First Meeting from Savage Heart by Dellani

Savage Heart is the sequel to Indian Summer, my historical romance. Sailfish, is on his way to St. Augustine for Gabriella's birthday. During the night, a wounded person stumbles into his camp, followed by an equally injured panther. He kills the panther, then turns to the person to treat the wounds. He's busily washing and bandaging when he gets a shock.

With a cry of surprise, Sailfish sat hard on the ground, legs flying upward. The person lying on the ground wasn't a young man at all. Puzzled, he gazed into the silent face.

"Who are you, little one, and where do you come from?"

The day neared mid-afternoon when the young woman stirred, opening eyes the color of new palm fronds. The gentle green was flecked with specks of gold. Sailfish's dark, penetrating gaze met hers as he smiled. Two spots of color rose in her cheeks when she realized her chest was swathed in bandages and nothing else. Scrabbling weakly with the edges of Sailfish's matchcoat, she tried to pull it over her. He kindly averted his eyes, concealing his smile.

"Forgive me for pointing out I've already seen you." He spoke softly in Spanish, hoping she understood.

She babbled quickly in response. It took him a moment to realize she was speaking French, her accent was slightly different from what he was used to. He repeated himself, in French this time, raising the edge of the cloth to her chin.

"Merci," she replied, mortified by her nakedness. Turning her head as far as she could from his gaze, her blush deepened.

"How do you happen to be out here alone?" he asked.

"My family," she sighed, picking at the frayed, singed edge of his matchcoat. "They were killed. I was the only one to get away. I don't even know where I am."

"Where are you from?"

She wouldn't speak.

"Who killed them?"

"Men like you."

"Like me? You mean Indian men?"

She nodded, her eyes full of tears.

"Exactly like me?" His tribe was distinctive. All the men were very tall and tattooed from head to foot, their hair decorated with beads, bits of shell and metal. No other tribes bred such tall warriors.

The young woman shrugged, gasping as her flesh pulled uncomfortably against her wounds. "They were not as tall as you, but were dark and angry men. They killed Papa, shot him through the chest. My mother—" She shuddered. "She was not so lucky. My sisters either. My baby brother, they took him away. I don't know how they killed him. He was screaming, then suddenly he stopped."

"How did you escape?"

"I was in the woods with my friend. He made me hide until it was over."

"He was wise to do so."

"He tried to help my mother, but they killed him too. It was awful." She burst into tears, sobbing piteously.

Sailfish wanted to comfort her, but didn't know how. A girl who had seen her family brutalized and murdered by Indians would hardly turn to another for solace. Instead, he gave her some broth he he'd made from jerked meat.

She drank hungrily, asking for more when she was through. "I haven't eaten for so long."

"Then that is all you may have for now. If you eat too much, you will lose it."

Conceding the truth of his statement, the girl fell into an uneasy sleep. Sailfish finished a simple shelter to keep the sun off her and caught fish for their evening meal. She still hadn't woken by the time it was ready.

He ate his meal in silence, waiting for the girl to wake. She woke as he cleaned up. Sailfish served her some food, hoping she would make the next move. Unused to the company of women not of his tribe, he had no idea what to speak to her about. There wasn't that problem with Gabriella. She always had plenty to say. His face clouded.

The bright, green eyes missed little. Touching him fleetingly, she drew his attention. "What makes you sad?" It was strange how she said it, emphasis strong on the pronoun. She knew her own grief, but his sorrow puzzled her.

"Something very hard to explain," he said.

Instead of elaborating, he walked to the river and washed his dishes. He cleaned up around the camp, checked the fire and lay down with his pack for a pillow.

"She must be someone very beautiful," the girl stated quietly, staring at the growing darkness.

"Who?"

"The woman you carry in your heart."

"What makes you think it's that?" Sailfish's tone turned defensive.

"Because the only time I saw that expression on my older brother's face, was when a woman broke his heart."

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Technically Love by Dellani

Honoria McCormick has just started a new job at a small, regional theatre in Tennessee. Most recently from Orlando, Florida, she's finding adjusting a little more challenging than she thought. However, she met the apprentices at the theatre, and had dinner with them at their house. Late at night, she gets back to the cabin, where she's staying, and gets ready for bed.

