Book Title: Between These Walls by Michael Newman

Category: Adult Fiction 18 yrs +, 375 pages

Genre: Historical Fiction

Publisher: Friesen Press

Release date: March 26, 2020

 

 

 

Synopsis

 

A novel of historical fiction that turns on two key events: the discovery of a beautiful blonde woman’s body in the back seat of a burnt out SS staff car during the last days of World War II, by US Army Medical Corps Colonel Samuel Singer, and the unsealing more than four decades later of a security-taped package from Germany, bearing a secret that changes the life of New York art curator Daniel Singer, the adopted son of Colonel Singer.

As Daniel learns more about the package’s contents, he unlocks the history of three families — one American and two German – through tumultuous times, from the end of the First World War to the rise of Adolf Hitler, the Second World War, the Holocaust, and through to three Middle East wars. Along the way, he gets entangled in the web of the Mossad, Israel’s top secret spy agency and Naomi one of its beautiful operatives, and is ultimately faced with a life-altering choice – and the opportunity to right the most heinous of wrongs.

 

 

 

 

Interview with Michael Newman

 

How did you come up with the premise of the novel?

 

On a visit to Berlin, Germany, my wife and I were walking along a street named Meineke Strasse, which features prominently in the book, when I noticed some brass plaques embedded in the sidewalk. They had the names of Jews who had lived in the apartment building above the plaques in the 1930’s and 40’s who had been taken by the Nazis, shipped off to concentration camps, and had their apartments taken over by Aryan Germans. I wondered what had happened to the people who had been shipped to the camps, to the apartments they left behind, who was occupying them now, and how they came into possession of them. So I built the story around that.

 

What made you write a book about the Holocaust?

 

Primarily because my Father spent eight months in captivity in Mauthausen, a notorious Nazi concentration camp in Austria, in 1944/45. Also many people, especially the younger generation, don’t know anything about the Holocaust and there are many Holocaust deniers out there who trivialize what happened to people simply because of their religion in those terrible years. Six million people died between 1939 and 1945 at the hands of the Nazis.

 

Your book is set in Germany, Austria, Hungary and Israel. Have you visited those places?

 

I was born in Hungary, and yes I’ve been to all the places mentioned in the book. I’ve been to Berlin, Munich, Mauthausen, Budapest, Jerusalem and Tel-Aviv. I’ve visited the key locations where events in the book take place and absorbed the atmosphere generated by these places, which helped me with the writing of the book.

 

What is your next project?

 

My next project is to write a sequel to “Between These Walls.” It would follow the career and adventures of Daniel Singer’s daughter (whom he never met), as she prepares and embarks on a mission to find and avenge her father’s killers in Lybia, after joining the CIA.

 

What genre do you write in and why?

 

I write historical fiction. History is something that truly interests me. What has happened, and why it happened in the past is very fascinating. The rise and fall of historical figures teaches us a great many lessons. It is very interesting to see how empires and countries evolve through conflict and peaceful times and how political systems succeed and fail.

 

What is the last great book you’ve read?

 

“Children of a Faraway War” by Wendy Gruner. It is the true life story of two Australian sisters whose father died as an RAF radio operator in a Lancaster bomber crash in the Second World War, while they were very young. The book describes the sisters’ journey back to England to visit all the places their father had served in England, following his diary. It is truly a historical memoir with detailed description of Bomber Command, with a very humanistic approach, as the girls discover things about their late father that they never knew.

 

 

About the Author

 

A Hungarian refugee (1956) and the son of Holocaust survivors. A retired lifetime entrepreneur living on Toronto’s waterfront with my wife and cocker spaniel. Enjoys reading, mainly books about WW2, boating and worldwide travel. Father of three kids and grandfather of eleven.

 

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Giveaway

 

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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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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.

 

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Destiny’s Way

 

A Novel of the Big Bend

 

by

Ben H. English

 

Historical Fiction / Suspense

Publisher: Creative Texts Publishers

Date of Publication: January 18, 2020

Number of Pages: 363

 

 

 

 

Kate Blanchard woke up one morning in a dream home she could no longer afford, with a young son who needed a man’s influence, and not a friend among those who had claimed to be prior to her husband’s mysterious disappearance.

