The edits for Thankful Hearts have fallen on me like a pile of leaves.
Here’s a freshly minted moment to whet your appetite:
Stacy’s heart pounded against her rib cage as she watched Hudson peeking through the blinds and holding his gun like they were on the run in a freaking action movie. His neck and arm muscles were taut, but his expression was calm. If he wasn’t holding the gun, she’d be admiring his nude body. Did he think he was in Afghanistan? Did he remember she was with him? She’d read up on PTSD, and the reality of everything she’d read was giving her a heart attack. She didn’t want to startle him, but she wanted that gun out of his hand. The sounds of the fight next door finally pushed themselves into her consciousness. In a whisper she asked, “Hudson?” Continue reading