Synopsis

He Wants Kids. She Doesn’t.

Julie Simmons is exhausted. Between studying to become a certified midwife and attending births, she’s constantly on the go. Add to that, she’s helping her jilted sister care for four children.

Nick Hoffman is the brother of one of Julie’s clients. She writes him off as a jerk after he questions her professionalism during his sister’s delivery. But a few days later, he calls her in a panic. His sister has been rushed back to the hospital, and he’s left caring for her newborn and toddler, when he doesn’t have a clue how to do so. Julie comes to help and they bond over a night of caring for two sleepless little ones.

Nick loves kids and can’t wait to settle down and have some of his own. Julie has decided she’d rather stick to helping other women have babies than have any of her own. What happens when you want each other, but you don’t want the same future?

 

 

Excerpt

Julie is a doula, working toward becoming a certified nurse-midwife. She meets Nick at his sister’s birth. He’s an ass. But when he needs help after his sister has to go back to the hospital. Julie comes to help care for the newborn.

After Jameson finished his bottle, he was still a little fussy. She handed him to Nick so she could text Jolene (NOTE: Jolene is Julie’s sister and she lives with her) that she’d be gone until late, and perhaps all night. Luckily, she always kept a toothbrush, basic toiletries and a change of clothes in her go-bag for situations like this.

Jolene texted her back:

“Just you, Mr. Shampoo Commercial and two unhappy little ones. Sounds like bliss!”

“Haha,” she texted back.

“Is it bcz he did the hair move?”

“TTYL, Jolene”

Julie laid her phone aside. “OK, so what’s Matthew’s evening routine?”

“I guess about now Patty would be getting him ready for bed, although he had a late nap, so I’m not sure he’s gonna go for that.”

“Can you handle that on your own, and I’ll walk this guy around after I change him? Matthew knows you, so it’s probably better that you bathe him.”

“I can figure it out,” he said. “Changing table is in there,” he said, pointing to one of the bedrooms. “Come on, Matthew. Let’s have a bath.” Matthew didn’t argue as so many children might have. He just took his uncle’s hand and headed down the hallway. Julie changed Jameson’s diaper, but he was no happier once he was clean and dry. She sighed and picked him up again, bouncing and making little soothing noises to Jameson, who wasn’t having it.

In the distance, she could hear happy bath noises. Evidently, Nick wasn’t going for the all-business bath; sounded more like a splashy fun-time bath. That was good, she thought. The last thing they needed was two unhappy little ones to soothe. She continued bouncing Jameson around the room. Finally, she resorted to dancing. She started singing the old song her sister was named for, very softly, as she danced around the living room, looking into Jameson’s eyes and smiling as she sang. Babies picked up on moods, she knew, so she pretended she was having a grand time. He seemed to like it, or maybe he was just puzzled by the weird dancing lady, she thought. Either way, he was settling. She thought she could sit down for a bit, but the moment she did, he began fussing more. So she jumped up and sang the song again and again, not varying her singing or her dancing because, as Jolene had often advised her, when you find out what works, you stick to it.

She suddenly looked up to see Nick and Matthew standing in the doorway. Matthew’s hair was wet and slicked back and he wore pajamas printed with little airplanes on them. Both of them were just quietly watching her and she stopped, embarrassed. Jameson, who had been lulled into a half-sleep, opened his eyes and objected loudly to the sudden end of the dancing and singing.

“Go on,” Nick said. “Don’t let an audience stop you.”

Julie hesitated, but Jameson’s wailing grew louder, so she quietly began singing and dancing again, feeling very self-conscious. But there was no doubt that her routine worked on Jameson, who quieted down immediately. Nick’s eyes met hers and she broke the song briefly to speak.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she said. Then, as Jameson’s eyes opened again, she stopped talking and concentrated on dancing him around the room.

“I can’t let you be embarrassed alone,” Nick said. He lifted Jameson into his arms and began imitating Julie’s dance. “I don’t know the words,” he said. “I’ll have to improvise.” Matthew laughed in delight as his uncle danced him around the room, making up nonsensical rhyming phrases for most of it.

“Jameson is heavy enough,” Julie said, singing the words in the tune of the song. “Matthew is giving you a real work-out.”

“It’s OK. I’m a muscle man,” he said, again in song. He shifted Matthew to one hip and flexed his bicep of his other arm, laughing all the while. Julie noted that for such a thin, lanky guy, his bicep was a lot more impressive than she’d have expected.

Nick was making the dance sillier, dipping Matthew back, raising him over his head, and sometimes turning him upside down and then pretending he didn’t notice the boy was turned the wrong way until he protested. Matthew loved it, and Julie couldn’t help but see Nick in a whole new light. Anybody looking in the window, she realized, would think she and Nick were the dedicated parents of these two children.

Nick’s eyes met Julie’s and they began dancing more in tune with each other. Nick slowed his dance down to match her movements, and held Matthew against him, probably realizing that if he didn’t settle the boy down a bit, they’d be up with him all night. It was working; despite his late nap, the little boy was growing sleepy as his uncle mimicked the slower, gentler dancing movements Julie had found worked on the baby.

Matthew’s eyes were closed and Julie motioned to Nick. He nodded in understanding and carried the sleeping child to his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later.

“One down,” he said. “Jameson looks like he’s asleep, too. Do you think we can risk putting him down?”

“Maybe?” He’s woken up every time I’ve tried. But maybe he’s finally out for real now,” she said. She eased him very, very slowly into the bassinet, and held her breath. But he was deeply asleep and let out a little sigh of contentment. She backed away from the bassinet in an exaggerated manner until she reached the sofa.

“Wow. That’s the most dancing I’ve done in … forever,” she said. “And it’s a lot harder with your arms full of baby.”

Nick sat down next to her. “I was really an ass when Patty was at the hospital,” he said.

Julie tried to tell him it was fine, but he cut her off.

“No, really. Let me say this. I had this idea that natural childbirth was some kind of backward thing. You have to remember I haven’t exactly been around a lot of moms and babies besides my sister and Matthew, and she was all about the epidural last time. And I thought she was crazy. It seemed unsafe and unscientific and like something they’d do in a hippie commune or something.”

Julie resisted the urge to whip out all her statistics about the risks and benefits of different types of childbirth.

“Patty read me the riot act and made me read a couple of studies after the hospital scene. The stats seem solid. I got the message. I was a jerk to someone who was actually really helping my sister. But I have to admit I didn’t really, truly get it until tonight. When you volunteered to help, just because you cared about Patty’s kids. Even though you had to have been thinking I was a rude asshole, you offered to stay and help me. And if you hadn’t, I can’t even imagine what a shit-storm I’d be in the middle of right now. Instead, Matthew had a good evening, ate his veggies, got a bath and went to bed only a little late. And as for Jameson, you were willing to do whatever it took to get him fed and soothed. Even if you were embarrassed, you still did it, because you knew a baby needed you.” And then he did his shampoo commercial move.

Julie was touched and felt tears threaten to fall. She blinked them back.

“Thank you,” she said. “Seriously, that means a lot.”

“Exactly how big of a jerk did you think I was at first?”

“Don’t make me answer that,” she said.

“That bad, huh?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Have I redeemed myself at all?”

“Watching you do a silly dance with a toddler helped a lot,” she said, smiling.

“Maybe we could go dancing some night,” he said. “Without children.” His eyes locked with Julie’s. She remembered her decision that she was done with men. Then she pushed that thought out of her head.

“Maybe we could,” she agreed.

Nick leaned toward her, and his lips brushed softly and questioningly against hers. She hesitated, and then she kissed him back. He didn’t push for more, just leaned back and smiled. And then did the shampoo commercial thing. She giggled, and the smile disappeared from his face. She quickly realized she’d offended him.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t giggling about the kiss,” she said. “You do this cute thing with your hair sometimes, and that’s what made me laugh.” She ran her fingers through her hair.

“I do?” he asked. Then he did it again, catching himself right in the middle of it. He laughed. “I guess I do. I don’t even think about it.”

“I think you do it whenever you’re a little nervous. It was the first thing I noticed about you, in the hospital, before I even knew who you were.”

“When was that?”

“You and your mother were asking the nurses some questions. I dubbed you Mr. Shampoo Commercial because you have great hair and you kept running your hands through it. I couldn’t decide whether your look was natural or if you spent a lot of time messing with your hair to make it look that way.”

“My hair? I just wash it with whatever shampoo is around and comb it. I don’t do anything to it, really.”

“No special conditioners, hair masks, volumizers, mousse, gel, sculpting wax or shine enhancers? Nothing?”

“Nothing. I have to say, I don’t really give it a thought.”

“Huh. Just when I was starting to think you weren’t so bad. Now I hate you again, because your hair is better than mine.”

He tossed his head. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” he joked. He reached out and touched Julie’s hair, hesitantly. “You have beautiful hair, actually,” he said. “I’m guessing by your sister’s name that red hair runs in your family?”

“It does. Every single one of Jolene’s children has it. She and her husband are both redheads. The kids didn’t have a chance.”

…

Jameson chose that moment to stir, and Julie suggested that Nick try his hand at making the bottle. She scooped up Jameson and began cuddling and murmuring to him, trying to head off a major crying spell. It worked, with Nick triumphantly waving the warm bottle of milk over his head just as the baby began to work up a head of steam. Julie handed him the baby, deciding it would be a good idea for him to get some practice in before she left.

If she did leave. It was past midnight, and she had been beyond exhausted for days.

“I’m just going to let you handle this one on your own, for practice,” she explained. And then she leaned her head back on the sofa and fell asleep.

When she woke up, the living room was dark other than some light that came in from the kitchen. Nick had also fallen asleep at the other end of the sofa. She carefully stood up to check on the baby, but he was sleeping peacefully in his bassinet. She very quietly crept to the door, where she’d left her go-bag, and tiptoed down the hallway to the bathroom, where she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and smoothed her hair into a fresh ponytail. Then she crept back to her corner of the sofa, and fell back asleep almost instantly.