About all she had left was a ramshackle ranch along Terlingua Creek, sitting forlornly in the desolate reaches of the lower Big Bend. It was the only place left she could go. There she finds a home and a presence of something strange yet comforting that she can’t put her finger on or fully understand.

With that ethereal presence comes Solomon Zacatecas, a loner with his own past and a knowledge of her land near uncanny in nature. He helps her when no one else can and is honest when no one else will be, but she suspicions that he is not always completely so.

Yet her quiet, unassuming neighbor proves to be more than capable in whatever situation arises. That includes when standing alone against those who would take everything else that Kate had, including her life as well as her son’s.

 

Praise

 

“This is one of those rare books that you simply can’t put down. Ben English ‘s writing style is pure magic. He really brings this historical fiction book to life. Immediately, you are drawn to the main characters Kate and Solomon and feel as though you are right there next to them, experiencing what they are experiencing. Destiny’s Way is one that would do well on the Silver Screen.”  — Catherine Eaves, published author

“Ben does a superb job with this book! Excellent characters, true-to-life environment that is part and parcel of the story, twists and turns enough to make you wonder what is going on, and a slice of life down in Big Bend that rings true. That area has historically been full of ‘characters’ throughout its history, and Ben brings those characters into the book, raising the hair on the back of your neck. Highly recommended!”  — J. L. Curtis, author of the Grey Man series

“Ben, I love how your words and your memories reach out and connect the past with the present and touch so many people along the way. You are the connector! Bravo Zulu, my friend.”  — Matt Walter, Museum of the Big Bend Curator

 

 

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Excerpt from Chapter 6 of Destiny’s Way

 

 

Gideon lived to a ripe old age, beating all odds of survival. Was he haunted by the demons of the dead for what he had done? No one knows, because no one dared ask. But in that time he went from being a man of some local repute to a living legend named after a ferocious predator. Some say his spirit still roams the Big Bend and when those of evil intent feel a sudden unexplained chill, it is the ghost of El Tigre warning them that he is still out there, some place.”

Zacatecas fell silent and Jamie stared at him with large, saucer-sized eyes, fixated on what had been said. Kate Blanchard might never have admitted it, but she herself had been swept up and away by this grim tale of vengeance. It was not only the story itself, but also how the saga was told by this quiet man sitting at her kitchen table. It was as if he himself had been there when it had all occurred.

“Time to get ready for bed, Jamie.” Kate nearly startled herself as she spoke, it had been so quiet in the interlude after Solomon finished.

“Yes, Mommy.” The small boy slid out of his chair and started from the room. But in the doorway he stopped and turned around, a question in his eyes.

“Solomon” he asked, “do you believe the ghost of El Tigre still wanders the Big Bend?”

“Yes, I do Jamie,” Zacatecas replied. “Sometimes when by myself, I get a strange feeling and look up, half expecting to see him horseback high on some ridge, watching.”

“Aren’t you ever scared?”

“No. I know in my heart that Gideon would never harm me. Nor would he ever do anything to you or your mother. Only bad people need to fear The Tiger.”

Jamie thought about Solomon’s last remark for a moment, then grinned and ran quickly up the stairs.

“That was quite a story, Mr. Zacatecas” Kate said, looking carefully at her dinner guest. “I have never heard of ‘El Tigre’ until now. But are you certain there was not just the tiniest bit of embellishment involved?”

“The story of Gideon Templar needs no embellishment, Mrs. Blanchard,” Solomon replied. “Everything I related was factual, and in truth only a small part of what happened in his life.”

“Even the part about his spirit still wandering the Big Bend?” she asked.

“The Mexicans across the river still sing their canciones de frontera norte about him, Mrs. Blanchard. They admonish their children to be good, or El Tigre will come and get them in the night. He was the last of the truly hard men, ma’am.”

Later, much later that evening, Kate was awakened from her sleep with a fitful start. Though the bedroom had been relatively cool, her nightclothes were dampened with her own sweat. Lying there, it took some time to come back to the here and now from where here unconscious mind had been. As cognizance and reality returned, Kate realized she had been dreaming; one of those disjointed, confusing dreams that nevertheless seems so real.

In it, she was at the original house doing some daily chores, as if preparing for company. There was nothing particularly disturbing or unusual about that in itself, she had done much the same when living there or just tidying the old place up.

