Let’s Get Personal


Today, I drove to the mall to pick up an order I’d placed at a major department store. It was a shop-online-but-pick-up-at-the-store-to-avoid-the-exorbitant-shipping-fees, quick trip. The item I ordered was a personal item. Let’s just leave it at that for the moment.

I really like this mall. It’s close to home so I can make it happen fast. It’s upscale, clean, has all the major stores and a handful of smaller independent shops. Very chic, as malls in the upper Midwest go.

Well, the weather here is like minus-forever-degrees-Fahrenheit and we’ve had so much 2-22-14 walk 056snow, unless you’re driving a Mack truck, you’re driving blind through a tunnel of white… because the snow plows have nowhere to pile the snow. So, we’re like burrowing bunnies, in prohibitively cold weather, with the north wind driving the temperature even lower (I’ll stop now… I kind of like complaining about the weather… wait! Did I mention it is steal-your-breath-beautiful?!)

I’d never ordered online from this store before, so first I had to figure out where in the heck “parcel pickup” was… Turns out, it was in back of the hardware department. This is only funny because hardware is in no way related to the “personal item” I ordered… and the only tool I’ve ever bought in my life is a hammer…

hammerI walked through hardware (feeling no temptation whatever to buy anything🙂, and into the parcel pick-up area only to find myself standing in a half-sheltered, open area. The wind whistled in, men were lined up five deep, and I realized this is where people come to pick up refrigerators and heavy equipment and 362” TV screens; things of that nature.

This couldn’t be the right place to pick up my “personal item”.

So, I backtracked, happy to step inside out of the wind into the warm, and made my way to grizzled geeserthe tool counter. The clerk was waiting on a guy who’d driven something like 272 miles from the back country. Grizzled hair, long streaky white beard, creased skin, ancient eyes and big as a mountain in his beaver skin coat, I couldn’t possibly guess his age. In no apparent hurry, he engaged the clerk in conversation while he wrote a check (who writes checks anymore?) and then rewrote it because he made an error. And then, I kid you not, had to write it a third time, all the while explaining he’d never gone to school.

I had to kick down my impatience. After all, he’d gotten there first, and there would be no rushing him. He talked about the drive, the cold, his lack of education, and finally as the clerk handed him his receipt, coupons and online survey request (reams and reams of narrow, curling paper) the old man took the receipts in his ham of a fist, stuffed them into his wallet and said, “I’ll just have the wife look at these. She’ll figure it all out.”

Then he turned and looked at me directly for the first time. “You’ve been mighty patient twinkle eyethere, little lady.” He tipped his black and red checkered wool cap and I swear he twinkled. No, I mean I saw his eyes gleam like a Disney character just before he waddled away, bent under the weight of that massive beaver coat.

I asked the clerk where I go to pick up small items. You just know he sent me back to that cold open area… where instead of a clerk, there’s a computer with an extremely loud voice that repeats everything you enter into it.

Seven men were ahead of me. When it was my turn, I entered my information, and took a step back as the computer volume blasted me, repeating the information I’d entered.

Yay, now all seven men knew my name and most of my address… come on store! What are you thinking???!!

Moments later, three clerks appeared on the scene. Two men and a woman, each wearing overhauls, insulated vests, fingerless gloves and back harnesses to help them lift behemoth objects. They looked at the overhead screen display showing all eight of our names in full… (good thing I don’t have paranoia or security concerns…) and then, as if they were a seasoned choir, chorused, “what is your order?”

I tell you, I almost turned and ran.

Seven male customers, two male clerks, and a woman clerk stared at me waiting to hear what I ordered.

I ask you… what was the point of standing out the in the cold and entering my order information into the computer that then announced my name and most of my address out loud to be overheard by anyone in the vicinity, if the computer didn’t know what my order was?

I tried a low tone, hoping to keep my order private. “It’s a personal item.”

The two male clerks looked at each other and tried not to smirk. The woman grinned and said, “Honey, it’s all personal.” She waved the guys off and then asked again, “Okay, what’s the item?”

