Synopsis

 

A standalone novel in the Mayfield Family series with an unusual premise and an uplifting ending.

Lady Sabrina endured an abusive marriage, a miscarriage, and early widowhood to emerge as a smart, successful, confident woman who found a way to make her mark in a man’s world. She has friends and purpose, but cannot hide from the emptiness she feels when the parties are over and the friends have gone home to families she will never have.

Harry Stillman may be charming and handsome, but he’s a gambler and a rake who has made a mockery of his privileges. He turns to the mysterious Lord Damion for financial relief from his debts, but still ends up beaten nearly senseless by thugs and left in an alley.

When Lady Sabrina comes upon Harry after the attack, she remembers the kindness Harry once showed to her six years ago and brings him to her estate to heal. Though their relationship begins on rocky footing, it soon mellows into friendship, then trust. But Lady Sabrina needs to keep Harry at a distance, even if he is becoming the kind of man worthy of her heart. After all, she is keeping a secret that, if exposed, could destroy everything she’s so carefully built.

 

 

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IndieBound | Audible

 

 

 

 

 

 

Praise

 

“Uplifting…Kilpack flips the typical Regency romance script, with the heroine rescuing the hero. Kilpack’s strong, upright heroine who finds a way to claim her power in Regency society sets this love story apart. This magnetic tale will appeal to fans of emotional romance.”— Publisher’s Weekly

“Kilpack takes traditional regency roles and challenges them. She shows how one person can make an impact in the world. I found the story and premise unique.”— Heather Gardner, Fire and Ice

“This is a story of redemption above all else…the ending was perfect.”— Lucinda Whitney, author of Rescuing the Prince

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

“I am ruined,” Harry said softly. “I’ve nothing left, and no income for at least another month. It would not be near enough even if I were to receive it tomorrow.”

Ward looked irritated rather than sympathetic. Someone shouted from a street over, reminding Harry that they were not in a genteel part of the city. But he had nothing for thieves to steal, and he looked and smelled like an urchin, save for his coat, which he held over his injured arm and away from his soiled clothes.

“I told you to leave,” Ward said tightly as he pointed toward the door of the gaming hell behind them. “I did everything I could to get you away from the tables in time.” Harry raked his hand through his hair, belatedly remembering the filth on his fingers. Would his landlord allow him a bath even though he was behind on his rent?

“I am ruined, Ward,” Harry said again. Did his friend understand what that meant? Did he know how low Harry truly was? “I’ve nothing to sustain me until the parcel is sold, which could take weeks.”

Suddenly Ward was striding toward him, anger adding power to each step. Harry shrank back as though Ward were going to strike him.

“What do you want me to say, Stillman?” Ward snapped, leaning toward him. “Do you want me to pat you on the head and tell you all will be well? Shall I convince you that one more night will change your circumstances?” He shook his head and pulled himself up to his full height, a few inches taller than Harry. “I am near my limit with this . . . dissipation. There is no fun in it anymore, and each night is a bigger disaster than the night before.”

“What can I do?” Harry pleaded. “I’ve no money to pay my expenses, and I can’t get credit with even a blacksmith anymore. I do not have the ten percent necessary to keep Malcom at bay for another week.” He swallowed against the dryness in this throat. He had mere hours to come up with two hundred and seventy pounds. “Help me, Ward. I cannot think straight enough to come up with a solution. Malcolm knows where I lodge. He’ll come for me, and I have nothing to offer him.” He’d once been so good at clever answers to the scrapes he found himself in. Now it was just that beating drum.

Lost it all. Lost it all. Lost it all.

Ward took a breath, forcing calm as though he were the parent and Harry the disobedient child. “My parents have returned to Sussex, leaving the London house empty. We could stay there for a time. I don’t know where you’ll get funds, though.”

“Can I . . . Can I borrow enough from you to hold off Malcom for one more week?”

Ward’s eyebrows came together, and his jaw clenched.

“You shall be the first person I pay back when I sell the parcel,”

Harry said desperately. “And if I could borrow an extra fifty, I could triple it by the end of next week.”

Ward’s face went dark, and he turned to leave again.

“Ward, hear me out,” Harry said, hurrying to catch up. It was the only solution, and Harry could make good on the loan. Not at this club, of course, but there were others he had not been barred from where he could win back all that he owed and more. Tonight was the perfect example of how lucky Harry could be. If he’d just left when he was ahead, or if Ward had not interrupted his luck routines, then things would have turned out very differently. I need to get out of London, he told himself, a whiff of his former decision passing through his thoughts. But he couldn’t.

Not now. Only in London he could win enough money to pay off his debts. Ward turned to Harry, his nostrils flared, but then his eyes focused on something past Harry’s shoulder, and his expression went slack. Harry belatedly heard footsteps on the cobbles and turned to see three men coming toward them from the shadowy end of the alley. His first thought was that they were the protectors from the club, but as they drew closer, he realized the man in the middle was familiar. Harry noted the scar that ran from beneath the man’s left eye to his jawline. Pocked skin and eyes as black as night confirmed the man’s identity. “M-malcom,” Harry said under his breath, every part of his body going cold.

 

Excerpt taken from Chapter Three, pages 26-28 with permission

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Josi S. Kilpack is the bestselling author of several Proper Romance and Proper Romance Historical series and a Cozy Culinary Mystery series. Her books, A Heart Revealed and Lord Fenton’s Folly; were Publishers Weekly Best Romance Books of the Year. She and her husband, Lee, are the parents of four children.

