Bears in the Hibiscus is a a book about Mary, a divorced woman in her late thirties who is resisting the dating scene. When her ex-brother-in-law Mark, a Montana Park Ranger, lets her know he’s interested, Mary’s life becomes complicated because getting involved with him would also mean becoming a part of her ex-husband’s family again. When fate puts Mary and Mark in Hawaii at the same time, romance begins to bloom. However, Mary still struggles with her initial feelings about her ex-in-laws. Will she be able to overcome her fear of pressure from Mark’s family and make a new life with Mark?

You can read Chapter 1 of this novel on this Janelle Meraz Hooper’s Web page.

What follows here on The Blue Rose Bouquet is:

Chapter 3: The Montana Kahuna

Mary was so busy getting her ducks in order so she could get out of town, she didn’t have time, at first, to think much about Mark spending the night at her house. When she did, she wondered why had he picked her house, when he had a brother nearby? Actually, he had his own place a few miles away, on his parents’ compound. Why was he spending the night on her floor?

Before she went to bed the night before his visit, she made sure he could find the floor. All of the old newspapers, newsletters and mail-ads were either banished to recycling or put into a box in her car trunk so she could take them to Ray, who ran the layout department. Other peoples’ magazines were a gold mine for layout and design ideas, not to mention leads for new clients for the advertising department. Mary would almost sooner throw away money than old magazines.

A rental car was in the driveway when she got home the next night, and Mary had a rush of guilt for not offering to pick Mark up at the airport. What was I thinking?

She forgot her guilt when she got a whiff of something wonderful. Something only vaguely familiar. Something—trout! She raced upstairs, not sure which sight was more welcome, Mark or the trout he and Kate were cooking in the skillet.

“Mark! You brought the fish, I could have at least cooked them!”

“That’s okay, sis,” Mark grinned. “Kate wanted to learn how to cook fish that aren’t named Charlie.”

“It smells wonderful! I love the way you cook fish with just salt, pepper, and flour. I hate all those Frenchy sauces.”

“When there’s sauce on the trout, lookout!” Mark cautioned, “It’s probably covering up a fish that’s older than you are.”

“I guess being frozen kept them fresh on the trip.”

“Actually, I got up early and caught these before I left the park. You’d been without so long I figured you were due. Kept them cool in an old Styrofoam ice chest.”

“Did you get any strange looks at the airport when you checked your Styrofoam luggage?”

“No, the floor was covered with ice chests bigger than mine that belonged to people who had been fishing for Kings in Alaska. My little chest looked kind of pitiful next to theirs.”

“The best things come in small packages, they say.”

Mary left the cheerful cooks to change into a boxy pair of khaki walking shorts and a forest green tank top. She had a closet full of similar clothes. Her outfit was fine for the Northwest, especially since she was having dinner with a Montana Ranger, but she had trouble picturing it on a Hawaiian beach. She’d have to dig a little deeper into her closet and see if she could find something a little brighter.

Before she returned to the kitchen, Mary gave herself a quick look in the mirror. What looked back at her was a woman with long brunette hair and a medium frame. She was a few pounds lighter than the last time Mark had seen her, and she’d lost her tan. Both changes could be attributed to an increased workload. She hadn’t stopped any cars lately, but she thought she looked as well as she could without the benefit of one of those instant facelifts she kept reading about in the women’s magazines.

How she hated being the ex-wife. What would this ex-brother-in-law say to Brian the next time they spoke? Maybe, “I saw your ex, she looks pretty good for her age, but your new love is a real knockout.” It distressed her to imagine other people commenting, “I saw your ex, she had wrinkles all over her face! No wonder you’re shopping around for a trophy wife.” Well, she doubted that people would actually make those comments out loud, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t think them. Mary hated most to hear, “When I look at Kate, I can see just how pretty Mary must’ve looked years ago.” Mary loved her daughter, and they did look a lot alike, but who could compete with someone half her age?

Well, she was hungry, and she doubted that her two cooks would deliver fresh, pan-fried trout to her bedroom door. “There she is!” greeted Mark when Mary entered the kitchen, “How about some wine?”

“Oh, you must have found my cardboard box in the fridge,” Mary said as she held out her glass.

“Yep. Park rangers know how to find their quarry. It was marked Wednesday, so I thought it must be fresh.”

“Very funny. Actually, I’ve got a box dated Thursday; I’m giving you the old stuff.”

