If you like sexy cowboys and fiesty heroines, my new, historical, western novel, Between the Lines, will be available July 11 from The Wild Rose Press.

Blurb: Anxious to escape the confines of her loving, but overprotective family, Meg Greyson travels to Wyoming Territory to marry the man of her dreams. Only she discovers Brendan Kelly is nothing like the gentleman rancher who penned her beautiful letters. As she comes to know this intimidating, yet tacit man, Meg finds herself constantly having to rationalize away his dark and dangerous side in order to conform him to her image of the perfect man who wrote her letters.
Brendan knows he should tell her the truth, but once he does, she will leave him forever. So he keeps pretending and every time she says, I love you, he dies a little more inside, for he knows he will never be the man she wants him to be.

Be making no mistakes, Meg Greyson. Tis a hard
man I be and a hard life I be living. Ive no room in it for
soft words and doe-eyed looks. And by the saints, Ill be
wanting none o yer damn pity! He whirled on his heels.
His long strides took him quickly into the barn.
Meg stared after him, her emotions caught
somewhere between wanting to give him a big hug and
wanting to hit him with a big rock. Lifting her chin, she
marched into the dimly lit building and halted before him.
His hat on his head, he froze in the act of sliding his arm
into the sleeve of his shirt. Cold jade eyes clashed with
Suddenly, she wheeled around, scanned the interior,
strode to the corner, picked up a bucket and stalked back.
Her jaw set, she slammed the bucket upside-down on the
floor at his feet. Then she snatched up the hem of her
skirt and with two sharp clicks of her heels against the
wood, stomped on top. Though the extra height helped,
she was still forced to tip her head back in order to meet
his narrow-eyed scowl.
Mister Kelly! If you have had a hard life, so be it.
But do not presume to bully me with your harsh words
and threatening looks. I have endured it for years from
my family and I
will not tolerate it from the man I marry!
Another thing! Do not be so quick to confuse pity with
compassion. Understand, sir, I pity only those whom I
cannot respect. I offer my compassion to those that I care
Her nose in the air, she stepped off the bucket, picked
it up, and replaced it in the corner. Then with her head
high, she marched from the barn and left him standing

there with his shirt sleeve half way up his arm.