When she next awoke, it wasn’t because of Jameson. It was because of Nick, who had shifted in his sleep and was now lying with his head touching her leg. She was still sitting mostly upright; there wasn’t room for both of them to lie down on the sofa unless they were to get extremely cozy. She was suddenly completely awake and hyper-aware of him. That beautiful hair of his was shiny even in the dim light, and she allowed herself the luxury of drinking in the look of him.

He really did have the most amazing hair, and his face was finely boned as well. He was tall and thin and had what looked like a runner’s body but his arms looked more muscular than she’d have thought. He must lift weights, she decided, and wondered what the rest of his body looked like. Then she felt embarrassed for basically undressing him with her eyes.

 

 

About the Author

Sophia Sinclair grew up in a town so small (pop. 170!) that the little town of Fairview where this series is set seems like the big city to her. For many years, she was the editor of a small town’s daily newspaper, so she understands the rhythms of small-town life. When she started writing romances, she decided to set them all in a small town called Fairview. If you’re from a small town, you’ll feel like you’ve been there. If you’re from a larger city, don’t be surprised if you start yearning for small-town life. It’s often said that in a small town, everybody knows everyone else’s business, but the truth is, there are still a lot of secrets in small towns!

She is married to a European man, has two grown children and two lovely grandbabies she spoils to death. There’s a little bit of Sophia in every one of her books. Molly is a librarian who wears plain dark dresses and looks very conservative but often wears racy underwear under that plain black dress. Sophia dresses the same. Lori likes to have a good time and always has lots of boyfriends before meeting the love of her life. Sophia will take the Fifth on that one. Catarina has a German poem on her bedroom wall; Sophia has the first two lines of that same poem tattooed on her upper thigh, in German. (It’s Rilke, and the first two lines translate to: “You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything.” As for Julie in Perfect Fit, Sophia is mad about all aspects of pregnancy, breastfeeding, childbirth, and babies. She attended many of her friend’s births, taught breastfeeding to WIC moms as a volunteer, started a business that handled pumps, bras, slings etc., and gave very serious thought to working as a lactation consultant, doula or midwife once the newspaper industry died. Instead, she started writing these romance novels, and she very, very much hopes you’ll enjoy them.

She also writes for Curvicality.com, an online women’s lifestyle magazine aimed at plus-size women. That’s why Julie in Perfect Fit is plus-sized. She wanted to show that love is for everyone; not just the thinner ladies.  Here is an example of the fun stuff she writes there.

Facebook * Amazon Author Page * Instagram

 

Synopsis

A Sprinkling of Magic

Catarina lives alone and works alone, and she likes it that way. Her only romance ended with such pain that she’s convinced she’s meant to be single forever. She lives quietly above the small upholstery shop she runs in downtown Fairview.

One day, a drop-dead gorgeous man walks into her upholstery shop. Remy is opening an ice cream parlor down the street, and he’s stopped in to check out the ugly old sofa Catarina is working on. As it happens, the sofa played a storied role in his parents’ marriage. He tells her all about it over cups of tea, and afterward, Catarina peeks into his cup. Her Romany (Gypsy) grandmother taught her the art of reading tea leaves when she was a child, and Catarina immediately knows her grandmother would have made much of what she sees in Remy’s cup. But Catarina doesn’t take what the tea leaves say seriously. Fortune-telling is hardly scientific, after all.

Catarina’s relationship with Remy sets off complications for several people around them, including her life-long friend Tanya and Remy’s twin brother, Rhys. The situation becomes even more complex when a young girl Catarina didn’t even know existed shows up at her door, having left the old country to meet the branch of her family she found through a DNA test. Veda still follows the old ways, and she and Tanya are convinced Catarina and Remy are meant to be together.

Catarina is not so sure. Remy has a secret he didn’t share, and when Catarina learns about it, she doubts whether she should have taken the risk of another relationship. Can he win back her trust?

 

 

 

Excerpt

Catarina is of Romany ancestry. She runs the upholstery shop in downtown Fairview. Remy is opening an ice cream shop down the street.

Her father had been surprised that Catarina had wanted to learn upholstery. It was heavy work, and Catarina was a small woman. But she liked the idea of running her own business, and she liked living right over the shop. It was a convenient arrangement, and the work kept her strong and fit without any need to visit a gym.

She put on her heavy work boots and headed downstairs. The staircase delineated a strong shift in the appearance of the building’s interior. Her living quarters, full of light, plants, art and books, had a charming bohemian air to them. Downstairs, it was a functional workshop. She kept a few upholstered pieces of furniture in the plate glass window upon which the name “Loveridge’s” was drawn in swoopy gold lettering, but the rest of the space was functional. Tools, furniture in every state of repair and disrepair, and big books of fabric samples crowded the space, yet everything managed to look orderly.

Today she had a new project to start. It was an ugly green sofa with, so far as she could see, zero aesthetic value. Reupholstering furniture cost at least as much as buying new, so most people didn’t bother unless a piece was valuable or beloved. Why anybody would love this hideous monstrosity, she couldn’t imagine. Worse yet, the customer had chosen to replace the old fabric with a newer version of the moth-eaten green it now had. This piece wouldn’t be especially satisfying to complete. However, she gave the customers what they wanted. She sighed and got to work, flipping the sofa upside down with less trouble than anyone would expect from such a small woman.

She began carefully removing the old fabric, taking care not to rip it so she could use the old pieces as patterns for the new fabric. She would have to re-do the old springs and replace the padding, and in the end it would look like an entirely new piece — but would still look ugly, she thought. The woman who had arranged the sofa repair had seemed nice enough but had abysmal taste.

She was still taking it apart when the bell on her front door jingled. Unexpected customers only rarely walked in her front door. Usually, people called and made an appointment before stopping in, so she looked up in surprise.

He was tall, with thick, dark hair and a light beard. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a white button-down shirt. He wore sunglasses, but took them off as he walked in, revealing eyes as dark as Catarina’s own.

“Hi, what can I do for you?” she asked, putting down the flat-head screwdriver she’d been using to remove some old staples. She reflexively touched her hair, noting it was still wet but well in place.

“I see you’re working on my mother’s sofa,” he said. “My sister arranged to have it recovered.” Catarina was a bit surprised that Serena was his sister. Serena was, she’d guess, around 20 years older than this man.

“Yes, I’m just starting it,” she said. “Is there any problem?”

“Not at all,” he said. “She told me today she had decided to have it recovered, and I just wanted to see what your plans for it are. Can you show me the new fabric?”

Now that was odd, Catarina thought. What was his interest in his mother’s ugly old sofa? But she just smiled.

“Of course,” she said. “I have it here.” She indicated another work table just behind her. On it was a bolt of ugly green fabric, very similar to the old fabric she was removing. She had started stacking sections of the old stuff in a pile at the end of the table, ready for use in making new patterns.

The man walked over to the table and ran his hand over the bolt of material.

“Serena was right. This is just as ugly as the old stuff. Mom is going to love it,” he said, and laughed, causing Catarina to laugh along with him.

“It might not be the most beautiful material I’ve ever used,” she said. “But the customer — your sister Serena, you say? — seemed very happy with it. We did look through quite a few sample books before she settled on this one.”

“You must be wondering why anybody would want to keep this horrible sofa,” he said.

“Well … something like that might have crossed my mind.” She walked around the work table, closer to where he stood.

“I wouldn’t be here if not for this sofa, you might say.”

“Now that sounds like a story,” Catarina said. She looked into the man’s dark brown eyes. They were so dark as to be nearly black. She wondered if he had Romany blood, as she did. If he added a couple of gold earrings and tied a diklo around his head, he would look just like a gyspy king, she thought. Matchka had awakened from her nap and was regarding the man with curiosity, meowing and repeatedly walking between his legs.

“I’m Catarina,” she said, extending her hand.

“Remy,” he said, returning the handshake. Then he reached down and picked up Matchka, cuddling her until she settled in and purred. “And who is this?”

“That is Matchka,” Catarina said. “She seems to like you.”

“Matchka,” Remy said. “Does that have a meaning?” He stroked under the cat’s chin. Clearly, he’d owned a cat before.

“It does. It means ‘cat,’ actually.”

Remy laughed. “That sounds like a story.” His eyes crinkled in the most attractive way when he laughed, she noticed. Maybe that was what made her throw caution to the wind.

“Would you like a cup of tea? And then you can tell me everything I need to know about the history of this sofa.” Although she couldn’t imagine how knowing the history could possibly change how she worked on it.

Remy looked surprised, but then smiled. “I’d love a cup of tea,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Matchka will keep you company for a bit.” She quickly ran upstairs and put on a pot of water to boil. She looked at her reflection, wondering if she could rearrange her hair without looking like she cared too much about what this customer thought of her. No, probably not. But she added a tiny bit of lip gloss and powdered her nose. Then she loaded up a small lacquered tray with her grandmother’s tea set, jam and orange slices. She included the sugar bowl and some cream, since she didn’t know how he took his tea. By the time she’d assembled all the ingredients, the water was boiling, and she started the tea leaves steeping.

She walked slowly down the stairs, careful not to spill anything or drop her grandmother’s tea set.

“That’s a beautiful tea set,” he said. It was, indeed. It was clearly an antique, beautifully detailed with swirls of color and gold edging. Catarina treasured it.

“Thanks,” she said. “It belonged to my grandmother. I think of her whenever I use it.” She put the tray down at the far side of the work table, away from the fabric. “How do you take your tea? I have my own tradition, but you might prefer just sugar and cream, or plain.”

“Usually plain, but I’m curious to see how you do it,” he said.

“This is how my grandmother made it,” she said. “With jam and orange slices.”

“Interesting,” he said. “I’ll try it. Was that her own invention?”

“My Romany grandmother taught me to make it this way,” she said, watching him closely to see if he reacted to word of her heritage. Some people did. But he just smiled and watched her preparations.

“Now we let it steep for just a bit,” she said. “So you owe your existence to this oh-so-beautiful sofa?” She hopped up on the edge of the work table and crossed her legs, settling in for a story. He followed her lead.

“Well, I may have stretched things a bit,” he said. “But my parents married against their families’ wishes. Neither of their parents were thrilled by the marriage. She was from a strict and somewhat well-off family, and my father was a poor Italian whose parents didn’t even speak much English. They had hoped for him to marry a Catholic Italian girl.”

