I happy to announce that Cheryl Pierson has joined us today for Monday's Author Interviews! Please make her feel welcome. Don't forget to leave a comment or if you have a question please ask away. Cheryl will be stopping by to answer them.
***Leave a comment for a chance to win an e-copy of A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES or TIME PLAINS DRIFTER,Cheryl' s two new releases that will be out THIS WEEK! Winner to be announced on Sunday, Dec. 6th!
Tell us a little about the author. (Bio, tidbits, likes, dislikes. If you use a pen name, why did you choose to do so?)I live in Oklahoma City with my husband of over 30 years. I have two grown children, Jessica, who is a wonderful artist, and Casey, my son, who is either always at work or in school. I have a feelance editing business and also teach fiction writing classes in the Oklahoma City metro area to all age groups. I've worked extensively with one of the local school districts in their Indian Education Department as a tutor and fiction writing workshop presenter. I love to talk writing with other writers and readers. I'm a classically trained pianist and used to teach that, too. Now, I seldom get to practice like I should.
You write romantic tales from the heart. Fire Eyes was a soulful tale abou
t love, loyalty and friendships that last a lifetime. It’s now an Epic Finalist! How does that make you feel?WOW. You know, sometimes when I read it I have trouble believing I wrote it. LOL I sometimes get so engrossed in my characters, and what they are saying and doing that I will go back and read over what I've written and actually won't remember parts of it. But I really do love this story, and for it to be a finalist in the EPIC Competition is just unbelievable for me.
If you'd like to own a copy of Fire Eyes, here's the author's link at: Amazon
I have to say you did it again with your story, Time Plains Drifter. Thank you, Karen. I appreciate that!
Substitute teacher Jenni Dalton is flung backward in time 115 years with seven of her students when a comet passes close enough to Earth to rearrange the bands of time. They find themselves in 1895, Indian Territory with no way back to 2010.
U.S. Territorial Marshal Rafe d'Angelico was murdered, along with his brother, sixteen years earlier, in 1879. Now, he finds himself a reluctant angel, brought through time to help Jenni Dalton and her students escape the Dark One who is after one of them. But which one? And for what evil purpose?
Rafe only knows he doesn't want to be an angel, now that he's found the woman he wants to spend his life with. Keeping one step ahead of Satan's man who's teamed up with Rafe's murderer proves to be the hardest thing he's ever faced--until he's forced to choose between saving the woman he loves and spending eternity in a Hell of his own making.
Will love be strong enough to save the Time Plains Drifter?
*This is a PNR Paranormal Romance Reviewers Top Pick for Nov. 2009 and will be posted on PNR Inklings in December.
What inspired you to write this story? This story came out of a desire to write something that my agent (at the time) would be able to sell. My first western was way too long, and the second one I wrote was shorter, but still not short enough. This book, Time Plains Drifter, was an idea that came to me from the desire to write something really different that would be intriguing and different. At the time I started it, I didn't realize how hard it was going to be for a "pantser" like me to make it all come about as it should with the time travel AND paranormal elements.
You have a wonderful book cover, too.THANK YOU! Who’s the cover artist? This cover is really special to me, because my daughter, Jessica Pierson, was my cover artist. This is the first cover she's ever done for me, and I'm so glad we got to work together on a project. We've talked about it since she was a little girl, and it's one of those "dreams come true."
Night for Miracles is a Cactus Rose release for The Wild Rose Press--perfect tale for the holidays. Tell us about Nick and Angela.
Angela Bentley is a widow in post- Civil War Indian Territory. On a snowy Christmas
Eve, just at dusk, she takes in a wounded gunman and thre
e children that are traveling in the raw cold. Nick Dalton, the outlaw, is wounded as much emotionally as he is physically. Angela discovers that things are not always what they seem, and that Christmas Eve will always be A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES.
Your heroes usually need mending by the heroine. What’s the story behind hurting these strong adorable guys? lol
LOL, Karen. I'm not really sure what that says about me. LOL I think for me, it's a gambit of putting the hero in a position where he MUST depend on the heroine. Lord knows, he wouldn't in any other circumstance. My guys are usually so hurt and closed up emotionally that being dependent on the heroine is the catalyst that makes them realize they can find love again--or for the first time.
