Hot For A Cowboy

By Kim Redford

Publication date: 2/26/19

Synopsis

Two flames burn way hotter than one…

Eden Rafferty has lost it all: big time career, high-profile marriage, and just about everything she owns. Coming back to Wildcat Bluff with her tail between her legs, the only person who can help her heal is cowboy firefighter Shane Taggart. But nothing is simple, and their high-octane past is just the beginning of their current problems…

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Excerpt

Shane didn’t dare touch Eden. He hardly dared speak. Everything that meant anything to him hung on his next few words. He was better with animals than he was with people. Still, he’d do his best. He knelt in front of her and drew her hands away from her face. “Look at me, Eden.”

“No.” She shook her head, causing her hair to fly out then back down. “I want to go home.”

“You are home. The Rocky T has always been your home.”

“No. It’s your home.”

“You’re wrong.”

She finally glanced up at him, but only to give him a baleful glare.

“It’s our home.”

“The lease—”

“I told you I’d renew it.” He abruptly stood up. “But that won’t do now, will it?”

“You can’t imagine how badly I wanted to get home, where nobody could take away what was mine and where I could feel secure again.”

“So you wouldn’t be vulnerable to the likes of Tanner.”

“I guess I’ve been running so hard since I got here, trying so hard to get back what I’d lost, that I didn’t stop to think about the reality of my situation. Maybe I should thank Graham for making me see the light of day.”

Shane felt sick at heart. He was losing her before his very eyes. And he didn’t know how to stop his loss or her pain.

She glanced around the room. “I adore this room, this house. It’s been a wonderful visit to happier days. Thank you.”

If he didn’t do something drastic, she was going to leave and she wouldn’t be coming back. She’d talk herself not only out of his life but out of Wildcat Bluff, too. He couldn’t let her do it. He knew her heart. He’d always known it. He’d just grown up too much to remember—or maybe, when she’d left, it’d been too painful to hang on to all the details of that night up on Lovers Leap.

“It’s not just a visit. You’ve come to stay.”

“I told you—”

“Do you remember the last thing you promised me on Lovers Leap?”

She abruptly stood up, eyes wide in wonder.

“Do you remember your promise?”

She turned away, paced across the room, and stood with her back to him.

“I waited.” He walked closer to her.

“We were young. We didn’t mean—”

“I promised I’d wait.”

“That’s why you didn’t marry?” She whirled around, searching every feature of his face with her wide blue eyes.

“I’ve had your ring for years.”

“My ring?”

“You showed me one you liked in a magazine.”

She put a hand over her mouth, blinking back tears.

He didn’t let her emotions stop or slow him. He had to be ruthless—for both of them. “We could go to Vegas, but I bet Wildcat Bluff would like to see a big, fancy wedding. Summer ought to be about right.”

“Wedding?” She stepped back, keeping her hand over her mouth as if to retain words or emotions.

“That’s what you promised me.”

“When I got back?”

“You told me you loved me and you’d be back to marry me.”

“I’m not comfortable with the L word or marriage anymore.”

“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I will always love you.” He reached up and gently brushed a tear from her cheek. “I know you love me, too.”

She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and then looked back at him. “I tried not to love you. It hurt too much being separated from you. I figured you’d moved on with life. I’ve tried not to love you since I got back.”

“Didn’t work, did it?” He felt a small frisson of hope, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“No.” She straightened her shoulders and stood taller. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” He felt his hope plummet again.

“If I married you, we’d both always wonder if I did it just so I’d have a home on the Rocky T, someplace where I’d feel safe and secure, someplace where I could build KWCB without worrying about losing it.”

“Stop right there. We’ve always loved each other. Marriage has nothing to do with what happened to you in LA. Once you get back on your feet, you won’t feel vulnerable anymore.”

She reached up and stroked his face with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love you, but I’m leaving you.”

He simply pulled her against his chest, cradling her like he’d done when they were young and she’d stubbed her toe or fallen out of a tree. If she was hurting, he was hurting. Right now, they were both hurting.

She eased back from him and brushed her tears away. “I need to go home.”

“You can’t go back to Clem’s place. It’s not safe.”

“But I want—”

“You know it’s not safe.” He put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against him. “You’ll stay here and get a good night’s sleep. Everything will look better after you’re rested in the morning.”

“I guess you’re right. It’s not safe. But I’ll sleep here in my room.”

“That bed’s too small for me.”

“I’ll sleep alone.”

“We’ll sleep in my room.” He guided her in that direction. “If I can’t watch over you to make sure you’re safe, I won’t sleep a wink.”

She gave a little huff, frowning. “But I’m not sure—”

“And if we both can’t get to sleep, we can make wedding plans,” he said with a chuckle to ease the tension, but he meant every word of it.

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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Tumble
Adriana Locke
Release Date: February 26, 2019
Publisher: Montlake Romance

Synopsis

After being burned by her dream job in New York City, sports journalist Neely Kimber suddenly finds herself jobless and paying a long-overdue visit to her hometown in Tennessee. Her plan? Relax, reset, and head back up the corporate ladder. There’s just one unexpected step. Neely’s back in Dogwood Lane for barely a day when she sees the man she ran from nine years ago: the bad boy next door who was her first kiss, her first love, and her first heartbreak.
Devoted single dad Dane Madden knows he hurt Neely in the worst way. He’s got a lot to make up for. And as passionate as their reconnection is, it’s a lot to hope for. Having her back in his arms feels so right. But falling in love all over again with a woman who wants to live a world away is bound to go so wrong.

What’s it going to take for Neely to give him—and Dogwood Lane—just one more chance?

Guest Post: Spend a Morning with Dane Madden, The Hero of TUMBLE

I looked in the mirror this morning to shave. As I lifted the razor to my cheek, I saw a little scar that sits just to the side of my right eye. It’s not something most people would ever notice. Hell, I don’t notice it every day. But the light caught it just right and suddenly it was all I could see.

I’m Dane Madden, the carpenter, not Dane Madden the philosopher, so why I stood there for a good five minutes remembering the night I got that scar is beyond me. But I did. I thought about how the barbed wire caught my skin and ripped the flesh and how Neely Kimber’s face filled with so much concern I was kind of glad I was bleeding.

She and I were inseparable back then. From the moment she opened the door and our eyes locked, there was a bond between us that grew stronger. We went from finding ways to bump into each other, to hanging out with a group of friends, to dating in the sincerest way. She wasn’t just a girl. Neely wasn’t a pretty face I wanted on my arm, or in my bed as things evolved, like many of the guys I knew back then labeled their girlfriends. She was more than that to me—my best friend. My confidant when things with Dad went sour. My trusty right hand that bailed my ass out of more trouble than I was worth.

The night my eye was cut, she remembered to go back and get my hat so it wouldn’t be found the next day. Had she not done picked up the evidence, the farmer whose cows my friends and I had been trying to tip (terrible idea, if you’re wondering) would’ve been able to track the mess in his field to me and my friends. Dogwood Lane is a small town. Word gets around easy enough without trying.

Then there was the night my brother Matt, our friend Penn, and I went corning around Halloween. That’s another terrible idea, if you’re wondering, and involves throwing shucked corn at cars passing by. Let’s just say a certain driver in an oversized pick-up truck didn’t appreciate the sentiment. After being chased on foot to the outskirts of town, we had to hide in a chicken coop until Neely could come get us.

Despite my antics, she was there. She might’ve laughed at me or pointed out how stupid we were, but she took my worst right along with my best.

Our lives were entwined by shenanigans, stories, and so much love. Damn, I loved her. I didn’t know where she stopped and I started. I didn’t want to know. She was the best thing in my life. She made me better. And that was the ruination of us because I couldn’t bear to think I would make her life worse.

Seeing her again after all these years lit a fire inside me that I didn’t think was possible. I haven’t felt this burn since the day I walked off her porch having broken her heart. I want to talk to her, touch her, hold her and I can’t do any of it. Even though so much of our lives were built together, our memories from the easiest time of our lives shared, we aren’t those people anymore.

And it’s all my fault.

***

Excerpt

Splat!

The sound of the hammer crushing my thumb—swung with more force than was necessary, to boot—ricochets across the front lawn. The tool falls from my hand, striking against the sawhorse, and flips into the soft grass with a gentle thud.

“Son of a…!” My hand shakes, the top of my thumb threatening to explode. I tilt my head to the sky and try to find some peace in the clouds.

I come up empty. “Matt!” I call to my younger brother. “I’m taking ten.”

He nods from halfway up the ladder leaned against the side of the house.

Wrapping my good hand around my thumb, I head toward my truck. Sounds of construction ring out behind me. It’s usually music to my ears, the lifeblood of the Madden name. But each cut of a saw blade, buzz of a power drill, and swing of a hammer feels like a distraction this morning. I have a throbbing thumb to show for it.

Beads of sweat cluster along my forehead. I remove my hat with my good hand and run the back of my forearm along my brow.

“Damn it.” Everything feels sticky. Mildly irritating. And the progress on the project that usually energizes me has failed me epically this morning. I just don’t want to be here. Not that I have a better place to be. Quite frankly, I have a lot of places I shouldn’t be, and with Neely, or thinking about Neely, is one of them.

