Samhain Publishing

I’ve been revisiting some old friends lately. I’ve spent almost two weeks with a lovely family – the widowed father is a lawyer; he has two intelligent, rather rambunctious children. He’s facing a rather trying time in his professional life (pun completely intended).

I also just went to dinner with a handsome bachelor who moved East to learn the bonds business. The other dinner guests? His lovely cousin, her richer-than-sin husband and a less-than-honest female golfer. I think the cousin’s marriage is on the rocks, and there was this mysterious man watching us from across the Sound . . .

Okay, so I confess I never met these people in real life. Who are they? The inestimable Atticus Finch and his children Jem and Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird. The dashing Nick Carraway and the entourage of Daisy, Tom, Jordan and of course, Jay Gatsby, from The Great Gatsby.

But I’ve read these books so often I feel as if the characters are old friends. (Daisy, Tom and Jordan? Not so much. But I still know them well.)

Another group of old friends I’ve gone back to see lately? Ponyboy, Dallas, and the gang from The Outsiders. I adored that book in middle school and into high school, but hadn’t picked it up in, um, at least twenty years. I’m using it as a read-aloud companion to my unit on To Kill a Mockingbird, and I’ve discovered that while as an adult reader I find Hinton’s narrative grating at times, I still adore those greasers from the wrong side of the tracks. I’m just as drawn into their characters as I was the first time I read the book.

Some pieces I revisit simply because the craft if beautiful. For example, I love to teach Macbeth because the pacing, the characterization, the symbolism is beautifully done. But honestly? I wouldn’t want to call Macbeth or his lady my friends. (Now that Macduff guy? I would kill to read the story Lynne Connolly could tell about his life after his family is taken from him so brutally.)

But there remain those books we read over and over because we love the characters, the glimpses into their lives the author offers us. We fall in love with the people and want to return to them again and again. I go back to Atticus even though I know he’s going to lose, I return to Nick and Gatsby although I know how it all ends.

Who are the friends you find you must visit again and again? Drop by the comments and tell me whose story you simply must read over and over and why.

I’m on the prowl for just the right vacation read. Normally, I read a wide variety of genres and authors, but we’re leaving for a trip in a few days and I really need a certain kind of book. What kind, you ask?

Well, I will tell you, but you must promise not to laugh . . .

I want a book in which the hero wants the heroine the way Chachi wanted Joanie.

I can hear you laughing!

Stop and think about it. While you catch your breath, I’ll explain what I mean. See, earlier this week, I watched a thirtieth reunion show for Happy Days. All the cast was there: Richie, Fonzie, Ralph, Potsie, Mr. C, Mrs. C. . . . and Joanie and Chachi. Throughout the show, there were all these cute retrospective snippets of a young Scott Baio courting an equally young Erin Moran while she played hard to get. Joanie shot Chachi down over and over again, yet he kept coming back until his persistence paid off.

I want that kind of book, where you’re sitting on the edge of your seat the whole time, knowing the hero wants the heroine and she knows it, too. Where you know she secretly wants him, but something holds her back. Where he refuses to go away until she sees him for the awesome romantic hero he is.

So help me find that book! Leave your suggestions – titles, authors, brief summaries (I do not mind spoilers!) – in the comments.

Linda Winfree — Sultry Southern Romantic Suspense

Ever have one of those moments when you stop and ask yourself, “Hey, where did the time go?” I’m many of us were glad to see 2009, with its financial uncertainties, fade behind us, but 2010 brought a really bittersweet reality check with it.

My firstborn — still my baby — turned fifteen just after New Year’s. He’s studying to get his learner’s permit. His voice is deeper, and I have to look up at him now. I taught him to pump gas earlier in the week, and he’s all about understanding traffic flow right now.

We celebrated his birthday in conjunction with his uncle’s (my younger brother.) My parents’ only son and youngest child, he was entering his thirties. Our celebration took place just two days after my sister took her daughter to college for the first time, several hours away. While waiting for my perpetually-late brother to arrive, I showed my mother some photos of my son taken just hours after his birth. I think he-of-the-size-fifteen-shoes may have footwear larger than he was. I remember holding him then, can feel the sweet weight of him in my arms, as I’m sure my sister remembers holding my niece and my mom remembers holding my brother (yes, he was born late, too.).

I’m pretty sure they were wondering where all the time had fone, too.

If you have a poignant “don’t blink” moment, please share in the comments!

