Thursday, August 29, 2013

In the Spotlight: Lynde Lakes

I have to apologize again for I promised to have it up on the 28th. But Lynde Lakes, thank you so much for the very interesting recount about you and cowboy suspense stories, and look! It's the first chapter of her newest book, Cowboy Lies.

            COWBOY LIES-Book I of Ryan Ranch Trilogy
                                   Romantic Suspense
                                      By Lynde Lakes
Hi, I’m Lynde Lakes, author of romantic suspense, paranormal suspense, mainstream, and non-fiction.
One of the first questions I hear when I discuss the Ryan Ranch “stand alone” books is:  What inspired me to write a cowboy story?
My answer is simple.  The idea jelled from a life experience in my teens, when everything was a super big deal.  I kept a daily journal the summer I lived on a ranch and the entries helped me write COWBOY LIES, LASSO THAT COWBOY, UNDERCOVER COWBOY, and COWBOY IN MY SIGHTS.
For me, writing cowboy stories was an exciting vicarious journey to research, read and write about rough Texas men.  And when the cattleman-bull rider is a semi-retired Fed, you can count on someone getting thrown—and killed.
To set the mood to write my cowboy books, I wear a special diamond pin shaped like a boot that I purchased in Dallas Texas and wear my fringed denim vest.  While writing about folks in the Ryan Ranch territory, I played all my favorite country western and Mexican tunes and pasted up snapshots of cowboys, rodeos and pictures from a Miss Rodeo contest.
I need to add that all of my stories including my cowboy stories are romantic suspense plots.  That’s what I write romantic suspense.
I’m clarifying that because every romance genre is different with emphasis on different things.  If you haven’t sampled all the genres, you won’t know if you like romance novels. 