Seven men leaned forward.

I whispered, “Clothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sure honey, but what kind of clothing? We stack the merchandise by like item. Gotta know what I’m looking for.”

By now, I didn’t know whether to laugh or run. Is there no such thing as privacy anymore? It just seemed so ludicrous that I was standing outside, in a heavy equipment area, waiting to pick up a personal clothing item.

I eyed the seven men who had the decency to act like they weren’t listening… um hmmmm… right.

Here’s the thing. I really wanted my personal item, and it’s not always that easy to find, which is why I ordered it online. When I find something that works, something I like—I mean something I really like, then I get that same thing over and over.

Now, if you’ve ever been bra shopping, then you know almost every woman will tell 3 brasyou that finding the right bra is a true challenge. It’s so difficult, Oprah did several television specials about how to find the right bra. So, when you do find the perfect fit, it’s frustratig that so often the manufacturer stops making it by the time you need a new one. This particular bra is perfect. It’s black, low cut, works with most necklines—even the really low ones. Gives me the right amount of lift and I can wear it to work out in, or out to dinner. I LOVE THIS BRA!

So, I gave up all hope of any modicum of privacy and said, “It’s a BRA.”

Seven men plus two male clerks… and every single one of them zeroed in on my order as if I’d said, “Solid gold bricks from Ft. Knox.”

Honestly, lingerie… it’s more powerful than any tool in any hardware section of any store, SupermanXrayLoisTop460and apparently far more fascinating than anything those seven men ordered because as my package was delivered into my hands (plain brown wrapper LOL) all seven of them stared at it as if they were Superman with x-ray vision.

Wishing you soft breezes, unstoppable love, and privacy when you need it!

Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable

NAKED HOPE: Contemporary Romance
CRADLE OF LIES: Romantic Suspense
LIBERTY STARR: Contemporary Cowboy Romance
ARIANA SINGS: One Woman’s Journey to Find Her Voice nonfiction, spirituality

Download NAKED HOPE for free now through Friday, February 22


blackbirds-zoomI drifted awake this morning to the sound of blackbirds cawing as they flew past my bedroom window. So many, they blackened the light.

When they’d passed, my window turned golden from a weak but lovely winter sun… the kind that has almost no warmth, and yet holds the ability to brighten the world, and lighten hearts.

sun on snowAccording to spirit animal mysticism, blackbirds indicate change. Often, major change. They foretell of shifts. Shifts of point of view—shifts of the heart—shifts in fortune.


Here in the northern hemisphere, it’s been a tough winter. So, the gift of sun, no matter how weak, is a welcome gift… and quite a change from the last 65 days.


Before I left the academic and corporate world to write, I was a “change expert”. I spent years studying the science of change and how people manage change, or don’t. How they adapt to change, or don’t. How change breaks people who can’t or won’t adapt. How people resist change, try to rush change, or slow change.

Human beings just aren’t very good at allowing change to happen naturally. To evolve. And even though I am a so-called “expert”… guess what? I frequently fail when it comes to dealing with change effectively.


Where I live, in the upper Midwest, we are a long way away from spring. But sun, and a forecast of almost 40 degrees (despite the cover of more than eight inches of fresh snow) hint at change.

perf5.000x8.000.inddAnd here’s another change. For the next four days, my latest contemporary romance,NAKED HOPE is available on Amazon as a FREE DOWNLOAD!

If you prefer print, you can order NAKED HOPE in print for a significant discount, now through Friday.


The prevalent grey skies of winter are not always the best conductor of romance. So, if you’re a little light on romance at the moment, download NAKED HOPE for free and enjoy the sizzling, sexy, smart and often funny exchanges between Gavin, a gifted musician who suffers from survivor’s guilt, and Jillian, a highly respected research psychologist in the field of traumatic brain injury—who, incidentally, is the only woman who can help Gavin overcome his survivor’s guilt.

