Holiday romance
Coming in October, Takin’ Chances
Gettin’ Merry | The Choice (free novella download) | Love’s Celebration
The Way back Home , from GETTIN’ MERRY, a holiday anthology from St. Martin’s Press. It also features the fabulous likes of Francis Ray, Beverly Jenkins, and Geri Guilliame.
Awarded Romance in Color’s Reader’s Choice BEST Anthology of 2002!
Awarded Romantic Times 4 1/2 stars Gold Medal
A Romantic Times Top Pick
Read an excerpt of my story, The Way Back Home. A biracial woman experienced Kwaaza for the first time, and with the help of a handsome professor, finally finds her roots.
The Choice Towhet your appetite for the paranormal, I’m offering The Choice in its entirety.This novella is
published in an anthology by Genesis Press. I no longer link to online bookstores
carrying this because I have never received a single royalty statement reflecting
their sales of my work (or payment) as contracted. So
download and enjoy the freebie novella! (.pdf
format… free Adobe
Reader needed). Check out the excerpt
below first to get a taste. . . What readers
said on Amazon about The Choice. . . Excellent Holiday
book. I read this book in 2000, again in 2001 and it will be re-read in
2002. My favorite story was The Choice by Monica Jackson.
These four
Christmas stories were awesome. Each story was something truly special
and they were all first-class material. I must admit my favorite was
The Choice by Monica Jackson. I know the holidays are over but if you can your
hand on a copy of this novel, do so. I loved all
the stories, but I think ‘The Choice’ was my favorite. Read it and see
if you agree! An
excerpt from Chapter 1 of "The Choice" .
. .Evelyn had decided to cook smothered pork chops for tonight’s dinner. She
got the extra-large family-size pack out and reached in the cabinet for
the seasonings. Suddenly Evelyn cocked her head and listened intently. She
heard singing. Smooth and soulful,
like gospel
music. Did she leave a radio
on somewhere? "There
you go cooking on the white folks’ part of the hog again."
Evelyn spun, her heart freezing.
"Who’s there?"
No answer.
She
started to take a step forward and stopped, biting her
lips nervously. There
had to be an explanation. Of
course there was. She
cocked her head and listened. The
homey and familiar hum of the refrigerator and the tick
of the wall clock were the only sounds she heard. She
was tired. That
had to be it.
Evelyn
bent over and put the big frying pan on the stove. Her
eyes moistened. It
was December 17. The
anniversary of Sweet Mama’s death was a week away. The
grief had faded to a dull ache, but with her fatigue and
the memory of her loss last Christmas . . . No wonder she
heard her great aunt’s voice, the woman who raised her
and her sisters with a firm but loving hand.
The
white folks’ part of the hog.
Sweet
Mama liked the pork chops, the ham and the bacon, but she
loved the parts of the pig reserved for the black folks
way back when. Smoky
ribs and crispy fried pigskin. Pig’s
feet and chitlins. That’s
good eating, child, she would say. We
took the scraps and turned them into gourmet cuisine. That’s
how we black folks do it."Evelyn?
You in the kitchen?"
"Yes, I’m back here, Deb."
Her youngest sister
glided in sniffing.
"You scared me for a moment. I didn’t smell any food."
"I just haven’t
got it in the pan yet. I know
you all would riot if I didn’t cook."
Deb
was beautiful, trim and small with smooth skin that looked
like honey and long black relaxed hair hanging over her
shoulders and down her back. Deb
favored her other two younger sisters and her mother’s
sister, Aunt Jean. Not
for the first time did Evelyn wonder why she’d gotten such
a different set of numbers in the gene lottery, with her
stocky body, dark skin and short, kinky hair.
Her
mother and grandmother had drowned together in a flash
flood so long ago that Evelyn’s memories of being clasped
to a full, soft chest by strong arms were all that remained
of them besides a few photos. If
it weren’t for her looking so much like Sweet Mama and
the old photos of her mother, she would have thought there
had been some mistake.
Fair
or dark, plain or pretty, the family legacy is always the
same,
Sweet Mama would say. Evelyn
had frowned because that usually was a prelude to Sweet
Mama going on and on about the importance of choices and
dirty-doggish men. But everyone in Mystic Ridge knew
that Evelyn’s choices had already been the wrong ones.
"Pork
chops? What are you cooking with them?" Deb asked.
"I’m
making smothered pork chops, rice and gravy, sweet peas,
yellow pound cake. Speaking
of peas, they’re in the refrigerator. You can snap
them for me and put them on to boil with a pinch of sugar
and lots of butter."
