What is it About Romance?
“Red is the color of my true love’s hair.”
“I’ll never love blue eyes again.”
“Gonna wash that man right outa my hair.”
“Suzanne takes your hand and she leads you to the river…”
The list of “love” quotes is endless. Face it, as human beings we’re fascinated with love and sex. From an anthropological standpoint, that’s probably a good thing. It’s kept our race from dying out.
It’s only been in modern times that marrying for romantic love has become acceptable. As recently as a hundred years ago, virtually all marriages were arranged for any number of reasons from property transfers to a family needing to offload a daughter they couldn’t afford to support. At least in my imagination, many a family spat occurred around the supper table when Father told his offspring who and when they’d marry.
Yes, it was Father doing the telling. They definitely ruled the roost. Mothers sat by quietly wringing their hands. The women’s rights movement is relatively recent. We didn’t get the vote in this country until 1920. Women in Liechtenstein (a principality next door to Switzerland) didn’t get the vote until sometime in the 1960s! And women in many third world countries where they can’t even go to school would kill for a say in their lives.
Whoops! Sorry about the digression. Except it really isn’t. I see a strong link between romance and women being independent. It’s empowering to know we can pick our own partner and that we can marry for love. If things go well in a relationship, that love blooms and matures and provides the very best human interaction imaginable. It’s not accidental that married people live longer. I think it’s because they feel loved and cared for and are able to love and nurture in return.
A popular subgenre in romance fiction is second time around romance. It works for the same reason people go to a high school reunion and take up with an old flame. The chemistry is still there. Of course the problems and issues are still there as well, but maturity gives us better coping mechanisms and more of an ability to empathize with our partner’s needs. Three of my novellas, Destiny’s Shadow, Out of the Shadows (March 4 release date), and Alpine Attraction (May release date) feature couples who found one another again. The flame truly does burn sweeter the second time around.
For those of you in relationships, what are the most important ingredients you sought in a mate? Why those attributes and not something else? Sometimes people are shy, so I’ll lead out. I wanted a man who was kind. He had to be a mountain climber so he’d be supportive of what’s been a lifelong addiction for me. He had to be honest and honorable—in other words, I needed to be able to trust him unequivocally. Lastly, he needed to want to be a daddy. Funny how those things work. Our kids grew up and now we have dogs. The same principles apply. Kids pretty much run your life!
I’d love to hear what you think. What did you want in a partner? Did it work out the way you hoped? Come on now, don’t be shy.
By Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Genre: Paranormal Romance
A ranger for the U.S. Park Service, strong, competent Moira Shaughnessy is in serious trouble. Fleeing from her cheating husband, a Native American shaman, she stumbles into the arms of a man she never thought she’d see again. He hurt her once by choosing his druid heritage over her. Can she take a chance on him now?
Pursuing very different motives, both men follow her deep into the backcountry. Moira is caught in the crossfire between Celtic magic and Native American shamanism. A freak blizzard compounds her problems, taxing her survival skills to the max. Against the specter of almost-certain death, the sweetest, purest love she’s ever known rises to the fore, engulfing her in unbelievable passion.
Moira Shaughnessy’s booted feet hit the ground in front of the Family Medicine Clinic. Slamming the door of the dusty white Park Service pickup, she considered ignoring her boss’s orders, peeling out of the parking lot, and heading for the Baxter Pass trailhead. She had a crew to oversee, goddammit. And a work project to complete. But her boss, John, had been painstakingly clear, both yesterday at Park Headquarters in Three Rivers, and just ten minutes ago on the sat phone. Granted, he’d been far more pointed on the phone.
“It’s not a suggestion, Moira,” he’d growled. “This is a directive—from me. I want to hear from someone with MD after his name before I authorize you to head up that work detail. Do not set one foot on that trail before you receive my orders, e-sign them, and e-mail them back to me.”
