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Patricia Crossley

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My occasional newsletter will be full of snippets:News about new books and stories, information on free downloads from my web site, announcements of contests and profiles of the winners. Each month I feature an author so you can find more great books, and I publish a 'postcard' short story. You could send me a tip or a short article and see your name in the next issue.

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Newsletter Dated: 8/12/2004 11:00:23 AM

Subject: Newsletter time!

Any graphics you can't see are available at to newsletters and click on Patricia's newsletter for August


Patricia welcomes you to her website and the best of spicy romance,
sprinkled with reluctant time travelers, determined ghosts
mystery and suspense

Patricia’s Occasional Newsletter (distributed only by request) from author Patricia Crossley, Please stop by for a visit, read some of my excerpts and reviews & pick up some free downloads.

You are receiving this newsletter because you expressed interest in subscribing, either through a contest or through To unsubscribe, or to offer comments, please email me at: patricia @ patriciacrossley .com (no spaces)

Did you know…I also write erotic romance as Margrett Dawson. If you are interested, please take a look at Margrett has a newsletter too and you can subscribe at It promises to be lots of fun.
July 2004

A note from Patricia

We're home! We're back in North America after nine months in East Africa, and I'm frantically trying to catch up on my promotion and so on before we return to Kenya in early September.

Let me tell you a bit about our latest experiences…

As most of you know, we were in the Western Province of Kenya, pretty well on the equator, but at about 5,000 feet. The climate is usually very pleasant, except in the hot, dry season and the long rains which cause floods and impassable seas of mud on the roads.

My husband set up a computer school to serve the community. Our start-up costs were met by a donation from a friend, which she offered through the Cathedral. We want to thank the Dean for allowing this. In addition, computers and supplies were donated for a container which arrived soon after we did

In the computer school we have enrolled teachers, students just out of High School, and other job seekers, all anxious to upgrade their skills. We are non-profit and at the moment are meeting our expenses with the amount we charge. These expenses include salaries for four assistants, who take turns teaching and helping in the school. These young people were without work, but showed an aptitude for computers, so were trained over the months that we were there. They have kept things running for us during our absence and are proud of their accomplishment.

I have been working in the primary (elementary) schools of the diocese, of which there are 48. I am called the Diocesan Education Secretary and this position has not been filled for a number of years. I have been warmly received and there are many demands for my help. I have been asked to begin work in the High Schools and Polytechnics, but we shall be taking one thing at a time.

One of schools lost the roof of ten classrooms in a storm, including all their books and papers. The government will not supply the money to re-equip the school, so we are trying to send some school supplies in a container this fall. In the meantime, we may be able to help with some essential texts

We plan to return to Kakamega at the beginning of September. Our projects will be:
- to fine tune the computer school and maybe send computers to some of the High Schools. We could also offer training to teachers. Computers are being collected for shipment this fall.
- to find a better way of organizing my workshops for teachers, who are requesting help in a number of areas, and to offer specific workshops on management skills for head teachers. We are hoping to collaborate with the Anglican seminary to bring participants in to a central location and feed and house them. This will obviously need some funding. In addition we will need to work with Ministry of Education officials.
- to pursue the idea of a volunteer school for a peaceful schools project using non-violent communication. The level of domestic and civil violence is very high. Where better to start offering a better way by teaching the children in the schools? We would like to see training for the staff of a volunteer school.
- to assist the search for funding for a project, begun by women of a village in the area, who keep goats. They want to upgrade the herd, buy some land and practice zero grazing. They have a market for meat, hides and milk and it would help break the cycle of poverty.
- if possible, to help Peace High School just outside Kampala by including books and supplies in the container to leave this fall. This school shelters girls from the north fleeing from female genital mutilation and also welcomes returned girl soldiers abducted by the Lord's Resistance Army.

Here are a few pictures of Africa…Hope you enjoy!
From Patricia’s personal photos


Sani Pass South Africa

If you would like to read some of my more detailed newsletters, please go to my web site ( and click on "newsletter"

Writing news:

I am happy to let you know that "A Suitable Father" (contemporary romance) was released in June from Zumaya Publicationns ( with a beautiful new cover.

Maggie longs for a stable family and a loving father for her child and when Kurt turns up on her doorstep, wounded and implicated in a high-profile murder, she has to fight every instinct she has to help him. Despite the strong sexual attraction, she resists letting back into her life the man who once betrayed her so coldly and callously, and is now possibly a wanted man.