But, have you ever heard the phrase Karma’s a bitch”?

Well… Gavin is intimately familiar with just how much burning a bridge can cost. Because fourteen years earlier when Gavin first met Jillian, things did not go well.

Yep… karma’s a bitch.

Or, maybe not🙂

Read NAKED HOPE for free and find out.

Wishing you soft breezes, the promise of spring, and evolutionary change that fills your life with joy and satisfaction.

Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable

NAKED HOPE: Contemporary Romance
CRADLE OF LIES: Romantic Suspense
LIBERTY STARR: Contemporary Cowboy Romance
ARIANA SINGS: One Woman’s Journey to Find Her Voice nonfiction, spirituality




Every year in the middle of winter, my car battery decides to take a vacation. Now really…. I hate to think that a car battery is smarter than I am… Or that it is responsible for delivering sage (if subliminal) advice […take a vacation…] … But as the infamous they say, “truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.”

So, the weather here is unspeakably cold. I live in the upper fake winterMidwest… Minnesota, to be precise… And for the last 20 years, our winters have been relatively mild… Mild that is, compared to what they had been for the past 100 years, (or however long historians have been tracking weather). And so I fell in love with winter and smiled tolerantly at people who thought of Minnesota winters as prohibitive…

Until three years ago.

Now, we’ve had three years in a row with truly wretched weather that reminds me of my childhood, with snowfalls that never seem to end, snow drifts so high, if you fall into one, it’s like falling into a grain elevator… you’ll never get out… And thirty days or more where the temperature never gets above (or sometimes even close to) zero F. Then maybe a day or two where we’ll see 7F or even 13F… before the temp nosedives back down to subzero for another 28-30 days.

No joke. (Although the photo above IS a fake… it’s not QUITE that bad here.)

It’s February 7th. We have at least two more solid months of this.

In twenty years’ time, I’d forgotten how bitterly cold minus forever (as I’ve been calling the temperature, lately) is… And how limiting.

My gym seriously had to hire a parking lot attendant… Because the only way to get exercise is to “gym it”. No one is hardy enough to grin and bear exercising/playing outdoors. The traffic to the gym exceeds capacity…😦

Okay, enough explanation that sounds suspiciously like whining…

So this morning, my car battery made that sickening sound just before everything goes ker-plunk… dead… Right?

Got a jump…

Drove the four miles to the Honda dealer… Yep, it’s that close🙂

Car guy smiles broadly at me, and then frowns into his computer screen…

“Young Lady (bless him for that) did you know this is the third February in a row that you’ve come in here with the same issue… And every time, we replace your battery for free because it’s under warranty.. Which starts the warranty period over…”

He raised an eyebrow at me.

That’s right… HE (actually) RAISED AN EYEBROW AT ME!

I couldn’t help it… the idea of battery police just set me off. I started to laugh.

It rumbled up from my toes, passed through my ankles, my calves, rolled around in my knees for just a second or two and then continued up, tickling my belly, my throat… until it would not be denied.

“You got me,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “You’ve outed me and my diabolical battery scheme. Every year I put myself through the inconvenience of draining my battery and begging for a jump on the coldest day of the year so far… just so I can get a new one. Because that is so much easier than paying $90 at the appropriate time… before it dies on me, possibly leaving me stranded… In minus forever degrees.”

Really, the words slid out before I knew what I was saying.

Instantly I felt bad. I never want to be caustic and/or sarcastic (in this case it was definitely AND) just because it think someone is being unbelievably… obtuse. Note: I’m frequently obtuse🙂

He hesitated.

I felt WORSE!

But then he broke into another grin—bigger than the one when he first greeted me, and said, “well, if it means we get to see you, by all means, keep it up.” Yep… he winked at me. Twice, just in case I didn’t catch it the first time.

I blushed, yep… I did. Felt the flush all the way up from my toes.

So now, here I am, waiting while they replace my battery… And restart the warranty.