“It tastes good to me.”

Dinner was delicious. Mary looked down at a plate of fresh trout, green salad with raspberry dressing, and lightly buttered and toasted Como bread, and thought she was in heaven.

After Kate downed her trout like it was a burger at Dollar’s and left with a carload of friends, Mary and Mark settled down with fresh glasses of wine on the sundeck. Mary cringed as a whole flock of fruit bats flew into her big cherry tree. The crows stripped her fruit trees in the daytime and this was the night shift. Not surprisingly, she preferred the crows.

“So, how’s it going, sis?” Mark asked as he eased into a deck chair that had seen better days.

“Not bad. How about you?”

“Good. I’m really looking forward to getting away for a few days. I didn’t get much rest this year after the forest fires started.”

“Kate and I watched the news every night. It was the worst we’d ever seen.”

“That’s for sure. We were lucky we didn’t lose any of the firefighters.”

The niceties were over, and Mary asked what she really wanted to know, “Mark, you know you’re welcome here, but why did you come here instead of the compound or your brother’s?”

“Mom is letting company from Minnesota use my house at the compound while they’re here on vacation. And I didn’t feel up to spending the night staring at the bare chest of Brian’s latest Seahawk cheerleader. I think he should start carding those girls. Besides,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “I thought it would be tacky to sleep on my brother’s floor when I was thinking about dating his ex.”

Mary choked on her wine, and reached for a tissue from her pocket before wine came out of her nose. “Mark! Don’t go there!” Mary said with surprise.

“Too late! I’ve already bought a ticket! What’s wrong? Have someone else?”

“No…”

“I have cooties?”

“No…Mark, I like you, but I’m just not sure if it’s smart for me to get involved with a Bergstrom again. You’re a great guy, but I don’t think I fit in with the rest of your family.”

“Mary, you fit in just fine. Don’t be intimidated by the Bergstrom money. It has nothing to do with me or us.”

Mary was still wiping wine from her nose when she said, “I can’t help the way I feel.”

“Well, I always like to leave a woman in a state of shock, so I’ll go to bed now,” he said with a grin. “Thanks for the hospitality, sis. I’ll be gone when you wake up, so I’ll call you in Hawaii to see if you’ve managed to get your mouth closed yet.” Mary felt him hesitate as he walked behind her, but he kept walking. Is he going to touch me? Pat me on the head? What?

Whatever he almost did, Mary was glad he hadn’t. Her brain was occupied trying to list all of the reasons why their dating wouldn’t be a good idea. Mark had already left the sundeck, so whatever thoughts she had remained unspoken. She was left with an empty deck chair, half a glass of wine, and a big full moon that she was sure was laughing at her. Or was the laughter she heard coming from the bathroom where Mark was? She vaguely felt a mosquito chewing on her bare arm and swatted it with one hand while she finished her wine with the other. She groaned when she heard him turn on the shower. There was no question that Mark was a hunk. Knowing he was less than ten feet from her made her knees tremble. What would Roxanne do? The answer to that was easy. What was Mary going to do? “Nothing!” her friend’s voice ridiculed from the darkness.

The next sound Mary heard was Mark shaking out his sleeping bag. And fluffing his pillow. He made a big deal out of fluffing his pillow. There was something else. She was sure she heard another laugh when she scooted to the bathroom to get ready for bed. He was laughing at her. She was sure of it. And why shouldn’t he?

Kate was due in at any time, so any thought of giving in and crawling into Mark’s sleeping bag with him was pointless, even if she could find the nerve which, of course, she couldn’t. By the time Kate’s friends dropped her off in her driveway, Mark was already fast asleep. How could he do that? How could he make a pass at me and then just go to sleep? Mary was in her bedroom, wide awake, curled up into a tight, fetal position, with her pillow over her head so she couldn’t hear the soft gentle breathing of a man who was totally at ease on her living room floor. For now.

The next morning, Mary heated up the coffee that Mark had left in the pot and swore that it, too, was laughing at her. The living room was neat as a pin, and only a slightly wrinkled pillow rested in the easy chair. She resisted the urge to stop and fluff it.

The Montana Kahuna is a post from: The Blue Rose Bouquet

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Phases of the Moon fans now also have a FaceBook Fan Page.

Phases of the Moon fans also now have their own t-shirt and gift idea design! (Notice how the wolf has imprinted on that special someone’s heart.) Please take the time to visit the Phases of the Moon T-Shirt and Gift Ideas Shop.

