I love smoothies.  I drink one pretty much every morning before heading off to work.  I am a creature of habit and do the same smoothie, so I was excited to receive this book as part of Abram’s Dinner Party to maybe break out of my delicious rut!

This Smoothie book offers so many options and starts off with how to organize, easy ways to prep ahead of time, tools you will need, and so much more.  If you are new to smoothies or want to expand your horizons (like me) then this is an excellent starter book.

There is so much goodness in this book!  There are suggestions at the end as to which smoothies might be best to achieve a goal or address a health concern.  There is a list of Super Boosters to add to any smoothie you make, and even a discussion about fresh versus frozen.  I have learned a lot from this book and plan to share it with my sister who also enjoys a good smoothie.

I love the photos in this book, they are so colorful – all the colors of the rainbow.

I am going to share one of the smoothie recipes with you to try out at home.  The photo is from the book since I haven’t tried this one yet.

Big Red

Ingredients

1/2 c frozen strawberries
1/2 c frozen raspberries
1/4 small raw or cooked beet, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces
1 dried date, pitted
1 tablespoon goji berries
1 tablespoon chia seeds
3/4 c milk of choice

Combine all ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth.

Optional Super Boosts:

Bee pollen
Hemp seeds
Flax seeds
Maca powder
Vanilla or plain protein powder
Collagen peptides
MCT oil
Probiotic powder
Acai powder
Camu Camu powder
Pink Himalayan salt
Brazil nuts

Amazon * B&N * Kobo * BAM

Synopsis

Born and raised on a remote farm in South Africa, Elisabeth Pieterse, a young, naive trainee nurse meets Dion Du Toit, a wickedly handsome salesman whose suave exterior hides a monster within that she discovers only after their wedding.

His addictions, adultery and insatiable desire to be in the limelight turn their lives into a roller coaster of erotic highs and death-defying lows leaving leading psychiatrists confused and Elizabeth shattered.

She knows instinctively that if she wants to stay alive it is safe to remain with him.

Finally, in a courageous but ill-advised attempt to quickly resolve her company’s financial problems, caused by Dion, Elizabeth then fails to answer the one telephone call that would have changed the course of the life forever.

Amazon US * Amazon UK

Excerpt

“Nothing has changed.” And the deep red colouring returned to his face again. I had never seen anything quite like this. I knew that any civil discussion wasn’t going to be possible, plus he’d had four brandies by then. I instinctively knew to keep my mouth shut.

He’d shown me, during the last few awkward months, that a woman so deeply in love is not the most brilliant judge of character! My fairy tale wasn’t panning out quite the way the books portrayed, and, in that moment, I would have been delighted had I turned into a pumpkin and stayed as one. I was not only acutely frustrated by trying to decipher the most peculiar behaviour emerging from my prince charming; I was frightened of him now too. Our fairy tale was morphing into a terrifying thriller, and I didn’t know how to handle it or whom to turn.

It was always the fourth drink that turned Oudemeester (A South African Brandy) into an ugly monster and I didn’t dare ask him, ‘Who are you?

The following day when he was sober, he was either defensive or apologetic. Somehow, I had to convince him that his love for alcohol was not only changing him and ruining our marriage but threatening to end it, which was not what I wanted.

I loved him; the real Dion, the one I had married. I was in a quandary for in our culture his behaviour was considered taboo and talking about it was even worse. It was the sort of conversation one only had in private with someone who could keep it confidential. Being an alcoholic or displaying any form of mental health issues were considered problems that only afflicted the poor or lower classes. I certainly didn’t want to tell my mother and least of all my brother, and though I trusted Amelia, I didn’t know how to begin describing what was happening. Besides, still spellbound by his sober charms I lived hoping it was a passing phase brought on by the stresses of his job, which he’d mentioned repeatedly over the past few months. When he wasn’t drinking, he’d sing to me as I prepared supper, then all resistance crumbled I’d forgive him. He knew just what buttons to press and would move in close behind me while I stirred whatever was in the pot on the stove, nuzzle my neck and sing; in seconds I’d have no idea what I was cooking, and supper would be abandoned until later, much later. Those days were blissful and not for a moment did I suspect that the beautiful serenading and confessions of undying love were becoming a cunning disguise. One evening another opportunity opened itself up for me to discuss the drinking issues and while we sat curled up together on the couch, I carefully lead the conversation to the issues.

“Please stop drinking, Liefie. I’m worried about you.” I pleaded with him. I knew I risked ruining the mood, but I had to express my concerns.

“Don’t you dare bitch about my fucking drinking, do you hear me,” he seethed, spittle flew from his mouth like an angry viper. Though I’d prepared myself for retaliation this venomous reaction shocked me; he’d never hissed at me with such poison in his voice before, and then I noticed his jaw was quivering and his hands balled into fists as he sat upright next to me.

“Dion, that’s not necessary”, I said, looking at his fists. “Only cowards hit their women and if you hit me consider our marriage well and truly over.” I was struggling to maintain composure. The word, ‘coward,’ seemed to trigger an angry, uncontrolled rage, and he growled at me. I was devastated and scared at the same time; I didn’t dare respond or move. I loathed this sort of confrontation and tears pricked at my eyes and reaching for the brandy bottle on the coffee table in front of us I smashed it on the floor shattering the atmosphere then stormed off to bed.