“But that’s usually a formality—”
“Not this time. No buts. I made you an appointment at the clinic in Bishop that clears some of our crews. They’re open until six. I already lost two rangers this summer in the Pinecrest fire. That was two too many in my book, so get your butt into that clinic.”
Moira had thought she could avoid dealing with the whole mess by leaving the office early yesterday and taking one of the northern passes over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but John had tracked her down.
Phooey. I ran, but guess I couldn’t hide…
It was downright annoying that her boss needed a doctor to reassure him she wouldn’t collapse or something in the backcountry. For the briefest of moments, she felt like pounding her fist into the nearest tree—then she pulled herself together. Nothing was wrong with her, except her slimy, cheating husband. Sure, she’d lost a few pounds since she’d moved out, but she hadn’t been all that hungry.
Problem was John remembered similar struggles from years ago when she’d first started working as a park ranger. She hadn’t eaten enough then, either, and had gotten far too thin. Just her luck, he’d been overseeing a backcountry work detail when she’d gotten woozy and fallen off one of the mules.
Understanding surfaced. Her boss cared about her. That wasn’t a bad thing. The anger bled out of her with a whoosh.
“May as well get this over with,” she muttered. Moira walked briskly to the clinic, pushed the door open, and went to the counter.
“Yes?” A young woman with dyed red hair looked up from her computer screen with eyes so green she had to be wearing colored contact lenses.
“Moira Shaughnessy. I think you’re expecting me. My boss called from Kings Canyon-Sequoia Park Headquarters.”
The receptionist clicked a few keys. “Your insurance card, please.”
Moira blew out an impatient breath. She dug through her fanny pack for her wallet, extracted the plasticized Blue Cross card, and handed it over. “I’m really in a bit of a hurry—”
“Here’s your card back.” The clerk gestured at the nearly full waiting room. “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can. He had a full schedule before he agreed to work you in.”
“Is it okay if I go outside for a few minutes? I need to lock my truck. I, uh, didn’t think I’d be in here for very long.”
“Sure. So long as we know where to find you.” The phone trilled. The woman picked it up, Moira obviously forgotten. “Family Medicine, how may I help you?”
Moira paced up and down the parking lot. Fall had turned the aspen trees lining Bishop’s streets to shades of red and gold that were really quite striking, but all she could think about were the minutes ticking by. It was twelve miles from the trailhead to the top of the pass, and a couple more to where her trail crew was. Leaving today would be foolhardy at this point. She’d never even make the pass before night fell.
“Damn it!” She glanced at her watch. How long was this going to take anyway?
“Ms. Shaughnessy?” A man’s voice sounded from behind her.
She spun, surprised out of her funk. And stopped dead. “Tim?” Moira stared at the tall, rangy man with long, white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He was dressed in teal scrubs and sandals with a stethoscope draped around his neck. A broad grin split the clean planes of his face. She’d forgotten how heartbreakingly beautiful he was.
“I saw the name and hoped it was you.” He held out a hand, but she felt frozen in place. “After all, how many Moira Shaughnessys could there be?”
She just stood there, flabbergasted. What were the odds? She hadn’t seen Tim O’Malley since they’d both graduated from U.C. Davis. When she realized her mouth was hanging open, she shut it with a snap.
“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” One corner of his mouth turned down in an expression she remembered all too well.
“It’s just … I mean I never expected…” She felt warmth rise from the open neck of her buff-colored uniform shirt. Heat suffused her face until she was certain every freckle was outlined in bright, living color.
“Hey, mo ghrá. I know we didn’t split up under the best of circumstances…”
“No shit. And you can skip the beloved part.” A familiar anger stirred, but she batted it aside.
“Moira, I’m sorry. I was sorry then, and I still am.” He sounded so sincere, it tugged at her heartstrings. Part of her wanted to believe him, and part of her was afraid to.
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Three novels, Psyche’s Prophecy, Psyche’s Search, and Psyche's Promise are small press publications available in e-format and paperback. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)