But this time there was something different, something disturbing that became more evident as the dream continued on. In the artistry of her mind, the setting seemed to have shifted back to many years ago. The surrounding furnishings dated themselves as did the clothing she wore. Kate recalled glancing out the front window and having the sensation that something was missing from the scene. Then she realized what it was.

In her dream she rushed to the window, moving the curtains aside and looked out. The new house was not there, just a rock and cactus studded open flat. Off to the southeast, about a quarter of a mile away, sat a grouping of rock pens with walls some six feet high.

There was something else too; or rather, someone. It was a lone rider on a buckskin horse moving slowly toward her. He was dressed in the manner of a man from the early Twentieth Century, carrying a long-barreled lever action rifle in his right hand, muzzle high with the stock nestled between the saddle pommel and his leg. Kate could not see the rider’s face, his large brimmed felt hat was pulled down low, shadowing his features.

The man’s manner appeared alert and yet casual in nature, as if he was riding into a place he had come to many times before. He also seemed to know that she was watching him, in fact it was as if he was expecting her to be at that particular window.

And though Kate Blanchard had never seen the rider before, she knew exactly who he was…

 

 

 

Ben H. English is an eighth-generation Texan who grew up in the Big Bend. At seventeen he joined the Marines, ultimately becoming a chief scout-sniper as well as a platoon sergeant. Later he worked counterintelligence and traveled to over thirty countries.

At Angelo State University he graduated Magna Cum Laude along with other honors. Afterwards Ben had a career in the Texas Highway Patrol, holding several instructor billets involving firearms, driving, and defensive tactics.

His intimate knowledge of what he writes about lends credence and authenticity to his work. Ben knows how it feels to get hit and hit back, or being thirsty, cold, wet, hungry, alone, or exhausted beyond imagination. Finally, he knows of not only being the hunter but also the hunted.

Ben and his wife have two sons who both graduated from Annapolis. He still likes nothing better than grabbing a pack and some canteens and heading out to where few others venture.

 

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4/2/20	Guest Post	Max Knight
4/2/20	BONUS Post	Hall Ways Blog
4/3/20	Review	The Clueless Gent
4/4/20	Excerpt	StoreyBook Reviews
4/5/20	Top 15 List	All the Ups and Downs
4/6/20	Review	Reading by Moonlight
4/7/20	Playlist	Rebecca R. Cahill, Author
4/8/20	Review	Missus Gonzo
4/9/20	Author Interview	That’s What She’s Reading
4/10/20	Review	Book Fidelity
4/11/20	Review	Forgotten Winds

 

 

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Synopsis

 

Step into True Colors — a new series of Historical Stories of Romance and American Crime

Will Edyth prove her sanity before it is too late?

On Blackwell Island, New York, a hospital was built to keep its patients from ever leaving.

With her late father’s fortune under her uncle’s care until her twenty-fifth birthday in the year 1887, Edyth Foster does not feel pressured to marry or to bow to society’s demands. She freely indulges in eccentric hobbies like fencing and riding her velocipede in her cycling costume about the city for all to see. Finding a loophole in the will, though, her uncle whisks Edyth off to the women’s lunatic asylum just weeks before her birthday. Do any of Edyth’s friends care that she disappeared?

At the asylum she meets another inmate, who upon discovering Edyth’s plight, confesses that she is Nellie Bly, an undercover journalist for The World. Will either woman find a way to leave the terrifying island and reclaim her true self?

 

 

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Review

What a combination – historical romance and true crime!  The true crime is based on Nelly Bly’s secret admission to an insane asylum in the late 1800s to reveal the truth behind the conditions and how women were treated.  Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t live during that time frame because men really thought women were fragile and not sane.  Frightening is really the word.

When this book first starts, it is like most other romances.  Edyth is a woman of means despite the fact that her Uncle controls the pursestrings.  She is in love with her fencing instructor and has been for many years.  He doesn’t see her as more than a friend until a party when her cousin helps her dress for a ball and is a sight to behold.  This is where the story gets interesting.  Edyth and Bane admit their attraction for one another and Bane has decided to court her.  Her Uncle has discovered a loophole in her parent’s will and decides that Edyth needs to be diagnosed as insane.  What happens from there is where the story really gets interesting.  Edyth tries to escape the asylum with the help of a few friends.  Bane is trying to find her because she has just vanished and he doesn’t believe the stories he is being told by her Uncle.