As the months progressed, Dion’s personality changes became even more dramatic. My sixth sense was ringing alarm bells in my head, cautioning me that Dion was dangerous, but I kept finding myself excusing his vile behaviour, and though I still loved the old Dion, this new monster was destroying everything we’d built together.

On occasions we’d have wonderful conversations, he was sensitive and apologetic. For a few days, sometimes even weeks, all was as it had been when we first were married. Often, he’d even admit to behaving like an animal after the fourth drink, but it didn’t stop him. Our social life together had dwindled too. Our friends had become bored, often annoyed listening to Dion carry on with ugly criticism of them and others at social braai’s, (barbecue’s) at home or friends’ homes. Consequently, invitations to social outings became rare, and I was living a continuous apology.

After an ugly, hostile confrontation between Amelia and Dion during our last braai together, she vowed she would never come to another, and she didn’t, which broke my heart; neither did anyone else. I felt so isolated and from that day on, Amelia and I met in town when we wanted to see each other. She never told me what prompted the outburst, but I guessed he must have been strongly suggestive, which was probably the case, or darn right rude and insulting, neither of which she would have tolerated. Amelia was volatile with admirably strict principles; whatever Dion may have done; she would have struck out at him like an angry cat. He, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn that our friends no longer visited, and we never went anywhere. The feelings of others was not his concern, providing he was happy, nothing else mattered much.”

About the Author

Diana is a country bumpkin at heart, born and raised on a farm in Rhodesia – now Zimbabwe, then Lived in South Africa for the better part of her adult life. Since then, Diana is now happily living in England, where all her family are originally from.

Diana’s qualifications are in the Equine world and the only writing she has ever undertaken is articles for various newspapers and magazines on her equestrian practices and even her own amazing horses. Furthermore, the topic of her next book plays into this very theme, a manual called the ‘Equus Soul Technique’. This technique developed over many years and grew organically when Diana ran workshops for CEO’s mimicking the herd leadership skills and putting them into practice in business to enhance productivity and unity within the work force. Her four-day equine-facilitated therapy workshops for traumatised women opened the door to evolving the technique into healing traumatised horses and grew from there.

“One could say I was just about born on the back of a horse.”

Diana’s father, a farmer, owned racehorses and played polo for many years until his accident on the polo field that put him into a wheelchair for life.

“My next inspiring novel is also based upon the true story of a truly powerful and inspirational man who lost the use of his legs in a polo accident and raised three very young children after losing his wife to cancer only months after his accident. ‘Muchingura’ an African name given to him, has a dual meaning- one who stays or one who sits. There will be a sequel to this novel.”

Title: BURIED IN MY PAST

Author: Eva Mackenzie

Publisher: Craven Ink Press

Pages: 398

Genre: Domestic/Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

She’s desperate to stop the panic attacks. But the truth won’t set her free…

Jamie Kendal sees life through the bottom of a bottle. After surviving assault and betrayal, she is forced back to her hometown to care for her mother. Not long after her return, she’s plagued by terrifying slivers of memories from the night her twin brother disappeared forever…

Unearthing new evidence, she’s shocked to learn she’d been found wandering in the woods that same night—covered in blood. More than one person from her past hid the haunting truth that’s bubbling to the surface. The deeper she digs into the horrors from her past, the more she fears almost anyone could be a killer, including Jamie herself.

Can Jamie expose what happened that night, or will she join her missing brother?

Review

Lately, I have really started enjoying psychological thrillers.  There is something about getting into your mind and many times, I wonder how or why people do the things that they do that are “out of the norm” or what I would consider normal.

Jamie had a traumatic event in her youth and her mind blocked it out.  However, her mind must have decided that now was the time for things to be revealed as to what happened that summer at camp when her brother was killed.  The book is told from multiple POV, and while it was quite a few voices, I felt like the story flowed well and I didn’t have trouble keeping up.

As more details were revealed and characters introduced (after Jamie went back to her hometown), I kept wondering who was involved.  I incorrectly guessed one character, despite the slimy feeling I felt from this character.  I was very surprised when the truth was finally revealed and how it played out.  I never would have guessed who was involved and why.

This is an author to watch in m book.  She weaves a tale that kept me spellbound, wanting more.  We give this 4 paws up.

Excerpt

Taylor

“Hello, my name is Taylor, and I’m a sex addict.” He looked around the room at a few familiar faces. He’d never told his story to them, but he always liked to introduce himself to the group. Of course, Taylor wasn’t his real name. And perhaps his burden was not exactly sex addiction, but it was in that vein.

“Hello, Taylor.” The group welcomed him.

He quickly took his seat and cast his eyes to the ground.

There was a big group tonight at Sex Addicts Anonymous. The dusty space occupied the third floor of the public library, rented to them every Tuesday night.

Marcie, or so she claimed to be, stood up and moved to the front of the group.

She always liked to share all the gory details of her sex addiction. Taylor secretly wondered if she was getting off telling the group about her promiscuity. Too willing, if you asked him.

He glanced around at the men and women captivated by Marcie’s passionate relapse. He imagined some were fathers and mothers. Some were possibly divorced or in open relationships. Heterosexuals, homosexuals, and anything in between. All looked like average people.

Marcie was maybe a four on a scale of one to ten, so he barely raised his head as she continued.

