When Angie learns her firm is giving everyone a week off at Christmas, she’s devastated. She needed to work, to keep from thinking about her lack of relationship and family. Now she’s on her own for the holidays.

Kurt won’t be able to make it home to North Carolina for Christmas this year. He’s low man on the totem pole at his firm, but he’ll make it work.

Now where did this unforecasted blizzard come from?

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Excerpt –

In no hurry, Angie let others ahead of her as she wandered the store, picking her choices as she was inspired by a display or craving. She noted people coming in with snow on their shoulders and hair, but didn’t give it much thought. She was only three blocks from home.

Checking out, she had two canvas bags worth of food. The oranges were the heaviest, so she slid that bag up onto her shoulder and glanced at the door. Her jaw dropped. No way. She hadn’t been here an hour, but the streets were covered, not to mention the sidewalks.

Why hadn’t she checked the weather forecast before venturing out? She was dressed warmly enough, hopefully, but she owned better boots for walking in this. No help for it now. Winding her scarf around her head and throat—she hadn’t even slipped on a hat—she headed outside.

Walking was already hazardous, but she kept her eye on her feet. People on the sidewalks had already thinned out, staying indoors in this mess. Angie couldn’t blame them, it was where she would be if not for this shopping run. She should have done this earlier rather than moping around.

****

Kurt was a big man, and able to navigate the terrain, but even he was being pushed by some of the gusts that came from between buildings. The weathermen hadn’t called this one and he’d picked up no hint himself.

Something caused him to glance around, stopping on the sidewalk as others, annoyed, shoved around him. Swiveling toward the street, he spotted what was going to happen. That was his gift, analyzing what was coming. He was good at it.

The cab was moving too fast for conditions, and the woman wasn’t looking up at all, watching her footing on the increasingly bad sidewalk.

No time to think—just act. Racing across the street, ignoring the horns that blew at his presumptuousness, he picked up speed. Tackling the woman, he threw both of them into snow-covered bushes as the cab slammed into the building she had just passed.

Also check out my other Christmas novellas –

It’s that time of year! My new Christmas novella-Working Christmas-will release on November 15!

It’s not going to be a festive holiday. Angie hasn’t even bothered to decorate. She’ll be alone and that’s fine. She can catch up on work and ignore that life’s going on around her.

Kurt can’t get home this year. He’s low man on the totem pole at work. It might be a little lonely, but not that big a deal. Until he sees the collision that might just change his life.

Hey, it looks like it’s going to be a white Christmas at least.

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Disclaimer – not entirely G rated

In the interest of the continuing dialog on harassment – Had a conversation the other day with a man who just discovered I wrote romance novels. I’ve never made a secret of it, but I guess I’m more open after leaving my day job to write full time, or he’s been living under a rock.

I’m not sure of his motivation—to embarrass me or demean me (he got neither—now that I’m in my “old broad” phase of life it takes a lot to do either). He rambled on, eventually asking me if, when driving through Winston Salem, I enjoyed the phallic symbol along I-40. I’ve had this conversation before, and was ready, but I let him continue for a while taking mental notes (you never know when you’re going to use a conversation for future dialog). When I finally got a chance to speak, I calmly mentioned that I didn’t see a phallic symbol when I drove through Winston, I saw more of a tampon. That shut up him quick and I managed not to laugh. Here’s a picture, you decide.

If you want phallic symbols, you could take Chimney Rock, which we drove past when we went eclipsing, or even the older symbol of the wildcat from the University of Kentucky (they changed it while I was working there because of complaints).

Do you get this kind of conversation? Do people “tease” you because you’re a writer of romance? How do they not know what a major industry it is? I’d love to hear your stories if you’d like to share

I’m talking about sexual harassment at work. In 1975, when I got my first job out of college there was no protection. Yes, everyone was aware of sexual harassment, but it was considered normal, just something you had to put up with if you were a woman in business.

I went to work for a small electrical supply company that as far as I can find is no longer in business, probably swallowed up by a bigger company. Most of the time there were only two of us in the office, Joe and me. Two other salesmen occasionally came in off the road and were there for a day or two.

Joe had had a sexual relationship with the person in my position before me and apparently expected that to continue. I was young and fairly naïve. I’d worked in the family business before going off the school, and nothing like what was coming ever happened there.

There were lots of minor incidents, which I tried to ignore – I needed the job. Joe had an amazingly foul mouth, unable to speak more than three words without inserting a f*ck or g**damn. I became immune to that pretty quickly. I didn’t appreciate him coming in and telling me his girlfriend needed another abortion, or listen to him screaming at people on the phone, but in an office that small there was no relief.

An aside here – we were in a small office building and we had the only Xerox machine in the building, so other companies came in our back door, used the machine and logged in their usage, which I billed back to them monthly. On more than one occasion the men in the other offices would come to the door and ask if I was okay, because they could hear what Joe was yelling pretty clearly. They could do no more. Challenging Joe would have been fruitless; they didn’t even work in the same company.

I came in one morning to find a magazine opened on my desk. In my naivety I thought of Playboy as a “dirty” magazine. This publication was beyond my wildest imagination, and I still think those posed shots more fantasy than possibility.

The final straw was when Joe came up behind me and shoved his hand down my sweater. I froze and when he left me alone, I did go to one of the other offices to get my breath back. I started looking for a new position then. I knew it would never get better there.

When I interviewed, the only question I asked was “Do you curse and scream very much?” I still can see the shocked face of the man I went to work for. I don’t believe he said as much as damn in front of me for two years. He did advise me that I would be taking a cut in pay for the new job, and I informed him that I had to leave, and I needed to do it before I couldn’t financially. I’ll always believe that answer got me the job. I didn’t give my notice to Joe, that was too scary, but when Gerry, another salesman, was in the office I told him. He offered me more money and I told him I was taking a cut to get out. He nodded and said he didn’t blame me. See, he knew as well, but nothing was every done in these cases.

I hate that things like this still continue – over 40 years and some women still face this crap. It needs to end.