 

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

 

 

 

 

 

Title: THE MARVELOUS MECHANICAL MAN

Author: Rie Sheridan Rose

Publisher: Independent

Pages: 270

Genre: Steampunk Adventure Romance

 

Synopsis

 

The Marvelous Mechanical Man is the first book in a Steampunk series featuring the adventures of Josephine Mann, an independent woman in need of a way to pay her rent. She meets Professor Alistair Conn, in need of a lab assistant, and a partnership is created that proves exciting adventure for both of them.

Alistair’s prize invention is an automaton standing nine feet tall. There’s a bit of a problem though…he can’t quite figure out how to make it move. Jo just might be of help there. Then again, they might not get a chance to find out, as the marvelous mechanical man goes missing.

Jo and Alistair find themselves in the middle of a whirlwind of kidnapping, catnapping, and cross-country chases that involve airships, trains, and a prototype steam car. With a little help from their friends, Herbert Lattimer and Winifred Bond, plots are foiled, inventions are perfected, and a good time is had by all.

 

 

Guest Post

 

I love it when I find new Texas authors and while I have never ready this series, the author is here to the rescue to tell us about the characters in this book.  Sort of an introduction if you will.  I love this little snippet about the various characters and it gives me a little more insight into them and I hope that you will find them intriguing as well.

 

Top Ten Characters in The Marvelous Mechanical Man

 

10) Vanessa, the companion/maid who keeps Aunt Emily’s house running like clockwork.

 

9) Aunt Emily Estes, Alistair’s widowed aunt with a sharp eye and a convenient piano box.

 

8) Paul Blessant, a professorial colleague with an eye toward profit.

 

7) Ma Stark, landlady with a heart of gold and a kitchen that never seems closed.

 

6) Miss Priss, Jo’s bosom companion and solace in times of trouble.

 

5) Herbert Lattimer, whose airship is indispensable in saving the day.

 

4) Winifred Bond—Fred to her friends—who shoots straighter and spits further than anyone else Jo knows.

 

3) Phaeton, the Marvelous Mechanical Man himself, who is really the heart of the matter.

 

2) Our hero, Professor Alistair Conn, whose ingenuity exceeds even his own expectations.

 

1) And, of course, our heroine Josephine Mann who narrates the story with her own inimitable style.

 

 

Excerpt

 

I was debating just what I should do next when I heard the sound of a key in the front lock. Hurrying back to the laboratory, I was just in time to see Alistair Conn step inside.

“Professor Conn! Am I glad to see you.”

He set the bundles he was carrying down on the counter.

“What is it, Miss Mann?”

“Your mechanical man…can it walk on its own?”

He frowned, glancing quickly at the rear door and back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I rolled my eyes.

“We don’t have time for shilly-shallying. Yes, I know I didn’t have your leave to look in the back rooms, but I did. I saw the automaton, or statue, or whatever he was, but when I opened the door to the hallway this morning, the door to the storage room was ajar and the man was gone.”

“Gone?” All the color fled his face, and he pushed me aside, practically running down the lab to the rear door. He threw it open and darted to the storage room. “No…no! This is impossible! How could he be gone?”

“That’s what I was asking you.”

“He can’t move on his own, Miss Mann. He has no power source. He’s just a big metal doll without his heart—and that doesn’t work yet.” He wiped his hand across his lips then turned and ran back to the lab, searching furiously amid the items I had so carefully arranged—apparently to no avail—on the counter. “It’s gone!” he cried. “They got that, too? Oh, this is disastrous, indeed.”

“Got what?” I asked, following him back to the lab, where he seemed determined to destroy all my neatening efforts of the day before.

“The heart, Miss Mann, the heart! I showed it to you yesterday morning—it’s an oblong machine, about so big….” He held up his hands about six inches apart. “You asked me what it did.”

I stepped over to the counter and opened the drawer beneath it. Rummaging in the back, I withdrew the silk-wrapped package I had placed within it the night before.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

He practically snatched it from my hand.

“Thank God! Oh, that was most clever, Miss Mann. Most clever.”

I decided there was no need to tell the man it was only chance that had protected his precious…whatever it was. Let him think it had been foresight.

“You say that’s the statue’s heart?”

“Well, it will be, if it ever starts working. This little object will provide the power necessary to move the automaton’s limbs, to let him think. He will be a true mechanical man.”

“But it doesn’t work.”

He sighed.

“Not yet.” He set the oblong down on the counter. “I’ve done everything I can think of, but I just can’t make it do anything.”

I looked down at the funny little machine. I couldn’t tell him I had played with it and added things. He would never forgive me.

Something looked odd about the assembly. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what, so I put my finger on the machine instead. There was a tiny lever half-hidden by the new gear assembly. It shifted under my fingertip, and suddenly, the heart began to beat.

 

 

About the Author

 

Rie Sheridan Rose multitasks. A lot. Her short stories appear in numerous anthologies, including Nightmare Stalkers and Dream Walkers Vols. 1 and 2, and Killing It Softly Vols. 1 and 2. She has authored twelve novels, six poetry chapbooks, and lyrics for dozens of songs. These were mostly written in conjunction with Marc Gunn, and can be found on “Don’t Go Drinking with Hobbits” and “Pirates vs. Dragons” for the most part–with a few scattered exceptions.

Her favorite work to date is The Conn-Mann Chronicles Steampunk series with five books released so far: The Marvelous Mechanical Man, The Nearly Notorious Nun, The Incredibly Irritating Irishman, The Fiercely Formidable Fugitive, and The Elderly Earl’s Estate.

Rie lives in Texas with her wonderful husband and several spoiled cat-children.

 

Website * Book Website * Twitter * Facebook

 

 

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

She’s sweet and wholesome. And hiding something.
He’s back home, resurrecting old ghosts.
One of them is going to get hurt.

