Saturday's Chapter - Teresa Carpenter - The Sheriff's Doorstep Baby

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.


Hands braced on his hips, Sheriff Nate Connor stood looking down at the strange beauty sleeping on his couch. Rolled up in his fleece throw, purple-and-pink-striped socks peeked out from one end and sunshine-yellow hair cascaded from the other.

With a muffled curse he holstered the nine millimeter he'd palmed when he found his front door unlocked. Not that he'd really expected to need it, but a soldier was always prepared. Even in River Run, where the population was less than five thousand.

Luck and skill had kept him from shooting himself when he tripped over the guitar case negligently left in the entry hall.

He considered reaching for his handcuffs, but the woman wasn't a complete stranger. He'd seen sufficient pictures here in this house and on his predecessor's desk to recognize the pretty flow of hair. He was enough of a lawman to figure out she was his new landlord.

And they'd met briefly at her father's funeral seven months ago.

Yeah, he knew who sleeping beauty was. The question was why?

Why was she here and why did she think she could make herself at home on his couch?

He'd had his own plans for that couch. Today was supposed to have been his first day off in over a month. The storm changed that. An overnight delivery truck had skidded on ice and ended up on its side in the pass, blocking traffic in both directions. By the time they got it cleared up, they were in the middle of a full-blown blizzard, and he'd given up any hope of regaining his day off.

A surge of wind knocking branches against the house punctuated the thought.

After a ten-hour day, he'd planned to come home, heat up a frozen dinner and watch the game he'd recorded earlier.

Plans delayed by his uninvited guest's possession of said couch.

A soft snore came from the fleece-wrapped bundle. Nate's dark brows slammed together in a scowl. Now that was irritating. Not because the sound annoyed him, but because it didn't. It had been cute.

He had no room in his life for soft and cute, no patience for trespassing blondes interrupting the last of his day off.

In the past seven months he'd heard nothing from Michelle Ross. Now she slept tucked up on his couch. She may own the place but he had a contract stating it was his for the next four months. He didn't know what brought her to town, but she wasn't staying here.

A matter he meant to take up with her right now.

"Ms. Ross."

No response.

"Ms. Ross." Advancing on the couch, he repeated the demand for her attention, and then again, louder each time. She stirred and then settled against the cushions, sighing as she pulled the throw tighter around herself.

Finally he leaned down and shook her shoulder. "Come on, beauty, wake up." she stirred and mumbled something.

Instinctively, he leaned closer to hear what she said.

But suddenly she turned and her lips brushed his. That's when her eyes opened. Lovely eyes that brought the green of spring to a late-winter's storm. And that thought distracted him long enough for her to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him down for a deeper kiss.

Questions of who and why and what disappeared in a rush of sensation. She felt warm and soft, and tasted oh, so sweet. This was what home should feel like, what a welcome should taste like.

Nate threaded his hands in all that hair and sank into the moment. After the day he'd had, he let the heat of the kiss sweep him away.

Michelle dreamed of a man on a white horse riding through the forest. Tall and strong, he carried a sword and sought a beautiful princess, ready to save her from all her woes. Michelle was both the princess and not. She liked the safety the knight represented, but it never came free and she wanted to save herself.

Only fools and optimists believed in love. Which left her out. She was nobody's fool. And she'd given up on optimism early in life. She preferred to control her own destiny than hope for the best.

Now the knight was on top of her, holding her gently, his hands fisted in her hair, broad shoulders blocking out the world. He smelled like the fleece that held her in warmth and comfort, of the woods and man. But he was heat and power and his lips were on hers and she didn't care if there was a price. Safe had never felt so good.

She arched into the kiss, opening her lips at the demand of his, welcoming him in, savoring the spicy taste of the man who held her so securely.

His hand moved in a sweeping caress from her head to her waist, where skin met skin. The shock of his cold fingers reached beyond Michelle's lethargy.

Her eyes flew open and she realized this was no dream, no Prince Charming of childish imaginings, but a flesh-and-blood man with a bold kiss and cold hands.

She broke off the kiss, planted both palms flat against his chest and pushed. "Back up, buddy!"

For a moment, just a heartbeat, he held the embrace, and then he released her and surged to his feet.

"Hell. I must be more tired than I thought." He scrubbed both hands over a face a shade too ordinary to be considered handsome. Straight dark eyebrows topped fierce gray eyes. Cut military-short, his hair was a tawny blend of brown, blond and red. Temper, or maybe it was passion, brought a ruddy hue to his cheeks.

The khaki uniform so like her father's had her narrowing her eyes on him as she swung her feet to the floor and sat up. Pain throbbed in her ankle, but she ignored it.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" she demanded. "Besides accosting me?"

"You mean my home?" His hands went to his hips, and he met her glare for glare. "And you kissed me."

She raised brows at him. "A neat trick for someone asleep. I inherited this house from my father."

"And I rented it from him."

That surprised her. "He didn't tell me anything about renting the house. When did that happen?"

"Ben rented me a room when I first moved to town and I continued to rent the place when he moved in with his lady friend almost a year ago."

"Dad had a girlfriend?" She'd been dreaming of princesses and white knights, but clearly she'd fallen down the rabbit hole. As far as she knew, Dad had never had a lady friend.

"I remember you now, from my father's funeral." Usually great with names, she reached for his and came up short. The funeral had been hard for her. She took a stab. "Gabe?"

"Nate." He corrected. "Nate Connor."

"Well, Nate, it seems you took over Dad's job, and you took over his house."