I would’ve recognized her anywhere. Same gray eyes that glimmer like she’s about to tell you a secret. Full lips that spread into a smile so infectious you can’t help but feel your own mouth following suit. The hint of floral perfume, the golden hair that may as well be silk, and the aura about her that’s just as strong as the day she left Dogwood Lane and me—it’s all the same. It’s like time forgot to age her. She somehow has become more beautiful, sexier, stronger.

The world hates me. I’ve postulated this for a long time, but it’s obvious today.

The tailgate of my truck lowers. Scooping a handful of ice from the cooler in the bed into a bandanna, I wrap it around my injured digit. The relief lasts only a few moments.

“What are you doing down here?” Penn rests his forearms over the side of the truck, the tattoos carved in his skin like mini masterpieces on full display. He eyes my makeshift bandage. “What happened to you?”

“Hammer,” I groan, adjusting the ice.

“That’s interesting.”

“How you figure?”

“Never knew you to hit yourself with a hammer before. I find that interesting.”

“If that’s interesting, you need a hobby. Or you could work like I’m paying you to do . . .”

“I have a hobby, thank you, and you should’ve seen her last night,” he says, smacking his lips together. “Lord Almighty, she’s a—”

“Penn.”

“Yeah?”

The tip of my finger sticks out of the bandanna. It’s bright red and hot to the touch despite the ice packed around it. “All your escapades really sound the same at this point.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” He cups his hand to his ear. “I thought so. Not my fault you’re in a dry spell.”

Leaning against the truck, I look at him. “Jealousy isn’t how I’d describe it. But if that makes ya feel good, go for it.”

“My hobby makes me feel good.” He moves his lips around, like he’s fighting the next words trying to pop out. He does this when he knows he shouldn’t say something but can’t quite convince himself not to. “From the looks of you, I’d say you’re more than jealous. I’d say you’re . . . tempted.”

My tongue presses on the roof of my mouth. “Tempted to what?”

He leans against the truck, too, the gold St. Christopher’s medal he’s worn since elementary school clamoring against the side. The corners of his lips nearly touch the corners of his eyes. He knows.

“Word travels fast, huh?” I say, prodding around to see if my guess is right.

He slow blinks. Twice.

“What?” I ask.

“That’s all you have to say about Neely being back in town? ‘Word travels fast.’ What’s wrong with you?”

We don’t have time for that conversation.

I sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I’d love to have been a fly on the wall for that little run-in.” Penn snickers. “Did you stutter around like I imagine? Or did you not manage to say an entire sentence?”

Working my jaw back and forth, I point a finger his way. “You better stop while you’re ahead.”

He reads me correctly, and his animation drops a notch. “Really, though. How’d it go? But before you answer that, let me toss out there that I heard sparks were flying all over the diner so hot Claire had to call the fire department.”

I shake my head. “Shut up.”

“Just telling you what I heard.”

“The firemen were there to order food, you idiot.”

He thinks he’s onto something. There’s a glee in his face that means only one thing: it’s going to be a long day around here.

“So, what happened?” he asks, resting his arms over the truck bed.

“You know, sometimes I think you should’ve been a girl with all the gossiping you do.”

“This isn’t gossip,” he contends. “This is Neely-freaking-Kimber, man. Every memory I have of my entire adolescence has her in it. She bailed me out of jail when I was too scared to call my dad and you and Matt were passed out on moonshine. Remember that?”

My chuckle is so hard, it causes my thumb to throb. “I forgot about that. She was pissed.”

“Neely came through, though. God, I miss her.”

Those last words echo through my mind.

I have shoved her out of my head for the last few years. Took over Dad’s business, took care of my business. Trudged forward without her because that was the only choice I had. I hardly even think about her anymore unless someone brings her up in conversation.

So why do I itch to crawl into the truck and hunt her down?

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys dreamed up by other authors, she decided to create her own. She is the author of Tumble, the first novel in her Dogwood Lane series; the Exception series; the Gibson Brothers series; and the Landry Family series.

She resides in the Midwest with her husband, her sons, two dogs, two cats, and a bird. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather’s nice, and there’s always a piece of candy in her pocket. Besides cinnamon gummy bears, boxing, and random quotes, her next favorite thing is chatting with readers. She’d love to hear from you!

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Deliverance from Stupidparty Land by Patrick M. Andendall
Adult Nonfiction, 428 pages
Genre: Political
Publisher Fact Over Fiction Publishing
Release date: October 2018

Synopsis

How did the US voluntarily arrive at the doorstep of its own demise? is homemade manmade Handmaid’s Tale, where falsehoods and transparently mean-spirited claptrap trump facts and common decency–subverting naïve yet positive innocence into a malignant supremacist and myopic nationalistic agenda that is now in aming the planet’s already rising temperature of self-harm? All this to cloak the true aspirations of the identi ed malevolent Oligarchs, who no longer lie quietly waiting.

The first book in this trilogy (Math v. Myth) exposed the blatant myths that now overshadow reality. The second book (Who is Jeb!!!) uncovered the horrible histories of the Bush dynasty–revealing how America, beginning with the JFK assassination, began its descent from being a force for good, to now having zero moral authority. Allies hold us in contempt; enemies nurture us.

We must understand the problem in order to visualize and actualize the solution. Since I fear the solution is unlikely to be enacted organically, we must prepare to seek a ballot-box-inspired intervention from a higher power–we must seek deliverance from our own collective folly, not from the heavens but from our own homegrown saviors, whom we created in the image of own inescapable delusions.

Excerpt from Chapter 4: Fake This + Fake That = Fake Americans

Fake Patriots Cannot Recognize Real News

Is it patriotic to read the above and believe it is real news, that CBS, NBC, ABC, CNN, BBC, and NPR spell out fake news? Is it patriotic to believe in junk, to believe that Obama was born in Kenya? Is ignorance patriotic? Is it patriotic to attack the Fourth Estate, the FBI, the CIA? Is it patriotic to encourage the destruction of the integrity of the presidency, to overlook the use of the power of the White House to promote Trump’s business interests, to turn a blind eye while the White House intimidates political opponents?

Is it patriotic to sit idly by and watch the White House pardon people in order to undermine efforts to investigate crimes by the presidential team? For the President to pardon himself? Would a patriot applaud collusion, encourage the obstruction of justice, rejoice at the promotion of fear? Is it patriotic to absorb and believe the falsehoods about immigrants, give the thumbs up to the proliferation of pollution, police violence, gun violence; mock women’s rights, fuel the destruction of healthcare plans?

Is it patriotic to support policies that isolate America, make America a rogue nation; to succor and support Russian imperialism, and support policies that encourage countries across the world to look toward China for stable business relationships? Strategic alliances? Is it patriotic to abandon U.S. territories such as Puerto Rico in time of distress, to reportedly insult all African nations; insult all Muslim nations, insult Mexico, Haiti, Germany, France, and China—while fawning over Putin, over Netanyahu?

Insulting the world— is that good business? Does that push nations to choose Boeing over Airbus, or tourists to visit New York rather than Paris? Consumers across the world, if they despise America whilst receiving aid from China— will those consumers be looking at GM trucks or at Toyota trucks first? If China (also looking to restore aspects from its horrendous histories) helps a country with its infrastructure, rather than the assistance coming from ever-diminishing America, who will that country look to first for trade or side with at the UN during an international crisis, or share intelligence with?

This slippage has already begun; it began with Trump’s businesses— now busily removing the Trump name from public view, Trump’s brand-new golf courses in Scotland being shunned. Next, it will be America’s brand, its flag; its interests will all have to be hidden. Nobody wants to lend a hand to a bad person, a bad country, a rogue country that shows zero respect for the wishes or welfare of much of the rest of the world’s inhabitants.

Is that being a patriot, to support such obscenities, to make America a laughing stock, a country striving for zero integrity? Of course that is not what any patriot wants; only fake patriots would be so willing to destroy the foundations of their country.

It is the fake patriots who are the traitors; America would be far better off building a wall round those guys and pushing them off into the middle of the Pacific…These very same fake patriots, these real traitors—this segment is the easiest to manipulate. All one has to do is press the fear button—that, by definition protrudes from every conservative brain. Now that the geeks have the big data, their work can be used for good or bad—easy to unleash on a public with no built-in immunity. Easy to figure out how to virtually push that protrusion, cultivate that ignorance, incite that fear.

About the Author

Patrick Andendall has always had an interest in politics and, being multicultural, he views issues from a more international perspective. In 2004, five days before the election, he flew to Cleveland and pitched in to help with the political process. What he discovered was the dissolution of the American Dream, which he writes about in his book, Stupidparty.

Educated at English boarding schools from the age of seven, Andendall went on to graduate from Lancing College. He started by sometimes working three jobs at once, trainee Underwriter/claim broker at Lloyd’s of London, his own one man cleaning Company (cleaning the very offices of a Reinsurance Company he would transact business at) plus doing seasonal work on various farms.

Having made some windfall profits by borrowing money in order to be a “Stag” to take advantage of opportunities created by Margaret Thatcher’s denationalization policies of the mid 1980s, Andendall evolved into an entrepreneur with a core specialty in Reinsurance in London and New York where he looks for patterns in numbers. Self-employed in a field not normally conducive to self-employment, he is able remain in control, juggle different jobs, travel and pursue his various interests.