Molly arrives in Sutter’s Hollow out of gas and out of options. The rundown ranch seems like a perfect place to hide. Except the man who owns it seems just as dangerous as what’s chasing her.

Cord’s mantra growing up? Get out of Sutter’s Hollow. Now he’s back in town, but only long enough to get rid of his grandma’s ball and chain—the ranch. He doesn’t need a complication like Molly, who reminds him of an injured baby bird. He’s no protector. So why can’t he tell her to get lost?

 

 

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Excerpt

 

What was she going to do?

Molly caught her knuckle as she twisted the wrench on a nut that just wouldn’t give. She gritted her teeth as the skin scraped away. She sucked on the skin, the iron tang of blood settling on her tongue.

Questions bounced through her mind as a cold wind blew straight down the collar of her jacket.

Once she got the nut loosened, the dead alternator would lift out. Another hour, and she’d have the new one installed in its place.

And then what?

She’d promised Cord she’d get off his property. He’d been kind, letting her stay the past two nights. She’d repaid him by cooking some of Mama’s favorite meals, though she’d left him to eat in peace, staying in her room and strumming her guitar.

She hadn’t slept other than in snatches. 
She needed to get the fear under control. She couldn’t keep going like this.

She’d seen a random stranger walking down the street and panicked. A full blown attack, with the shakes and trouble breathing. In front of Cord, who obviously pitied her.

Pitied her, but wasn’t going to invite her to stay.

I’ll never let you go.

I’ll kill anybody you get close to.

Toby’s cutting voice had been bouncing through her brain ever since.

You’re mine.

She wasn’t his. Never had been.

But no matter how many times she repeated it to herself, his voice followed her.

She’d found a measure of safety on Cord’s land. It was quiet, peaceful. Maybe she could find someplace like it.

She tried to tell herself she would be fine.

But she didn’t believe it.

Footsteps crunched in the dried grasses, and she startled so badly that she dropped her wrench into the engine with a clang.

She might’ve uttered a cuss word under her breath as she retrieved it.

She shot a glance at Cord, approaching from the house, but he pretended he hadn’t seen her jump like a lunatic.

“Need some help?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned above a T-shirt that clung to his abs.

“No thanks.” She’d fight with this bolt a little more, and then she’d win. She’d do the next step and the next until the engine was rebuilt.

Too bad she didn’t have a manual for how to rebuild her life.

He shifted his feet. Opened his mouth. Shut it again. Then blurted, “Can you come inside for a minute? I wanna talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? I told you I’m getting ready to leave. You’ll have your solitude back.”

He mumbled something under his breath. When she shot him a look, he awarded her a tight smile. It was some improvement over his fierce frowns. What would it take to drag a real smile from him?
”Please, will you come inside?”

The nut finally loosened, the tension giving away under the strain in her arm. 
”Fine,” she said.

It was the work of a few seconds to remove the nut and bolt, and then she lifted out the alternator and set it on the ground beside the truck. An empty spot was left behind in the truck’s engine.

That’s how she felt right now. There was a huge piece missing inside of her. She didn’t know how to get it back.

She wiped her grease-stained hands on a rag as she followed Cord to the house. 
In the kitchen, he motioned her to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter instead.

He leveled a look on her. “You okay?”

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t fine. But he’d already seen her at her worst, and she didn’t want to face his pity again.

“Molly.”

She heard the skepticism in the single word. 
She turned away and started running water at the sink. She scrubbed her hands with the rough green bar of soap left there. And rinsed.

And then he was close behind her, reaching around her to turn off the water. Her body was betraying her again. It was awareness of him at her shoulder—not fear—that made her heart pound.

That and the sickening memory of Toby.

“I want to know what’s going on,” he said. The words emerged heavy, as if they’d cost him.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

He touched her, cupping one hand beneath her elbow.

And when she looked up at him again, something was burning behind his eyes. “I have to know. Did someone hurt you?”

She clutched the edge of the sink. “He tried.”

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Lacy Williams wishes her writing career was more like what you see on Hallmark movies: dreamy brainstorming from a French chateau or a few minutes at the computer in a million-dollar New York City penthouse. In reality, she’s up before the sun, putting words on the page before her kids wake up for the day. Those early-morning and late-night writing sessions add up, and Lacy has published fifty books in almost a decade, first with a big five publisher and then as an indie author. When she needs to refill the well, you can find Lacy birdwatching, gardening, biking with the kiddos, or walking the dog.

 

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Synopsis

 

Growing up in Reading, Michael Bond never thought of himself as a writer. He quit school at the age of 14, served in the Royal Air Force during World War II and later went on to work as a cameraman for the BBC. Struggling to tap into something more creative, the inspiration came to him after an unexpected trip to a toy shop, where he bought the last bear on the shelf for his wife. This would later become Paddington Bear.

More Than Marmalade: Michael Bond and the Story of Paddington Bear (Chicago Review Press; March 3, 2020; Ages 9 to 12), by Rosanne Tolin, is the untold story of Paddington Bear’s author Michael Bond. This middle-grade biography uncovers the many important elements that inspired the Paddington story, including Bond’s early life, world history and the cultural events of the 1950s. Kids will be captivated as they learn about the true events—such as WWII and the refugee crisis—that influenced many of the details in the series, events that are still relevant to this day.

Aiming to shine a hopeful light on what we can learn from the past, the book captures the care that went into Bond’s creation of Paddington Bear and how Paddington has become a timeless, beloved character in both children’s literature and film. Chockfull of whimsy, heartfelt anecdotes and charming takeaways, the book captures the loving relationship between Bond and his protagonist. Tolin explains how this relationship soon spanned nationwide, as Paddington went on to win the hearts of families across the world.

