Noveltalk Chat Tonight, Excerpt!!!, More Winners, and the Last-Day's prize

Great conversation about fav. music and must-meet stars yeterday. You make coming out to check up on the blog just the right diversion, as I finally put The Perfect Daughter to bed (at least this draft of it...line edits will swoop back in sometime next month ;O)

Speaking of deadlines, I'm goint to keep it short today, because I have to meet one tonight, AND, because I'll be out chatting from 9:00 to 10:00 tonight on NovelTalk.com:

http://noveltalk.com/chat/chat.htm

Stop by and hang with my NT buddies, and of course I'll have some goodies to give away!!!

I promised an EXCERPT, too, of the Superromance I'm moving on to next--it'll be out in April of '07, and it's now officially called, All American Father. It's a single-father story (with, of course, a kick-butt heroine) that's part of Super's '07 continuity series, Single...with Kids. I'm having so much fun with this one, let me know what you think!! The excerpt is below the prize parade ;O)

Yesterday's winners:

The Anne Klien bag will now be living with Elli!!!

The leather-accented straw tote, Dana Pollard, it's yours baby!!!

And the Borders gift certificate goes to...n0odz1!!!

I'll be doing mass mailings tomorrow and Friday, of all the prizes from this week and last. Winners get me those current mailling addresses!!

As for today's prize (in addition to what I'll be giving away on NT), well it's at the top of the post, so you've already seen it. I love these sunny little bags. I picked up a few at one time and have really enjoyed giving them away.

Today's topic--alaphabet soup!!! Sky's the limit. How's life going for everyone??? Mine'll be fine right around midnight, after I've email my book of to my agent. Seen any good movies lately??? I already told you I L-O-V-E-D Prada, but I've heard mixed reviews on Pirates, and we're on our way to see it as a family tomorrow night (ah, the joy of being off deadline for ONE WHOLE DAY, LOL!!!) Whatever you want to chat about, let us hear from you.
Oh, and keep coming back for more readings for the book-that-knows-all!!! I LOVE that it's been so on-target for so many of you. I'll keep doing a few a day (when I'm not excerpting), until we run out of birthdays, so stay tuned

Don't forget the Noveltak chat at 9:00 tonight!!!

Okay, your first look at All American Father

*********************

Chapter One

"Nice job." Derrick Cavenaugh's senior partner slapped him on the shoulder as they left the high-rise conference room behind.

"Thanks, Spencer." Derrick's reply held the expected hint of nonchalance. "I'll have the merger portfolio ready for Reynolds-Lewis to sign by the end of next week."
It felt good to be in control of something. Anything.

Too damn good. Didn't-want-to-head-home-to-his-life good.

Contract law wasn't as sexy as the professional football career he and his old man had envisioned monopolizing his life for the next decade or two. But being on top of his game during the morning's high-stakes meeting felt better than the sweetest touchdown pass. Since returning to San Francisco, work was the one place he didn't feel like a failure. Where there were still moments of victory to revel in.

"You're coming to next week's homecoming game, right?" Spencer Hastings was an ace at declarative questions that pinned you where you didn't want to be. And the man held the promotion Derrick had been busting his ass for in the palm of his hands. "You'll make everyone's night by showing up."

"I..." Derrick's legacy as Western High's biggest alumni football star had secured him a spot at Hastings' firm. But he'd been a no-show at all things social and nostalgic since his move back to the area a year ago. "I'll have to see if I can find a sitter for Leslie and Savannah."

"Nonsense." Hastings gave his shoulder a firmer slap. The elevator rushed them to the ground floor. "Bring the kids along. The gang would love to meet your family."

Derrick tried to picture his twelve and nine-year-old, already resentful of the time his job stole from them, listening to Daddy relive glory days with a bunch of grown ups they didn't know. He'd have a Power Puff Girl-sized mutiny on his hands in under half an hour.

Zam.

Pow!

Dad, we wanna go. Now!

"I'll see what I can do." He flashed the golden-boy grin everyone liked to see. "Leslie has dance class on Thursdays, and--"

His Blackberry chirped, sending him sifting through his overflowing briefcase as they emerged through revolving doors onto the bustling sidewalk.

"Derrick Cavenaugh," he answered

"Mr. Cavenaugh, this is Detective Oaks with Atherton PD. I'm at the Stop Right on the corner of Elm and Matteson. I'm afraid I need you to come pick up your daughter, Leslie. There's been an incident, and the owner intends to press charges..."

Derrick kept his expression free of panic, while his insides churned up the take-out sushi he'd gulped down for lunch. Hastings kept his gaze on the shuffle of business people streaming by on their way to afternoon appointments or a late lunch. But Derrick could feel the other man's interest as the cop summed up Leslie's latest contribution to Derrick's plunge into single-parent insanity.

