening.

Kya and Ja had a conflict built in. He expected her to return to her clan and rule it wisely as her father would have wanted. Ja’s own needs were less important to him than his concern for his people and it didn’t cross his mind that Kya wouldn’t feel the same. Kya had no desire to live by antiquated rules or with people she had no emotional connection to. Their love blossomed despite their differences. The story almost wrote itself.

Ryan and Nadi were a different story. I swear every time I sat down to work on the manuscript, the two of them did nothing but gush, batting their eyes and snuggling. I finally had to sit down with each of them and ask, “What scares the hell out of you and what situation would you find difficult to overcome?” Once I had that information under my belt, I cross compared their answers to find a connection. So after two years, Ryan’s Treasure is finally on its way toward release.

Because of the span of time between them though, I want to encourage readers to take a look at or reread Kya’s King. Not that the two can’t stand on their own, but knowing Kya and Ja’s story might help understand Ryan and Nadi’s. As an incentive to do so, I am hosting a Rafflecopter giveaway. Sign up below and join the fun.

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Blurb for Kya’s King

Tender-hearted and lonely, Kya yearns for heritage and home. The staff and animals at the sanctuary where she works have become almost family, but it is not enough. She craves the stability and acceptance she hears in the voice of her dream lover and sees in the eyes of a wounded wildcat.

Chosen to guard the royal heir, Ja claims his lost charge in a desperate attempt to save her from enemies she can not imagine or comprehend. At every turn desire and obligation clash as Kya tests his loyalty to the clan and his will to walk away. Touching her breaks the rules that he has pledged his life to uphold, but fulfilling his duty might destroy everything worth fighting for.

Both must face the roles they were born to play. Hers to lead. His to protect. Can Hannah blindly accept her responsibility as queen or will she turn her back on the extended family she longs for in order to keep the one who destroys her loneliness? Does she even have a choice?

Excerpt

First Encounter

The moon hung a mere sliver in the night sky, barely breaking the darkness as Ja moved beyond the animal enclosures. Kya lay inside a brick building. Strange, she did not sleep in the open air among the other animals, as her true nature dictated. Night creatures greeted him, howled his name, and warned of her vulnerability, but he waved them quiet. He stepped through the garden door into her bedroom. She sprawled naked on her sleeping pallet. Long, tawny hair spread across the white pillowcase like satin embroidery and lean, well-defined muscles confirmed her feline heritage despite her pale, hairless state. If Dar found her like this, she would be easy prey.

Ja eased his weight onto the edge of the mattress. Blond-tipped lashes flickered against her softly rounded cheekbones, though she did not waken. Tiny freckles, he remembered from her childhood, dusted her upturned nose and highlighted her more catlike features, but her resemblance to the little girl in his memories ended with the small dots of pigment. Her full bottom lip pouted, begging him to taste it, and his body tightened in response. Kya exuded an artless sexuality he had not expected from one raised outside the clan. Her skin, velvet smooth beneath the sensitive pads of his fingers, increased his need. She licked her lips in her sleep, drawing his attention to the tip of her pink tongue as it peeked from her slightly open mouth. Lust, hot and heavy, pulsed in his groin at the thought of teasing it with his own.

He covered her sensuous lips with his, claiming her even as she slept. With a satisfied purr, her tongue met and parried his. Cool amber eyes flashed then closed, but her hands clutched at his arms braced on either side of her shoulders. He shifted his legs between her silky thighs and fought the urge to bury himself within her gorgeous body even as she slept.

Will she know me if she wakes or scream in horror at the stranger in her bed? Closing his mind to the later possibility, he nibbled the slender curve of her neck, the tiny shell of her ear, the delicate arch of her brow. Each feathering kiss fed the desire to claim her. The scent of honey and cinnamon radiated from her pale skin. Her natural perfume swamped his senses, drawing him closer, demanding he protect what belonged to him by royal command.

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Do you believe in Ghosts?

 by Becca Dale

Do you believe in ghosts? Ever look at old photos and wonder if your ancestors are still around, clinging to the earth in a desperate hunt for closure? What if they could communicate with us—tell us their sorrows and share their joys?