A story of perseverance and imagination, More Than Marmalade will inspire young readers, telling the unlikely success story of a brave displaced bear and his writer. Along with plenty of pictures of Michael and his personal Paddington Bear, kids will learn about life as it was during the 1950s.

 

 

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Excerpt

 

Michael sighed heavily. Another rejection had arrived from another magazine. As hard as it was, Michael read every refusal, hoping for comments from the editor. Although he was happy that he and Brenda could affora modest home with the income from his job as a cameraman, his dream was to support his family as a published author. Sometimes editors sent him short notes, offering suggestions to make his story better. These rare but encouraging words were what he needed to press on with his writing.

Most times, however, he was turned down with nothing more than a form letter. The only thing he could do was sit down at his desk, crank a fresh sheet of paper into his typewriter, and write something new. But where should he begin?

He could write an article about how the face of Britain had changed with the rise in immigration since the war. Hoping to fill an urgent need for workers, nearly 500 men came by ship from Jamaica. Many people from India and Pakistan had arrived in West London, where Michael lived, looking for labor. Eastern European evacuees who had fled the dangerous Nazi regime decided to stay, too. All day long, rushed exchanges in a symphony of languages rose above the busy city streets like musical notes. Michael listened closely to the tunes of many tongues on his way to work, relishing the stream of sounds that swept past his ears.

The number of immigrants had been climbing steadily for 20 years. Britain used to be called the British Empire because they governed a lot of other countries and territories. The king of England even ruled the colonies that became the United States. England also held power in India until 1947, and ruled Hong Kong until 1997. Many people from these areas in Asia settled in the United Kingdom, too.

Michael’s apartment stood right in the middle of this melting pot of people. On Portobello Road, he shopped at Notting Hill market. The Afro-Caribbean shops that lined the street offered stall after stall of foods from the West Indies. The salty, fresh aroma of goat stew wafted into his open window as he worked. As Michael’s thoughts took shape, he tapped out a few words about the distinct talk and tastes of foreign cultures. Nothing seemed to take hold with that special spark a writer needs. He was too exasperated to think clearly, but giving up wasn’t an option. Thankfully, he knew one man who always stayed calm. That man was Michael’s literary agent, Harvey Unna.

Literary agents help writers sell their work to publishers. If anyone could help Michael out of this writer’s block, it was Harvey. He was a Jewish refugee from Nazi Germany who would later inspire Paddington’s good friend Mr. Gruber. When Michael phoned, they talked a bit about the mounting rejection letters. Then Michael took a deep breath. He was about to admit a frustrating thing for a man with a huge imagination. He needed to stay strong. “Harvey, I just don’t know what to write next. My mind is utterly blank.”

Harvey didn’t seem surprised or upset. Instead, he had an immediate reply.

“Describe your room,” Harvey said.

“You want me to write about my room?” Michael asked. Harvey laughed gently. “No, not exactly. Tell me what’s in your room. Look around. What do you see?” Michael scanned the objects around him. Since there wasn’t space for a private office, he worked in the living room. The first thing he saw was the antique wall clock, then swiftly turned his sights to a framed picture of his parents on his desk. The black-and-white photo made them look more old-fashioned than Michael recalled. As he continued to look around, his eyes landed on Paddington.

“We have a small bear,” Michael said.

“A bear?” Harvey asked.

“Yes,” Michael said. “He is honey colored and has soft brown eyes. His name is Paddington.”

“Write about that,” Harvey said. “Write about Paddington Bear.”

 

 

About the Author

 

An experienced and well-respected journalist, Rosanne Tolin is the creator and editor of the ALA award-winning children’s e-zine and website Imagination Café. Tolin is also the former managing editor of Guideposts for Kids magazine and the Guideposts for Kids website. She lives in Chesterton, Indiana.

 

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Synopsis

 

The Songbirds is a literary tale that goes to the heart of what’s ailing today’s world and tries to find the answers to our most pressing questions.

Amidst poetry and the innocence of youth, the love story of Kasim and Sumera sprouts in the romantic settings of Bada Ghar, the mystical house of a long-gone but not forgotten poet, Bulbul Baba, their mutual ancestor. To carve a better future for Sumera and himself, Kasim migrates West. But, once there, an increasingly westernised Kasim begins to see his for love for Sumera as taboo. So, instead, he tries to find fulfilment in London, forcefully burying his love.

However, with time, Kasim realises that the West doesn’t have the answers he is looking for and his yearning for Sumera returns, becoming stronger than ever, but a huge barrier now stands between them. Not only that, but time could also be running out because, back home, Sumera has gone on to become a fiery blogger over controversial issues, earning herself many enemies, possibly one too many.

“A meditation on love’s complicated intimacies…A stunning literary tale!”

To the free bird in all of us…

 

 

 

 

Excerpts

 

#1
The study room at Bulbul Baba’s Bada Ghar. To me, it is the most magical room in the whole world, for it has the poetry of the heavens. There, year after year, I see many bulbuls sing, competing with each other to see who has the sweetest song. There is one, in particular, a young bulbul, whose chirps rise like the scented petals of jasmine caressed by the breeze and touch the heart.

 

#2

Ironically, years ago, I had taken a big leap to reach where I now precariously stood. I hadn’t known then that the hand I had leapt for would turn out to be a mirage. Not only that but in making that leap, I had let go of the only hand which had truly ever anchored me; I had let go of her hand.

Now, as my hands flail in desperation, she is the only one who can save me. However, the distance that separates us is the distance which separates the Moon from the Earth. Still, impossible as it may seem, I have to reach for her hand.

