RW: What’s your story/back story? Why would
someone come up with a story about you?
JK: I think I’m pretty normal. I work as a TV producer,
and have a very successful, single life, but I have just inherited a ranch in
Duster. I don’t want to go back to the town I was raised in, or the man I
briefly married. I’m conflicted between the good memories and the bad ones of
living there. But I have to go back to sign all the papers, even if I sell it. And
then I have to figure out if I want the non-stop, stressful life in Seattle or
the more relaxed family life with lots of support. Oh, and someone is trying to
kill me.
RW: What problems do you have to face and
overcome in your life?
JK: Right now, where do I start? I love the ranch and
now I’m back I’m not sure I want to sell it. I spent a lot of my childhood
there and have wonderful memories of it. I don’t want children, but I seem to
have inherited a child and a dog. They’re now living with me on the ranch, and
my mother is also staying there. And I love having everyone living with me. It
won’t happen if I move back to Seattle. I’m still attracted to my ex-husband
and I don’t want to be, because he wants to take care of me and I want to be
independent. Oh, and someone is still trying to kill me for the ranch.
RW: Do you expect your hero/ine to help or is
s/he the problem?
JK: He’s
part of the problem. I married him once because I loved him but left and ran
away. He never understood why I left, but he’s working so hard to understand
now. And every time I have a problem he’s there to help me or save me from a
killer.
RW: Where
do you live?
JK: I
live in Seattle, but I’ve inherited a ranch in Duster, Montana
RW: During
what time-period does your story take place?
JK: The
Present.
RW: How
are you coping with the conflict in your life?
JK: Not very well, I’m afraid. It’s a little overwhelming. I’m taking one issue at a
time, facing it and making a decision that I think works. It’s a slow process
but I have most of the book to resolve everything—and survive.
RW: Bubble baths or steamy showers? Ocean or mountains? Puppies or
kittens? Chocolate or caramel?
JK: Steamy showers,
mountains, puppies and definitely chocolate.
RW: If you came with a
warning label, what would it say?
JK: Touch carefully, can be
prickly
RW: Hunky heroes or average
Joe?
JK: Average Joe
RW: Party life or quiet
dinner for two?
JK: Quiet dinner for two,
by candlelight.
RW: Those
are all the questions I have for you. Thank you for speaking to me.
JK: Thank you for having me.
Beverley Bateman
Bio
Murder, mystery and romance fills award-winning, Canadian author,
Beverley Bateman’s life. She loves to plot, kill and hopefully baffle the
reader. Her nursing and public health nursing background helps with some
details and administering a community care facility program had her
investigating and directing investigations into irregularities and sometimes death.
She even has court experience.
She began writing in her preteens and loved to write locked room
mysteries. Reading Nancy Drew helped her figure out plots. Facing breast cancer,
she decided she needed to do what she’d always wanted and began to write. She
completed her first romantic suspense novel and hasn’t stopped writing since.
She recently moved and now lives among ranches and wheat fields in southern Alberta,
with her husband and Shiba Inu dog.
Targeted
Hawkins Ranch Series—Kye’s
Story
The Plot
After
an eleven year absence Janna Kincaid inherits a ranch and is forced to return
to a town she only remembers with unhappiness, a man to whom she was briefly
married and never wants to see again, and someone is trying to kill her.
Kye
Hawkins has loved Janna since he first met her. They were married, but a few
weeks later she ran away without an explanation. He still hasn’t figured out
why. Now she’s coming back. Does she still love him? Can he rekindle the
romance and also prevent her from being killed?
Janna
doesn’t want Kye’s help in any way, yet he always seems to be there when she’s
in trouble. Can they work together to find a killer, save the Native burial
ground and home of the spirits, and find romance again?
An
Excerpt:
Someone
had shot her back tire. Janna gripped the wheel to keep the vehicle on the
road. She debated whether to try and outrun the shooter, wherever he was, or
find cover. The windshield shattered as a third bullet entered the passenger
side.
So much for outrunning the shooter.
She
scanned the area and spotted an outcropping of rocks a few feet ahead on her
right. She aimed the vehicle in that direction.
Two
more shots, and both the back tires went down.
Definitely find cover.
Janna
ducked low behind the steering wheel until the vehicle reached the rocks. When
the car stopped, she grabbed the keys from the ignition and her purse and dove
out the door. Bullets bounced off the rocks behind her as she scrambled for
cover. Whoever was doing the shooting was serous. Anyone of the shots could
have hit her.
She
reached the rocks, keeping low until she got to the middle where she curled up
as tightly as possible, her back against a rock. Her heart pounded in her ears,
her breathing came in gasps. This was getting to be a habit. First someone
tried to kill her in Seattle, and now, out in this god-forsaken country.
What the hell is going on? Why are they
shooting at me? Was it the same person who shot at me in Seattle? That doesn’t
seem likely, but who even knew I was coming here? Maybe it’s someone just
trying to rob a stranger.
Yeah right, be honest, Janna, does this
road look like many strangers came this way? And if they did, would they have a
lot to steal? You really think this person selected a spot in the rocks where
he would have a good shot at my vehicle. Coincidence? Not damn likely.
At
least she’d worn boots and jeans—even if they were designer jeans. Now they
were filthy, and so was her red sweater and jean jacket.
Another
shot hit the rock behind her. She rolled over onto her stomach, shaded her eyes,
and squinted into the sun. He must be up on the cliffs straight ahead. She wasn’t
sure, but she thought she might have glimpsed a light, maybe a reflection off
his scope.
Terrific! Now what? My gun is in my
purse. I could fire back, but that would be a waste of bullets at this
distance.
She
yanked out her cell and punched in 9-1-1.
Damn—no
reception.
A
pounding pulsed through the ground and came closer. Janna could feel the
vibrations. It felt like horses. She glanced around, without raising her head,
to see what was coming.
Suddenly
there was a hand in front of her face.
“Grab
it and jump on.”
The
deep, rumbling voice was not asking. It was an order.
Janna
grabbed the strong hand. In one smooth motion, she swung up behind a man on his
horse. Seconds later, she had her hands wrapped around his well-developed,
muscular chest, as the big chestnut thundered across the ground, out of the
bullets’ range.
The
man wore a leather jacket over a sweater. Her hands slid under the jacket for
better grip. Even through the sweater she could feel sinewy muscles. She laid
her head against his back and his braid. She took a breath in, inhaling the
rich scent of leather, trying to calm her racing heart rate.
She
glanced behind her. The cliffs were fading into the distance. The muscles of
his well-developed shoulders bunched and relaxed as he led the horse at a
gallop across the field. She felt safe for some unfathomable reason.
He
had a familiar woodsy scent that made her think of sex under pine trees, not
that she’d ever made love there. In fact, her sex life was pretty negligible
these days.
They’d
been riding for several minutes when Janna leaned forward. “You can put me down
any place. I can manage now.”
“Really?
And just what are you going to do out here, miles from town, by yourself, with
someone shooting at you?”
The
voice was deep, but soft, and rolled over her like warmed brandy. It triggered
something in the back of her memory. The earthy scent, the sinewy body, the
braid, the voice… She knew this person who had ridden up out of nowhere to save
her.
“I
have my cell. I’ve already called 9-1-1,” she snapped.
“And
did you get an answer?”
Janna
yanked her cell phone up where she could see the screen again and re-tapped in
9-1-1. And then there was that famous phrase—No Service.
There
was a deep chuckle. “That’s what I thought. There’s no service in this area.
The mountains block it.”
Contact Beverley
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