This was his fifteenth meeting, and every time he walked through those doors, he wondered what he was doing here. Of course, he had a problem, but he wasn’t interested in fixing it. Maybe problem wasn’t the proper classification.

Was his issue a lack of moral character? If so, who was the judge? Society? That was a joke. No one on this earth was free from lust.

All of these people were suffering. Not him. He lived the dream. But on most Tuesday nights he found the time to drive two and half hours to this meeting. He didn’t ask himself why—he knew why—and the anticipation offered a giddy sensation that nudged his crotch. He was a bastard, for sure.

There was no one in this room he was interested in. Hell, who wanted cheap thrills. He was looking for a ten.

He wasn’t a handsome man, although he wasn’t ugly either. Some might say his nose was a bit too sharp or his hair too thin. His features weren’t coveted, and he wasn’t charming or even funny. But he only had sex with women who were nines, at minimum; it was sort of a rule he had.

The group around him broke into applause as Marcie took her seat. She didn’t give him a come-hither glance. Her eyes were glued to the other man she sat next to. As he stood up to introduce himself, Marcie rested a friendly hand on his arm—encouragement. Right. 

He would be Marcie’s next relapse.

It was too easy. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

Not him—he wanted a real lay.

He stood and removed a cigarette from his coat pocket and headed for the door, his movement swift. He had forgotten the time.

Once out on the street, he was greeted by a blast of hot air. The pavement had soaked up the sun and continued to heat the city at night. He lit his smoke and waited while keeping his eyes on the steady stream of people moving down the sidewalk. The working crowd hustled along in and out of Virginia’s metro station in Arlington.

A woman in her early thirties hustled past him. Her Clinique perfume teased his nose as he closed the space quietly. Her feet slid into two-inch heels revealing that sexy muscle on the sides of her calves. She wore a business suit fitting her well in all the right places. Her smooth, pale skin flashed in the intermittent streetlights. She was a ten.

He dropped his smoke, not missing a step as she chose her watering hole.

A pub for working adults and cliques. High-end place. He knew before she even went inside that she would take a seat at the bar.

She graciously held the door for him without a backward glance.

Inside he took a seat at a table with a full view of the restaurant; Virginia didn’t have bars—they had places that serve fried food to patrons consuming large amounts of alcohol. The place was packed, noise assaulting his senses. Just the way he liked it. Much of the same crowd was here last week. He watched Ten take her seat, order her drink, and immediately pull out her cell phone.

“What can I get you?” a waitress asked.

“Gin and tonic and a margarita for my girlfriend.” He patted the table beside him as he nodded to the bathroom. She scurried off without another word.

He watched as a large group of men entered the bar. One of them spotted Ten and boldly joined her.

“Fifteen seventy,” the waitress said as she placed the two drinks in front of him a few minutes later. Opening his wallet, he counted out eighteen dollars and handed the money to her. He imagined the police asking her a list of questions. “What did he look like? How tall was he? Did he have any tattoos?” She would remember none of these things, the tip not large enough or small enough to trigger any memories.

He sipped his drink and watched.

He knew his number ten would be stood up this evening. Her profile picture online, to his delight, was an accurate depiction. In the dim bar light, her skin was as creamy and flawless as he recalled. She scanned her phone once again, her mannerisms jerky. She was looking for a man that didn’t exist. At least he didn’t live in Arlington, Virginia.

Best to travel in groups. There are a lot of assholes out there, Julie.

He pulled a small bottle from his pocket. A clear liquid inside promised adventure as he poured it into his second drink. Number ten was still at the bar, an unhappy pout dressing her full lips. The bold admirer continued a conversation with her. Perfect.

He slunk to the bar and pulled up next to her, careful not to gain her attention yet as she faced away from him. Bodies pressed in all directions. Her margarita sat barely touched in front of her.

“Can I get another gin and tonic?” He held up his empty glass. He scanned faces quickly but discreetly.

Placing his margarita next to hers, he gently tapped her on the shoulder as the bartender turned for his refill.

“This is mine, right?” he asked, pointing to her drink. She looked dazed for a second as she glanced at the two glasses. She nodded absently as he took her drink and left his cocktail instead. After paying the bartender, he went back to his table.

He watched as she drank the whole glass. Shadows danced over his face as he looked at his watch; it had been twenty minutes. Almost time.

Her movements were becoming loose as she swayed gently on the stool. Her admirer smiled at her dolefully as she seemed to lose her inhibition. Her current company mouthed, “I’ll be right back,” and took off toward the restroom. Time to make his move.

“There you are!” he said as he approached her. She looked over at him, glassy warm brown eyes accompanying a silky smile. He didn’t have much time.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was a mess.” He put his arm around her and kissed her softly on the lips. She didn’t object.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.” He was already moving toward the door.

No, I don’t have a problem. He looked down at his new girl. None at all.

About the Author

Eva Mackenzie is an author who enjoys twisty, emotionally engrossing tales. Her debut novel has been a work in progress for over a decade. Under the urging of a loved one, it’s finally finished.

She is a wife and mother living on the east coast. When she isn’t writing, she is spending time with her family, training for her next marathon or reading stacks of suspense novels. Some of her favorite authors are Minka Kent, Dean Koontz, Tami Hoag, and Lisa Jackson.

