Broken Promises

Hardly a moment goes by, I don’t remember. The laughter, the happiness, the feeling of elation that gave me goosebumps of delight. I couldn’t have guessed in those early moments, the travesty I would experience later on.

~ ~ ~

“Did you promise?” Charity looked up from her perch on the piano stool.

“Promise what?” I asked. My fingers moved over the ivory picking out a tune I barely remembered. I longed to be there again.

“Did you promise? You know, the love, honor and obey… that stuff brides are supposed to promise.” Her voice had a tone ever so reminiscent of whining.

“Yes, Charity. I promised.” My voice drifted off on the notes I fingered.

Time stood still. I gazed up at the photo on top of the piano. We gazed into each other’s eyes and promised, “…until death do you part.” I shivered and stood up from the piano.

“Let’s go make dinner.” I whispered. “Better yet, let’s go out.” I took her hand and picked up the keys to the car.

More than half way across town, I pulled into one of my favorite diners. “Chicken salad?” I watched Charity step away from the car before I closed the door.

“I think I’ll have blueberry pancakes.” She answered. “Can I?”

“You can have whatever you want.” I took her hand and walked toward the berry blue front door of the hole in the wall diner.

“Why did he break his promise?” Charity had surmised the problem quite well, considering she’d never been told why Greg left.

“I don’t really know.” I answered, looking back at the menu. “I suppose… maybe he didn’t mean it?”

“That’s very bad.” She looked down at the placemat before her and doodled on the paper.

“Cassidy, you’re looking wonderful!” The owner of the restaurant stood before them with a note pad to take their order. “What can I get for you today, Miss Charity?”

“I want some blueberry pancakes.” Charity answered him, “can I have those with whipped cream?”

“You certainly may.” He wrote down her order. “Cassidy? Did you notice the back booth?” He whispered.

“No.” I looked. ”Interesting.”

“He’s been here since we opened.” He nodded to the man at the back booth, a newspaper held in front of his face. “He just sits there reading the paper.”

“Do I?” I nodded in Charity’s direction.

“I’ll never tell him you’re here, and he won’t look up.”

“Okay,” I watched for a moment and waited for the tell-tale look and recognition. It never came.

“Chicken Salad?”

“Yes, please.” I nodded. “Does he come here often?”

“No. But, he’s been here for the last four days.” He shrugged, “from open to close.”

“That’s weird.”

“Says he got fired.”

“Nothing new.” I looked back at Charity, drawing on the paper. “He never held a job for long.”

“Mom, can we go shopping after dinner?”

“What for?”

“I want a new dress for Sunday.”

“Sounds like a fun afternoon. Let’s go shopping.”

Dinner arrived a few minutes later and Charity and I concentrated on our food.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Cassidy.”

The voice sent chills down my spine. I didn’t have to look up to know whose voice I heard, or to know how close he was.

“Who’s that man, Mommy?”

…. To Be Continued.

Ringing phones and doorbells always startle me out of my skin. I can’t imagine what the rest of the world does when the doorbell rings on a rainy night, but it never fails to send me jumping for cover. The most recent event in my life resulted in my introduction to the most significantly strange person I’ve ever met.

Rain drops splattered against the dining room window from about sunset on, although I don’t recollect knowing that the sun had actually gone down. Or, that it had been up most of the day. It had been remarkably gray and dismal since I got up that morning. I must have been feeling the mood, because when the doorbell rang I sat straight up on the couch, clutched my book to my chest, and gasped for air. The sigh I let out probably scared any possible gremlins away, although, I remember feeling a few nearby later in the evening.

I managed to kick a bowl of popcorn off the coffee table with the corner of the blanket as I got off the couch. The doorbell reminded me of why I was shaken up in the first place and I left it while I went to the door.

“Ms. Tanya Harper?”

“No, I’m Kera Shelton. Tanya Harper lives in the next block.” I explained pointing through the rain to the white two story in the middle of the next block.

“There’s no answer, and I have a package for her.” He spoke in a monotone I wasn’t likely to forget in the next three lifetimes. “Can I leave it here?”

“I suppose. How will she know?” I asked, taking the box.