I have a Honda Accord. The sporty model. I love it—mostly because it’s fast. But this car (except for the battery in the dead of winter once a year) is so dependable, I never have to bring it in for anything.



I am so grateful for this car.

Did I remember that when I was having to beg for a jump?

Um… no.

I guess that’s something my brand new battery-under-warranty and I can work on.

Naked Hope on K-dart's hutchPS: a dear, dear friend of mine who has an amazingly playful spirit, sent me this photo as a way of telling me she’d bought my book, NAKED HOPE. Look at where she’s placed it! On her dust-free, beloved hutch. (Dust-free? Does anyone have a dust-free hutch?)

Just look at her fabulous sense of color!! She’s a talented artist and I think her artist’s eye is so apparent in this photo. And my book looks pretty darn good too, yes ?🙂

How do you spell g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l? This photo says it all.

So to all of you… thank you!

Wishing you unstoppable love and soft breezes,

Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable

NAKED HOPE: Contemporary Romance
CRADLE OF LIES: Romantic Suspense
LIBERTY STARR: Contemporary Cowboy Romance
ARIANA SINGS: One Woman’s Journey to Find Her Voice nonfiction, spirituality

Do Cowboys Exist Anymore?


clint-eastwoodIn one of my social media groups someone asked, “Do cowboys even exist anymore?

I found myself smiling and almost without thinking answered, “Watch out for those cowboys! Seriously… They are deadly.

It’s very likely I was thinking of Cord Archer.

I grew up in the US. The word “cowboy” stirs something spiritual in me.

Because of my country’s history? Possibly.

More likely because the word cowboy is dichotomous, and describes a kind of chivalrous, devil-may-care-but-honor your woman, free-thinking, no boundaries attitude that any business consultant will tell you is quite frankly the foundation of every new, out-of-the-box endeavor.

cradleoflies.final.lacey (2)We love cowboys for their bad-boy-loves-the-good-girl-who-loves-to-be-bad ways. We love the twinkle in their eye, the cut of their jeans, the sprint in their step, the chink of their spurs, and the feel and smell of a man whose arms and legs know how to tame a mustang… and a woman. And who knows down deep that she’ll do a little taming, herself🙂

Cord Archer is exactly this kind of cowboy.

And while he could have just about any girl, the only girl he wants is Mattie Rayne. The problem?

Cord’s daddy is the craziest, most dangerous psychopath serial-killer awaiting execution on death row in the Montana State prison system… and the world just won’t let Cord forget there’s such a thing as the psycho gene… which means one day Cord may wake up to find he’s just like his daddy.

Can the honorable cowboy he is allow Mattie to take that risk?

Meanwhile, Cord is being stalked by a sociopath who wants Mattie Rayne, dead.

The only thing deadlier than a psychopath is the random unpredictability of a sociopath. God help the man who has to contend with both.

CRADLE OF LIES available now on Amazon or through the publisher, Red Sage

So, do cowboys even exist anymore? I can only speak from my personal experience… and that is writing two cowboy stories caused me to absolutely fall in love with the cowboy as an IDEAL… and in my heart, I believe the true spirit of a cowboy still exits.

Maybe, just maybe there’s a cowboy in your future? black hat cowboy

If you’re looking for a cowboy, oh, how I hope you find him. And, if you need a little inspiration, read CRADLE OF LIES. It might scare your pants off, but isn’t that what cowboys are for?🙂

Soft breezes, all. Thanks for dropping by.

Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable
CRADLE OF LIES – Romantic Suspense – Red Sage Publishing
LIBERTY STARR – Sensual Contemporary award winner-Romance Writers Ink–Carina Press
Latest release: NAKED HOPE – Contemporary Romance available in print and e-book
The Wild Rose Press (print only)
Amazon (ebook and print)
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Today’s question: How do you feel sexy in minus 39 (F) degree weather?


2 sexy

Today’s question: How do you feel sexy in minus 39 (F) degree weather? Back to this in a moment.