His oldest, brainy and beautiful, even in the gothic black she'd insisted on wearing since leaving her life and mother behind in Atlanta, had apparently skipped out of school early again. And now she'd taken a crack at petty larceny.

***

Two part-time jobs...

One aging bed and breakfast by the bay...

Forty-five minutes to shower and change before Bailey Stevens was supposed be serving lattes and crumb cake at her new bistro job...

A cop and a pre-teen truent standing between her and the end of her Stop Right shift...

Cost to Bailey's insomnia-challenged grip on reality--priceless.

"Mr. Drayton, I need to get going. I've already given the officer my statement, and--"

"Not until the girl's father arrives," grumped the convenience store owner who'd insisted that she cover the afternoon shift because he'd been unavailable when Sandy Traver called in sick.
But wave the petty theft of a seven dollars box of condoms before the cheapskate, and Drayton had beaten the police to the store. "I want the officer to have all the information he needs to put that little hoodlum behind bars."

The little hoodlum in question was currently slumped in the cracked plastic chair in Drayton's office, cowering in a bad-ass grunge outfit Bailey suspected had been purchased somewhere like Bloomingdale's rather than a thrift store. The kid had attitude to spare, but she struck Bailey as more desperate for attention than hoodlum-in-training.

"She's got the money to pay for what she took," Bailey reasoned. "Why not let her square things, then leave her parents to deal with the rest?"

And me to get to Margo's before I lose the job that might spring me from this dump, if I can get enough hours over there.

"The money's not the point," the man actually had the nerve to say. Bottom line was the only language he spoke. "If I let one of these miscreants off, they'll be all over this place, taking me for everything I'm worth."

Like there was a gang of upper-middle-class hell raisers looking to supplement their allowances by pilfering from Atherton's resident Scrooge!

Hastings stocked the cheapest inventory he could get away with selling, trading on his prime location as the only convenience store on the main drag that led from their affluent suburb to the interstate linking them to the Golden Gate. He was downright rude to customers, inflexible on principle with his hourly employees, and did a nimble tightrope dance around the regulations of his trade that would bite him in the ass one day. Soon, Bailey could only hope.

She'd glimpsed the expired date on the Trojans she'd reclaimed from the kid. If their under-aged klepto was planning a party, Bailey had done her and the girl's parents a favor. It had evidently been ten years since Scrooge last stocked prophylactics.

"I'm going to grab my things," she murmured.

Scott Fletcher had wandered in a few minutes ago--twenty minutes late for his shift. She was free to go, as soon as Daddy showed. What kind of parent took an hour and a half to get himself to the scene of his child's crime?

The gothic-wannabe rearranged her worried features into a scowl as Bailey entered the office. The kid's attempt at tough came off lonely and scared, the combination eating at Bailey's determination not to get involved. She didn't have time for involved. But evidently, neither did this beautiful child's parents.

"You know." She slipped into Scrooge's chair as if it were her own. "If your guy can't spring for the rubbers, you might want to consider trading up."

The girl--Leslie, Bailey had heard her say to the cop when she'd recited her dad's cell number--looked shocked, a split second before she rebounded with a sneer.

"Like there's just one guy."

"Well if you're going to tag-team it," Bailey smart-assed back. "I'd suggest you shop-lift at the Wal-Mart. Prehistoric condoms are a bad deal, even when they're free."

The kid's forehead scrunched in confusion, morphing her toughness into the kind of adorable she shouldn't be in such a hurry to outgrow. Bailey plucked the discarded Trojans from the desk and tossed them over. The girl snatched the box one-handed.

Good reflexes. Hopefully, her mind was just as quick.

"Condoms have expiration dates for a reason," Bailey explained. "They tend to break after they've been sitting for too long."

More scrunching, then an image of what "breaking" meant must have flashed through the girl's mind. Cheeks reddening, she glanced down at the pre-Y2K date on the box, then slapped the condoms to the desk.

"Oh..." Looking younger by the second, she clenched her hands in her lap. "I--"

"Leslie Marie Cavenaugh!" a masculine voice boomed from the doorway.

The kid's face drained of color, turning mutinous at the same time. Crossing her arms, she sunk further into the acid green chair.

Bailey barely noticed.

Daddy was six-four and then some, with the kind of broad shoulders and trim waist that did dangerous things a woman's fantasies. His pricey suit screamed money and privilege, but the hands he'd buried in his trouser pockets were tough with calluses, and his nose had been broken more than once. Bailey had seen the first break from the sidelines. He'd thrown the winning touchdown pass at Western's '95 State Championship game, and the opposing defensive end had taken exception.

"Derrick Cavenaugh."

It took her a few seconds to realize she'd said his name out loud. A few seconds more to get that he hadn't recognized her in return.

Why the hell should he?

'95's Most Likely to Succeed blinked down at her, their high school's most unsuccessful valedictorian ever, without a flicker of recognition for the woman who'd worshiped him from afar when she wasn't much older than his daughter.