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Murder Makes Scents (Nantucket Candle Maker Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Publisher: Kensington (February 25, 2020)
Mass Market Paperback: 272 pages

Synopsis

Stella Wright loves creating candles at her Nantucket store—and she also has a burning passion for justice. Now, after visiting a perfume conference, she must solve a vial crime . . .

Stella and her globe-trotting mom, Millie, have come home from a perfume industry conference in Paris, where their trip was marred by witnessing the stabbing death of a young man. It’s a relief for Stella to be back on her picturesque island, with the comforting company of her cat, Tinker. But lingering danger may have followed them back across the ocean.

After someone breaks into her candle store, the Wick & Flame, Stella starts feeling spooked. And just as things threaten to ignite, Millie suffers a blow to the head. Stella receives an anonymous note claiming that her mother smuggled a secret formula out of France—and threatening her life if it isn’t returned. Now Stella’s picked up the scent of a cold-hearted criminal and an intriguing puzzle, and things are about to get wicked . . .

Amazon – B&N – Kobo – BAM

Excerpt

Emily was the last to go, and Peter offered to drive her home since her husband had left earlier to relieve the babysitter. When I shut the door behind them, my mom and I fell onto my double-sized mattress. A few minutes later, she was snoring, her body stretched diagonally, and I was thinking from my two inches of bed space that Tinker was living like a king at my store in comparison.

Sitting up, I texted Peter to see if he was still awake. There was no answer. Sleep, however, still eluded me, and after a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I got up and headed to my sofa. That solution was no better, because my back was stiff from the airplane and now the cushions felt too soft. Finally, I scribbled a note to my mom, and tiptoed down the stairs with my coat and car keys. There was a comfy chair in my workroom at the Wick & Flame. A few hours of sleep there would be better than a sliver of mattress and stereophonic snoring.

When the wheels of my bright red Beetle hit the cobblestones of Main Street, they sounded like bombs going off in the otherwise silent town. Fortunately, the population on Main Street at this hour was zero, so I didn’t feel too badly. Turning the corner onto Centre Street, I parked in front of my store. As I approached, the moonlight lit my breath in the cold night air.

Fall was upon us.

I hadn’t taken more than one step inside the Wick & Flame when I noticed the mess. Tinker,

evidently, had disliked his lodgings. My candle displays had been knocked over, his water bowl spilled, and some receipts on my counter were now on the floor. Across the room, I saw his shining, green-saucer eyes staring at me.

“Bad boy,” I said to him in a whisper.

Tinker swished his tail across the floor. He casually walked over to me as if the scene was my fault. I supposed it was. I’d never left him overnight at the Wick & Flame. Lesson learned. He circled my feet in what I decided was his apology. I picked him up, appreciating his warmth, and decided not to worry about the mess tonight.

Carrying Tinker into my workroom, I settled into my comfy chair with a blanket and Tinker to keep me warm. Immediately, I started to drift to sleep. My dreams were starting to take hold of me when something urged me to wake. I tried to pat Tinker, thinking he had nudged me. A moment later, I stirred again. There was no doubt about it. I heard the bell over my door jingle slightly, and then stop.

About the Author

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Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Synopsis

People think they know Jase Connors: Former front man for Kings Quarters. Successful solo artist. Consummate playboy. What they don’t know is he’s tired from road life. Tired of road life. Just plain tired.

When a beloved high school teacher passes away, Jase returns to his Midwestern childhood home to honor the teacher’s final wishes. Sparks fly when he’s reunited with his childhood best friend, Cami, and is forced to confront choices that made him the man he is today.

Dear Future Self is a 23,000-word novella spin-off of award-winning Starfish: A Rock Star Romance. It can be read as a stand-alone and guarantees a happily ever after. For mature readers only.

Review

Do you have just a little time to read?  Then pick up this novella and get lost in the world of music and romance.

This story picks up after Starfish but can be read on its own.  Granted you might understand a few of the characters and Jase’s life if you do read Starfish first, but not required.

Jase finds himself back in his hometown working with his high school crush on a project for a teacher that passed away.  I wonder if the teacher knew that these two belonged together and just needed a nudge in that direction?  Whether that was the teacher’s objective or not, it worked.  Jase and Cami become inseparable once again.  But the road to happiness isn’t easy as a certain someone tries to come between them, testing their friendship and love for each other.

This is a sweet romantic tale that made me smile, growl at the bad guy, and even made me laugh a time or two.  Definitely worth the read.

About the Author

Lisa Becker is an award-winning romance writer who spends her time like she spends her money – on books and margaritas. As Lisa’s grandmother used to say, “For every chair, there’s a tush.” Lisa is now happily married to a wonderful man she met online and lives in Manhattan Beach, California with him and their two daughters. So, if it happened for her, there’s hope for anyone!

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Synopsis

Jason Lex and Sadie Callahan are together again in their hometown of Salton recovering from personal tragedies and bearing the burden of new secrets. Both are wishing for nothing but normalcy, but when Skyfish swarm and a rogue Bigfoot attacks, Jason and Sadie know looming danger can’t be ignored.

Their friendship is challenged when a vanquished enemy returns from the dead bringing imminent threat to the lives of their friends and family. Sadie turns her back on Jason and he struggles without her to balance his upgraded Guard powers against fears of his own dark destiny, while Sadie is solely consumed on avenging her loss and defeating her adversary once and for all.

