I want to welcome Isabelle
Kane! First I’d love you to introduce yourself.
I write romance
novels and I believe that romance and love are among the most delightful
aspects of the human experience. I have a distinct fondness for flawed heroes,
and I seek to provide my readers with rich tapestries of stories in which love
is just one element of the forces that intertwine the lives of the
protagonists. I believe every dreamer deserves the adventures and escape
offered by an exciting novel.
Tell us about your
latest release.
Eagle River is my
first New Adult Novel. It is a contemporary romance with a sport’s theme,
because I have always found athletic men particularly sexy.
Here’s the blurb:
Rivals, Galen
Odgers and Cam Fawst have shared many things. Gifted athletes and favored sons
of Eagle River Wisconsin, both have been quarterbacks for the same legendary
football team, the Warriors. Each was raised by a strong woman, and both love
the same beautiful girl, Kjersten Solheim.
Though they
despise each other, they are inexorably linked. But there is a secret about one
of them, a secret that a mother took to her grave, that a high school coach
swore never to reveal, and one whose consequences continue to reverberate.
Can love
survive the ultimate betrayal and the revelation of a decades old secret?
Now I have a few
questions for you – I have found readers do like to know fun things about us
writers.
1.) Who is your
favorite villain – it can be from a book (even one of yours), movie or TV show.
And why?
The Phantom from the Phantom of the Opera because despite
his at times violent and selfish behavior, he is motivated by love for Christine
and music. His love is always hopeless, and so he is a tragic hero.
2.) Who is your
favorite character out of your books? Why?
Luke White from Calypso’s Secrets because he is both a bad
boy and an honorable hero.
3.) What do genre do
you write? What made you pick that one?
I’ve written Mystery/Suspense Romance, Historical Romance,
and Contemporary Romance. I have always loved reading romance, so it is very
natural that I write in this genre. However, I try to add a little extra
something to my stories so that there is more to them than just romance.
4.) What are you
working on now?
I am working on a World War Two era romance involving a
British soldier and an American nurse.
5.) What got you to
start writing?
I have always written, even as a little girl. I think
because I loved reading, I wanted to create my own stories.
6.) Where do you get
your ideas from?
I get my ideas from all around me, perhaps from a snippet of
conversation that I overhear or a stray thought that flits through my mind. I
believe that writers have to have open eyes, ears, and minds in order to gather
inspiration for their work.
7.) What would people
who read your work be surprised to find out about you?
I work as an elementary school librarian and I also write
children’s books under another name.
8.) Do you have any
special talents?
I used to train dressage horses and I competed through the
Grand Prix level of dressage.
9.) What was the one
piece of advice you received when you were an aspiring author that has stuck
with you? Why?
The best pieces of of advice that I ever received on writing
were to write honestly from the heart and the gut, and to be disciplined about
writing.
10.) If you could talk
to any famous figure (present, past or fictional) who would it be and what would
you talk about?
I think I would like to meet Robin Hood and find out how his
real story turned out. Did he and Maid Marion live happily ever after?
11.) What song would
you say describes your life?
The Glory of Love by Peter Cetera
I would say that this song inspired my views on romance and
love.
12.) If you could come
back as any animal – what would it be?
I would be a horse, because they are beautiful, powerful,
loving and loyal.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
The Fair 1985
~ Ben ~
It was the kind of night when you held hands with your
girl, rather than tossing an arm over her shoulders, because you were
uncomfortably aware of the big sweat patches that extended all the way down to
your belt. The evening breeze was heavy and sluggish with humidity, newly spun
cotton candy, and buttered popcorn. Now and then, the heavy air would pick up a
hot breath of animal smells emanating from the stock pens. And everything was
sticky, especially the bodies of small, sun burned, black fingernailed children.
The animals tied up in the fluorescently lit “Cow Palace,” were drooping and
soggy despite the flashing lights and the cacophony of sound that rudely
interrupted the surrounding opaque silence of a fallow field in the Midwestern
night.