Linda Winfree — Sultry, Southern Romantic Suspense
Samhain Author Page

I swear there’s a black hole somewhere between my bedroom and my kitchen . . . I lose five minutes there every morning as I struggle to get the Monsters and me out of the house. Leave the bedroom, travel ten feet to the kitchen . . . and BAM! Lose five minutes.

The older I get (no, I’m not sharing that number!), the more I notice lost time. Maybe it’s because I’m hyper-aware of how little time I have left before Monster #1 leaves home. Maybe it’s because I see where I’ve wasted precious time in the past. Whatever the reason, I treasure my time, and losing it bugs me (even if the reason I lose it is fun).

Below are my top time suckers. Join me in the comments and share your top list!

1) Facebook. I click on it and, well, next thing I know it’s twenty minutes later.

2) The local political discussion board.

3) Trying to grade everything my students produce. (I’m giving this one up.)

4) Scrubbing the bathtub.

5) Indulging in pointless chitchat after school. Okay, I looooove doing this, but it’s worse than Facebook!

6) Looking for things.

7) Trying to remember why I went into a particular room. (#6 is related to this one, I think . . .)

Sorting laundry. (My pet peeve. If the Monsters would learn to use the four baskets in the laundry room designed specifically to keep me from doing this . . .)

What time-oriented black holes lurk in your day?

Linda Winfree — Sultry Southern Romantic Suspense

After a very long, almost painful, ten months, school is out! Monster #2, my youngest son, has been counting down the days for the entire month of May, and honestly, I have as well.

On the way home from dinner Friday night, Monster #2 announced that since school was behind him until August, he needed to sit down and make his summer list.

“Summer list?” I asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, Mama, it’s like a bucket list, only it’s what you do during the summer.”

Ahhh. Makes sense to me. So much that I’m including my own summer list below. Feel free to share yours in the comments section.

***

Linda Winfree’s Summer List

1) Dip my toes in the ocean, at least once.
2) Plant flowers.
3) Read.
4) Maybe write a new book
5) Swim and hang out by the pool with the Monsters
6) Take the Monsters to the art museum, the movies, the zoo . . .
7) Ride my new bike
Spend time with my friends
9) Get a pedicure (or two!)
10) Lie out on the front lawn and stargaze with the Monsters
11) Go on picnics
12) Visit my mama and daddy more often
13) Add to my sister’s memory project . . . and make new family memories
14) Have morning coffee on the front porch
15) Enjoy every day.

What’s on your summer list?

Linda Winfree
Southern Sultry Romantic Suspense

Linda’s Samhain Author Page.

My brain is officially fried.

I’m not sure exactly when it happened. I think it began in December, when I was teaching four English preps, editing one book, revising another, laying flooring in our living room and completing the grad course from hell. The brain melt continued into January and February as I started teaching research projects in both my eleventh and ninth grade classes. Once we got into March, I thought, “Hey, my brain will have a chance to recuperate.”

No such luck.

Add in high school students experiencing spring fever, my mom’s health issues and what has to be the scariest event I’ve ever handled as a parent, and it’s official: the gray matter between my ears is sizzle-city, baby.

Want to know how bad it is?

While teaching The Scarlet Letter one day, I misspelled “sin” on the board. Sin, people! I misspelled “sin.”

I walk into rooms . . . and yes, I forget why I’m there.

I stop talking in the middle of a sentence because I…

Wait. What was I saying?

Oh, yes. That’s right. My brain is fried. I’m thinking a nice long vacation, maybe somewhere like Bermuda or Jamaica would be a great antidote. Alas, I’ll probably settle for along soak in the tub and a night off from grad school or grading papers.

What are your strategies for recuperating from a fried brain?

She’s finally falling for the right man…at the worst possible time.

Fall Into Me by Linda Winfree
A part of the Hearts of the South series.

After two back-to-back romantic disappointments, bar owner Angel Henderson isn’t looking for love. In the past month, she’s been passed over twice by men she’d pinned her hopes on, both times in favor of a younger woman. She’s ready to swear off men for life. The only problem? A certain younger man determined to prove he can be her right man.
Sheriff’s deputy Troy Lee Farr is tired of being the department screw-up. The harder he tries to prove himself, the worse it gets. The only thing that’s gone right recently is getting a second chance with Angel. Except she’d rather jam on the brakes than rush into a new relationship. Now he has to work hard to prove his worth as a romantic prospect.
Troy Lee is a patient man, and it isn’t long before Angel is falling into him as hard as he’s fallen for her. Just as Angel begins to think of him as more than a fun date, her past—and Troy Lee’s dangerous reality—threatens the tentative happiness they’ve found in one another.
Reminding them both that security is tenuous…and unconditional love is the biggest challenge of all.