Ending up in New York via romance in the African bush, Andendall now lives on Long Island with his wife, two children, and two dogs.

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Prizes: Win a copy of Deliverance From Stupidparty Land by Patrick M. Andendall. One winner will also get a $50 Amazon GC (open to USA only / 7 winners total)

(ends March 22, 2019)

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Title: PASSENGERS
Author: Elizabeth Collums
Publisher: Amite River Press
Pages: 309
Genre: Historical Fiction/Family Drama

Synopsis

During the Great Irish Famine the Ewing family made their way from their rural cottage to the village of Highland Way. Annie, the oldest daughter was left to care for her mother and younger sister after her father left to find work in Dublin.

A mysterious letter arrives from America forcing Annie, Lily, and Katy into a harrowing journey. The hand written note not only will expose deep secrets, it will also challenge the strength and fortitude of the Ewing women, leading each member into their own soul searching voyage.

Follow this extraordinary passage that begins in Ireland and leads each woman to uncover their own courage and truths in this new world.

 

Guest Post

What I wanted to be when I grew up was never addressed in my house.  My Dad was gone a lot as a truck driver trying to scratch out a living for us so my mom was my only companion. I called myself an unaccompanied minor long before that phrase was popular.  Because you see, physically she was in the house, but mentally she was in her own world.  Maybe she still had an emotional hangover from The Great Depression that she often dwelled on or it could have been the dark cloud of the Vietnam War that overshadowed any thought of dreams or celebrations in our home.  My mom worried for years that my brother would be drafted and then she stayed in a deep depression when he was and then she didn’t want to let him go when he came home alive and well.  She was so consumed with bitterness of the past and worry of the future she didn’t make room for living her life much less mine.

So, I made every feeble attempt behind my closed bedroom door to reach for my own stars with my dog, Pete, and every stuffed or plastic creature I owned.  Public speaking? No problem.  I had spent countless hours practicing my very own interview with Johnny Carson in front of my dresser mirror. Sewing? No problem. I taught myself how to sew by making clothes for my dolls.  Writing? Again no problem.  Whatever the teachers assigned, I did double what they asked for.  My room was my sanctuary. However, nothing my parents did or didn’t do could keep me from putting my best foot forward to get out and on my way.

I think so often how sad for my mom that she spent most of her life looking down and missed out on the journey. That’s what life is. One event after another.  I’ve had more than my share of making stupid decisions, as well as experiencing personal triumphs.  I’ve been married, had children, grandchildren, widowed and emptied nested.  I’ve worked at jobs ranging from cleaning houses to postal work.  And it’s been the most colorful, aggravating, heartbreaking, joyous, challenging, earth shaking, blessed life I could’ve ever imagined. And I have never been alone. God always sent the right person at the right time, as long as I was looking up.

My bucket list is long. Publish my book, travel to Ireland, United Kingdom, see penguins and pandas up close and personal, learn how to ride a horse, master a pottery wheel…..and the list goes on and on.  I don’t ever want to forget to dream, learn, explore and yes, I still play make believe.  Every time I look in the mirror, I still see that little girl from the reflection of this sixty-one year old, young woman.

Excerpt

As Annie was trying her best to capture and absorb all these extraordinary surroundings so she could accurately relay every detail to her daddy one day her ears picked up the sound of humming. Annie had never heard her mama sing much less hum but she knew it was a woman’s voice. Her visual recording would have to wait as she slowly pulled her arm out from underneath Lily’s head, got to her feet and followed the sound out of the big room they had spent the night in and down the long hallway. The woman’s voice was now on the other side of last door on the end. All her muscles tightened as her feet froze to the floor. She had dreams like this before. When she needed to run, when she was being chased and couldn’t see who was chasing her, but she still knew she needed to move. Her breathes became shallow and she could feel her heart pounding like her senses were telling her there was danger on the other side. “Oh God, please help me, I’m so tired, I’m scared, and this can’t be my fault. Lily and I need somebody. We need our mama”….then suddenly some invisible strength, not of her own making, lifted her hand as she pushed the hinged door open. There in the middle of this huge stark white kitchen was her mama swirling around. Katy had a long white apron tied to her waist with the bottom lifted like it was a ball gown and she was making her own music while dancing to a waltz. Annie saw her mama’s burn scarred face like she had never seen it before. She was smiling and having a whispered conversation with her imaginary dance partner. She had the most peaceful and contented expression that Annie had ever seen before. Annie was certain that this was somehow a miracle in the making. God had finally heard her prayers and her mama had been transformed.

About the Author

Ann C. Purvis, chose to publish her first novel under her birth name, Elizabeth Collums; this is her true roots and where she has drawn from many of the experiences she wrote about. She lives in Denham Springs, Louisiana and enjoys DIY projects. She has two daughters, a stepdaughter, son-in-law, two amazing granddaughters, and her dog Daisy.

 

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Bad Influence

By Stefanie London

Publication date: 2/26/19

Synopsis

He’s the bad bachelor who inspired it all…

Annie Maxwell had her whole life figured out…until her fiancé left her when his career took off. If that wasn’t bad enough, every society blog posted pictures of him escorting a woman wearing her engagement ring. To help the women of New York avoid guys like her ex, Annie created the Bad Bachelors app. But try as she might, Annie just can’t forget him…

For bank executive Joe Preston, his greatest mistake was leaving the love of his life when she needed him most. Now, all he wants is to make things right—and she won’t have him. But when Annie’s safety is threatened by a hacker determined to bring down her app, Joe is the only one she can turn to. He’ll have to lay himself on the line to prove to Annie that he’s a changed man. But will their hard-won bond survive the revelation that Annie is the one pulling the strings behind Bad Bachelors?

Bad Bachelors Series

Bad Bachelor (Book 1)

Bad Reputation (Book 2)

Bad Influence (Book 3)

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Excerpt

“You’re not thinking about seeing him again, are you?” Darcy shoved the sleeve of her sweater up, exposing her elaborate tattoos. “Please tell me you’re not in self-destruct mode.”

“I’m not,” Annie said, unsure which of the two things she was actually addressing.

She should be repulsed by the thought of having Joseph back in her life. Spitting in anger that he’d waltzed back into Manhattan and was hanging around “their place” without warning her. But the fact was, Friday night had shifted something between them. He’d come to her rescue when she’d needed him.

This time. Let’s not forget that his presence and attention are conditional.

Darcy pulled on a pair of pink rubber gloves and wrenched Annie’s mother’s old, squeaky taps. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not thinking about seeing him again.”

The answer should have been an immediate absolutely not, but the words didn’t spring to Annie’s lips. “Maybe it’ll give me some closure.”

“It’s been three years. What other information could change the way you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“The answer is none. Nothing will change what happened.” She squirted detergent into the basin and Annie watched the luminescent bubbles multiply under the hot water. “Think about the reasons why he might want to talk to you. Stay the hell away. Trust me, your sanity will thank you.”

Of course, she knew Darcy was right. When Joseph had walked out, she’d fallen to pieces. Her friends had helped put her back together. They’d crashed at her place that first night—Darcy and Remi sleeping on the cramped pullout sofa bed—to make sure she got up the next morning and ate a proper breakfast. They’d stood by her while she called her boss and asked for a few days off to deal with it. They’d plied her with wine and pizza and cheesy movies.

They’d gone to the hospital with her after her mother’s mastectomy, held her hand, and promised her that everything would be okay. Things he should have done.

“What are you two gossiping about?” Her mother appeared in the doorway, a knowing smile on her lips. Only she wouldn’t be smiling if she actually knew that their “boy talk” was about he who should not be named.

Darcy shot Annie a look. “Your daughter is harassing me about my charity run.”

Connie snorted. “That sounds like her.”

“Ma! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Her mother walked over and wrapped her arms around her, her head barely coming up to Annie’s chin. She smelled like lemon and sweet basil and perfume. Like always. It struck Annie, even now, that her mother’s shape was so permanently changed. She’d decided not to have reconstructive surgery after the double mastectomy—one to address the cancer and one as a preventive measure—having always hated her huge bust. But they’d never actually talked about it. And Annie hadn’t wanted to pressure her mother when she knew it was still a painful topic.

Her mother and Sal had always been determined to “protect” their kids from anything painful in life, including their health problems. At the time, they’d hid Connie’s diagnosis until it was decided she needed to have surgery. Had Annie known about her mother’s situation earlier, she might never have agreed to go to Singapore. Perhaps with that on the table from the get-go, things might have turned out differently between Annie and Joseph.

But it hadn’t, and knowing her parents were inclined to harbor such big secrets had made Annie jittery. And untrusting.

Wow, and the hypocrite of the year award goes to…?

“You know I love you, topolina. But you are a giant pain in the ass sometimes.” Connie’s loud laugh ricocheted off the worn linoleum and weathered walls.

“Charming,” Annie replied, extracting herself from her mother’s embrace and heading behind the breakfast bar to gather more dishes. “Let me know when we want to do dessert, and I’ll get some coffee going.”