We’ve all had this experience… we get word that a friend or beloved family member has passed, and scurry to arrange our lives to attend the funeral or memorial service. Sometimes these events only touch the surface of our hearts—maybe we weren’t close to the one who passed and so it’s more of an obligatory act of respect.

Other times, it ruins us… for a day… a week… years… and for some, even a lifetime.

A week ago, I set aside a day to drive three hours one way, across a little-traveled highway to attend a funeral. My friend Laura’s father passed unexpectedly. He was only 68.

I grew up in the heart of a large city, and have lived in the suburbs most of my adult life. I’ve never had the experience of living rurally. Freeways and well-traveled city streets—that’s how I get around.

minnesota-mapAnd so, I  didn’t even realize there are still two-lane highways that stretch out across the flatlands, the prairies, the rolling hills, around the many lakes (frozen this time of year), and the richly wooded areas that make up the beautiful state of Minnesota.

January 15th—the very heart of winter. Here in Minnesota, that means sub-zero temperatures, generous and frequent snowfalls, icy roads, short days with scant sunlight, none of which makes for favorable travel across the state on a two-lane highway, to a tiny town I’d never heard of before. I don’t have a GPS, and I wasn’t 100% certain my directions (downloaded from the Internet) were accurate. We’ve all “been there”, right?


I watched the weather reports aware that if I drove to the funeral, I had a very small window of (weather) opportunity. I’d have to be up at 6 AM, on the road by 8 AM, arrive in time for an 11:00 funeral, allow 90 minutes for the funeral and a quick hug for my grieving friend, and back on the road by 12:30 so that I could be home before the worst of the snow fell making the roads treacherous.

And then it occurred to me… this would be so much easier to do with a friend. So I called Sandy, a mutual friend whom I’ve never spent time with outside of work or a group of acquaintances, and we agreed to go together… and she was more than happy to drive.

So… true confession moment… {sigh}… I’m kind of a control freak. (Who isn’t?)


And I generally prefer to be the driver.
And, I’d never ridden with Sandy before.
And, I sometimes have issues with motion, so a smooth driver is really important.
And, what if she wasn’t a good driver.

You see, the list goes on and on…

*another smile*

But, as I weighed the above list against driving… the only thing to do was to get quiet—to meditate—to center myself—after which I hoped to be able to just allow the day trip to simply unfold.

The day of the funeral, the temperature was minus 8 F with a bitter windchill of minus 25 F. We got a late start, the directions downloaded from the Internet were slightly inaccurate—enough to make us wonder if we’d get there at all—we were stuck behind slow moving cars for most of the drive. Fortunately, the funeral started late—in a tiny town that, unless you happen to live there, no one has ever heard of—in a forgotten farming community—yet, more than 400 people showed up!

And there, in the front of the church sat a shiny ancient John Deere tractor. The first tractor the family had ever had—a fine tribute to the man who not only farmed—but who believed in farming.


Sandy and I surveyed the area. No place to park. I was in heels and a knee-length skirt. Sandy had dressed a bit more practical and wore woolen slacks. She offered to drop me off and normally I would not have agreed, but it was so close to 11:00, and I felt compelled not to argue—a strong, intuitive nudge that I knew was important to listen to.

And so I simply agreed, trying not to feel guilty that Sandy would probably have to walk two or three blocks back to the church, across icy streets and sidewalks, after she found a parking spot.

I stepped into the church—actually, I was blown in on an unforgiving gale that nearly toppled me forward (really, it wasn’t the high heels!)—just as Laura and her family were moving away from the casket that cradled her father’s body. Laura was crying loud, broken tears—the kind that rip out the back of your throat—and fill your eyes, blind. She stumbled and then swung in my direction as if someone had pointed and said, “Look, Rebecca’s here.”

Laura propelled herself into my arms. We clung to each other—locked in grief and love. I have often felt that Laura is the daughter I never had. And as I held this lovely woman, who in that moment was so broken by grief, I felt humbled by the immense power of love. The force of friendship. The bond of connection. The strength of people interknit by the grace of community, hard work, and common faith.

