"Trust Your Heart" excerpt...

"Trust Your Heart" excerpt...

Hello... I'm so excited about my new release...

Trust Your Heart available at The Wild Rose Press...or... christinecolumbus.net


The rehearsed lines vanished as my vision drank in the sight of a drop-dead gorgeous man three feet from me. I sucked in my stomach and stood taller. My professional demeanor wrestled with curiosity as I strained to keep my gaze on his handsome face. Inquisitiveness won.
Broad shoulders, flat stomach, strong, muscular legs, polished shoes and large hands—
“Excuse me, miss. If you’re quite done, I’m looking for Mr. Humphrey’s office.”
A trace of laughter filled his deep, sensual voice. My eyes widened. “David Lindstrom?”
His gaze narrowed. “Michelle Mason?”
My heart thumped. The handsome man in front of me was David. He looked different from the teenager who had shared a locker beside mine for four years. Back then, he wore nothing but faded denim overalls, white stained t-shirts, work boots and a baseball cap, but the smile was the same.
He clasped my hand and drew me closer.
I leaned close and sniffed twice. He certainly didn’t smell like the farm boy who came to school more times than not smelling like manure. His scent was clean, crisp and all male. “You smell wonderful.”
His arms wrapped around me, and his chest rumbled with laughter. “You were always the honest one.”
The warmth of his embrace was like chocolate to a dieter, and my arms tightened possessively. Guilt and the desire to take a little nibble had me rocking back and forth in his embrace. His arms tightened.
Strength and the comfort were the two words that came to mind as the tension drained from my muscles and my head fell wearily to his shoulder. Sweet, farm boy David rubbed my back, his breath was warm and suddenly thoughts of comfort spun out of control and images of his hands roaming over my body, his lips kissing me.

I am at Reading Minnesota...

come check me out....http://www.readingminnesota.blogspot.com/

Suddenly Fall

One moment, it's spring...the next autumn.

Time ... I remember my son asking, "Your minutes or my minutes?"

"What are you talking about. All minutes are the same," I said.

He shook his head. "No, they're not. When you tell me you'll be with me in a minute. Those are the long minutes. When you tell me I have five minutes before it's time for bed. Those are short minutes."

He of course was right... not all minutes are the same, but I try to enjoy them all.

There was a brief moment when I felt like I had been kicked to the curb....

But...After hearing my prose read at Bloomington Art Center... and having the gentleman next to me lean over with program in hand and say, "Can I have your autograph?" I realize...it's just a shift in prospective. Enjoy.

A Little Water

"How little is water?" My son asked sitting in a bathtub filled with plastic boats.
"It's as small as rain,” I explained.
"Pouring from the sky in a thunderstorm." His voice boomed as his feet turned the tepid bath water into crashing waves, sinking half his fleet.
Shaking my head like a dog emerging from a lake. "As small as a raindrop in a gentle spring shower, clinging to a shiny green leaf--"
“Eaten by a big fat green caterpillar that gulps down all the leaves before crashing down to the ground.” His palm smacked the surface sending a spray of water.
Eyebrows popped up like umbrellas, hands flayed like windshield wipers, but still I got wet. “As small as a tear from an orange monarch--”
“Butterfly stuck to a claw of an angry bear.” His arms and hands thrashed. “The bear can’t shake the honey or the butterfly off his paw. The harder he tries, the madder he gets.” Soap, suds and toys scattered.
Suddenly the whirling winds ceased like a summer storm and calm was restored to the water.
My son glanced around. “How can something so little be this messy?”