Where were you born, Gail? Miramichi, New Brunswick, Canada.
What do you like most about where you live now? The changing of the seasons, peacefulness, closeness to nature.
What’s your favorite season? Autumn beyond any doubt!
Do you have any personal heroes/heroines? My family…husband and children.
What is the worst job you ever had? Retrieving files after a computer crash.
I know the feeling! Do you have any hobbies? Reading, enjoying my dogs and family, cooking.
What is your feeling about social media? It depends on who is using it and for what purpose. It can be amazingly wonderful or astounding evil.
Tell us something you are really good at/proud of. I’d like to think I’m a reasonably good writer. Most proud of? Again my family…and also my dogs.
Can you confide something you wish you were better at? I adore horses but I’m the world’s worst rider. I think my dear old mare used to shudder every time she saw me enter the stable.
What’s your pet peeve? Violence and cruelty depicted graphically in the media.
Me too! Do you like animals? I love animals. I’ve been a devoted canine and equine fancier all of my life. One of my latest books is entitled “To All the Dogs I’ve Loved Before”, a tribute to the dogs who have brightened my days and warmed my nights.
What do you enjoy most/least about being a published author? Most? The thrill of seeing a book accepted, then published. Least? Promotion. For a shy, introvert like myself, it’s a major stumbling block.
How do you deal with writer’s block? Immodestly, I have to say I’ve never experienced one. There have (thankfully) always been more stories cavorting around in my brain than I’ll probably survive long enough to write.
Wonderful! To what do you attribute your success as a writer? Although I don’t see myself as a hugely successful writer, whatever success I’ve had, I attribute to persistence and the ability to deal with acceptances and rejections in proper perspective.
Where do you find inspiration for your stories? Here, I have to reply in a similar fashion to Agatha Christie when asked what inspired her to produce Hercule Poirot. She said she didn’t have any idea, he just appeared. That’s the way it is with most of my story inspirations.
I understand what you mean. Tell us about your latest release. My latest book, Cowboy Confessions, is due for August or September, 2016 publication from The Wild Rose Press. It’s the story of a bull rider who is seriously injured at a rodeo. Bitter and disillusioned, he leaves Alberta to hide out on a dilapidated farm in New Brunswick. His mother, not content to see her son waste his life, sends a young woman noted for her success in healing injured and traumatized horses to get him back on his feet.
I love the cover. Is it part of a series? Yes, it’s the second book in a series I’m tentatively entitling Cowboy Family. The first book is Counterfeit Cowboy, an Amazon Encore Select title. The third, currently in the words, is Cowboy Country Christmas.
Buy links Amazon Encore Select ASIN:B0145P8JOY (Available Oct 12th 2016).
“What?” Astounded by the offer, Jessi stared up at him.
“Dance. With you to support me, I think I might be able to handle this old tune.”
“Ross, what are you up to?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him.
“Nothing, nothing. The desire to try just came to me. But if you don’t want to…”
“No, no, of course not.”
Can’t discourage any bit of initiative he’s willing to try.
He laid his cane up against the veranda railing and took her into his arms. For a moment, he hesitated, looking up at her through the soft black veil of summer night shadows. A butterfly feeling fluttered inside her.
“It’s been a long time.” he muttered, and Jessi didn’t know if he meant since he’d danced or since he’d held a woman in his arms.
“All the more reason to get back in the game.” She struggled to sound casual.
“Okay, let’s give this a go.”
As he drew her against his body and his hand found the small of her back, she caught the scent of his after shave and was struck by a myriad of sensations so powerful they knocked her physically and emotionally off balance. When he started to move slowly, cautiously in time to the music, she stumbled.
“Sorry,” he said softly, his lips close to her ear. “I warned you.”
“My fault,” she managed, but the words sounded falsetto and shaky. She tried for a recovery. “You’re doing just fine.”
“Am I?” He drew her out from him enough to look down into her face. “Am I, Jessi Wallace?”