Years later, Ben could still hear it, the manically
cheerful music of the Ferris wheel, the melodic wailing of some local country
band from the beer tent, the dull hum of voices speaking, the lowing and
bleating of the discontented animals, and, occasionally, a mother’s shrill cry
for a child that had wandered off. He could still smell it and taste it, and it
was right there when he closed his eyes. And then it would flood him and he
would ache with the tight sunbaked skin feeling of childhood summers.
There was one such Saturday night that stood out as
brilliantly lit among Ben’s memories as the Vegas strip in the quiet, indigo
emptiness of the desert night. He remembered being ticked because his mother
had saddled him with Timmy Johansson for the evening, and that meant that Ben
had to leave the fair by eleven to get the kid home on time. Timmy wasn’t a bad
kid. It’s just that he tried way too hard. His mom knew the kid had problems.
She was the one who made Timmy go out for football, the year that Eagle River
made it to the State Championships. Galen’s year.
That night, it turned out to be a good thing that
Timmy came along. At least he was someone for Ben to talk to, someone easily
impressed. Galen was in one of his moods. So, there they were, doing the fair
thing: Ben, Galen the mute, and Timmy, shirt buttoned all the way up his neck,
don’t-look-over-at-the-beer-tent Johansson.
It must have been around ten o’clock and all three
boys were about faired out. They had taken to wandering around the stock barns
with no real purpose, blowing time, when they heard cheering and applause from
over near the game booths. There was a pause and then the same again. A good
sized crowd had formed around one of the booths. They walked over to check out
what was going on. Ben couldn’t see anything at first, but the three worked
their way through the crowd. Ben was tall and so it wasn’t long before he had a
decent view.
The crowd had formed a semi-circle around one of those
games where one throws a football through a ring. The size of the prize you win
was determined by how many times consecutively a person could throw it through
the ring. The area in front of the booth was all clear, except for one figure
which was alternately illuminated and then shadowed by the rapidly changing
Ferris wheel lights. The man stood a good thirty feet from his target. At
first, Ben couldn’t make out who it was. The guy was tall and strong. His
shoulders were turned sideways. He stepped, reached back, and threw. The
football sailed through the hole. The crowd went nuts. Their hero stood still,
basking in their praise while some kid ran the ball back to him. Just then, a
light from the Ferris wheel flashed across the man’s face, illuminating him.
But Ben already knew who it was; he had kept stats at too many football games
throughout high school not to recognize that particular throwing style.
Timmy, who had followed Ben through the crowd, tugged
at his arm. “Hey, isn’t that Cam Fawst?”
Ben spun, searching for Galen, but he had already lost
him somewhere in the crowd.
“You know him, right?” Insisted Timmy. He pushed at
Ben’s shoulder. “Hey, Ben, what’s up?”
“Yeah, that’s Cam.” Where was Galen?
“Could you introduce me to him? He’s the Coyotes’
quarterback! I watched him on TV. I can’t believe that he’s actually here!”
Ben watched again as Cam turned, stepped, and hurled
the football. It spiraled tightly, powerfully through the hole in the board.
The crowd cheered wildly again. Once more, the kid jogged the ball back to Cam.
“That’s twelve, Cam,” someone shouted.
“Don’t miss this one, Cam.”
The tall figure turned into the half-light cast by the
carousel. “It’s in the bag,” that familiar deep, confident, sardonic voice
announced over the manically cheerful tune shrieking out from the carousel.
“No one has ever gotten thirteen, the whole fair,
Mom,” Ben heard some little kid squeal. “Look how far back he is.”
“Hush, Toby. You’ll wreck his concentration,” a
feminine voice ordered.
Ben watched Cam critically. He turned and threw. The
ball spiraled through the air once more. So controlled, so smooth. But Cam
still threw with this arm, not his shoulder. Ben had wondered whether the
coaching Cam received in Milwaukee would correct that technical flaw. But, no.
