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Don’t do this, he told himself. Stop it

Not that any relevant part of him was listening.

Dixie was gazing up at him, the moonlight reflecting in her blue, blue eyes. He longed to run his hands through her sweet-smelling hair, press his body close to hers and whisper softly in her ear.

She saw his intent and she did not back away.

Even though he’d known her only a bit longer than twenty-four hours, even though when they’d met he’d been wearing a Yankee uniform.

“Oh, Kyle,” she said, exhaling his name on a long breath. Before she could tell him to stop, he did what was possibly the stupidest thing in his life, considering that he quite possibly still had a girlfriend back in Ohio.

He swept her up his arms and kissed her….

Dear Reader,

I recently attended a Civil War reenactment near Charleston, South Carolina, and found myself caught up in that long-ago time. The costumes, the encampment and the battle itself made me stop and think about my ancestors who were around during The Late Great Unpleasantness, as we Southerners still refer to it.

I wondered how many of the present-day soldiers on the battlefield were descendants of men who fought in that war and if any of them were related to me. Why did these men become reenactors, anyway? Why didn’t they want to forget that awful conflict that took such a toll upon both the Union and the Confederacy? As I seriously considered these questions, my hero, Kyle Tecumseh Sherman, took shape in my imagination. He appeared full-grown, a descendant of the Union general William Tecumseh Sherman. He even looked like him! I knew right away that Kyle would be dedicated to preserving the memory of all who fought in that war, North and South.

already created a heroine who was made to order for Kyle. She’s Dixie Lee Smith, sister of Carolina Rose Smith in my book Down Home Carolina Christmas. Dixie was named for both the lost Confederacy and the South’s most revered general, Robert E. Lee. It was inevitable that when Dixie Lee Smith and Kyle Tecumseh Sherman met, sparks would fly.

And they did—all kinds of sparks, including the kind that light a fire too hot to quench, a fire that I hope will warm your heart as it does mine.

With love and best wishes,

Pamela Browning

Down Home Dixie

Pamela Browning