After a stunning family revelation, an agonizing betrayal exposes Jason and Sadie to their greatest enemy yet. They must find a way to fight together or suffer the loss of everything and everyone they love.

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Praise for Wendy and The Rampart Guards series

“[The Rampart Guards is] a delightful novel that delivers a tightly plotted, character-driven story. This paranormal fantasy is not only wildly entertaining, but also undeniably unique. The cast of authentic and endearing characters is one of the novel’s many strengths, along with the brisk pacing, action-packed narrative and creation of the novel’s fascinating creatures. Both adult and YA audiences should find this book appealing.”  — Kirkus Reviews (starred review), named to Kirkus Reviews’ Best Books of 2016

 “Terrien has created an intriguing world that seamlessly integrates the fantastic with the realistic and is supported by a relatable cast of characters.” — Foreword Clarion 5-star review

 “The undeniable strength of Terrien’s writing is not in the action scenes (although they are exhilarating and adeptly rendered), or in the plot (which is intelligently designed and skillfully executed), but in her ability to warmly express the very human nature of her characters as they stumble, grow, and triumph, always with the genuine support of one another.” — Colorado Book Review of The Forge of Bonds

Excerpt

Jason pulled on his coat, clipped a leash onto Shay’s harness and they headed out into the dwindling light of the wintry afternoon. Three times Skyfish zipped close and Jason dodged each one. Shay paid no attention to them.

Sadie’s right. I need to ignore them, or they will drive me crazy.

He paused, refocused on his route, and asked Shay to heel.

They took the shorter path to Uncle A’s house, traveling along the canal past thickets of chokecherry bushes and scrub oak, near the hidden cove where Jason and Sadie had first met, and where Jason had first encountered Skyfish.

As if triggered by the memory, a tingle crawled around the base of his skull. He scanned the sky but noticed nothing.

Shay froze and growled, her gaze fixed on a thick clutch of bramble on the other side of the canal.

Twigs snapped.

A shadow shifted.

“Who’s in there?” Jason asked. He flexed his fist. Bolts of electricity zipped inside him.

Nothing moved.

Shay pulled to get closer to the bushes. Jason held firm. Steam pumped from Shay’s nostrils as she sniffed and cleared her sinuses, scenting what seemed to be hidden in the waning light of day.

He tightened his grip on her leash. “Hey,” Jason yelled, trying to trigger a reveal. Still, nothing moved. Shay sat but remained trained on the spot. He waited another moment, his senses still triggering, but saw nothing and presumed more Skyfish had caused the alarm. He called to Shay to continue along the path.

Seconds later, something crashed through the brush on the far bank behind them. Jason’s powers flared his arms blue and he pivoted, Shay yanking him toward the sound. A brown figure, seemingly on all fours, barreled into the canal and cannonballed water in its wake. It scrambled up the bank and stopped about forty feet away, facing Jason and Shay, fixated for a moment while water dripped from its fur.

Sparks flashed from Jason’s raised arm.

The creature stepped closer.

His powers flared. Don’t do it…don’t make me do it…

Shay yipped and strained on her lead.

The creature sniffed the air once, twice, water gurgling in its nostrils, then turned and scrambled away.

Shay tugged to take chase. Jason countered her momentum with his and lowered his arm.

If that was a dog, it was the biggest, shaggiest dog I’ve ever seen…

Before using his power, he had to be sure a creature, a cryptid, was dangerous. He couldn’t let himself hurt something or someone when they didn’t deserve it, when they didn’t mean it.

Farther down the path, the figure faded from sight.

Jason’s arms still glowed a fiery blue.

About the Author

WENDY TERRIEN is an international best-selling author and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers’ 2017-18 Independent Writer of the Year. Her debut novel, “The Rampart Guards,” earned a Kirkus starred review and was named to Kirkus Reviews’ Best Books of 2016. Wendy graduated from the University of Utah and transplanted to Colorado where she completed her MBA at the University of Denver. She is on the board of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers, and is a member of Pikes Peak Writers, the Colorado Authors’ League, and the Author’s Guild. Wendy lives in the Denver area with her husband, Kevin, and their dogs, Shea and Boon. She is also committed to promoting pet adoption from rescues or shelters.

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Title: Savage Burn

Series: The Savage Trilogy #2

Author: Lisa Renee Jones

Release Date: February 18, 2020

Synopsis

The second book in the Savage Trilogy…

My name is Rick Savage but they call me Savage for a reason. But savage that I am, there is only one woman who can tame the beast in me, one woman who sees the real man. I loved Candace. I lost Candace. Now my enemies have targeted her. For this, they will not survive. I’m back home to save her and win her back, no matter what the cost.

Apple * Amazon * Nook * Kobo

Excerpt

“I stayed away for a reason. I knew if I ever touched you again, I’d want all of you. I’d want to own you and I wouldn’t give a shit about the price. So, yes, I’m going to spank you.”

“You think me submitting during sex means you own me?” she challenges.

“One night at a time, baby.”

“One night at a time, until you ruin me?”

“And then some,” I assure her. “There’s no saving you now.” Just to be sure she’s clear on that fact, I scoop her up and start walking.

