Jenny Haddon and Liz Fielding have tagged me in a meme in which I am supposed to go to page 77 of my book, then to line , and then quote the next 7 lines.  Then I’m supposed to tag 7 more writers to do the same.

Er . . .

I think they’ve already tagged all seven writers I know. But we’ll see.

In the meantime, I thought maybe I would pick the lines from Savas’s Wildcat, currently in bookshops, because, well, I can stand to look at it again, as opposed to the book I’ve just finished and sent in and NEVER WANT TO SEE AGAIN – for the moment, at least.

So, here are the lines (which you have to take with a grain of something because who knows how many lines they turned out to be in the actual book). Well, if I had a copy of the actual book with me, I would know, but I don’t. 

“I’ll have to move her to San Francisco.” Cat said, thinking aloud, trying to figure things out because Gran wouldn’t be able to live with her there, either. She lived in a third floor walk-up herself. Maybe she could find a short-term studio apartment lease. Or an assisted living place or —
    “Why?” Yiannis’s question broke into her darting thoughts.
    “Because she can’t climb stairs! Weren’t you listening?”
    Yiannis swung Harry up onto his shoulders and gave her a long-suffering look.  “I was listening, but I didn’t hear him say anything about her having to move to San Francisco. There are street level accommodations on the island.”
    “They’ll cost a mint.” Balboa was a tourist destination. A summer holiday mecca of note.
    “She’s already paying rent,” Yiannis said mildly.
    “Exactly. Stupidest thing she ever did, selling her house.” Cat glared at him, even though logically it wasn’t his fault.

Looks like more than seven to me, but hey, what I can I say? Think of it as seven paragraphs.

Hope you all had a happy Easter/Passover/long weekend.  We celebrated a son’s birthday, dyed Easter eggs, played math games with flash cards (who knew 7 year olds could make an actual game out of it?), had the traditional lasagna dinner (birthday tradition, not Easter tradition), enjoyed cake and ice cream.  And then the kids had an Easter egg hunt with flashlights after dark in the rain. 

A good time was had by all.

And I’ve tagged:

Trish Morey

Sandra Marton

Abby Green

Trisha Ashley

Jane Porter

Anne Gracie

Kate Walker

But they left behind 3 wonderful contest winners who will each be receiving copies of all three of our current books.

My winner this year was Colleen from Arizona. Mitch and Micah picked her entry out of the treat basket.

Kate’s winner was Natalija from Italy. And Liz’s winner was Carol from New Jersey.

We – and our grooms — thank them and all the other readers who took the time to read the excerpts and answer the questions.  You are all stars!

For those who didn’t win, but whose interest was – I hope – piqued by the excerpt, keep an eye out for Yiannis’s book, Savas’s Wildcat, coming later this month from Presents Extra and Mills & Boon Modern. 

In the meantime, I’m just about to send off what I hope will be a Christmas book this year (at long last).

Goodness this book has been around a long time.  Even so, I’ll be sad to see the back of Alexandros Antonides and Daisy Connolly. They’ve been good (if exasperating) company for the past months.

Yiannis here. Anne has no doubt mentioned me lately. She tells me that my life is about to change, that Big Things are happening.

Really?  All I want is a good night’s sleep.

I just got back from the Far East. Business trip.  Long days. Strange cities. Forests, because I import fine woods. Saw mills. Furniture makers.  I’ve seen them all.

And all I wanted to see when I got back was my own mattress – for about ten hours straight.

Apparently life is what happens when you’re trying to get a good night’s sleep.

I felt like my head had barely hit the pillow when the phone rang and it was my neighbor, Maggie Newell.

Maggie is eighty-something. She should be slowing down, taking it easy, staying off of ladders. All of the above.

But no one dares tell Maggie that because Maggie has her own mind – and Maggie Knows Best.

Except in this case, for once, she asked me for a favor

To take her to the hospital?!

My day – my week, my life! – started to go downhill from there. 

You’ll find out what happened if you read my book, Savas’s Wildcat, which is coming out in a month of so. Suffice to say, the Wildcat and I tangle a bit a lot.  The Wildcat is Maggie’s granddaughter, Catriona MacLean. 

Catriona – who definitely should be called Cat – is a seriously tempting, feisty  woman in a curvy, piles of wavy auburn hair, eyes the color of a stormy sea, half a million freckles on golden soft skin sort of way.  I thought so from the minute I first saw her. 

Once upon a time for a little while she and I were . . . together . . . lovers . . . friends.

Now we’re not.

Don’t look at me like that.  I’m not the bad guy.  We just wanted different things out of life. 

She’s engaged now  — to Mr Perfect.  Which I am not, as she would no doubt tell you. 

So, given that she has a ring on her finger and a man to call her own. and is about to get her heart’s desire — a real honest-to-goodness family of her very own — why does she  have to turn up back in MY life?

Why does she have to constantly stir me things up?