Most readers see a book when it reaches the finish line.

What they rarely see is how many times a story changes before it gets there.

I have two books I am about to publish, and they are both those kinds of books:

Take Dirtied Water, The Jeopardy Directive File 3, for example.

The version you’ll be reading soon is actually the third incarnation of this story.

The first version was called Pretense of Control. At the time, I was experimenting with a science fiction romance that leaned heavily into themes and ideas that ultimately weren’t what I wanted for the series. While writing it taught me a great deal, the story never quite felt right.

Despite the 5-star reviews, I unpublished it and started over.

The second version became Veil of Darkness. I removed much of what I didn’t like, spent more time developing the characters, and tried to bring the story closer to the vision I originally had in mind.

Unfortunately, something was still missing. It may have been available for a month before I took it down again.

To be perfectly honest, I never loved that version. I hated the cover; I wasn’t completely satisfied with the story, and every time I looked at it, I knew it wasn’t quite the book I wanted it to be.

Sometimes writers talk about trusting their instincts. This was one of those times.

So, I went back to work. When I rebranded the series as The Jeopardy Directive and leaned fully into the noir idea of a space-age espionage agency and its agents, everything finally clicked into place. And so did Dirtied Water.

The heart of the story finally became what I had envisioned from the beginning: strong, capable people who fall deeply in love yet allow pride, fear, and old wounds to drive them apart. People who hurt the very person they care about most because they don’t know how to admit what they’re feeling.

As the story evolved, those relationship dynamics became intertwined with an espionage plot that grew more complex and far more interesting than anything I had planned in the earlier versions.

In the end, I discovered the story wasn’t fighting me. It was trying to become the book it was meant to be.

Here is an excerpt from Chapter 18:

Leland and Leo walked into the bar and sat at a table with a view of Corbin. He sat at the bar, listening to the woman beside him talk while he sipped his drink.

“Do you see what I see?” Leland asked.

“Yeah, Alex Kekoa. Should we break it up or wait until she makes her move?”

“Get into her head and find out her plans,” Leland said. “We have to be careful because she knows us. If she sees us, she’ll abandon the job.”

Leo sipped his drink. “She wants to get him to his house and put poison in his drink, but he’s not being friendly. She is going to have to be more aggressive.”

They watched as she leaned on him and put her hand on his leg, and whispered to him. Corbin shrugged her off.

Leland couldn’t help but grin. “Alex is up to her old tricks.”

“She’s upset now. When he shrugged her off, she took it as an insult. She’s going to distract him and poison his drink right here in the bar.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Leland said. “She hasn’t changed a bit. Are all assassins such babies?”

“They are not the most emotionally stable people in the galaxy,” Leo said. “Even though they try to act all stoic.”

Alex dropped her purse on the floor, thinking Corbin was going to pick it up, but he didn’t.

“Now she’s really mad. The man is insulting her constantly and doesn’t even know it. All he wants to do is have a couple of drinks in peace.”

They watched as she got off her bar stool and picked up the purse she had dropped.

“She’s got the poison in a ring on her finger. She just has to move her hand over the drink, and it will fall into it.”

“Women, what can you do with them?” Leland asked. He looked around. “I had better call Gravis. If we apprehend her in a public place like this, it could cause all sorts of problems. Once she leaves, I’ll go after her. We have history, and she will not be happy to see me. You make sure Corbin is all right.”

Leo watched as Alex fiddled around in her purse, then she distracted Corbin, asking him a question about something on the other side of the room. When Corbin turned to see what she was asking about, they watched as the poison left her ring and fell into the brown liquid inside his glass.

She got up and left. Leland stood and followed her from a distance. Leo approached Corbin just as he took a drink from his glass.

“Corbin, no,” Leo said.

“Stanton, what are you doing here?”

“That woman just put poison in your drink. Carter hired her to kill you.”

Corbin’s hands came up to his head, and he fell onto the floor. “Someone call an ambulance!” Leo yelled. He took the drink and smelled it. “Veringlyn, it takes a while to kill, so there might be hope.”

***

Echoes of Dust is another book that has finally grown into something I’m happy with. I didn’t write it three times and unpublish it, but it’s been in just as many stages during the time I’ve been trying to develop it.

The original concept centered on a priest not unlike Father Graham Cavendish. However, the story I envisioned years ago was primarily a romance. The whole idea was that a rogue son of a duke, who is pressed into the priesthood by his father, could find truth not in the clergy but in the people he met. I had an idea of a soldier who had lost his leg, but he was happy, thankful, and always caring about others, and how that example would give the main character a different perspective not just of the world but of his own suffering.

It wasn’t until I needed a fourth book for the Dreams and Secrets series that it all clicked. The English rogue could be sent to the western frontier as punishment, but it turns out to be the very place he finds himself and his life. And of course, love.

The characters in Golden City Colorado, were already there waiting for him. I just needed the soldier, so I created Cotton Russell.

Cotton lost a leg while in the cavalry. He lives in a wheelchair. His life is far more difficult than most of the people around him. Yet he remains grateful. He teaches orphan boys to trap and walk quiet like an Indian, helps his neighbors. He laughs and serves others whenever he can.

Before long, the story had become something far larger than a romance. It became a novel about finding purpose after disappointment. And it wasn’t just Cotton who affected the main character’s vision of life, but the sheriff, the deputies, a French bounty hunter, and those who had a different code of caring for others that he had ever seen before.

Sometimes the writer isn’t leading the story. Sometimes the writer is following it. The best stories I’ve written are often the ones that surprised me the most. And I am grateful they did.