She doesn’t object. She holds onto me. I want to believe she’ll hold on forever, but I’m not sure we’re there yet. Who am I kidding? I know we’re not f*ing there yet, which is why we’re not doing this in the kitchen. This isn’t about sex. It’s about us, it’s about our relationship, our connection, the intimacy we have shared, the past come back to life. That means our bedroom.

The place we started and ended days together. The place we talked for hours. The place where we did naughty, kinky things to each other. Okay, I did naughty, kinky things to her more than she did to me. But it was here where the most intense moments were shared.

Once there, I find a small lamp by her bedside alight, casting the room in a dim yellow hue, shadows dancing on the walls with our movements. Shadows that taunt me with everything I’ve hidden from Candace and can no longer hide if I want to make this work. And I do.

I set her down on the floor in front of the mattress, her back to my front. My hand is on her belly, my erection at her hip. My lips at her ear. “Do you think you’re ready to trust me again?”

Her hand goes to my hand as if she’s trying to control where it goes, to hold it there, and yet, she leans into me. “We’ll find out now, won’t we?”

Note from the Author

I’m so excited to continue my Savage Trilogy! I can’t wait to hear what you think of SAVAGE BURN and don’t miss book one, SAVAGE HUNGER, available now for 99 cents for a limited time!

Savage Hunger (book one) – 99 CENTS FOR A LIMITED TIME

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About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series.

In addition to the success of Lisa’s INSIDE OUT series, she has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is also the author of the bestselling WHITE LIES and LILAH LOVE series.

Prior to publishing, Lisa owned a multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

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RIO RUIDOSO

Three Rivers Trilogy, 1

by

PRESTON LEWIS

Genre: Historical Western

Publisher: Five Star Publishing

Date of Publication: February 19, 2020

Number of Pages: 299

2017 Elmer Kelton Award from the West Texas Historical Association:

Best Creative Work on West Texas

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Rio Ruidoso offers a gripping blend of history and story as two-time Spur Award-winner Preston Lewis explores the violent years before the famed Lincoln County War in New Mexico Territory. Seamlessly weaving fact with fiction, the author details the county’s corruption, racism, and violence through the eyes of protagonist Wes Bracken, newly arrived in the region to start a horse ranch with his alcoholic brother.

Bracken’s dreams for the Mirror B Ranch are threatened by his brother’s drunkenness, the corruption of economic kingpin Lawrence G. Murphy, and the murderous rampages of the racist Horrell Brothers. To bring tranquility to Lincoln County, Bracken must defeat those threats and stand his ground against the ever-changing alliances that complicate life and prosperity in multi-racial Lincoln County.

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EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO OF

RIO RUIDOSO

BY PRESTON LEWIS

Together they joined other dancers, stepping into one another’s arms and into the flow of the music. Even though he held her at arm’s length, that circumspection could not prevent the stares of the prudish matrons lining the walls with folded arms and scowls on their wrinkled faces. Sarafina, by the slight hesitation in each step, felt their hard gazes, but her equally strong will countered their disapproval.

Wes recognized the tune as “After the Ball” and above all the fiddles he recognized that of the soldier Davison for its sharp precision.

As the song ended, Sarafina curtsied to Wes, who bowed just as the door flew open. A woman screamed. Wes glanced at the commotion, his hand falling instinctively to his waist for his pistol. His fingers came up empty, then he remembered hanging his gun belt on a peg by the door.

A shot exploded in the room.

Wes jumped for Sarafina, pushing her to the floor, flinging himself atop of her.

Women and children screamed as adults tripped over themselves hiding.

One, two, three more shots punctured the air, the smell of black powder engulfing the dance floor. People gasped and shrieked. Near the entry, Wes saw a man clutching a bloody spot on his shirt.

“Luis,” screamed Sarafina, clawing from under Wes and crawling over people toward her son. Wes jumped up, shoved her back to the floor and clambered over the thrashing forms between him and the bench. All around men were blowing out the lamps, and the room dimmed, lit only by the flickering candles on the chandelier and by the flames in the two corner fireplaces. Wes darted to the wall where Luis had rested. The bench, though, was overturned and nothing looked the same. A baby’s wailing rose above the commotion.

Three more shots, one after another, flared from the entryway to be answered by more screams and the loud wail of Luis. Wes clambered for the basket. Just as he reached for it, two more explosions spit lead from the door, and the basket jerked and tumbled beyond Wes’s grasp.

“Luis,” Sarafina screamed.

Wes glanced at the door, seeing the profile of two men with pistols in their hands. He looked over his shoulder in time to see Sarafina jump up from the tangle of arms and legs that moments before had been dancers.

“Get down, Sarafina, now,” Wes shouted as he grabbed the basket and pulled it into him, but the basket was empty. He heard a whimper nearby, then a scream as his hand fell against a bundle on the ground. It was Luis.

Wes jerked the baby to him, flinching at the touch because the wrap covering him was soaked, Wes fearing from blood. The baby screamed uncontrollably as Wes screened him from the men at the door.

Two more shots flashed and thundered into the smoke-filled room, now acrid with the bitter aroma of gunpowder. “Let’s get out of here,” a voice called, followed by the heavy fall of boots outside.

Before anyone else stood up, Sarafina ran to Wes’s side, clutching her son’s damp bundle. In the dimness, she unwrapped him and celebrated. “He’s only wet himself,” she cried. “He’s okay.” Then she sobbed.