“Soon. The girls have gone for a walk and the boys are in the garage.” She attempted to muscle her way into the kitchen to help, but both women waved her away.

Connie rested against the breakfast bar. Her once-chocolate-brown hair was now peppered with gray. The lines had deepened around her eyes, which still had a mischievous twinkle, and she wore her signature bright-pink lipstick.

To Annie, she would always be the most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. And the bravest.

“So,” Connie said. Annie’s ears pricked up at her tone. It was the I’ve heard something interesting tone. “When were you going to tell me Joseph is back in town?”

Darcy made a choking sound and Annie froze, her back to her mother as she dried one of the white ceramic platters. “Huh?”

“I ran into Zia Mariella at Costco, who said she’d had lunch with Anna-Maria from down the street, and she had spoken with Petra—Petra who’s married to Tony—whose grandson works for one of the banks, and he read an article saying Joseph is now the chief something-or-other.”

Annie blinked as her brain took the necessary time to catch up with her mother’s story. “Wait, which Petra?”

Connie ignored her question and narrowed her eyes. “Did you know?”

Darcy looked like she was about to back out of the kitchen, so Annie grabbed her wrist, shooting her a Don’t you dare leave me look. Crap. What was she supposed to do now? She never lied to her parents. Ever.

“Uhhh…”

“You did know.” Connie’s lips flattened into a line so thin that almost all of the pink lipstick disappeared. “How could you not tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to know, to be honest.” Annie tucked her hair behind her ear. Shit. This was not a time for her tells. When it came to dealing with her mother’s warpath, the mantra needed to be: Show no weakness!

“Well, I do.” Connie planted her hands on her hips. “So now I can tell him to leave again. He’s not welcome in this city.”

Her mother would definitely freak the hell out if she knew he’d been in Annie’s apartment.

“Thanks, Mayor Mama. I’ll be sure to revoke his Connie visa.” She rolled her eyes.

About the Author

Stefanie London is the USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romances with humor, heat, and heart. Originally from Melbourne, Australia, Stefanie now lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband. She loves to read, collect lipsticks, watch zombie movies and drink coffee. Her bestselling book, Pretend It’s Love, was a 2016 Romantic Book of the Year finalist with the Romance Writers of Australia.  

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads * Instagram * YouTube * Pinterest

And, get the latest dirt on Bad Bachelor #1 at the site badbachelors.weebly.com!  

Giveaway

5 copies of Bad Bachelor

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Synopsis

“Sharon Sala is a consummate storyteller.”—DEBBIE MACOMBER, #1 NYT Bestselling Author for A Piece of My Heart

Every storm they’ve weathered…has led them to each other

Dan Amos lost his wife and son years ago, when they inadvertently got in the way of a death threat meant for him. He’s never had eyes for anyone since, and he doesn’t want to. But fellow Blessings resident Alice Conroy sparks something inside him…

Newly widowed, Alice was disillusioned by marriage and isn’t looking to fall in love anytime soon. Then a tropical storm blazes a path straight for the Georgia coast, and as the town prepares for the worst, Dan opens his heart and his home. The tempest is raging, but Alice and Dan are learning to find shelter…in each other.

Review

I love this series – it is a sweet romance series that touches my heart each time I read one of the books. This book focused on newcomer Dan Amos and Alice Conroy. Both have had tragedy in their lives but that made their union even that much sweeter.

Blessings GA is in for a rough ride as a hurricane is on its way and the town is right in its the path. While no one is safe from this national disaster it was nice to see how the citizens of this town come together to help each other when all was said and done. There are several that discovered that the path they were on was going to lead to their downfall and righted their path once they realized they did not like who they were becoming.

While the story focused on Dan and Alice, there was no shortage of other characters you will remember from the other books.

Usually, I have an idea of who the next book might be about but I have no idea who to expect the focus to be on in the next installment. Maybe Lovey, the owner of Granny’s diner. She ran into some problems in this book from the hurricane but thankfully has the whole town plus Ruby and Peanut to help her out.

We give this 5 paws up and suggest starting with the first book so that you can follow the personal storylines of the various characters.

Excerpt

School was officially out for the day, and parents were standing outside their cars, making sure they were in plain sight today so that their children would not be afraid.

Dan was on his way back to his truck when Alice got out. She waved at him, then stood out on the sidewalk so Patty could see her. She would be looking for their car, not Dan Amos’s truck.

Dan jogged over to where she was standing and tossed his crowbar into the truck bed.

“You were amazing,” Alice said. “I was afraid you would get hurt, too.”

He grinned. “It appears I haven’t lost my roping skills.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “I thought you were a lawyer before you came here.”

“I was once, but I grew up on a ranch in Texas. My parents still live on it, but both of my brothers run it now. When we were kids, we all worked the ranch,” he said.

“So I guess you ride horses, too?” she said.

Grinning, Dan pointed to his boots and belt buckle. “Yes, ma’am. This stuff’s not for show.”

Alice laughed and then heard the bell ring and turned toward the school. Within moments, kids began emerging through the front doors. “Here they come,” she said.

Dan was still trying to get past how her laugh made him feel when the children began coming outside. To his surprise, there was actually a kind of order to their exit. Teachers walked with part of the students toward buses, while other teachers walked with the in-­town riders. He was wondering who would be driving the injured driver’s bus when he saw a man come jogging out behind some of the kids and head that way.

“That’s the PE coach. I’ll bet he’s going to be the substitute driver,” Alice said, and then pointed. “There’s Patty! Oh…she doesn’t see my car.”

“We’ll fix that,” Dan said, and once again, he picked Alice up by the waist and swung her up and into the truck bed. Now she was heads above everyone. “Wave! She’ll see you,” Dan said.

Alice’s heart was hammering as she turned and waved, and then kept on waving until suddenly Patty saw her, smiled, and waved back.

“She saw you, right?” Dan asked.

“Yes, she did! Thank you so much.”

“Ready to get down?” he asked.

She nodded.

This time, he let the tailgate down and then held out his arms. She sat down on the tailgate, then he lifted her off and set her on her feet.

“We should have driven my car. Then you wouldn’t have to be helping me up and helping me down,” she said.

“What’s the fun in that?” he asked, grinning as he set her back into his front seat.

She was a bit taken aback by the teasing, then laughed. Moments later, they began moving up in line along with everyone else. Within a couple of minutes, they were at the loading zone. Dan jumped out and opened the back door of his truck.

“One more Conroy girl to load up, and then we’re good to go,” he said as Patty came running.

As soon as she was buckled in the back seat, she started talking.

“Mama, a girl named Shirley threw up on teacher’s shoes at lunch. I got a happy face on my workbook page and skinned my knee at recess! Did you know there were mean dogs at our school? Will they come back? I might be a’scairt tomorrow.”

Dan was grinning. “Does she ever stop to take a breath?”

“Rarely,” Alice said, then turned around to look at Patty. “Good for you for getting a happy face. That makes Mama’s face happy, too. We did know about the dogs. Mr. Amos saw the dogs and ran to help the bus driver. He stopped the dogs, and the police came and took them away. You don’t have to be scared about anything, okay?”

“Okay, Mama. Thank you, Mr. Amos.”

“You’re welcome, Patty.” Then he glanced at Alice. “Do you need anything before I take you home?”

“No, thank you. We have all we need,” she said.

“Okay then,” he said, and turned left at the stop sign by the school.

“Mama, is Charlie gonna have to walk home by himself? Won’t he be a’scairt, too?”

Alice shook her head. “Charlie walks home every day, and no, he won’t be scared. Charlie is a big boy, remember?”

Patty nodded.

Dan smiled as he drove, enjoying the little girl’s chatter and Alice’s calm demeanor. He was actually disappointed when he reached their house and pulled up into the driveway.

“Well, ladies, you’re home. Alice, if you will bear with me one more time, I’ll help you two out and see you to the door like the gentleman my mama raised me to be.”

He circled the truck, helped Alice down first, and then Patty. Once Patty’s feet touched the ground, she was running toward the house and already on the porch, airing her cheerleader skills by running from one end of the porch to the other, cheering as she went.

Dan laughed out loud at the surprised expression on Alice’s face.

Alice sighed. “Don’t encourage her.”

“Is that even possible?” he asked, as he helped her up the steps. “House key?”

She handed it to him. “It’s the one with the pink nail polish on it, remember?”

“Got it,” he said, unlocked the front door, and then stood back out of the way as Patty danced through the doorway and into the house. Dan was still grinning as he dropped the key ring into Alice’s palm. “It has been a pleasure to spend this time with you and your mini me, Ms. Alice. Maybe we could do this again sometime when there’s nothing else calling your attention.”

Alice was so shocked by the invitation that she forgot to answer.

Dan hesitated. That wasn’t the response he was hoping for. “Uh…so, is that a silent yes, or a silent no?”

She blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry. Uh…it’s a yes, and thank you?”

His heart skipped a beat. Here he was, wanting to kiss her again. He settled for a touch on her forearm. “Take care of that hand,” he said, and left before he made a bigger fool of himself or she changed her mind.

He was on his way home before the shock of what he’d done finally hit. “I cannot believe I asked her on a date.” He drove a whole block farther. “I can’t believe she said yes,” he added. He got home and all the way inside his house with one last question yet unasked. Was tomorrow too soon?

