Saturday is Wish Day!!!

Okay, Blogspot actually agrees it's Saturday, so I think we're on a roll ;o)

Wow! Great turnout yesterday. I wish I had something to give you all. Well, maybe another excerpt??? See below ;o)

Yes, is the answer to the question about posting every day. If you want to be in the running for today's prize, you have to leave a comment--even if you left one yesterday. It's a party. Get to know each other. I think you're all fabulous. I know you will, too.

Today's topic (though I'd like to be chatting Mario all weekend, I figured I'd give you a break from one of many fixations)--Wishing On a Star. One of my favorite lines in children's literature is , "Second star to the right, and on ' til morning." There were times in my life when I'd have given anythng to be Peter Pan or Tinkerbell and be able to soar into the stars and off to Neverland. Dreaming/wishing that I could became an excellent substitute. Wishes are powerful things. They'll transform your life, if you let your mind accept that what you need is real, and have the faith to believe you can have it. That you deserve to reach for it.

Holidays are a time for reaching for what you want most. Family, fun and fantasy wishes that may never come true--but it does your soul good to reach for them ;o) So, what's your over the top wish??? What would you want if you let yourself want what you wanted most? Make it as greedy as you can, and see if that doesn't make you smile!!

Here's our prize for today--this great topstiched leather 9 West shoulder bag comes complete with a phone case and wallet that for some reason I didn't photograph. But you get the picture--it rocks!! Especially the jewels all over the shoulder strap ;O) Leave a comment today to be in the mix for it, or one of the $5 Borders gift certificates.

Our winner from yesterday, you're asking??? From the random drawing of all our commenters, we have...

Catslady, the Liz satchel is yours...

and

Sharon, the ARC of The Perfect Daughter is yours!!!

Email me your mailing addresses, ladies, and the prizes will ship out next week.

Everyone else, hope you win something today. Until then, here's a little more of Legally Yours:
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"You bet I'm keeping him away from his child!" The nurse who'd rushed Stephen away from Dillon Degarro's hospital bed was furious. Indignant.

He didn't have to read her name badge to know she was the Kate Rhodes Manny Digarro had warned him about. The homeless shelter volunteer who'd registered a formal complaint of child abuse with the Atlanta Police Department.

"Mr. Degarro's done nothing to deserve being separated from his injured child," Stephen reasoned. "He's beside himself worrying about--"

"From the looks of that little boy's x-rays, someone should have done more than separate your friend from his son years ago."

"Client," Stephen corrected.

Her eyes narrowed. If her spine got any stiffer, she'd break in two.

"Your client should be in jail. Dillon has poorly healed breaks on both arms, in addition to the new one near his left wrist and right ankle. Weeks-old contusions on his chest, to go along with the shiny new ones on his face. And don't get me started on the poor dental hygiene and the vitamin deficiency we suspect is causing his complexion to be at least three shades lighter than a healthy child's should be. Once we have the results of the battery of tests the Dr. Floyd had ordered, not being able to visit Dillon will be the least of your client's concerns. Until then, Mr. Degarro should be thankful that restricting his access to the pediatric floor is the only option the nurses here had. Believe me, there's at least half a dozen staff who'd have been happy to do worse."

The golden-haired, green-eyed beauty's chest rose and fell quickly, her breathing agitated. The warm brown eyes that had smiled down at Dillon sparked with fire.

It wasn't lost on Stephen how perversely inappropriate it was, given the circumstances, to find her temper tantrum arousing. But he didn't run into that kind of passion often. Not in someone so meticulously put together he'd bet Friday night's poker stake that she rarely let a hair slip out of place, let alone her emotions.

Too bad this wasn't the time or place to push her buttons a little further, just to see what she'd do.

Work the case, man.

"You only met Manny Digarro and his son five days ago. Just two days before Dillon's accident."

"You mean his violent fall down the stairs that only his father seems to have witnessed, just like all the other accidents."

"Manny's no more a threat to his child than I am," Stephen assured her. "He's--"

"An abusive bastard who's never going to hurt his son again."

Stephen blinked. Focused past the righteous indignation that he'd have labeled blind ignorance on anyone else.

Most people took one look at impoverished immigrants like the Digarros and saw people they couldn't trust. A threat they didn't want to be any closer to than they had to. But Kate Rhodes spent several evenings a week volunteering at the shelter the Degarros had landed in, serving the homeless community. Protecting them for a world often too careless about the wellbeing of weak amongst them.

And now she was on a mission to protect a child who needed to be with the father who'd sacrificed his world for him.

"Manny Digarro's a terrified father who's watched his son have one accident after another, tried to protect him the best he could while working three different jobs to keep them off public assistance since coming to this country, and now he's being told that's not good enough. That Dillon's going to be taken away from him. I'm here to make sure someone in this hospital listens to his side of the story before a terrible mistake is made. If you really care about your patient, you'll give me five minutes of your time."

She sized up his Brooks Brother's suit.

Her eyebrow raised.

"Where did he dig you up, if he's struggling so badly?" she asked.

"At the legal aid center where he'd heard someone would listen to him, instead of taking one look at his ethnic background and worn out clothes and figure he was a no account bastard who beats up on little boys to get his jollies."

Those forest-green eyes widened. But instead biting back, she smiled.

"Bait me all you want, Mr. Creighton. But my first clue your client was a no account bastard came from studying the damage done to Dillon's body, not the color of their skin. And you've gotten all the details you're going to about Dillon's condition. I going to have to insist that you leave."

She headed around him, toward the nurses station again. He grabbed her arm. Instincts that had never let him down screamed that this woman could help him, if he could only get her to listen. But his mistake was instantly obvious. She didn't jerk away from his touch, she cringed. The agitated breathing that she'd brought under professional control, now stopped completely.

Frightened eyes snapped to his face, then dilated as her gaze flinched away.

"Let me go," whispered the woman who moments ago had verbally handed him his ass. "Please, let me--"

Stephen released her, raising his hand to show he meant no harm, the same way he'd sooth a skittish animal.

She flinched again.

"Is everything okay, Kate?" A tall man dressed in blue scrubs, a stethoscope draped around his neck, presumably a doctor, stepped to her side. He made no move to touch her as he glared at Stephen. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"

Making a mess of things.

"Mr. Creighton was just leaving," Kate Rhodes answered. "Bob, would you call security to help him find the door?"

The other man didn't budge.

"No need." Stephen stepped away.

He buried his hands in the pockets of the trench coat he hadn't bothered taking off. His fingers wrapped around the stack of business cards he always carried with him. Drawing one out, he handed it to doctor, but he studied the beautiful nurse's face until she looked back at him.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you. But please, if you change your mind about helping the Digarro's, call my pager any time of the day or night."

He walked toward the elevator, cursing the fear and confusion still lingering in her eyes. Eyes that seemed incapable hiding whatever she was feeling. The eyes of someone who would fight just as hard for the patients in her care as he did for clients who had nowhere else to turn.
Someone he'd have found himself wanting to know better, if he wasn't so certain she was wrong, dead wrong, about the cause of Dillon Degarro's injuries.

And that her mistake was going to ruin his client's life.