Wes pounced to his feet and scampered over the cowering forms toward the door. Knocking his coat from the peg, he jerked his gun belt free and strapped it on. At the exit, he met Haskins tugging his scabbard in place. Together they dashed outside. Fifty yards down the street, two men turned and fired at them.

“You sons a bitches,” Wes cried out. He grabbed his pistol and took aim. “You’ll die tonight,” he screamed.

Preston Lewis is the Spur Award-winning author of thirty novels. In addition to his two Western Writers of America Spurs, he received the 2018 Will Rogers Gold Medallion for Western Humor for Bluster’s Last Stand, the fourth volume in his comic western series The Memoirs of H. H. Lomax. Two other books in that series were Spur finalists. His comic western The Fleecing of Fort Griffin received the Elmer Kelton Award from the West Texas Historical Association for best creative work on the region.

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1ST PRIZE: Signed Copies of Rio Ruidoso & Bluster’s Last Stand

2ND PRIZE: Signed Copy of Rio Ruidoso

FEBRUARY 18-28, 2020

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Her Quiet Revolution: A Novel of Martha Hughes Cannon

by Marianne Monson

Publication Date: 2/18/19 Hardcover

Fiction / Historical

Book Design: © Shadow Mountain

Cover Art: Magdalena Zyzniewska/Trevillion Images;

City and County Building, Salt Lake City, used by permission, Utah Historical Society;

CSA Images/Getty Images

Art Direction: Richard Erickson Design: Heather G. Ward

Synopsis

A novel based on the life of Martha Hughes Cannon, a pioneer woman who overcame tremendous odds.

When her baby sister and her father die on the pioneer trail to Salt Lake City, Mattie is determined to become a healer. But her chosen road isn’t an easy one as she faces roadblocks common to Victorian women. Fighting gender bias, geographic location, and mountains of self-doubt, Mattie pushed herself to become more than the world would have her be, only to have everything she’s accomplished called into question when she meets the love of her life: Angus Cannon, a prominent Mormon leader and polygamist.

From the American Frontier to European coasts, Martha’s path takes her on a life journey that is almost stranger than fiction as she learns to navigate a world run by men. But heartache isn’t far behind, and she learns that knowing who you are and being willing to stand up for what you believe in is what truly defines a person.

Her Quiet Revolution is the story of one woman’s determination to change her world, and the path she forged for others to follow.

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About the Author

MARIANNE MONSON received her MFA in Creative Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts and primarily writes on topics related to women’s history. She has taught English and Creative Writing at the community college and university levels and is the author of eleven books for children and adults. She is the founder of The Writer’s Guild, a literary nonprofit, and writes from a 100-year-old house in Astoria, Oregon.

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9780525542841_DeathisButaDream_R11.indd

Synopsis

The first book to validate the meaningful dreams and visions that bring comfort as death nears.

Christopher Kerr is a hospice doctor. All of his patients die. Yet he has cared for thousands of patients who, in the face of death, speak of love and grace. Beyond the physical realities of dying are unseen processes that are remarkably life-affirming. These include dreams that are unlike any regular dream. Described as “more real than real,” these end-of-life experiences resurrect past relationships, meaningful events and themes of love and forgiveness; they restore life’s meaning and mark the transition from distress to comfort and acceptance.

Drawing on interviews with over 1,400 patients and more than a decade of quantified data, Dr. Kerr reveals that pre-death dreams and visions are extraordinary occurrences that humanize the dying process. He shares how his patients’ stories point to death as not solely about the end of life, but as the final chapter of humanity’s transcendence. Kerr’s book also illuminates the benefits of these phenomena for the bereaved, who find solace in seeing their loved ones pass with a sense of calm closure.

Beautifully written, with astonishing real-life characters and stories, this book is at its heart a celebration of our power to reclaim the dying process as a deeply meaningful one. Death Is But a Dream is an important contribution to our understanding of medicine’s and humanity’s greatest mystery.

Excerpt

Tom was only forty when he arrived at Hospice Buffalo with end-stage AIDS. Unlike most of my patients, he was not surrounded by loved ones. Not a soul came to visit, ever. He was rather stoic, so I wondered if the absence of visitors was his choice rather than an indicator of his loneliness. Maybe that was his way of refusing to give death an audience.

I was puzzled but, wanting to respect his privacy, did not inquire. Tom’s emaciated body showed traces of once-chiseled muscles. He had kept fit and was still quite young, which gave me hope. In light of his age and physical conditioning, I thought that his body would be more likely to respond positively to life-prolonging treatment. Not long after he was admitted, I went to the nurse’s station and decreed, “I think we can buy Tom some time. IV antibiotics and fluids should do it.”

The charge nurse, Nancy, had been at Hospice Buffalo for much longer than I had. She knew her job, and everyone looked up to her. She was also not one to mince words. Still, her response took me by surprise: “Too late. He’s dying.”

I said, “Oh really?”

She replied, “Yep. He’s been dreaming about his dead mother.” I chuckled awkwardly—equal parts disbelief and defensiveness. “I don’t remember that class from medical school,” I said.

Nancy did not miss a beat. “Son, you must have missed a lot of classes.”