For many that would be creepy or unsettling or even implausible, but it’s a question I ask myself frequently, especially this time of year. Is my loving grandfather hovering to make me and mine laugh from the shadows of death as he did in life? Is my great-grandmother still as feisty and determined to protect her fourteen children as family legends claim? I like to think they are. Well…most times anyway. I hope they turn aside from closed doors.

I learned recently that I am not alone in my confidence that spirits linger around us. According to a 2009 poll, nearly half of all Americans believe in ghosts and 1 in 5 have seen one. While I haven’t seen one, I have felt their presence around the family table, in the quiet by the fire, on the old farm place where I grew up…. My ancestors are very social apparently. :-D However, perhaps it is merely wishful thinking on my part. I may never know for certain, like anything that requires a leap of faith, but I do not doubt that there are things we cannot see or prove that are nonetheless real.

The characters in my coming release, The Millionaire and the Girl Next Door, may not at first believe in the supernatural, but that changes when faced with irrefutable proof of love beyond eternity. So do you believe in ghosts—are they scary or benevolent in your opinion? Leave a comment about ghosts or the Western Escape series below and you could win a copy of The Millionaire the day it releases as a Halloween treat. No trick—I swear.

AVAILABLE THIS HALLOWEEN

Do you believe in ghosts? Have an interesting story to tell? Follow the Rafflecopter instructions and  and one lucky winner will receive a copy of The Millionaire and the Girl Next Door and another Western Escape series title of their choice! You’ll be notified via email.

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Blurb:

Tired of chasing his family’s need for money and power, millionaire Jake Wescott heads to Freewill Wyoming and the beautiful piece of heaven that calls to him.

The girl next door, Christa Dunham puts family first, and she’s determined to protect them from the city boy before he ruins their hunting grounds or steals her heart and then walks away when the lonely nights get too long.

Neither of them expect the attraction that pulls them together nor the lost spirit who wants to drive them apart. Confronting the past leaves them both anxious to find a love beyond a lifetime.

Excerpt:

“Try this.” She tossed a crowbar to him, and the wicked piece of steel whizzed toward his head.

He dodged the wild throw. Irritated for a moment, Jake bent to pick up the bar then caught her checking him out. Her blatant appraisal made him want to forget the cabin and haul her off to his bed. She affected him too much for the amount of time he’d known her. Everything from her hair, just long enough for a man to wrap his hands in, to her tiny feet encased in chunky work boots turned him on. A smart man would kiss her until she gasped for breath, snuggled her soft curves against his chest, and let him strip her naked. Shaking off the inappropriate desire, he stuck the crowbar beneath the hinge pin and pried upward, but it slipped out of the niche he’d made.

Jake tried again, several times. Finally, she took it from him with a wry grin. “How do you dress yourself?”

He probably should have been offended, but since she treated him to a nice view of her backside while she bent to work the lower hinge loose, he didn’t see a reason to complain. Her faded jeans stretched when she moved and clung to her hips. His body tightened, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, desperately thinking of the boardroom and stockholder meetings to ward off the need to caress her rounded curves.

Chris worked until the hinges and lock gave way, but the door remained in place despite her efforts to push it open. She looked over her shoulder at him and lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going to lend some muscle or let me do all the work?”

“I don’t know. I could get hurt. I broke a nail this morning putting on my socks.” He held back a grin. Ready color brushed her cheeks and made her skin glow. She deserved to be embarrassed. The brat tried to make him feel incompetent at every turn.

“Smart ass.”

He chuckled. “Arrogant know-it-all.”

Chris turned to stand inches from him. Merriment danced over her face. “Worthless urbanite.”

Jake moved closer still. If she wiggled at all, her breasts would press to his chest. “Hick.”

Her gaze shifted to his mouth. Jake nearly groaned aloud when she bit down on her lower lip and swayed toward him. “Is that what you really think of me, city boy?”

A soft moan slipped from him as he steadied her with a hand on her hip. “Your brothers would gut and hang me from the nearest tree if they ever heard what I really think about around you, sweetheart. Sure you’re ready for the truth?”

Her eyes shifted to his mouth. Jake nearly groaned when she bit down on her lower lip, and Chris swayed toward him. “Is that what you really think of me, city boy?”

A soft moan slipped from his lips as he steadied her with a hand on her hip. “You’re brothers would gut and hang me from the nearest tree if they ever heard what I really think about around you, sweetheart.”

