Autumn ramblings and a new work in progress!

It’s September 20, a quiet Sunday in the quiet valley where I now live. I’m more than ready for fall here in Seneca, Missouri, nicknamed “The Little Town On The Border” since Oklahoma is so close part of the town - West Seneca - is actually in the Sooner State. I live close enough I like to say I can almost see Oklahoma from my front porch. Tomorrow would be my dad’s 92nd birthday and although he’s gone, he’s far from forgotten. Dad always encouraged my writing, from the day I brought home my “first” novel inked on wide-line notebook paper in spare moments during my fifth grade year at Webster Elementary in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri. “Goodbye Dixie” was no literary opus but it marked a start. None of my novels were published before he died in 2009 but beginning the next year I found acceptance and now have more than sixty novels out in the world with several publishers, including World Castle Publishing, The Wild Rose Press, and Evernight Publishing, which was the first who accepted my book length fiction. Today may be the last hot day and I hope it is. Weather forecasts show highs this coming week in the upper 70’s and 80’s with night time lows dipping into the 50’s. Despite the heat wave, my creative muse has been active. I just finished a new work that I’m calling “Sometimes Life Is Like That”. Here’s the blurb: When Calico Cartwright witnesses a drug cartel’s meeting at her bar, she’s caught and would have been killed to keep her silent if law enforcement hadn’t arrived on the scene. Her information leads to entering the Witness Protection Program and she’s believed to be dead. Calico is heartbroken she can’t even let her fiancé, Deacon Landry know she’s alive. As she struggles to settle into a new life as Jenny Miller, Deacon battles his grief. When he’s shot by men searching for Calico, he finds hope she’s not gone. On a hunch, he travels to Louisiana and after reuniting with his lady, learns they’re both in great danger from a drug cartel. If they live, everything will change beyond recognition. As I research what publisher and/or agent to submit this one to, here’s a taste with the first chapter: Chapter One Calico Cartwright huddled beneath a dark umbrella in the chill autumn rain. She wore black jeans, a sweatshirt with the hood over her head, and athletic shoes. The biggest sunglasses she could find covered her face as she watched her own funeral. More people came than she had anticipated, especially since the service hadn’t taken place immediately after her alleged death. Several weeks had passed. She’d spent the time in orientation for the witness protection program. Calico spotted her dad, and his second wife, Barbara Jean, a handful of relatives, and many friends among the mourners but the only one who mattered was Deacon Landry. He stood apart, fists clenched tight at his sides, wearing a scowl. If she didn’t know him almost as well as herself, she might have thought him angry but he wasn’t. When he blinked, Calico noticed tears rolling down his cheeks. Her chest ached with unshed tears, wishing she could comfort him. Her appearance would quell his grief but he’d have questions she couldn’t answer. Besides, if he knew she was alive, he’d be in danger. He glanced up and his gaze focused on her. His grey eyes widened. He headed across the grass, skirting the funeral group, and made straight for her. Calico panicked and she turned, dropping the umbrella. The rain intensified as she dashed through the headstones. She almost tripped twice before she arrived at the black sedan with tinted windows. As she reached for the passenger door, Jimmy threw it open and she leaped into the seat. “Get me out of here,” she gasped.eacon’s coming.” Jimmy snorted. “I told you this was a bad idea. You should be headed for your new location, not hanging around the cemetery.” Calico shivered and rubbed her arms. “I wanted to see Deacon one last time.” She might never look on his face again or feel his slow caresses. He wouldn’t become her husband as they planned, and they would never again make sweet love like soft music. “He thinks you’re dead. That can’t change,” Jimmy stated. “Not if you want to maintain witness protection and you do if you want to stay alive.” As her current WITSEC handler, Jimmy Gentry was blunt so she listened. He pulled onto the narrow road that wound back to the cemetery entrance and once he’d passed all the parked cars, increased his speed. Calico snapped her seat belt into place and glanced back. Deacon stood at the edge of the grass, arms crossed as he watched the departing vehicle. She ached to leap from the moving vehicle and run to him. His grief-ravaged face brought tears to her eyes. Calico stared through the windshield and resisted the urge to take another look. Instead, she protested. “I’m not dead, though.” “Calico is. You’re Jennifer Miller now. I shouldn’t have to remind you that your new identity is vital for survival.” She sighed. “I know. I don’t like any of this, though.” “Too late to change things now. Once we get to Bossier City, you’ll settle down. You have a place to live, a job, and I’ll be in Shreveport if you need some help. On the way, we’ll go over your cover story and practice until you believe it yourself.” Calico shook her head. “That’s never going to happen. I don’t even like the name Jennifer.