The Roses Collection - (Light-hearted Romance Novellas for hearts of all ages) Series

Eight years ago Doreen Carlson married Esteban Pereira, the owner of a nightclub and head of the distinguished and honorable Pereira family whose Spanish ancestors date back centuries. From the moment she walked into his nightclub during a vacation in Panama and caught his attention, Esteban relentlessly courted her. Her formal upbringing had not prepared her for his irresistible Latin charm, or his magnetism and suave manner. Doreen, wealthy and refined, herself hailing from a distinguished family in the Hudson River Valley in New York State, succumbed to his charms. They married and for a short time she was ecstatically happy, but their efforts to conceive children met with failure and she can no longer abide living in an old custom world environment. She is determined to leave Esteban and return to the States. Esteban's villa on his huge and elegant estate also houses his younger twin siblings, Ramon and Rosaria, and his grandmother, an honorable matron steeped in Old World traditions. Doreen feels she is suffocating. Although she is free to come and go as she pleases within Panama City, Esteban will not allow her to work, nor is she permitted to visit his club. He uses the excuse that attendance at the club does not befit a Pereira spouse, but Doreen cannot see the sense of his reasoning and suspects there is a darker reason. When she attempts to return to the States, Esteban stops her, confiscating her passport and the keys to her car. Esteban deeply loves Doreen and he has no intention of letting her go. He wants desperately to solve their problems and rekindle the happiness they originally shared, but he does not believe that her returning to the States is the answer. Matters worsen when Doreen defies Esteban and visits the club and meets Elena, the stripper who nightly performs at his nightclub. Very soon Doreen's suspicions come close to confirmation that Elena is Esteban's mistress....

Mark Carlson – tall, reserved, easy to look at, somewhat introverted, settled in his ways, who likes order and tranquility - in his middle thirties, a well-to-do Rep at a government patent office. After the death of his parents, the shelter and conformity of his colonial mansion is indispensable to him. When his best friend, Jacques, is killed in a house fire, Mark can do no less than to keep his promise and honor his friend's final request that he take on the responsibility of the orphaned daughter, Cybelle. Nine years later, a grown-up Cybelle, a feisty, petite, (sort of a combination Sandra Bullock/Molly Ringwald) popcorn character, declares her love. Mark is already aware of the attraction, and though he dares not admit it, even to himself, it is mutual, for Cybelle is everything buoyant Mark isn't and very dear to his heart. His character, one to be admired, is shown in his silent comments to his deceased friend. "Don't worry, Jacques, I won't take advantage of her vulnerability. She needs to be loved, and I'm the only one she can turn to thus far. But one day some other man, one younger and more eligible will recognize her worth and capture her heart. Then he'll be there for her. Until then, I'll guard her from herself – and from me." .... This story appeared in my novel Roses in the Dark (ISBN1-933548-16-9) that comprised four interwoven love stories, written by the same author, Paula Freda.