Though, there is also a fear that she is no longer there, waiting for me. For all I know, it could be another mirage beckoning me, but I have to find out. I have to leap back to her; only this time it is a leap of faith. My faith in love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

I write because silence is not an option. At the same time, my novels brim with hope in addition to having a riveting plot. My debut novel, which was published by a boutique publisher in Europe some years ago, was seen to be refreshing.

My recent novel Guns and Saffron has received exceptionally good reviews on Amazon, NetGalley, and Goodreads saying that it is addictive, fresh and enlightening. The Songbirds, a literary tale, is my latest novel.

 

 

FIRST HERD TO ABILENE

 

An H. H. Lomax Western, #5

 

by

 

PRESTON LEWIS

 

Genre: Historical Fiction / Western / Humor

Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing

Date of Publication: February 5, 2020

Number of Pages: 449

Scroll down for the giveaway!

 

 

 

 

HISTORICALLY SOUND AND HILARIOUSLY FUNNY! 

H.H. Lomax meets Wild Bill Hickok in Springfield, Missouri, and is responsible for Hickok’s legendary gunfight with Davis Tutt. Fearing Hickok will hold a grudge, Lomax escapes Springfield and agrees to promote Joseph G. McCoy’s dream of building Abilene, Kansas, into a cattle town, ultimately leading the first herd to Abilene from Texas.

Along the way, he encounters Indians, rabid skunks, flash floods, a stampede, and the animosities of some fellow cowboys trying to steal profits from the drive. Lomax is saved by the timely arrival of now U.S. Marshal Hickok, but Lomax uses counterfeit wanted posters to convince Hickok his assailants are wanted felons with rewards on their heads.

Lomax and Wild Bill go their separate ways until they run into each other a decade later in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, where Hickok vows to kill Lomax for getting him fired.

First Herd to Abilene is an entertaining mix of historical and hysterical fiction.

 

 

 

 

Amazon  *  Barnes and Noble  *  Bookshop.org

 

 

 

 

As the last to return, Silas and I were only two drovers without sleep since the stampede so we spooned down the food as fast as we could, planning to crawl in our bedrolls and get blessed rest.  While we ate, Sainty mounted his horse and rode out to bring Parsons and Mark to the wagon, leaving the cattle unguarded.  Then he motioned to the remuda for Muñoz and Ramírez to join us.  I finished my plate and carried it over to Bitters, then went to fetch my bedding, but Sainty told me to rejoin to the others.

“Men,” he announced, “we lost a hundred and thirty-three steers by my herd count plus another thirteen that had to be shot due to injuries.  We can’t afford more losses that size.”

Everybody nodded.

“Your pay and the Five-D Ranch’s survival depend on reducing our losses and making as big a profit as we can.”

“Hold on,” said Muscher.  “You’re not cutting our pay because of the stampede, are you?”

“No, Chuck, but if we don’t have cattle when we get to Abilene, there’ll be nothing to pay anybody with.”

“Cattle or no cattle, you’ll owes us a dollar a day,” cried O’Henry.”

“You owe me a full day’s work, which I don’t always get, Irish.  We’re in this together, whether we like it or not.  That’s why I need to know what started the stampede so it won’t happen again.

O’Henry spun around and pointed at me.  “Lomax started it.  He farted!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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║Amazon Author Page║

 

 

———————–

 

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Signed Copies of First Herd to Abilene and Bluster’s Last Stand

 

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Signed Copy of First Herd to Abilene

 

APRIL 28-MAY 8, 2020

 

(US ONLY)

 

 

 

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4/28/20	BONUS Post	Hall Ways Blog
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5/1/20	Review	The Clueless Gent
5/2/20	Scrapbook Page	All the Ups and Downs
5/3/20	Excerpt	StoreyBook Reviews
5/4/20	Review	Reading by Moonlight
5/5/20	Author Interview	Texas Book Lover
5/6/20	Review	Bibliotica
5/7/20	Review	Books and Broomsticks
5/7/20	BONUS Post	#Bookish

 

 

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Synopsis

 

Karma, a young man, knows very well who his soulmate is. Or so he thinks.

But, really, who is the one?

The posh Angela who he worships. Or is it Sana, the wild racer, who drives him crazy. Or is it Simi, the sensible psychologist, who puts him back together.

Or maybe there is no one for him because Karma’s deeds in his all-consuming quest as he scours the world have broken so many rules that, one day, karma, the immortal and unrelenting collector of soul-debt, comes calling for Karma, the mortal, himself.

The novel demonstrates the lengths one is willing to go to, the rules one is willing to break and the soul-debt one is willing to accumulate in the quest for a soulmate. Truly, everything is fair in love, even if not in war.

Will Karma the mortal outwit karma the immortal? Or will karma wipe Karma away…

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

Every once in awhile, Grandfather would muster enough strength to pick up his stick and take a walk to the orchard, along with me, whenever he needed a fix; Lalita’s husband was his supplier.

Grandfather would pay for the joint of marijuana, once Lalita’s husband had prepared it for him. After that, we would sit under the shade of a mango tree, while Grandfather took lazy puffs from his joint, a big toothless grin spreading across his face and making him look like a laughing Buddha, except Grandfather was thinner. Once the Marijuana had taken full effect, he would close his eyes, lean against the tree trunk and talk about the good old days; the days of his youth and strength, when he had led our townsfolk in the freedom struggle. He talked proudly of the time spent in the local prison along with fellow patriots. He often mentioned a letter which Mahatma Gandhi himself had written, personally thanking Grandfather for his efforts, though no one else in the family had ever seen that letter.