Once in her nightshirt, Honoria dashed to the bed, turning off the light in the bathroom as she passed. It was chilly in the house and the thought of warm blankets and soft pillows was appealing. Jumping in the bed, she flung the blankets over her head, cuddling up for warmth. Suddenly, she became aware of the fact she wasn't alone. A warm, hard bodied form snuggled up behind her. A heavily muscled arm flopping over her waist. It was obviously a male body and he was very warm, alive and in her bed!

Screaming like Lisa had when the lizard jumped on her, Honoria launched herself out of the bed, holding the coverlet around herself for warmth and protection. The lamp beside the bed came on and a frowzy looking man with dark hair and a goatee sat up, staring at her.

"Who the hell are you?" she screeched.

"Who are you?" he inquired calmly, scratching his chest.

Honoria shivered, unable to ignore the muscular form under the sheet.

"Ted Bundy," he replied with a smirk.

"Oh, be serious."

"Jeffry Dahmer?"

"Seriously. Who?"

"Groucho Marx."

"Who the hell are you?" She picked up her shoe, ready to hurl it at him. It wasn't much of a weapon, but it was all she had.

He seemed to be amused and trying hard not to laugh at her. "I have to admit, this is the chilliest reception I've ever gotten from a woman. I wonder if my feelings should be hurt." He lay on his side, eyeing her as much as she was him.

"I'll call the cops if you don't tell me who you are and how the hell you got in my room!"

"Freddy Prinz. Freddy Mercury? Al Gore. Bill Clinton?"

"Dammit! Tell me!" She threw her shoe at him.

He watched it clatter on the other side of the room, missing him by a yard or so. "Maybe you'll do better with the other one. It's about six inches stage right."

Honoria glanced down to see her other shoe. She left it there. "You're insufferable! I keep asking who you are!"

"I asked you first," though he hadn't. "Tell me who you are, I'll tell you who I am. That's how it works. An even exchange of information." He pointed to her, then himself.

"I'm Honey."

"Sweet," he smirked, laughing openly at her. "Chester," he replied, holding out his hand without getting up. "But you can call me Chet. Hell, you can call me anything you want, just get back in bed."

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

"I mean—here—here." She motioned wildly with one arm, indicating the room and the bed.

"Oh. This is my room. Why are you here?"

"I work here too. This is where Martha told me to put my stuff."

"She probably meant the other bedroom," he pointed across the room and down the hall.

"Other bedroom? I didn't know there was another one."

"Yeah." He pointed again. "So, are you coming back to bed?"

"No!"

"Your loss." He shrugged, his eyes doing a long sweep from her head to her toes. A slight leer twitched his mouth. "Okay. Well, I need the blanket back. It's chilly in here. Turn out the light when you go."

Honey tossed the blanket at him, grabbed her clothing and toothbrush, walking across the hall in a snit. The second bedroom was much smaller, but comfortable. She closed her door with a bang. There was no lock on the doorknob, so she dragged a chair in front of it, shoving it under the knob with a clatter. She could hear Chet laughing as she crawled in the bed, pulling the blankets over her head. It was nearly 2:00 before she finally fell into a troubled sleep where shoes with dark hair, goatees and disconcerting eyes taunted her.

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Love, Death and Pizza by Dellani

Brock Parnell owns a small pizza place in western Nebraska. It's not a fancy life, but it's a comfortable one—except for Tack Carmichael. “Tacky Carmichael” has been his nemesis since the 8^th grade. With one thing and another, Tack has made Brock's life hell. When he hears that Tack's been murdered, he pours himself a drink and does a dance—only to be interrupted by the police knocking at his door. Someone thinks that Brock's the prime suspect for Tack's murder.

It wasn't Bartolli and Simpson who stood across from me now. It was a really sexy brunette with a curvaceous figure and short red dress. She looked like she'd been pulled in from a night out at the country club. She also looked totally pissed at having to be there.

I was probably a delightful sight by now. I can't prove it, but I suspect I had been drooling in my sleep. The table was a little damp under my hands.

Shit, great way to make a good impression on a lady.

Did I mention she was stunningly gorgeous? She must have been five foot nine in her heels, built like Sophia Loren back in her heyday, with beautiful blue eyes.