So that’s where all that beautiful dark hair came from, Catarina thought to herself. But she said only, “My parents married against their families’ wishes as well.” Remy didn’t respond. He was deep into a story he had obviously told with relish many times before.

“They decided to elope as soon as he got off work on a Friday afternoon. They had it all arranged, but that day, he broke his leg at work. So there they were, all their stuff already packed up in the back of his truck and him with a broken leg. She couldn’t go back home, and neither could he. But they couldn’t drive off together, either. She wouldn’t think of going off with him unmarried. So they ended up calling his best friend, who took them back to his house. The best friend’s mother called in her own priest, who was a recent immigrant who barely spoke English. They were married with my father lying down on the old woman’s sofa, and my mother had to be told when to say ‘I do,’ because she didn’t understand Italian at all. And then they went to the hospital and he got his leg set. My mother learned how to drive that very day. There was no way my father could drive a stick shift with a broken leg. They say they drove pretty much the whole way to the hospital in first gear because she was terrified of shifting. Then she drove to the place he’d rented, about an hour away under normal conditions, all in first gear. People were honking at them the whole way, but they didn’t care. Dad was in a lot of pain but kept telling her she was doing fine. Can you imagine?” He talked with his hands, demonstrating his mother’s driving, seemingly not even realizing he was doing it.

“I guess that wasn’t the honeymoon they planned,” she said, and checked on the tea. It needed a bit more time.

“I would guess not. But my sister came along pretty much nine months later on the dot, so there you go. And later on, my dad bought this sofa from his friend’s mother. Whatever he paid was more than the thing was worth, I’m sure. But they kept it in their house my entire life, even after they could have well afforded something different.”

“And now?” She noticed that the longer parts of his hair tended to move out of place when he was animatedly telling a story, and moving his hair back into place was just a natural move for him.

“Dad is gone, and Mom had a hip replacement recently. She’s having a little trouble so she’s in a nursing home, hopefully just temporarily. They’re doing some intensive physical therapy there. We’re hoping she can come home soon. So Serena thought it would be a good time to recover the sofa, which, as you can see, badly needed it.” He chuckled. “It badly needed it about 30 years ago, actually.”

“So that’s why your sister was particular that the job be done quickly.” His face was so expressive that she felt she could read his mind if she could just look into his eyes for a while.

“Yes. We want to surprise Mom when she comes home.”

“That’s a very sweet story,” Catarina said. She picked up her cup and motioned to Remy. “This is ready now.”

“You drink it with the leaves in?”

“Yes. Back in the day, we’d read the tea leaves afterward. My grandmother knew how.”

Remy took a cautious sip. “Hey, this is pretty good. I’ve heard of lemon in tea, but I’ve never had it with an orange slice.”

“I actually grew that orange in my apartment upstairs. The window lets in enough light to keep my lime tree and orange tree happy, believe it or not.” While he was peering into his cup, she took the opportunity to study his face some more. It was remarkable how he looked so masculine and yet so beautiful at the same time. Usually, a man who could be described as beautiful had something of an effeminate look to him, but that was not the case with Remy. At all. His face was chiseled, but the longish hair and the very long, dark eyelashes and expressive eyes softened his appearance just enough.

“So, do you believe there’s anything to telling fortunes with tea leaves?”

“Well, I am of two minds. On one hand, no, of course not. It’s very unscientific. On the other hand, that doesn’t stop me from reading them anyway.” She took another sip.

“Would you read mine? Just for fun?”

“Of course.” She glanced at his cup. “Take out the orange slice, and drink the rest, leaving just a little tea behind. Like this,” she said, demonstrating with her own cup. He did.

“How’s this?”

“That’s fine. Now hold it in your left hand and swirl, like so. You want to turn it three times,” she said, and reached out her hand to guide his. She felt an electric shock as she did, and he jumped, making her think he must have felt it, too.

“Now set your cup upside down in its saucer.”

His eyes were glued to hers. She decided to lighten the mood. “I see many pieces of reupholstered furniture in your future. Many, many pieces. The complicated ones that are very expensive to have done,” she said, and they both laughed. “No, seriously, you read from the rim and work your way down. You look for patterns in the leaves, or for clumps that resemble certain symbols, which have meanings. This little blob here looks a bit like the letter L, do you see? So at this point, if I were doing a serious reading, I’d ask you if there is anything significant with that letter. Perhaps a lover or a business name.”

“I’m having a sofa upholstered by Loveridge’s,” he said.

“That clears up that!” she said. “Now, quite close here, this looks a bit like a flower. Do you see it?”

“Maybe? Is a flower good?”

“It can mean true love is coming. That’s what I would tell you if I were making a living as a fortune-teller. But it can also mean that happiness of other kinds is coming. Actually, there’s lots of interpretation to it. A good fortune-teller reads the customer more than the tea leaves. If you were a young single girl, I’d certainly tell you you were about to find true love. If you were an older married person, I’d probably tell you something you’ve been hoping for was about to bring you happiness.”

“What would you say about that little blob on the bottom?”

“Well, what would you say it looks like?”

“Maybe a pencil? Or a snake?”

“I probably wouldn’t say snake. Snakes might mean there is someone who does not deserve your trust. I’d probably call it a cigar, and would tell you to expect a new friend. Now, my grandmother would have woven all this into a cohesive story that would convince you that love, happiness and prosperity were coming your way. Or, someone else might interpret everything quite differently, and then try to sell you a love potion or to offer to remove a curse from your money to change your fortune. A lot would ride on whether the fortune-teller was honest or just trying to drum up some business from you. It’s like reading your astrology in the newspaper. Many people, no matter if you read them something from the wrong sign, would be quick to agree that the description fit them to a T. If you deal in vague generalities, you can always be right.”

“Interesting. I had no idea there was so much to it. Did your grandmother believe in it?”

“She did. She was also a shrewd judge of character, however. If you had her tell your fortune, you’d get from the experience much of what you might get from visiting a therapist for help finding your life path. Just having someone pay close attention to you and offer an encouraging view of your life can do wonders to motivate someone to look on the positive side of life.”

“How did you end up doing upholstery rather than telling fortunes?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m a modern Romany girl, and my parents were fairly modern, for that matter. At least, my father was. He started this shop decades ago, and my parents sent me off to college to study art. I probably would have made more money reading palms and tea leaves than I would have as an artist, though. So when my father retired, I decided to take over the business. It’s not a bad way to make a living, and it satisfies some of my artistic impulses. And, it allows me to stay independent. I’m not sure I’d do well working for anyone else.” She paused. “So that’s my story. What’s yours?”

“Well, it’s pretty bland in comparison. My dad went back to school and became an accountant. I lived a boring middle class suburban life. I majored in accounting but found it dull and a few months ago I bought a little place down the block. Used to be a barber shop? Jim’s?”

“Oh, yes, that place has been closed for years. My father went there, back in the day.”

“I’m remodeling it and plan to open a little ice cream shop.”

“Oh, that’s great! This downtown needs new life. An ice cream shop would be wonderful, but it seems a terrible risk, doesn’t it?”

“Absolutely. I’d definitely advise anyone against such a move. But nevertheless, I’m doing it. I’ll probably lose my ass and have to redouble my efforts in accounting. I’m staying on at the accounting firm for now, anyway, just to be safe and to keep the insurance. But there you go. I’m a bit of a dreamer, I’m afraid.”

“I would never advise anyone to ignore their dreams,” Catarina said. She stood. “My dream of finishing your mother’s sofa this week will not come true if I don’t get back to it, though. But I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Stop in anytime. You can check my progress on your sofa.”

Remy also slid off the work table and stood up. “I’ll do that. I’m just at the end of the block. If you need to take a break, stop in. You can give me your opinion on the design of the place.”

“I will definitely do that,” Catarina said.

He reached out his hand and she took it, feeling again an electric shock as they touched.

“Sorry! I think I picked up some static electricity,” he said. She quickly agreed that must be it, but she knew her grandmother would have a different explanation, and she thought again of the flower in his tea cup. Close to the rim. Her grandmother, she knew, would have told him he was about to fall in love.

 

About the Author

Sophia Sinclair grew up in a town so small (pop. 170!) that the little town of Fairview where this series is set seems like the big city to her. For many years, she was the editor of a small town’s daily newspaper, so she understands the rhythms of small-town life. When she started writing romances, she decided to set them all in a small town called Fairview. If you’re from a small town, you’ll feel like you’ve been there. If you’re from a larger city, don’t be surprised if you start yearning for small-town life. It’s often said that in a small town, everybody knows everyone else’s business, but the truth is, there are still a lot of secrets in small towns!

She is married to a European man, has two grown children and two lovely grandbabies she spoils to death. There’s a little bit of Sophia in every one of her books. Molly is a librarian who wears plain dark dresses and looks very conservative but often wears racy underwear under that plain black dress. Sophia dresses the same. Lori likes to have a good time and always has lots of boyfriends before meeting the love of her life. Sophia will take the Fifth on that one. Catarina has a German poem on her bedroom wall; Sophia has the first two lines of that same poem tattooed on her upper thigh, in German. (It’s Rilke, and the first two lines translate to: “You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything.” As for Julie in Perfect Fit, Sophia is mad about all aspects of pregnancy, breastfeeding, childbirth, and babies. She attended many of her friend’s births, taught breastfeeding to WIC moms as a volunteer, started a business that handled pumps, bras, slings etc., and gave very serious thought to working as a lactation consultant, doula or midwife once the newspaper industry died. Instead, she started writing these romance novels, and she very, very much hopes you’ll enjoy them.

She also writes for Curvicality.com, an online women’s lifestyle magazine aimed at plus-size women. That’s why Julie in Perfect Fit is plus-sized. She wanted to show that love is for everyone; not just the thinner ladies.  Here is an example of the fun stuff she writes there.

Facebook * Amazon Author Page * Instagram

 

Synopsis

Will her party-girl past ruin her future?

Lori Randall is a dedicated ER nurse — dedicated to her patients and dedicated to finding a hot doctor to marry. But after she is shaken by a local tragedy, she decides it’s time to give up on chasing doctors and start building a better life for herself. Her first step is buying her own house, and she ends up with one with a very peculiar history. That sets off a surprising chain of events that rocks the lives of many of her Fairview friends — including her friend Molly from Worth the Wait.