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The ride was agonizingly silent. She leafed through a magazine that she had already read three times. It would soon be her turn to drive, and she would not even have the comfort of reading. She liked to listen to the radio, but inevitably, she would start singing of which he did not approve. He wouldn’t complain, of course. That would take too much effort. He would just sit there and sigh and make those awful moans of disapproval.

He, in this case, referred to Sharon’s husband, David.

She would not have to call him that for much longer. She had her second appointment with her attorney Monday morning. She had to survive this weekend with him, and then she could go free.

Her mother had set up this fishing trip. She had talked to each of them separately, because talking with David and Sharon simultaneously was futile. After much prodding and even a little threatening, they had both reluctantly agreed to go to a cabin, alone, together. Her parents kept the kids, paid for the cabin, and made all of the arrangements. The only stipulation was that David and Sharon had to go, and that they at least had to fish together. So, she was in the car with her husband headed to a cabin on Sage Lake.

David soon pulled the car into a gas station. He quietly filled the tank while Sharon visited the facilities. Once those tasks were completed, they met inside. She placed a beverage on the counter for each of them. He paid for the purchases. Then they were again on their way – with Sharon now in the driver’s seat.

She turned on the radio, but was careful not to make a noise. “We used to sing love songs to each other,” she recalled longingly. Sharon had grown weary of trying to figure out what had happened to their marriage. She could not remember when she had given up on it completely. There was not a certain date that she could recall anyway. It was just a slow process that led them to the silent, torturous bond that now legally held them together. “After ten years and two children, we must not have anything left to say,” she would tell herself during those times when she longed to talk to him. But, in the back of her heart, she knew that two people could find conversation after years of marriage. She saw people do it all the time: her parents, his parents, people at work. She couldn’t help but feel like a failure for her inability to maintain communication. Then her emotional pendulum would swing to the other extreme and she would be overcome with anger at David’s lack of caring. She was caught in a viscous cycle that she desperately wanted out of by the swiftest method of exit.

It was late Thursday night when they arrived at their destination. David unloaded the car while Sharon placed perishables from the cooler into the empty refrigerator and their small supply of groceries into the cupboards. They each carried their own baggage to a separate bedroom, just like at home.

They ate toast with strawberry jam and sipped coffee sitting across the wide table from each other on Friday morning. Sharon read a chapter from a book on math skills for middle-graders. David seemed to be buried in his own literature.

“Do you know how to fish?”

His voice startled her. She still loved that low, raspy sound. She looked up from her book.

“We promised your mother we would fish. Do you know how to fish?” he asked, looking directly at her this time.

“Yes. We used to go when I was a kid.”

“I saw the stuff in the car that she sent along. I was hoping you would know how to use it.” He returned to his reading.

“You have never been fishing?”

“No. Why?” he asked looking up again.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t know that.”

. . .

The boat motor started on the second pull for which Sharon was thankful. She acted like she knew what she was doing as she maneuvered them into a small cove at the corner of the lake. The poles were set, and there was even a container of fresh night crawlers in the small tackle box.
“Mother is certainly thorough,” Sharon thought, not sure whether she should feel grateful or resentful. She baited both hooks and estimated the depth for the bobbers. She handed a pole to him and gave brief instructions. “If a fish bites, yank up on the pole and then reel it in.”

He silently accepted the pole and directions. Sharon had to admit, the lake was beautiful. The silence seemed more tolerable when the subtle sounds of nature accompanied. There were times that Sharon longed for an argument. They had ceased fighting roughly six months ago. If she had to choose a time, that was probably the point when she had given up. When they had stopped even trying to work out their differences, deciding instead to coexist, independently in the same dwelling with not even a bit of symbiosis.

“Pull up,” she yelled to him. “Now!”

David yanked the pole and fumbled with the reel. The end of the pole wobbled with the weight of the fish. “What do I do now?” he asked.

“Just keep turning that crank,” she said pointing to the reel in his hand.

“Yahoo!” he said with a genuine smile on his face as he lifted the six-inch perch into the boat.

Sharon couldn’t help but smile back.

“Is that what you call a fish?” he asked with a tone of self-pride.

“Actually, we could probably call that a minnow,” Sharon remarked sarcastically followed by a snicker.

“Give me a break. It’s my first fish,” David jokingly protested. “At least let me think I’m a great fisherman for a minute or two.”

