Soft Romance & Rural Cosy Mystery

I was asked once if I wrote in the Romance Genre. My reply was a quick, “No.” 

Recently, I decided it was time to dust a manuscript off that I worked on between 2015—2019. It is finished, as far as any book can be when the author pens THE END. Is it complete and ready to be published? Not even close. It’s most definitely still a W.I.P.

Within the book’s file was a single typed page with some comments (not mine) attached to it. I remembered there was an uncertainty about whether the words belonged in the book. I had instead submitted it to an online Valentine story site, and it received several favourable comments. 

Now that I have started the long journey of reading/editing this manuscript with a word count that settles at around 85,000, I realize these words do belong in the book, and somehow I will include them as I move forward with the initial edit. 

Apparently, I do write a form of soft romance. I hope you enjoy this excerpt from my rural cosy mystery WIP.

Laying under the slicker, Emi wrapped her body as best as she could around Marc to keep him warm. He had drifted in and out of consciousness since she’d talked to Jake. 

The blood had stopped dripping from his shoulder, but the jagged red marks she could see through his shredded shirt were still oozing droplets along its ridges. His arm, with its wrist still wrapped in a chunk of the bridle rein, lay at a precarious angle out in front of them.

“Where the hell are they?” she whispered, more to hear a voice than expecting an answer from anyone.

“Em.”

“Stay still. I’m here, Jake’s on his way.”

“Hurt.”

Emi snuggled closer, trying to give off as much of her body warmth to the injured man as she could.

“It’ll be okay.”

The sound of a truck in the distance slid her mind even further into survival mode. Easing herself out from under the coat, she stood and picked up her rifle from the stump where she had leaned it within her reach.

Four strides down the trail towards the corrals she stopped, pointed the rifle skyward and shot three rounds in rapid succession.

There were three short blasts from a truck horn in reply.

She had told Jake they were about a mile from the corrals. The sound of voices and doors slamming confirmed help was on its way.

Returning to Marc, she checked his pulse, felt his forehead and ran her finger down his cheek, stopping above the shallow gash on his jaw.

“Em.”

Crouched on her haunches, she spoke softly to the man she was going to marry.

“They’re coming. Help is here.”