I found the story to be engaging and fascinating and I liked the tie to an actual event in history.  The author even discusses what she changed to make it fit the actual events.  I”m now intrigued to read the book about Nelly Bly’s time in the asylum and what she encountered.  I can’t believe women were treated this badly a century and more ago, but I know it did happen.  It makes me appreciate what I have now in this time and how far women have come in this world.

We give this 4 paws up.

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Grace Hitchcock is the author of The White City and The Gray Chamber from Barbour Publishing. She has written multiple novellas in The Second Chance Brides, The Southern Belle Brides, and the Thimbles and Threads collections with Barbour Publishing. She holds a Masters in Creative Writing and a Bachelor of Arts in English with a minor in History. Grace lives in southern Louisiana with her husband, Dakota, and son.

 

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Blue Skies

 

 

by

 

Anne Bustard

 

 

Middle Grade / Historical Fiction

Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

Date of Publication: March 17, 2020

Number of Pages: 224

 

 

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Ten-year-old Glory Bea Bennett believes in miracles. After all, her grandmother—the best matchmaker in the whole county—is responsible for thirty-nine of them so far.

Now, Glory Bea wants a miracle of her own—her daddy’s return.

The war ended three years ago, but Glory Bea’s father never returned from the front in France. She believes Daddy is still out there.

When reports that the Texas boxcar from the Merci Train—a train filled with gifts of gratitude from the people of France—will be stopping in Gladiola, Glory Bea just knows Daddy will be its surprise cargo.

But miracles, like people, are always changing, until at last they find their way home.

 

 

 

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Praise

 

“I loved Blue Skies so much I couldn’t bear for it to end.” –Patricia Reilly Giff, Newbery Honor author of Lily’s Crossing and Pictures of Hollis Woods

“A heart-warming (and occasionally heart-wrenching) delight of a book . . .” –Joy Preble, Brazos Bookstore

“A tender story of grief and the gentle comfort of loved ones.” — Kirkus Reviews

 

 

 

The Gift of an Idea

 

by Anne Bustard

 

 

The spark for Blue Skies, my newest middle grade novel, was a happy surprise.

If I hadn’t gone to the summer workshop at the LBJ Presidential Library over fifteen years ago . . .

If Marcia Sharp, then Educational Specialist at the library, hadn’t taken us across the University of Texas at Austin campus to visit the Texas Memorial Museum …

If the Educational Specialist at the Texas Memorial Museum hadn’t shown us their website which included archived exhibits …

If the icon of a train with the words “Gratitude Train” hadn’t scrolled by and piqued my interest …

Blue Skies might never have been written.

You see, I’d never heard of the Gratitude Train before, also known as the Merci Train, which is central to my novel.

Even though I ran or walked by the Texas Merci boxcar for decades when it was displayed near Lady Bird Lake in Austin …

Even though it was one of 49 boxcars that traveled from France, filled with gifts of thanks for all we did before and after WWII …

Even though in 1949 the Merci Train was splashed across headlines and newsreels …

As soon as I learned more, lucky me, a story idea popped into my head.

I love that my research journey returned me to the LBJ Presidential Library.

Unbeknownst to me until years later, I learned it houses the Drew Pearson Papers. Mr. Pearson was instrumental in coordinating the arrival and distribution of the Merci Train boxcars with the French (one to each state, and one divided between the Territory of Hawaii and Washington D. C.).

So I returned again and again to read through Mr. Pearson’s memos, letters, newspaper articles, radio scripts, and more.

It’s been a long and twisty writing journey to publication, but I couldn’t be more grateful for the gift of an idea that originated with gifts of gratitude.

FYI The Texas Merci Train boxcar is now located at the Texas Military Museum at Camp Mabry in Austin. The museum is free and open to the public. The remaining artifacts are housed by the Briscoe American History Center at The University of Texas at Austin. Visit www.mercitrain.org anytime, for more information about the train.

 

 

 

 

 

Anne Bustard is the former co-owner of Toad Hall Children’s Bookstore in Austin, Texas, and an MFA graduate of the Vermont College of Fine Arts. She is the author of the middle grade novel, Anywhere But Paradise, as well as two picture books, RAD! and Buddy: The Story of Buddy Holly, which was an IRA Children’s Book Award Notable and a Bank Street Book of the Year. Hawaii-born, she divides her time between Texas and Canada.