The only other freedom fighter I knew of was a young toffee seller, a dark-skinned and handsome man, Veerasamy. Tied to an upright stick, attached to his bicycle, was a toffee doll, dressed in an old pink frock. He would pull some toffee from the doll, fashion it into a watch, a ring or a bird and sell to children in town. While moulding our toffees into the shape we desired, Veerasamy talked about equality; for the poor, for women and the children. What we needed was evolution and not revolution he would say. In his free time, he did solo acting plays at the town centre, being for a while the oppressor and for a while the oppressed. A police constable had whacked him with the cane once for being a nuisance in public, which was when the toffee man’s performance had held up traffic.

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Before I tell you more about myself, I want to answer a question that might arise in your mind. Given there are already so many writers (some might think too many), the question is: Why should I write at all?

Simply, I write because I was not allowed to write. Or read, any book which had the word love in it. In my family, it was believed that reading about love lead to rebellion. I myself picked up the pen when my only child was six-months old. At that time, I was without a job. I wrote because there was a lot that I wanted to tell my child, even if one day in the future, to make sense of this world. Writing also helped me keep hope alive, one page at a time, as I went from one fruitless interview to another.

As my child took first steps, I reached a milestone of my own. I completed my first book; the story of a young man’s quest to find answers to life’s questions. A boutique publisher in Paris loved it and translated my work into French. I even found a job soon after.

I am choosing to write under a pen-name because I am at a stage in my life where I prefer and love anonymity. Once my child is older, I intend to write under my own name.

Many thanks for reading my post and I hope you enjoy reading my novels.

 

Happy Reading!

Karma

 

 

 

Today I’m sharing a book that could be one that gives you great insight into yourself and your possibilities.  While I haven’t read the book yet, I have heard that if you like The Secret you just might like this book too.  My husband and I are big proponents of The Secret and manifesting what you want and desire and now I’m intrigued with this book and will have to pick up a copy to see what Matt can share with us for our lives.

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

Z-isms [Zee-iz-umz] (Noun) Pearls of wisdom, original wit or personal experience shared to positively impact as many people as possible; Insights to Live By.What do you wish your younger self knew? What life lessons would you share to benefit others? These are among the core questions Matt Zinman posed as inspiration to provide readers with insightful guidance to create and live their best life, along with practical tools like the Self-Care Report Card and a Life Enrichment Action Plan (LEAP). Richly authentic, deeply personal and highly motivating, Z-isms offers new ways to better ourselves, our experiences and our encounters. Matt keeps it casual, as though in private conversation with readers, freely sharing his own life experiences and challenges. It’s impossible to read this book and not be better for it.

 

Matt’s goal is to provide as much practical guidance as possible and describes how readers will come away with:

● unique approaches to self-discovery with a certain mindset to defeat unnecessary worry, anxiety and stress; ways to find and stay in your zone; and, straightforward solutions to ease daily living;

● original concepts to improve your relationships and interactions by sizing people up, seeing things differently, saving yourself from common hassles, eliminating needless assumptions, and better managing your energy;

● techniques to heighten mindfulness, such as learning how to go with the flow, harness gratitude, achieve your why; and,

● actionable tools and practices to enrich your life by winning the battle within, becoming a life athlete and maintaining self-accountability.

In making his commitment to be comprehensive, Matt was sure to feature a few chapters with the essentials for a straightforward, total personal development tune-up. On the whole, readers will find that the book delivers on originality and advances some original topics, such as about making coincidences matter and the experience of ‘catching’ 11:11 on digital displays.

 

 

 

 

Praise

 

“A highly personal and practical primer packed with anecdotes and life lessons. It’s also well-written, easy to understand, concise and often quite funny.”  – John J. Kelly, Detroit Free Press, 5-star review

 

“Matt Zinman has provided each and every one of his readers with a blueprint for success, both in business, and in life.”  –  Susan Keefe, Midwest Book Review, 5 star review

 

                              

Excerpt

 

Z–isms [Zee-iz-umz]

(Noun)

Pearls of wisdom, original wit or personal experience shared to positively impact as many people as possible; Insights to Live By.

 

What matters above all else is that Z–isms is not exclusive. It’s about anyone who has cultivated unique insights that they want to make known for the greater good.

Not everyone has a book in them, but just about everybody has something exceptional within themselves that they believe would help others to know.

There’s no substitute for experience.

 

From Chapter 1: Earned Confidence

 

Every one of us identifies with having been through however much in our lives. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? And here we are: still standing!

Earned Confidence, among other things, enables us to apply the logic of experience to save ourselves from self-inflicted stress, worry and anxiety.

In short, if you know you have been through your share of life challenges and survived, what is the point of worrying or being anxious about what you know you’re fully capable of enduring?

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Matt Zinman is a personal success trainer whose varied experiences as an entrepreneur, athlete, single parent, caretaker, consultant and nonprofit founder drive him to be a difference-maker and positively impact as many people as possible.

In addition to his earned insights about self-discovery, relationships, heightening awareness and life enrichment, Matt is CEO of The Internship Institute, which he established in 2005, to bridge the gap between education and employment while cultivating opportunity for students, veterans, businesses, nonprofits and communities.

Matt also partners with his wife Erica to help others improve their physical health and financial well-being with Isagenix nutrition and wellness solutions.

He began his career in marketing communications working for some of Philadelphia’s most prominent agencies where he assisted nearly 100 companies, including through his own firm, Z Communication, Inc., which he started in 2002.

Matt earned his B.A. in Journalism from Temple University in 1989. He and Erica reside in Bucks County, Pennsylvania with their savvy teenagers, Jake and Greta.

 

Website

 

 

Synopsis

 

In October 1939, Albert Einstein warns President Franklin D. Roosevelt that Nazi Germany is actively pursuing an atomic bomb and urges him to make sure that the United States develops the bomb first. Roosevelt heeds the warning and launches the “Manhattan Project” in June 1942.