Jake Williams is the local real estate agent who shows Lori a house that wouldn’t be for just anyone, but is perfect for her. Back in the day, it belonged to a man who fancied himself the Hugh Hefner of Fairview. Legendary parties took place there in the ‘70s, and nobody has redecorated it since then. The house is an ode to excess and debauchery, right down to its tacky gold wallpaper and the disco ball in the master bedroom. Lori immediately decides it’s the house for her. Little does she realize what will follow! Any woman who has ever decided to change her life will identify with Lori’s story.

 

 

 

Excerpt

Lori is a nurse. Jake is a real estate agent she cared for in the ER, the same night the ER lost a young girl in an unexpected way, causing Lori to decide to clean up her life. She decides to buy a house and contacts Jake, and he takes her house-hunting.

“I don’t know,” Lori said. “These aren’t quite what I had in mind. Maybe it would be better if I held on a bit and saved up some more money so I could qualify for something a step or two up. I guess I’ve been a little impulsive about this. I probably should have planned ahead more.”

“Not a problem,” Jake said. “Let’s check out the final one, and then we’ll head back to the office and talk about options.” She agreed, but didn’t hold out much hope. She regretted not having paid any attention to her finances all these years. She knew she could have bought something better if she’d paid as much attention to her bank statement as she had to fashion and fun, and said so.

“Not to worry, Miss Randall.”

“Call me Lori,” she said.

“You’re still young. You would be surprised. There are people who are a lot older than you and still haven’t gotten their money situation in hand. You haven’t done so badly. The important thing to remember is that you’re making a fresh start. And you make a good income. Let’s just see what you think of this next place. I’m going to warn you, it needs a lot of updating. The guy who built it was probably the closest thing this town had to a playboy, back in the day. He fancied himself the Hugh Hefner of Fairview and made some rather … unconventional … decorating choices. But the house has good bones and if you’re willing to put some effort into updating it, you could end up a few years from now with a showplace. Try to look past the décor. This place hasn’t been touched since the ’70s. He died about a year ago after spending several years in a nursing home and his family is motivated to sell,” he said, as he pulled up into the driveway of a brick home. The yard was overgrown and Lori didn’t hold out much hope.

Jake unlocked the front door and Lori gasped.

“Oh. My. God.”

“I know, it’s a lot to take in,” Jake said.

Lori laughed. “Seriously!” The house was a testament to ’70s gaudiness. The living room featured horrible geometric-patterned harvest gold wallpaper, a sunken conversation pit and the ugliest rug she had ever seen. But there was a cool-looking fireplace that she loved.

The kitchen kept the harvest gold look going. The appliances would all have to go, of course. The dining room was a monstrosity. A heavily carved sideboard filled one wall. The massive table and chairs matched, the chairs featuring gold velvet upholstered seats. She entered the downstairs bathroom. It was an unbelievable orange. She wanted to shield her eyes from the crazy orange patterned tile. Unbelievably, even the tub, sink and toilet were orange. A few touches of avocado green made the orange look even more aggressive. A pair of giant ceramic goldfish were mounted on the wall over the toilet. She quickly backed out.

Jake said nothing. He just let her wander and gather her own opinions. He bent to pick up a listing sheet someone had dropped and she bit her lip. Now that was a fine, fine butt. She looked away before he could catch her looking and went upstairs to check out the master bedroom. It had a huge round bed with a mirrored ceiling and a mirrored ball. Jake hit a button on the wall and suddenly they were in a disco.

“All we need now is some KC and the Sunshine Band,” Lori laughed.

Jake sang out a line from the chorus of their most famous song. Lori did a little dance, the glittering lights crossing her body as she moved.

“I wonder what this dude’s parties were like, back in the day,” Lori asked.

“Pretty sure they didn’t just play charades,” Jake said.

“OK, I know I’m supposed to play coy,” Lori said. “But yeah, this is the place. You said the furniture comes with it, right?”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll knock a grand off the price if you agree to take it as is,” Jake said. “You can imagine his nieces and nephews don’t want any part of clearing this place out. He didn’t have any children, and he apparently wasn’t close to his nieces and nephews. They live out of state and they just want to get what they can from this place and get out.”

“It is perfect. Oh, I’ll make some changes, definitely. But you gotta admit, this place has got personality!”

“I have to advise you to get a housing inspection and all that,” he said. “But it appears the place is in decent shape as far as plumbing etc. It’s just … well, it is what it is.”

“Those other three houses looked like grandma houses,” Lori said.

“This one does not look like a grandma house,” Jake agreed. “Unless your grandma was a Playboy bunny.”

“She was not. She’d be horrified. But I LOVE THIS HOUSE!” She went back to doing her little dance. “Come on, Jake, give me some music,” she said. He laughed.

“I just exhausted my entire knowledge of ’70s music, I’m afraid,” he said.

Lori jumped onto the bed, which rewarded her with a burst of dust, and began singing the chorus of an old Bad Company song as she danced and played air guitar. Suddenly she stopped, embarrassed, and jumped down off the bed. “I’m sorry! I went a little nuts there!”

Jake had a look on his face she wasn’t sure she understood.

“Forgive me,” she said. “This house is getting to me.”

He looked like he was making an effort to control his facial expression. “No problem. Why don’t we get back to my office and get the ball rolling? We’ll need to make an official offer and if they take it, I’ll need a check for the earnest money. If all goes well, you can be in this house for the holidays.”

“I will need a giant white artificial Christmas tree. With lots of gaudy ornaments!” she said.

“Well, uh, if there’s nothing else you want to look at, let’s get back to the office,” he said.

“Sure,” Lori said, abashed after her impromptu performance. She was subdued on the drive back. She’d embarrassed him, clearly, and tried to turn the conversation back to normal. “Hey, how’s your hand? I see you’re not wearing a bandage anymore.”

“It’s just fine,” he said, flashing his palm toward her. A jagged pink line was all that was left to show where the splinter had been. Back in the office, he excused himself to make her offer to the owners. It was quite a bit less than the listed price and she didn’t expect them to take it, but they accepted it on the spot.

“This was meant to be!” Lori exclaimed. “Care to celebrate with me at The Clipper tonight?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really can’t. It’s just an ethical thing. I really can’t date a client.”

“I did not mean it that way,” she said, insulted. “Excuse me for asking.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “That came out wrong. At any rate, I do want to congratulate you. You’re getting a great house. When the ’70s look gets old for you, you can remodel and you’ll have a house worth significantly more than what you’re paying for it. And if at that point you feel like you want to move up to something higher-end, you’ll definitely be able to.”

Lori hid her irritation and embarrassment, wrote a check, shook his hand, and was on her way. Screw Jake. She should have known better than to make a move on him. He was cute, but he was no doctor.

 

 

About the Author

Sophia Sinclair grew up in a town so small (pop. 170!) that the little town of Fairview where this series is set seems like the big city to her. For many years, she was the editor of a small town’s daily newspaper, so she understands the rhythms of small-town life. When she started writing romances, she decided to set them all in a small town called Fairview. If you’re from a small town, you’ll feel like you’ve been there. If you’re from a larger city, don’t be surprised if you start yearning for small-town life. It’s often said that in a small town, everybody knows everyone else’s business, but the truth is, there are still a lot of secrets in small towns!

She is married to a European man, has two grown children and two lovely grandbabies she spoils to death. There’s a little bit of Sophia in every one of her books. Molly is a librarian who wears plain dark dresses and looks very conservative but often wears racy underwear under that plain black dress. Sophia dresses the same. Lori likes to have a good time and always has lots of boyfriends before meeting the love of her life. Sophia will take the Fifth on that one. Catarina has a German poem on her bedroom wall; Sophia has the first two lines of that same poem tattooed on her upper thigh, in German. (It’s Rilke, and the first two lines translate to: “You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything.” As for Julie in Perfect Fit, Sophia is mad about all aspects of pregnancy, breastfeeding, childbirth, and babies. She attended many of her friend’s births, taught breastfeeding to WIC moms as a volunteer, started a business that handled pumps, bras, slings etc., and gave very serious thought to working as a lactation consultant, doula or midwife once the newspaper industry died. Instead, she started writing these romance novels, and she very, very much hopes you’ll enjoy them.

She also writes for Curvicality.com, an online women’s lifestyle magazine aimed at plus-size women. That’s why Julie in Perfect Fit is plus-sized. She wanted to show that love is for everyone; not just the thinner ladies.  Here is an example of the fun stuff she writes there.

Facebook * Amazon Author Page * Instagram

 

 

Book Title: The Art of Taking It Easy by Dr. Brian King

Category: Adult Non-Fiction (18+)

Genre: Literary/Self-Help/Humor

Publisher: Apollo Publishers

Release date: October 2019

 

Synopsis

Psychologist and Comedian King explores the science behind stress in this witty, informed guide. The author uses a bevy of running jokes and punch lines to enliven technical explanations for how and why people experience stress. His metaphors of coming across a bear in the wild as well as being stuck in traffic are also used to great effect to explain a variety of stress responses, such as perceiving a threat and feelings of powerlessness. Reframing thoughts plays a large role in King’s advice: Stress is simply a reaction to a perception of threat being able to consciously redirect choices made by other areas of the brain is the key to living a less stressful existence. He also provides breathing exercises, plants for painting physical health and useful advice for setting attainable goals. King’s enjoyable guide to living with less will be of help to any anxious reader.

 

 

 

Excerpt

Don’t Eat The Poison Berries (pages 203 – 204)

Art of Taking It Easy: How To Cope With Bears, Traffic, And The Rest Of Life’s Stressors
By Dr. Brian King

Despite the simple and easy activities, I previously mentioned, it is very difficult to think positively all of the time. Whether they are bears or unicorns, bad things happen to all of us and negative thoughts are unavoidable. It is perfectly natural to have negative thoughts pop into our head from time to time. In fact, our brain seems to be somewhat disposed to seek out negativity and hold onto it. Psychologists refer to this phenomenon as the Negativity Bias. Basically, if we encounter two stimuli, one positive and one negative, our brain is more likely to notice and be affected by the negative stimulus.