 

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3/17/20	Notable Quotable	The Clueless Gent
3/17/20	BONUS Post	Hall Ways Blog
3/18/20	Review	Jennifer Silverwood
3/19/20	Playlist	All the Ups and Downs
3/20/20	Author Interview	Chapter Break Book Blog
3/21/20	Review	Story Schmoozing Book Reviews
3/22/20	Guest Post	StoreyBook Reviews
3/23/20	Review	Missus Gonzo
3/24/20	Review	The Page Unbound
3/25/20	Top Ten List	Rebecca R. Cahill, Author
3/26/20	Review	That’s What She’s Reading

 

 

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Title: In Bed with the Earl

Author: Christi Caldwell

Release Date: March 17, 2020

Publisher: Montlake

 

 

Synopsis

 

To solve a mystery that’s become the talk of the ton, no clues run too deep for willful reporter Verity Lovelace. Not even in the sewers of London. That’s precisely where she finds happily self-sufficient scavenger Malcom North, lost heir to the Earl of Maxwell. Now that Verity’s made him front-page news, what will he make of her?

Kidnapped as a child, with no memories of his well-heeled past, Malcom prefers the grimy spoils of the culverts to the gilded riches of society. Damn the feisty beauty who exposed the contented tosher to a parade of fortune-hunting matchmakers. How to keep them at bay? Verity must pretend to be his wife. She owes him.

The intimacy of this necessary arrangement—Verity and Malcom thrust together in close quarters—soon sparks an irresistible heat. But when the charade ends, the danger begins. Will love be enough to protect them from a treacherous plot devised to ruin them?

 

 

 

Guest Post: Flaws Make the Man in Christi Caldwell’s In Bed with the Earl

 

My newest release, In Bed with the Earl, features an unlikely Regency hero. He was born to nobility, was kidnapped, and grew up in the roughest streets of London, as a ‘tosher’…a sewer scavenger. Nothing about Malcom or his past is in any way conventional, but he also represents how our pasts shape who we are. And there is no doubting, his past molded him into who he is… a man who doesn’t let people close…and who protects what he does have. Which is why…when he does meet Verity, someone who wants to be close for him (first, for reasons related to her work…and then, the more she knows him, simply because she’s falling for him) he resists.

People are impacted by life, in different ways. We all have many layers; and for Malcom, those layers are protective ones; a shield to protect himself from being hurt…because he’s already known so much. Yes, he’s coarse and ragged, and rough, but beneath that, readers (I hope) will see what Verity sees…that he has a good heart, and is deserving of a happily-ever-after, not only for who he is to others, but because, with the life he’s lived, he deserves it for himself.

 

***

 

Excerpt: In Bed with the Earl by Christi Caldwell

 

“May I help you, Miss Lovelace?”

That lethal purr sounded from the front of the room, a silky taunt.

With a gasp, the page slipped from her fingers and fluttered to a damning place at her feet.

Mr. Bram yanked the cloths from his eyes, and he took in Verity beside Mr. North’s open desk. And all the color left his face. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Oh, bloody hell, indeed. And all thoughts of having been rescued by a savior, and even the importance of this story, fled in the face of the danger staring back at her in his ruthless gaze.

He is going to kill me…

Verity swallowed hard. “If you’ll excuse us?” Mr. North murmured.

Verity took a step toward the door.

“Not you, Miss Lovelace.”

Mr. Bram climbed awkwardly to his feet. “Oi’m so sorry,” he said hoarsely, an apology that went ignored by Mr. North.

Her heart lurched. Every muscle in her body lurched. This was bad. Which would have been the understated statement of the century. She curled her toes into the soles of her borrowed slippers and followed the stranger’s—nay, he was no longer a stranger in name—the Earl of Maxwell’s gaze. As dread slowly wound its way through her, Verity curled those digits all the tighter.

And as it was all the easier to focus on matters within her control, she looked to her older patient as he limped across the room. “Be sure and try out those remedies, Mr. Bram.” She felt Mr. North sharpen his gaze on her person. “And I’ve something that might help with that limp, too,” she promised.

The older man stopped. “Do ya, now?”

She may as well have promised him the sun, moon, and stars for the way he looked at her. “Oh, yes. You’ll require—”

“Bram,” Mr. North snapped, and the older man instantly scuttled off, but not before flashing her an apologetic look.