My jaw dropped open and I stared hard at her. Blinking rapidly, I tried to decide if she was real. She walked around the table, glaring at me. She was real, all right. Something about me did not impress. I stood up, holding out my hand. I realized it was a little sweaty, or drooled on, so I wiped it on the seat of my jeans. Extending a drier hand, I smiled.

"How do you do? I'm Brock Parnell."

"I know who you are. I'm Adrianna Hasselhoff from the District Attorney's office. Do you know why you're here, Mr. Parnell?"

"Someone thinks I killed Tack Carmichael," I said with a shrug and sat down.

She hadn't taken my hand, so I folded my hands in my lap, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees.

"Exactly. You're a prime suspect, Mr. Parnell. Second only to his wife."

"What? You think Amy killed him?" I laughed, rather hysterically I'm afraid. I was tired as hell.

"You find your situation humorous?"

Her frown deepened as she made a note on the clipboard she carried. She hadn't taken a seat, just stood there looking fantastic. Her skirt was right about to her knees and she wore backless pumps with four inch heels. I'm a sucker for heels. They're sexy as hell and made her legs look great! I could picture the curve of her leg all the way up to her ass. The skirt was cut to cling and it did in all the right places.

I sat there, fixated, my mouth open. I snapped my lips shut and forced myself to look at her face. She hadn't missed my expression. I might still have been feeling the effects of that whiskey, but I swear she was smiling a little and her blue eyes flashed like twin sapphires. She repeated her question.

"Humorous? No. Not at all. Ludicrous, yeah. What's humorous is that you suspect Amy Carmichael. The woman can't even smash a bug in the bathroom. You think she could kill her husband? How was he killed?"

"He was shot six times."

"Ew! Hell of a way to go. And you seriously think Amy did that? Somebody's been smoking." I put an imaginary joint to my lips, inhaling loudly.

"Have you been smoking, Mr. Parnell?"

"Not for about fifteen years, Miss Hasselhoff."

"That's Ms. Hasselhoff."

"Ms. No, make that twenty years. I quit smoking when I met my ex-wife. I couldn't afford both."

I chuckled, tipping my chair slightly. Ms. Hasselhoff wasn't amused. She made another note on her clipboard. I yawned loudly. I couldn't help it. We were going on two o'clock and I really needed a hot shower and some sleep.

"Why am I still here? I don't know anything. Could you please let me get home and go to bed? I've been up twenty-two hours, Ms. Hasselhoff. I'm dog tired and I have to work tomorrow. Just because I'm the boss doesn't mean I can sleep in."

"I really can't do that, Mr. Parnell."

"Why not, Ms. Hasselhoff?"

Why did she have to have such a long name? Why couldn't it be something short like Smith?

"Because Tack Carmichael was shot with your gun."

"My what?" I stood up, knocking my chair over. "My gun? My gun? What the fuck?"

"There's no need for that kind of language, Mr. Parnell."

"I beg to differ, Ms. Hasselhoff. You just told me that some asshole was shot to death with my gun and you don't expect me to say fuck? Of course I'm going to say it. Wouldn't you say it? Anybody would under those circumstances. My own mother would if you told her that."

"Settle down, Mr. Parnell."

I was babbling and I knew it, but I was too tired and too upset to care. They wanted a reaction, they got one. Whether it was the one they expected, I don't know. But you can't send a beautiful woman in four inch pumps in to talk to a man who hasn't had sex in months that some dick head he's hated since the eighth grade got himself whacked with his (my) gun.

"Fuck!"

"Mr. Parnell!"

I wanted to throw something, but there was nothing to throw. I could have pitched my chair across the room at that mirror, but I decided against that. I didn't want to get arrested.

"Ms. Hasselhoff, I'm sorry that Tack Carmichael had the bad form to get himself shot with my gun. But if you check your records, you'll discover that my gun was reported stolen over a year ago. That weapon hasn't been in my possession for a very long time. I reported it myself to Sam Hart. Have you talked to Detective Sergeant Hart about that?"

She tried to be all cool, but that caught her by surprise. No one had mentioned that fact to her. She seemed a little flustered and shot a look at the mirror.

Like I thought, there's someone back there.

