This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Pamela Gibson will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The year is 1847…

… Gabriel de la Vega, disgraced son of a Mexican ranchero, returns to his Alta California home when Americans take power to help his countrymen with the bewildering transition and make amends to the woman he once wronged.

Fiercely independent, Isabella Fuentes swore she’d never forgive Gabriel for abandoning her on the night they were to elope. Now he’s back, playing a dangerous game, pretending to be meek and repentant when she knows the handsome, former outlaw is anything but contrite.

When a series of accidents threaten Isabella’s safety, Gabriel offers an outrageous solution: the protection of a brief civil marriage. Isabella is tempted. But can she rely on a man who once betrayed her and can she trust her foolish heart to let him go when the danger has passed?

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“Now it’s our turn.” Gabriel’s breath was warm on her neck as he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “However, I must say, the view from this position is quite uplifting.”

She glanced down at her cleavage and blushed furiously. He could see down the front of her dress? The man had no manners. “Then perhaps you should sit beside me, so others do not notice how uplifted you are.”

“Ah, Isabella. I see you have quite recovered from your afternoon . . . shall we say, malaise?” His breath warmed her ear again.

He had been there.

She tried to appear indignant, but his laughter was robust and infectious. The corners of her mouth curved up despite her wish to express disapproval.

She curled her fingers around his arm as he led her to the dance floor, where they joined the bride and groom, whirling across the room. Isabella let her feet flow to the rhythm of the music, as seductive as the sound of waves kissing the beach on a warm summer night. The heat from Gabriel’s body reached out to hers, the slight pressure of his hand on her waist pulling her closer until it was almost an embrace.

She was barely aware of the other couples joining them. The waltz was still relatively new to the California social scene but had grown in popularity, and many knew the steps. Isabella let herself drift, fitting perfectly in her partner’s arms, basking in his special scent as they twirled around the room without speaking, lost in the moment.

If only it could go on forever. It wouldn’t. The music would end, and she and Gabriel would go back to their feigned politeness, their barbed comments, and their mocking innuendoes. She was Isabella Fuentes, widow and owner of a prosperous ranch her husband had trained her to run, alone.

And he was Gabriel de la Vega, scion of a wealthy family, exonerated outlaw, a man who would one day inherit a ranch as large as her own.

Held tightly in his arms, their bodies gliding together to the sounds of the beautiful Strauss waltz, she pretended they still meant something to each other. It was a dream, as elusive as a flash of memory, sharp and insistent, refusing to fade as it all came back to her.

Gabriel de la Vega had vanished from her life on the day they were to elope, and she had vowed she would never forgive him.

About the Author:Author of eight books on California history and thirteen romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in the Nevada desert. Having spent the last three years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of Ralp, the Rescue Cat.

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Pamela Gibson will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Often, I read about authors lamenting the fact their well is dry. They’ve turned in their latest work and they’re not sure what to write about next.

Inspiration comes in many forms. It can be a thought while watching a fan scramble for a foul ball at baseball game, a pretty young girl with a black eye striding along a dock in a remote part of Canada, a woman crying softly in a restroom in a marina in South Carolina.

My inspiration generally comes from characters in other books I’ve written. In Scandal’s Bride, my current release, Lady Gwendolyn appears in the first book as a no-nonsense, impetuous bluestocking who is more interested in intriguing people than societal rules. A woman like that would cringe under the thumb of a well-meaning father who wants to marry her off to someone she despises. She would want to control her own destiny if she can.

John, younger brother of the hero in Scandal’s Child, also has a dilemma. He’s inherited a crumbling estate in faraway Yorkshire. He needs money and when Gwen pours out her dilemma to her best friend, a story is born.

There’s another character in need of a story in both of those books and happily, Lady Emily Sinclair will be getting her book next.

Years ago, when I began writing, I lived in the Northern California wine country. So many stories presented themselves. Most wine country books are about wealthy families who own wineries. I wanted to write about the people who work for them. My Love in Wine Country series came to be. The first three books are about the Reynoso sisters and their male cousins. The other books in the series were spin offs from the first and characters appear in all six.

Living on a boat off and on for four years, and cruising waters on both U.S. coasts and in Canada, gave me lots of ideas to store away for future use. My advice to writers who have lost their muse is this: look around you, sit in a restaurant or coffee shop and study the patrons, read the news on your smart phone. Start with a kernel of an idea and play with it. Do a few “what ifs.” Set it aside if nothing comes to you, and try again with another story.

Most of all believe in yourself and your ability. Once a few words get on a page, your ideas will begin to flow. Remember the famous quote, most often attributed to Nora Roberts. “You can’t edit a blank page.” It’s my mantra.

Marry in haste…

Lady Gwendolyn Pettigrew longs to be a mother, but refuses to marry the lecherous old fool her father has found for her. When her best friend convinces her to consider her husband’s younger brother as a suitable candidate, Gwen agrees to a marriage of convenience, hoping against hope that her dream of becoming a mother will have a chance.

The Hon. John Montague, a penniless younger son, is handsome, witty, and thrilled that a woman with a dowry has agreed to wed him. Best of all she’s a fiercely independent bluestocking, a woman who won’t want to bother with a family. Because John has a shocking secret. He’s vowed never to bring a child into the world, a child who, like his own mother, might carry the strain of madness.

As secrets unfold, tension grows, threatening the fragile bonds they’ve forged. Worse, someone wants them to abandon their home and leave Yorkshire, and they’ll stop at nothing to make it happen.

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“May I come in?”

A frisson of excitement made every nerve ending tingle in anticipation. Did he want to consummate their marriage tonight? She looked down at her serviceable white cotton nightgown with its high neck and long sleeves. She’d put it on because it was heavy and warm. If she’d known John would be joining her in her bed, she would have left her hair loose and worn the pretty gown Miranda had given her as a wedding gift.

Oh Lord, oh Lord.

She let out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she called out, “Come in.”

He poked his head through the door. His coat and waistcoat were off, and his cravat was in his hand. He looked mussed and adorable.

“I want to apologize for my behavior. I shouldn’t have run off like I did. I was feeling . . . ill-tempered . . . and didn’t want to subject you to my mood. I promise not to do it again.”

She peeked over the top of her covers. “You are forgiven. But I must say I was worried about you. Where did you go?”

“I rode toward the village, turned around, and came back. I gave my horse a good gallop and then a rub down in the stable.”

“I see.” She paused, not knowing what else to say.

He smiled. “We’ll play whist tomorrow night. I know you enjoy the game.”

“I shall look forward to it.”

“Good night, Gwen.” He closed the door firmly, and his footsteps echoed down the hall.

Why were her eyes filling with tears?

About the Author:Author of eight books on California history and twelve romance novels, Pamela Gibson is a former City Manager who lives in the Nevada desert. Having spent the last three years messing about in boats, a hobby that included a five-thousand-mile trip in a 32-foot Nordic Tug, she now spends most of her time indoors happily reading, writing, cooking and keeping up with the antics of her gran-cats, gran-dog, and gran-fish. Sadly, the gran-lizard went to his final reward.

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