It was still there. But, if you were really critical, if you examined his
throwing style as a potential NFL player, then you would have to admit that he
didn’t use his shoulder the way the great ones did, the Johnny Unitases, the
Dan Marinos. Still, Cam was impressive. And he remained Eagle River’s favorite
son.
Once again, Ben searched the crowd for Galen, but
there was still no sign of him. Is Kjersten here? Ben’s stomach twisted. God,
he hoped not. It was way too soon for Galen.
Then, as he stared into the front rows of the crowd,
the frenetic flash of the Ferris wheel lights reflected off moonlight bright
long hair. He could just make out the familiar long, slender frame. God no!
She’s here. Galen can’t deal with her right now, too!
Desperately now, Ben searched for his friend. He moved
away from the awestruck Timmy and began to shoulder his way back through the
crowd.
“Hey, watch it, kid,” a rather large farmer growled at
him. In his haste, Ben had jostled the farmer’s lady.
“Sorry,” Ben shouted over his shoulder.
“That’s Oscar Happe’s boy, isn’t it?” Ben heard the
farmer’s wife ask.
“Rude little bastard,” the farmer responded.
Perfect. But Ben had no time. Later, he would go back
and apologize, but after he got Galen out of there. As he pushed through, the
crowd began to thin. There, at the very edge of the huddled masses, stood
Galen. At six feet four inches, Galen easily observed the scene over the heads
of most of those assembled. His hands were jammed into the pockets of the faded
Wranglers that clung to his long, muscled legs. Idly, or was it with restrained
hostility, he kicked the toes of his battered and scuffed Roper boots into the
dirt.
“Galen.”
He looked in Ben’s direction, but he didn’t notice
Ben. Galen’s eyes seemed focused inward rather than outward. His face nakedly
revealed pain and shattered dreams.
“Galen? Kjersten’s here.”
“Yeah, Ben. I know, and I’m okay.” Now Galen’s face
was emotionless.
“Let’s get out of here, Galen. I’ve had enough of this
hick fair.” To be honest, Ben felt more comfortable seeing him this way. This
was the face that most everyone else saw. Ben knew that he was probably the
only one outside of Galen’s family who ever saw him that other way. Galen had
been through a lot with his mother dying last year and then the break up. No
question. No one knew that better than Ben did. It was just that Galen hid it
so well most of the time that Ben could forget or pretend, for a while at
least. Then, he was the old Galen, the one he’d grown up with, not this new
bitter and haunted person.
An “Aw,” reverberated through the crowd. Clearly, Cam had
finally missed.
“Galen Odgers, is that you out there?” Sal, the rotund
bar owner’s mellow baritone called out.
“Yeah, Sal. It’s me.” Galen answered as he raised his
eyebrows at Ben.
What amazing timing. Ben tugged his friend’s arm.
“Let’s get outta here.”
“What you doin’ out there, boy? Come on up here. You
show Cam how a real football player throws.”
Sal’s great bulk parted the crowd like Moses did the
seas, the round, glowing end of his thick cigar preceding him. He strode up to
Galen, threw a great hairy forearm around Galen’s neck and dragged him through
the crowd.
“Galen,” Sal chuckled, then cleared his throat of
chunky cigar sputum. “You get up here and show Eagle River what you got.”
“Sal, I’m not up for this.”
“Hey Cam,” Sal shouted out, ignoring Galen’s protest.
“I got a challenger here for you. Bet ya this high school string bean can out
throw a college star. Galen here is a real ball player. You see that ring over
there, Galen? Cam tossed that pigskin there through it thirteen times from where
he’s standing. I got a twenty that says you can make it to fourteen.” Sal moved
back towards the football toss, dragging Galen with him.
Suddenly, there was chaos. People shouted out to Galen
and Sal’s voice continued to boom out, taking odds.
Ben stood stock still. If you know a guy as well as
Ben knew Galen, had grown up with a guy, you understood how he felt about
things, about people, about Kjersten and Cam, in particular. Feeling anxious,
he jostled his way back to the front of the crowd.