Funny Heroes – crazy sexy or just ridiculous?

by Becca Dale

Poll after poll declare that humor and intelligence are sexy. I agree whole heartedly. In fact, a combination of the two are unbeatable. I am married to a smart and funny guy. (All right, I think he is hilarious but most find him a little cheesy sometimes.)

In contrast to what the polls say, although they are smart, romance heroes are rarely funny. They tend to be dark or damaged, brooding, sometimes sullen, or men of few words. Heck yeah – gimme that James Dean type.) I rarely come across a funny hero no matter whose work I read, yet a sense of humor consistently tops the list of preferred attributes, above even a great body. So what’s the deal? Why do women want their real life men to be funny but their fantasies seldom are?

I have thought long and hard about this, sacrificed hours and countless cups of coffee and chocolate to my pondering, but here is my personal conclusion. As a reader/writer I want a man I can save emotionally while he sweeps me off my feet in his big strong arms and shows me all the reasons he’s willing to overcome/change/be a better man just for me. Sigh... And...more importantly...as a writer my comedic timing sucks. Seriously, crickets chirping level of suckage. More than one editor has said, “I don’t get it. What is he trying to say?” So I simply leave the humor out more often than not – a deep dark hero is easier to write.

BUT...reality is far different. Everyday drudgery and troubles do not enter the fantasy. Real life holds good days and bad. When I crawl into bed at night, I want a man intelligent enough to know when I want him to tilt the axis of my world, and when I just need him to listen while I vent. I want the man who can make me see beyond the negative to the ludicrous when I am on the verge of tears. My hubby can make me laugh even when I’m so angry with him I want to do something drastic like sell his Harley. He always finds a way to break through the daily crap to make me smile. And that folks is crazy sexy to me.

However, in my fantasies, I’ll stick with the strong silent type as long as he’s hot.

BLURB:

Billie Jensen hates liars and cheats. She’s spent her entire life watching her mother forgive the unforgivable with just a few words from a smooth-talking man. So different from her father, Officer Treynor Pandoah seems like everything Bille has ever wanted—quiet, solid, and truthful—until he snuggles up to another woman on Valentine’s Day. He says her eyes lied, but how can she trust a man who won’t share what’s in his heart?

Treynor’s done waiting for Billie to forgive him for something he didn’t do. A man shouldn’t have to explain himself to the woman he loves, but if he can’t find the words to take the tears from her eyes, he could lose her to Unspoken Promises.

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Becca Dale Shows (and Tells)

Show and Tell Saturday – the name alone conjures memories of standing in front of the grade school classroom, knee sock drooping down one leg, hand-me-down dress a bit too short, and my heart beating with excitement and trepidation. Would my classmates see the value of my favorite toy or enjoy the cactus candy Grandma and Grandpa brought back from Arizona? Would they understand how dear the picture of my new calf was to me, what a milestone it was that I was responsible for feeding all the bottle calves on my own at seven. Or would they laugh at my weird sense of joy?

I feel that same excitement mingled with unease every time I send out a new story to be judged, to be adored or found lacking. So with that in mind, I stand before you carrying a cover made by Dara, a series developed by Kate and Val and another friend late at night, and my 1 Night Stand – Erotic Healing. This story forced me to step outside my comfort zone. I don’t do casual intimacy very well. I do complicated. So guess what? My 1NS is complicated, but I can honestly say I love it. It is a little unexpected, I hope, but it also adheres to the on-the-edge excitement of a time limit—win or lose, connect or remain lonely, everything rests in one night. What a fascinating concept.

I haven’t been with Decadent Publishing all that long, but in the scheme of things, none of us have since the idea for the company took root little over a year ago. Since walking through these metaphorical doors though, I have pushed myself repeatedly. Can’t Stop Me, which is currently available in the print anthology Run Devil Run and will be available individually mid-June, raised havoc with my writing process. It was the first time that I have even written something which mattered to other people. I woke up more than one night in a cold sweat fearing I would let Heather or Lisa or the band or one of the other authors or someone down. The experience was a true nail biter but one I would not give up. The individual cover for Can’t Stop Me was brought to you by Fiona and the anthology idea the brainchild of Heather. So here again I feel the need to share the credit for the cool factor, if there is any associated with my writing, with others from Decadent.