This sucks, but it’s how our brain is wired. It makes sense too, if you think about how the brain develops and gathers information about the world it finds itself in. to illustrate this, I like to imagine the challenges that must have been faced by the first human beings, hundreds of thousands of years ago in the savannahs of northern Africa. Imagine being one of the first people to explore the area in search of food. Suppose you stumble upon a bush growing some fresh berries that look strangely appealing. You grab a handful, examine them thoroughly and decide to toss a couple into your mouth. And, they are… delicious! Sweet and juicy, but not only do they taste great, but you suddenly feel energized as the nutrients begin to circulate throughout your body. You just discovered a tasty source of food and it is important for your brain to remember these berries, in case you get hungry in the future.

Now imagine that you encounter a different kind of bush with a different kind of berry. However, this time when you cram a few in your early human mouth they taste terrible. In fact, they make you feel queasy and ill. Maybe one of your buddies, who had a bit more than you, gets sick and dies. The berries, as it turns out, are highly poisonous. Now, although it is extremely important to remember which berries were tasty and nutritious, it is absolutely crucial to your survival to remember the ones that could potentially kill you. It is a simple matter of survival. I often explain the negativity bias this way, with poison berries.

 

About the Author

DR. BRIAN KING trained as a neuroscientist and psychologist and for the past decade has traveled the world as a comedian and public speaker. By day he conducts seminars, attended by thousands of people each year around the US and internationally, on positive psychology, the health benefits of humor, and stress management. By night he practices what he teaches in comedy clubs, and is the founder and producer of the highly reviewed Wharf Room comedy show in San Francisco. Dr. Brian holds a bachelor’s degree from the University of Texas, a master’s degree from the University of New Orleans, and a PhD in neuroscience from Bowling Green State University. Hailing from New York and living in dozens of cities throughout the US as the child of a military family, today spends his life on the road with his partner, Sarah, and their young daughter.

 

Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Instagram

 

 

 

Synopsis

Molly wasn’t looking for love — or a mystery — but she found both.

Molly Miller is an overworked and underpaid librarian struggling to raise her three kids herself. The only romances she has time for are the novels she returns to the shelves. Then one day, David Conrad walks into the Fairview Public Library. He looks just like the sexy pirate on the cover of a romance novel her best friend, Lori, has been reading, so they secretly refer to him as The Pirate Man. But the truth is even stranger. His appearance means old secrets are about to be revealed, and not everyone in town will be happy about that.

Who is David Conrad?

David immediately rubs Molly the wrong way. But she somehow keeps getting entangled with him in ways she can’t seem to avoid. He claims to be descended from a prominent Fairview family that was brutally murdered in the 1950s. The Conrad murders were never solved, and now that a Conrad is back in town and asking questions, the people of Fairview are in for some surprises. So is Molly. Who’d have thought an irritating Pirate Man could capture her heart?

 

 

 

Excerpt

This scene is not remotely romantic, but shows off Molly and her love interest, David, and the villain, Matt, who is the president of the library board and thus her boss. He’s been harassing her since high school.

Fairview wasn’t a wealthy town. She was surprised at how many people depended on the library, despite Matt’s contention that it was basically a place for poor moms to get free kid activities. She once again wondered why someone so uninterested in public libraries would want to be the president of a library board. Would he really do this just to get Molly’s goat as often as possible?

Speak of the devil. As if her thoughts had summoned him, Matt walked through the front door. She forced herself to speak to him cordially.

“Well, good morning, Mr. Green,” she said.

“Molly,” he nodded in return. “Let’s see this bathroom you can’t seem to keep functioning.”

“It’s the ladies, in the back. There aren’t any patrons this early. You can walk right in,” she said, seething. He was back shortly.

“It looks just fine to me,” he said. “To hear Johnny tell it, the bathrooms were a disaster. Tried to tell me we need to do a complete remodel.”

“We do need to do a complete remodel,” she said.

“Oh, and I suppose you’re a plumbing expert,” Matt said.

“I do know that antique plumbing fixtures eventually start to fail, and these are clearly failing,” she said.

“I bet some kid flushed a wad of paper down the toilet and made it overflow,” Matt said. “You probably just weren’t paying attention to the kids. I’ve told you before, you need to keep an eye on them or you never know what they’ll get up to. Hell, you know that. I heard about young Thomas, tearing hell out of the old Conrad place over the weekend.”

Molly hadn’t noticed, but David had quietly walked up and now he spoke. He put down a folder he’d been carrying.

“I was here when the plumber switched out the toilets. I can attest that the problem wasn’t a wad of paper. That plumbing is going to just get worse,” David said.

“Oh, you’re the new Conrad in town. Didn’t know you were a specialist in plumbing. Or in libraries. I did hear you were a regular specialist on handing juvenile delinquents. Heard you decided to let the kids off. I heard why, too.” Matt gave him a knowing little smirk.

“That’s no concern of yours,” David said. Molly saw Matt’s face darken.

“This library is no concern of yours, either,” Matt said. “Molly, I’d have thought better of you than to just hire the very first man to give you a second look. But I guess when you haven’t gotten a date in years, you’ll do whatever it takes, won’t you?”

Before she could even react, David did. His fist shot out and caught Matt squarely on the chin. Matt brought his hand to his chin and touched it, as if unsure to believe that David had really hit it.

“You need to apologize,” David said.

“I will do no such thing! You are fired, Mr. Conrad! Get out of here this instant. I’m calling the sheriff, and your ass is going to be arrested and run out of town.”

“You can’t run me out of town. I own a house here. You can have me arrested if you want the gossip, but I can guarantee it won’t be good publicity for the bank if I tell the whole story.”

“You’re a nobody! You think anybody cares you’re a Conrad? Everybody in town knows exactly what’s going on in this library. You two, carrying on. It’s disgusting. And after taking advantage of Tina Macintosh, too. But I guess you’re the type of womanizer Molly likes. Her husband was the same way. Some women don’t have any standards.”

David’s voice became very low, so low Molly had to strain to hear the words.

“You will not talk to her that way. And you will not spread nasty gossip, either. If you do, so help me God, you will live to regret it.”

“Get the hell out of this library! I’m not going to call the sheriff because you’re right, I don’t want the publicity. But you get out of here right now, and don’t come back. Or it’s not just your job. It’s Molly’s too. Now get out!” Matt’s face was red and he was literally spitting as he yelled. Molly had seen Matt mad before, but never like this. She took a step backward, involuntarily. David still looked absolutely calm. She saw his right hand was still in a fist, and as she watched, he relaxed it, but took another step toward Matt.

“Oh, I’ll go quietly. And I apologize for hitting you. I don’t want Ms. Miller to lose her job on account of me. But I can promise you, if I hear you do anything to her, anything at all, you will answer to me. And I can assure you, I do not make idle threats. If I hear a whisper of gossip about any of this, or if she loses her job, you’ll get more than just a little tap on the jaw next time.” He turned to Molly. “If you need me, you know how to get in touch.” She nodded, dumbfounded. He turned around, picked up the folder of papers and slowly walked across the lobby, pausing at the door to stare at Matt pointedly. And then he was gone.

Molly stared at Matt. She had never seen anyone stand up to him like that. Not in high school, not since.

 

 

About the Author

Sophia Sinclair grew up in a town so small (pop. 170!) that the little town of Fairview where this series is set seems like the big city to her. For many years, she was the editor of a small town’s daily newspaper, so she understands the rhythms of small-town life. When she started writing romances, she decided to set them all in a small town called Fairview. If you’re from a small town, you’ll feel like you’ve been there. If you’re from a larger city, don’t be surprised if you start yearning for small-town life. It’s often said that in a small town, everybody knows everyone else’s business, but the truth is, there are still a lot of secrets in small towns!

She is married to a European man, has two grown children and two lovely grandbabies she spoils to death. There’s a little bit of Sophia in every one of her books. Molly is a librarian who wears plain dark dresses and looks very conservative but often wears racy underwear under that plain black dress. Sophia dresses the same. Lori likes to have a good time and always has lots of boyfriends before meeting the love of her life. Sophia will take the Fifth on that one. Catarina has a German poem on her bedroom wall; Sophia has the first two lines of that same poem tattooed on her upper thigh, in German. (It’s Rilke, and the first two lines translate to: “You see, I want a lot. Perhaps I want everything.” As for Julie in Perfect Fit, Sophia is mad about all aspects of pregnancy, breastfeeding, childbirth, and babies. She attended many of her friend’s births, taught breastfeeding to WIC moms as a volunteer, started a business that handled pumps, bras, slings etc., and gave very serious thought to working as a lactation consultant, doula or midwife once the newspaper industry died. Instead, she started writing these romance novels, and she very, very much hopes you’ll enjoy them.

She also writes for Curvicality.com, an online women’s lifestyle magazine aimed at plus-size women. That’s why Julie in Perfect Fit is plus-sized. She wanted to show that love is for everyone; not just the thinner ladies.  Here is an example of the fun stuff she writes there.

Facebook * Amazon Author Page * Instagram

 

Synopsis

It is said that dreams are just that: only dreams. But believe me, this is not always true. Some dreams are as real as the dreamer.

Thanks to their dreams, dreamers can receive the special visit of eternal wisdom that has inspired the creativity of great inventors, scientists, musicians, and even writers throughout the ages.

This creative wisdom is not always the type that appears to the eager conscience. Sometimes, a Defiler, a destroyer of dreams, is the one who tries to appear before the dreamer. These creatures were once humans, but they allowed their pain and desire for revenge to take over and seek the same miserable fate for the one who dreams.

You must not fear — Dream Guardians, also known as Kelsdrant, will always protect the one who dreams, even with their own life. They are people of flesh and bone, just like you and me, or at least they are on Earth.

The following story is dedicated to the fun, extravagant, and enlightening life of Julian Fox, the Dream Guardian.

Be prepared, dear reader. It is time to dream, laugh, reflect, and even maybe cry.

Welcome to the Land of the Wise Dreams.

 

 

 

Read the first 3 chapters on E.J.’s Website

 

Interview

Tell us a little bit about your background and where the inspiration from this book stemmed from.

