Like a tiger prowling the darkest jungles, Sam Brightwater always sidestepped the terrifying trap of love. Still, he vowed to settle down. Start a traditional family. Do his tribe proud.
So the last woman Sam should have been attracted to was blue-eyed Julia Stedman, the half-Cheyenne visitor sampling her heritage before scurrying back to her ultramodern world. But Julia got under Sam's skin like a stubborn, sexy burr. And soon they were making love--making a baby!--and making mincemeat of Sam's grand plan....
"My Life as a Romance Writer" or "What's a Nice Gal Like Me Doing in a Business Like This?"
I despise writing these little autobiographical essays... Honestly, if my personal life were a novel, it would put any intelligent reader to sleep in 2.3 seconds. You all know the drill: married to her college sweetheart, two talented, gorgeous, and adorable children, sweet little dog, lives in a nice neighborhood in a nice little city in lovely Washington state.
All of the above is absolutely true, but why on earth should anyone else care? Bleah! How bland! How unoriginal! How boring!
I could make up some stuff to give my story a little more zing, but that would defeat the whole purpose of this essay, which is to let readers know a little bit about me. You really want to know about me? Read my books.
My friends and relatives swear that I write exactly the way I talk. My characters tend to have the same, slightly warped sense of humor that I do. Many of my characters are dog lovers; so am I. None of my lead female characters are cleaning freaks; trust me, neither am I. In short, I tend to write about the kinds of people I would choose for my close friends.
That's really how I got started writing romances. I suppose we had just moved to Broadus, Montana, and had produced daughter number one. Job opportunities for me were scarce, and frankly, I really needed something to do besides obsess over whether or not I was a perfect enough mother. One day I picked up a romance novel that was set on a ranch in Texas. The male characters were all cowboys.
I looked out my window and saw one pickup truck after another drive by, and this nagging little voice in my head said, "You know lots of cowboys. You could write about cowboys." That darn little voice never did shut up until I sat down at the kitchen table and gave it a shot.
Out of that experiment came a writing career and a whole bunch of great friends (even if some of them are imaginary) to occupy my mind. Since that first book, I've never really been lonely, and I've never really thought of doing anything else for a living.