"The gun disappeared about the same time my ex-wife left me. I always kind of figured she'd taken it with her for spite. It was a family heirloom. My great-great-grandfather was a lawman in Cheyenne. That was his gun and it was worth a lot of money, not to mention the sentimental value. I'd sure like to have it back."

"It's a murder weapon now, Mr. Parnell. It's being held in evidence."

I shrugged and nodded, sitting down again. By this time I was too tired to stand. I'd had a rush of adrenaline when she told me Tack had the poor taste to get slaughtered with my great-great-granddaddy's peacemaker, but now I was paying for it. I yawned again, long and loud, looking right at the mirror. I hoped they were all yawning like hell too. It would be satisfying to know that I'd spread it around.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could I go home? I'm really exhausted. I'm hungry and I want a hot shower. Would you either charge me or send me home? Either way, I'll get some sleep."

Ms. Hasselhoff didn't know how to proceed. She glanced at the mirror again and walked out, excusing herself. I put my head back down on the table and closed my eyes.

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Ranger's Heart by Dellani

Quinn Hamilton is a park ranger, newly assigned to a national park in Florida. It's her first day working solo and she's sent out on a call. What she doesn't realize, is that she's in for quite a shock.

Seeing nothing untoward when I got there, I walked to the stout metal pipe barring the way. It was locked in place and I realized I had no key. I stood there trying to figure out what to do when someone spoke. It was then I noticed I wasn't alone. A man about my age stood partially hidden in the bushes, shirtless. He was the best built man I'd ever seen up close. He had the physique of a male model.

"Hi," he said, shuffling his feet shyly.

"Hi. I'm...." For a moment I forgot my own name.

I've seen shirtless men before. This shouldn't have taken me so much by surprise, but I was shocked speechless.

"Quinn—Hamilton.... Park Ranger...."

"I thought all the rangers were men?" He shifted uneasily, ducking his head shyly as he combed his fingers through his walnut brown hair.

"I'm new, just started Monday. How can I help you?" I stepped forward expectantly.

The young man retreated further into the brush, wincing. "Uh.... could you get one of the men?"

"I assure you, I'm fully trained to handle any situation." I made to duck under the barricade.

"No! Don't!" he bellowed.

I stopped halfway under, puzzled. "Why not? Oh, I guess I should wait for you to unlock this." I stepped back, but he didn't move. "Well?"

"I'm naked," he blurted.

"What?" I shrieked. "Naked? Oh, my God!"

"This is a nudist colony. Didn't they tell you?"

I backed rapidly away, tripping over something behind me. Screaming, I fell in a heap, landing on my ass.

The young man leaped over the barricade and I saw he was indeed naked. And how! His entire body was a golden brown, his blond body hair catching the sun like burnished bronze. He landed beside me, strong hands checking to make sure I wasn't injured. Suddenly, he stopped, one hand on my left breast, the other on my ass.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Oh, shit!"

He scurried away, ducking under the barricade. The last I saw of him, he was a blur running through the brush in the opposite direction.

* * *

When we got back to the mule, the young man was waiting there, fully clothed in T-shirt, board shorts and flipflops. Paul hopped in and took the raccoon back to the station. I lingered, feeling I needed to apologize. He spoke first.

"Sorry about all that." He made vague gestures toward the gate.

I know I blushed. I could still feel the touch of his hands on my body. It tingled invitingly.

"The guys set us up," I explained. "Don't know which of us it embarrassed more."

He closed one eye, biting his lower lip, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "Well, I was naked...."

"Good point. I'm Quinn Hamilton." I stepped forward, hand extended.

"Nice to meet you, now that I'm dressed. Dmitri Kolchesky-Bazan."

"That's quite a mouthful." I nearly choked on my words. The innuendoes and double entendres that conjured up didn't bear thinking about. My turn to be horribly embarrassed.

Dmitri laughed. "Yes, well. I usually use only Bazan. Does that help?"

"Could have said that ten seconds ago."

"I could have," he admitted with a smirk. "I'd better get back. I just wanted you to know I'm not some kind of pervert and I do own clothing."

"I knew you weren't," I admitted. "You were even more upset by that episode than I was. It was mean of the guys to do that."