What are your current projects and works in progress? Right now, I have three things in the works. One is a contemporary romantic suspense involving a drug cartel and two DEA undercover agents, both of whom unknowingly have a connection to the heroine-- and boy, in danger.
The second thing I am working on is another western historical romance, Gabriel's Law. Brandon Gabriel is a half-Comanche gunfighter who is reunited with his childhood sweetheart, Allie Taylor, from the orphanage where they both spent several years. They're adults now, in an adult world--she's a white woman, and he's half Indian, but they are still in love. Can they find happiness together in the rough western area of Indian Territory? No matter what, Allie is determined to push forward with her dream of providing a working cattle ranch for orphaned boys to live on--whether Brandon stays or goes.
And last but not least, a little short story that would not leave me be until I sat down to write it, "Scarlet Ribbons." There's an old song by the same name that the story is loosely based upon, but it involves a cowboy's bid for redemption when he finds out he's the father of a little girl who's blind, and that her mother has waited for his return steadfastly--though he had no idea. It's a Christmas story with a paranormal element in it. I'm nearly done with it!
Tell the readers where they can find you: My main website is here:
http://www.cherylpierson.com
Most of my information about my books and short stories is here.
http://www.westwindsmedia.com that deals more with my editing and teaching business.
I have three blogs that I semi-maintain:
http://www.cherylpiersonbooks.blogspot.com
This one is mainly about my books, writing, reviews, excerpts and news.
http://www.westwindsromance.blogspot.com
This one is mainly about the information and history of the old west, though it does have some news and excerpts on it, as well.
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If you want to e-mail me, and I LOVE to hear from people, my e-mail is:
cheryl@westwindsmedia.com OR
fabkat_edit@yahoo.com
Is there anything else you’d like to tell the readers?
If you’d like to add an excerpt, blurb or video link... Oh, how I wish I was computer savvy enough to do a video! LOL I'll leave you with a couple of excerpts instead.
This is from my upcoming release, A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES. It's a holiday short story that will be available this Wednesday, December 2nd. To buy link at: The Wild Rose Press.
FROM "A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES": Here it is:
He spoke first. “What…what’s your name?” His voice was raspy with pain, but held an underlying tone of gentleness. As if he were apologizing for putting her to this trouble, she thought. The sound of it comforted her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t want to think about it. He’d be leaving soon.
“Angela.” She lifted his head and gently pressed the metal cup to his lips. “Angela Bentley.”
He took two deep swallows of the water. “Angel,” he said, as she drew the cup away and set it on the nightstand. “It fits.”
She looked down, unsure of the compliment and suddenly nervous. She walked to the low oak chest to retrieve the bandaging and dishpan. “And you are…”
“Nick Dalton, ma’am.” His eyes slid shut as she whirled to face him. A cynical smile touched his lips. “I see…you’ve heard of me.”
A killer. A gunfighter. A ruthless mercenary. What was he doing with these children? She’d heard of him, all right, bits and pieces, whispers at the back fence. Gossip, mainly. And the stories consisted of such variation there was no telling what was true and what wasn’t.
She’d heard. She just hadn’t expected him to be so handsome. Hadn’t expected to see kindness in his eyes. Hadn’t expected to have him show up on her doorstep carrying a piece of lead in him, and with three children in tow. She forced herself to respond through stiff lips. “Heard of you? Who hasn’t?”
He met her challenging stare. “I mean you no harm.”
She remained silent, and he closed his eyes once more. His hands rested on the edge of the sheet, and Angela noticed the traces of blood on his left thumb and index finger. He’d tried to stem the blood flow from his right side as he rode. “I’m only human, it seems, after all,” he muttered huskily. “Not a legend tonight. Just a man.”
He was too badly injured to be a threat, and somehow, looking into his face, she found herself trusting him despite his fearsome reputation. She kept her expression blank and approached the bed with the dishpan and the bandaging tucked beneath her arm. She fought off the wave of compassion that threatened to engulf her. It was too dangerous. When she spoke, her tone was curt. “A soldier of fortune, from what I hear.”