His expression frosted over. "What are you implying?"

"Nothing nefarious." She waved off his paranoia. "I'm just saying this is my house."

She'd only come back to River Run to sell the house so she could move to Los Angeles and pursue her song-writing career.

She'd escaped this town when she graduated from high school—couldn't leave the little burg fast enough—and nothing had changed since. With her dad's passing the small town had even less going for it now than it had when she was a kid.

So no, she hadn't crept through Dead Man's Pass praying to a deity she hadn't spoken to in way too long to be kicked out of her own home.

"It's your house, but it's rented to me. I have a contract if you'd like to see it." Nate crossed his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to pop. "You didn't talk to your dad much, did you?"

The truth she'd come to acknowledge since her dad's passing hit her hard. Hearing the censure from the current sheriff didn't help.

"You don't know anything about my relationship with my father." Anger had her pushing to her feet. The ankle she'd injured walking up the snow-covered path from the car to the front door protested at the sudden motion, at the sudden weight, and gave out on her.

He caught her before she could fall, putting those impressive biceps to work, his grip under her elbows easily holding her weight off the sore foot.

"Are you okay?" Exasperation sat alongside concern in the question.

"Fine." She attempted to shrug off his touch, but he held firm until she was seated once again. "I tripped on something on the way up the walk."

He frowned. "I'll check it out tomorrow. Do you need ice for your ankle?"

It irked to hear him playing host in her house. She shook her head. "I'm fine. How long did you know my dad?"

"Three years," he said as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the newel post.

She waited, hearing the cry of a kitten in the lull, but that was all he shared. Great. Her father had been the same all her life, bound by duty, determined to steal all the joy from her life. Now it seemed there'd been more to him than she remembered, but the bearer of the news was no more talkative than her father had been.

"Not very long," she challenged.

"Not compared to twenty-five years, no. But I talked to him, worked with him, spent time with him. You let a complete stranger make funeral arrangements."

Shame burned in her. That had been the lowest time in her life. A bad week capped off by the loss of her father. Yeah, she should have come home and taken care of the details of Dad's funeral, but she'd been trying to save her job, trying to hold together the fraying edges of her life.

In the end she'd only been delaying the inevitable.

"I thanked you for your help." She tried to find a smile and a little of her patented charm to ease the way with him. She'd learned early in life that a pretty girl had power, and she wielded the tool of her looks like any other talent.

But she was too weary, too annoyed with him and the crying of his cat, to bother. Or maybe she was too unsettled by the taste of him still in her mouth to summon a smile.

And what had that been about anyway? She was supposed to have kissed him in her sleep? Right.

So okay, she'd been k...

Friday - How She Does It - Teresa Carpenter

We all know there are six elements in writing fiction and often fact. Who, What, When, Where, Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth which for me is the plot. What's your take on this?








I''ve never heard it put that way before, but I like it. I'm a plotter so it speaks to me.











1. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific process?







As I mentioned, I'm a plotter so I'll often get an idea for a plot and people it with characters who will benefit most from the plot. Once I’ve done that it becomes very real for me and it’s hard if the editor wants me to shift motivations. My heroine in Her Baby, His Proposal did argue with me about her name. She started out as Michelle, but she just fought me so I had to change her to Jesse. Michelle finally found her story in my new story The Sheriff’s Doorstep Baby.







2. Do your characters come before the plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?







Oops, I’m out of order. The idea comes first, which is usually the plot, but I do have a process I follow. I have a critique group that has evolved into a plotting group. I bring my idea and we brainstorm and I basically build my character and plot at the same time. Then I go home let it all percolate and start writing. Once I’ve started putting fingers to keys, the characters take over and they drive the story from there.







3. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?







I know how my story will end but I don’t always know the exact scene for the end. I actually prefer it when I do know how it’ll end. I have a road map from my plotting session, and it’s fun to take side trips but it keeps me focused if I have that end scene in mind. In Flirting With Fireworks I absolutely knew Jared was going to take Cherry to the top of the Ferris wheel. Loved that scene. And then there is the diamond moment of writing when the perfect scene comes to you. Which happened with the tree house scene in The Sheriff’s Doorstep Baby.











4. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?







Don’t you know? A writer is also a travel agent, an architect, a history teacher, a doctor. Anything you’ve ever wanted to be, here’s your chance. And yes, I do draw house plans and occasionally city plans when I’ve made up a town. Mostly I write about places I know, but I live in San Diego county which stretches from the mountains to the sea and offers many different locales, so I’m lucky that way. It’s easiest to write about what and where you know, but with the internet, and a good map, you can make any place familiar. In the Boss’s Surprise Son I took Rick and Savannah to London. I really worried about the authenticity of that because my editors are in London, but they didn’t change a thing. Whew. And now, I really want to go to England!







5. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?







I keep getting ahead of myself. Most of my research is done online. I rarely delve into books for research. But do like a good map. Usually one geared toward tourists because it includes points of interest. And I have great resources in my critique partners, a registered nurse, a history teacher, a caterer with a psych major, and a woman who has done everything from drive a lunch truck, to policewoman, to film reviewer. I’ve got banking and real estate covered, so we’re a well-rounded crowd.







6. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why?







I revise as I go along. And then do a final draft. I still work full time and I write at lunch, so part of my routine is to rework what I write at lunch before dropping it into the current work and then I read back over what I wrote the day before and what I reworked before moving forward. I have a specific number of pages I need to write each day and I stick to that pretty religiously. Writing is a very personal experience and we all have to find our own rhythm and this is working for me.