 

About the Author

SHARON SALA has over one hundred books in print and has published in five different genres. She is an eight-time RITA finalist, five-time Career Achievement winner from RT Book Reviews, and five-time winner of the National Reader’s Choice Award. Writing changed her life, her world, and her fate. She lives in Norman, Oklahoma.

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Synopsis

When a homeless war veteran is beaten to death by the police, stormy protests ensue, engulfing a small New Jersey town. Soon after, three cops are gunned down. A multi-state manhunt is underway for a cop killer on the loose. And Dr. Tessa Thorpe, a veteran’s counselor, is caught up in the chase. Donald Darfield, an African-American Iraqi war vet, war-time buddy of the beaten man, and one of Tessa’s patients, is holed up in a mountain cabin. Tessa, acting on instinct, sets off to find him, but the swarm of law enforcement officers gets there first, leading to Darfield’s dramatic capture. Now, the only people separating him from the lethal needle of state justice are Tessa and aging blind lawyer, Nathaniel Bodine. Can they untangle the web tightening around Darfield in time, when the press and the justice system are baying for revenge? Justice Gone is the first in a series of psychological thrillers involving Dr. Tessa Thorpe, wrapped in the divisive issues of modern American society including police brutality and disenfranchised returning war veterans.

Excerpt

Chapter 7

The funeral services, particularly the burial, had been announced as private and that sympathizers should remain at a discreet distance; and in a demonstration of exemplary respect, the hundreds of supporters complied with the request.

Family and comrades, especially those from the New Hope Clinic, were designated to be at the gravesite. An uninvited guest, surprisingly, was also among them: John Garson, Police Chief of Bruntfield Township.

After the lowering of the coffin, and the slow deliberate departure of the mourners, Garson slipped away, in the opposite direction that everyone else would follow toward their cars and hired limos: crossing fields of gravestones until he reached the coppices of oak trees, in order to escape the press.

Everyone else present merged into the group of activists who assembled at the gate of the plot, all intent upon making known the measure of their sorrow to the public.

The crowd that participated was moderate in numbers, but in no way insignificant—about seven hundred were reported to have shown up. They marched, waving their signs and chanting slogans, from the central commercial district to the Bruntfield Veterans Memorial Park, where a makeshift stage had been set up for the guest speakers. The local TV stations from Newark and Trenton, including the network affiliates, were present covering the march.

The whole thing was fairly orderly, despite the loud chants of “Justice for Jay” and the cardboard signs that said: WE DON’T WANT KILLER COPS, SHAME ON YOU, PROTECT NOT KILL, PUT THE ANIMALS BEHIND BARS. Police presence was minimal and subdued.

Once they arrived at the previously setup podium in the park, representatives of the various groups got their chance to express their views with the condition of keeping it short, and as per Marshal Felson’s request, focused on the incident. The fact that Jay Felson was approached by police when he was not in the act of committing any crime was stressed on more than one occasion. The TV crews covered the speeches with utmost diligence, as this was one of the highlights to be expected. Finally, for the emotional touch, the organizers called on the young man’s father.

“We are here today to let the city authorities know that we will be following very closely the grand jury proceedings!” Marshal Felson shouted. “That we, as a community, will not just brush this aside. I am grateful to all of you who have shown concern and have voiced their support for my son.” He gave up the mike and walked off the stage amid cheers and applause.

A rather frail-looking young man with glasses took control of the audience to announce that Dr. Tessa Thorpe from the New Hope Trauma Recovery Clinic was to be the next speaker.

Tessa had given much thought as to how she should dress for the occasion. Her first instinct was her Karen Kane pants suit, but dismissed that idea to wear her copper-brown print kaftan in its stead.

Now, with its folds caught in the vigorous September breeze, giving the illusion of a multitude of miniature flags fluttering around her, her thick locks of hair dancing around her head, she spoke to the crowd, slowly, deliberately taking her time. “Hello, my fellow citizens.” She stopped to survey the mass of people standing in front of her. Dramatic pauses replete with eye contact, if not overdone, were quite effective in getting one’s message across. Not surprisingly, Tessa knew how to get her message across, a special art in the realm of behavioral scientists. Public relations firms, advertising companies, political campaigns, all hired an army of psychologists to sell a product. And Tessa Thorpe, as someone who had thirty years’ experience as a criminal psychiatrist, could sell as well as any of them. “We are here today for two reasons, two very important reasons that are essential to our well-being in a modern society. Freedom is one, and justice is the other.”

Enthusiastic cheers.

“When the call for war came, we were told that our enemies hated our freedoms. We were told that the citizens of Iraq had been held hostage by a ruthless dictator who denied his own people these freedoms. Our invasion of that country was sold to us as Operation Iraqi Freedom. And so we sent our young men and women off to war, the most traumatic experience a human being could ever go through, with the belief that they were fighting for liberty and freedom. And yet, one of those whom we had sent…had come back to us only to have his own freedom denied. His single offence at the time he was approached by law enforcement officers was that he was exercising his freedom to stand on a street corner.”

This elicited a roar from the crowd.

“This is not merely tragic, it is an act of deplorable fraud, being denied the very thing he fought for!”

More heartfelt cheering.

“When I was young, we were made to pledge allegiance, an oath that ended with the phrase, ‘with liberty and justice for all.’ Well, Jay Felson was denied liberty…let us make sure he is NOT DENIED JUSTICE!”

An ear-shattering reverberation of concurrence.

Having descended from the little platform with the crowd still shouting in endorsement, Tessa was serially embraced by her coworkers: Casey, Ed, Penny…all with praise about her wonderful speech, culminating in Marshal Felson’s hug, whispering into her ear, “Amazing.”

The next event on the program was to go together to the site where Jay was killed at the bus depot in order to lay memorial flowers and gifts. The TV teams followed, instinctively knowing that this was indeed another newsworthy item. In fact, as a human interest story, it tugged at the heart to see the gift bearers laying their offers down. And what made it even more poignant was the huge bloodstain that had yet to be cleaned off the pavement, a crimson smear that drew numerous zoomed-in shots by the camera crews.

About the Author

N. Lombardi Jr, the N for Nicholas, has spent over half his life in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, working as a groundwater geologist. Nick can speak five languages: Swahili, Thai, Lao, Chinese, and Khmer (Cambodian).

In 1997, while visiting Lao People’s Democratic Republic, he witnessed the remnants of a secret war that had been waged for nine years, among which were children wounded from leftover cluster bombs. Driven by what he saw, he worked on The Plain of Jars for the next eight years.

Nick maintains a website with content that spans most aspects of the novel: The Secret War, Laotian culture, Buddhism etc.

His second novel, Journey Towards a Falling Sun, is set in the wild frontier of northern Kenya.

His latest novel, Justice Gone was inspired by the fatal beating of a homeless man by police.

Nick now lives in Phnom Penh, Cambodia

Website * Goodreads * Amazon

Title: The (Half) Truth
Author: Leddy Harper
Release Date: February 19, 2019
Publisher: Montlake Romance

Synopsis

Tatum Alexander is so close to realizing her dream of becoming a sous chef she can taste it, but working at her ex-fiancé’s restaurant with his new girlfriend was never in her career plan. To save face and prove she’s moved on, Tatum cooks up a lie that she’s in a relationship with her best friend’s superhot cousin. There’s just one problem: Jason only recently moved to town, and he has no idea they’re already “dating.”

Jason’s a recovering ladies’ man who shouldn’t be on the menu, but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to Tatum’s quirky charm. Giving her lie a kernel of truth, they decide some no-strings-attached fun between the sheets can’t hurt. But as Tatum’s forced to keep making up stories to cover her original fib, she has a hard time separating what’s real and what’s fake—including her feelings for Jason.

With too many tales spun, Tatum can only watch in horror as her collection of yarns begins to unravel, leaving everyone she cares about feeling betrayed. After so many lies, will it be too late to set the record straight? And more importantly, will she be able to convince Jason there’s truth in their love?

Guest Post

How To Properly Create a Fake Relationship with the Heroine from THE (HALF) TRUTH

My name is Tatum Alexander, and I’m a liar. There…I’ve said it. Now, before you judge me, hear me out. While I understand this might sound preposterous (if it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t believe it, either), trust me when I say it’s 100% true.

You see, what had happened was…my fiancé dumped me in the most epically humiliating way—while sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant, waiting for my friends and family to join us for my birthday dinner. But, he wasn’t just my fiancé (well, technically, my ex-fiancé), he was also the owner of the posh restaurant I worked at. And rather than quit my job after he dumped me, I stayed because it would’ve been career suicide to leave after I’d gotten so close to being a sous-chef (my dream job). The one thing I hadn’t expected was that a few months later, my ex-fiancé would hire his new girlfriend—who happens to work in the kitchen, one station away from me. Needless to say, I was unable to escape the embarrassment and devastation that surrounded my breakup…especially since the kitchen was full of nosy-bodies.