When she could speak, she asked me to stay after the service until they returned from the grave site.

“Of course,” I murmured.

Meanwhile… Sandy walked four blocks in minus 8 F weather after parking the car, and blew into the church much like I had. We squeezed into the back of the sanctuary and sat watching the bowed, balding and greyed heads of so many farming families, their bodies bent and grisly from the labor of their work. We listened to the words of the Lutheran minister with his slight Scandinavian accent who clearly knew Laura’s father well. We sang from an outdated Lutheran hymnal, sat in the vibration of the soloist’s voice who sang The Lord’s Prayer, watched in silence as Laura, her two sisters, and their mother grappled with the moment they would say good-bye to this giant of a man who was the cornerstone of their family.

The service ran long…

The family was delayed at the grave site.

Starving, Sandy and I waited, and were the very last to go through the food line. We loaded scalloped potatoes with ham, and green bean casserole onto our paper plates, picked up a cup of stout, black coffee and crowded in (butt-to-butt) at the long tables in fellowship hall where we listened to more stories about Laura’s dad, and of course, when people found out we were headed back to “the cities”, dire predictions about the weather—which was turning (for the worse) while we sat—waiting—keeping a vigil for Laura.

Because she asked us to.

We were way off schedule by the time we left that tiny little town, the wind whistling at our back… until we hit the highway… and then it blew straight into us, icing the windshield, frosting the surface of the highway, creating an icy road.


It’s been a week since that trip, and just now I sent off an email to Sandy, whom I haven’t connected with since the funeral.

Dear Sandy,

I’ve been meaning to drop you a line.

I felt your heart… while you were driving like a champ… while we were sitting in the back of the church where our friend has done so much of her growing up… taking a break from the treacherous drive back to eat really awful (how old were they???) treats in a bakery that looked so charming from the outside… making our way over a highway as it began to ice… nosing our way through blinding, swirling, white-out conditions.

I believe those are the kind of experiences that create memories (and smiles) and bind friends together on a deeper level.

So… thanks for the adventure, for your courageous determination (is Michael Andretti your cousin?) and oh, by the way… I know what to get you for your birthday… see below🙂

red driving gloves

Soft breezes, friend of my heart!

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

Now… may I just say… today is even colder than the day of our little adventure. The perf5.000x8.000.inddschools are closed due to cold. And this leads me to my question of the day…

How do you feel sexy in minus 39 degree (Fahrenheit) weather?

Well, if you want to know how Jillian and Gavin manage “sexy” in a Minnesota winter, read my latest release, NAKED HOPE, now available in print and ebook through the publisher, The Wild Rose Press or at a slightly discounted rate on Amazon.com.

As always, thanks for dropping by, soft breezes and stay warm!

PS: I’ve conferred with Jillian and she agrees… red leather driving gloves are just about guaranteed to make a girl feel sexy… no matter the season🙂


Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable

CRADLE OF LIES – Romantic Suspense – Red Sage Publishing
LIBERTY STARR – Sensual Contemporary award winner-Romance Writers Ink–Carina Press
Latest release: NAKED HOPE – Contemporary Romance available in print and e-book
The Wild Rose Press (print only)
Amazon (ebook and print)

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Love is Unstoppable


Well, let’s see… it’s been awhile since I gave a weather report.

I live in Minnesota; one of the coldest regions of upper Midwest USA. And for whatever reason, in the last two years, we have apparently been vying for “largest snowfall of the year” award… and winning… (in addition to the cold)!

Which is to say that I’m sitting in my sunroom (and I ask you… is it a sunroom if there’s no sun?) looking out into a grey sky, watching giant snowflakes zoom in schizophrenic zig-zags, caught in a blustery airstream so chaotic, I have to tell myself to breathe deeply to keep the frenetic energy outside—and not let it seep into my being.