“I’ll pin a note to her door.” He answered. I looked at the rain and doubted it would stick, but kept the box anyways.

“Okay.”

“It’s raining.” He looked up at the clouds. “This is my last stop.”

I don’t know what made me do it, and I probably knew better, even as the words spilled out of my mouth. But there they were. “Would you like to come in and dry off? I have a nice fire going.”

“Th-Thank you!”

“I can put on a pot of coffee?” I offered, leading him to the kitchen. “Do you like hazelnut?”

“That’s lovely.”

I ground the coffee beans, poured wated in the pot and set it back under the edge of the cabinet while I gathered two tall latte mugs. “Cream and sugar?”

“Please.”

I poured cream and sugar into one cup, cream into the other for myself, and sat on the second stool near the counter.

“My name is Roger.”

“Pardon…” I looked up, not sure what he said, and had no clue what I’d been thinking.

“My name is Roger. Roger Paris.” His voice was raspy and deep. “I deliver your books.”

“Oh…”

“I know you’re a writer.” His eyes were deep blue, set back under dark heavy brows and thick lashes. “I was wondering if you needed a hero?”

“A hero?”

“You could use me in one of your books?” He smiled a crooked grin with only one dimple. “I’d treat the lady real nice.”

“I’d have to come up with a plot.” I hedged.

“You could make me a little taller if you’d like.” His voice was quieter and softer. “I’m not as tall as I’d like to be.”

“Well, in literature, height isn’t often an issue. The character can be big or small and it doesn’t much matter.” I smiled at him. “In fact, I rarely give height in the characterization, because I prefer my readers to come up with their own physical descriptions.”

“How would you describe me, Ms. Shelton?”

“I’d mention your deep set blue eyes, your dimple, and your shoulders.” I answered honestly, seeing many strengths about the man.

“It’s done.”

“What?”

“The coffee, it’s done.” He answered. “You seem distracted?”

“Thinking about a book, with you as the hero.” I deadpanned. “I’m trying to imagine your heroine and the plot.”

“Perhaps she could be a clerk in the paper store, I deliver there often.”

I poured the coffee and considered his suggestion.

“I think she might need to be stronger, maybe a secretary in a law office?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yes.” He responded, taking a sip of the coffee. “This is very good.”

“And you would be the courier?” I continued.

“She could be having a fling with the attorney, and I rescue her from a life of being the other woman. That would be a good plot. She could be struggling to choose between the lawyer, the man of her dreams and choose me, because I’m a gentle person who would understand her flaws.”

I nodded, took a drink of the coffee, and set out a platter of cookies.

“Perhaps,” I continued, “she could have a special needs child, the lawyer wouldn’t understand, but you not only understand but love her child as your own.”

“That would be a good story twist,” he agreed, “I think I like this story.”

When his finger touched my hand, I wasn’t sure where he was going. The lightening flashed. Thunder rolled and the lights flickered out.

“I’ll get a candle.” I offered feeling his hand on mine.

“No need.” He whispered.

“But, I… ” his lips touched mine and the night grew darker.

Lightening splintered the night, thunder echoed from the distance, life evolved outside the kitchen, and we sat there, kissing in the darkness. A stranger on a rainy night, and my story came to life.

When the rain stopped a few minutes later, the lights came on and we finished our coffee. He stood to leave and I followed him to the door.

“I’ll be looking forward to your next book.” He kissed me good bye at the door. “Enjoy the evening, Ms. Shelton.”

Today, I started my booster blog. I can’t think of a more appropriate blog for a romance writer than a dating information blog. It just fits.

Baby boomers are about the most romantic group of people I know, they’re comfortable in their own skin, happy to be out and about, and constantly changing. They understand the value of love, and they’re out there every day. No wonder so many are looking for romance. They understand the value of a romantic interlude that lasts a lifetime.

If you’re a boomer and think you might be interested in dating, please visit my site and learn the ropes at Baby Boomer Romance.

Those wicked early morning moments always leave me gasping for breath. I can’t imagine a day without sunshine, although I can thoroughly enjoy the cloudy gray mornings with sunlight filtering

dawn over the lake

through the clouds. This day dawned bright and clear with sunlight glinting off the clouds turning them a pale lemony yellow with whispers of peach rays dancing on distant puffs of eerie white. The earliest moments of dawn are a celebration of creation.

