Careful or you'll end up in my next novel - by Jan Scarbrough

You may have heard that saying. It sometimes appears on T-shirts. Do you ever wonder if writers put people they know into their novels?

I don’t think I’ve actually put a real person into my books. But my life has influenced everything I write. Being a single mother is one of my themes, because I’ve been there. Now I write “seasoned romance” and “second chance” books because I’ve been there too. I can relate to many emotions, because over the years I’ve had them. I’m sure there’s a little bit of me in everything I write.

However, most of my books come from my imagination. Let’s face it, I’ve never been a jockey, a bull rider, a cowboy, or a horse trainer. I’ve shot a gun only once at a firing range. It’s hard for me to think up bad things to happen to my characters, because I don’t like bad things.

I do sometimes use my experiences in a book. Take this partial scene from Kentucky Cowboy, for example. (Judd is the hero, Mandy is the heroine, and Georgia is Mandy’s niece.)

Ten minutes later, outside of town on a back-country road, Mandy screamed, “Stop the truck!”

Judd’s heart spiked as he swerved to the right, tires squealing. He braked hard. The front and back tires lurched to a stop in the grassy slope by the side of the road.

Mandy threw open the passenger side door and disappeared around the back of the vehicle.

Georgia scrambled out behind her.

He was shaken. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got to save them!” the little girl shouted over her shoulder.

He threw open his door and stepped down from the cab just in time to see several ducklings scurrying into the underbrush on the other side of the road. Mandy and Georgia squatted over a limp mother mallard lying on the opposite shoulder of the two-lane highway. After looking both ways, he crossed the pavement.

“She’s dead,” Judd said.

Mandy climbed to her feet. “We know.”

“It’s so sad,” Georgia wailed. “They were just crossing the road in a line when that stupid car hit them.”

Although he had noticed the passing car, he had been looking down the road and had missed seeing the tragic hit and run. Mandy and Georgia had witnessed everything.

“Do you have a box in the truck?” Mandy glanced toward the brush where the ducks had disappeared. He recognized that determined look in her eyes. She was putting on her game face, readying for action.

“No, but I have a duffle bag.”

“Get it. Georgia and I are going to catch those babies.” Mandy turned away from him and plunged into the thicket. Georgia followed without hesitation.

Were they crazy? Judd ran back across the highway, opened his topper, and dug around in the truck bed for his duffle bag. By the time he’d emptied all his equipment—a handmade bull rope, riding gloves, and leather chaps—Mandy and Georgia had vanished.

This is suicide. He crossed the road again, dodging a fast-moving truck. “Mandy, this is dangerous.”

“No more so than riding bulls.”

She had him there.

Georgia poked her head out of the brush. “We need your help.”

Judd looked at the serious expression on Georgia’s sweet face. He eyed the tangle of scrub trees and brambles. Oh, heck. “I’ll help.” He ducked under a limb and picked his way slowly through the underbrush.

The first thing he noticed was that it was dangerous. Georgia’s little legs were already scratched and bleeding. He had the protection of jeans and boots, but Mandy and Georgia were wearing sandals.

“I caught one.” Mandy appeared with a small scrap of tan fluff cupped in her hands. She looked pleased with herself. A strand of hair had slipped from her once-proper ponytail.

Peep, peep, peep.

Judd opened the mouth of the bag and Mandy slid one little bird inside.

“There are eight of them.”

Her eyes were bright. Damn, she was determined. And beautiful.

“What do you want me to do?”

She peered at him. “Will you hold the bag?”

“Sure.”

He waited and watched, sweat pouring down his back, soaking his shirt. It was hot and humid, another sweltering Kentucky summer evening.

Georgia came up to him holding another baby. “This makes two.”

The ducklings might be tiny, but they were quick wild creatures that were terrified of humans, even humans wanting to help. The minutes ticked by as Mandy and Georgia tried to corner the frightened ducklings. Slowly, the count in the bag rose to three, four, and then five.

Saving eight ducklings and taking them to a wildlife rescue happened to my daughter and me. Sadly, there wasn’t a hunky bull rider with us.

All Buy Links for Kentucky Cowboy: http://books2read.com/u/bpjKx9

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