Multi-published author Sherry is a transplanted Scot now living in the beautiful coastal countryside of Norfolk, England. She considers the surrounding countryside as extension of her own garden, to which she escapes when she needs "thinking time" and solitude to work out the plots for her next novel. While out walking she enjoys talking to her characters, as long as there are no other walkers close by.
Apart from writing, Sherry enjoys gardening, walking, reading and cheerfully admits her books tend to take over most of the shelf and floor space in her workroom-cum-office. She also finds crystal craft work therapeutic.
Today, Sherry tells us about her favourite season.
What is your favourite time of year?
I love the promise of Spring. It’s a time when snowdrops pierce their way through frost and snow, and nod in the breeze as if to say, ‘Have faith, spring is coming.’ Then there are the crocuses. No longer do we have just the royal purple to grace our flower beds, but yellow and white, plus the yellow and brown stripy ones that the birds in my garden love to eat before they reach full bloom. So irritating. And yet… J
The birds themselves are another harbinger of spring. To begin with, the seasonal visitors arrive in a trickle that soon becomes a flood, which turns into an aerial ballet.
The trees slowly awaken from their winter sleep, and for a while you have a clear view of the birds as they perch on the branches watching the world go by while they assess the best places to build their nests.
A few days ago the UK was blanketed in a cloud of Saharan sand dust which, mixed with other commercial and industrial pollutants, made getting around fairly difficult for many people, but amazingly the trees, shrubs and flowers prospered.
In a space of forty-eight hours buds burst into leaf or flower, lanes were lined with the colour of tiny blossoms holding their faces up to the sky.
A blanket of soft green clothed the tree branches, and the birds flourished on the insects they found.
Wherever you look, whether it is in the garden, the country-side or even towns and cities, the arrival of spring is the harbinger of upcoming school breaks, holidays at home or away. Spring for me is filled with the promise of new beginnings far more so than January 1st. Every season holds a special element of delight, but for me, spring is the first of the four seasonal cycles.
My story Duty Calls is set in an English estate and while my heroine resents the reasons behind her tenancy there, she can’t help falling in love with her surroundings, and is delighted to have the opportunity for her daughter to grow up in such a beautiful setting.
My upcoming story, He’s My Husky, a light paranormal novella to be published by EsKape Press on April 22nd, is set in winter and uses the season as though it is another character.
What is your favourite season and why?
She’d saved his life…
Rafe Hawk refuses to accept the inheritance, of a large English estate, and the title that goes with it, after his birth father’s death because the man chose duty over the woman he loved and their son.
So when he finds himself temporarily living at Kinsale Hall, he’s not prepared to trust anyone associated with the place, including Trudi Delaney and her daughter.
So why, when he looks into their eyes, does he suddenly remember a woman who vanished without a trace after saving his life one stormy night ten years earlier?
Now he could destroy hers.
Instinct warns Trudi Delaney the arrival of the contemptuous American architect at Kinsale Hall will change her life forever. Especially when she discovers he spends so much of his time in areas of Kinsale Hall off-limits to visitors.
Eleven years after escaping from her psychotic husband with a stranger, she’s still plagued by nightmares of events she can’t remember. Events such as who fathered her beautiful daughter?
Now, more than a decade later, she is confronted by another stranger. Will this one destroy everything she holds dear?Excerpt
“What are you doing here?”
“We have to talk.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you. Go away. I want to be alone.”
“Where are you going?” Cautiously, Rafe moved forward.
Did he assume that like the fawn, now vanished, she too might bolt away?
“It’s none of your business.” Emotionally drained and feeling too tired to talk, Trudi put her hand out to repel his advance. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? “Go away,” she repeated, without any real hope he’d listen.
With a sigh, she watched him approach and, as if in a dream, stared as his hand wrapped gently around the top of her arm before he guided her to a nearby fallen tree trunk.
“You have nothing to fear from me.” He sat at the other end of the trunk, putting some distance between them. “Did Vince tell you I’ve agreed to a DNA test?”
“I haven’t spoken to either Vince or Arthur since your sister arrived at the Hall.” No way would she admit, even to herself, how much she missed them.
“You should, you know.” His voice, pitched low and soft, curled round the coldness in her heart.
“You don’t know anything about it. Stay out of my affairs and go away.” Appalled by the sound of tears in her voice, Trudi turned her face away from him. The smell of crushed grass wafted on the warm air. Midges danced in the shafts of sunlight beaming to earth between the trees.
“That’s not possible. If Rachel is my daughter, do you expect me to turn my back on the result of the most wonderful night of lovemaking I’ve ever experienced? She’s a grand kid, and I’d want her to know I’m her Dad.”
“Lust, Rafe. Nothing more than lust. Admit it.”
“How can you be sure? Vince said you don’t remember what happened.”
“Oh, Vince told you, did he?” she spat at him. “How convenient! And I’m supposed to do what? Fall in line and believe what you say? Just like that? If that night was so memorable for you, how come you didn’t recognize me when you arrived?
“I’m tired of other people telling me what I can, and can’t do. I’m sick of being manipulated by people I trusted. And I particularly resent being told I’m a coward and brought it all on myself.”
“Don’t be silly. No one would think that.”
“No? You don’t know the half of it?” Tears forgotten, Trudi swung round and nearly collided with Rafe’s chest. “Not half-an-hour ago, someone decided to enlighten me. My brother considers I deserved everything that happened to me since I flouted his wishes and married Denny.”
“I don’t believe you.” Genuine shock filled his eyes.
“Believe! They accused me of carrying on like a self-centred, spoiled child who wouldn’t listen when Arthur tried to warn me away from Denny. And I still can’t manage my life without running to Arthur and Vince for help. I’m still relying on others to rescue me from the mess I’ve made of my life.”
Trudi watched the dull red stain sweep up Rafe’s neck and into his face. Though he may not have voiced those hurtful words, he clearly agreed with her sister-in-law’s opinion, which explained his attitude. How could he expect Trudi to share Rachel when he held her in contempt? It couldn’t work.
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He's My Husky
Since his birth, nine years ago, Emma’s dogs have taken on the roll of her son, Sam’s protectors – until six months ago. Now she’s becoming more anxious as each day passes, and doesn’t know why. She certainly didn’t expect Sam’s absentee father, Max, to solve the problem.
For the rest of the day Emma supported Sue by listening, while all the time keeping an eye on Max as he roamed from one room of her home to the next. When he stopped in front of the bank of photographs of their son Shane, on top of her book case, she held her breath. Father and son looked so alike no one would, or could mistake the family link if they saw the two of them together.
She also noted their other similarities. Shane’s stillness when he concentrated on something. As she watched Max now it dawned on her their concentration seemed almost animalistic at times.
It reminded her of the pointer dog, Queenie, she’d had as a child. Most of the time it had romped and played with her until without warning it would stand quite still staring at something beyond her vision. Nothing anyone did to divert Queenie would budge her until she’d satisfied herself her six-year-old charge was safe.
Now she acknowledged the same intensity in Max as he stared at the history of his son in the framed pictures.
Startled by Sue’s touch on her arm she spun round.
“I knew Shane reminded me of someone, but never realised who it was until he…” She pointed at Max. “… turned up this morning.” They both stared at the man still absorbed in the photographs.
“Didn’t he know?”
Sherry has very kindly offered a PDF copy of Duty Calls to one person who leaves a comment (and their email address) between Friday April 11th and Monday April 14th.