I write mainly historical romance. My only contemporary is Holly and the Millionaire from TWRP, which is set against the background of the war in Iraq.
What is this woman raving about you might say? The war in Iraq and road rage? What is the connection there? Well, none really. I just thought I would blog about something different, and take off my historical hat and wear a modern one for a change.
Recently, I witnessed a car accident. A truck ran up the back of a woman’s car outside my work place. Luckily no-one was hurt, but this incident brought to the surface something that happened to me more than twenty years ago.
I was involved in a serious accident when a fully laden semi trailer ran into the back of my car, virtually demolishing it. How I survived was a miracle, how I was able to walk away with just a few bruises was even more miraculous. Even the emergency workers who arrived on the scene couldn’t believe it. My car was crushed, the semi-trailer jack-knifed and ended upside down, and the driver had to climb out the window, but all I could blubber about was losing one of my shoes.
Everyone knows me – the lady who sits on or just below the speed limit. The one who gets tail-gated and abused by impatient road users who ignore speed signs.
I always leave a reasonable distance between my car and the one in front of me, only to be out-maneuvered by someone else squeezing into the gap. When the skies open up and the rain buckets down, giving the road surface the texture of an ice-skating rink, I reduce speed, while others roar past leaving fountains of water in their wake.
There are those who abuse me for stopping a few feet from a railway crossing when in a long line of traffic, instead of waiting in the middle of the tracks. Everyone knows the cars in front will move before the train comes. Perish the thought that when the lights do change, someone might stall and hold up the flow, so I’m left like a sitting duck at the mercy of the boom gates crashing on to my roof, or the 5.08 express train, running me into the ground. Selfish individual that I am – don’t I realize everyone else is in a hurry.
Why do I get upset when some maniac passes me on the wrong side of the road? After all I can easily slam on my brakes, and let them in front of me when the third lane they have created peters out. Tough luck if the truck almost sitting an inch away from my bumper bar can’t stop, but a few precious seconds gained, a few extra vehicles passed, means a lot when a driver is in a hurry. Don’t I realize how busy everyone is?
The lights are green in the distance; they change to amber when I am meters away. How can a woman be so stupid? All you have to do is accelerate, as long as your front wheels are at the intersection when the lights turn red, it’ll be o.k. The tooting driver behind me is obviously running late, and there are no police cars around.
One might be moved to ask what all the fuss is about. Everyone knows you have to take risks on the road, show the machine you’re driving who the boss is, intimidate other road users so they know how tough you are. After all, you’ll never have an accident because you’re such an expert driver.
A metamorphosis seems to come over many people when they climb behind the wheel. Their well-mannered, easygoing ways evaporate. They become ruthless predators, waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting victim, whose only crime is that they try to obey all the road laws.
Mrgaret lives in Australia and is a multi-published author with The Wild Rose Press and Whiskey Creek Press.
BLURB: Fleeing from her ruthless English in-laws who are intent on stealing her child, Holly Kirwan boards a flight home to Australia and meets Justin Devereux. They are instantly attracted to each other.
Justin doesn’t want a permanent woman in his life, particularly one with a baby in tow. Holly, still grieving for her soldier husband who was killed in Iraq, doesn’t want to be disloyal to his memory.
Can the young widow and the commitment shy tycoon ever find happiness together?
EXCERPT: Justin Devereux fumed as he strode on board the aircraft. Heads would roll over this debacle. If he hadn’t needed to get out of England so urgently, he would have waited for another flight. To hell with the risk of being grounded by a blizzard.
He showed his ticket to the flight attendant. He hadn’t flown in economy class for years, wouldn’t be doing it today either if he had any say in the matter, either.
“I’m so sorry about this mix-up, Mr. Devereux. The airline did everything it could to get you a last minute business-class seat, but like first class it was completely booked out.”
Well, you didn’t try hard enough, he nearly said, but bit back the angry words. It wasn’t the flight attendant’s fault that his booking still floated around in cyber space.
“We were able to get you an aisle seat near the front.”
“Thank goodness for that at least.”
On being shown to his seat, he took off his cashmere coat, folded it neatly and stowed it in the overhead locker. If he had even an ounce of luck, the seat beside him would remain empty, but he wouldn’t take bets on it. Setting his briefcase on the floor, he rested his laptop on the vacant seat. What a shocking few hours it had been.
At least it was a little more spacious here. He couldn’t understand why there was extra leg space and only one other seat, when there would be normally at least three, sometimes four jammed together.
Closing his eyes he thought back on the last twenty- four hours. Deanna and Simon had betrayed him. He didn’t care so much about Deanna dumping him for Simon as their relationship had just about run its course.
Running off with millions of dollars of his employees’ pension funds. Now that was something else. Despicable and criminal, and they did it in such a way that the blame fell on him. He was ruthless. He had to be to claw his way to the top of the business world, but he had always acted with integrity. There were only two choices in the short term. Risk tarnishing his good business reputation or discretely pay the money back. He chose the latter.
I’ll hound them to the ends of the earth; I don’t care how long it takes. No one cheats Justin Devereux and gets away with it.
“Hell,” he yelped, as something hard and sharp rammed into his groin. His eyes flew open. God, someone was trying to castrate him.
“S… sorry,” the wavering female voice said.
Justin looked up into a pair of blue eyes that were swimming in tears.
“Here, let me help,” he growled, pushing the weapon away from his crotch and handing it back to her. It’s a wonder they let her bring the thing on board. She took the folded-up baby’s stroller, but dropped a large pink bag onto his foot. Where were the attendants when you needed them? This was definitely going to be the flight from hell.
He watched the girl struggling with the stroller, her handbag and a baby all at the one time. His first thought was she didn’t look old enough to have a baby, his second was how tiny and frail she appeared, with the fine, ice-blonde hair tumbling out of its restraining clip.
“It’s all right, don’t get flustered.” He felt strangely moved by her pale, heart shaped face and trembling lips.
As she reached across his briefcase to sit the baby on the floor a swathe of hair brushed his face, and he smelt a faint elusive perfume. Flowers perhaps? Like enticing fingers, it captured his senses.
MARGARET IS OFFERING A LUCKY WINNER A DOWNLOAD OF HOLLY AND THE MILLIONAIRE. Comment to be entered in a random drawing.
NEWS FLASH: Margaret’s Wild Oats from The Wild Rose Press is an EPIC Finalist in the Historical Romance Section. Congratulations Margaret.