ISBN: 1-894942-58-2, 208 pages


No one has heard from Kurt Rainer for twelve years. He'd loved Maggie once
with an all-consuming passion, but doesn't know she bore his son, married
his half brother and was now widowed. He doesn't know she's planning to
marry a wealthy, sophisticated doctor who owns the retirement home where she
works. He doesn't know how much his son resembles him in looks and in
character. Most of all, he has no idea what havoc he will create in Maggie's
carefully planned life.
Maggie longs for a stable family and a loving father for her child and when
Kurt turns up on her doorstep, wounded and implicated in a high-profile
murder, she has to fight every instinct she has to help him. Despite the
strong sexual attraction, she resists letting back into her life the man who
once betrayed her so coldly and callously, and is now possibly a wanted

Maggie leaned back against the kitchen counter. She had no wish to discuss
anything with him. Her only priority was to get this unwelcome man out of
her kitchen and out of her life.

"Did they release you from the hospital?"

He hesitated a fraction too long. "I had to leave."

"You had to leave? What exactly does that mean?"

He shrugged, lifted the sunglasses and pressed index finger and thumb to his
eyes. "I was ready."

"You don't look good."

"Thanks. Just tired. I drove all night."

She'd seen the lines of fatigue drawn tight around his mouth and eyes, the
hollowness in his cheeks. She suspected he was in considerable discomfort,
if not downright pain.

"Whatever for?" she said. "Surely-"

"Leave it, Maggie. I can drive all night or all day if I want."

"Of course, you can." Why was she wasting her time quarreling with him when
she never even wanted to talk to him again?

"Where is this Glenhaven place?" he asked suddenly.

"Where Oma is? Down by the harbor. I work there."

"And she rents the house to you." It wasn't a question.

Maggie nodded then decided to explain. There were enough secrets between
them without concealing harmless facts. She ran her fingers over the
countertop, picking up a few crumbs, avoiding having to look at him.

"She doesn't charge any rent. I look after the place for her. I lived with
her before she went to Glenhaven, so it's quite ethical."

"I wouldn't have expected anything else."

She glanced up at him. He was teasing her just like he used to.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She sighed. He could still read her like a book. There had never been any
secrets between her and Kurt, except this huge one he must never know.

"Is she all right?" he asked anxiously, misunderstanding the reason for her

She sighed again. "Most likely just old age. She's as feisty as ever, still
speaking her mind and reading her newspapers. But she's fading slowly, like
an old photograph. It's still her, but only just. Everything was too much
for her in this house. I make sure I see her every day if I can."

He looked at her over the rim of his glass, but he was still wearing those
damned shades. She couldn't read his expression.

"I see."

No, you don't see, she wanted to shout at him. You don't see what I've made
of my life since you and Steve turned everything upside down. Between you,
you hurt everyone you touched. But I've survived both of you.

"You'd be more comfortable at the motel," she said through stiff lips.

He took off the glasses, and she saw his eyes again. They were still
blue-bright blue, just as she'd expected, more vivid than ever against the
deep tan of his skin. A web of fine lines was etched around them. There was
a dark bruise high on one cheekbone. She refrained from comment.

"Your room hasn't been cleaned for years."

He brushed the lock of hair back from his forehead. Maggie's heart lurched
again, a funny kind of buzz starting low down in her abdomen. Damn you,
Kurt, you have no right to still have this kind of effect on me! Go away!
And stay away as you have for the last twelve years!

"No problem to me," Kurt was saying about the room. "I'm used to camping

"I don't want you here," she repeated.

"You mentioned that." He raised one eyebrow. "This is my grandmother's
house, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"She invited me. I'm here for a while until I decide what to do." He turned
the empty glass on the table, not looking at her. "Don't worry, I won't get
in your hair. You won't even know I'm around." His voice was cold.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. What on earth had Frieda been
thinking? Had she been in touch with him all these years without saying a
word? Maggie clung to the promise that he'd leave her alone. She prayed to
God he meant it.

She took another breath, struggling to center herself, to deal with the
tumult of emotions. He wanted his old room! Kurt Rainer wanted to be in his
old room, in the house she now lived in! The man she'd firmly shut out of
her life and her thoughts was back in flesh and blood and invading her home.

She leaned back against the counter and closed her eyes. The clock ticked
loudly in the silence that hung heavy in the kitchen. Through the open
window, the chain on the humming bird feeder creaked softly as a bird came
down to drink. Whatever she said would be wrong.

Go away, I don't care if your grandmother promised you the whole house. You
can't stay here. Or how about Please make yourself at home. Share

Not! as Jeff would say.

A scraping noise from the table startled her into opening her eyes. Kurt had
pushed his chair back and was on his feet, doubled over, his hands pressed
to his side. His face was waxy pale; his eyes squeezed shut. His mouth
twisted in a grimace of pain.