Leatrice Meredith, tall, beautiful, self-poised, and rich, is in love with Seth Driscoll, a Montanan horse rancher of modest means. Seth's conception of eastern women is stereotyped, especially regarding wealthy, idle women. Not at all what he is looking for in a wife. Give him a woman of the land, Montanan bred. In a bizarre arrangement, Leatrice becomes his housekeeper. Seth is sure that a few weeks of work will disillusion her. But as they work together, meet obstacles, share holidays and hardships, her true character emerges. Yet proving herself may still not be enough, when she learns that Seth has already chosen a "woman of the land, Montanan born and bred." .... EXCERPT: ...On the landing at the bottom of the stairs Leatrice paused. The door to her study was open. Seth Driscoll stood waiting, turned slightly toward the French doors. His sandy-colored hair was ruffled as though he had run a nervous hand through it. His grey-green eyes were pensive and fixed on the outline of snowcapped mountains in the distance. His lips were pressed together, his square jaw tight, raised as if in anticipation not to his liking. The front of his lambskin shearling coat was open, revealing a wide, trunk neck above the plaid shirt that was tucked-in haphazardly into his heavy-weight denims, as though he’d dressed more for comfort and necessity than looks. He held his battered Stetson at his side, the curled brim clenched tightly in his large, sun-tanned fist. His feet in heavy dusty riding boots were set slightly apart as if at any moment he might open the French doors and stride out. But it was not the vast pastures shading to soft fawn with the coming of winter, or the snowcapped mountains shrouded in pale blue mist that Driscoll saw as he gazed out the French doors, but the records at the courthouse proving Leatrice’s claim. The present clerk could find no copy of a bill of sale from the previous owner of the Bar LB for the five thousand acres known as the Triple R Division. The deed Seth and his lawyer had accepted as valid at the time of the sale had been forged. Leatrice was the current owner of the Bar LB; consequently, his land now belonged to her. Everything he had worked for, his security for the future, his one hold on life, had all been for nothing. Upstairs that scheming she-devil must be congratulating herself for having dropped the ground from under him. Seth loved the land he rode daily, as his father had loved it before him. He had scraped and saved from the pittance paid for cattle doctorin’ and punchin’, fixin’ fences, and occasionally rodeoing, and he achieved his goal. He bought the Triple R, five thousand acres of lush grassland, buttes and rising hills. He began with four broodmares and a stallion. Fifteen years later his horse count numbered in the hundreds, pure breed quarter horses that cattle ranchers who could not afford to raise their own remudas for rounding up cattle, or simply horsemen in need of sturdy steeds, bought at top dollar and praised highly. A tingling sensation in the nape of his neck made him turn. Leatrice had entered the room. It was the same each time he saw her, the gut feeling that he wanted her. He had to pull hard on the reins to keep from succumbing. She was too tall for a woman, too broad of shoulder, too intelligent and shrewd, too rich and used to getting her own way, too presumptuous and arrogant for a female according to his book. A usurper, a schemer, an Easterner coming to his country a year and a half-ago not knowing a heifer from a steer, or a stallion from a gelding. He was glad of the added height nature had bequeath him. It gave him the advantage of looking down at Leatrice, of being able to withstand the rock hardness, the authoritative and indomitable pull of those blue eyes. They would fell a lesser man. Alone in the study, Seth and Leatrice faced each other, neither sure of where to begin....

Henderson Sands is a nickname that Harriet Henderson and Thorvald Sands christen the island in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the Mediterranean, on which they are stranded. Since late childhood Harriet a New York waitress, remembers fearing and disliking the opposite sex. Recurring nightmares haunt her anytime she comes close to becoming involved with a man. With Val (Thorvald) the nightmares have not come, not yet, possibly because she finds him the most intense, most handsome, vital man she has ever met. Undeniably he holds a strange fascination for her. But as for seriously considering the endearments he lavished upon her each evening while they strolled the decks of the ocean liner cruising the Mediterranean, she accepted his smooth words with a grain of salt. A shipboard romance. Once the ship docked in New York, she would never want to see him again. Then fate steps in, and Harriet finds herself stranded alone with Val on an exotic island in the Mediterranean. Besides saving her life, Val proves himself an excellent hunter and ingenious trapper, building his own weapons and tools from nature's own resources. On the ship he had seemed human; on the island he is a gentleman's version of a Viking warrior. He appears to be enjoying himself, tackling with gusto the task of creating a habitable dwelling for them. Harriet cannot deny her attraction, yet how can she permit herself to find him devastatingly appealing? Isn't he like most men, fundamentally interested in — she refuses to think further. And then the nightmares return....