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Weren’t you allowed to help choose it?” She sighed. “I didn’t like the idea of keeping the same initials so I said I didn’t care. The name was chosen for me.” “It’s too late to change. Go by Jenny, if that’s any better.. Your documentation can’t be altered.” Everything Jimmy said, she knew. During her time at the safe house and during her WITSEC orientation in Washington DC, Calico had heard it, chapter and verse. She understood but that didn’t mean she agreed with any of it. They had passed through Joplin because Jimmy told her there were ‘loose ends’ to tie up here. Otherwise, she would have been taken from DC to her new location. She struggled into her jacket. “Let’s just get on the road.” “Absolutely. We’ll stop to eat somewhere in Arkansas.” The trip from Missouri to Bossier City would take close to seven hours. As they headed southward on the interstate, Jimmy quizzed her over the details of her new identity. “Where were you born, Jennifer?” “St. Louis. My parents were Dave and Dotty Miller . Dad worked at Anheuser Busch. Mom was an elementary school library aide.” She recited her backstory like a robot, without emotion. “Good so far. The suburb is Tower Grove but I wouldn’t mention it unless someone presses you. The last thing you need is someone from the same area with questions you can’t answer. Siblings?” “None. I was a lonely only.” “Other family?” Calico racked her brain. “No, all are gone including my so-called parents, which is convenient.” Her dad and her remaining kinfolk, like Deacon, thought her dead. If they knew the truth, each would have a target aimed at their back. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have an alias or be on her way to a new life. Calico longed to pick up the phone or knock at the door to relieve their grief, Deacon’s most of all. Seeing him at the cemetery had hit her far harder than she expected. Jimmy chuckled. “It is indeed. Name your high school and college.” “Theodore Roosevelt High School. I went to Northeast Missouri State in Kirksville for two years but couldn’t afford the tuition and dropped out. Went back to St. Louis and got an associate degree in business management at St. Louis Community College.” Calico rubbed her forehead. The discussion and general fatigue contributed to her brewing headache. To avoid additional interrogation, Calico stated. “Jenny’s – or I guess I’m -not married, never have been, no kids. I managed a mall boutique back home, then worked at a couple of medical centers, one in St. Louis, the other in Fayetteville, Arkansas. One of my late grandmothers, the one on my mom’s side, came from Bossier City so when I decided I wanted to relocate, I chose Louisiana.” He gave her a thumbs-up. “You got this. What was her name?” “Bette Browning. No family there these days but I spent some summers with relatives and like the area. It’s warmer than Missouri, very little snow or ice, three hours to Dallas, five to the beach, and about the same for New Orleans.” Calico condensed the city’s name to “Nawlins.” “You have an uncle in Shreve,” Jimmy reminded her. “I do?” He shot her a sideways glance. “Yeah, me. You can claim an aunt down in Baton Rouge, my backup, if you want. Her name is Leah Whitworth.” “I’d rather not.” Calico preferred to be on her own, if she had to be away from her near and dear. “My house is on Rodney Street, an older one story place with porches front and back, and one bath. It’s not too far from the Clyde Fant Parkway…” Calico told him, knowing it lay on the other side of the Red River but she didn’t want to appear too familiar. “Whoa,” Jimmy cried. “No, no, no. On the Bossier side, it’s Arthur Ray Teague Parkway. You can’t mix those up.” She stifled a giggle. “All right, I’ll remember. I can head to Barksdale Boulevard or Airline Drive from where I live or use the parkway to get to East Texas Street. I can easily drive to my new job.” Jenny Miller would be an admission representative at the Willis Knighton Medical Center in Bossier City. Her first day would be Monday and she would undergo training before becoming solo. Calico possessed the skillset to do the job although she’d never worked in the health industry in any capacity. Her “experience” belonged to Jenny, not to Calico. “Correct.” Jimmy stated. “And, remember, it’s not an issue if you drink in moderation but Jenny can’t be a drunk.” His assumption she had been one rankled. “I drink very little and I never did. You can’t run a bar and be a drunk, Jimmy. Give me some credit.” “Whatever,” he waved one hand to dismiss her. “Continue with your new persona.” Tired of the conversation, she snapped. “Jenny’s favorite color is lavender, she wears more slacks than jeans, she’s a Baptist, prefers to watch comedy television and movies, likes to read biographies, enjoys Thai food and fine dining. In short, she’s not much like me.” “That’s the idea,” Jimmy reminded her. “Will you reconsider changing your hair color and using cosmetic contact lenses to change your eyes from blue to brown?” “I won’t,” she stated and crossed her arms. She wore her natural reddish brown hair long and preferred to let it fall free but she’d wear ponytails or put it up as Jenny but wouldn’t dye her hair. Jimmy snorted. “All right, all right. Just remember to wear more make-up, use different eye shadows and darker blush. Maybe change your lipstick color.” “I suppose the products are already stocked in the bathroom at my house,” Calico told him, her tone sharp enough to cut steak. “And the dresser and closet are filled with Jenny’s kind of clothes.” “That’s right.” She sighed. Her single suitcase had two pair of jeans, a flannel shirt she probably wouldn’t need, a few favorite T-shirts, and her comfy nightgown. She also had