Talk To Me

Talk To Me
О книге

By the Year 2000: CELEBRATE!What have you resolved to do by the year 2000?Talk! Pillow talk. Small talk.Double talk. Baby talk. Can we talk?Kara Taylor has a few questions when it comes to men. Why won't they talk about their feelings? Why can't they admit they're wrong? And what is it about The Three Stooges?Travis Malloy has some things he'd like to know, too. Why do women go on about emotions? Can't they see that actions speak louder than words? And since when is shopping a sport?Maybe if they'd had some answers nine years ago, their marriage wouldn't have ended in disaster on their first anniversary. Sure, Kara and Travis were crazy about each other, but that wasn't enough. They were mismatched from the start.They still are. But now it's time for Kara and Travis to start talking–because everything's at stake if they don't….

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So Travis had done well for himself

Why shouldn’t he have earned a reputation as a great fishing guide? The man had been obsessed with the slimy creatures, after all. If he’d put half as much effort into understanding her, she wouldn’t have fled the fishing camp crying so hard she could barely see to drive away.

The return drive would be different, Kara promised herself. She wasn’t a defenseless, brokenhearted girl anymore, but a mature, capable woman. As the Mercedes turned into the five-acre clearing Travis had christened Bass Busters Fishing Camp, she clutched tightly to her righteous courage. A puny shield against the merciless pounding of her heart.

The place hadn’t changed at all!

And there, glittering a shade deeper than the cloudless sky, extending as far as the eye could see across the horizon, was a magnificent faceted sapphire reflecting the October sunshine.

Lake Kimberly, her beautiful enemy

Kara schooled her features into a mask of indifference. If it killed her, she wouldn’t reveal the power of this place—or its owner—to hurt her again.

Dear Reader,

Growing up in a home filled with five females, I often observed that my father would say something, then be totally baffled by the predictable feminine reaction. I also spent many happy hours as a tomboy at the ranch he and his brothers enjoyed as a weekend hunting retreat. At some point while sitting around a potbellied stove or acting as a human bird dog, I learned the language of Texas men—which is the same language other men speak, only cockier.

Hence, long before Ph.D. experts wrote books about the subject, I knew that men and women are from different planets when it comes to communicating and interpreting speech. I’ve explored this fascinating phenomenon to some extent in each of my novels, but never so specifically as in Talk to Me. And talk to me Travis and Kara did!

In telling me their story, they confirmed my belief that love alone can’t sustain a relationship between a man and a woman. Good communication skills are essential, and acquiring the ability to listen carefully can be even more important than learning to speak openly and from the heart. Oh, and both Kara and Travis stressed (in separate private interviews so as not to hurt the other’s feelings) that developing a good sense of humor is a definite plus.

I hope you enjoy Travis and Kara’s journey to enlightenment. If the road gets a little bumpy at times, at least (with these two) it’s never boring!


Jan Freed

P.S. I love hearing from readers and invite you to write me at: 1860 FM 359 #206, Richmond, TX, 77469. Or visit my web site at:

Talk to Me

Jan Freed

To my editor Laura Shin,

who listens carefully to both my writing “voice” and my author insecurities.

Many thanks for improving my craftsmanship, preventing my hyperventilation and having a great sense of humor!


AS TOPICS WENT, “My Significant Other Never Listens To Me” was about as interesting as a tractor pull. But apparently the rest of Houston had a love life.

Settling into her sixth-row seat, Kara Taylor glanced from the guest chairs and TV cameras on stage to the rapidly filling George R. Brown Convention Center auditorium. Amazing. Hundreds of busy people had wrangled with bosses, baby-sitters and “five o’clock traffic” that actually started at three to get here by four. All for a chance to see the touring Los Angeles-based Vanessa Allen Show.

Scanning the arriving crowd more closely, Kara arched a brow. Who would’ve thought so many silk ties and mid-heel pumps would attend the taping?

Oh, she’d known the tabloid talk show was popular. But she’d assumed most fans would be traditional homemakers or senior citizens, like the seventy-three-year-old woman sitting to her right. Gram looked positively giddy at the prospect of seeing her favorite talk-show host in person.

But then, so did the working professionals in the audience—some of whom looked younger than Kara, who’d hit the big three-oh two months ago.

Twisting back around to face the stage, Kara smoothed her navy wool skirt, adjusted her matching jacket, centered the gold heart pendant on her delicate neck chain. Hmph. If she hadn’t feared disappointing Gram, who’d raised Kara with unflagging love and selflessness since she was four, no way would she sit here and watch couples air their tawdry dirty laundry. She certainly had better things to do.

Like produce a sleazy lingerie catalog.

Oh God.

Kara battled her flush of chagrin with righteous rationalization. Desperate circumstances called for desperate measures. And Mystery Woman merchandise wasn’t sleazy. Sexy, yes—to both sexes. At least, it was according to the catalog’s photographer, Lisa Williams. Kara would have to continue to trust her best friend’s judgment about the fantasies of men.

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