I believe that reading inspires any writer. I have been reading since I was a little girl, and one day, many years ago, I decided to put my own words in front of readers. I am inspired by my desire for sincere support and respect as a response to the intolerance that we can still see today. I hope Julian Fox makes the readers laugh, reflect, and realize there are other ways of writing, debunking the myth that everything has been written.

How has living in Colombia influenced your writing style and the types of stories you’re interested in telling?

I have had the honor of living in this beautiful country for almost two years. During all of this time, I have continued writing about Julian Fox’s adventures. The happiness of this Latin-American country has been very stimulating for me, especially to come up with the pranks between Julian and Nicholas. I must also say that Cartagena, a wonderful city I visited many years ago, inspired me to write the story of a brave Colombian Guardian who will always be remembered by all the present Dream Guardians.

How did you approach the book’s genre when creating a unique blend of history, fantasy, mythology, romance, and humor?

I have been wanting to create my own world for a long time. Julian Fox’s personality, sense of humor, sense of justice, love for his family, and respect for others echoes who I am. I respect and admire every book I have had the fortune of reading, and I believe every book to come must be as authentic as the writer. In my particular case, I write about stories of the past so the reader can reflect on how much we as a humanity have evolved and how much we still need to change. In this book, I also express my love for the beauty and complexity of mythology and, as an homage to past writers’ imagination, I created my own take on mythology, giving it a meaning and a purpose for me and my dear readers.

Do you think female readers are yearning for new fantasy stories that will connect with them? Did you intentionally craft your tale to appeal to a female audience?

I write to the feelings, decisions, and consequences that are born from our free will. I write to the strong heartbeats that make us humans, not to a specific gender. I dedicate my story to our laughter, strength, and courage, and I hope one day respect and understanding prevail between us, just like it does between my Dream Guardians. I know my goal is too big but it is my dream, and I know many readers out there, regardless of gender, share this dream with me.

Your writing often takes place across a wide range of settings: Paris, Miami, Chicago, Boston, Rio de Janeiro, Moscow, China, Greece, Spain, Mexico, Italy, and Argentina. What is your take on global writing and how do you choose which locations to represent? Have you traveled to every place you write about?

I have had the opportunity of traveling to many cities around the world. I chose Paris as Julian’s birthplace after my first trip to this mesmerizing city. The same happened during my stay in Spain. I chose Seville, one of the main epicenters of the Spanish Inquisition, as the main scenario for the story of Juan de Villanueva. Many cities have inspired me, mainly for their past, their history, and their culture and how it has changed over the years. I believe a society’s culture is what makes its history, and it is important to learn from our past mistakes to avoid repeating them today. I must say that Moscow, China, and Greece are still on my travel bucket list.

 

About the Author

E. J. Miranda is an avid reader, an enthusiastic traveler, and a passionate author. Her great sense of humor and love for nature have granted her a rebellious writing style: her approach describes the adventures of life, but in such a way that each reader can have an individual take on the matter. Her inspiration comes from her curiosity about other countries’ cultures and peculiarities. A few countries in particular which spark her curiosity are Colombia, Italy, Costa Rica, England, Belgium, Mexico, Spain, and the United States. Her favorite places to visit are historical sites and museums, locations that allow her to explore important and even overlooked details. She currently lives with her husband in Colombia, but frequently travels to Houston to visit her daughter and son. E.J. Miranda has a degree in tax accounting, but she prefers interacting with people to calculating their taxes.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Goodreads

 

The Outlaw’s Heart

By Amy Sandas

Publication Date 10/29/2019

 

Synopsis

 

Three runaway brides

Determined to escape their fates

Flee West to find freedom that can only be had

in a cowboy’s arms…

 

Desperate to escape an unhappy marriage, Boston socialite Evelyn Perkins flees west in hopes of losing herself to the dusty frontier. But when her train is boarded by outlaws, Evelyn is taken for ransom. Despite her terror, Evelyn fears being returned to her husband more. Refusing to cooperate, she becomes the responsibility of a man whose steady gaze threatens to pierce her brave façade and reach the wounded heart within.

Gabriel Sloan has his orders, but the haunting shadows in the pretty young woman’s eyes spark an intense protective instinct he can’t deny. Every look, every touch brings them closer together. He would do anything to protect her, but dangerous men are on their trail, and soon the two must face Evelyn’s darkest nightmare—or risk losing the unexpected joy they’ve found forever…

 

 

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Runaway Brides Series

The Gunslinger’s Vow (Book 1)

The Cowboy’s Honor (Book 2)

The Outlaw’s Heart (Book 3)

 

Praise for Amy Sandas

“[B]eautifully written romance that’s full of adventure—electric and absorbing.”—Kirkus for Lord of Lies

“Pure perfection.”—Romancing the Book for The Untouchable Earl

“Smart and Sexy.”—Booklist for Luck is No Lady

 

Excerpt

The tall, muscled man who’d stared at her across the fire was even more intimidating up close. He had expansive shoulders, thick arms barely contained in his pale-colored cotton shirt, and powerful legs encased in worn denim. In a graceful economy of muscle and movement, he folded his large body into a crouch, bringing his face even with hers.

And what a face it was. Strong and beautiful in a way she’d never seen before. He had a broad forehead and a long, straight nose. His jaw was sharply angled, as were his cheekbones, but his mouth was wide and his lips were soft and full.

But unsmiling.

Startled by his unexpected proximity, Evelyn flinched when he lifted his hand, realizing belatedly that he held a canteen and was offering it to her.

He did not react to her obvious fear. Instead, he remained still—his expression flat as his eyes held hers. “It’s water,” he said.

His voice matched the rest of him—richly complex and powerful. Something strange rolled through her at the sound. Like anticipation of a storm when you hear the rumble of distant thunder, but warmer.

Her lashes flickered as she glanced down at the canteen. She was unbelievably thirsty, but how could she trust anything offered by men who held her captive?

“If you want to survive, you’ll drink the water and eat the food,” he said quietly. The words were just between them. Still she did not reach for the canteen. “You want to live?” he asked, raising a brow.

Evelyn lifted her chin, regaining eye contact with the man, despite her uncertainty and fear. “Yes, I want to live,” she replied, surprising herself by the conviction in her words.

With a single, short nod, he extended the canteen a bit more. “Then drink.”

She lifted her hands to take the water, but because of the binding rope and her frozen fingers, she couldn’t grasp it.

Realizing her predicament, he gave a quiet grunt, then set the canteen on the ground and reached for her wrists. His large, warm hands surrounded her curled fists. He held them in silence for a moment—as if his only intention was to share his heat and offer comfort.

Though Evelyn felt the icy stiffness in her fingers dissipating, she resisted the instinctive desire to accept anything more. But she didn’t pull away.

And she wasn’t sure why.

“Don’t be scared,” he stated, still in a private tone. “You won’t be hurt.”

She searched his gaze in the darkness. She wanted to believe him, but she knew far too well how easily a man could hide wicked intent. “I am not so naive,” she replied, her voice barely more than a murmur of sound.

He did nothing to indicate he heard her reply as he released his hold on her hands and deftly loosened the ropes. He did not remove them altogether, but he allowed for a bit of freedom to use her hands more effectively. Then he picked up the canteen and offered it once again.

Evelyn managed to bring it to her lips this time and took a few long drinks. The water soothed her throat, but it also made her very aware of her empty stomach. Lowering the canteen, she offered it back to the man who remained patiently beside her. Watching her in silence.

His nearness was discomfiting. As were his size and his quiet manner.

She had no idea what to make of him. There was strength in him, something his muscled form attested to without effort, but he displayed not the slightest hint of temper or violence.

Of course, Matthew hadn’t either…until something set him off.

The outlaw took the canteen, never shifting his gaze from hers. Not even when the voices around the fire rose higher in discord.

“Shit,” the young one named Ramsey exclaimed, frustration clear in his tone. “We can still ransom the woman. I mean, look at her.”

Evelyn stiffened under the sudden flood of attention. The man crouched before her was still watching her carefully, and she feared she might have revealed her trepidation when his brows lowered over his gaze.

Did she really believe she was better off with these outlaws than in her husband’s hands?

Yes. Yes, she did. But that didn’t mean she was not in danger.

He stared at her for a moment longer before he rose to his feet and walked away without a word, leaving the canteen on the ground beside her. She couldn’t keep her gaze from following his powerful form as he melted into the darkness beyond the fire while the others continued discussing her fate.

She expected to release a breath of relief at being left alone again, but it didn’t come.

“With her fancy clothes and fine airs, there’s gotta be someone somewhere who’ll be willing to pay good money to get her back.”

Evelyn listened to the exchange with increasing tension. These men were right about one thing. Her husband would no doubt be willing to pay a small fortune to get her back. But there was nothing in the world that would convince her to tell them that.

 

***

Excerpted from The Outlaw’s Heart by Amy Sandas. © 2019 by Amy Sandas. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

About the Author

Amy Sandas’ love of romance began one summer when she stumbled across one of her mother’s Barbara Cartland books. Her affinity for writing began with sappy pre-teen poems and led to a Bachelor’s degree with an emphasis on Creative Writing from the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities. She lives with her husband and children in Wisconsin.

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Cowboy Firefighter Christmas Kiss

By Kim Redford

Publication Date 10/29/2019

 

Synopsis

 

The firefighting cowboys of Wildcat Bluffs take Christmas VERY seriously…

When Ivy Bryant arrives in town to run the historic honkytonk, she finds herself immersed in traditions that can’t be bucked. Luckily, cowboy firefighter Slade Steele has an idea to increase both the honkytonk’s income, and his own. It’s an offer Ivy couldn’t refuse, even if the passion between them wasn’t already reaching the boiling point.

Ivy and Slade’s love story is legendary—when you add in arsonist cattle rustlers, a runaway Angus bull, and a chili recipe that includes liquor AND chocolate, Wildcat Bluffs will be celebrating a cowboy Christmas unlike any other.