Here is an excerpt:

The man in the wheelchair was not small, nor diminished. Even there, he carried the length of a tall frame, his shoulders broad enough to suggest a strength not entirely lost. His hair, light brown and streaked with gray, and his unshaven face gave him an older cast.

“I’m Cotton Russell,” the man said, catching the shift in his attention. “Came by to pester you a bit. Hope it’s not too early.”

“Not at all,” Graham said, setting the desk upright again. “I’m still working out the details.”

Cotton surveyed the room with the eye of a man who had seen worse and made do with less. “Place has good bones. A bit hollow, but nothing a little life won’t fix.” He nodded toward the desk. “Is that the altar?”

“Not officially.”

“Well, in the cavalry, we once used a whiskey barrel and a saddle blanket. Chaplain said it did just fine for preaching and poker, depending on the day.”

Graham smiled despite the dull pressure building behind his temples. Cotton’s tone wasn’t irreverent—just familiar. Lived-in, as though he had already decided they would get along.

“I’ll take what I can get at this point,” Graham said.

Cotton nodded, rubbing his knee absently. “Well, I may be short a leg, but I’ve got a fair number of stories left in me. And every good church needs those.” He grinned. “This one’s safe for church ears, I promise.”

"Yes, Id like to hear it. Tell me one of your stories."

Cotton leaned back slightly, lifting his gaze toward the rafters as if the memory was stored there. “Back in ’62, I was stationed near Fort Wallace. Dusty place. Hot as sin. Full of horses, flies, and men who smelled worse than the horses. I was a sergeant then, which meant keeping order. And in the cavalry, that mostly meant stopping men from gambling away their boots or shooting each other over beans.”

A faint smile touched Graham’s mouth.

Cotton went on. “There was a boy there, green as spring grass. Sixteen, maybe. Signed on under his brother’s name. No business being there. Couldn’t handle a rifle, couldn’t stay on a horse, but he carried a little wooden flute.”

He paused, letting the picture settle.

“Every night, when things quieted down, and the wind picked up, he’d sit by the fire and play. Soft. Steady. And I’ll tell you it was the only thing that kept half those men from losing themselves. Something in it made you think of home. Of porches, open windows and voices you hadn’t heard in too long.”

His voice lowered. “Then one night, the Comanche came through. Fast. Hard. No warning.”

Graham leaned forward slightly.

“That boy didn’t reach for a rifle. Didn’t run.” Cotton shook his head once. “Just sat there playing that flute. Like nothing else in the world existed.” A brief silence settled between them. “They moved on after a while. Left us standing for some reason.”

He scratched lightly at the back of his neck.

“Next morning, he’s still there. Same place. Same tune. Not a mark on him.” Cotton exhaled, almost to himself. “I don’t know if it was courage or something else entirely. But it stayed with me. Some things make little sense, but they settle a man all the same.”

He looked back at Graham then, his expression sharpening. “Maybe that’s what you’re doing here. Setting up something to keep the wolves out.”

Graham let out a quiet breath, a hint of a laugh following it. “Truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing here. Not entirely. Just taking it one day at a time. I doubt I’ll frighten any wolves away . . . more likely, I’ll give them something to laugh at.”

Cotton barked a laugh. “Well, that puts you ahead of half the generals I served under.”

Graham glanced around the room—the bare floor, the rough walls, the desk standing in for something it wasn’t yet. The faint scent of paint and sawdust still hung in the air. “I was hoping to have pews by today. Maybe a few more hymnals. Instead—” he gestured lightly, “an old school desk, a few curtains, and the ghost of good intentions.”

Cotton’s grin widened. “Sounds like the start of a miracle.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small tin of tobacco, then thought better of it and tucked it away again. “You ever think maybe this whole town’s been waiting on someone like you to show up and fumble his way through?”

Graham glanced at him, one brow lifting. “Someone like me?”

“A mess in a collar,” Cotton said easily. “The authentic kind. Makes the rest of us think there might be hope yet.”

For a moment, Graham had no answer. There was no flattery in it—only something unvarnished, set down between them without ceremony. He lowered his gaze to the makeshift altar and let out a quiet breath. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to believe that. At least for today.”

Cotton nodded once. “That’s all you need. Start there. The rest will come.”

He shifted in his chair. “Now—let me tell you another story.”

***

New on YouTube

I’ve been creating short videos based on scenes, characters, and stories from my books.

It’s been a fascinating process watching scenes that once existed only in my imagination take on a visual form. Some feature artwork and narration, while others explore the worlds and characters that readers know through my novels.

After I send this newsletter off, I’ll be working on an excerpt from Curse Without Cause – so don’t miss it.

If you’d like to see what I’ve been working on, I’d love for you to visit my YouTube channel and take a look: https://www.youtube.com/@AuthorHelenHuntley​

And of course, you can always reply to this newsletter and let me know what you think, or any ideas or suggestions you may have. About anything, really. What I do is for you.

Recently, someone described my website as a library, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized they were right. All the different genres, the books, the categories, the pages, even the short stories you can read for free. (Which I hope to add more soon) So, I’d like to welcome you to enter the library where you can browse and even read. And purchase something if you’re interested, or not. Just enjoy. Authorhelenhuntley.com ​

One more quick thing in case you are interested: I have Echoes of Trouble, the first book in the Dreams and Secrets series on sale until 6/22 for .99. It's a frontier romantic suspense. https://books2read.com/u/m0ZeQ0​

And Darkness Hovering, the first book in the Jeopardy Directive, is on sale for .99, until June 30. https://books2read.com/u/mqJ7y9​

My ARC readers can find these on Booksirens.

If you are interested in joining my ARC team let me know and I'll send you the link.

Until next time, stay safe, and enjoy life.

Helen