When I thought about this blog, I realized my childhood summer memories were at best vague. Hey, it was a long time ago! I do remember Camp SAYSF, a vacation bible camp, while we lived in Southern Maryland. Most likely it was my mother’s vacation from three wild young kids while my father was stationed overseas. My parents bought houses near woods so we could entertain ourselves otherwise. Ah, the good old days!
Once we pass from childhood, vacations only happen with certain job choices. Not so much for dog groomers, watiresses, or stable managers. In fact when the rest of the world celebrated vacations, my work load tended to multiply. It wasn’t until I married Tom and took on more mature job choices that vacations became possible.
Our lives centered around the dogs, teachers have the summer off and wouldn’t you know it, the summer is filled with dog shows! So my adult vacations all had something to do with dogs and dog shows. The vacation that comes to mind most often was the first
year we tried renting a motor home. It was a Class C, the kind built on a van base with a compartment over the driving section. We were snuggled up there one night, when a light rain began to fall. Rain can get me into a sentimental mood but unfortunately my husband was tired out from several days of driving and showing dogs. So I contemplated what might have happened, and one of my favorite scenes from Teach Me To Forget took over my imagination. Eventually that scene grew into the entire story. Mind you it wasn’t written for several years, but I kept that rainy intimate moment in my heart.
The first time Bethany and Jonathan share that snug little compartment it’s with great caution on her part since she trusts no man…for very good reason. They’re stuck on the side of the road on a chilly night, pouring rain, the heater is out, and the only way they’ll stay warm is by sharing body heat. All goes fairly well until the next morning
excerpt from Teach Me To Forget…Baron is Bethany’s silly Irish Setter buddy.
Bethany woke to the lack of sound. Soft early morning light filtered through the curtain. Baron leaned against the front of her knees, a note of question issuing from his throat. She felt more rested than she had in years, the half-wakened sense of euphoria so wonderful, she dreaded coming fully awake. Smiling at her insistent red dog she stretched, mentally reviewing the events of the day before to detect the source of such a feeling of well-being.
Her stretch was blocked by the solid weight of a lean thigh, snuggled against her lower body. For the first time she was aware of a hand inserted between her sweat top and undershirt, resting just below the weight of her unbound breast.
Her automatic response was one of panic. Stifling a scream, she pulled away, nearly falling out of the bunk. A move on his part to hold her brought further terror. She clawed the curtain open, scrambling until her feet were on the couch, bringing half the covers with her.
Jonathan—snatched rudely from an erotic dream—spoke without heed, thinking with his glands rather than his mind. “For Crissakes, nothing to get into a panic about. It’s not like there’s anything to feel. You’re all wrapped up like a sack of potatoes.”
It was definitely the wrong thing to say. From blind panic and deep-rooted fear she slid straight into outright rage, obviously fueled by embarrassment at his disparagement of her feminine qualities.
“You certainly seemed eager enough to mash those potatoes a few minutes ago, Mr. Merritt. Perhaps you can find some other outlet for your energies while road service takes care of the tire. The sooner we get under way and get this farce over with, the happier I’ll be.” She let herself and her dog out into the bright morning.
“Way to go, lover boy,”Jonathan muttered to himself, falling back among the disarranged bedding and willing his body to regain a state of sanity. It was difficult to calculate how much this had increased her hostility, but he had a feeling it was to geometric proportions. He grinned ruefully, remembering what a difference blazing fury made in her appearance.
Danger to his more delicate body parts notwithstanding, he found himself preferring the outraged fire breathing Amazon to the elegant ice princess. He rubbed his palm along his now relaxed thigh, wondering how much worse it would have been if he had not, even in his sleep, been aware of her every movement.
His hand cupped again, remembering soft womanly flesh nestled in his palm. She felt so right cuddled trustingly against his body. Then he reminded himself that memories were all he would have if he didn’t get moving.
So there you have it, a book spun out of a vacation. Memories made into dreams. Right now I’m working on a loose sequel to Teach Me To Forget, but I’m having trouble with my hero’s name. I’ve been calling him Gavin but that just doesn’t help when I’m trying to write intimate scenes. No insult to the manly Gavins of the world but it’s not working for my former special forces town manager. If someone can come up with a name that works better for me, they’ll get a HUGE mention in the next book. Plus I think I’ll be writing it much faster. Anyone have any great ideas?
Happy Summer, I hope you’re making Summer Vacation memories to cherish in the years to come