Meanwhile, Galen had taken Cam’s place. He stood
silently, facing the target. He had to be nervous, what with the whole town and
Cam and Kjersten there. Please God, don’t let him screw up. Please. Ben crossed
his fingers. Galen drew his arm back and threw, quickly. Too quickly. Yes! It
went through. One. The ball was run back to him. Again, he just drew back and
blasted it. Two. Yes! Then, another. One more. On and on. The relief washed
over Ben. Galen was keeping it together. He was sweet. Ben started to get
excited, to get into it with the crowd.
Ben hadn’t seen his best friend play ball for most of
Galen’s senior year. Ben had been away at college. He had heard that Galen was
a real talent, but this self-composed, accurate quarterback was a far cry from
the long limbed, loose cannon he remembered from a year before. Galen’s weight
was balanced delicately, dancer-like on the balls of his battered, old, laced
up work boots. His facial features were relaxed while his eyes were focused on
that white ring in the distance. He seemed not to hear the voices shouting his
name all around him. He appeared equally oblivious to Cam, who stood just off
to his right side, and to the din and the flashing lights of the surrounding
fair. Effortlessly, Galen tossed that football through the hoop, pausing only
long enough for the boy to run the football back to him. Unlike Cam, who had
reveled in the adoration, working the crowd, Galen was lost in the job at hand
and he was really, really good.
As one, the crowd shouted the number of the throw out
loud, drowning out the sounds of men betting and the fair noises: “Ten… Eleven…
Twelve.”
The tension built with each successful throw. The
crowd sucked in air as one, exhaled in relief as one.
“Thirteen.” Galen had tied Cam.
Unable to resist, Ben searched for Kjersten again. In
the shadows by Cam, Ben could just make out her profile. Maliciously, he wished
that he could see her face as she watched her old boyfriend show up her new
one.
“Fourteen...Fifteen...Sixteen.”
Hysteria was building.
“Seventeen...Eighteen...Nineteen...Twenty... Oh,” the
crowd groaned as one. Galen had finally missed. The football had bounced just
off the edge of the ring. Then, everyone went nuts. Galen stood still as the
crowd swarmed around him. Ben saw Sal give him a few congratulatory smacks on
the back. Then, Ben lost sight of Galen in the mass of people congratulating
him. Gritting his teeth, Ben forced his way closer in. When he finally caught
sight of Galen again, Cam had already cornered Galen.
Suddenly, Ben was fourteen-years-old and too chicken
to help Galen out when Cam decided to make trouble for him. Cam wasn’t really a
bully. He had never really cared enough about other people to waste his time
trying to dominate them. Besides, he’d always enjoyed the kind of hero worship
that other boys gave to superior athletes. But things were different between
Cam and Galen. There’d always been something strange between those two, a
heavy, dark feeling of which schoolboys should not have been capable.
Ben observed that Kjersten was on Cam’s arm.
Long-limbed and slender and fragile, she passed under the lights, completely
visible for the first time. The high cheekbones, the full lips, and the elegant
neck were the same. Shouldn’t people look different when everything changed so
much? But Kjersten was the same, albeit a thinner, more serious looking girl.
She still wore her hair long and straight down her shoulders. She still moved
with that particular step, seeming to dance forward, like the sprinter that she
had once been. Her face was serene, still, and classically beautiful.
Ben watched as Cam held out his hand to Galen. “I’m
glad that you’re keeping the standard up at old Eagle River High. I was worried
that the Warriors would slack off with me gone.”
Galen stared at the proffered hand and then, slowly,
hesitantly, reached out and took it. From his vantage point, Ben saw that both
men were putting a good deal more than cordiality into their grips. Their hands
remained interlocked, their eyes meeting, the smile thinning from Cam’s lips,
neither one giving in. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they released. A draw.