Light-hearted, feisty, clean, wholesome, romance novella for hearts of all ages. When Alouette, a disabled orphan, entered her life and stole her heart, Carol needed a husband in order to adopt the child. Who better to ask than ever faithful, loyal Herbert. Well, not so easy, my dear. "I'll think about it," he told her. Not at all the reply she expected. Between his indifferent reply preceded by Evan's rejections, Carol's ego was in tatters. Served her right, Herb thought. But the thought gave him no pleasure. He loved her, faults and all. He couldn't recall a day when he didn't love her. He'd be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity. It might be his last. As Alouette's father, Carol's affection for the child might over time extend to him. And, at last on intimate terms, tenderly, with patience, he might turn her friendship into love. EXCERPT: Carol closed her eyes, and for the first time in months, felt an unfettered sense of joy and expectation, so much so she barely felt someone settling into the empty seat beside her, until the flight attendant stopped the beverage cart at her row, and asked, "What would you like to drink, Miss, Sir? "W-what?" Carol opened her eyes. A man sat beside her. "Cat, would you like a beverage?" "Herb?!" She stared, gaping. "What the— Before she could utter a startled expletive, Herb glanced up at the flight attendant. "A brandy for the lady, a scotch for me, please." His reference to her as a lady, kept her from using the expletive in front of the flight attendant. She controlled her outburst until the woman had moved to the next row. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed. "Your parents thought it best waiting to tell you I'm their choice to head their legal department at the new branch, once you and I both approve its location." "Wasn't that supposed to be my job?" Carol asked through clenched teeth. "It is," Herb said, grinning. "You're Public Relations, and I take care of the legal details." "Oh," she smiled, green eyes metaphorically flinging daggers. "Your father wanted the best for his over-seas branch. And we're the best in his firm." Carol gritted her teeth and glanced around her. All the seats were taken. For an instant she entertained the ludicrous thought of locating a parachute and jumping off the plane. She opted for leaning back, staring straight ahead tight-lipped, determined the moment she disembarked, to use her open return ticket to immediately fly back home." "Carol, look, your dislike of me aside, your father needs our expertise. For his sake, let's cooperate, do our jobs to the best of our ability, and once the new branch is running smoothly, someone else can take over for you. Carol gazed at Herb, surprised. He'd actually used her given name. And his tone sounded earnest. It was no secret how much he respected her father, and how beholden he felt for Mark employing him straight out of law school. She recognized that her parents had meant her no harm by conveniently not mentioning she would be working with Herb, realizing, had she known, she'd never have accepted the job. Carol sighed, some of her anger subsiding. "All right," she relented. "For my parents' sake, and the new branch. But I'm warning you, one taunt, one tease, so help me—" "Thank you, Carol." He smiled pleasantly. She remembered the young boy who followed her about as she played in the garden behind the house and the grounds surrounding the estate. Sometimes, when no grownup was looking, she'd climb over the stone fence that bordered the property, and manage to part-climb, part slide down to the banks of the Hudson River. Herb was pudgy at that early age, but he stumbled persistently behind her, most of the time rolling downhill, arriving at her side, bruised and disheveled. He had the preposterous idea that she needed his protection, so much so that as she and Herb grew, her parents expected it of him. He became her chaper

(A Clean Inspirational Christmas Romance for hearts of all ages) Julie, shy, plain, suffered the worst taunts and nicknames, during her HS years. Evan, with his quiet, calm expression, was one of the few who didn't ridicule her.She often wondered if he hadn't moved away, whether he'd have asked her out. Will her dearest dream come true when as a young woman living on her own, she spots Evan in the crowd on her way to work? Years ago, Julie had unscrewed the casing to her old music box and donated its insides to a church charity, but kept the genuine hardwood exterior. Now, twenty-five, living comfortably, if frugally, in her midtown apartment, she valued the box for its sentimental value and its rare, expensive mahogany wood. What better place to keep her memories. Along with family photos was a 5 x7 she particularly valued, taken during high school. An old girl friend was as in the photo, shouldering her. In the background was the schoolyard where, shy, plain, and totally behind the times, she had suffered the worst taunts and nicknames. In one corner of the photo, on a weathered bench, sat a boy, handsome even at his gangly age. He watched her, a quiet, calm expression on his face. Evan was one of the few boys who didn't whistle sarcastically or wink duplicitously on those few occasions that she forgot to keep her head bent to avoid unwelcome stares. She often wondered that if he hadn't moved away with his family from their small Massachusetts's town, to New York, whether he might eventually have asked her out on a date. The smile he sometimes favored her with, was sincere. It had never proved otherwise. Still on the shy and plain side, Julie regarded herself in the mirror above her dresser. A dab of powder and eyebrow pencil added a bit of sophistication to complement her denim blue jeans and loose soft blue cotton top, and she was ready to join her friend, Abby, for a Labor Day outing -- Evan would have approved. Julie grimaced. She must not allow such thoughts, and forget that she ever believed she'd glimpsed him among the Broadway crowd as she rode the bus to work. All a trick of her imagination. It might be a good idea when she returned this evening to tear up that high school photo so it would never again bring back silly school girl memories. A knock at the door. It was Abby."Are you ready?" One last look in the mirror. Casual and comfortable. Good enough, she shrugged.It wasn't as though she were leaving to meet the love of her life....