So, what is a writer doing up at the crack of dawn on a Tuesday morning? Well, you’d be surprised what a girl can think of to do in the wee hours of the morning.

There’s a place not too far away looking out over the eastern plains where a broken pine tree leans out across the river and forms a natural bench. The view is incredible.

(I’ll remember to bring my camera next time.)

I like to take a note pad and jot down thoughts about my books and how I want to write the next book. The thoughts that come to mind in such a natural setting make great kickoffs for whole chapters. The setting of course is, romance multiplied.

Can you imagine? A site so full of romance that a writer literally turns to look a different direction and finds a whole new story line? It’s incredible.

This morning… for instance… (copied straight from my notes)

Sunrise – describe the dawning of pale lemon sunlight fingering out over clouds drifting overhead as the darkness gives way to light. Morgan stands near the edge of the river tossing memories. The love she feels for Anson isn’t being returned. He’s off on another adventure, leaving her behind, and she’s sure he’s never coming back. Raindrops splatter into the river, first a few, then more. Clouds grow heavier and she lingers. Allowing the rain to flow over her, she leans her head back, letting the rain drops fall in her face.

…….. time passes and she’s standing at the river again, Anson’s arms trail around her waist pulling her back into his arms, he says, “Do you really believe, I could leave without you?” She turns into his arms and they live happily ever after… Okay, I’ll get a real ending in the book.

Or the next notes… (Seriously, I don’t write much out there, I’d rather enjoy the sights. But I do write enough to grasp the story and remember what to write when I get home to the computer.)

Burning prairies cause destruction, and seldom does a fire fighter find good in a treacherous fire. But when Gheer Russell arrives on the scene, he recognized the trail through the blaze. Acting on instinct, he washes the trail with water and rushes past the flames to the cabin near the bottom of the cliff. Kylie Howell curled into his arms, tears covering his shoulder as he carried her out of the smoke filled valley.

“How did you know I was here?” Kylie whispered.

“Baby, how could I not know?” Gheer answered.

“I came here after you left. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here to the cabin.”  Kylie choked.

“I know. I didn’t know what to do either,” he brushed a tear from her face. “But, I know now. I never want to be without you again.”

I know, I know, how do you get a prairie fire out of a dew sparkled dawn? It’s the glint of colors dancing across the prairie like flames in the grass. And the romance in me had a fire burning.

Hey, I have writing to do. Toodles…

A girl doesn’t often find a guy on the Internet. At least, not a guy worth having. But… I did.

Splash of Romance

He was the kind of guy every girl wishes she could meet. We talked for hours on the phone, every night for the first several weeks. He told me all his hopes and dreams, and I told him mine.

His dreams were simple enough. He wanted to help others and have someone to care about. I thought he sounded like the best kind of guy, but I was still skeptical. I hadn’t met him yet.

We finally decided to meet and that moment was the most precious in my life. I stood near the tracks at the railroad station and he stepped off the train. He swept me into his arms, even before he asked my name. I guess he knew.

When I revealed to him, after a while, that I thought he’d never come. He called me, “silly.” I suppose I was. But I had honestly wondered if he’d be there. My life had been full of disappointments, I didn’t want this to be the next one.

We strolled around town that morning, walking through the trees in the Forest of Enchantment, shopping in windows along the Main Street shops, and crossed over the gateway bridge to toss coins in the water flowing below. He asked my wish and told me his.

As the sun set, we watched the clouds build from the windows at Pizzano Inn.

“Romance is a bowl of pasta.” He gazed into my eyes.

“Candles, pasta, and Dean Martin,” I smiled. “Can’t beat the combination.”

“And tomorrow?”

“You tell me…” I spun the pasta on my fork and held it near the plate.

“I can’t stay, I have to be at work tomorrow.” He answered. “But, I’d like to come back.”

“Then do.” I took the bite of pasta on my fork.

He looked as if I’d chastized him, but I waited. I just wanted it to be his decision. I wanted him to come back, but I’d never had any luck telling men I wanted to know them better. They usually disappeared after I did. So, this time I decided to play his game and let him wonder.