I am happy to welcome fellow Wild Rose Press Author C.B. Clark to share her faithful friend, Jazz, with us and a bit about her new romantic suspense.
C.B. Clark: I’ve always loved Tom T. Hall’s song lyrics: “Ain’t but three things in this world that’s worth a solitary dime, but old dogs and children and watermelon wine.” I’ve never tried watermelon wine, I like kids, but I love old dogs. There’s something about their calm, trusting gentleness that tugs at my heart.
My dog, Jazz, is a thirteen-year-old German Shorthaired Pointer. That’s ninety-six in human years. Her eyebrows have turned white, her face grizzled and her eyes cloudy. Her once svelte, leanly muscled body has sagged, her back legs bowed from arthritis. She used to be filled to the brim with frenetic energy and needed two long walks every day to tire her out. Even then she’d grab the old tattered soccer ball and beg me to kick it for her so she could run and catch it, barking in happiness the whole time. She’d leap like a deer over fallen trees, and race ahead on the trail, and sprint back, again and again as if telling me to hurry.
Now as I watch her struggle to rise from her soft bed and lumber painfully along a forest path, tears thicken my throat. Every once in a while, there are flashes of her puppy playfulness. When she digs in her toy box for a well-chewed stuffy and whines until I toss it for her to retrieve, or when she scents a grouse in the forest and her old body stiffens and she forms a perfect point, her tail wagging a mile a minute in excitement and pride.
A unique bond develops between an older dog and its owner. Maybe it’s their gazes filled with patience, wisdom, and acceptance. Maybe it’s the certain knowledge that time with your pet is limited. You relish every minute you have together.
I still take my old girl on daily walks, meandering from one smell to another enjoying each other’s company and living each minute to the fullest. Even as I write this blog, Jazz is lying beside me snoring contentedly. Every once in a while, she lifts her head and watches me as if to say, ‘We’re in this together, old friend.’ Yes, Tom T Hall had it right. Old dogs are one of life’s special treasures.
Beth: I totally agree. Older dogs are, indeed, special. Deeply so. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss my dear Sadie. Jazz sounds like a wonderful friend and treasure.
Sharla-Jean Bromley returns to her hometown after a seventeen-year absence with vengeance in her heart. From the very beginning, her plans go awry when she meets devastatingly handsome Josh Morgan, the man to whom her father left half of his multi-million dollar lumber mill.
Josh, suspicious of Sharla-Jean’s reasons for returning to town after such a long absence, vows to keep control of the company he feels is rightfully his. She is equally determined to prove she can run her father’s mill, even though it means working side-by-side with Josh, a man whose very presence evokes an attraction that is increasingly difficult for her to ignore. In the process, they must overcome a villain who’s determined to destroy both the lumber mill and their lives.
Will Sharla-Jean succeed and heal the anguish that has long filled her soul? Wills he and Josh find the passion of a lifetime?
Even as the dreaded word reared like a monster inside her head, a thin trickle of smoke crept out of the dark storage room. Terrifying images of flame, smoke and searing heat threatened to overwhelm her. For a nightmare second, she was back in the midst of scorching heat and roaring flames.
Using all her strength of will, she tore free of the chilling memories. Instead of fleeing, she placed one wobbly step in front of the other and shuffled toward the storage room. Her nostrils flared at the acrid tang of gasoline and smoke. With a shaking hand, she gripped the door handle and opened the door.
A figure burst out of the darkness, crashing into her, knocking her back.
She yelped at the pain of the blow and the shock of falling. A jolt of agony and blinding light as her head hit something hard.
Heavy boots pounded across the tile floor. Cold air washed over her. And then darkness.
Buy links for Bitter Legacy:
The Wild Rose Press
C.B. Clark has always loved reading, especially romances, but it wasn’t until she lost her voice for a year that she considered writing her own romantic suspense stories. She grew up in Canada’s Northwest Territories and Yukon. Graduating with a degree in Anthropology and Archaeology, she has worked as an archaeologist and an educator, teaching students from the primary grades through the first year of college. She enjoys hiking, canoeing, and snowshoeing with her husband and dog near her home in the wilderness of central British Columbia.
Social Media Links:
Amazon Author Page https://www.amazon.com/C.-B.-Clark/e/B01BK61TQG/