Deb
heaved a sigh and went to the refrigerator. "Sometimes
I wonder why I show up early and don’t have the sense to
wait for the food to be on the table like everybody else."
Evelyn
shrugged and unaccustomed resentment touched her. She
was forever cooking and tending to other folks. What
would it be like to come home to a good meal for a change? She
banished the thought.
"Let
me tell you why I rushed over," Deb continued. "I
had to tell you the news. You
aren’t going to believe it. David’s
back in town."
"David?" Evelyn put a questioning
tone to the name, but she knew who he was. Her
heart thudded as she remembered the handsome young man
who every single girl in the town, black or white, wanted
to call her own. They’d
gone to school together, first through twelfth grade. Not
only was he the best-looking, most athletic young man with
the highest test scores and grades, he was also one of
the nicest boys she’d ever met. David
Douglas had been born under a lucky star.
"I
know you remember David. That
man was so fine, when he left, the echo of breaking hearts
around this town about broke the sound barrier."
"He
went into the Foreign Service after college, right? What
makes him decide to finally bring his family back to Mystic
Ridge after all these years?"
"This
is the good part, sis. He
was in a car accident in Germany, serious injuries, and
his second wife booked on him."
"That’s
the good part?"
"The
man is unattached, broken-hearted and has been injured. He
comes back to his hometown to heal and nurse his wounds. What
could be better? He’s
ripe for the picking. The
man is mine, do you hear me?"
Evelyn shot a sharp glance at her sister and shook her
head. "The
poor man," she murmured under her breath. "You
were a kid when he left. What
do you know about David?"
"I
remember David quite well. And
I’m not a kid anymore."
Evelyn started to open her mouth to reply when her daughter
Ashley bounded in, all long legs and coltish energy. "Hi
Mom."
Ashley
glanced over at Deb. "What’s
going on, Aunt Deb?"
"We
were talking about David," Deb replied.
"Who
isn’t? It’s so romantic. Wounded
hero returning home . . ."
"As
far as I know Germany isn’t a war zone anymore, and the Foreign
Service hardly qualifies as military duty," Evelyn
said dryly. "Mom,
you know what I mean."
Evelyn
eyed her daughter, hardly believing that this tall beauty
sprang from her loins. Ashley
was home from the University of Maryland for Christmas
break. She
was staying in her own apartment and just dropping in occasionally. Evelyn
barely got to see her. The apron strings were fraying. She’d
be ready to graduate next year and she was already talking
about heading off to the west coast for grad school.
Ashley
was both the best and worst thing she’d ever done her entire
life. She’d
been a child having a child when she gave birth to her
at fourteen. She
could scarcely believe what was happening to her and to
her body. When she
brought forth this little wailing creature, she’d stared
at it in disbelief.
"You’ve
set a course for your life, child. You
gave away your youth and you’re a woman now," Sweet
Mama had said.
And
that was the way it had been. From
that moment on, she’d been a mother to her child and her
three younger sisters. She’d
never looked back.
Her
heart ached at the thought of her baby grown up and gone. Time
had gone by so quickly. She
was only thirty-five and she felt like a much older woman
who’d never had the fiery juices of young womanhood fill
her.
An
hour and a half later, dinner was on the table. Folks
were talking all at once and enjoying their food thoroughly. Evelyn
hurried between the kitchen and the table, as was her habit,
refilling glasses and serving platters, bringing out dessert.
Joyce
said, "I asked David to dinner over here tomorrow."
"Why?" The word from Deb was a sharp
rap.
"I
thought it would be a nice gesture."
"A
nice gesture towards what?" Deb
bit into a roll. "Don’t
get any ideas, now. That
man has my name on him."
"I
think it is a very good idea to be welcoming toward David," Beverly
interrupted. "The man has been through so much."
"And
Deb here is itching to put him through more drama," Joyce
said.
You got that right," Deb replied.
Evelyn went in
the kitchen and closed the door behind her, shutting off the exchange. Her
sisters kept a friendly rivalry going on between them over men. It
had always been like that since they were teenagers, but they’d never seriously
stepped on each other’s toes. Beverly
had been out of the loop with her marriage, then the bitter divorce such
a short while later. Evelyn was
happy to see her rejoin the banter. Apparently
nobody ever considered that Evelyn could be interested in a man or that any
man could be interested in her.
Although
Deb’s words had been joking, she’d obviously decided that
David would be one of the very few men around Mystic Ridge
worthy of her. Joyce
saw a catch too. Plenty
of women would be after David Douglas–that was for sure. It
should be interesting around Mystic Ridge with him back,
and the Lord knew this town needed all the excitement it
could get.