 

 

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Smokin’ Hot Cowboys

A Cowboy Firefighter for Christmas (Book 1)

Blazing Hot Cowboy (Book 2)

A Very Cowboy Christmas (Book 3)

Hot for a Cowboy (Book 4)

Cowboy Firefighter Christmas Kiss (Book 5)

 

Excerpt

As Ivy Bryant stood on her tiptoes with arms raised to toss decorative tinsel over deer antlers on the wall above her head, she heard the side door that led to the Wildcat Hall’s beer garden open and boots hit the floor with a determined stride.

“We’re closed!” she hollered, not bothering to look over her shoulder. “Come back next week.”

“You look like you could use a little help,” a man said.

She froze with her hands in the air as she felt the deep male voice with that melodic, slow cadence of a born-and-bred Texan strike her body and go deep, as if she’d been pierced by a flaming arrow. Talk about red-hot. She tried to shrug off the heat, but the chair shifted under her, making her sway.

“Easy does it,” he said. “Chairs have a way of pretending they’re bulls sometimes.”

“Bulls?” She didn’t know whether to laugh at the joke or appreciate he’d tried to make her feel better about almost toppling to the floor. Still and all, if she’d known she was going to have company, she’d have put on something besides formfitting yoga pants and top in hot pink with black trim. He was getting an eyeful.

“In my case, I always tried to pretend bulls were chairs.”

“How’d that work out?” She eyed the antlers, mind half on her next throw and half on the amusing man behind her.

“About like you can imagine.” He sighed, as if life had been unfair. “I finally had to give up bulls for chairs.”

“I bet the bulls were grateful.” She definitely wanted to see the face that went with the voice, but she wanted to finish her task more.

“Yeah…but I’ve broken a few chairs.”

“Maybe even one of the chairs here in the honkytonk.”

“Might be. Looks like your chair is keeping an uneasy peace with the floor

“That’s one way of putting it.” She rose to her tiptoes again, trying one last time to get the tinsel to disobey the laws of gravity.

“Let me help.” He spanned her waist with large hands and lifted her so she could easily reach the antlers.

She caught her breath in surprise at his strength—and his boldness. But she wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. She quickly twined the antlers with red tinsel until they looked festive for the holidays.

“Pretty,” he said.

She shivered in response. What had gotten into her? She should be struggling to get away. Instead, he was revving her up with his hot hands.

“Got any more tinsel to put up?” he asked in a deep voice gone husky. “I could hold you all day and into next week.”

“I suggest you put me down before you get into trouble.”

“If you’re the one handing out trouble, I’d wait in line to get it.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle because he was laying it on thick in that teasing way Texas men would do to get them out of problems with women. “Better put me down before your arms give out.”

“Not a chance. You’re light as a feather.”

She laughed harder. “Guess some women would fall for that one. What are you selling?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m here to help you, but you might consider it selling to you, too.” He gently set her down so her feet were steady on the floor, and then he stepped back.

She turned to face him—and felt her breath catch in her throat at the tall hunk of a cowboy. He wore pressed Wranglers that accentuated his long legs and narrow hips, with a wide leather belt sporting a huge rodeo belt buckle. His blue-and-white-striped, pearl-snap shirt tucked neatly into the waistband of his jeans emphasized the width of his shoulders and breadth of his chest. Blond haired. Blue eyed. Square jawed. Full lipped. He looked as if he’d been made to dazzle—and she was sud­denly and breathtakingly susceptible to every single one of his charms.

“Whatever you’re selling, I think I’m buying.” She spoke the words with a teasing lilt in her voice and a mischievous smile on her face. Still, she meant it. And he probably knew it because he was definitely heartbreaker material. How many women had already fallen to his charms and been left in the dust? She didn’t intend to be a notch on his belt, but if she’d known leaving the city for the country paid off so well in eye candy, she might’ve followed her sister sooner.

He chuckled at her words and held out his hand with a thick, muscular wrist that came from controlling thousand-pound-plus animals. “Slade Steele. If you haven’t heard of me, maybe you’re aware of the Chuckwagon Café and Steele Trap Ranch. Family businesses. I’m not just any guy off the street.”

“You’re definitely not just any guy.” She slipped her hand into his big one and felt him gently enclose her fingers. “Smart guy to throw a few compliments my way. Guess you’re more than a pretty face.” She tried to keep the teasing going, so their interaction stayed on a light note, but he was still holding her hand and she wasn’t pulling away and his eyes were heating up to a blazing blue fire.

“Nothing but the truth.”

“My sister Fern is the star.” She tried to tug her hand away, but he held on another long moment, nodding as if deciding something or conveying something or accepting something before finally letting go.

He grinned with a gleam in his eyes, revealing teeth white against the tan of his skin. “Yeah, she is that…but you make the earth move.”

“Oh my.” She returned his grin while fanning her face with one hand in that old Southern way, as if he was too hot to handle. “You really do want to sell me something, don’t you?”

“How am I doing?”

“Not bad.”

***

Excerpted from Cowboy Firefighter Christmas Kiss by Kim Redford. © 2019 by Kim Redford. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

About the Author

Kim is an acclaimed, bestselling author of Western romance novels. She grew up in Texas with cowboys, cowgirls, horses, cattle, and rodeos for inspiration. She divides her time between homes in Texas and Oklahoma, where she’s a rescue cat wrangler and horseback rider–when she takes a break from her keyboard.

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The Sisters Café

By Carolyn Brown

Publication Date 10/29/2019

 

Synopsis

 

Cathy Andrew’s biological clock has passed the ticking stage and is dangerously close to “blown plumb up.” Cathy wants it all: the husband, the baby, and a little house right there in Cadillac, Texas. She’s taken step one and gotten engaged to a reliable man, but she’s beginning to question their relationship. Does he really love her, or is she just arm candy for his political career? Why is her future mother-in-law getting increasingly hostile? Worse, why does he stand up for his mother when she says those awful things, instead of protecting her?

Cathy is full of self-doubt. Both of her options—going through with the wedding or breaking off her engagement—are beginning to look like a nightmare either way. She knows her friends will back her up, but she’s the one who has to make a decision that’s going to tear her apart.

(Previously published as The Blue-Ribbon Jalapeno Society Jubilee and What Happens in Texas.)

 

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Excerpt

If Prissy Parnell hadn’t married Buster Jones and left Cadillac, Texas, for Pasadena, California, Marty wouldn’t have gotten the speeding ticket. It was all Prissy’s damn fault that Marty was in such a hurry to get to the Blue- Ribbon Jalapeño Society monthly meeting that night, so Prissy ought to have to shell out the almost two hundred dollars for that ticket.

They were already passing around the crystal bowl to take up the voting ballots when Marty slung open the door to Violet Prescott’s sunroom and yelled, “Don’t count ’em without my vote.”

Twenty faces turned to look at her and not a one of them, not even her twin sister, Cathy, was smiling. Hell’s bells, who had done pissed on their cucumber sandwiches before she got there, anyway? A person didn’t drop dead from lack of punctuality, did they?

One wall of the sunroom was glass and looked out over lush green lawns and flower gardens. The other three were covered with shadow boxes housing the blue ribbons that the members had won at the Texas State Fair for their jalapeño pepper entries. More than forty shadow boxes all reminding the members of their history and their responsibility for the upcoming year. Bless Cathy’s heart for doing her part. She had a little garden of jalapeños on the east side of the lawn and nurtured them like children. The newest shadow box held ribbons that she’d earned for the club with her pepper jelly and picante. It was the soil, or maybe she told them bedtime stories, but she, like her mamma and grandma, grew the hottest jalapeños in the state.

“It appears that Martha has decided to grace us with her pres-ence once again when it is time to vote for someone to take our dear Prissy’s place in the Blue- Ribbon Jalapeño Society. We really should amend our charter to state that a member has to attend more than one meeting every two years. You could appreciate the fact that we did amend it once to include you in the membership with your sister, who, by the way, has a spotless attendance record,” Violet said.

Violet, the queen of the club, as most of the members called it, was up near eighty years old, built like SpongeBob SquarePants, and had stovepipe jet- black hair right out of the bottle. Few people had the balls or the nerve to cross her, and those who did were put on her shit list right under Martha, aka Marty, Andrews’ name, which was always on the top.

Back in the beginning of the club days, before Marty was even born, the mayor’s wife held the top position on the shit list. When they’d formed the Blue- Ribbon Jalapeño Society, Loretta Massey and Violet almost went to war over the name of the new club. Loretta insisted that it be called a society, and Violet wanted it to be called a club. Belonging to a club just sounded so much fancier than saying that one belonged to a society. Loretta won when the vote came in, but Violet called it a club anyway and that’s what stuck. Rumor had it that Violet was instrumental in getting the mayor ousted just so they’d have to leave Grayson County and Loretta would have to quit the club.

***

Excerpted from The Sisters Café by Carolyn Brown. © 2019 by Carolyn Brown. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

The Shop on Main Street

By Carolyn Brown

Publication Date 9/3/2019

 

Synopsis

Steel Magnolias meets The Ya Ya Sisterhood from New York Times bestseller Carolyn Brown

Carlene Lovelle, owner of Bless My Bloomers lingerie shop, has everything she’s ever wanted: a loving husband, a successful small town business, and great friends who never disappoint.

However, that all changes when Carlene finds a pair of sexy red panties in her husband’s briefcase.She knows exactly who those panties belong to—they were purchased from her very own shop.

Carlene is shocked. Her marriage is over, her life in a tailspin. She’s humiliated, upset and heartbroken, but it’s time to move on to the anger stage of grieving.

Carlene finds that she has all she needs as the ladies of this small town rally around and teach her that revenge is a dish best served red-hot.

(Previously published as The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off and A Heap of Texas Trouble.)

 

 

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Excerpt

Some men are just born stupid. Some don’t get infected until later in life, but they’ll all get a case of it sometime. It’s in their DNA and can’t be helped.

Carlene could testify with her right hand raised to God and the left on the Good Book that her husband, Lenny, had been born with the disease and it had worsened with the years. Proof was held between her thumb and forefinger like a dead rat in the form of a pair of bikini underwear. They damn sure didn’t belong to her. Hell’s bells, she couldn’t get one leg in those tiny little things. And they did not belong to Lenny, either. Even if he had become an overnight cross- dresser, his ass wouldn’t fit into that skimpy pair of under- britches, not even if he greased himself down with bacon drippings.