Each thing I have written since joining this group has helped me grow, not because I wrote it so much, but more because I wrote each one with the unfailing support of my fellow Decadent teammates. So what am I really showing off today? My publisher. This is my newest release, Erotic Healing; and here is my contribution to the RDR Anthology, Can’t Stop Me; but this—holds up Decadent Publishing Banner—this is my publisher. I currently have and have had other publishers in the past, and my editors have all been supportive and downright fabulous, I cannot say a single negative thing about any of them. That is not the point. What I am trying to tell comes down to this. I have been blessed to be a part of Decadent’s growth, the fellow authors and editors along with Heather, Lisa, Meredith and Colleen have made this an experience I will not forget but would certainly recommend. So I stand here a bit more put together than I ever was in grade school, but just as eager to show and tell about some of my favorite things.

Becca Dale reveals ALL...at Just the Facts Friday

The Love of My Life: I am married to an engineer who patiently tolerates my weird artistic whims while he takes care of all the mundane stuff that I abhor like bills and such. Without him I could not write. He's the solid ground which enables me to dance. After twenty-four years he still makes me laugh like a little girl, and I find contentment in the simple touch of his hand. I suppose that sounds like a romance writer’s pat comment about a spouse – we write about love so we must be in love – but for me it is true. It must be as this is Just the Facts Friday, right? My hubby is, perhaps, not the gorgeous hunk that my heroes are, but I think he’s too handsome for my own good. He still makes my heart flutter when he walks into a room, when he smiles at me, or even when he says something really sexy like, “I need to put new tires on your car before you go to Rochester. I don’t want you to have a problem on the interstate.” Words of love do not fall easily from the lips of my farmer boy, but they shine in everything he does.

My pride and Joy: I have two grown children – I know that is hard to believe since I am way too young. ;-D My son is twenty-one and my daughter is almost twenty. Both are in college and have homes of their own, so the empty nest syndrome is playing havoc with me. Somehow my elderly and overweight Bichon does not provide the same mental stimulation as my quick-witted kids. The house feels too empty without a basement full of laughing teens to feed. I told my husband we need to adopt a toddler or sponsor an exchange student or two, but I got an indulgent smile and a laugh which means, “Not in this lifetime, sweetheart.” I guess I will have to adjust.

My Roots: I was born and raised on a dairy in eastern South Dakota very near the Minnesota border. I am so rural that I shouldn’t by rights even claim to be a small town girl. I still live in South Dakota, but sadly the farm has left the family’s hands, and my country-raised husband and I settled into town life long ago. I guess I have become “citified,” at least as much as that is possible in a state with such a small population, as one of my daughter’s friends was surprised I grew up in the country. The conversation started when she wondered how I knew what milk-replacer smelled like, which is an entirely different story I suppose.

My Hobbies: Besides the obvious and expected such as reading and writing, I love to bake and sew. I don’t like to cook so much, especially now that the kids are gone from home, but I love the challenge of baking something really cool. The one I had the most fun with was making a Coor’s Lite can out of cake for a friend’s fortieth birthday party as she is the Coor’s Lite bandit. (Long story but no she is not a drunk.) The same applies to my sewing. I don’t really do it much unless there is a challenge involved. For example, I made my daughter’s junior and senior prom dresses to suit her expensive taste for a fraction of the cost. (Not including the hours of labor as she wanted something designed especially for her.) I also get a kick out of making costumes for Halloween.

My Writing: I have told stories and written poems since I first learned to write. My mother has stacks of stuff too embarrassing to ever see the light of day. When I was in middle school, I spent many nights telling friends romance stories based on their lives and imagined futures. Unfortunately, I let life get in the way for too long and did not start writing seriously until I was in my thirties. Even then I had no clue what I was doing. It took years of writers’ groups and workshops and many conversations with editors and such to get to the point where I have confidence in my skills. Writing is a natural part of who I am, but being an author takes work. Never doubt that.

10Q Tuesday with Becca Dale!

How did you start your writing career? Badly. I thought I really knew how to write. I had been told all my life what a fantastic story teller I was. My teachers, friends, and family lied. I did everything wrong. Apparently, leaping randomly through point of views is a bad thing as are weighty narrative, excessive use of fragments, repetitive speech tags, and the words just and that. Now, that just isn’t right.