Warning: Cops who talk like cops, explicit older woman-younger man lovin’, and two-boxes-of-tissues emotion.

Stay tuned after the jump for some of my favorite snippets from Fall Into Me and an excerpt link.

Top Snippets from Fall Into Me

1) She’d stepped into Steel Magnolias hell.

2) “Go on. Go. Before I decide to get all Coyote Ugly on you and auction your ass off to the lowest, trashiest whore I can find. Oh, wait.” She tapped her forehead with two fingers. “I forgot. That would be me.”

3) She patted the center of his chest. “Eat your burger before I forget I’m too old for you and toss you on the prep table for a quickie.”

4) Bless his heart, he was sweet and smart.

5) “Kissing has to be okay, though. I like kissing and supposedly I’m pretty good at it.”

6) “About time you got here,” Troy Lee panted. Blood dripped from his chin, splashing the front of his uniform.
“Looks like you had it under control.” Chris laid his knee across Jed’s wriggling shoulders. “Quit fighting, Jed.”

7) “So, Angel, when was the last time you made out on the couch?”

“So why are you here, if you came home to see her?”
He didn’t miss the emphasis Chris placed on home. “Because she’s not home.”
“How many times did you go by?”
He held up three fingers and waited for the ribbing to begin.
Chris laughed, softly. “Dude, you’re a stalker.”
“I am not a stalker. I want to surprise her.”
“So you’re driving by her house repeatedly.” Chris snickered over a swallow of soda and stretched his legs out, crossing one ankle over the other. “Sounds like stalking to me.”

9) She poked his side. “You have a bad-boy side hiding under that deputy’s uniform, don’t you, Troy Lee?”
One corner of his mouth hitched up. “You like it?”
“Um, yeah.” She flattened her hand on his abdomen, relishing the feel of hard muscle there. Her body quivered with aftershocks of his possession, a feminine soreness pulsing between her legs. She could smell him on her, smell herself on him. “You could say that.”
A chuckle vibrated under her fingers and he closed his eyes. “I’m bringing you fortune cookies more often, that’s for damn sure.”

10) She stared. “You’re volunteering to go to church with me and my family?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I’ve been to church before, Angel. I don’t think the roof is going to fall in or anything if I show up.”

11) Darryl drained his glass and held it aloft, rattling the ice against the sides. Troy Lee frowned. What was that about?
Moments later, Hope appeared through the door with a pitcher. She took Darryl’s glass and refilled it, returning it to him. “Daddy, do you need a top off?”
“Sure, baby.” Ron handed her the glass.
Holy shit. Troy Lee stared. If he tried that, Angel would kick his ass.

12) “I miss you.” Troy Lee’s rich voice greeted her. “I’m spoiled and I don’t like waking up without you.”

13) “Hug me.”
Laughing at the mock desperation in Troy Lee’s voice, Angel turned to find him leaning on the end of the bar. “What?”
He held his arms wide, faded Gin Blossoms T-shirt riding up to give her a glimpse of his lean, muscled stomach. “Just hug me.”

14) “I’m not most guys.”

15) She blinked away a blur of tears and leaned forward to frame his face and pull him up to her. “I don’t know how I didn’t see earlier that you were everything I didn’t know I wanted.”
“You were blinded by my runner’s physique.” His chuckle murmured over her lips. “Or my sexual prowess, maybe. You know, the endurance.”

For more info and an excerpt, click HERE

I wish I could say 2008 had a been a great year. Actually, the last two years or so have been really, really rough. Great things have happened, of course, but at the same time I’m looking forward to 2009, hoping maybe it won’t batter me as much as 2006-2008 did.

However, a couple of challenging years have revealed a number of fantastic blessings to me.

My friends.

I have fabulous friends from my teaching life. Mary, who pushes me to the next level constantly, yet provides reinforcement and listens to me when I’m having trouble and need to verbalize it so I can figure things out. Connie, who makes me laugh, shares my mobile unit and exhorts me not to live in fear (which I do – I think it’s simply part of my makeup). Joey, who brings calm and more reinforcement to my day, as well as more welcome humor.