And since my ex has the heart of a corpse, he decided to schedule me and his new girlfriend to work side by side at the town’s annual foodie festival. She’s not a bad person—kind of sweet, really, aside from the whole dating my ex thing—so it wouldn’t have been that bad had she not spent the whole time discussing how “wonderful” her relationship was. Before I knew it, I was telling them all about the new guy I was dating. (I’ll let you in on a little secret…I wasn’t dating anyone. Didn’t really even know the guy, but that’s what I get for trying to sound like I wasn’t bothered by her stories of her “amazing” boyfriend.) I guess you can say that was the beginning of the train wreck. And boy, what a train wreck it was!

Looking back on it now, I can see where I went wrong. Then again, hindsight’s twenty-twenty. If I had to make a list of all the mistakes I made while forming this “half” truth of sorts (AKA my new boyfriend), I’d probably start with the boyfriend himself. You see…I had recently met my best friend’s older, extremely hot, sexy, and single cousin. And somehow, while describing my faux-beau, I ended up giving a very detailed description of said older, extremely hot, sexy, and single cousin of my best friend. The very next mistake happened about five seconds later when I was asked what his name was. Jay. Sounded simple enough. Except my bestie’s cousin’s name is Jason. Technically not the same name. But still, it would’ve been smarter to have gone with Ricardo…or Thor. Anything other than the first syllable of his real name. And the very next mistake happened five seconds after that…when I stupidly showed the girls his picture. It could be argued that that had been the biggest mistake of them all, considering the real Jason showed up to the very same foodie festival I was working. Although, with as well as I’d detailed his entire body, they could’ve very well picked him out of a crowd without a picture.

My story doesn’t end there, but I don’t want to bore you with the details of how my “lie” became somewhat of a “truth”…right after everyone I worked with witnessed him cheating on me (in his defense, he had no idea we were dating. In my defense, I had no idea he’d become interested in me after all my co-workers thought him to be a lying, cheating scumbag. But I digress.) All of that could’ve easily been avoided if I was a better liar, if I wasn’t such an awkward person—especially around a certain extremely hot, sexy, single guy—if I hadn’t kept it all from my best friend, or if that same best friend hadn’t “forbidden” me to see him in the first place. So all in all, it wasn’t entirely my fault.

But at least I now know what not to do when creating a fake relationship. So, if any of you find yourselves in a situation like I did (oh, who am I kidding? I’m literally the only person on the planet who could manage that) or in any situation where one might need an imaginary boyfriend, I have a few tips to keep in mind. One—never use a real person. Especially his name. It would be best if you take eleven or twelve different men and describe their physical traits as if they were one person. That way, the chances of anyone “finding” him will be slim to none. And if he is found…I’d say that’s as good as any sign I can think of that he’s your soul mate—which might behoove you to pick some pretty delicious-looking men, if you ask me. Two—and this one’s important, so pay very close attention…never, and I mean never show anyone a picture of this guy. If anyone asks why you don’t have any photos, make sure you have a realistic list of excuses. Such as: he’s camera shy; you lost all your pictures in the last software update on your phone; he’s a celebrity and doesn’t want to risk putting you in the public eye. Okay, that last one might be a bit too much. I never claimed to be a good liar. And three—which might very well be the most important tip I could ever give…do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with him (especially if you’ve made him up…because then you’d have a few additional problems to deal with rather than just getting caught in a lie).

Trust me…getting caught in what I call a “domino-effect” lie (once one falls apart, the entire thing comes crashing down) is not fun. So, if you’ve learned anything from me today, I hope that it’s the importance of a well-crafted lie. But in the event you get caught, always remember…it’s not a lie; it’s a “half” truth.

Excerpt

“You do know Michael used to be engaged to Tatum, right?”

“Yeah, he told me. But that was a while ago. Does it bother you, Tatum? You’ve never said anything about it.”

I thought about pointing out that six months wasn’t really a while ago, but I decided to let that go. And the idea of admitting how it felt to see him smile at her or whisper into her ear, let alone hear about all the things I didn’t have to witness, made me want to disappear. “Oh, no. I’m so over it. So, so over it.” And since stopping while I was ahead had never been my strong suit, I added, “In fact, I’ve been dating someone.”

“You have?” Both Rebecca and Amanda asked the same question at the same time, but while Rebecca’s voice was filled with excitement—which matched her bright eyes and ridiculous hand clap—Amanda’s was more cynical.

“Yup. And he’s amazing.”

“What’s his name?” Again with the doubtful tone from Amanda. She’d been part of my postbreakup support system, so I couldn’t exactly blame her for questioning my sudden confession. After everything Michael had put me through, this was something I definitely would’ve told her … had it been true.

“Uh … Jay. His name’s Jay.”

“Where’d you meet him?” This time, it was Rebecca asking, as if we were girlfriends sharing juicy gossip over mimosas at a spa.

I had no idea why I’d even started this. I should’ve known they’d jump all over it like rabid dogs on a T-bone. Yet I couldn’t back out now.

“We met at a barbecue.” Short and sweet, not many details I’d have to remember. Perfect.

“When?” Dammit, Amanda. She was no longer on my Christmas card list—not that I’d ever sent any out, but that didn’t mean I didn’t have a list in case one year I felt ambitious. And if that year ever came, this heifer wouldn’t get one.

“Two weeks ago.”

“What’s he look like?” Rebecca’s blue eyes shimmered.

“Yeah, tell us what he looks like, Tatum.” And now she could forget getting a birthday present from me. It also helped that I had no idea when her birthday was.

“He’s tall. Hot. A man’s man.” That could’ve been anyone. I was still safe.

“How very nondescript of you.”

“Well, you know how it is, Amanda.” I glared at her, hoping she’d get the hint and go with it. “It’s still new, and I wouldn’t want anyone to get jealous of how perfect he is.”

“No need to worry about me. I’m very secure in my relationship with Michael.”

I wanted to ask Rebecca how secure she could possibly be with a man who, six months ago, had broken up with his fiancée on her birthday because he said he wasn’t sure if he was ready for something so serious. But I held back the wicked comments that longed to slip off my tongue.

The next words out of my mouth were Michael’s fault. Had he not forced me to spend the day with his new girlfriend, listening to every detail of their relationship, I never would’ve been in this position.

“He has dark hair that’s trimmed short on the sides and a little longer on top, just enough to look messy if he runs his fingers through it. His eyes are this amazing shade of green—sometimes they’re light, like blades of grass at the beginning of spring, and other times they’re darker, similar to the color of a Christmas tree. And he’s gotta be over six feet tall. When I stand next to him, I’m eye level with his chest.” I glanced at my phone in my hand, noticing that the photo still filled the screen, and realized I had described Jason to a T.

“Go on,” Rebecca prodded. “Is he fit like Michael?”

By this point, I was in it to win it.

“He makes Michael look like a wimp. And I’m not just saying that because Michael’s my ex, either. I could wash my clothes on his abs.” Well, that was taking it a little too far. I had to rein it in some if I wanted her to actually believe me. “He works out all the time, so he’s totally in shape. Not an inch of fat on him.”

“He sounds dreamy,” Rebecca said with a sigh.

“Yeah, he does. Almost too good to be true … like you made him up. You probably don’t have any pictures of him, do you?” As only a friend would, Amanda loved watching me dig my own grave.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” I thought about sticking my tongue out at Amanda in an immature “shows what you know” kind of way, but then I realized what I’d just done. In my need to prove her wrong—even though she wasn’t—I’d inadvertently dug my hole even deeper.

“Well, let’s see it.”

I had no choice but to show them the photo on my phone. I had to admit, though, the surprise on Amanda’s face when she saw it gave me a sense of victory—like winning Monopoly only because I cheated. Rebecca’s approval was simply the icing on the cake.

A cake that came crashing to the ground about thirty minutes later.

Rebecca stared at something over my shoulder and asked, “Hey, Tatum, isn’t that Jay?”

“Huh? Jay who?”

“Uh … your boyfriend,” Amanda reminded me with a quirked brow.

I craned my neck so fast it gave me a cramp. There was no way it was him. Okay, so that was wishful thinking on my part. Not only was there a chance he was here, but he was, in fact, here. At Taste of the Town. Standing a few tents away next to another guy.

My life was over.

Having Amanda believe I had lied about a boyfriend was one thing—having multiple people catch me in said lie was another. Add in the probability of Jason being one of those people, and … shoot me now.

About the Author

Leddy Harper had to use her imagination often as a child: she grew up the only girl in a family full of boys. At fourteen, she decided to use that imagination to write her first book, and she never stopped. She often calls writing her therapy, using it to deal with issues through the eyes of her characters.

Harper is now a mother of three girls, making her husband the only man in a house full of females. She published her first book to encourage her children to go after whatever they want, to inspire them to love what they do and do it well, and to teach them what it means to overcome their fears.

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Title: BLESSED: THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER
Author: A.L. Bryant
Publisher: HSW Publications LLC
Pages: 279
Genre: Supernatural Christian Thriller/Horror

Synopsis

On New Year’s Eve 2021 the staff at St. Ann’s Hospital witness a medical miracle when a semi-conscious woman walks into the emergency room. The Jane Doe has been stabbed multiple times and as the staff struggle to keep the woman alive in the end all they can do is stand back and watch as their mysterious patient revives herself.

