Former Army Ranger, Mac MacGillicudy served his country for almost twenty years, fighting in one hotspot after another. Since he retired from the military, he’s roamed the U.S., unaware he’s accompanied by a woman with a hidden agenda. He enjoys writing action-adventure romances which never turn out the way he plans or expects or designs. Still his agent, publisher, and readers love them. Learning he’s inherited the old family hotel, Mac heads to Baker City, Washington for Christmas. He’ll help restore the hotel, write his next book which will hopefully end the way he wants, and perhaps discover a home.

Registered Nurse, Lillian Bryce didn’t hesitate to answer the call when her country needed her after the attack on Pearl Harbor. She joined the US Army and went off to war but didn’t return home, at least not alive. Since she loved books, she went back to the Seattle Public Library where she’d spent so many happy hours. She was perfectly content studying, researching, observing and enjoying the other patrons—the live ones, until she saw Mac MacGillicudy. She was fascinated, focused on him—well on his writing, on his books, except he had them all wrong! So, she fixed them, not once, but again, and again, and again regardless of how many times he tried to change them while they traveled the country! Now, they’re off to Baker City.

Will the two of them find love in a place where ghosts are real or just continue writing about it?

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Preorder Coming Soon

Release Date: September 2025
Genre: Paranormal (Ghost) | Military Romance

A Pink Satin Romance

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Seattle, Washington ~ September 2016

 

Lilly Bryce loved the Carnegie public library in Seattle. It’d always been a sanctuary, a safe place to flee from the various orphanages and foster homes where she lived. She’d spent hours reading there and never minded when she had to wait for a chair because the seating was so limited. The smell of books and the sight of the written words always comforted her. The librarians looked out for her more than any other adults did in her life.

They shared their lunches, and one frequently brought her cookies from home. Another gave her a coat and knitted gloves for her. On cold winter nights, they didn’t “remember” to find her and send her outside before locking the building. When she was older, they helped research scholarships for her to attend nursing school. She eventually earned her degree, then went to work in a local hospital, visiting the library on her days off and seeing her old friends.

She didn’t hesitate to answer the call of her country after the bombing of Pearl Harbor when the U.S. entered World War Two. She joined the Army Nursing Corp and eventually ended up in Italy where she died in 1945, when the hospital was bombed by the Germans. She could have roamed anywhere, but she was ready to go home. So, she returned to her favorite place in the world, the old library. 

She watched as it continued to evolve and expand through the years. She wasn’t the only ghost who enjoyed the atmosphere and preferred books to most people. Her childhood friends passed away and moved on, but she stayed. She liked seeing new people discover adventures in books and the library continually added different resources for the many guests, films, music and eventually computers. Those took away her favorite card catalog.

Many of the ghosts she knew left for other branches after the building was remodeled in 2004. Granted, Lilly favored the classic brick style of the first Central Library from her childhood, but she wasn’t inflexible—she could adapt. The futuristic architecture of the latest structure always made her think of a spaceship that had landed in the heart of downtown.

Visitors raved about the huge, four-story book spiral, the auditorium, the various labs, music practice and meeting rooms, a Writers’ Room for resident artists, world languages collections, local history archives in the Seattle Room, and the distinctive open spaces. It was far larger than the comfortable building where she learned to read almost a hundred years before.

Today, she’d wandered into the computer room where she discovered Mac MacGillicudy, one of the newer patrons, sitting at a station. He scowled at the monitor in front of him and she happily floated closer. He was working away on his next action-adventure romance, and she always enjoyed reading over his broad shoulder. She wished he could hear her comments when he used a contemporary metaphor in lieu of an accurate description of the era where and when she lived, but that was why he needed her help.

His stories featured flawed protagonists, complex plots, and gritty settings in 1940s Seattle. The hero, Titus Mason, was a private detective who lived on a houseboat on the eastern shore of Lake Union. His love interest and secretary ran the small, second-story office near Eastgate. She frequently pointed out important pieces of evidence to Titus, albeit with some assistance from Lilly.

Flecks of gray threaded through Mac’s short dark hair, a close-cropped beard emphasized the firm jaw and rugged features. In the old combat, jump-style boots he usually wore, he was barely six feet. Faded blue jeans tucked into the boots, a black sweater with epaulets, he carried himself as if he was still an Army Ranger. Since he retired last year, he visited the library several days a week to write on one of their desktop computers. She wasn’t sure why because he could have taken his laptop and gone to a coffee shop, but their loss was her gain.

