There are weeks, and then there are weeks.

Monday started with an appointment with the eye doctor, which wasn’t bad, but takes at least half the day with the drive time. And since my husband had a business trip the next day, once we got home we were packing all his stuff so he could leave early the next morning. By early, I mean 4 am. Yeah, he’s one of those.

Wednesday our 12 year old kitty, Magellan crossed the rainbow bridge, so I had to deal with that, so all the stuff I was going to do was postponed until the next day.

That night, one of our other kitties, Monster, started sneezing. Afraid she might have caught what Magellan had, Thursday was a rush to the veterinary hospital to check her out. Fortunately, it seems she has seasonal allergies. And I will admit, the pollen this week has been terrible. Once again, things got pushed back to take care of the kitties.

So that brings us to Friday. I was finally able to get in and order new glasses and do some shopping. And after a couple weeks of nice cool temperatures–like in the 50’s and low 60’s F–the day turned hot. Like 85 F hot. And I’m not a fan of heat to begin with.

So my blogging has been put on hold while I dealt with life in general.

Never fear! I am writing, although I may not have done as much as planned.

Tiger’s Tempest is moving right along. I’ll keep you posted.

But in the meantime, how about a peek at Ben of Blackstone’s Forge–next in the Esperance Series?

Excerpt:

Moire had accepted his invitation to the Gather dance eagerly. After a nice dinner, she took his arm as they walked to the dance. At least she wasn’t awkward and could follow his lead. Not as well as Deborah, but well enough for the experience to be enjoyable.

After dancing for quite a while, he suggested a break for refreshments. Weaving between the tables, they carried tall glasses of lemonade to a free table and sat down to relax while they enjoyed their drinks.

He knew it couldn’t last. Something always came up when he began to enjoy himself too much.

“Ben Blackstone! What are you doing with her?”

It was Deborah, of course. She wouldn’t come out with him, but resented it when he dated anyone else.

“Drinking lemonade. Good evening, Deborah. Yes, I’m fine and enjoying my evening. Kind of you to ask.”

“Ben, I’m sorry. Do I need to leave?” Moire asked nervously.

“No. You don’t. Could you sit here and wait for me? I’ll be right back. Let me take care of this.”

Rising to his feet, he stretched to his full height and glared down at the source of his irritation.

“Shall we?” he asked, motioning her toward the open ground outside the refreshment area.

With a swish of fabric from her ankle-length skirt, Deborah turned and stormed away in front of him. Once they were away from the crowd, she whirled, hands on her hips, and fire in her eyes.

“How dare you ask Moire to the dance?” she demanded.

“Why is it any business of yours?” he demanded in turn.

“But Moire, of all the women you could have asked.”

“Look, I know you two are rivals. But since I figured you wouldn’t come out with me, I chose to ask her.”

“Why do you think I wouldn’t have come?”

“Let me see,” he stated. “It could be something to do with the fact that you’ve turned me down three dances in a row, and won’t even accept an invitation for coffee. What do you think?”

“I think… I hate you, Ben Blackstone!” she shouted.

Her wrist smacked into his palm as he prevented her from slapping him. He caught the second one, too, and smiled at her, as her eyes flashed angrily.

“Now, Deb,” he began. “You know better than to slap me.”

“Let me go, you bastard.”

“I’ll let you go when I figure you won’t try it again,” he answered.

“Fine! Can I have my hands back?”

“First, let me explain something to you,” he said softly. “I will see anyone I care to see. You do not have a say in the matter. If you won’t accept my invitations, you cannot dictate who I may ask. Are we clear on this?”

“Let me go,” she answered just as quietly, temper seething beneath the surface.

Releasing her wrists, Ben stepped back a pace.

“Good evening, Miss Wills. It was nice talking with you.”

Deborah turned, nose in the air, and strode away from him. Ben hurried back to the table he’d left and found it empty.

“Sir?” the owner of the stand said.

“Yes? What is it?”

“The young lady who was sitting here said to tell you she was sorry, she’d had a nice time, but she was leaving early. She didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

“Damn it all to hell,” Ben growled. “Why does she always do this to me?”

“I’m sorry?” the man asked.

“Not the lady at the table. The one who came bursting in shouting accusations.”

“Oh. Yes, sir. She is a bit forceful, shall we say.”

“She’s a gold-plated bitch,” he replied, startling the man.

Watch for Ben of Blackstone’s Forge!

And in the meantime,

Don’t Forget…

…to Share the Romance…