Liz Flaherty With a New Book & a Giveaway

Thanks for having Joss, Ez, and me to visit today, Cheryl. I’m always excited about a new story, but this one seems to have a special place in my heart. I guess they all do, though, don’t they? Life’s Too Short for White Walls is a sweet romance with some hard edges in its story arch. And some soft places, too.

I often worry about my stories sounding alike, my heroines being paper-doll-cutouts of each other. I’m afraid I’ve written too many heroes with dimples in their left cheeks. Have I talked about too many people with crooked grins, one raised eyebrow, or a shrug that somehow defines their personalities?

I hope not, but a few of the things that are the same from book to book are starting over, new beginnings, home, friendships, tenderness. And I’m good with that.

They are there in this story, when forty-something Joss Murphy and Ezra McIntire find themselves in the same place, but searching for different things. They know a few things about themselves by now—Joss is determined she will have color wherever she goes and Ez is committed to always being one step ahead of things that are dangerous or hurtful to anyone around him.

There are no white walls on their journey, but danger and emotional landmines make themselves known. And maybe the things they’re searching for aren’t so different.

About the story:

      Still reeling from her divorce, Joss Murphy flees to Banjo Bend, Kentucky, where she'd been safe and happy as a child. The family farm is now a campground. Weary and discouraged, she talks owner Ezra McIntire into renting her a not-quite-ready cabin.

      With PTSD keeping him company, Ez thrives on the seclusion of the campground. The redhead in Cabin Three adds suggestions to his improvement plans, urging color and vibrancy where there was none.

      Neither is looking for love, yet the attraction they share is undeniable. Can the comfort of campfires, hayrides, and sweet kisses bring these two lost souls together?

 

Read an Excerpt:

He hadn’t kissed a woman since Lucy.

He hadn’t felt like this since…man, maybe never.

The campground was quiet. Lights were still on in some trailers and motor homes and the occasional campfire was surrounded by people in lawn chairs. No music broke the natural hum of night sounds.

It was a perfect autumn night. Cool enough to qualify as “crisp,” but as long as you had on a sweatshirt, it was still a good time to be outside.

He drove a golf cart instead of the Gator in deference to the stillness, but on the basketball court, two teenagers played Horse. The whomp…whomp…whomp of the ball was somehow not discordant. He and Silas used to do that. They’d sneak out of the house after the old man was asleep and shoot hoops in the empty barn on a farm a mile away. The Barnett boys and Pete Hilliard would come, too. They never got caught. Only in long retrospect did he realize they hadn’t gotten caught because everyone’s parents probably knew where they were. 

He’d intended to go home and go to bed after leaving Joss on her porch earlier in the evening, but it had been impossible to settle in.

Could he have a relationship? Did he have it in him? Or would he hurt both Joss and himself if he tried? PTSD was hard on everyone, not just the one who suffered from it. What would she do if he had a flashback, or even if he cowered in place because he couldn’t be certain he was hearing fireworks instead of mortar fire?

She’d been hurt enough by betrayal. How could he ask her to take a chance on being hurt by another man, even if it was in an entirely different way?

He drove around the building that housed the office and the camp store, stopping to make sure the doors were locked, then drove to the restaurant building. It was secure.

Very few campers were on the road, although a few couples were riding bicycles toward Colby’s Hollow and some walkers sauntered from the direction of the creek. Only one walked alone, and he pulled up beside her. “Want a ride?”

Joss smiled at him. “Where you headed, Mister?”

“Nowhere in particular. You?”

She came around and climbed into the golf cart beside him. “Me, either. I was just restless.”

He chuckled. “I know the feeling.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, then spoke at the same time.

“What are you—” he said.

“Will you join us for Thanksgiving?” she said.

“I’d like that.” He didn’t know if he would or not, but he liked having been asked. He hoped—“Will Gray be here?”

“I don’t know. I’m asking him. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Me, either. Not in person, anyway.” He’d like nothing better. Maybe if he talked to someone who understood how things had been then, he could find some peace. It was a long shot. But maybe.

“Why don’t you concentrate on the house until then?” he suggested. “Have it as ready for B & B status as can be achieved. It’ll be comfortable for your gathering.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t mind if I did that? You’re still the boss, and I’m nowhere near done painting in the cabins.”

“It’ll be good for the campground to have it done.”

“I’ll need to find a place to live once you’re able to list it as a B & B.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He wished he had, because the truth was, he didn’t want her to leave the campground. “You can move back into Cabin Three. At least until spring.”

She nodded, although he read hesitancy in the gesture. “If that works out, I’ll do that. Eventually, though, I’ll want…” She stopped. “I don’t know. Something more permanent.”

“With no white walls.”

“Right.”

They rode around the campground one more time, talking about the differences between growing up in suburban Nashville and rural Missouri.

“I’ll bet you were on the homecoming court,” he said. “Maybe not a cheerleader, though.”

“Neither. I worked in the library in both high school and college.”

“Is library science your degree?”

“No degree. I only went for a year, then quit and got married. And I studied interior design. In retrospect, I have no idea why. I like color a lot, and I’m glad to know how to use it, but working in the library was what satisfied me.”

“Was it something your parents wanted you to do?”

She looked thoughtful. “I got my love of color from my dad—he painted watercolors. My mother has an incredible eye for design. I expect I thought I could please her and make myself happy at the same time.” She shrugged. “Not a particularly smart move on my part. What about you?”

“I went to college right out of high school, but it didn’t work out, so I enlisted after my second year and took classes and got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees while I was active. After Iraq—” He stopped. What was he doing? This wasn’t something he talked about, but he couldn’t just ignore her questioning look. “I retired,” he said. “Got my doctorate and taught at the college level. I was lucky. I loved flying helicopters and I loved teaching.”

“But you don’t do either anymore?”

The question scraped a place raw that he tried to keep covered. It had been long enough that much of military life seemed like a dream. He seldom thought about flying a chopper, although he missed being in the air. But the classroom and the drive-him-crazy students within it—he thought he’d miss them every day of his life.

He’d love to go back. He liked the campground. He liked not having the paralyzing worry about his contingent of students. But he missed teaching, missed watching them learn. It was such a good way to be driven crazy.

The thought made him laugh, a silent chuckle he couldn’t explain to Joss, although he wanted to. He thought she’d understand. “No,” he said, “I don’t.” And then the surprise came. “Maybe someday.”

Buy Links:

B & N: https://tinyurl.com/yc7xyprw

Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y4ecw5vh

Apple Books: https://tinyurl.com/yc75va4n

Liz Flaherty is rather bewildered by where she’s at in life. She doesn’t feel…er…elderly, but the truth is that she is. The Magnificent Seven grands have grown up on her, her own kids are all now older than she is, and her husband Duane has the same firm hold on her heart he’s always had. And it’s all good.

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