A clean inspirational contemporary western romance novella... Driscoll's Daughter (A Sequel to "Driscoll's Lady) When Lexie accepted Chris' proposal, she felt no doubt. At her father's insistence they agreed to wait at least until she had finished college, especially if she planned to help Chris with his dream of one day owning a horse ranch of his own. Chris had opted for a trade and agricultural school, learning how to farm and breed horses. Perhaps if they had attended the same college, she might be Chris' wife today, but the distance and the separations, and the new world that Lexie suddenly found herself in, was too much of a distraction. Suddenly there were handsomer and smarter young men who wanted to date her, despite the engagement ring she wore. After a while she grew tired of having to flash the ring in their faces, not to mention she wanted to date them. Her world now included a much vaster realm than the two ranches and small schools in which she had grown up. On the evening of her graduation, with her parents and Chris present, she broke off her engagement and broke his heart along with it. Now, two years later, living in New York and dating Jim, her boss' son, Lexie has serious doubts about her present relationship. Faced with her mother's discerning wit, she can no longer deny the truth. "Mom, I miss my home, the country, our way of life at the ranch, the snow-capped mountains, the wide open spaces, riding the fields, the prairies and hiking the rolling hills heavy with spruce. And I miss..." Lexie's voice trailing off on a pause, as though she'd stopped herself from saying more, did not escape her mother's notice. "And you miss...?" Leatrice asked gently. Lexie's eyes filled with tears, but she quickly lifted her free hand and brushed them away. "And," she added shamefaced, "I miss Chris' love and caring ways. I miss the good times, and the carefree fun we shared." Learice asked, "Chris' love and caring ways, the good times, the carefree fun — but doesn't Jim supply that?" "Yes, but...Oh, it's just not the same. He's not Chris," she said.. "Not by a long run," she added, falling back on a childhood idiom. "In other words," Leatrice clarified, "You're still in love with Chris." Lexie nodded. Hearing the words from. her mother who had always understood her better than anyone, even her father, as much as he cared for her, there was no escaping the truth. She had made a terrible mistake breaking off her engagement to Chris and splitting his heart in two. He hated her now.... (Also includes first two chapters of "Driscoll's Lady")

EXCERPT: ... ...His Guide’s Manual warned James Hennessey adamantly never to associate on an intimate basis with any passenger, female or male. He'd heeded that sound advice for the ten years of his employment, and was well content to heed it for the next ten years. He avoided the coy signals that Carole Santini and Ira Krausner sent him. As for Mary Juliette, her glances did not invite. She was curious about him, but not brazen or flirtatious. It felt more as though she were trying to make up her mind about him. Perhaps she realized that her chances of capturing his interest were slim. She was plain. She wore some makeup, her dark brown hair was well styled in a page, but she would never be glamorous. And he had to admit he liked "glamorous." And "glamorous" often responded; though what they saw in him, he had not the slightest idea. Yes, he was easy on the eyes, a tall, broad-chested man, with a casual air that matched his safari poplin shirt, pants, and wide-brimmed hat. He kept himself in good shape, worked out, watched what he ate. He had a fair amount of intelligence, and enough wit to keep a conversation going. Outside of that, he was just another guy. Yet three quarters of the women who had ridden this motor coach in the past ten years, had tried to flirt with him. He doubted he need worry with Mary Juliette. Plain and reserved, and as far as he could tell thus far, unaffected. He could trust this one for some light conversation... Mary Juliette could hardly contain her excitement. They were entering the South American jungle. She was finally going to see it and be able to sketch it first hand. And when she returned to her favorite hill overlooking her hometown, she would breathe life into her sketches by transferring them to canvas in vivid oil colors. This particular tour avoided the tourist traps and touched upon the real Amazon, the parts of the country indigenous to the giant slithering anacondas, and the large butterflies whose colorful wings were like oriental fans; the lush vegetation of the Amazon Basin – the laurels, the mimosas, the papaya trees; the native among his village of thatched huts, as he fished and hunted, while his woman, nursing their child at her breast, wove cloth for their garments in colorful, intricate patterns. MJ flipped through the used pages of her sketchbook, pausing at the last image she had drawn, her conception of "Mr. Right," her "Mr. Right." She looked closer at the sketch and her mouth fell open. The drawing bore a striking resemblance to Hennessey. It was Hennessey. Was Hennessey "Mr. Right?".... No one except the mulatto guard, Connors, noticed the figure perched in a tree, holding a long firearm ready and aimed directly at them. "Deus—Nao!" Connors uttered, as the dissatisfied Mestizo opened fire on the motor coach and its occupants. Enrique never knew what hit him. He slumped forward over the steering wheel. Connors shouted as he dove to his knees and made a grab for the steering wheel, ducking as another volley of bullets hit the windshield and shattered the glass into a frosty kaleidoscope of blues and whites. He managed to turn the wheel trapped under Enrique’s bleeding chest, and steer the bus away from the river and its hungry inhabitants. More bullets riddled the metal monster on wheels as it veered and careened off the road, and crashed into a clump of gnarled vines and close-knit trees. Hennessey crawled down the center of the bus, checking on the passengers. From the corner of his eye he saw Mary Juliette sliding out from under her seat into the aisle. "Where do you think you’re going? Get back under!" he ordered grimly. Big dark brown eyes stared defiantly back at him. "Go ahead, stand up, give those hell hounds a clear target," Hennessey told her in earnest. ... (This story appeared in the anthology novel Heart Bouquets, written and copyrighted by the same author, Paula Freda)