“It is really not Mr. Bram’s fault. He’s not done anything wrong. You really shouldn’t take your…”

Not taking his eyes from her person, he reached behind him with an agonizing slowness and drew the door shut. Click. That soft but decisive snap that served as a seal of her fate.

Just like that, Verity’s bravado flagged. She clutched at the fabric of her skirts. Wanting to be the composed reporter gathering her research, and undaunted in the face of peril.

And she came up … pathetically empty.

That cold smile affixed to hard lips remained in place, a grin that no person would dare mistake for anything but the feral threat it was. He pushed away from the door and started a languid stroll toward her.

Had she truly been relieved about determining the identity of her savior and captor?

It was now all muddled.

“Now, Miss Lovelace? If that is your name?”

“M-my name?” Wasn’t it? Even her name eluded her in that moment. “Of course it is.” Her voice ended on a croak as he drew ever closer; the ice that frosted his gaze sprang her to the reality now facing her, the menace that spilled from his broad frame. Mayhap she’d been wrong. Because she’d experience with earls—was, in fact, the daughter of one. They were nothing like the predatory devil that stalked her now. “I am Miss Verity Lovelace. What grounds would I have to lie?” She hurried to place the chair of his desk between them as another barrier.

He stopped his pursuit. “And how may I help you?”

Ironically, the stranger—the gentleman—could have uttered no truer words than those.

They fortified her, and sent resolve creeping back into her spine as she brought her shoulders back. Verity met his gaze squarely. “Are you the Earl of Maxwell?”

Except, she already knew as much … she simply sought the confirmation from the gentleman’s mouth.

His eyes grew shuttered, but not before she caught the flash of horror in their blue-black depths.

He was a man unaccustomed to being challenged. And his unsettledness eased away further frissons of fear. Verity slid out from behind his desk chair and glided slowly across the room. She stopped when only a handful of steps separated her from the very stranger who’d put a knife to her earlier that night.

“Do I look like an earl?” he countered, belated with that reply—that deliberately evasive one.

Taking that as an invitation to study him, Verity peered at Mr. North. That slightly hooked nose, which had been broken one or more times, did little to conceal the aquiline appendage that served as a signal of his birthright. The small white nicks and scars merely marred a canvas of otherwise flawless high, chiseled cheeks and a hard, square jawline.

Glorious. Her pulse throbbed a beat harder. His features, melded with those flaws, only served to mark him beautiful in his masculinity.

His mouth crept up in a tight, one-sided smile that didn’t meet pitiless eyes. “Did you have a good look, Miss Lovelace?”

He’d noted her appreciation. Verity’s cheeks burnt, and she curled her toes into the soles of her borrowed slippers. He merely sought to disconcert her. It was a familiar state she’d found herself many times before, with many men before him. Feigning nonchalance, Verity gave her head a little toss. “You have the look and the tones of an earl,” she pointed out. “And more…” She gestured to those private missives she’d availed herself to. “You have letters written regarding the Baron Bolingbroke.” Verity stretched up on her tiptoes so she could at least hold his gaze and not be peered down at. “Therefore, Mr. North, I would say you are, in fact, the Earl of Maxwell, after all.”

 

About the Author

USA Today Bestselling, RITA-nominated author Christi Caldwell blames Julie Garwood and Judith McNaught for luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set aside her notes and pick up her laptop to try her hand at romance. She believes the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections, and she rather enjoys torturing them before crafting them a well deserved happily ever after!

Christi makes her home in southern Connecticut where she spends her time writing her own enchanting historical romances and caring for her three spirited children!

 

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OUT OF THE EMBERS

 

Mesquite Springs, Book One

 

by

 

Amanda Cabot

 

 

Historical Fiction / Christian Romance

Publisher: Revell

Date of Publication: March 3, 2020

Number of Pages: 336

 

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Ten years after her parents were killed, Evelyn Radcliffe is once more homeless. The orphanage that was her refuge and later her workplace has burned to the ground, and only she and a young orphan girl have escaped. Convinced this must be related to her parents’ murders, Evelyn flees with the girl to Mesquite Springs in the Texas Hill Country and finds refuge in the home of Wyatt Clark, a talented horse rancher whose plans don’t include a family of his own.