                                               Chapter One
Terrifying Memory Flashes of blood-splattered walls and an empty baby crib warns Molly to trust no one.  Especially, not this hot cowboy.
       Nothing felt right—nothing felt familiar—nothing jogged memories. Even her own name sounded strange to her ears, if it was her name. Molly Ryan? That mellow name didn’t fit the fire blazing in her gut and that scared the hell out of her.  Married. Was she really married?
She had begged to stay at the hospital. She’d felt safe there, and had grown to trust Dr. De La Fuente during her months of treatment. That is, until he released her to this stranger in tight blue jeans and told her to trust the guy. How could she trust a Stetson-wearing hunk of testosterone like him? God, he was pacing next to the fireplace like a fenced-in wild stallion. The initial shock of learning that she might be shackled to this hard-edged cowboy slid closer to full-fledged panic. Did he expect her to share his bedroom tonight?
Lamplight reflected and magnified his shadow on the wall, his movements feral, agitated. Did he resent that she’d been thrust on him in this bewildered condition? Would he turn that barely-contained anger on her? She shivered, fighting an urge to bolt. “I can’t be married to you. Nothing seems right!”
He paused, and his piercing gaze locked with hers—the intensity sent chills along her nerve endings. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one, Molly,” he drawled. “We’re hitched.”
There was that trust word again. Before she could respond, he wheeled around and headed out of the room. This was unreal. The possibility that she’d ever loved this man, let alone married him, was as remote as finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Fighting the warning instinct twisting her insides, and using the strength of that growing fear, she chased him down the hallway, running to keep up. “Not so fast, cowboy. What did you say your name was again?”
He’d told her a number of times—she’d repeated the name Matt Ryan over and over in her mind, trying in vain to trigger anything that would indicate a past with him—but she wanted to keep him talking while she attempted to put things together in small circles, feeling her way.
He paused and gave her a hard look. “Okay, one more time,” he said in a low, tight voice. “I’m Matthew Ryan, Matt for short, is that so danged hard to remember?”
It wasn’t; so why didn’t his name trigger a memory?  With searching fingers, she touched the tender spot where the needle had gone in. The drugs the doctor had shot into her veins to keep her calm during her long helicopter ride from the private hospital somewhere along the Mexico border to this South Texas ranch had pretty much worn off, and her head was getting clearer by the minute. The doctor had diagnosed her memory loss as traumatic-amnesia, fugue state, whatever that was.
Matt turned his back on her again and continued down the hall. His tall, lean body was custom-built to wear those hip-hugging, faded blue jeans. When he reached a closed door down the hall, he opened it and entered.
Before crossing the threshold, she peeked in. Please don’t let this be his bedroom. She sighed in relief at the sight of pastel walls, a rocking chair, baby articles, and a crib. An image of an empty crib flashed in her mind. She stiffened until she saw the baby inside, kicking its feet in delight. She had an urge to gather the baby into her arms and run, but where? Why?
Her gaze flew to Matt. His shoulders and chest filled his royal blue chambray shirt in a way that made him look altogether too formidable. She shivered. Maybe she had known him before. If so, what had he done to her in the past that just looking at him gave her the urge to pound his impressive chest?
What did the flash of memory about an empty crib mean? Perhaps she could rein in her fear if she knew the basis of her anger and that fight-or-flight feeling.
      The Stetson shading his eyes increased her sense of uneasiness. When he’d picked her up at the doctor’s house, he’d worn the Stetson. She assumed he’d taken it off during the helicopter flight, but she couldn’t swear to it. She spent the trip on a cot behind the cockpit, drifting in and out of consciousness. When they left the craft, he had it on again.
To squelch her growing anxiety, she took a deep breath. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so small if she gathered her courage and cut him down to size. “Isn’t it rude to wear a hat in the house in Texas?”
Matt looked her up and down, then took off his Stetson and tossed it across the room. It hooked over one of the two protruding spiky knobs on the back of the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. He still looked dangerous. His black, wavy hair fell across his forehead in a bad-boy look and thick strands curled in a rugged line across his collar. “Better?” he asked, raising a devilish eyebrow.
“Er.  Yes. Thanks.” She swallowed to clear her constricted throat. “There’s something else you can help me with.”
He shifted his weight. “Fire away. I’ll help if I can.”
“Well, I’ve got your name down pat now, but I need to hear the other stuff again.”
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. “All right, for the last time, I’m the owner of this cattle ranch. You’re my wife Molly, and this is our baby Sara Jane.” He gestured to the baby lying in the crib with her big blue eyes fixed on the tinkling zoo-mobile revolving over her head.
Molly gripped the railing of the crib. “I can accept that this is my baby—”
“Our baby,” he corrected in a deep voice that vibrated through her.
She took a breath to calm her thudding heart. “Okay, our baby. But this doesn’t feel like my home. I don’t feel safe. Why is that?”
Matt didn’t quite look her in the eye. “The doctor gave you something. Maybe your paranoia is a side effect. It’ll pass. You have nothing to fear here.”
“Paranoia? That’s not it. I have a good reason to feel the way I do.”
Sara Jane cooed and waved her little fists. With that cap of curly red hair, the baby could be hers. Suddenly, a desire to hold Sara Jane overwhelmed her.  Would it feel right? She lifted the baby into her arms and drew her close, inhaling baby powder and the sweet smell of baby oil.  She loved her, no doubt about that, but she felt sure she’d love any baby. “How old is she?”
“Three months.” Matt took the baby’s small hand in his large callused one. His gesture brought him too close for comfort, and Molly stepped back.
To avoid looking into his eyes, she looked down at her flat belly. “Shouldn’t I be more rounded if I had a baby so recently?”
Matt threw his hands up in the air. “For crying out loud! You just got out of the hospital. You’ve been ill. Remember?”
“That’s just it, I don’t remember, and you know it.”
His eyes softened. “Be patient; it’ll all come back.”
“Will it?” What if this wasn’t her life at all? “My name doesn’t even fit me.”
Matt laughed without humor. “Yeah, well. I’ll have to agree with that. With that auburn hair and spitfire tongue, you should’ve been named Blaze or Flame.”
Molly glared at him. Could she really be married to this cowboy Neanderthal? She jostled the baby, reveling in her warmth against her breast.  This was the only part of this insanity that did feel right.

Books at Amira Press
VIRGIN WOLF I Paranormal Romantic Intrigue
ISBN; 978-1-936279-41-8
ISBN  978-1-936-279--1
DEADLY INFLUENCE--Romantic Intrigue/thriller
COWBOY LIES, Romantic suspense/thriller  ISBN # 978-1-935-348-05-4.
Four-star review Romantic Times Book Reviews
Print & E-book format
Print & E-book formaT
Four Rose Novelspot Review
Four-Star Review-Romantic Times
Available in E-book format
DEADLY INFLUENCE, romantic suspense
Print & E-Book format
Evernight: www.evernight
Solstice Publishing
Wild Rose Press
Available in print and e-book

1 comment:

  1. Thanks, Iyana, for having me as a guest. You have an intriguing blog and I was honored to be a part of it today.