socks and underwear plus a few toiletries. “It’s like a makeover from hell.” “I’m sorry but this is necessary. What about fashion glasses? Will you at least wear them?” “No, I won’t. I have my limits.” Calico was about to exceed them. She stilled her tongue to avoid saying words she’d regret later. Jimmy shifted his focus to Bossier City. He talked about local landmarks, like Barksdale Air Force Base, the Louisiana Boardwalk on the river, a Mardi Gras museum, and the Texas Street Bridge which crossed the Red from Shreveport into Bossier. “I believe they call it the Bridge of Lights now,” he explained. “Once you’re settled, you’ll have time to explore both Bossier and Shreveport. You can head over to Cross Lake or visit Caddo Lake not far in Texas. It’s like another world, Jenny, with Spanish moss trailing from the trees, more bayou than lake. Plenty of bayous in Louisiana, too, of course, and if you go down to Gibsland, you can visit the Bonnie And Clyde Museum.” Calico sighed. “I might, eventually. I’ll need to get familiar first.” What she didn’t share and hadn’t at any point of her WITSEC immersion, was that Deacon’s parents were both Louisiana natives. His mama, Peggy, had grown up in Bossier City and his daddy, Jacques but known as Jack, came from Coushatta, halfway to Natchitoches. They moved to Missouri when Deacon was still a kid. Deacon grew up visiting his kin and he’d taken her down to meet his grandmother before she passed. If she remembered, he still had one great-grandmother in Lafayette. If Calico had told anyone, they would have found another location but she liked the idea she would be in a place she’d once shared with Deacon. Small comfort after losing the love of her life but she’d take it over nothing. They traveled the interstate highway, not the winding, curving road through mountain terrain she recalled from her trips with Deacon. At Texarkana, a city sprawling into both Arkansas and Texas, Jimmy pulled into a small restaurant for a meal. She hadn’t eaten since she nibbled half a sausage biscuit prior to her funeral and although she didn’t expect to have any appetite, Calico was hungry. “It’s around an hour to Shreveport and probably an hour and a half to your place,” Jimmy told her. “We could wait but I’d rather get dinner out of the way now so I can get you to the house.” “That’s fine.” She didn’t care either way. I’m just along for the ride, She had a catfish dinner with crisp, delicious fried fish, fries, coleslaw, seasoned brown beans, hush puppies, with tomato relish on the side. To her surprise, Calico cleaned her plate. I don’t know what or when I’ll eat next so I might as well enjoy this meal. It was almost eight o’clock and dark when they crossed the Red River into Bossier City. Calico gawked like a tourist. Weary to the bone, she craved sleep but first, she had to see her new digs. The house on Rodney Street proved to be a one-story older bungalow dating to the early 1950’s or late 1940’s. Jimmy pulled into the unpaved drive beside the home and parked. “Home sweet home,” he told her. Something about the place appealed more than expected. Calico followed him up two steps onto the covered front porch and entered the small living room. To the right, a compact kitchen provided all the necessities plus a table with two chairs. A hallway lead from the living room to a bath and three bedrooms. The first, located across from the bathroom, proved to be small and had been set up as a home office with a desk, computer, and file cabinet. Two more bedrooms opened off the end of the hallway. “The one on the left is the largest and yours,” Jimmy told her. “Clothing is in the closet and chest of drawers. The other doorway, in the center, leads to the laundry room and back porch. What do you think?” Calico considered. “It’ll do.” The furnishings were minimal but each window had heavy curtains. In time, she could add her own touches, maybe a bookcase, a stereo, a few decorations, and knick-knacks. “I’d hope to shout,” Jimmy told her. “The kitchen is fully stocked with a set of plastic dishes, several skillets and sauce pots, a set of glasses, silverware, a variety of utensils. We filled the cupboards with seasonings and spices and basics; flour, sugar, cornmeal, rice, canned goods. There’s milk, butter, condiments, cheese, and some deli meat inside the refrigerator. In the top freezer section, you’ll find several packages of hamburger, boneless chicken breasts, a pack of pork chops, smoked sausage, plus a few convenience foods. Should be a bag of chicken tenders, a box of fish fillets, and a few frozen meals.” Calico nodded. “What happens when I need more?” “There’s a check book on the desk in the office. You have money in the bank and utilities in your name plus two credit cards to use. Keys to the car, parked in back, are there as well. A cell phone in Jenny’s name is there along with a charger. The computer has internet. Your job, admissions at Willis Knighton starts Monday morning. You should also have a detailed list about the duties and three training period.” Her stomach clenched tight. “I’m more than a little nervous about the job. I ran a bar, a roadhouse. I don’t know anything about medical centers and I’ve done my best to stay away from hospitals.” “Your position is clerical and you possess the simple skills to perform the job. You’ll be fine. Within six months, the goal is to be self-sufficient and make your living. I know you can.” Calico wasn’t as certain. “I hope. Right now, I’m wondering what in hell I’m doing here. I want to go home.” If she could, she would. She