Bad Boy Brody(96)

I usually struggle with these because I feel like there’s no way I can thank everyone, and I don’t want to forget someone. Or, I’m usually brain-dead at the end of the whole process so anything I write comes out like I’ve invented my own language.

But, here goes!

I started writing a similar story about a girl who’s more comfortable with horses than people a looong time ago, but it didn’t get far. I wasn’t sure where to take it, so it got put on the back burner. Then, a year ago, this extended idea came to me suddenly and it wouldn’t leave me alone. It was haunting me so I sat and outlined it, starting off from that earlier idea. However, I had other projects with more pertinent due dates so it got put off, until finally, I was able to write it, and holy crap, this book came out of me.

I turned off my thinking cap and just let it flow.

This book might be different than my others, but I wanted to share more about the reasons why I wrote Bad Boy Brody.

I call it Brody’s book, but in my heart, it’s more Morgan’s.

I love horses. I grew up with them. I was riding horse by the time I was eight. Taffy (our first mare) was my sister’s, and my God, she was bossy. She had so much attitude and spunk. If we rode with other horses, she always, always, always, had to push her to the front of the line. Then she’d slow down, get distracted by a leaf or some grass. All the horses would go past us again (granted, I would let her do this) and when she realized she was at the end of the line, or I made her join the rest, she’d have to push her way to the front again. That’s just her personality.

Some of my best memories were riding her through a section of white birch trees. It was just beautiful.

Morgan became a culmination of my love for horses, my history with them, my respect for them, and maybe someone I wanted to be when I was a little girl. Some girls had princesses and dolls. I dreamt about being like Morgan.

I want to thank my sister for getting our first mare.

I want to thank my dad for all the work he did in helping make that happen. (Because it was A LOT!)

I want to thank my cousin and my other relatives for all the horses they worked with for horse shows and hooking up their Morgans for parades, for wagon rides, and sleigh rides. It was an experience I realized later in life that’s not normal. Not everyone understands the feel of sitting on a fourteen-hands’ high mare when you’re eight years old and knowing there’s nothing to be scared about because you trust that horse and you trust your dad who has the reins.

I want to thank Crystal for all the help she does for me, because it is A LOT! Thank you to Kerri for reading Brody and giving me feedback. The same for my agent! Thank you to Eileen, Autumn, Heather, Amanda, Christina, and Pam for helping with my groups!!! Thanks to Debra Anastasia for reading Brody early and when she kept professing her love for this book when I started doubting myself. Thank you to all my friends who helped do a giveaway for me and helped spread the word. Thank you to my beta readers and also to my proofreaders: Kara, Amy, Rochelle, and Paige! Thank you to AW Editing for putting up with me and editing this book! Thank you to Elaine, because as I’m typing this, you’re still waiting for me! Thank you to Hang Le for taking an idea I had and creating that cover. It is beautiful! And I love that some people don’t even see Morgan, but I bet you will after you look now.

And last, I want to thank my readers, and especially the ones in my reader group! Your constant images, words, support, everything is just mind-blowing, and in those days when I have nothing more in me to write, you guys give me the ‘more’ I needed. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

And with all that said, I think I’m done!!

Tijan





I was surrounded—by champagne, crystal lights, and beautiful people. And I wanted to die.

Not really, but I was huddled in a corner with my back turned to the party. This was Sia’s job. She was the event coordinator at this art gallery, the Gala. I wasn’t even sure what event she was throwing, but I was here because she asked me to be. This was her thing, a typical Friday night for my best friend. The rich and gorgeous people came together to drink, socialize, throw money at some charity and mainly gossip. This was not my thing, and among all these paintings and socialites, I wanted to disappear.

I moved to Chicago two years ago, but that seemed like a lifetime now. We came for Liam’s job. He was the newest counselor at the Haven Center, but a year ago he was killed, struck by a drunk driver on his way home.

A shudder went through me as I remembered.

Liam had left a message that he was stopping to get flowers—he was a block away. The local florist had a booth in our grocery store. I’d had the genius idea to walk Frankie and meet him at the store. Our dog furry child could wait in the car while we got food together. It was silly, but grocery shopping was a favorite “date” for me. Liam thought it was ridiculous. He always laughed, but he’d humor me. And Frankie loved it. He got out of the house and could wag his tail to his heart’s content in the car. We lived in a nice neighborhood, and it wasn’t too hot, so I trusted our child would still be there when we returned.

When Frankie and I walked around the corner, Liam’s car was waiting to cross the intersection and turn in to the parking lot. He smiled when he saw Frankie and me, and he looked so happy. He’d lifted his hand to wave. So had I. When the light changed, Liam started across—I saw his smile fall away. I saw his hand grab for the steering wheel. I saw the blood drain from his face. He’d started to mouth, “I lo—“