More snow…

Yesterday, I couldn’t get my car into the drive until the plow guys came.

Two days ago, the postal carrier slid into the mailboxes because of the ice and snow. Knocked them over and there they were, leaning at a crazy angle and when I went to remove my mail, it all dumped out into the snow…

Three days ago, my widowed, elderly neighbor died. I live in a twin home. We share a common wall, but I never heard a thing. Her family came and went and because it’s so cold, I haven’t been venturing out, so I never saw them. I never heard them until yesterday, when in yet another snow, I saw their tire treads and wondered why they would leave the warmth of Arizona and visit in THIS weather. Never dreaming…

It made me wonder about how we live such separate lives—all of us—at least those of us who are fortunate enough to live in advanced countries where we have our own space—our own real estate—our own walls. Where even our shared walls keep out the cries and moans of the dying and the grieving.

So, what am I saying here?

1-5-14 Long Beach 077 (2)About a week ago, I returned from a short vacation in sunny Long Beach, California where the weather turned my spirit into something nearly as wild and free as the characters in my books🙂

But, upon my return, I found I needed to gather all my energy and light around me and go deep into myself for some introspection. About the next book. About surviving winter. About life. The introspection helps create a shift in perspective and kick-start purpose.

And so I sat in the silence, pierced by nothing but more silence, aware of my knee jerk reaction to respond to the phone, texts, email and online chats beckoned, coercing me at regular intervals to “come out and play”.

But I stayed my course. Remained in the white space of solitude. Asking for courage to continue through winter. Asking for courage to write the next book. Asking for courage to greet every day with curiosity and wonder.

The quiet washed over me like ocean waves that come and go with a rhythm known only to the waves.

The Universe is amazing. In my state of asking to experience wisdom, courage, curiosity and wonder, it came to me what a gift it is to experience that kind of quiet—to enter into a state of asking and to recognize that whatever answers reveal themselves, do so because of grace.

Not my grace.

The grace of the Universe. A manifestation of favor, charity, mercifulness (as defined by Webster). And I would add… love. I think we do our best learning in a state of love.

perf5.000x8.000.inddWhich leads me to my tagline—the reason I write—and the basis for every story… the unstoppable nature of Love.

Love is unstoppable.

And so to all of you—no matter what your weather is like—no matter what state your life is in—I wish for you unstoppable love.

And I would add, warm, seductive, soft breezes.

Thanks for dropping by. My latest book, Naked Hope is doing well. I hope you’ll give it a read!

Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable

Introducing Dr. Jillian Cole


Dr. Jillian Cole is a highly respected research psychologist in the field of traumatic brain injury. Her scientific breakthroughs and methods are singularly unmatched… but may be too much for Gavin Fairfield, whose ten year-old daughter suffered a tragic accident.

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

Jill’s fingers moved decisively through the test packets and other instruments she needed, more than a little aware Gavin Fairfield watched her every move. She pulled her laptop from its docking station, and turned to retrieve her briefcase from the floor, only to find that he’d gotten there first. The casual grace of his lean body as he straightened, and the strength of his outstretched arm from years of conducting orchestras, were all-too familiar. Yet, this more charming mature version of the man she knew to be an egotistical tyrant unnerved her.

Her hand closed over his as she accepted her briefcase. “Mr. Fairfield, I always like to set an agenda so the client is informed.”

“I’m a client now?” he grinned.

Her mouth tightened. “Unless you suffer from Traumatic Brain Injury, you’ll never be the client. As the parent of a potential client who is a minor, we will be establishing three things over the next four days. The first is whether Olivia can navigate the academic rigor of the program?”

“Of course, she can,” he interrupted.

Ignoring him, she continued, “The second is to establish her emotional state. Last, we need to determine whether she has enough emotional support and guidance from her family. Specifically, this will mean looking into you, Mr. Fairfield.”

The maestro gaped.

For the first time since she crossed the threshold of Ross’ office that morning, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

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Rebecca E. Grant
Love is Unstoppable