e-Ever wonder what happened to Abby from Paula Freda's "Beautiful Dreamer"? Find out in the romance novella, "The Lark and Robin Red" (Abby's Story), a Clean, Inspirational Romance for hearts of all ages). EXCERPT: "What's wrong? Is it something I said?" although she hadn't said much. Perhaps the way she was dressed. Yet she had taken pains to dress simply. Tan slacks, a soft mint green top, and windbreaker and tan sneakers. She wasn't dressed much unlike him. "Not-nothing's wrong, sweetest. I guess most guys in my position would feel nervous." Oh God, he's going to break off with me, Abby thought, steeling herself for the worse. She didn't blame him, of course. Unbelievable, his dating her had lasted this long. Johnny swallowed hard. "All right, Abby," he said. "Just ignore everyone who will soon be staring at us, or aiming their smartphone cameras at us. Keep your attention on me." He released her shoulders and drew a small velvet box from his pants pocket. Kneeling on one knee, he snapped it open. "Abigail, I know it's probably too soon to make my declaration. But I won't wait to ask you. There's too much sadness in your eyes. You think so little of yourself because of someone in your past who was blind to the real you, the sweet and generous and selfless you. I'm not making that mistake. Abby, if you think you could bear with my faults, and just see the love in my heart, and the desire to spend the rest of my life with you. If-if you can see yourself growing old with me, patiently ... Abby will you marry me?" No, she thought, this wasn't real. She was in bed, dreaming. Any moment the alarm on her radio-clock would go off and her favorite country singer wake her gently with a guitar-strung melodious song." He took her surprise for hesitation. "Abby, I know this is sudden. But if there's the slightest inclination on your part to consider my proposal, take the ring, wear it, until the day you feel absolutely certain you have no feelings for me, then you can give it back to me. No questions asked, no recriminations. I'll exit your life as suddenly as I entered it." Oh, No, Abby thought, tears welling up. Thoughts raced through her mind, silly thoughts. How could such a gorgeous hunk of a man fall for the likes of her? How could anyone feel such love for her after so short a time? And yet, I don't care what his reasons are. My head is not going to ruin my one chance, if there is the slimmest possibility; he's actually fallen in love with me, for myself. Vocal chords trembling. and forgetting her self-promises to be tactful and reserved, she blurted, "Johnny, Yes, I will wear the ring, because I know I couldn't love anyone the way I love you." She took the box, removed the small Marquee diamond ring from its velvet bed of white, and slipped it over the fourth finger of her left hand. He'd probably ask her for the ring back one day soon, but she didn't care. She'd take whatever happiness was allowed her, for whatever short time, before he said goodbye to her. The happiness on his face was hard to discount. His smile so earnest, she dare believe its sincerity. He stood up and took her into his arms, and kissed her tenderly, oblivious to the crowd that had formed around them and their clapping and ooohs and aaahs, or the phone cameras trained on them. One man, though, wasn't clapping or smiling. He was a thin, sallow-faced young man in a wheelchair. He stared at the couple, not with rancor or jealousy, but with a heart-wrenching sadness. The young nurse guiding his wheelchair watched him stoically. She extended one hand and clasped his shoulder He turned partly in the wheelchair and lifted his head to meet her compassionate gaze, and missed Abby's shocked expression, as absently looking over Johnny's shoulder while he held her in his embrace, she saw the man in the wheelchair, Jason, the man, healthy, strong, athletic, selfish, she had once loved with all her heart, the heart he