At first, Evelyn is a distraction. But when it becomes clear that trouble has followed her to Mesquite Springs, she becomes a full-blown disruption. Can Wyatt keep her safe from the man who wants her dead? And will his own plans become collateral damage?

 

Suspenseful and sweetly romantic, Out of the Embers is the first in a new series that invites you to the Texas Hill Country in the 1850s, when the West was wild, the men were noble, and the women were strong.

 

Praise

“Out of the Embers is part prairie romance, part romantic suspense. I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a book more. Amanda Cabot has written an intriguing, chilling mystery and she winds it through the pages of a sweet romance in a way that made me keep turning the pages fast to see what was going to happen next. An absolutely excellent read. And now I’m hungry for oatmeal pecan pie!”  — Mary Connealy, author of Aiming for Love, book #1 in the Brides of Hope Mountain series

 

 

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When I started this book, I was quickly immersed in the characters, scenery, and even the mystery that is dangled in front of the reader with only tidbits revealed here and there to keep the reader engaged and on the edge of their seats.

There was so much to like about this book I don’t know where to start!  The setting is the Texas Hill Country which is beautiful today, I can only imagine what it was like when this book was set.  Rolling hills painted with bluebonnets in the spring….sigh, a place I want to visit.  The characters are diverse and complex and while we know some of the histories of the main characters, we don’t know everything yet and it leaves much more to be discovered in future books in this series.  But we do learn about their strengths, weaknesses, desires, and hopes for the future.  There are even a few antagonists in this book that while they might have some redeeming qualities, are not portrayed in a positive light and it adds to the complexity of the story.  Sam would be the biggest one in the book and I can only hope that a future book will focus on him and he is able to redeem himself.

I love the town of Mesquite Springs and especially the diner that Evelyn opens in town.  The description reminds me so much of the restaurant in When Calls the Heart.  I loved that they would sit single people wherever there was an open seat.  What a great way to get to know someone new in town, whether just passing through or a resident.  And that Oatmeal Pecan Pie?  I don’t like pecan pie but now I am intrigued.

Wyatt has so much going on in his life and I can feel his struggles with running the ranch and supporting his mom and sister.  I don’t think he gives them enough credit, but in his defense sometimes you can only go by past actions of people.  I think a huge boost to his mom’s wellbeing was bringing Evelyn and Polly to their ranch to dry out and stay for a few days.  It gave her a purpose which is something she needed.

There are actually three different storylines and the author weaves a suspenseful tale that kept me wondering who these characters were, what they wanted, and what the end result would be with the culmination of the book.  Part of the story I was able to figure out, but part of it was quite a surprise to me.  I really liked the suspenseful part of wondering who these other characters were since their story didn’t flow with Evelyn or Polly’s story.

There are many faith-based parts in this book which include a character surviving a potentially fatal injury.  I think that each verse or faith section only strengthens my belief that people are inherently good and will prove that in various situations.  Or if they are evil that they will receive their just rewards.

Here are a few of my favorite quotes from the book:

Evelyn took a deep breath, trying to calm nerves that were as jittery as if she’d just drunk a full pot of coffee.

“That’s what marriage is, Wyatt. Not all couples work together like the Fosters or my parents, but if they truly love each other, they both have a part in decision making. They consider the other person’s needs and their dreams.”

“Until I met you, I felt like a flower seed planted deep in the earth, waiting for rain before it began to sprout. You’ve been that rain. You’ve given me what I needed to grow.”

“You’ve shown me that lvoing someone doesn’t mean being burdened.  It’s a gift that opens our hearts to new possibilities.”

Overall this was a fantastic book and there is probably so much more I could say but then you wouldn’t have anything left to read.  We give this 5 paws up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amanda Cabot is the bestselling author of A Stolen Heart, the first book of the Cimarron Creek trilogy, as well as the Texas Crossroads series, the Texas Dreams series, the Westward Winds series, and Christmas Roses. Her books have been finalists for the ACFW Carol Awards and the Booksellers’ Best. She lives in Wyoming.