“Be my guest.”

“Now what?” he asked, staring at the flopping fish.

“I never was very good at this part. We have to get him off of the hook and into this bucket,” she said as she reached over the side to fill it with water. “One of us has to grab hold of it.”

They both took a deep breath and stared at the now still creature.

“Here goes,” Sharon finally muttered. She smoothed the dorsal fins down with her index finger and wrapped her thumb around the belly. The fish began to flop with newfound strength. She quickly retracted her hand.

“I’ve got an idea.” David pulled his flannel shirttail out of his blue jeans. He laid the fish on the shirt and then wrapped his hand around it.

“We did it,” he said as the fish darted around the bucket.

“We did it,” she thought as she cast her line back out into the still water.

She and David actually laughed together when, in the bottom of the tackle box, they found written directions on how to clean and fry fish. They fumbled with the scaler and the filet knife, and they estimated that they probably picked more bones out of their teeth than they buried with the guts. But, their supper had been wonderful. Sharon couldn’t help but wonder if it was the food that tasted so good, or the fact that they had prepared it together.

The math book was dry, as instructional guides for teachers generally were. At a particularly dull point in her study, she looked over at David lying on the sofa.

“How do you like that book?”

“It’s alright,” he said without averting his eyes.

“I read it about a month ago.” She too returned her gaze to her book.

“You mean, we have this book at home?” David asked, now looking toward his wife.

“Yes.”

“I just bought it on the way here.”

“Where? At the gas station?” she asked as a question, but answering it herself.

“We don’t pay attention to each other, do we?” David asked flatly. It was not a revelation to him, just the stating of an obvious fact.

“No we don’t,” she said as she once again returned to her reading.

The second day’s catch was not significant, and Sharon’s growling stomach beckoned her to make alternate dinner plans. She suggested a restaurant she’d seen as they’d driven to the cabin.

Sharon couldn’t help but feel as though she was getting ready for a date as she ran a brush through her hair. She was actually having a good time this weekend. She could sense that David was, too. The beautiful water was like a glistening beacon amidst the grunge of their dismal alliance, and they both seemed to appreciate the sense of tranquility that it provided.

“I really don’t think it was far,” David said as he closed the cabin door behind them. “Let’s walk.”

“This reminds me of that place we found on our trip to Chicago.”

“That breakfast deli?”

“Yes. We just started walking….”

“…and we stopped when we smelled food.” David finished the sentence for her. He then did something that he hadn’t done in years; he held her hand.

Time and years of yard work had added calluses that she did not recall from their younger days, but it was pleasant just the same. The gentle sway of their walking allowed her to feel his palm. They talked about the Chicago trip. They talked about old times. They talked about the kids. The restaurant was at least two miles away, but the conversation made it seem right next door. After months of agonizing silence, they had relearned how to speak with one another.

When they returned to the cottage that night, she invited him into her room. He accepted. They rediscovered old passions and playfully uncovered new ones. They held each other close as they drifted off to sleep listening to the gentle tap of raindrops from a summer shower strumming on the roof.

They again fished in silence the next day on Sage Lake.

It was even more awkward than before.

Questions circled about her mind.

Did we become intimate again too quickly?

Is he glad that the weekend is over so he can be rid of me?

All taunted her with negativity. Sharon longed to talk, like they had last night. “Why shouldn’t I?” she thought. “He is my husband.”

Finally, she spoke. “I have an appointment with my attorney tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think I want to go.”

He looked at her with reddened eyes. He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a business card. “Butch, the other social studies teacher at the high school, gave me this.” He handed it to her. “He and Mary went to this counselor a few years ago. He said it really helped them.” Sharon leaned forward and produced a similar card from her rear pocket. “You remember Connie, the secretary, don’t you?” She smiled through her own tears as she handed him her card. “Maybe there is some hope left for us,” she said out loud.

They held each other as they sobbed with such intensity the lake rippled outward from the small boat. They felt the pain that had been bottled up inside them for so long begin to release and disperse calmly out over the water.

They sat in the small watercraft for hours discussing details of life that they had ignored for years. They held each other close. They talked of books they had read and emotions they had felt. They did not place blame but accepted the reality of what they had allowed their marriage to become, and they outlined a game plan for improvement. They even occasionally kissed, simply to feel the warmth of one another’s lips.

. . .