Glory wakes up in St. Ann’s Hospital gravely injured from an attack she cannot remember. However, her memory loss is no ordinary amnesia and she is no ordinary patient. Much to the shock of the hospital staff Glory heals at three times the rate of an average person. Soon the administration hears of her unique case and waste no time convincing the recovering Glory to be a part of an experiment to discover the origins of her power.

Once outside the comforting walls of the hospital it becomes apparent that healing is just a small portion of Glory’s capabilities. Abilities that to Glory’s distress are becoming increasingly unstable. Deciding that the hospital’s experiments are in vain, Glory embarks on her own Journey to discover the source of her power, unaware that she is a major pawn in a war between two secret organizations.

The two syndicates continue to clash in their fight for control and their battles result in several casualties. The crimes of their warfare surface and draw the attention of Dennis Wilson, a NYPD Detective known for solving his cases in the first forty-eight hours. Dennis follows the trail of bodies out of curiosity. But when his curiosity causes the deaths of his loved ones Detective Dennis becomes obsessed with the case.

In his overzealous attempts to find the murderer Dennis becomes the syndicates’ next target. Now the Detective must run for his life and the only person capable of saving him is the very person he suspects.

Blessed: The Prodigal Daughter is a hybrid of government espionage and supernatural Thriller. This novel is intended for audiences 18+ that seek an edgier outlook on Christian fiction. Blessed: The Prodigal Daughter is the first installment of the Blessed trilogy.

 

Review

This book is filled with mystery, suspense, supernatural, and plot jumps that will keep you on your toes (or the edge of your seat).

This story spans about 20-25 years and follows three children – a boy and two girls, and what they experience because they are different. These three children are almost immortal. Their bodies heal quickly and it alludes to their faith in a higher power. Their parents are scientists and while the science portion is briefly touched upon, it implies that it is a higher level of consciousness that allows the children to stand out from the crowd.

There is a struggle between good and evil and there is a lot of evil especially from a character named Simon. The author does a great job of making him unlikeable and his evil nature is portrayed well.

As the story jumps around in the timeline and between various characters, it is sometimes hard to keep track of who to root for or who we should be wary of, but that is what makes the book intriguing.

The story does just end and I wondered if I was missing pages.  However, I realized as I was reading the synopsis afterward that this is book one in a trilogy which makes a lot of sense because this book left with me with a lot of questions that were not answered especially since this book focuses primarily on one of the girls. I know there has to be more to this story and this book does leave you wanting to know more…at least it did for me!

We give this 4 paws up.

Excerpt

With a slight hesitation, Glory examined the entrance. Using the corner of her jacket she tested the knob, not overly surprised when the door opened easily. Behind her, she could still hear the muffled sounds of the girl’s sobs. Glory stepped one foot through the door and paused. She turned sideways and looked back out into the yard. With one foot inside the house and one still on the porch, she stared at the girl, whose eyes were as wide as her own. The side of her body that remained outside of the house felt light; she could feel the breeze whip her clothing. She raised her hand and, as expected, it lifted easily. Glory looked down at her other arm, the one in the corridor of the house. Sweat drizzled down her brow as she struggled to lift it.

Making sure to keep her voice light, Glory nodded in the direction of the gate. “Go home, I’ll get Mitch and he’ll call you afterwards.” She waited until the girl nodded reluctantly and disappeared.

Feeling a strong urge to leave, Glory turned as quickly as she could and closed the door behind her. Instant darkness. She pulled out the cell phone Dr. Stephens had helped her purchase shortly after she left the hospital, and turned its flashlight on. She had not paid the bill in a long time, so she had no service, but Glory still kept it charged. The corridor was short, maybe two or three large steps long. A staircase, which dominated the space in the narrow corridor, stood against the left wall. Glory shined the light up the steps trying to determine where they led, but the light’s range was too short.

Examining the staircase carefully to make sure it could hold her weight, Glory began ascending. The house had its own gravity; every step felt like moving through quicksand. By the time she made it to the top, she was winded. She leaned against the wall, shining her light around the area while she rested. She stood in another corridor, much larger than the first one. A solid wall lined one side; several doors, some of them mere centimeters apart, lined the other. She pushed herself away from the wall and walked to the first door, covered her hand with her jacket, turned the knob, and pushed the door. It gave way only slightly before it refused to open any farther. She tried pulling the door, but it could only be opened inward. She pushed one more time, shining a light through the narrow opening to see if she could locate the blockage—silently hoping it wasn’t the boy—but nothing met the light. Frustrated, she moved on to the next door, only to encounter the same problem.

By the sixth one, Glory started to wonder if any of them were meant to open. With each door, she put more strength and effort into her shoulders and arms, desperately trying to force her way through. By the twelfth, she was exhausted. She took a deep breath and shoved her shoulder against it. The door swung open, Glory stumbled two feet, and fell through the hole behind it. She fell through one story of the house into an open room and into the much bigger hole in that room’s floor. She fell through another story and into another room with another hole. She hit hard rock and slid until she landed on her back. Her head hit the floor and her eyes instantly clouded from the impact.

Glory’s breath and sight came back simultaneously. Slowly, she sat up with a grunt as she brought her right hand to her ribs. Not only had her pack survived the fall, but she had managed to hold on to her phone. Standing up, still favoring her left side, Glory began dusting herself off. Her hands shook and she took a deep breath to dispel the effects of the adrenaline still rushing through her body. Turning on the light so she could look around, Glory shifted her feet. Taking a small step forward, she tripped on something, but managed sustain her balance with a small hop to dislodge whatever had caught her foot.

Glory turned the light downward to look at the ground and saw a piece of cloth clinging to her boot. Ruffles—the cloth was filthy, covered in dust and grime, but the ruffles still maintained their shape. Forgetting herself, Glory reached out and ran her fingertips over the cloth, smoothing the dirt away so she could see the color. Her fingertips grew warm and her eyes widened as she realized what she had done. Too late, she snatched her hand away.

“This is so exciting!” A young woman in a blue ball gown tightened her grip on her friend’s arm, her gloved fingers long and delicate. Looking a little less interested, her friend, a tall, thin brunette, pried the girl’s hands from her arm, but her friend only returned them with slightly less bruising force.

“Yes, well, if my father knew I was here, it would be the end of me.”

“That’s what these are for, silly.” The young woman flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulders and tapped her masquerade mask with her folded fan.

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. I have a bad feeling.”

“You are thinking far too much. Now tell me how beautiful I look and then let’s go get some refreshments.”

The brunette stood back and pretended to consider her friend. “You look positively stunning as always, Annabelle. Your dress is lovely; I could never pull off so many ruffles.”

Annabelle waved the last statement away. “Nonsense, Sarah, I’m sure you would look just as lovely in ruffles. I don’t know why you insist on wearing such drab garments.” She looked her friend up and down, a frown on her face as she examined the dark green dress that covered Sarah, from its unfashionably high neckline down to the slightly pointed toes of her boots.

Sarah grimaced. “My father does not agree with today’s fashions. He thinks exposing shoulders, wrists, and cleavage is unseemly.” Trying to distract her friend from her dress, she made a show of looking around. “This is an extremely odd house, isn’t it? Why would he build a staircase directly at the entrance?”

“For that matter, why build a staircase that only goes to the top floor when there are four flights in between?”

“We’ve been here less than an hour and I’m already confused. So many corridors and staircases.”

“And how many rooms are there, anyway? There are doors everywhere you look.” The girls spoke frantically now, their intertwined arms squeezing together as they became more excited.

Annabelle turned to her friend. “Let’s explore the house more.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know. We haven’t even greeted the host yet. It would be bad manners.”

Annabelle shrugged. “It was bad manners for him not to show himself so he could be greeted.”

About the Author

A.L. Bryant was born and raised in St. Petersburg FL. She became interested in writing at an early age; an interest that depending on the circumstance brought punishment (detention for passing out the latest installment of her novella during class) and praise (being chosen for a youth writers conference at the Poynter Institute.)  A.L. Bryant gets her inspiration from both her mother and her Great Grandmother. Her mother recently published an inspirational children’s book under a pseudonym and her great grandmother is South Carolina’s first published African-American female author and playwright.

Until recently writing had simply been a pastime for A.L. Bryant who although she attended several writing courses, graduated with a B.A. in International Business. It was shortly after her second job as a Financial Office Manager at a Goodwill correctional facility that she realized she loved writing more than anything else. It would still be some years before she would convert the short story she wrote in college into a novel.

Besides writing, A.L. Bryant loves traveling the world. God has blessed her with the opportunity to visit a total of seven countries. She has studied abroad in Seoul and has traveled throughout Kenya; two locations she researched for her Blessed series. Her dream is to visit every country in the world.

Her latest book is the supernatural Christian thriller horror novel, Blessed: The Prodigal Daughter.