imagined walking into Deacon’s house. There would be explanations but she could make them. “Impossible. Put that fool notion out of your mind, Jenny.” Jimmy used her new name, which grated on her ears. “To return would be to risk retaliation, probably death, not just for you but for Deacon and your family.” She shuddered. “That’s the reason, the only reason, why I’m here.” He glared at her. “Just remember it. I’m going to take off. This is Thursday night. I’ll give you Friday and Saturday to get settled. If you have any questions or problems, don’t hesitate to call but otherwise, I’ll pick you up on Sunday at one. We’ll go out to eat and cover any last minute issues.” Calico nodded. “All right. This is very hard, way more difficult than I thought it would be but I do appreciate your help, Jimmy.” He patted her shoulder. “It’s all part of my job. Lock the doors after I leave. Your keys to the house are on the same keyring as the car. Keep the cell phone charged. You don’t have a land line. If you need me, call.” She knew little about the federal Marshal except his name was James Gentry and he lived in Shreveport with his wife, Katy, and three kids. He was around fifty, she guessed. “I will. See you Sunday.” Once the door shut with a firm bang, she was alone for the first time since the terrible night, the one that brought her here. Calico drew a deep breath, then walked through the rooms, noting details she missed earlier. She peered into the closet and opened drawers to assess her wardrobe. Slacks hung beside a few simple dresses. Blouses weren’t the vivid colors she preferred but busy florals and pastel shades. Some were simple pullover styles but others were crisp button down blouses. Two blazers, one black, the other navy hung beside several skirts with hemlines longer than she preferred. Sensible shoes were lined up like soldiers for inspection, soft leather walking shoes that tied, loafers, and low-heeled dress shoes with two pairs of flats. Calico added the contents of her single suitcase, mingling the T-shirts, some with cheeky messages, with the tops in the drawer. She added her bras, her undies, and socks. The one dressy garment she brought, a velour short black dress with patterned roses, slid onto a hanger. Her shorts were tucked beside the tops and she changed into her comfortable cotton nightgown. On a walk through the house, she peeped into the cupboards with a closer eye and noted the food stock. Tomorrow, she would make a trip to a supermarket or discount store. A notebook would be first on the list so she could jot down future purchases she would want but tomorrow’s focus would be on her favorite foods. She needed to pick up some health and beauty items, some cleaning goods, and more towels since she’d counted just two in the bathroom. A microwave for the kitchen would be necessary. Although both body and spirit were exhausted, Calico had no desire to retire for the night. She sank onto the sofa and put her head back, tucking one of the pillows behind it. The bland décor would have to change. She would leave the heavy navy blue curtains and the 27 inch television mounted on the wall opposite the couch. The end table beside her seat would need a lamp and she’d like to add a recliner to the mix. At least one bookcase, a shelf for other items, and a stereo for music are musts. She also wanted a couple of cozy throws, something to hang on the bare walls, and a few collectible figurines. If she could, she would hang the picture she brought of Deacon but couldn’t. If Jimmy saw it, he would remove and likely destroy it. Calico wasn’t supposed to have anything from her original life. Since Deacon still had family in the area, displaying it could be a danger. Deacon. The thought of the man she loved and would have married in late November sent a stabbing pain through her heart. The dress hung in the bedroom closet in the house she’d shared with him. Her flowers and the cake had been ordered. Deacon had bought a suit to wear. Her chest ached and the tears she had repressed for too long burst with the fury of a sudden summer thunderstorm. Calico curled into a tight ball in the corner of the sofa and cried, sobs shaking her slender frame as tears poured down her face. By the time she calmed, her throat ached, her eyes were irritated, and her head ached. Losing Deacon felt like losing part of her soul. She didn’t want to live without him and wasn’t certain she could. She stretched out on the couch and tried to imagine what Deacon would be doing at this moment. On a Thursday night, this late, he should be sleeping since he’d work tomorrow. Deacon and his cousin, Bash, ran an auto repair shop on West 7th in Joplin. Gator Guys did everything from simple tune-ups and oil changes to complicated repairs. They also sold tires. The shop served the public Tuesday through Saturday from 7:30 a.m. until 6 p.m. Calico shut her eyes and thought of Deacon. I love you, babe. Someday, somehow, I’ll see you again. I don’t know how or when but I will. This wasn’t the first time the thought entered her mind but Calico realized she meant it. The only thing that might derail it would be Deacon. After all, he thought her dead and when he moved on, he might let go although Calico never would. Calico is one of my favorite heroines so far and Deacon is among the top heroes I’ve created. Now it’s on to the next - I already have an idea as I tweak and try to market Sometimes Life Is Like That…. Think a bride who vanishes from her wedding reception…. A college literature professor husband who’s perplexed….. Until next time……….