In my writing life, I’ve gathered countless friends along the way. My CP, Carol, who is not only incredibly supportive but with whom I also have a ton in common. Amie, who lets me gripe and yet somehow manages to leave me in a positive frame of mind. Joan, Maya, Elisabeth, Bree, Donna, Kate (aka Summer) . . . I could go on and on.

My best friend has weathered those two hard years with me. Well, actually, he’s weathered the last two decades with me. See, back in 1989, I met this young cop who worked for two departments, one being my hometown. He’d hang around my parents’ grocery store near closing time, to make sure Mama and Daddy and their employees got out safely, and on the weekends when I worked the register, we’d talk. A friendship grew, and over time, it blossomed into dating, then an engagement, and finally a spur-of-the-moment elopement.

Twenty years later and two Monsters later, we’re still talking in the evenings. He’s still a great guy, and I’m very blessed to have him for my husband…and my friend.

Sometimes the hard stuff makes us appreciate our friends the most, because the hard stuff is what separates the real friends from the fair weather ones.

So, as we look forward to 2009 and all it holds, good or bad . . . tell me about your best friend.

She keeps a secret buried in the past. He wants the truth—now. But an unknown killer could destroy their future.

Hold On to Me by Linda Winfree
Book Three in the Hearts of the South series.
In print October 28

For FBI profiler Caitlin Falconetti, immersing herself in her job is the only way to quell the memories of a vicious, near-fatal attack and what it cost her, including the only man she ever loved. Better to let him think she simply rejected him, rather than reveal a painful secret that she’s certain would have destroyed his feelings for her.

Investigator Lamar “Tick” Calvert is determined to clean out the corruption-riddled sheriff’s department in his hometown. While he understands Caitlin’s drive to excel at her job, that doesn’t mean he’s happy about the prospect of working with his former lover, the one woman he tried and failed to hold onto.

A rash of unsolved murders, including a politician’s daughter, brings them together to find the murderer before another woman dies. Daily contact re-ignites the lingering attraction between them, but Caitlin won’t risk opening herself and revealing her secret. She plans to complete the killer’s profile, make an arrest and get out of town for good.

Tick plans to solve this case, too, but now that Caitlin’s back in his life, he also plans to finally dig up the truth about why she left him.

But there’s an added complication—the killer isn’t done, and Caitlin could be the next target.

Stay tuned after the jump for an excerpt and giveaway info.