He shrugged. "On some level, I probably deserved it. I've done my share of practical jokes."

"Cool! Then you can help me plot my revenge."

"Over dinner? In a restaurant—fully clothed." He held out a hand, invitingly gesturing between us.

"I'd like that."

"Tonight?"

"Where and when?"

"How about the Cantina. Seven? I can meet you there."

"Sure. See you."

"No surprises, right? I mean, you've all ready seen me naked." Laughing, he vaulted over the gate leaving me alone once more.

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Best Medicine by Dellani

The room was empty except for another doctor dressed in surgical scrubs. He looked absorbed in the science-fiction book he was reading, so Tanya leaned back and closed her eyes. Before she knew it, she'd fallen asleep. A sound startled her and she jerked awake. She blushed as she realized the sound that had woken her was her own snoring. Mortified, she glanced at the doctor, but he hadn't raised his head from his book. She shifted in her chair, straightened her shirt and closed her eyes again.

"You should head home if you're that tired," the man said without looking up from his book.

"I know," she sighed. "I'm just too exhausted to drive. I'm afraid I'd have an accident and end up back here taking up bed space."

He chuckled, setting his book aside. "You'd get some rest anyway."

"No, I wouldn't, I'd have all you bloody doctors poking me to see what made me tick," she managed a soft chuckle and nestled further into her chair.

"We'd save special tests just for you. The most intrusive possible, with blood drawn every hour. I'm sure we could find ways to occupy your time."

"No doubt," she said, starting to get annoyed now by the conversation. She wanted to rest and she wanted to be left alone, neither of which was happening. "Look," she said, sitting up in her chair. "I don't really mean to be rude...."

"Sure you do," he smiled, looking up from his book for the first time. He was quite attractive, but had a smug expression on his face as he clasped his hands together between his knees. "You say that so I won't think that you think I'm being intrusive. But whenever someone starts a sentence with things like, I don't mean to be rude, or with all due respect, they mean just the opposite."

Tanya pressed her lips in a tight line. She glared at him for no reason other than he happened to be in the line of her stare. He smiled at her, his teeth flashing white in his well tanned face. When did he have time to get a tan? Tanya was pale from all the extra hours she spent indoors in dimly lit rooms. It was bad enough he was gorgeous and tall with dark hair and dancing blue eyes, but he was tanned, muscular and had on a cologne that made her dizzy.

She stood, intending to leave the room in a huff, but the walls spun as the floor and ceiling suddenly switched places. Disoriented, she fell like a load of wet sand. Strong arms caught her before her head hit the coffee table, easing her back into the chair she'd risen from. She felt fingers on her pulse and the cold of a stethoscope on her chest. He checked her pupils next, flashing his light in her eyes. The bright beam made her eyes water.

Voices echoed down the hall, congregating outside the lounge. The chatter faded as three other doctors crowded into the room and gathered around Tanya and her tormentor. Two of them she recognized, the third was slightly familiar. All three started talking at once, asking the man what had happened, completely ignoring Tanya.

"She fell, I think she may have fainted. She didn't hit her head, I caught her before she collided with the table." He was making her sound like a fading flower or something, it was patently ridiculous.

"If it's all right with the rest of you," she said in her haughtiest tone. "I do think I'll go home now!" The haughtiness diminished somewhat by the fact she was whispering.

"I'll drive you," her friend Davida said. "I'm off shift now and I'll take you home."

"I need my car for the morning, D. I can't just leave it here."

"I'll drive her," the new doctor said. "You bring her car." He and Davida had the situation in hand.

"Does anyone want my opinion?" Tanya sounded childish and huffy even to herself, but wouldn't have admitted it for anything.

"No," Davida told her with a smile. "I'll grab my purse. Where's yours, in your locker?"

Tanya nodded slowly, but that brought on another wave of dizziness, so she stopped. Davida shoved Tanya's purse into her hands. A ten minute debate followed whether Tanya needed to be taken to the parking lot in a wheelchair.

"No! I refuse to be treated like an invalid. I can walk. Just—don't touch me," she slapped away several pairs of well-intentioned hands. "I'm not sick, I'm just tired."

Entourage in tow, she walked slowly, with as much dignity as she could muster, to the elevator. It felt like it would never reach the bottom.