In October 1942, Roosevelt tells Einstein that prudence calls for the U.S. to have a back-up plan to the Manhattan Project in case Hitler gets the bomb first. Roosevelt commissions Einstein to secretly construct a usable time travel machine code named the “White Hole Project.”

In June 1974, an adventurous group of teenage friends, who call themselves the “Bad Love Gang,” discover a tunnel leading to the White Hole Project. They learn how to use the time machine and become the first known humans to travel back in time and return. Their mission is to save Jews and Gypsies from the Holocaust in November 1944 by using a U.S. Air Force B-17 bomber that was known as “The Phantom Fortress.”

 

 

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Trailer

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

On this Wednesday night in June 1942, something happened that forever changed the course of history for Indian Spring Airfield in the remote southwestern Nevada desert.

As they all approached within a couple hundred yards of the site, it became apparent that this was not a plane crash.

What Bucky and his small team of enlisted soldiers were looking at from one hundred yards away was a metallic-appearing space craft that glowed white, and the blue tint was emanating from the material that was leaking or extruding from breaches in the hull due to the crash damage.

He was more excited to discover the truth than afraid for his own safety.

Everything began to change at Indian Springs Airfield as the reality of the alien spaceship cash began to sink in.

One day before the alien ship crashed at Area 51 (AKA Groom Dry Lake, or Indian Springs Airfield) on June 16, 1942, Roosevelt had approved the all-out effort for the U.S. to be the first country to build the atomic bomb.

What has not been known until recently was that there was a separate, even more secretive project running parallel to the Manhattan Project, one that far fewer people knew even existed.

I happen to believe that time travel in the wrong hands could be far more devastating to world history and mankind than atomic weaponry.

I saw a sign with the phrase The White Hole. My heart jumped in my chest and time stood still; my life would never be the same again.

We set out to learn about the secrets of the White Hole and this marvelous time machine, how it worked, and what we could do with this life-changing discovery.

The more I read about the Holocaust, the more it haunted me.

“This whole White Hole Project is a time travel machine that was designed as a backup plan to the Manhattan Project.”

Being from Oak Ridge, all of us knew about the Manhattan Project, and had since we were very young.

This will be an adventure above and beyond any movie or science fiction novel any of us have seen or read, only this is big, real, and bad!

A virtually brand-new Eighth Air Force B-17G Flying Fortress named Bad Love, on its third mission ever, hijacked and commandeered by the Bad Love Gang, was about to bomb a Nazi German oil refinery.

It’s time to stand and deliver! Let’s see if our grand plan will sink or swim.

Our take off into the destiny of time travel in a WWII B-17 named Bad Love…

I already knew that we were going to have to shoot our way out of here.

What happened next was one of those moments of hope and destiny that defy gravity.

When we discovered time travel, we made it our first mission to save some Holocaust souls from certain death.

From my perspective and that of the other fourteen-time travelers, the time travel process in no way matched what Hollywood or television shows had made it out to be. It was a totally different experience!

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

 

 

Kevin L. Schewe, MD, FACRO is a board-certified cancer specialist who has been in the private practice of radiation oncology for 32+ years. He is an entrepreneur, having founded Elite Therapeutics and Bad Love Cosmetics Company, LLC. He also serves as Chairman of the Board of a small, publicly-traded, renewable, green energy and animal feed company called VIASPACE, Inc. Bad Love Strikes is his debut novel.

 

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Synopsis

 

Freelance correspondent, Mike Walker, has made it his mission to condemn ethnic cleansing in Palestine and the West’s complicity in senseless wars of attrition in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Syria, Yemen, and elsewhere in the world.

Wars in which Private Military and Security Companies (PMSCs) provide assistance – legitimized, packaged, and presented by PR consultancy companies as “risk management” and “security solutions” – to governments and corporate interests operating in high-risk, complex environments for the purpose of extracting national resources.

In short, he’s playing with fire and he knows it. But he won’t be intimidated.

He won’t stop reporting the true facts that these “security solutions” which cost billions of dollars every year result in gung-ho mercenaries committing heinous crimes and premeditated femicide. Or the corruption, cruelty, and crimes against humanity which happen everywhere on a daily basis.

When a British PMSC begins paying him close attention, however, and MI5 get involved, has he finally gone one report too far?

Will he and his girlfriend escape the intrusive surveillance?

Or will he be silenced forever?

Find out in this fast-paced, exciting, gripping page-turner of a political thriller.

 

 

 

Read for Free on Kindle Unlimited

 

 

Excerpt

 

1

 

Wednesday 30, August

 

Kutupalong Refugee Camp

Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh

 

 

“The devastating cruelty to which these Rohingya children have been subjected is unbearable — what kind of hatred could make a man stab a baby crying out for his mother’s milk. And for the mother to witness this murder while she is being gang-raped by the very security forces who should be protecting her.”

UN High Commissioner for Human Rights

 

The usual power and athletic vibrancy of the body had slumped into a despondent stoop; the dark brown hair was tousled and damp; the appealing features with prominent cheekbones and well-defined chin were obscured by days of unshaven stubble; and the usual empathetic honesty that glowed in the eyes had faded into a gloom blurred by another humanitarian crisis. Despite being easy-going by nature, Mike Walker had never managed to contain his feelings of incomprehensible outrage whenever confronted by humanity’s emotional detachment from the barbarity being perpetrated daily against millions of innocent people.

Emotional detachment from the plight of others — easily achieved by simply looking the other way — always favoured the perpetrators rather than the victims who were reduced to being inconsequential nonentities; were persecuted and denied legal and human rights; were starving, sick, and dying; were victims of Apartheid policies with racial segregations inclusive of political and economic discrimination; were harassed, internally displaced, or forcibly deported; were imprisoned, tortured, or simply “disappeared”; were enslaved, exploited, or trafficked; and were ultimately the victims of mindless massacres that defied the comprehension of anyone even remotely humane.