 

Release Day for A Creed For Love is here! Just 3.99 for the eBook, also available in both hardback and paperback in all the usual retailers. The story is set primarily in my hometown of St. Joseph, MO and also  near Fillmore, a place many of my ancestors (grandpa, great-grandparents, and more) called home.

Here’s the blurb, then a taste of the story:

Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.  Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't.

 November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.

Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.

She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world.  A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

 

 

Creed links:

https://www.amazon.com/Creed-Love-Lee-Sontheimer-Murphy-ebook/dp/B0H8SYLK7S/

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-creed-for-love-lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy/1150790017

https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy

 

https://books.google.com/books/about/A_Creed_for_Love.html?id=4tL0EQAAQBAJ

https://www.amazon.ca/Creed-Love-Lee-Sontheimer-Murphy/dp/B0H8TF1N97

https://www.amazon.de/-/en/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/dp/B0H8TF1N97/

Where A Creed For Love begins!

 

On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men. 

All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.

 Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.

I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.

We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.

I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff.  I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.

Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.

Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:


Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't. 
 November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger. 
Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.
She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world.  A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.

Here’s the blurb:
Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.  Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

A brief description of Creed:
.  Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket.    He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.
“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.” 
“No, not at all.  Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”
He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room.  “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”
“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it.  “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles.  I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall.  I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”

And a glimpse of Maggie:

Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural.  He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie.  Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.

A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.

For more about me and my other titles, check here:
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I
https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy


I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.

On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall 

On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.

 

All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.

 

 Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.

 

I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.

 

We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.

 

I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff.  I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.

 

Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.

 

Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:

 

 

Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't.

 November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.

Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.

She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world.  A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

 

If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.

 

Here’s the blurb:

Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.  Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

 

A brief description of Creed:

.  Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket.    He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.

