Hear The Wind Blow, Love By Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

I write in much the same way I breathe – it’s essential. I made up stories long before I learned to read or write. Once I mastered reading, it became and remains a favorite pastime but I enjoy writing as much. When I’m putting together a new work of fiction, it’s like reading intensified. I’m in charge and the story goes where I take it. My characters, my settings, all become very real to me and when I finish, I go into emotional withdrawal. I’m celebrating the release of my 18th full-length novel from Rebel Ink Press (and twenty-fifth overall) this month with my latest historical romance, Hear The Wind Blow, Love.

One lucky reader who comments on my blog will be randomly selected to win an eBook copy of Hear The Wind Blow, Love. Good luck!

Without any further ado, here’s the blurb:

When the Armistice ends the Great War in November 1918, the end comes too late to save Maude Whitney’s husband, Jamie.  But Maude realizes her heart still belongs to Harry, her brother-in-law who courted her first.  He’s been her rock in Jamie’s absence while they shared quarters with the grandparents who raised the brothers. But Granpa died and Granny moved to town so when Maude invites him to move back under the same roof, it’s sure to be a scandal in the rural Ozarks.

Before gossiping tongues can spread the news, the Spanish influenza wreaks havoc in the area.  It brings death close to home for Maude and Harry.  As they fall deeper in love and plan to wed, their troubles are just beginning.  Old feuds erupt and the day after Christmas, Harry’s hauled into custody and accused of a murder he didn’t commit.  Harry must prove his innocence and survive a serious bout of flu or there’s no happy ending for the star-crossed couple.

Here’s an excerpt to whet your appetite:

Despite an occasional hitch in his bum leg, they sailed around the room in graceful rhythm and for Maude, the large, bare room in the old farmhouse vanished. She twirled in Harry’s arms through a ballroom of her imagination, some place she’d never seen but in pictures and those rare. Maude dreamed up a wide room with beautiful black and white tiles on the floor and golden tapestries hung from the walls. Princes and their consorts, dukes and their duchesses danced beside them and the scent of soft pine mingled with roses in the hall.

She became someone else, a titled lady or a fairytale princess for those moments, and basked in the glow of dreams. Her plain, ordinary housedress became a gown made from the finest silk or satin, edged in lace. Every flounce and furbelow trimmed the imaginary garment and she could all but feel the swish of the rich cloth against her legs. Although Harry offered more than the average man’s share of romantic moments, this one ranked high and Maude knew she’d keep this memory forever. She’d talk about it to her daughters and granddaughters if she had any, the story preserved and pressed into her heart like flowers into a memory book. Only toward the end of their dance did she realize Harry had hummed the tune throughout so the music wasn’t just in her head.

Jamie would’ve never done this. He’d said it was hug dancing and wrong, sinful. If I danced alone, he would’ve mocked me, laughed and told me to stop being so silly. He didn’t have a dream in his head, I don’t think. For a moment, Maude felt a pang at her thoughts and wondered if she was disloyal. She considered it and decided no, she recognized reality. And the truth wasn’t wrong, it just was. Then she put Jamie, poor dead Jamie, out of her mind and waltzed with Harry, living a dream and feeling a rush of love powerful enough to shoot them to the stars. Maude had never danced with such joy. No wonder they call it tripping the light fantastic!

When they stopped, Harry released her and then bowed to her, courtly as any fine gentleman might. His words confirmed he’d shared a similar fantasy as they waltzed.

“Thank you for the dance, my dear lady,” he said. His grin fired her happiness like a match to a candle wick and she laughed, her finger tracing the outline of his mouth.

With the fanciest pose she could strike, Maude replied, “You’re most welcome, sir. Dare I hope for the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening?”

“You may,” he said. Then Harry stopped playacting and pulled Maude against him.

He kissed her, a deep slow caress with his mouth. His lips teased and tickled and cherished as heat flamed between them, potent as moonshine. Maude wasn’t a drinker. She’d had no more than a little hard cider, twice, and once a half glass of homemade Muscat wine, but she recalled the sense of warmth, the slight giddy feeling that came after drinking. Harry’s kiss infused her with something similar and intoxicated her senses. He poured all his love into the kiss and she drank it deep, then gave it back. He didn’t hurry the kiss and his arms lingered around her but there was no hurry, nothing pressing. After a long, comfortable span, he sighed with contentment. “You’re the eighth wonder of the world, Maudie,” Harry said. “I’m not much good with words and I don’t say it pretty or often but I love you, woman.”

Here’s the book trailer:

And here’s where you can find me:

Twitter: leeannwriter
From Sweet to Heat: The Romance of Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/e/B004JPBM6I

My Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/#!/leeann.sontheimermurphy
A Page In The Life: http://leeannsontheimermurphywriterauthor.blogspot.com
Rebel Writer: Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/e/B004JPBM6I
TRR/Manic: http://www.goodreads.com/author/list/4543214.Lee_Ann_Sontheimer_Murphy