Ripped From the Pages... #MuseMonday #Inspiration #wrpbks

 MUSE MONDAY

When I don't have a guest on Muse Monday, I'll share excerpts with photos that inspired scenes from my books. The scenes are most likely never before shared excerpts. 

One afternoon, hanging with my sister, she complained about her last disappointing date. She was divorced, and sick of dating and being single. I always told her, jokingly, “you've had more men in your life than any one woman deserves, so buck up.” I suggested her dating life would make great fodder for a short story. I sat at my computer and told her to recite a characterization of every man she'd dated, starting with the ill-fated relationship with the G.I. in Germany who took her on a date to the Black Forest and didn't get past the first tree, so to speak. I titled the working file "Of Men and Bullshit." 

Over the next few weeks, the story grew. I had so much fun telling the tale of a fifty-year-old woman who’d not found Mr. Right or a career. I added a few fictional escapades, but the men who appear in the book are real enough. And by the way, I couldn’t fit in all of them. Sleeping with the Lights On ended up becoming the first full-length novel I published. 

Ripped from the pages... of Sleeping with the Lights On

A secret admirer, a redheaded stalker, and an eccentric millionaire have thrown Sandra Holiday on a dangerous path. 

Excerpt:

“Carson, have you ever considered dating?” I couldn’t get over the six marriages.

“Dating? You mean instead of marrying.” He shrugged. “I’ve been rethinking it…since Melanie, who next to you was the best marriage I’ve had, and even then she didn’t compare with you. You’ll always be the best. Special.”

He melted me with his choice of words. I couldn’t speak. Carson told me I had been one of those really good things about his life. The adage came to mind—you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.           

“Man, tonight is good chili weather.” He stretched his arms in appreciation of a nice spring

A Minneapolis lake

Minnesota evening. The phrase rang pure Texan. I guess you can’t take Texas out of the Texan no matter how long it’s been. “Let’s do this again tomorrow night, Sandra.”

“I can’t. I have plans,” I said relieved. Sort of. This evening, supposedly a one-time meeting should be a brief hello. I had a life.

“The person who called you earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He actually said good. Why did he find every aspect of my life so pleasing?

“Then lunch?” He took my hand. “We haven’t had nearly enough time to talk. Unless, we extend this night some more.”

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” Actually, it would be a great idea for all the wrong reasons. “I have to get up early for work.” I needed to call Wesley and put Carson out of my mind. Carson Holiday needed to slip back into my past.

“Then I’ll take you to lunch.” He nudged me with his shoulder affectionately.

“When do you go back to Vegas?”

He hesitated. “In a day or two.”

“You sound rather vague.” And still allusive. What could be the big secret about this charity gig he couldn’t divulge?

“I have a few more things to find out. I’ll be out of here as soon as I get all my questions answered. It’s complicated.”

“Carson, honestly, how complicated can a gig—”

He pulled on my hand, bringing me around to face him. We’d reached the edge of my apartment complex. My head said turn and run, but my legs wouldn’t respond, mushy from wine or too much Carson and moonlight. I couldn’t be sure which.

“Have lunch with me tomorrow, darlin’.” He peered into my eyes, not smiling. His hand let go of mine, and his fingers gingerly brushed along my forearm while I couldn’t break the connection of his gaze. “Another hour of your time with a long-lost friend?”

Minneapolis winter

“Yes.” My voice went all husky and come-hither. I wanted to kick myself for being so easy.

“Good. What’s the address of your office?” He took my hand again, leading me toward the door of the building. I struggled to shake off the moon shadows and to remember where I worked. Once inside the building, I took a scrap of paper from my purse and wrote the address.

“And now I’ll walk you to your door and say goodnight,” he said tucking the scrap of paper in his pocket. “Unless you want to have me in for a goodnight drink.”

I didn’t answer. If he’d known my uncertainty about my renewed attraction to him, a little persistence might have made me cave.

“Okay, then—” His mouth gaped.

I followed his bewildered look to my apartment door the scrawl of lipstick.

TRAMP

We both stared at an ordinary piece of white typing paper, taped to my door, with no marks other than the one word. He gave me one of those arched-eyebrow-quizzical looks, but I couldn’t find my voice. We glanced back at the paper like maybe we missed something. The black, block letters couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than what they said. And I knew whose artful hand had branded me.

“What have you been up to since we last saw each other, darlin’?”

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