© 2016 Dellani Oakes

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First Meeting from Bad Fall by Dellani

Frank Atherton works as the assistant director at a large retirement complex. He's staying in one of the guest rooms at the facility, to keep an eye on the son of one of the residents, who is causing trouble. Frank has just seen a short interview on the in-house TV station, with the new staff psychologist, Marka Ventimiglia and is somewhat surprised when she shows up at his door.

Someone knocked at his door. Thinking it might be someone about Mr. Penwarren, he groaned quietly as he stood up.

"Be right there!" he called. He dropped his plate in the kitchen sink and went to the door. "What's he done now?" he asked automatically as he opened it.

It wasn't Sue or one of the other staff members. An attractive brunette stood there.

"I'm sorry? Who did what?"

"Oh, no one you'd know. Frank Atherton, Assistant Director. I just saw you on TV." He held out his hand after wiping it on his T-shirt.

She smiled. "Marka Ventimiglia. Nice to meet you. I feel really stupid asking, but yours is the only room with a light on. I took a chance that someone was up."

He invited her in. She hesitated a moment, then followed him inside.

"What can I do for you?"

"I'm embarrassed to ask. I'm staying in a guest room and I'm out of toilet paper."

"Really? No spare?" he was puzzled by that. "The girls usually put it under the sink."

He walked to his restroom. It was quite spacious, with a tub and a separate, walk-in shower. He opened the sink and didn't find a spare paper under there. Checking all the cupboards, he came up empty.

"That's weird. Gimme a second." He dialed housekeeping but got no answer, so he dialed the front desk. "Sue, it's Frank."

"Hi, Frank. All's quiet at the moment. Whatcha need?"

"Dr. Ventimiglia is with me and she hasn't got a spare roll of toilet paper. Neither do I."

"Oh, gosh. You want me to run some up there?"

"No, you don't need to. Is Kathy around?"

"She should be. Shall I call her?"

"I just tried. I'll call her again. Thanks." He dialed the housekeeping office a second time. No one answered. Puzzled, he hung up.

"I'll try later," he told his guest. "Do you need some immediately?"

She looked slightly uncomfortable. "As a matter of fact...."

"Please, make yourself at home. There's a nearly full roll." He gestured to his restroom. "Want some coffee?"

"Love some. I'm a caffeine addict. I also drink a lot of water. Hence the urgency." Marka closed the door behind her.

Frank set up a pot of coffee, pulled out the half and half and sugar packets. She came out just as the coffee finished.

Smiling, he served Marka, inviting her to sit on the love seat. His laptop occupied the chair. He set it carefully on the floor and clicked off the TV.

"I'll give Kathy a call again a minute," he explained. "She might be on break."

"Thanks. I'm still learning my way around. I got here yesterday."

"I caught your show tonight. Interesting. You should get a good turn out. I'll talk it up for you."

"You wouldn't believe the success I had when I was doing my clinical," she responded excitedly. "It was amazing, the results!" she sobered slightly, catching herself before she got too crazy. "I won't bore you with details. You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Atherton. I get very excited about my work."

He smiled, eyes twinkling. "I'm glad one of us can. I'm either playing nursemaid, mother or cop. I never thought I'd have a job like this. None of my duties were in the job description."

"The director, Mr. Norton, speaks very highly of you."

Frank laughed abruptly and rather rudely as he finished his coffee. "Yeah? Boy, that was lie. He thinks I want his job."

"Do you?"

He couldn't tell if she was serious or not. Looking surprised, he set his mug down. "Not really. Too much schmoozing."

"Isn't that in your job description?"

Frank laughed, shaking his head. "I'm not a schmoozer. I'm more of an in your face kind of guy."

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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Meet Cullen Fellowes

Have you ever met a person who has boundless energy, is full of joy, compassion and talks non-stop? Meet Cullen Fellowes. I introduced him in a book called The Best Medicine (not yet published). He was meant to be a minor character who comes in, meets his brother's girlfriend and then takes a back seat.

There is only one thing Cullen likes to do in the back seat, and that's—sing. You thought I was going to say something else, didn't you? Well, he probably does that too. He's handsome, charming, disarming—and a rock star. He will hit on every woman he meets, because that's just the way he is. He'd probably be shocked if they all said yes, though enough of them do that he's always got companionship. I can't really describe Cullen effectively. He's like no other character I've ever met.