“Stay as long as you want, honey. The cabin is rented for the whole week, and your father and I have your children enrolled in Bible school at church,” her mother said when Sharon called her from the pay phone at the local grocery store.

“How did you know it would work?”

“A mother just knows,” she said in her best omnipotent voice. “Now you have a good time.”

###

Copyright © 2001-2008 Larisa Dawn Sutton
All Rights Reserved

Author bio:

“Larisa Dawn is an Ohio writer and is the married mother of three children. She has her BSN from Bowling Green State University and works as a nurse at St. Rita’s Medical Center in Lima, Ohio. Lara writes fiction and humor. Her work has also appeared in previous editions of The Blue Rose Bouquet, The Journal of Nursing Jocularity, and in local newspapers. She was also the tech editor for a diabetes cookbook. You can reach her at lara [at] blueroses [dot] com. “

Fishing for a Solution is a post from: The Blue Rose Bouquet

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Novelist and Romance Writers Sites:

Romance Writers of America The home of RWA, where the Waldenbooks Bestseller List resides along with all manner of industry news, author links, and other good stuff. A must read for every romance writer.

Novelists, Inc. Again, a multi-genre organization of professional novelists, with all kinds of great industry information. Links to author sites, biz news, bestseller lists, etc.

Next, on to Publisher Web Sites:

Harlequin/Silhouette As advertised, what’s hot off the press at Harlequin/Silhouette, along with author bios, links, and colorful blurbs for new releases. Oddly enough there are no links to on-line booksellers. *insert wry grin here* However, they do provide a shopping cart so you can buy what you want directly from them. Isn’t that special? *insert another wry grin, along with a good-natured eye-roll*

Bantam/Doubleday/Dell Or is it Bantam/Dell/Doubleday? Hmm, no matter. It’s affectionately referred to as BDD in the biz, and if you want to know what’s going on there, this is the place to be.

Kensington/Zebra This site also offers links to a weekly chat with Steve Zacharius, head of Kensington. Ask Steve personally what’s hot in the market, and what editors really want.

And just for fun, Romance Wise:

The Bookbug A great off-beat place to find swell romance links, author home pages, reviews, fun discussions of what makes a great romantic comedy or a tearjerker, 3-hankie read, and other terrific goodies.

Romancing The Web Another wonderful site devoted to writers/readers of romance. A jump-off point for Laurie Likes Books, an extremely popular (albeit occasionally controversial, LOL) site for discussion on the good, the bad, and the ugly on local bookshelves. Also, stop by to see which big-name guests have visited recently!

The Literary Times This site offers on-line magazine, extremely active bulletin board, and chat rooms.

I love this place!

Jacqueline Reding’s Romance Links An extremely complete listing of websites of interest to romance writers and readers, including a bunch of great resource and research sites. A terrific, one-stop site that leads to every place that’s any place in the romance-writing world.

The Romance Reader An extremely popular hangout with readers, and a must-lurk spot for writers who want to know what fans are looking for in their fave reads.

Authorlinks Multi-genre site devoted to news and marketing info of interest to editors, agents, and writers. Very interesting stuff for anyone who’s in or wants to be in the publishing biz.

Well, folks, that’s just a tiny sampling of what’s out there, but from these sites, you can find your way to just about every interesting cyber-spot that deals with topics of interest to writers.

Happy surfing!

Copyright © 1997 Diana Whitney Hinz
All rights reserved

Author bio:

Diana Whitney Hinz aka Diana Whitney aka Di has written 27 romance and suspense novels since her first Silhouette was published in 1989. Twice a Romance Writers of America RITA finalist and two-time Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice nominee, the bestselling author has conducted writing workshops, is a frequent speaker and has written several articles on the craft of fiction writing for various trade magazines and newsletters. Her books have appeared on the USA Today, Ingrams, Waldenbooks and B. Dalton bestseller lists. She is a member of Authors Guild, Novelists, Inc., and Romance Writers of America.

Some of Diana’s books include… OOH BABY, BABY, (Harlequin 36 Hours series # 3) September 1997; A HERO’S CHILD, (Silhouette Special Edition #1090) March 1997; Stork Express from Silhouette Special Editions BABY ON HIS DOORSTEP,and BABY IN HIS CRADLE; and ONE MAN’S PROMISE, 6/98 Silhouette Romance.

Romance Writing and Other Favorite Online Writing Resources is a post from: The Blue Rose Bouquet

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