So, how did I finally get my act together? I joined writers’ groups, found critique partners, volunteered to be a critique partner, took “how to get published” seminars, and creative writing courses. Heck, I even taught creative writing for a while. Then, when I felt confident enough to handle rejection again, I sent a short story to a submissions call and the rest is history.

What was your first sale as an author? My first sale was the story mentioned above. It’s called Ice Crystal and tells the story of a woman who goes to her grandmother’s cabin in Sweden to escape from the memories of her deceased husband and their life together. What she finds, with the help of her personal mountain angel, is a sexy man who makes her realize she is a beautiful woman with the strength and passion to go forward. I was very proud of this and even though I have grown as an author since then, I still love this story.

Do you have critique partners or beta readers? Why yes I do, Ms Val. How kind of you to ask. In fact, I feel I have one of the best in the country. I rely on her and a few others for feedback, but not to the extent I did when I first started. That isn’t because I couldn’t use the help, but I don’t have time to reciprocate as much as I would like, and I don’t like to impose on others if I can’t return the favor.

What do you think makes a good story? I need two things in a good story. One it shows growth in the characters. They face a challenge of some kind and become better people for having faced it. Two I can visualize and sympathize. It sucks me in on several levels until the world around me disappears and all I can see, hear, smell and feel comes from the pages or the screen.

Where do you dream of traveling to and why? Ireland. My maiden name is Irish and even though it has been thinned and changed by a hundred other nationalities, Ireland seems to call to me. I don’t know much about the country other than what is written in a very old diary my great-uncle had, but I would love to see it first hand. Some day, if I ever have unlimited disposable income, I would like to spend a month traveling around the island with my hubby with no greater agenda than to meet as many people as possible.

Does travel play in the writing of your books? I never realized it, but my early work often had travel of some sort. Presently, I tend to write things closer to home. Maybe it is that idea that we write what we know. When I do travel personally, it is usually with friends to escape the coldest part of winter and we hit the Maya Riviera. Lately, hubby and I have been talking about going to the Bahamas or someplace like that for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and that is where the most recent traveling novel is set. Maybe I did that subconsciously since the research had been primarily done.

What does your significant other and family think of your writing career? Most of them don’t know many details. My hubby and my kids know that I write romance, but the kids don’t know I write erotic romance though I suppose since they are adults now, they could look up my work and find out fairly quickly. For the most part, I don’t share with my extended family. Sometimes it is better if they don’t know what dances around in my head.

Does your significant other read your stuff? Funny. No. The man is an electrical engineer. If it is not a tech manual or a mopar magazine, he’s not reading it. He has helped me work out a scene or two on occasion, but I didn’t tell him I had an agenda. Ignorance can be bliss or blissful as the case may be.

Tell us about your favorite restaurant. My favorite restaurant is in Austin, TX. We lived there for a very brief time while hubby did an internship. County Line on the Lake is sort of a classy barbeque joint. I know that is an oxymoron to some extent, but it was great. My daughter was a toddler at the time (She turns twenty in January.) and the waitresses loved her. We would strip her down to her little panties, and she would dive into the ribs like they were manna from heaven. My hubby was busy snarfing down the honey wheat bread. I don’t remember what my son liked there as he hated messy foods. He never protested going though so they must have had something he could eat with a fork. When all the delicious food was gone, the waitress would bring hot scented towels. I can’t remember if they were lemon or mint, but they did a great job on cleaning the girl child well enough to put her in the car. It was my favorite place because while I enjoyed the view of the lake, watching my daughter and her father enjoy every morsel of their meals with such enthusiasm made me happy somehow. Thankfully, we never had to strip hubby down to his briefs. I am sure it would not have had the same charming effect on the other guest as the little blond two-year-old.

What was the scariest moment of your life? The day I lost my son for hours. My life has been fairly uneventful. I live a pretty quiet existence so the scariest moment in it, might not have been so scary to anyone else. It freaked me out. My son was in first grade and he usually walked home from school as it was only a couple blocks. The day I started a new job, was also an early release day from his school. I arranged to have the babysitter’s kids walk him to her house, and I reminded him that he was to go there. He forgot and so did the other kids. I called to tell the babysitter that I would be later than expected, and she informed me that T had never arrived. That was at two o’clock.