“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“No, not at all.  Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”

He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room.  “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”

“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it.  “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles.  I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall.  I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”

 

And a glimpse of Maggie:

 

Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural.  He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie.  Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.

 

A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.

 

For more about me and my other titles, check here:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I

https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy

 

 

I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.

 

bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.

 

All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.

 

 Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.

 

I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.

 

We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.

 

I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff.  I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.

 

Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.

 

Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:

 

 

Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't.

 November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.

Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.

She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world.  A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

 

If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.

 

Here’s the blurb:

Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.  Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

 

A brief description of Creed:

.  Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket.    He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.

“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“No, not at all.  Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”

He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room.  “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”

“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it.  “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles.  I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall.  I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”

 

And a glimpse of Maggie:

 

Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural.  He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie.  Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.

 

A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.

 

For more about me and my other titles, check here:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I

https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy

 

 

I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.

 

On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you 

On the western edge of the North End neighborhood in my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri, on a tall bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.

 

All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.

 

 Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.

 

I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.

 

We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.

 

I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff.  I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.

 

Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.

 

Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:

 

 

Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't.

 November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.

Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.

She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world.  A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

 

If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.

 

Here’s the blurb:

Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.  Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

 

A brief description of Creed:

.  Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket.    He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.

“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“No, not at all.  Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”

He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room.  “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”

“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it.  “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles.  I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall.  I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”

 

And a glimpse of Maggie:

 

Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural.  He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie.  Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.

 

A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.

 

For more about me and my other titles, check here:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I

https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy

 

 

I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.

 

might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.

 

All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.

 

 Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.

 

I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.

 

We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.

 

I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff.  I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.

 

Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them.

 

Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:

 

 

Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn't lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband's life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn't.

 November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she'd worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.

Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.

She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world.  A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

 

If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.

 

Here’s the blurb:

Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband's life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy.  Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

 

A brief description of Creed:

.  Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket.    He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.

“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“No, not at all.  Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”

He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room.  “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”

“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it.  “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles.  I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall.  I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”

 

And a glimpse of Maggie:

 

Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural.  He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie.  Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.

 

A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.

 

For more about me and my other titles, check here:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I

https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy

 

 

I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.

 

bluff overlooking the Missouri River with a view into Kansas, is one of my favorite places on earth. I call it Wyeth Hill but the official name is Huston Wyeth Scenic overlook, part of the Huston Wyeth Park. Who, you might ask, was Huston Wyeth? He was an entrepreneur and businessman born into a wealthy family. If you travel east toward the Belt Highway and Interstate 29 via Frederick Avenue, you might catch a glimpse of the Wyeth Estate he built in the 1920’s including a house called Wyethwood. The glory days are long past but those interested can see what remains along a stretch of homes built by the rich and would-be famous. I’ve never forgotten that my dad told me his father, a hardworking candy maker, once said the fine homes were built on the sweat and toil of working men.

All that aside, however, Wyeth Hill is a glorious place. To reach it, visitors wind through the older sections of the North End, climb Poulin Street, and travel a short distance to the parking area. A very long time ago, there was a bridge from nearby Prospect Avenue but even in my childhood, the bridge had collapsed and is totally gone. As a note of personal history, my mother was born at home at the last house on Prospect on Christmas Day 1936.

Wyeth Hill used to be much larger before I-29 cut a path between the park and neighborhoods. There were some wooded areas, more picnic spots, and a restroom probably built by the WPA where I always entered with fear I’d encounter a snake. I never did.

I recall a center island of tall, thick trees, long gone but the picnic shelter remains up a small incline from the parking lot. Playground equipment fills part of the green space, new since my childhood.

We hunted for morel mushrooms in the wooded areas, played on the wide grassy expanses, and picnicked under the shelter or at other picnic tables once scattered through the park. Sometimes my mom would fry chicken at home and we’d pack it up to enjoy at our picnic. Folks today pick up chicken at Church’s or KFC or grab a bag of fast food burgers for a casual picnic.

I never tired of the view, whether we watched the sun sink in the West or gazed at storms moving in our direction. There was no fence to keep lookers away from the edge of the bluff. I danced on the big rocks, now behind the fence (I was an exuberant child) and once, although much further down, a playmate and I slid down the bluff. We managed to stop at a small area without cascading all the way to Mac Arthur Drive below and clawed our way back to the top, We were promptly scolded by my mother.