"What is it?"

Maggie thrust away from the counter and took two steps to his side. He
steadied himself with the back of the chair, then waved her away and
straightened carefully.

"It's okay," he said in a gasp. "Don't worry about it." He let go of the
chair and took a tentative step. "Got to move the car," he whispered through
bloodless lips.

He reached the doorway with a visible effort and clung to the jamb for a
long moment. Then he slid down the length of the wall and lay crumpled in a
heap at her feet.

Dancing with the Devil was published in hard cover, large print by Ulverscroft ( in July

Jazz Hargrove leaves her reporting assignment in the Horn of Africa to settle her father’s estate and finds herself plunged in a deadly drama. She is good at her job as an international reporter. She's in line for an award and due for another promotion. Back in the small, provincial capital she'd left fourteen years before, she realizes with mounting terror that someone from her past is watching her, and he wants her back. Together with a man she does not wish to trust, she must face her worst fears to save a child drawn in to the web of danger.
Pete Browning is a freelance photographer recently assigned to Jazz's crew. An ex-cop with a failed marriage and a past drinking problem, he is not interested in falling in love, but he is determined to protect Jazz as the threats around her grow, until his own family becomes the target of a murderer.
Jazz and Pete have no choice but to pursue the stalker into a world of danger. Chemistry sizzles between them even as they follow the steps of a madman. Drawn together by necessity, they learn much more about each other and their own hidden fears and desires than they ever expected, as they continue DANCING WITH THE DEVIL.

Mac kicked the tire of a beat up car parked near the corner. He wanted to
pound on it, smash it, yell out his frustration, but he clenched his fists
and stuffed them in his pockets. A man passing by looked at him sideways and
then gave a silly grin and a shrug. The idiot thought his car had broken
down. He gave the moron a shrug back and wondered what the guy would do if
he knew how close he was to feeling fingers at his throat. That was pretty
funny. He rolled his shoulders and stuck a grin on his face.
God, he was pissed off. Jazz was proving to be a big disappointment. Weren't
women supposed to like attention, all that romantic crap? How many women had
lovers who were clever enough to send them gifts and clues, who made a great
game out of their love affair?
He'd figured it all out over the years. Planned it. By now she should be
caught up in the game and well on her way to solving the puzzle. Instead of
that, she was spending her time with that jerk with the camera who'd been
hanging around for the last couple of days.
Then he'd seen a cop car in the driveway when he'd arrived with the stupid
kitten in the stupid basket. Jazz shouldn't have done that. The old Jazz
would have understood that she shouldn't have anything to do with the
police, if she knew what was good for her. The old Jazz wouldn't have
needed to be taught a lesson.
She'd made him waste time checking all around with the animal mewing and
scratching at the basket. Then he'd no sooner dropped the gift on the
doorstep when the guy in the blue car had turned up again and stayed far too
long in the house after the cop left. The anger bubbled higher inside him.
Jazz and the jerk left together and the jerk had been carrying the cat, just
as if it was his gift.
Mac had found a special name for him, just as he had for Jazz. Except that
he wouldn't say his name for Jazz even to himself. It was too secret, too
precious. When she came back to him, he would tell her, would use it every
time they were together, every time he held her, every time she showed him
how much she cared. . . he took a deep breath and steadied the trembling of
his fingers. He wiped the moisture from his face. He mustn't let himself be
distracted by his fantasies. There was too much work to do.
But that guy, that was a different matter. He didn't mind using the special
name in his case. In fact, it felt good to use it, to roll it round his
tongue. He was going to call Jazz's friend Roadkill. Stinking, rotten, mass
of flesh that was only good to be shoveled up and thrown in a pit of flames.
. .
He should've sent Jazz the cat already dead. Then she would have paid some
attention to him, instead of going off with another man. Instead of letting
Roadkill touch her and slide his hand down her back as he was helping her
into the car. And she smiled at him. She liked Roadkill doing that, liked
his dirty hands on her. What else had they been doing in that house? Had he
had his hands on her then? Had he touched her in all those secret places she
should be keeping just for her true love? Had he kissed her, pushed his
tongue in her mouth, felt her breasts
Mac closed his eyes. Stay calm. His namesakes were cool guys, just like him.
Stick to the plan. Keep control and be worthy of her.
It was hard to think when all he could see was Roadkill's smarmy face, but
he had to do it, had to decide how he was going to reveal himself to her.
His heart rate slowed and he smiled. Of course, she was teasing him. She
knew he was there, knew he was watching her. She was sending him a message
by pretending to be interested in this other man, this Roadkill. She wanted
Mac to react, to show her how much he cared.