I didn’t really worry then as he had always been told to go to the neighbors if he got home and I wasn’t there. I called the neighbor and got a busy signal so I knew she was home. I finished my errands and went home as quickly as I could. I hurried across the street and with a laugh asked if T was there knowing full well he was. When she said no, my stomach dropped. I ran back home and his backpack was in the sun porch but he wasn’t around. The wind chill factor was very high that day, but more than that I remember he had told me some strange man had said hi to him a few days before. He thought he knew the guy but wasn’t sure. More than two hours had passed by then and I was almost throwing up. As I went into the house to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep somewhere and didn’t hear me call, the phone rang. The babysitter called to tell me he had arrived and she was warming him up. Apparently, he had sat in the porch until he panicked and started to cry. [Give him a break he was only six.] He finally remembered that I had told him to go to the babysitters. He didn’t even think about going across the street. He just went where he was supposed to go. The poor kid walked eight blocks in the bitter cold with wet gloves and wet cheeks. His poor face was raw for a week, but I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life.

My family is my touch stone. They enable me to do or face almost anything, but losing one of them would destroy me. Hubby is not allowed to die before me, and my children are never to do anything to get themselves seriously hurt. It is the law because I said so.

Find Becca at Becca's Retreat

Spotlight Sunday with Becca Dale!

Greetings and welcome Becca! Congratulations on your latest release. What can you tell us about Kya’s King?

Kya’s King began as an experiment in the paranormal genre for me. I started thinking about how easily everyone seems to accept the idea of shifters and vampires and other strange creatures living along side the rest of the human world. What would happen if a shifter didn’t realize such things existed let alone understand his or her own capabilities? That premise became Kya’s story. Of course the super hot cat shifter who stands beside her and helps her find her way back to the clan she was lost from made the whole journey worth while.

Who is your favorite character from the story?

I adore Kya’s surrogate brothers. They are each perfect in a different way, and I am playing with the idea of writing their stories. But in Kya’s King I would whole heartedly pick Ja as my favorite. He is strong and determined to let honor and duty guide him, a warrior to the core. Once he meets Kya as an adult though, the black and white rules he has always lived by suddenly seem less cut in stone. He has to make some pretty big decisions about loyalty to his clan and promises made to a dying king in comparison to personal desire and the needs of the woman he loves. He can’t restore the royal line without destroying his heart.

What movie stars do you envision playing the role of Kya/Hannah and Ja?

I could see Emma Watson as Kya. Although she is a little young, there is a natural spirit and strength in Ms. Watson that very much reflects Kya’s outlook on life. She also has Kya’s innocent and somewhat fragile appearance.

Ja is a bit older so I would have to say Orlando Bloom would play him with grace. Bloom has an intensity that jumps off the screen–much like a wildcat.

What books have most influenced your life?

I laugh every time someone asks me this. I learned early that I liked romance novels from the super sweet Barbara Cartland books my mom let me read in middle school to some pretty hot stuff from Jude Deveraux. However, what really made me fall in love with reading was a boy who was too caught up in Middle Earth to notice the starry-eyed girl beside him. I started reading J.R.R.Tolkien’s novels to get the young man’s attention and to provide fodder for conversation. I eventually moved on to boys who could talk about more than wizards and rings, but I developed a love for fantasy from that experience. I learned about honor and duty and mythical creatures and the often, untapped strength hidden in each of us.

What kind of hero makes your heroines break their own rules?

My girls are suckers for super strong minded men with soft spots for their women. Some ladies like the polish of an executive or the charm of a man from a foreign land, but give my heroines a shoot from the hip American guy every time. Not that there is anything wrong with the cultured type, but my women, like me, tend to want their men a little rough around the edges. Not uneducated but not really cultured either, sort of on the edge of untamed.

Besides writing, what do you do in your spare time?

Spare time is something I don’t have a lot of. I teach English at an alternative school, and I free lance edit. The rental properties in our area are pretty sad so my husband and I have just finished remodeling homes for our college age children. (They signed the mortgages on the houses, we just made them livable.) When I am not working, I love to bake, cook, sew and garden.