“Your name is Galen, right?” Cam continued, that
bright “for the fans” smile accentuating the hungry lines of his jaw. “Galen
Otter, or Oller?” Of course Cam knew Galen’s name, but thankfully, Galen didn’t
take the bait.
“Odgers.”
“I remember now. You were that weedy sophomore backup
quarterback.” Cam chuckled familiarly. “You always brought me towels and water
all through my senior year.” He punctuated his comment with a friendly nudge at
Galen’s shoulder. But Cam’s eyes were sharp and focused on Galen. “I remember
you had a big case of hero worship.”
Unfazed by the clumsy jab, Galen stared straight back
at him. “Too bad you didn’t play much last year, Fawst.”
Cam quit smiling. “Things are different in college.
Players run faster and hit harder. It takes anyone a while to adjust. You’ll
see what it’s like if you get that opportunity. Throwing a football through a
hoop is a cute trick but it won’t get you far in a college football game.” Cam
paused, regaining his composure. “You decided where you’re gonna go next year?
I’m sure that there are a lot of division three schools who would give you a
shot.”
Galen didn’t take the bait.
“Well, see ya.” Cam was tired of the games.
“Hi Galen,” Kjersten’s voice was soft but carried
through the darkness like a knife.
Galen nodded his head curtly towards the girl,
acknowledging her, but didn’t turn to look at her. “Kjersten.”
Cam assessed them, looking back and forth between
them. “That’s right, you two know each other.” He tossed an arm possessively
over Kjersten’s shoulder and pulled her tightly to him, staring at Galen all
the while. “Here’s my good luck, Galen. You need to get yourself one of these,”
Cam chuckled at his own coarse joke. Kjersten’s face remained determinedly
impassive, her body, stiff.
“Hey Cam,” Sal’s cigar roughened voice cut through the
weighted silence. The large bulk of the bartender appeared at Galen’s side.
“You gonna be around town for a couple of days?”
“I’d planned to stay through the weekend,” Cam
answered.
“Would you mind stoppin’ by the bar during the Brewers
and Twins game? You know what big Coyote fans we are. The guys would be
thrilled if you would just come in and shoot the shit.”
“Sure, Sal.”
“Thanks, kid.” Sal was pleased. With satisfaction, he
twisted the cigar between his teeth. “Galen, you comin’ by, too?”
“I don’t know, Sal. There’s a lot of work I gotta do
at the farm. It’s tough to get away.”
No longer the center of attention, Cam turned away.
“Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of this small town
bullshit,” Ben heard him mutter to Kjersten.
Suddenly, a hot, sweaty hand grasped Ben’s forearm.
“Hey Ben, I’ve been looking all over for you. I thought that you’d ditched me.”
It was Timmy. “Do you know how late it is already? My mom must be having a
stroke. I haven’t called her in over two hours and it’s almost eleven. We’ve
got to go soon or I’m gonna be late for curfew.”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Galen broke abruptly away and strode
off, his long legs eating up the ground, leaving Ben and Timmy in the dust.
They followed and tried to keep up at first and then fell behind. A stalk of
corn from last year’s crop, suddenly jammed into the arch of Ben’s foot.
“Shoot.” Ben knelt down, pulled off his decrepit
sneaker, and rubbed the abraded skin. He looked up as Galen swung open the door
of his beat up, old pickup and hopped in. Ben cringed at the brutal clang of
rusted metal on metal when he slammed the ancient door shut.
Timmy waited while Ben adjusted his shoe. “Is he okay?
Galen’s not pissed with me, is he? I didn’t mean to act like a dorky little
kid. It’s just that my mom worried. Do you think he’s pissed?”
“Don’t worry about it, Timmy. Galen’s not pissed with
you or me. He’s just dealing with some stuff.”
As Ben straightened up, Galen started the engine. The
ancient Ford was moving their way. It pulled abreast of them. “Come on, Ben.
Let’s go,” Galen said impatiently.
Timmy hopped in and Ben followed a moment later. Galen
shifted the truck into gear and swung it around. They spun off in a cloud of
dust.
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