The non-authors out there will think I'm crazy, I know my husband does. I tell him that characters introduce themselves, start talking, develop personalities and take over the scene. This is Cullen to the hilt. He has no off switch, says whatever he thinks, comes in like a hurricane – then he hops up on stage and starts singing. I fell in love with Cullen when I first met him, and every time I encounter him, I fall for him again. Because of his dynamic personality, I've used him in a variety of books since introducing him in The Best Medicine. I offered to write his story, but he doesn't want that. He'd rather give glimpses into his life through his encounters with others. One day, he might settle down, but for now, he's Cullen the Rock Star—handsome, charming, single – with no off switch.

Below is the scene that started it all. Morgan and Tanya are both doctors and work at the same hospital. When she collapses from exhaustion one day in the doctor's lounge, Morgan comes to her rescue. He invites her to dinner that same night, and introduces her to Cullen.

The band took a short break and came out onto the deck for a smoke. The singer walked over and sat down in front of them. Cullen Fellowes was tall and dark haired like his brother, but his eyes held a wariness she didn't see in Morgan's. He smiled warmly, snagged a home fry off his brother's plate and ordered a beer with a toss of his head at the bar. Molly brought over a draft beer, checked their rum runners and went back to the bar.

"Hi," he said quietly, holding out his hand. "I'm Cullen."

"I'm Tanya," she replied, wiping her hand on her napkin before shaking his hand. "You guys are good," she said between bites. "I like the intricacies of your music and the diametric styles you've brought together. It really works. Not what I normally listen to, but I'd buy an album." She grinned at his surprised expression.

"Morph, who is this amazing woman and why is she with you and not me?"

"Because I saw her first, baby bro. Besides, you're too young for her."

"Speak for yourself, I like older women! They have more class and you can have an educated conversation with them. I always thought Vanessa was damn hot...."

A look from Morgan quelled him.

"Excuse me," Tanya said irritably. "I am here, you know, and semi-involved in this conversation. I think you need to know we just met and I'm not dating your brother. It's a friendly dinner between colleagues. As to my age, you've no idea how old I am, so could we drop that part of the conversation?"

The men looked at one another sheepishly. Morgan frowned, tight lipped at his younger brother. He shook his head slightly and went back to his meal.

"Morgan is reminding me to use my manners," Cullen replied sullenly. "He's always telling me I'll be the only rock star who never gets laid because I keep putting my foot in my mouth."

Morgan cleared his throat pointedly. Cullen looked at him again and dropped his eyes to the table, his ears and neck reddening.

"I'm sorry, I did it again. Perhaps I should just go back on stage. I don't make quite so big an ass of myself there." He rose to leave.

"It's okay," Tanya said. "I've been feeling rather like the whole family is traipsing around like the Lord of the Dance and I'm the one person in the audience who doesn't know Michael Flatley."

Cullen laughed, throwing his head back as he threw himself back into the chair. "Oh, God, Morgan! Where did you find this woman and can I possibly steal her from you? Jesus, she's refreshing! You two really must have just met if you don't know about Vanessa."

"Cullen, why don't you go back on stage?" Morgan's voice held an edge. He was getting angry with his brother.

"God, Morgan, calm down, would you? Can't I even say her name without you having a shit fit?" His voice became taunting like a little child. "Vanessa, Vanessa, Vanessa."

"Cullen," it was Molly this time. "Your break's over, go back on stage. The band's waiting."

"Join us in a set, Morph?" Cullen hardly seemed to realize he'd nearly caused World War III.

"Not tonight, Cull. I've got to see the lady home soon. She's had a long day."

"K. Nice to meet you, Tanya."

He kissed her hand and left for the stage, hopping up as the band began their introduction. He slid to a halt in the middle of the stage and grabbed the microphone, singing without missing a beat.

So far, Cullen has made an appearance in 15 of my books. He's been mentioned in 6. Maybe one day he'll want his story to be told, but until then, I'll leave you with this quote, which Cullen told me: “You don't need to tell my story, babe. It will just make all the women wet and all the men jealous.”

© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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