It’s July and I’m at my desk making up hopelessly romantic stories about imaginary people, not the level-headed career my mom envisioned for her daughters, but then she did take us on vacation to Lake Tahoe. The place made me a writer.
Our station wagon bounced up a rutted yellow dirt road in the woods past the cabin where mom stayed as a girl. She told us stories of how her father traded for fish with descendants of the first people who lived in the Sierra, and we stepped back in time.
We left the road a few hundred yards beyond the spot for our rented cabin. A huge deck jutted out from the main floor above a pine clearing. Inside, were a kitchen, a small bath, and a large wood-paneled room for eating and endless, inescapable family togetherness. A screened round black metal fire pit with a smokestack through the upper story offered heat on cold mornings. Open stairs along one wall led up to a room for our parents and a sort of dormitory for those who did not want to sleep on the deck under the stars, watching for bats.
We did chores, hiked, swam, played endless card games, and encountered wild life from fish and crawdads to deer and bear. No TV, just Nancy Drew, True Romance comics from the local general store, and long dreamy hours on the beach after tuna sandwiches on Sheepherder’s bread and before a last swim in the lake’s icy waters. Clear cold air and water heightened tastes and smells.
Those dreamy hours on the rocky beach I would retreat into my imagination and people watch. There were boat launchers, college kids employed by the restaurant on the pier, and one family that came every day in a long black hearse. They smoked and read newspapers. The women wore bikinis, and the men, briefs in the European mode, not the modest swimsuits of our parents’ crowd. They didn’t match up neatly into mom-and-dad pairs, and there was a grandmother in head-to-toe black in a chair under an umbrella above the rocky beach. How could I not make up stories about them? And once hooked, not go on dreaming away hot summer days making up stories. Happy reading, all.
A Spy's Guide to Seduction
March 12, 2019
Historical ~ Regency ~ Romantic Comedy
An independent lady is accidentally betrothed to a spy with a mysterious past in this Regency gem from beloved, award-winning author Kate Moore. A volume of tips for the marriage-minded brought them together, but their sweeping adventure will change all the rules of engagement . . .
When her desperate mother sends her The Husband Hunter’s Guide to London, outspoken Emily Radstock rails against the slim book of manners, boldly declaring that she should wed the first “imbecile” she meets and be done with the matter. Too bad Sir Ajax Lynley overhears her outrageous proposal and holds her to it. But he’s no dullard—he’s a wily government agent who needs the cover of a beautiful fiancé to pursue a deadly enemy. To resist his charms, Emily turns to the guide she disdains—and does exactly the opposite. Dress fashionably? She enshrouds herself in black crepe. Be demure? She steps into danger and faces down criminals alongside her “intended” . . . whose thrilling seduction may be anything but a charade.
Praise for Kate Moore’s previous novels
“Moore writes with a lyrical beauty that will leave no heart untouched.” —RT Book Reviews
“Fans will hope for more of Moore’s sinful delights to come.” --Library Journal (starred review)
“Moore skillfully whets readers’ appetites . . .” --Booklist
A native Californian, Kate taught English to generations of high school students, who are now her Facebook friends, while she not-so-secretly penned Romances. In Kate’s stories honorable, edgy loners meet warm, practical women who draw them into a circle of love whether in Regency London or contemporary California. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best winner and three-time RITA finalist, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her surfer husband, their yellow Lab, a Pack ‘n Play for visiting grand babies, and miles of crowded bookshelves.