on me. But they did, and I’d still love the opportunity to go back and add more to them.
The idea of having Jace celibate for so long wasn’t really something I planned. Like so many facets of a character, this one popped out of thin air and refused to be dislodged. Some people think that long periods of celibacy are not possible for men. Whether they are or not, Jace said he had been, and I wasn’t about to argue with him! Really, this is fiction, and the ideals of romantic love may not be very realistic—but they are beautiful.
Fidelity, honor, loyalty and sacrifice are noble virtues. In bygone eras, they were life itself. A man’s word was like money in the bank, a woman’s virtue was a pearl beyond price, and honor was worth dying for. Maybe those old-fashioned ideas are out of date, but I still believe in them.
I admired Don Quixote tilting at windmills as he sought to restore honor and nobility to a weary, cynical world. I like characters with noble ideas, virtues beyond price and honor. Being bad is easy. Being good is not. The very rarity of true virtue makes it intriguing to me. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy building characters who portray it. And perhaps I saw too many replays of Man of La Mancha in my youth! I always have loved windmills, and there are plenty of them in Texas. Cervantes created his character as a Spaniard, but he would have made a great Texan.
All in all, I prefer writing books with Western settings. There is something timeless about a vast plain where men struggle against nature itself to carve a life—or an empire—for themselves. The men who tamed the West were a special breed. I have enjoyed recreating that pioneer spirit in modern-day cattlemen, in heroes who are, I hope, a little larger than life. If their virtues are slightly magnified, it is to compensate for the flaws of modern society, which are also magnified. Romance fiction offers a brief escape from the pain and pressure of modern life, taking you into a world where the human spirit can be noble and strive for a higher, richer existence. My characters aren’t completely true to life—but then, perhaps that’s their appeal.
I have enjoyed sharing my rose-colored dreams with you. If they have made your heart a little lighter, your step a little surer, your sadness a little more bearable, then I have succeeded beyond my wildest hopes. May your lives be as bright and joyful as your friendship has made mine. God bless you.
Your friend,
To Have And To Hold
Diana Palmer
CONTENTS
Madeline heard the bustle of the other girls gathering up purses and sweaters, slamming desk drawers, covering typewriters, and she smiled to herself as she finished typing a letter. It was Friday, and she didn’t blame them for hurrying. Most of them were barely out of their teens, and had boyfriends. Friday night meant dinner and a show to them.
But for Madeline Blainn, it meant a steak for one seared on the brick charcoal grill behind her spacious suburban home. At twenty-four, she was a career woman in every sense of the word. Tall, slender, a clotheshorse, she was the envy of her friends, not only for her loveliness, but for her poise as well. Nothing ever rattled Madeline. Not the nervous assistant who helped her handle the home office in Atlanta for her mysterious ever-absent new boss. Not the bustle of high finance or the screaming pace of dictation and phone calls that went with it. Not even the disagreements that were legion among the girls in the other offices. Nothing ever rattled Madeline.
“Going home tonight?” Brenda teased with a smile as she stopped in the doorway on her way out.
Madeline shrugged her shoulders and gave her friend an easy smile, her dark eyes quiet. “Two more letters to go. Mr. Richards said he was to have them out today—McCallum’s orders,” she added with mock solemnity, and brushed away a strand of auburn hair that curled rebelliously at her eye.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Mystery.” Brenda laughed. “You’d think he’d drop in on his own company once in a while, wouldn’t you? Have you ever seen him at all?”
Madeline shook her head. “Not even once. Of course,” she added mischievously, “I was just across the way with the peons until that promotion two months ago. This building is strictly for the company brass, so it isn’t likely that I’d have seen E.F. McCallum in person.” She frowned. “I wonder what the E.F. stands for? Ever Faithful? Evenly Fried?”
“How about Eccentric Fiend?” Brenda suggested. “After all, they say he’s relentless when it comes to business. You wouldn’t know about that, of course; you only know about the big boss through Mr. Richards.” She sighed. “Dear old Mr. Richards.”
Madeline eyed her. “He’s a very nice man until something goes wrong.”
“Something always goes wrong,” her friend countered.
“He never yells when one of us is out sick,” she returned doggedly.
Brenda shook her head. “You’ll find at least one nice thing to say about the devil, wouldn’t you, dear? Don’t you ever wonder what McCallum looks like?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes. But I think I know why nobody ever sees him,” she said with a taciturn expression.
“Why?”
“I’ll bet he’s got terminal acne,” Madeline said, “and only goes out with his head in the hood. Or maybe he’s so short and wizened that. . . .”
“I’ve heard all this before. Have a nice weekend,