What are the three most important pieces of advice you’d give to a brand new author?

Wow, that is tough.

1) Find critique partners you trust. Don’t settle for the ones who give you positive feedback but are not willing to tell you when something stinks. You learn nothing from that type of response.

2) Don’t give up on yourself. If you love what you do and you are willing to revise and grow from rejection and constructive criticism, then you can succeed. If you adore your characters and their stories then others will do so as well.

3) Lastly, I would share the advice that my first writers group (Aspiring Romance Writers) gave to me and that is “Don’t get it right–Get it written.” You can’t fix a blank page. Take the time to write everyday. Even if you throw half of it away some days, you will still have half to work forward from. Also, if you constantly go back and self-edit while you are trying to get the story on the page, you will never finish. Write the story and then go back and fix what doesn’t work.

What would we find under your bed?

What a question. I hesitate to answer truthfully but since you asked my guess would be: three giant tubs of miscellaneous novels, seven or eight pairs of shoes, at least one of my dog’s toys, and dust bunnies the size of large jackrabbits.

How do you unwind and relax?

I spend time with my family on the patio or in front of the fire, I write or read, or I snuggle up to my hubby on the back of his motorcycle, tip my face into the wind like a hunting dog in the back of a pick-up truck, and grin.

What question do you wish was on this list?

Have you ever gone anywhere or done anything that led to an unexpected reward?

When my son was little, about two and a half I think, we were driving around looking at the fall colors and stopped at a local restaurant for lunch. While we were there, a couple hunters came in with an eagle in the back of their truck. The game warden said to put it back and let nature take its course, but they didn’t have the heart to do that. The bird could not fly for some reason, and it would have quickly become prey for coyotes. My husband (big softie that he is) said we would take it home and find somewhere to rehabilitate it. My son was enthralled with the mighty creature. We would take freshly killed gophers and such to it in the barn, and T would always say, “I pet that bird, Momma.” I had a hard time convincing my little guy that he could not touch. Thank heavens the latch was too high for him to reach on his own, or I swear the story would have a different ending. After three weeks we finally found a place that would take the golden eagle. The vets suspected it had lead poisoning and would never recover fully, but they were wrong and the following spring the bird was released into the wild. The opportunity to help such an amazing creature does not come along often, but I am glad my family and I had a chance to touch its life as it touched ours.

Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?

First of all, thank you for being my readers! Beyond watching my kids grow and succeed, I can not imagine a greater feeling than the one I get from readers who take the time to write to me. Good, bad or downright ugly, reader feedback makes my day. The good swells my ego and enables me to write another story that may make someone smile or laugh or feel good about him/herself. The bad and the ugly keep me humble and make me want to do better for the person kind enough to take time to tell me where I stumbled. Now, I am not saying that I am strong enough to handle an outpouring of reader hate, but I do learn, and I hope grow, from both positive and negative reactions to my work. So, in a nutshell, tell me what you think. I would love to hear from you if something I have written touched you in any way.

You can find Becca at her blog, Becca's Retreat

Happy Holidays, Blessed Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, Cheerful Exhaustion

by Becca Dale

November has arrived. I don’t know about you, but once Halloween is over, the mad rush for the holidays begins. With November comes a huge sense of joy and love and anticipation. Thanksgiving hovers on the seeable horizon, and I wonder whose turn it is to host it. Mine, I discovered yesterday. Sweet! I can’t wait. My family will all come to hang out Wednesday night through the weekend. That isn’t too many. Just my sister and her boys, my brother and his family, my folks, my family with or without the boyfriend or girlfriend, and perhaps hubby’s dad if every one else on the in-law side is out of town. That makes only fourteen to sixteen people unless the others decide not to go in various directions. If they are around, add sixteen more plus a baby. Note to self: Call in-laws and find out who will be home.