I was a thirty-year-old cardiology fellow finishing my specialty training while working weekends at Hospice Buffalo to pay the bills. Nancy was an exceptional veteran nurse who had limited patience for young, idealistic doctors. She did what she always did when someone was out of their depth—she rolled her eyes.

I went about my business, mentally running through all the ways modern medicine could give Tom another few weeks or even months. He was riddled with infection, so we administered antibiotics. Because he was also severely dehydrated, I asked for a saline drip. I did all I could do as a doctor to prolong his life, but within forty-eight hours, Tom was dead.

Nancy had been right in her estimation of where he was on the downward slope. But how could she have known? Was it just pessimism, the numbing effect of having watched so many people die? Was she truly using a patient’s dream as a predictor of life-span? Nancy had worked in hospice for more than two decades. She was tuned in to aspects of dying I knew nothing about: its subjective dimensions. How patients experienced illness, particularly dying, had mostly been ignored throughout my training as a doctor.

Like many physicians, I’d never considered that there might be more to death than an enemy to be fought. I knew about blind intervention—doing everything possible to keep people conscious and breathing—but had little regard for the way any given individual might wish to die, or for the unavoidable truth that ultimately death is inevitable. Because it had not been part of my medical education, I failed to see how the subjective experience of dying could be relevant to my role as a doctor.

It was ultimately the remarkable incidence of pre-death dreams and visions among my dying patients that made me realize how significant a phenomenon this was, both at a clinical and a human level. As a hospice doctor, I have been at the bedsides of thousands of patients who, in the face of death, speak of love, meaning, and grace. They reveal that there is often hope beyond cure as they transition from a focus on treatment to notions of personal meaning. As illness advances, grace and grit collide and bring new insight to those dying and their loved ones, insight that is often paradoxically life-affirming. This experience includes pre-death dreams and visions that are manifestations of this time of integration and coming into oneself. These are powerful and stirring experiences that occur in the last days or hours of life and that constitute moments of genuine insight and vivid re-centering for patients. They often mark a clear transition from distress to acceptance, a sense of tranquility and wholeness for the dying. Patients consistently describe them as “more real than real,” and they are each as unique as the individual having them.

These end-of-life experiences are centered on personal histories, self-understanding, concrete relationships, and singular events. They are made of images and vignettes that emanate from each person’s life experiences rather than from abstract preoccupations with the great beyond. They are about a walk in the woods relived alongside a loving parent, car rides or fishing trips taken with close family members, or seemingly insignificant details such as the texture or color of a loved one’s dress, the feel of a horse’s velvety muzzle, or the rustling sound of a cottonwood’s shimmering leaves in the backyard of a childhood home. Long-lost loved ones come back to reassure; past wounds are healed; loose ends are tied; lifelong conflicts are revisited; forgiveness is achieved.

Doctors owe it to their patients to incorporate this awareness into our practice. End-of-life experiences ought to be recognized as evidence of the life-affirming and inspiring resilience of the human spirit that drives them. They are proof of humanity’s built-in, natural, and profoundly spiritual capacity for self-sustenance and self-healing, grace and hope. They help restore meaning at end of life and assist in reclaiming dying as a process in which patients have a say. They also benefit those left behind, the bereaved, who get relief from seeing their loved ones die with a sense of peace and closure.

This subjective experience of dying is also a powerful reminder that beauty and love in human existence often manifest themselves when we least expect it. The patients who summon up comforting processes at life’s end are beset by symptoms of a failing body over which they have limited control. They are at their most frail and vulnerable, existing within suffering states of aching bones and hunger for air. Catheters, IVs, and pills may now be part of their every day, sometimes literally functioning as extensions of their bodies under the daily medical management that is their new and irreversible lot. They may experience various degrees of cognitive, psychological, and spiritual dissonance. Yet even as the inexorable march of time is taking its toll on their bodies and minds, many also have pre-death dreams and visions in the context of which they display remarkable awareness and mental sharpness.

Herein truly lies the paradox of dying: patients are often emotionally and spiritually alive, even enlightened, despite a precipitous physical deterioration. The physical and psychological toll of dying may be undeniable, but it is also what makes the emotional and spiritual changes brought about by end-of-life experiences border on the miraculous. Doing justice to end-of-life experiences means accounting for this paradox, one in which death and dying transcend physical decline and sadness to include spiritual awakening, beauty, and grace. Or, as the title character in the acclaimed Tuesdays with Morrie puts it, “Aging is not just decay, you know. It’s growth. It’s more than the negative that you’re going to die.” This is also true of the dying process, which often functions as a summing up, culmination, and capstone, an opportunity to recognize and celebrate our humanity in all its complexity and dignity rather than just as an ending.

Excerpted from DEATH IS BUT A DREAM by Christopher Kerr, MD, PhD and Carine Mardorossian, PhD. Published on February 11, 2020 by Avery, and imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2020 by William Hudson, LLC

About the Author

Christopher Kerr, MD, PhD, is the author of Death Is But a Dream: Finding Hope and Meaning at Life’s End. He is the CEO and chief medical officer at Hospice Buffalo. Born and raised in Toronto, Kerr earned his MD as well as a PhD in neurobiology and completed his residency in internal medicine at the University of Rochester. His research has received international attention and has been featured in The New York Times, Atlantic Monthly, and the BBC. He lives on a horse farm in the small town of East Aurora, New York.

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