Wyeth Hill is foremost in my thoughts because my latest novel, A Creed For Love (World Castle Publishing, releasing August 12, 2026, in eBook, paperback, and hardback) opens on Wyeth Hill with the heroine Maggie. It’s one of her favorite spots, too, and those who peruse the cover closely will see that she and Creed stand at Wyeth Hill, the river below them and the view behind them. The novel is more than a love story; it’s a family saga as well.

Here are the opening lines – although this is not the only time Maggie visits Wyeth Hill in the novel:

Standing at the top of her world, high above the Missouri River, Maggie Pierce remained motionless. Wyeth Hill had been a favorite place since childhood. If she hadn’t lost some agility in the accident that claimed her husband’s life, Maggie might have scaled the fence but didn’t.

November sunshine peeked through the clouds and although most of the leaves had fallen, the underbrush had a few hints of autumn color. She hunched deeper into her jacket as she tugged the simple ring from her right hand. At first, she’d worn it on her left, then on a chain around her neck, and later moved it to her third right finger.

Maggie clutched it tightly for a moment, said a silent farewell to Rodney and the ring, then hurled it toward the river below. She watched as it spun until she lost sight of the gold circle. Tossing her wedding ring marked an end and a beginning. After three years, the time had come to move forward if she could.

She lingered for a few more minutes, and savored feeling of standing on the edge of the world. A soft wind teased her long hair, for once not bound into a ponytail or put up into a bun. The faint tang of woodsmoke came with the breeze, a sure indication autumn had arrived with winter close behind.

If you’d like to visit my childhood neighborhood, please view it through Maggie’s eyes. If you’re not familiar with the Fillmore area, where many of my ancestors lived before they headed to St. Joe, you will be after you read the story.

Here’s the blurb:

Three years after Maggie Pierce survived the wreck that claimed her husband’s life, she has built a new life but she’s neither thriving nor happy. Neither is Creed King, a bull riding cowboy and handyman with baggage of his own. She’s urban and he’s as country as cornbread but once they meet, the bond between them is strong. Decisions loom large and events will strengthen their relationship or destroy it. If they want to move forward, they’ll have to do it together.

A brief description of Creed:

. Within ten minutes, the doorbell rang, and she opened it to find a lean, lanky man wearing bootcut jeans, a blue denim shirt, and a fringed leather jacket. He appeared younger than she expected, probably in his early thirties and wore a Western hat. A faint two-inch scar on the left side of his forehead marked his face but Maggie noted he was very handsome.

“I’m Creed King,” he told her in the deep drawl she remembered from the phone. “I hope I’m not too early.”

“No, not at all. Come in. I’m Maggie Pierce.”

He wiped his feet before entering and paused to gaze around the large living room. “I have my tools and stuff in the truck, but I need to see what I’m fixing.”

“Right.” She led him through the kitchen to the basement door and opened it. “The stairs are right here. The railing is loose and wobbles. I don’t go down much but when I do, I don’t want it to give way and fall. I suffered some injuries in a wreck a few years ago and my left leg sometimes gives way.”

And a glimpse of Maggie:

Creed took a long look at her as he finished his meal. He found her lovely, with a heart-shaped face and huge, dark blue eyes. Her brown hair had reddish highlights, which he thought were natural. He’d seen her wear it down, cascading past her shoulders, up in a messy bun held with a plastic clip, and in a ponytail. A scatter of faint freckles dotted her button nose and cheeks above her generous lips. A line from a Johnny Horton song popped into his head, pretty as a doll, pretty as can be, which described Maggie. Her face combined the beauty of a fairy tale princess with strength. He had no doubt she possessed inner fortitude. Although he knew no more than she had been widowed, Creed suspected there must be a story and wondered if she had been happy in her marriage. He had an inkling she hadn’t been. Something about the woman touched him, and if he wasn’t careful, he might become smitten. Risking his heart could be dangerous and he vowed to proceed with caution.

A Creed For Love will be available at World Castle Publishing, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and many more places on line and in actual stores.

For more about me and my other titles, check here:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Lee-Ann-Sontheimer-Murphy/author/B004JPBM6I

https://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/lee-ann-sontheimer-murphy

I also write for Evernight Publishing and The Wild Rose Press.