That
night Evelyn woke suddenly to the whistling of the wind and cold so frigid
her breath made white, ghostly puffs in the darkness of her bedroom.
She shivered and got out of the bed, drawing the blanket tightly around
her. She
slipped on her house shoes and made her way to the thermostat.
The heater kicked on immediately and she moved back to her bedroom to burrow
under the warmth of the covers.
She stopped. Was that a voice
she’d heard?
"Sweet Mama?" Her voice
quavered and hung in the cold dark air.
Evelyn stifled the urge to turn on every light in the house and get back
into bed. Remnants of a dream? A
whisper from the grave? The hairs
stood up on the back of Evelyn’s neck. She
sat up in the bed and reached out for the lamp. The
yellow light from the lamp warmed her and she drew her knees up to her chest
and wrapped her arms around them. The
voice of Sweet Mama should be nothing to fear. If
only she could hear her voice again, one more time. If
only.
She picked up her watch by the bed stand. 12:03
and the date was December 18. Exactly
one week before Sweet Mama died the year before on Christmas Eve. It
had ruined Christmas for everybody, but Sweet Mama never put much stock in
the holiday anyway although she claimed to love the time of the year. Fool
commercialization, she’d murmur. Santa
Claus and trinkets and spending too much money. Old
gods own that time and don’t you forget it.
"The longest,
darkest night of the year."
Evelyn’s head snapped up. "Sweet
Mama?" she whispered. There
was a hint of pleading in her voice. She
needed her now. Sweet
Mama was the only one who’d cared for her in the way Evelyn
gave and gave to others. Sweet
Mama would cook the things she liked, rub her back and
tell her to keep on putting one foot in front of the other
when it seemed as if the world was against her. She
missed her so much, and the year’s passing had hardly dented
the rock of her grief.
Evelyn cocked her head and listened hard. Was
there the thrum of drumbeats, women’s voices raised in joyous song, or was
it the hum of the heater? Was
she losing her mind?
She buried her face in her hands. Evelyn
had thought this Christmas would be easier–a time of healing and renewal
after the sad Christmas of last year. She’d
wanted to make this Christmas special. But
she was exhausted and broke and getting broker. Everything
was falling on her as usual.
Her home was the hub of the family. She
poured the money, time and energy to keep the traditions and family spirit
alive, and her home was where they all gathered. Four
sisters, their men all gone or lost, and their children. They
all lived in Mystic Ridge, tied there by reasons of circumstance
and habit. A family of women was
what they’d always been and family was all Evelyn had. All that was
supposed to matter. Why
the hole in her heart?
"Sweet Mama?" She needed
her so much.
She turned off the light and lay back and closed her eyes. She
felt sleep wash over her.
"Rest, child. You
rest now. There’s changes a
comin’ soon."The
Choice Download
Love’s
Celebration, December 1998
4 1/2 Star EXCELLENT rating from Romantic Times! 
MonicaJackson has written a heartwarming Christmas/Kwanzaa story that will reign
in our memories for years to come. LOVE’S CELEBRATION
is a literary fantasy with all the best
ingredients–humor, adventure and
romance. First and always, romance.
–Romantic Times
Teddi Henderson’s life had been shattered by a terse note. J.T., the man
she loved, trusted, wed, and bore a child with, had left–with no warning, and
without an explanation. Anger so strong it hurt mixed with love for J.T.
that could never die burned with her. She wanted to curl up and die, but
she had a daughter who needed her. Two years have past since that awful
day and Teddi has since returned to her Midwestern hometown. As she bravely
faces the celebration of Kwanzaa, the holiday season her husband loved most, she
never dreamed he would explode back into her life, bringing deadly danger.
Is it possible that J.T. is what he claims to be; a government agent with secrets
with killing for? This only happened in the movies. not in a sleepy Kansas
town. But it is happening, and now Teddi must put all her faith and trust
in the man she married, but never really knew. Because like it or not,
he is the only chance to save everything that matters most. Love’s Celebration
is a sweet fantasy froth that features, finally, a functional extended family! It’s a different read, an escapist adventure and the plot
doesn’t have a lot to do with the day to day realities of life. Adventure, excitement
and the zippy pace you expect from me intertwine with family love,
warmth and traditions. Learn everything you ever wondered about Kwanzaa
and try out 33 recipes from Africa and lands of the African Diaspora, including
traditional African-American dishes