Next comes cleaning the house and deciding on the menu. Thanksgiving is easy, right? Turkey, Mom’s stuffing recipe, praline sweet potatoes, green bean casserole for my nephews, apple pie for my son and pumpkin pie for my darling daughter. Okay, no biggie. Except everyone is from out of town, so no potluck option. Mom could bake rolls, that would help. Oh and wait, my father-in-law doesn’t eat turkey so I need to add a ham or a roast. Okay. Cool, I can do that. If I use my electric roaster for the bird and borrow Mom’s for the other meat, that will leave the oven free for the side dishes, and I can bake the pies Wednesday night. I’m good. Crap. T’s girlfriend is a vegetarian, and I want her to feel welcome as well, so I need to look up a recipe for something lovely but easy. Not a problem. Google is my friend. I’ve got this covered.

The day after Thanksgiving the fall decorations come down and the tree goes up. Right after I clean the house. It amazes me how big a mess a few people hanging out for the weekend can create. Whew. I got it covered though. Hubby will climb on the sun porch roof to hang lights and garland as soon as the wind goes down and the snow lets up. As long as I am out there to makes sure every thing is straight, it will take him no time. He can put the nativity in the yard that same afternoon, and make sure the flood light hits it just right so it makes a perfect reflection on the house. The tree will take a few hours to warm in the garage, so I will run up and dig through the decorations to find the perfect ones to hang this year. Oh look, here are the little animal ornaments T got every year until he was ten and here are Sunshine’s Barbie ornaments. Aren’t they sweet? Why am I crying? Good heavens it’s not like the kids never come home. They’ll be in and out all month and will go with us to MN for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. Just because they don’t actually live with me anymore, doesn’t mean I can’t hang their stockings on the mantel, does it?

Oh, enough of the crying fest. Move on. I’ll check the calendar to make sure I have everything covered. The costumes I promised to sew for the church pageant don’t have to be done until the eighteenth for fitting, the school music festival is early this year, but I think my nephew and my best friend’s daughter are in it so need to keep that night free, and the festival of young voices in the following weekend. I need to make a pan of bars for the afternoon practice. Oh, and Feast and Fest is the next weekend. I need to get tickets and my niece wants me to hem her dress. Okay, I can do that right after I finish the costumes. If I take the Monday before my birthday off, I can probably get the majority of my Christmas shopping done and dodge the really big crowds. I already ordered T’s present and Sunshine’s list will be easy to address. What the heck do I get for my hubby? Dang man just buys what he needs and doesn’t leave me anything good to give him. Oh well, I will think about that later.

Thank heavens Christmas is in MN this year. I can wrap and pack all the presents in the trunk as I get them. Our luggage should still fit even if Mom and Dad ride with us. The kids’ bags will fit too as long as I pack with care. I can’t wait. I will make pecan tassies, and homemade caramel and fudge the week before, and the cream cheese cutout cookies that my nephew loves so much can be made the day before we leave. Four hours in the car with the kids, and my parents, and my hubby all together. Uninterrupted family time. It will be perfect!

The in-law Christmas will be later. We never get together on Christmas because of other family conflicts so that’s not a big deal. I can actually relax and have a peaceful holiday. It is my turn to host the hubby’s family Christmas, but like I said that is later. We will get home from Rochester on twenty-seventh. The in-laws won’t come until the thirtieth. That gives me three whole days to make everything perfect. No worries. I can maybe even get some writing done in there if I am lucky.

What’s that, honey? Did I forget I promised to host the New Year’s Eve party? Oh course not. How could I forget something like that? Heh heh. What? No, my cheek is not twitching. What makes you say that? My eyes are not looking a little crazy, either. They can’t. I don’t have time for one more thing, not even a nervous breakdown.

I adore the holidays but often I work so hard to make them perfect for everyone else that I forget to take time for myself. I am not the only one either. I see it in my friends and family as well. By January second we are usually exhausted. Go ahead and feel sexy or lazy or just perfect as you appreciate the lovely tree and the warmth of your family. Buy that cute little elf suit and surprise your hubby but make him give you a backrub of appreciation. Get a bottle of wine or a cup of quality hot chocolate and curl up with a good book just for you. Breathe. No one will notice if the garland on the tree doesn’t drape exactly like you wanted it to or that there are only ten real ice votives lining the driveway when there should have been twelve.

Maybe this is just a Midwest thing but I doubt it. Do you feel responsible for making everyone else’s Christmas or Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or whatever perfect? Do you have traditions that are strictly followed or do you find yourself adjusting them to fit your changing family? Whatever your holidays are like, I hope they find you and yours healthy and happy.

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