Pete drove her back to the house in Oak Bay and pulled into the long
driveway. He shut off the engine and contemplated the house. "You shouldn't
be here alone," he said.
"I'll be fine. I've lived alone for over ten years." She smiled to soften
her refusal of his help.
Neither of them had mentioned the moments of passion before dinner. What was

there to say? But the memory of it still sent small shock waves through her,
robbing her of her self assurance, making her mistrust her own reactions.
Pete turned to her and placed a hand on her hair. Immediately an electric
thrill ran through her and she felt her throat contract. Her heart began to
beat faster and she had to make an effort to draw in enough air. His face
was close to hers so she could feel his breath on her mouth. She knew what
was going to happen.
His lips met hers again. It was like the other kiss, but totally unlike.
This time she knew what sensations would ripple through her and she welcomed
them, reveled in them. Her reaction was pure instinct. Her abdomen
tightened, and her breasts seemed to strain against the thin fabric of her
blouse. She arched her back, and he responded with a muffled sound in his
throat and pulled her closer to him. His hands wandered down from her head
to her sides, trailing shards of fire as they went.
She closed her eyes again and turned her head away, to break the spell. He
kissed the tender spot beneath her ear.
"Please stop," she gasped, trying to control her shallow breath.
"I've wanted to do that ever since we spent the night in the desert," he
said. "I was beginning to think I'd never get the chance."
His lips moved down the line of her throat, barely touching the sensitive
"I've wanted it too," she wanted to say. "I've been fighting it, but God
knows I've thought about it."
Desire this strong made her vulnerable, put her at a disadvantage. She dared
not admit to it. Instead she shook her head. "I don't do this kind of
thing," she said in a low voice. "It can only cause problems-"
"Forget about what might happen," Pete answered, running his hands down her
back, making her nerve ends tingle. "Let's think about now."
She knew that if she kissed him again, there would be no turning back. Every
inch of her hummed and burned with the certainty, but still her head made
her hesitate. She was afraid of such intimacy.
"I don't have much 'now'," she said. "If we-" she hesitated "-give in to thi
s, this feeling, we'd just be using each other. I don't operate that way."
Just for an instant, she thought he would ignore her words and kiss her
again. She almost hoped that he would. But he drew back. She saw a flicker
of emotion cross his face, but whether it was anger or sadness, she couldn't
He turned his head away from her. "Sorry," he said, "I thought for a while
there you didn't mind." He shifted in the seat and gave her a little grin.
"It's a long while since I've done this in a car."
"Me too."
She could think of nothing else to say, nothing that would fit the intensity
of the moment, so they made small, inconsequential remarks as people often
do in the height of emotion.
Pete moistened his lips. "Will you let me stay, or have I blown it?" he
said. "I really think you shouldn't be alone."
She looked searchingly into his eyes. His shoulders blocked her view of her
father's house. The thought of going in there by herself, wondering what new
intrusion there might have been filled her with apprehension. Close to Pete
she felt safe, protected. Just as long as he understood she wasn't looking
for a relationship.
He touched his fingers to her cheek. "I won't complicate your life, Jazz,"
he whispered. "Just let me help."
What would happen if they spent a night under the same roof? Foolish
question. She could hardly keep her hands off him now and he was looking at
her with that light in his eyes, making her insides contract and the warmth
start deep within. . .
She drew in a breath. "Okay, come in for a moment," she said. "But I can't
let you stay,"

Dancing with the Devil is published by Atlantic Bridge

New Contest!


Win hardcover copy of Lolly Winston's Good Grief and a paperback of Debbie Macomber's 311 Pelican Court..Simply answer this question: Form A Suitable Father, what.kind of job does Cliff have?

Answer can be found at Patricia's site! For an extra entry register for Patricia's newsletter while you are at her site!
Ends Sept 31st. One entry per person for question, one for joining newsletter, winner picked randomly

A closing note

It was so difficult to send a newsletter or upgrade my web site, that I have been out of touch for several months.

I shall be keeping in touch in future through the Authors Redroom ( and am I relieved to be rid of this problem.
Thank you for allowing me time in your busy lives once again. I’m interested in receiving your feedback on anything in this newsletter or on my website ( . I’ve kept the format of the newsletter simple, so that it doesn’t cause a problem in your system. Please email me at patricia @patriciacrossley. com if you have any comments or suggestions. If you know anyone who would like to receive the newsletter, they only need to send me an email with ‘newsletter’ in the subject line. If you no longer wish to receive the newsletter, let me know by email and I will remove your name from the list. Happy reading!

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