Spotlight on The Interlude #Cozy #RomanticSuspense -- Meet author Barbara Baldwin!

Please meet talented Barbara Baldwin and her book, The Interlude, a cozy romantic suspense. 

Blurb:

Peter A Myerson, IV, is a successful businessman in New York city and has little time to deal with a house left to him by a great-aunt he never knew. He will simply go to New Orleans, sell the house and return to his organized and predetermined life.

That plan flies out the window when he meets CJ Fortier, the historical preservationist who is determined to finish the work she has been paid for. As different as they are, Peter is instantly drawn to her passion, and not just for her work.

In the process of remodeling they find an old diary written by his aunt with entries dating back to the 1920’s. It’s a glimpse into the past when the house was a speakeasy and brothel and it leads them to fulfilling a few fantasies of their own. But finding items referred to in the diary lead Peter and CJ into trouble as unknown people are after information only his late great-aunt would have know.

Bio:

I am an Air Force “Brat” and after moving every 2-3 years until I was 17, I still love to travel and explore new places, which usually means each of my novels is set in a different locale. I have been published in formats from poetry and short stories to full-length fiction. I also had the opportunity through my work to write and co-produce a documentary on state history which won state and national awards. I have an MA in Communication and have taught every grade from Kindergarten to college. Each year I write a Christmas story for family and friends—some heartfelt and others whimsical – and after ten years, those were complied into an anthology. I have four grandchildren so my latest story was “The Case of the Lost Socks”, written for my grandson after we tried, and failed, to match all the socks in the laundry basket. I also love to create art through fused glass and quilts. My website is http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin.

Excerpt:

Peter followed a sound toward the back of the house, giving a cursory glance to the drop cloths, paint cans and tools that were scattered about the front sitting room. Tall windows faced the front and one side, the heavy dark drapes pulled back to let in the hazy sunlight. He couldn’t help but admire the workmanship in the massive dining room, which looked to be finished. Carved molding circled the ceiling and a crystal chandelier hung centered over a mahogany table that would easily seat twelve or more. Rose colored flocked wallpaper stretched to the high ceilings above wainscoting and the hardwood floor shone with a new coat of varnish. Not his decorating choice, he thought, preferring the glass and chrome décor of his high-rise condo, but it seemed to fit the atmosphere of the old house.

“Hello,” he called as he stepped through a swinging door into the next room. A buzzing saw drowned out his voice and the man kneeling on the floor by a cupboard didn’t turn around.

“Hello!” he shouted, then reached out and tapped the man on the shoulder. An electric saw came whirling around at the level of his knees, and he jumped back just in time to keep from being sawed in half.

“Christ almighty, Mister! What do you think you’re doing sneaking up on a body like that?”

Peter was more shocked at the sight now standing before him than he had been at the thought of losing a leg.

Only as tall as his shoulder, the freckle-faced curiosity wore a ball cap turned backward over short, red hair. As Peter stood in silence waiting for his heart to calm down, she turned off the saw and put it on the floor then tugged off her earmuffs. Short jean cut-offs gave him a peek at ass cheeks before his gaze slid down lightly freckled legs to a pair of work boots. Forget his heart; other body parts instantly came to life.

He frowned, trying to understand his reaction to this...this tomboy. When she straightened and glared at him, hands on hips, his heart didn’t slow at all, but in fact, sped up dramatically. She wore a white low cut tank top that stretched tight over breasts that jutted out high and firm.

He cleared his throat. “You’re a...woman.”

Her brows lifted. “And that bothers you, how?” Her voice was deep and sultry, with the slow southern cadence that reminded him of exactly where he was.

“Well, no, the fact you’re a woman doesn’t. But you should be in a kitchen somewhere, not welding a saw.”

She glanced around. “I am in a kitchen, but you won’t find me cooking you a damned meal. What century are you from, anyway?”

“I am from New York.” He straightened to his full six foot two as he replied in his best Wall Street voice.

“Well, that explains it,” she snorted.

She picked up a rag and wiped down her arms and then her chest, Peter’s gaze following her movements. He reminded himself as to the purpose of his being here. It certainly wasn’t to ogle a menial laborer, regardless of her exotic looks and the effect she was having on his libido.