A Novella (Clean Romance, Murder Mystery, Suspense) There was a time JoAnn felt Jim was attracted to her, before he met Lexie, but Lexie broke his heart and married someone else. Was there the least bit of chance, JoAnn pondered wistfully, that she might replace his lost love and capture and mend his broken heart? The way to his heart was clear. But he would first have to open its door and let her in. Excerpt: ...Jim and Harold's law firm often represented the embezzled corporation in legal suits. JoAnn and both lawyers and their secretaries were called to the precinct to represent the firm after E.J. Stanton, the company's president, discovered and reported to the authorities a $100,000 dollar unexplained deficit, and accused Alliston, the bookkeeper, of embezzlement, but Jim felt Stanton's evidence against Alliston was dubious and decided to represent the accused Treasurer. No such money was found deposited into any account relating to Alliston's personal finances. The man swore he was innocent. But he was the most likely suspect since he handled all the company's finances. Jim hired a P.I. to investigate. Although the P.I. found no authentic proof that would stand up in court, he did lead Jim to form certain conclusions about who might have been the actual embezzler. "And you remember who I mentioned in my notes," Jim whispered. "Yes, I do." JoAnn answered. "But those suspicions were never made public." "Nevertheless, my office was broken into and files searched. Nothing was discovered missing except the file I carried with me in my briefcase." "Alliston's," JoAnn said, shakily." Jim nodded. "We are all in danger, aren't we?" JoAnn said. "Yes we are," Jim said. "There's already been one murder committed relative to this case."....

Paula Freda, also known as Marianne Dora Rose, presents new short stories in this Second Volume of her Romantic Short Stories. (Rated "G" for General Audiences) Five love stories that warm the heart and the spirit: A Blue Rose from Galaxy Andromeda, The Flower in the Dell,The Girl in the Green Booth, The Winter Rose, and Elspeth's Story (Elspeth's Diary, Circa 1892), from her novella "Love's Timeless Secret Revealed" written under her pen name Marianne Dora Rose.

Ever wonder what happened to Macey, (Linda and Tanner's wild, mischievous daughter), who had her eye on Chris, who loved "Driscoll's Daughter," Lexie? Find out, in "Wild Yellow Clover and Honey Wheat Sage." Tanner and Linda hoped that their daughter had finally learned her lesson, when because of her ill-placed stubbornness, she was almost killed in a cave-in. Morally at heart, Macey is a decent girl, when steered in the right direction, away from her wild side, sweet as clover and as potentially toxic. Nearing her twenty-first birthday, her habit of developing unrequited crushes has taken its toll. She has been fortunate the groups she hung with were decent young people. No one regarded her seriously, or took advantage of her vulnerability. Macey was pretty, blonde, slender, with attractive curves. But she distanced prospective suitors with her flirtatious over anxiousness to form a relationship the moment she met someone who fit her idea of the perfect hero and offered her a friendly smile. The few who fell for her first, but did not fit her view of the perfect physical specimen, she steered away from, or with the utmost kindness, firmly rejected them, even Cal, the Driscolls' younger son, a fine young man, and new foreman on their ranch. Cal saw past the silky blonde hair, the pretty face and slender form, and the curves, and the ill-placed stubbornness. He saw into her heart, morally and intrinsically kind. She just had not figured out where she fit in. He wished it was in his arms, but she didn't want him. If he'd been as handsome as his older brother, Tom, and as smart, teaching History at Montana Tech, she'd be his wife by now. But, no matter, he thought.. The Driscoll stubborness ran in his veins. He would protect her, appreciated or not, at least until she found someone who saw her as he did, and captured her heart...