I have two whiteboards to keep track of my projects—one for what’s currently being written and published, and another for what still needs developing.

This month, I had to switch them.

The smaller board is now for what’s being written and published… and the larger one is for what still needs developing.

You’ll be happy to hear—there are a lot of great books in the forecast in all the genres I write.

***

I’ve been having some difficulty with the antagonist in The Banker Prince, so I’ve set him aside until he decides to cooperate.

In the meantime, I’m finishing Echoes of Dust, Book 4 of the Dreams and Secrets series.

This will be the final book in the series.

While working on it, I realized why I had named this last book Dust. I don’t always know these things right away—but this one made itself clear.

Here’s an excerpt. When you read it, you’ll understand:

Darius looked at him. “They’re not letting anyone in. Say they’re ‘reclaiming the school for the true church.’”

Silas glanced at Graham. “Say the word. I’ll get the door open.”

But Graham held up a hand.

He stepped forward slowly. His heart thudded in his chest.

He wasn’t ready for this. Not really. But Cotton’s fury had lit something in him. Vance’s steady stance beside the door, the calm authority in the way the deputies moved, even the way Silas was ready to defend them, none of them wavered.

And his congregation, they were looking to him now. Trusting him. Depending on him.

Back in London, he might’ve called the constabulary. Sent word to the bishop. Let someone else handle the ugliness. But this wasn’t London. This was Colorado. And here, if you wanted peace, you had to fight for it. If you wanted to lead, you had to earn it.

He understood that now, somewhat slowly and painfully.

But he didn’t want to lead.

His father had always made it clear what being a man meant.

A man, the Duke of Cavendish once told him, does not cry. A man controls his temper, his desires, and his tongue. He commands respect—through name, wealth, and bearing. He does not kneel. He does not apologize. He does not beg.

A man is iron.

Graham had believed him once. Worn those rules like armor, straight-backed and hollow-chested. Until the armor grew so heavy, he cast it off.

But here in Golden City, surrounded by dust and flawed humanity, he was seeing something else. Something better.

Vance, with his quiet authority and scuffed boots, standing between chaos and calm, not because of rank but because people trusted him.

Cotton, missing a leg and still sharper than most men with both, offering wisdom without pride.

Silas, rough around the edges, a half-breed they called him, born of traplines and hardship, but steady, kind, and fiercely loyal to the people he loved.

None of them are perfect. All of them are real.

They didn’t need titles or ancestral homes. They didn’t hide behind tradition or decorum. They didn’t command respect—they earned it, day by day, with their hands, their words, their grit.

And Graham, for the first time in his life, wondered if maybe a man could be made of something other than iron.

Maybe a real man was made of dust, faults and bad habits; maybe he could be a whole man, even if hurt and broken.

He’d never considered himself brave—not in the way Cotton was, or Vance, or even Darius and Sylvester. He didn’t think of himself as much of a man, either. Not the kind that others followed in moments like this.

But he knew one thing. He was smart. He could read people. He could think his way through the chaos. And maybe, just maybe, that mattered as much as muscle or bluster.

He drew a breath, steadied his voice, walked towards the schoolhouse, and spoke.

This may be the last book in the series, but it won’t be the last time we visit this world.

I have a couple of spin-offs planned for my frontier collection.

If you’ve read the series, you’ll remember Angie from Book 2—the beautiful saloon owner who aligned herself with the wrong man.

After everything that happened, her only choices were prison… or leaving Colorado and never returning.

She chose to leave. She went back to Kansas City, where she’s from—and bought a riverboat.

One of the spin-offs will follow what happened to Angie after she left.

Here’s a reminder of where her story stood in Echoes of Betrayal, Book 2:

Vance walked into the back of the jail to find Angie sitting on her cot, just like she was every other time he came back to check on her.

“You seem to have calmed down,” he said.

“Maybe, a little.”

“Do you understand how bad it was what you did aligning yourself with Israel Godsell?” he asked her.

“Not until you spelled it out to that woman you had in here yesterday,” she said. “At first, I thought it was harsh and an exaggeration, but then when I thought about it, I realized it was all true. I guess I just thought I was helping the man I loved.”

“What is it about Godsell that you’re attracted to?” Vance asked. “A woman like you could have herself a decent man.”

“I don’t know, Sheriff, I could give you a list of things that I see are good in him, and then I could give you a bigger list of things where he’s the meanest man on earth. And that’s just in his dealings with me, let alone everyone else.”

“I’ll never understand it,” Vance said.

“I may never understand it, either,” she said.

“You were married before,” Vance said. “What was your husband like?”

“The same, a worthless, cheating, drinking, gambling, good-for-nothing varmint. I loved him, and when he took me in his arms, there was nothing or no one but him in the entire world.”

“How’d he die?”

“Someone shot him in a poker game.”

Vance shook his head.

“He left me everything, which wasn’t much, but turned out to be enough to come out here and buy the saloon.”

“You’re from Kansas City, right?”

She nodded.

“I really don’t want to keep you in here, Angie, but I got to know you will not betray this town again,” Vance said. “If you do, I’ll have to bring in the marshal. When we add up everything you did to help Godsell, with testimony about those good people and their children he killed, no jury, no matter how much you cried and begged, would let you off. You’d be lucky they wouldn’t call for your hanging right there.”

“Are you serious?” she said.

“I’m not just saying this to scare you. It’s the truth,” Vance said. “It would be too bad if Israel got away, and you wound up executed for his crimes while he was somewhere holding another woman in arms, whispering in her ear how much he needs her to help him.”

The look on her face was one of shock. She obviously hadn’t realized that would be possible, but Vance knew women like her who were easily seduced by the outlaw type.

He wondered if she had thought she could change him. Biggest trap a woman could get into was thinking she could change a wicked man into a good one. It never worked, he’d seen it over and over, always ending in misery for the women.

“I’m going to let you out. I want you to go home, clean up, get some proper sleep. I want to know what’s going on with Israel, if he comes or if he gets in touch with you. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear, Vance. Can I open the saloon?”

“Yes. This is your last chance, Angie. After this, if I find you’re lying to me about anything. I’ll call the marshal, and I mean it.”

Angie nodded. He let her out and watched her walk back to the saloon. He still didn’t trust her.

I’m currently looking for ARC readers for:

• Space Fantasy (The Jeopardy Directive)
• (Historical) Frontier Romance

If you’re interested, just reply to this email and I’ll get you set up.
At this stage, I’m mainly looking for readers who are open to leaving a thoughtful review once they’ve finished. If you’re interested, just reply to this email and I’ll get you set up.

And as always—thank you. I appreciate it more than you know.

May is just around the corner. I hope you all have a lovely rest of your spring.

—Helen