He gave a faint smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Miss Bentley.” From the hint of chiding tolerance in his voice, she knew she wasn’t the first to censure him to his face. Nor would she be the last. Somehow, the thought unsettled her.
Here's one last excerpt from my upcoming release, TIME PLAINS DRIFTER, which will be released this Tuesday, December 1st. To buy link is: Class Act Books.
Here's the short blurb: Ebook at Lulu
Trapped in Indian Territory of 1895 by a quirk of nature, Jenni Dalton must find a way back to 2010. Marshal Rafe d’Angelico seems like the answer to her prayers; he is, after all, an angel. Rafe’s only chance to save Jenni from The Dark One will be the death of him—again. Can their love survive?
In this excerpt, Rafe has prepared himself to be honest with Jenni and tell her who and what he is, fully expecting her to reject him. But she surprises him with her understanding and acceptance, and he realizes he's fallen a lot harder than he ever intended.
FROM TIME PLAINS DRIFTER:
He closed his eyes, letting the pleasurable feel of her wet mouth on his body wash over him, along with her voice. “Some things never change,”she’d said earlier. Her Oklahoma accent was a slow waltz to his mind, its lilting cadence urging him to accept what they had between them. Still, he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t ever be dishonest with her, of all people.
“Don’t you want to know—”
She stopped him, placing two cool fingers across his lips, smiling at the tickle of his moustache against her skin. The smile faded as she absorbed the worry in his expression, the smoldering fire in his eyes, and made it her own.
“Not now, I don’t. You asked me—earlier—if I felt it. Whatever it is between us. I do.” Debating with herself, she hesitated a moment before coming to a decision. “I want you, Rafe,” she murmured. “I trust you.” She nuzzled his neck.“It doesn’t matter now, who—or what—you are.”
His hand closed in a fist around the shimmering satin of her copper hair, his chest filling with a sweet peace at her quiet words.
Dead...alive...Mexican...American...man...ghost...angel...
His mind churned as Jenni kissed him once again. Accepting him, for whoever he might be. She loved him. She hadn’t said it yet, but he knew it by the gentle way her lips grazed across his, then claimed his mouth completely, as if that was the only way she had to let him know how she felt. They breathed together, as one.
He answered her wordlessly, his tongue going into her mouth, fingers splaying and tightening against her scalp as he pulled her to him.
She came across his bare chest, the stiffness of the material of her own blouse gliding with gentle abrasion across his nipples. He groaned in pleasure and felt her smile against his mouth. She made the move again as she lifted her lips from his, emerald eyes sparkling into his searing gaze.
“We’ll talk later,” she assured him.
“It’ll be too late to change your mind about me then,” he said, half-jokingly.
“I won’t change my mind, Rafe.”
The sweet sincerity in her voice and the promise in her eyes reassured him. He pulled her down silently. As their mouths melded once more, he rolled, taking her with him, changing their positions so he lay atop her.
She gasped, yielding to him, her cool palms sliding over the fevered heat of his skin, across his chest and shoulders. He began to unbutton her blouse as he kissed her, his fingers moving deftly. He pushed away the first layer of material with his customary impatience, then started on the stays of her corset.
She twisted beneath him at the loosening of the undergarment. He pulled her upright momentarily, whisking blouse and corset over her head, dropping them in a heap on the floor.
In silent invitation, Jenni lifted her hand to him. She touched his side, and he flinched slightly as her fingers lingered over the very place the Bowie had gone into him earlier that day. Even though a red scar marked the spot, there was no pain for him, and he saw no puzzlement in her eyes...only concern.
“Does it hurt?”
It was as he had suspected. She’d seen what had happened, how bad it should have been...but wasn’t. And she had accepted it, unconditionally. They would talk later, as she’d said, but somehow, he felt he would find the words he needed to explain things to her. He shook his head slightly. “No.”
A vulnerable uncertainty crossed her face for a moment. “Well, then, Marshal—what’re you waiting for?” He unfastened her skirt and petticoat, then made short work of the stockings and underpants.
God. Rafe swallowed hard, reaching to trace the faded tan lines across her shoulders. He moistened his lips, his teeth sinking into the lower one momentarily. His pulse raced as his gaze moved over her face—then lower, to her breasts, her flat belly, and the triangle of soft hair, below.