The squad room lay quiet and deserted. A subdued rumble of activity drifted up the stairs from the dispatch area, mixing with the scent of stale coffee lingering in the air.
The few bites of chile relleno Tick had forced himself to eat formed a lump in his stomach. He tucked his cigarettes in his pocket, the two he’d smoked back-to-back on the way over here not really settling him down.
He paused in the doorway to the conference room. Jeff and Cookie were nowhere in sight. Caitlin sat, reading the red leather-bound journal they’d taken from Amy’s room, a cup from the local java joint at her elbow. He watched her, the thick black silk of her hair pulled into a loose knot, the Fibbie suit traded for jeans and a simple white T-shirt under a neat seersucker jacket. One loafer-clad foot tapped the floor, a frown of concentration wrinkling her brow.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Beautiful and scarred. Not visibly damaged, but something had stolen her away from him.
Damned if he wasn’t going to find out what. If he was trapped into this working arrangement, so was she. This time, he’d make it a hell of a lot harder for her to dodge the issue.
“Find anything interesting?”
She startled like a scalded cat. The diary slid to the floor and one flailing hand collided with her coffee, sending the dark liquid across the table.
“Oh, hell!” She jumped to her feet and righted the cup. He grabbed a handful of napkins from the shelf by the door and began mopping up the mess. She glared, her eyes big and dark with fury in her pale face. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Calvert.”
“Who’s sneaking?” He dropped the sopping mass of napkins in the trash. “I just walked into my own department and asked a simple question.”
She leaned down to retrieve the book, but he reached it first. They straightened and he proffered it, merely the length of the volume between them. She took it from him with ill grace. “A little advance warning would be nice.”
“You’re awful jumpy.” He studied her as she sank into the chair again. The color didn’t return to her face and tiny tremors shook her slender fingers. A warning flag waved in his mind.
“I was reading.”
He pulled out the chair cater-cornered and closest to hers, an old interrogator’s trick. She flicked a glance at him and shifted to the farthest edge of her seat.
“So how’ve you been?”
“Fine. Thank you.”
“Busy?” He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. He stretched his legs, crowding hers a little, forcing himself into a semblance of casual relaxation. “Probably had to drop a lot of things to come down here.”
“Not really.” She scratched a note on a legal pad, her knuckles white. “I’ve been out of the field.”
That surprised him. She lived for the damn job. At one time, he’d been fully prepared to take a backseat to that drive of hers, as long as they could be together. “Why?”
Her Montblanc pen faltered, ink smearing on the paper. She dropped it and looked up, her eyes cool and shuttered. “Did I miss something, Calvert? When did we agree to play twenty questions?”
He smiled, the “aw-shucks-good-ol’-boy” one he used whenever he had to worm his way under the defenses of a local suspect. “You said it, Falconetti, we have to work together. I’m just playing nice, making conversation.”
“Try selling that line of bull to someone who’ll buy it.” Her hands were in her lap now, but he’d bet his next pack of smokes her fingers were wound into fists. The whole line of her body screamed with tension and the need for escape. How many times had he seen that posture on a perp? “You’re digging.”
“That implies you’re hiding something.”
She pushed her chair back, obviously preparing to flee. “Hiding something? You’re deluded—”
“What is it, Cait?” He grasped her wrist, holding her in the chair with a light touch. “What the hell happened while I was in Mississippi?”
“Let go.”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t touch me.” They stared at one another, the power struggle pulsing to life, growing and twisting between them. “I mean it, Tick, let go or—”
“Or what? You’ll slap a sexual harassment suit on me? Ruin my career?” He leaned forward, ready to call her bluff. “Go for it, precious.”
The endearment he’d only ever used with her slipped out and her eyes widened, darkened. She moistened her lips and tugged against his hold. “You’re hurting me.”
Not physically. He wasn’t holding her tightly enough to do that, but he released her. She had a trapped, hunted air about her now and grim satisfaction curled through him. Oh, yeah, she was hiding something. If he could just find the weak point, break through that damn control of hers…
“I’d never hurt you and you know it.”
“Stop.” Her voice trembled and his chest tightened.
“Not until you—”
“Until nothing. We’re colleagues, Tick,” she said, cold dismissal not quite covering the lingering nervousness in her tone. “That’s all.”
“We used to be friends.”
And lovers. The words hung in the air, unsaid.
“Well, this looks cozy.”
Damn. Tick smothered a wave of frustrated anger. Cookie had the worst timing known to man. Tick straightened, making sure his expression was blank before he looked around at the other man. Cookie’s face was a study in smooth guilelessness that didn’t fool Tick for an instant.
**

For another excerpt, visit my author page here at Samhain.

Would you like a chance to win a signed copy of Hold On to Me? I’ll choose from one commenter on this post today, from 9:00 AM until 9:00 PM CST. Winner to be announced at the Samhain Cafe and my author blog.

My ninth grade Lit/Comp class is beginning a study of Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. From long experience, I know frontloading ideas is the key to successfully teaching contemporary teens a fantastic book that really starts slow. They’re impatient by nature and not willing to wade through a lot of background-building. They want to be in the action immediately.

One activity I use for frontloading involves giving small groups a subject or motif from the book, such as prejudice, losing battles, courage or growing up, and having them define the term in their words and produce phrases or symbols to reflect their definition. Friday, I assigned this task; afterwards, each group presents their poster to the class and the kids discuss the concepts.

One discussion in particular stuck with me after the kids were gone yesterday. In the group with the concept “growing up,” one of their phrases was “Stop acting like a kid.” That led to a conversation about whether maturity meant “Stop acting like a kid” or “Knowing when it’s okay to act like a kid . . . and when it’s not.” I’ll admit, with this particularly rambunctious group of freshmen, I get aggravated with their supposed lack of maturity – they act like kids a lot. At the same time, I don’t want to rush their growing up; everyone needs to act like a kid sometime.

I mean, I don’t want to give up acting like a kid sometimes. Hey, jumping on the trampoline with the Monsters is the highlight of my week sometimes. We ride bikes together. We play kickball and basketball. We frolic with the Evil Kittehs. We watch SpongeBob together. And near the beach . . . we play in the waves and build killer sandcastles. Those are my favorite acting-like-a-kid activities. Why would I want to give those up?

Overall, I think I agree with the group that defines maturity as knowing when it’s okay to act like a kid. With two jobs, grad school and a scary, shaky economy, I need those moments of childlike escape.

What are your favorite “acting like a kid” activities? Share in the comments and you could win a download of one of my titles.