Lilly heaved a sigh as she read the opening scene between Titus and his newest client, a blonde ‘femme fatale’ who definitely didn’t deserve the hero or the author. Mac’s cell phone distracted him, and he picked it up to answer a call. Taking advantage of the situation, Lilly added a quick sentence to the story and had the secretary ask a pertinent question that would provide more information for the new case.

It wasn’t the first time she’d intervened, not that Mac realized she’d changed the ending of his debut novel and allowed Titus to save the woman he hadn’t realized he loved. She didn’t deserve to die simply to suit the writer’s ends.

Besides, I do like a happy ever after resolution. And so will readers when his book hits the store shelves!

 

* * *

 

Mac MacGillicudy normally let calls go to voicemail and answered them later, but this one was from his literary agent, Gwen Talbot, a former Army officer who’d served as a liaison to his old combat unit when they were in Afghanistan. Two weeks ago, she’d told him she really liked the changes he’d made to his manuscript, Evergreen City Murders and intended to send it around to some of her favorite editors at different publishers.  “Got a sitrep, Gwen?”

“Yes and you’ll love it. I told you I was sending it to six people. I gave them a deadline and five of them responded with offers. The sixth wanted another three days to consider it.”

“I hope you were polite when you refused.”

“You should know me better than that after our time in the sandbox.”

Mac chuckled. Actually, he did. When Gwen provided a cut-off or suspense date, it was set in stone. She often quoted the scientist, Bob Carter, saying that “Poor planning on your part does not necessitate an emergency on mine.” If she was irritated, she’d opt for a cruder expression from her military days. Her snarky attitude and sarcastic quips flavored the secretary’s character in his book, although he’d drawn the woman’s physical attributes from a picture he’d found in the library’s archives.

Gwen began to provide details of the various offers. When she finished, Mac asked which she thought was the best choice and her reasons. The conversation ended with her promise to email copies of the book contract when she received it. Meantime, he agreed to send the first three chapters of the next book to her as soon as they were ready.

Gotta get back to work, he thought and turned his attention to the monitor. He read through the scene and frowned when he noticed a comment from Lillian Burroughs, the secretary. Damn it! Why did I do that? She’s dead. I killed her off at the end of the last book. Hmm. Wait a second! This really works. I can use this—

When he retired after his last assignment in Washington State, he wasn’t ready to find a permanent place to live. He was done following orders and giving them. Instead, he traveled around the country, couch-surfing with different buddies from his Army days, most of whom put up with the fact that he wouldn’t drink with them. He didn’t stay long.

After hanging out for a week or so, reminiscing and playing poker, he was ready to move on and did. He’d made a brief visit to his mother and her family in Colorado. Since she and his stepdad didn’t have room for him in their McMansion, Mac stayed at a nearby hotel for two days before he headed west to California.

In June, a former sergeant, Jimmy Penrose, who owned a tavern in Ballard, a waterfront neighborhood showcasing Scandinavian heritage in Seattle, invited Mac to stay as long as he wanted. Jimmy worked hard from open to close at his trendy pub. He was rarely home, which meant it could have been a quiet place to write except his many girlfriends floated in and out of the house in various stages of dress and undress. Mac wasn’t interested in any of them, so he went to the library to research details for the final draft of his book.

He spent hours in the archives. And he found her! The perfect woman for his book!

Lillian V. Bryce, a World War Two Army nurse who died in Italy. The photo with her obituary was black and white. It only revealed her head and shoulders—and definitely didn’t do her justice. Her hair was light, so it must have been blonde or possibly auburn. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes. In those days, her military uniform would have been dark blue until later in the war when the Army switched to brown. She wore a jacket with gold insignia on the collar over a blouse and necktie.

At twenty-eight, she was too young and lovely to die the way she had so he brought her back to life in his first book. He tweaked her name a bit, so none of her relatives would recognize her in the story, although the obit claimed she was an orphan. Granted, being raised by a single mother who eventually married a widower with kids of his own and no patience for his wife’s son hadn’t been a walk in the proverbial park either, Mac thought. I’m thirty-seven and I learned to handle drama a long time ago. Did she?

The lights flicked overhead, and he glanced at the warning that popped up on the monitor. The library would be closing in five minutes. He saved his work on a flash drive and shut down the computer. “Okay, time to call it a night. See you tomorrow, Lillian.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times before, Mister MacGillicudy. It’s Lilly.”

 

 

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