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The Prophetic Mayan Queen: K’inuuw Mat of Palenque by Leonide Martin

Publisher: Made for Success Publishing/Made for Wonder (Dec 1, 2018)
Category: Historical Fiction, Ancient World, Caribbean & Latin American, Historical Romance/ Ancient World
Available in Print and ebook, 350 pages

Synopsis

She was born to serve the Goddess Ix Chel. But K’inuuw Mat is destined to continue the Palenque (Lakam Ha) dynasty by marriage to Tiwol, fourth son of famous ruler Pakal. Trained in prophetic arts, she uses scrying to foresee the face of the man with whom she will bear the dynastic heir—but it is not her husband’s image. She is shocked upon arriving at Palenque to recognize that face as her husband’s older brother, Kan Bahlam. They are immediately attracted, sharing a deep interest in astronomy. Though she resists, the magnetic force of their attraction propels them into forbidden embraces, until Kan Bahlam designs a bold plan that would solve his inability to produce a son—if he can gain his brother’s cooperation.

Set in the splendor of Lakam Ha’s artistic and scientific zenith, royal family conflicts and ambitions play out in a tapestry of brilliant Mayan accomplishments in calendars, astronomy, architecture, arts, and secret language codes that will astound people centuries later. As K’inuuw Mat contends with explosive emotions, she must answer the Goddess’ mandate to preserve Mayan culture for future generations. Her passion with Kan Bahlam leads to a pale daughter and bold son who carry this out as their civilization begins the decline and eventual collapse her prophetic vision foresees.

One great cycle rolls into the next . . . Contemporary Mexican archeologist Francesca and her partner Charlie, a British linguist, venture into Chiapas jungles to a remote Maya village, seeking to unravel her grandmother’s secrets. The hostile village shaman holds the key but refuses to share with outsiders the scandal that leads to foreign blood and ancient Palenque lineages. Only by reclaiming her own shamanic heritage can Francesca learn the truth of who she is, and bring her dynasty into the present.

Excerpt

The Oracle of Ix Chel Gives Prophecies

A priestess stood at either side of the statue. The pungent, woody scent of copal was strong and smoke burned eyes and nostrils. Other aromas combined in an intoxicating mixture of sweet flowers and acrid minerals. Sak T’ul appeared to be almost swooning and clung to her mother’s arm. K’inuuw Mat breathed the fumes fearlessly and felt her awareness beginning to change. She looked carefully around the chamber to commit details to memory, but found nothing else inside except the statue and priestesses. The inner walls were unadorned, and the stone floor was bare.

“Speak, pilgrim. Ask what you will of the Ix Chel Oracle,” intoned one priestess.

Chelte’ bowed with crossed arms, and the girls followed suit.

“Esteemed and honored Oracle, this one before you is Chelte’ of Altun Ha, wife of the Uxte’kuh ruler.” Chelte’ said reverently. “For myself, I have no questions. My purpose is to give thanks to Ix Chel for her blessings, for an abundant and comfortable life, and for my three children. Please accept my undying gratitude and unceasing devotion.”

New curls of smoke emanated from the statue’s mouth and nose, and an eerie voice replied, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere.

“Pleased am I to accept your gratitude, Chelte’ of Altun Ha. Your family is well known to me, true servants of my work. May you abide in my future blessings. So it is.”

Chelte’ bowed, pushed Sak T’ul in front of the statue, and spoke again:  “For my eldest daughter, Sak T’ul, I seek your prophecy for her upcoming marriage, her fertility and happiness in our city. She is shy and requested that I ask for her.”

After another release of smoke, the Oracle’s voice wafted through the thick air.

“The fate of this one hovers on jungle vines,

wherein the balance of wisdom and audacity are tested.

Aptly balanced, she lives a life of ease, abundance, and blessed fertility.

But failed, her life is short. Destiny lies not in her hands.

Those close to her take care. Great happiness can be hers.”

Sak T’ul was crying, her body shaking as the Oracle ended the prophecy. Chelte’ wrapped both arms around her daughter to keep her from crumpling to the floor. In her mind, Chelte’ repeated the Oracle’s words to memorize them for future analysis. She nodded to K’inuuw Mat to pose her question.

Although shaken, K’inuuw Mat mustered her courage and stepped in front of the statue. Gazing upward at the implacable face, crowned with a coiled serpent headdress and wearing huge earspools, the girl breathed deeply and felt the edges of her awareness dissolving. Quickly she posed her question, afraid she might lose consciousness soon.

“Oh, great and glorious Goddess, standing before you is the new maiden K’inuuw Mat of Uxte’kuh, second daughter of Chelte’, one who comes to your sacred island for first moon rites. My deepest desire is to remain here and dedicate my life to your service. May I receive your prophecy for the purpose and direction of my life.”

It appeared to K’inuuw Mat that an unusual amount of new smoke poured out of the statue’s mouth and nose. As the spirals drifted down, they circled around her body almost making her cough. She felt something cold and smooth against her leg, and then a squeezing sensation caused her to gasp. Looking down, she saw a long black snake slithering up her right leg. Its wedge-shaped head alerted her that this was a poisonous viper, and a bolt of terror shot through her. The snake halted its ascent, drew its head upward and fixated beady eyes upon her face, forked tongue rapidly quivering.

She glanced wide-eyed at the nearest priestess, but the woman simply stared into space, appearing not to notice. The statue was half-hidden by smoke and her mother not visible behind her. Remembering her aunt’s description of the Oracle’s snakes, she withdrew her awareness and dropped into her center, willing a state of calmness. Mentally she communicated to the snake:  You are welcome here, servant of Ix Chel. You come in peace and I receive you in gratitude.

The snake waved its head several times, flicked its tongue and slowly slithered down from her leg. She watched it disappear through a hole in the base of the statue. The Oracle’s voice startled her.

“A seer you are and well command your fears.

The gift of prophecy resides within you; use it in service of others.

Deep is your tie to Ix Chel, but not to be realized here.

A destiny beyond your own awaits. A people’s legacy depends on you.

In the high court of royalty shall your life unfold.

Rulers shall seek your wisdom; leaders your guidance.

Through you shall dynasties abide.”

K’inuuw Mat stood in stunned silence. The Oracle’s prophecy was emblazoned in her mind, but she refused to accept it. Surely this was not correct! How could her destiny be other than serving the Goddess on Cuzamil?

She managed a slight bow when prompted by Chelte’, who led her daughters, both in tears, out of the Oracle’s shrine.

Guest Review by Sal

Leonide Martin’s “The Prophetic Mayan Queen: K’inuuw Mat of Palenque” is a fascinating and exciting work of historical fiction. Set in the ancient Mayan city of Palenque, ‘Prophetic’ tells the story of a young queen, K’inuuw Mat who discovers that her destiny lies in birthing an heir to the throne. K’inuuw Mat is a seer. She is able to have visions from the goddess Ix Chel herself and these visions are supposed to guide her as she goes through life. But shortly after discovering that she is supposed to marry Tiwol Chan Mat, she has a vision of the man that will help her bring the heir into the world and it is not her husband but his brother.

This book surprised me with its emotional intensity and realism. Quite often I find that with historical novels, especially historical novels set in the ancient world, that the author has a tendency to dwell too much on the world building and doesn’t spend enough time on the actual plot or the characterization. But this book had everything I wanted. Excellent world building (from an author who clearly knows quite a bit about Mayan civilizations) and excellent characters.

I truly felt strongly about K’inuuw Mat and wanted her to succeed as a wife, a mother and as a queen. I even appreciated Tiwol Chan Mat’s character and the fact that Martin didn’t take the easy way out of making him abusive or any kind of dastardly villain to make the reader automatically hate him. The romance was so genuine and heartbreaking that I found myself tearing up at times.

What a stunning portrayal of a fascinating time in human history and a strange and lovely story. This book left a warm feeling in my heart that I know I will remember for years to come. If you love historical fiction this book is a must.  I give it all 5 stars!

About the Author

Award-winning author, Leonide (Lennie) Martin: Retired California State University professor, former Family Nurse Practitioner, Author, and Maya researcher, Research Member Maya Exploration Center.

Dr. Martin’s books portray ancient Maya culture and civilization through stories about both actual historical Mayans and fictional characters. She studied Maya culture and history from both scientific and indigenous viewpoints.

While living for five years in Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico, she apprenticed with Maya Elder Hunbatz Men, becoming a Solar Initiate and Maya Fire Women in the Itzá Maya tradition. Other indigenous teachers in Guatemala included Maya Priestess-Daykeeper Aum Rak Sapper and Maya elder Tata Pedro. The ancient Mayas created the most highly advanced civilization in the Western hemisphere, and Martin’s work is dedicated to their wisdom, spirituality, scientific, and cultural accomplishments through compelling historical novels.

Martin’s interest in ancient Mayan women led to writing the Mayan Queens’ series called The Mists of Palenque. This 4-book series—each book stands alone—tells the stories of powerful women who shaped the destinies of their people as rulers themselves, or wives of rulers. These remarkable Mayan women are unknown to most readers. Using extensive research and field study, Martin aspires to depict ancient Palenque authentically and make these amazing Mayan Queens accessible to a wide readership.

Presently Dr. Martin lives with her husband David Gortner and two white cats in Oregon’s Willamette Valley wine country, where she enjoys reading, gardening, nature walks, classical music, and wine tasting.

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Giveaway

This giveaway is for the choice 3 print copies or ebook copies of the book, 1 copy per each of 3 winners. A print copy is available to Canada and the U.S. only but ebook is available worldwide. This giveaway ends on February 28, 2019, at midnight Pacific time. Entries are accepted via Rafflecopter only.

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