As a freelance war correspondent covering conflicts for over a decade, Walker was no stranger to humanity’s capacity for ethno-religious hatred and brutality as had once again become evident. The Katupalong camp — just another of the more the 140 camps around the world currently harbouring a record number of over 65,000,000 refugees stripped of their past and without any hope for the future — started out as a refuge in 1991 following the influx of thousands of Rohingya Muslims fleeing from neighbouring Myanmar (formerly Burma) where military forces had launched a campaign dubbed “Operation Clean up and Beautiful Nation.” That still ongoing task of “cleaning up and beautifying” Myanmar by ridding it of Rohingya “pests,” had intensified to the extent of becoming a full scale genocide that prompted Walker’s visit to the region.

According to the UN Refugee Agency (UNHCR), more than 723,000 Rohingya Muslim men, women, and children had so far fled to Bangladesh with estimates of at least 18,000 women and girls raped, 116,000 beaten, and 36,000 thrown into fires. Those who suffered most were the women and girls who bore the mental scars of shocking sexual violence, pregnancy as a result of rape, and the duress of a forced hazardous journey.

Equally appalling for Walker was the high number of unaccompanied children who had either lost their parents or were in some cases brought over by extended family or friends. Walker’s outrage was still simmering as he and his companion set off on the drive back to Myanmar. He had no illusions about the horrendous crimes yet to be encountered; the regular reminders — that irrespective of any optimistic declarations about mankind owing “the child the best it has to give” — mankind had so far failed miserably to do so; and that further unforeseen hazards ahead would have to be overcome.

There was also the ever-present threat from Myanmar’s intelligence services whose fanatical dedication to preserving the Union had combined with the military leadership’s intention to impose a ruthless stranglehold on the population. In pursuit of its main objectives for stability, unity and sovereignty, Myanmar’s government relied on mass surveillance, arbitrary detentions, and indiscriminate torture: three possibilities constantly faced by journalists.

 

 

Arabian Peninsula coastal fog desert

North of Al Hudaydah on Yemen’s Red Sea Coast

 

Despite the shortage of rainfall during the summer months from June to September when temperatures reached 40ºC, there was still sufficient moisture coming from the thick Red Sea fogs to sustain the native flora and fauna that had so far managed to survive the lack of wildlife conservation and environmental protection. Further inland, however, most of the Arabian Peninsula consisted of desert where this morning Arabian darkling beetles were busy burrowing into the sand for some respite from the heat of the blazing sun; overhead, sharp-eyed lappet-faced vultures soared effortlessly on rising columns of warm air in search of scarce sustenance; and the low-pitched squeaking sound of singing sand dunes was being marred by the lamentable whimpering of a dusky, unshaven, and perspiring Colombian mercenary in sweat soaked battle fatigues.

He had been taken by surprise, disarmed, and with a Glock 9mm automatic pointing at his head, forced to kneel in the sand by Stuart Maclean, a wiry, red-haired Scotsman. On realising that begging for his life would be to no avail, the Colombian desperately sought divine intervention with a shaking hand on heart and pleading squint towards the blinding blueness of the sunlit sky. The gods, however, were not in a forgiving mood. They granted the weatherbeaten wretch only enough time for a hurried prayer and one final loving thought of his wife and two children before presiding over his swift deliverance from this life to the next. The full metal jacket bullet fired from Maclean’s automatic shattered the desert’s tranquility and blew the back of  his head away.                                    “Bas no Beatha,” Maclean proclaimed with heartfelt jubilation in Scots Gaelic. He paused momentarily to contemplate the spattered blood and brain tissue that was already starting to sizzle and shrivel on the burning hot sand. He figured the corpse would not be around for long. Vigilant vultures would soon spot it and with ravenous haste clean it to the bone. Maclean’s nonchalant lack of compassion was the consequence of many years exposure to death and destruction. Apart from believing that his actions were always justified in the struggle between good and evil, Maclean in all his time as a soldier and mercenary had never paused to wonder why it was that those entrusted with protecting human life, were also the ones most responsible for ending it.

He wiped the beads of sweat that were rolling down his face with a shirt sleeve and holstered the automatic. Bending down to reach into the dead Latino’s rear pocket, he removed a wad of $100 bills which he pocketed before ambling back to the open top desert patrol vehicle. The hour plus journey back across the border to Jizan in the south-west corner of Saudi Arabia would be the first stage of his return to the UK where he was urgently needed to prevent any further revelatory and negative reports about Myanmar by an English war correspondent. The options for doing so included blackmail, intimidation, or if necessary, some more drastic course of action.

Maclean was already familiar with the persuasiveness of blackmail: a word derived from the Scots “mail” which in Scots English used to mean “tax” or “rent.” In ancient times, farmers living along Scotland’s border were in constant danger of being robbed by criminal gangs. As they lacked the means to defend themselves, the poor peasant farmers made payments in exchange for immunity from attack and plunder. Such extortion became known as “blackmail,” meaning “black tax” or “black rent.” While Maclean appreciated the potential of blackmail as an effective weapon for coercion, past experience and an unforgiving gut instinct had taught him that the only sure-fire way to get rid of troublesome people was to snuff them out completely.

 

Excerpt with Permission from William Hanna

 

About the Author

 

William Hanna is an accomplished writer based in London. He has published a wide range of articles and books on democracy and human rights. His first book, Hiramic Brotherhood: Ezekiel’s Temple Philosophy was published in August 2017 and has since been translated into multiple languages. Further articles, reviews and videos from the author are available on his website.

 

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