They were bright red with a sparkling sequin heart sewn on the triangular front. They’d come with a matching corset with garter straps and fishnet hose. Carlene recognized them, because she’d designed the outfit herself at her lingerie shop, Bless My Bloomers. They belonged to a petite, size- four brunette with big brown eyes who had giggled and pranced when she saw herself in the mirror wearing the getup.

Carlene jumped when her cell phone rang. The ring tone said it was Lenny, but she was still speechless, staring at the scrap of satin in her hand.

She dropped to her knees on the carpet and bent forward into a tight ball, her blond hair falling over her face. She felt as if someone had kicked her firmly in the gut and she couldn’t breathe. In a few seconds she managed a sitting position, wrapped her arms around her midsection, and sucked in air, but it burned her lungs. The noise that came forth from her chest sounded like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Tears would have washed some of the pain away but they wouldn’t flow from her burning green eyes. Finally, she got control of the dry heaves and managed to pull herself up out of the heap of despair. Dear God, what was she going to do?

The brunette who’d bought the red- satin outfit had told her that she and her sugar daddy were going to Vegas, and she wanted something that would make him so hot he’d be ready to buy her an engagement ring. What was her name? Bailey? Brenda? No, something French, because Carlene remembered asking her about it. Bridget…that was it! Bridget had been to Vegas with Lenny. On how many other trips had he taken a bimbo with him and how many of them had been ten or fifteen years younger— and a size four, for God’s sake?

In seconds, the phone rang again. She picked it up and said, “Hello.” Her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a well or, maybe, a sewer pipe.

“Carlene, I left my briefcase in my office. I slept on the sofa to keep from waking you, since I got in so late last night. Bring it to me before you go to work, and hurry. There’s a contract in it that I need and the people will be here to sign in ten minutes. I’ll hold them off with coffee until you get here.”

No good- bye.

No thank you, darlin’.

Not even a please.

Did he talk to Bridget like that?

Anger joined shock and pain as she dropped the panties back in the briefcase and then removed the little card she’d made for him to find that morning. She’d written that she was sorry she had fallen asleep before he got home and that she’d make it up to him that night with champagne and wild sex. She stood up, straightening to her full statuesque height of just a couple of inches under the six- foot mark. Damn that sorry bastard to hell. How could he do this to her?

***

Excerpted from The Shop on Main Street by Carolyn Brown. © 2019 by Carolyn Brown. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

 

 

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author and RITA Finalist, Carolyn Brown, has published more than seventy books.  These days she is concentrating on her two loves:  women’s fiction and contemporary cowboy romance. She and her husband, a retired English teacher, make their home in southern Oklahoma.

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Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

with stories by

Rosanne Bittner, Linda Broday, Margaret Brownley,

Amy Sandas, Leigh Greenwood, and Anna Schmidt

Genre: Romance Anthology / Western / Historical
Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca
Date of Publication: September 24, 2019
Number of Pages: 528

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Find your very own cowboy to keep warm these long, wintry nights as you cozy up with six sweeping, epic tales of heroism, passion, family and celebration from bestselling authors Leigh Greenwood, Rosanne Bittner, Linda Broday, Margaret Brownley, Anna Schmidt, and Amy Sandas.

Fall in Love with Christmas

Whether it’s a widower finding an unexpected new start, a former outlaw and his new wife welcoming their very own Christmas miracle, a long-lost lover returning just in time for a special holiday celebration, a second chance at love between two warring hearts given peace at last, an unlikely pair working together to bring joy to a small Texas town, or a cowboy and his dark-eyed beauty snowed in one unforgettable wintry eve…every Christmas with a cowboy is filled with light, laughter, and a forever kind of love.

 

 

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Praise for Longing for a Cowboy Christmas

“Greenwood is a master at westerns.” ―RT Book Reviews for Leigh Greenwood

“An emotional powerhouse! This classic historical western is destined for the “keeper” shelf.” ―RT Book Reviews, Top Pick for Rosanne Bittner

“Fun and sensual…great for fans of history, romance, and some good old Texas grit.” ―Kirkus for Linda Broday

“A great story by a wonderful author.”―#1 New York Times bestselling author DEBBIE MACOMBER for Margaret Brownley

“The perfect read.” ―RT Book Reviews for Anna Schmidt

“A genuine page-turner…electric and absorbing.” ―Kirkus for Amy Sandas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Margaret Brownley

AUTHOR OF A LOVE LETTER TO SANTA

Included in Longing for a Cowboy Christmas Anthology

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author MARGARET BROWNLEY has penned more than forty-five novels and novellas. She’s a two-time Romance Writers of American RITA^® finalist and has written for a TV soap. She is also a recipient of the Romantic Times Pioneer Award.

Her story, A Pony Express Christmas, appeared in the Old West Christmas Brides collection, and book three of her Haywire Brides series will be published May 2020.  Not bad for someone who flunked eighth-grade English.  Just don’t ask her to diagram a sentence.

 

About A Love Letter to Santa

 

She’s turned his life upside-down.  Could she really be the right woman for him?

Holly Sanders plans to make this the best Christmas for a town hard hit by the drought.   Okay, maybe she’s overdone the bows, baubles and garlands.  But is that a reason for the new blacksmith Tom Chandler to declare war on tinsel?

Tom doesn’t mean to play scrooge. But when his dog’s objections to the endless caroling gets them tossed out of his boarding house, he decides enough is enough.

The escalating battle takes an unexpected turn when he spots Holly struggling against the wind with an armload of presents and rushes to help her. Before he knows what happened, the green-eyed beauty recruits him to play Santa’s helper. After helping make one small boy’s Christmas wish come true, he’s utterly hooked, and suddenly has a wish of his own!   But convincing Holly he’s the right man for her would require a miracle—and maybe even a little help from Santa.

 

 

Excerpt From A Love Letter To Santa

 

Holly picked up a piece of chalk. “All right, boys and girls. Today, we’re going to write letters to the North Pole, and I want you to use your best handwriting.” She turned her back to the class and began writing on the blackboard. “This is the correct way to begin a letter.”

She wrote Dear Santa on the board. The name Santa had grown in popularity in recent years and had replaced St. Nick. As she wrote the last sample on the board, she heard whispers behind her.

She dropped the chalk in the ledge and turned to face her class. “Is there something you wish to share, Bobby?”

Bobby Baker sat back in his seat, arms folded, his expression too hard and cynical for an eight-year-old. “Santa ain’t gonna bring us any toys. He didn’t bring us anything last year, and he ain’t gonna bring anything this year.”

Since hurt feelings were more important than grammar, Holly ignored the urge to correct his speech. There would be time enough later for that. Instead, she folded her hands together and surveyed her class. Fifteen pairs of eyes turned to her. Little Alice Harper looked close to tears, and she wasn’t the only one.

Holly sighed. She’d hoped the English assignment would bring smiles, not tears. But then she could hardly blame Bobby for feeling the way he did.

“Last year was a bad year for everyone.” She spoke in a calm voice that she hoped would both soothe and encourage. “Even Santa had a bad year. But this year will be different. Santa has a lot more helpers, and he promises to do his best to pay a visit to each and every one of you on Christmas Eve.”

Her assurances brought a look of relief to some, but not Bobby. The poor boy had had too many disappointments in life to believe that things would be different. Bobby was the oldest of four. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father had his hands full keeping his business running and taking care of the children, the youngest being two.

“Any questions?” she asked.

Sandra Miller raised her hand and Holly called on her. “Can Santa bring me a baby brother or sister?”

Before Holly could answer, the minister’s grandson, Jimmy Johnson piped up. “No, silly. That’s God’s department.” Jimmy considered himself an authority on the subject.

Since Sandra seemed content, Holly let Jimmy’s answer stand and called on Willie Tustin. “You have a question, Willie?”

“Can I ask for two things?”

“Only if you’ve been very good,” Holly said. Since no one else raised a hand, she looked at her pendant watch. “You have twenty minutes to write your letters.”

As her students began writing, she wandered from desk to desk, looking over each child’s shoulder.

Some children asked after Santa’s health. Others made sure to describe themselves in such saintly terms, Holly couldn’t help but smile.

Jerry Maine wrote that he wanted a folding knife. This made Holly wonder whether the new blacksmith would be willing to donate one. Probably not, the old Scrooge.

Actually, the man wasn’t that old. Probably not a day over thirty. Too bad he had such an aversion to Christmas.

Shaking the thought away, she stopped at Bobby’s desk. His paper was still blank.

 

Order the first two Haywire Brides books now

And watch for book three in May 2020!

PS these are GREAT books!  I’ve read the first two and can’t wait for the 3rd one

 

 

 

 

Rosanne Bittner:

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads * Blog * Amazon

Linda Broday:

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads * Pinterest * BookBub * Amazon 

Margaret Brownley:

Website * Facebook  * Twitter * Goodreads * Amazon

Leigh Greenwood:

Website * Goodreads

Amy Sandas:

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads * Instagram * Amazon

Anna Schmidt:

Website * Pinterest * Goodreads * Twitter

 

 

————————————-

GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!

Grand Prize: Copies of: Longing for a Cowboy Christmas, The Cowboy’s Honor,

Logan’s Lady, Cowboy Charm School + $25 Amazon Gift Card

2nd Prize: Copies of:  LFACC, The Cowboy’s Honor, Logan’s Lady + $25 Amazon Gift Card

3rd Prize: Copies of: LFACC, Logan’s Lady

October 15-October 25, 2019

(U.S. Only)

 

 

 

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Visit the other blogs on this tour

 

10/15/19	Book Trailer	Carpe Diem Chronicles
10/15/19	BONUS STOP	Hall Ways Blog
10/16/19	Review	Book Fidelity
10/17/19	Author Spotlight	That’s What She’s Reading
10/18/19	Review	Chapter Break Book Blog
10/19/19	Author Spotlight	All the Ups and Downs
10/20/19	Author Spotlight	StoreyBook Reviews
10/21/19	Review	Reading by Moonlight
10/22/19	Author Spotlight	The Page Unbound
10/23/19	Review	Missus Gonzo
10/24/19	Review	Forgotten Winds

 

 

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