So, this morning I was reading The Promise of Love, a collection of short stories (romance, bien sur) by some of my faves: Lori Foster, Erin McCarthy, Sylvia Day, Jamie Denton, Kate Douglas, and Kathy Love. And the experience was both adorbs and epiphanic.
Erin McCarthy’s story, “Take Me Home,” takes place in Rabbit Hash, Kentucky. (This is a real place, btw, and it is near Big Bone Lick State Park, which gave me no end of giggles when I was in grad school. Because I am twelve.) And then I thought to myself, golly, I’m reading a lot of books about Kentucky recently, and I don’t think it’s just because I live next door.
People, I think I have identified a trend!
Or a micro-trend.
Now, I know that I am exposed to more Silas House than the average American, but I’m not talking about literary fiction. I’m talking about romance. The world of romance is discovering Kentucky!
Just in time for Kentucky Home.
So, there’s Sharon Sala’s Rebel Ridge series, which is terrific romantic suspense that really captures the tenacity of people in the holler. (Although why in the hay-ull would you call a romance novel set in Kentucky Next of Kin? Why, Sharon Sala’s editors, why??) Shiloh Walker has some romantic suspense set in Ash, Kentucky. And there’s Molly Harper’s My Bluegrass Baby, which looks like an adorbs contemp, if the review from Dear Author is to be believed (and, generally, it is).
The point is, I’m in good company. We’re doing it. Kentucky. It’s happening. Get used to it.