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THREE WINNERS

One Grand Prize Winner: 

Copy of Out of the Embers + Special Hill Country Sweets Cookbook

+$25 Barnes and Noble Gift Card 

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Copy of Out of the Embers + Special Hill Country Sweets Cookbook 

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March 10-March 20, 2020

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Check out the other blogs on this tour

3/10/20	Notable Quotable	Forgotten Winds
3/10/20	Review	Librariel Book Adventures
3/11/20	Review	Jennifer Silverwood
3/11/20	BONUS Post	Hall Ways Blog
3/12/20	Excerpt, Part 1	Story Schmoozing Book Reviews
3/12/20	Author Interview	All the Ups and Downs
3/13/20	Character Spotlight	The Clueless Gent
3/13/20	Review	Reading by Moonlight
3/14/20	Guest Post	Chapter Break Book Blog
3/15/20	Author Interview	Carpe Diem Chronicles
3/16/20	Excerpt, Part 2	That’s What She’s Reading
3/16/20	Review	StoreyBook Reviews
3/17/20	Review	Missus Gonzo
3/18/20	Excerpt, Part 3	Max Knight
3/19/20	Review	Momma on the Rocks
3/19/20	Review	Book Fidelity

 

 

 

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Synopsis

 

In 1916 1st Lieutenant Robert Lovett is a patient at Coldbrook Hall military hospital in Sussex, England. A gifted artist, he’s been wounded fighting in the Great War. Shell shocked and suffering from hysterical blindness he can no longer see his own face, let alone paint, and life seems increasingly hopeless.

A century later in 2017, medical student Louisa Casson has just lost her beloved grandmother – her only family. Heartbroken, she drowns her sorrows in alcohol on the South Downs cliffs – only to fall accidentally part-way down. Doctors fear she may have attempted suicide, and Louisa finds herself involuntarily admitted to Coldbrook Hall – now a psychiatric hospital, an unfriendly and chaotic place.

Then one day, while secretly exploring the old Victorian hospital’s ruined, abandoned wing, Louisa hears a voice calling for help, and stumbles across a dark, old-fashioned hospital room. Inside, lying on the floor, is a mysterious, sightless young man, who tells her he was hurt at the Battle of the Somme, a WW1 battle a century ago. And that his name is Lieutenant Robert Lovett…

Two people, two battles: one against the invading Germans on the battlefields of 1916 France, the other against a substandard, uncaring mental health facility in modern-day England. Two journeys begun a century apart, but somehow destined to coincide – and become one desperate struggle to be together.

For fans of Diana Gabaldon, Amy Harmon, Beatriz Williams, Kate Quinn, Kristin Hannah, Kate Morton, Susanna Kearsley and Paullina Simons.

*NB This novel contains graphic descriptions of war violence and injuries, as well as profanity and mild sex.

 

 

 

Available to read on Kindle Unlimited

 

 

Review

This book is for fans of historical fiction, time travel/timeslip, and romance.

Louisa lives in the present, 2017 to be exact.  Life has been hard and she has just lost her grandmother and ends up in a psychiatric hospital by mistake due to the ineffective doctors.  Robert lives in 1915 and is an artist but has a strong sense of duty to his country and serves in the military.  By some weird fluke, Louisa ends up back in 1915-16 and meets Robert who is recovering from some injuries.  What neither expects is to find the love of their life but only one knows what separates them….time.

For most of this book, I was more interested in Louisa’s story.  The disbelief that someone in this time period could be stuck in a psychiatric hospital and basically ignores her explanations of what happened is shocking.  And the hospital that she is in is like something from the 1950s.  There are a bunch of extreme cases, the nurses don’t seem to care, and the doctors must be filling some sort of quota and appear to only care about prescribing drugs that may be ineffective for the patient.  It helps Louisa that she was previously in med school before her grandmother died.  On the flip side, one would think that studying medicine and working on cadavers would toughen a person up so that when having to work on live patients it is no big deal.  Of course, it is very different to work on someone that is alive versus dead.  But Louisa has moxie and is able to adapt to the past easier than some.

Robert is tough but has a sensitive side.  His injuries hold him back but meeting Louisa reshapes his thought process and allows him to heal.  Reading the details of the various battles and POW camps can be a tough read if you are remotely squeamish.  But it gave me a better understanding of the war and what soldiers endured for freedom.

I’m not 100% sure how Louisa managed to go between the two time periods.  I understand time travel but most of the books in this genre don’t have a character going back and forth in time.  But it was intriguing to see how the author wove this into the story to keep the reader engaged.

The romance/love story between Robert and Louisa is one that stood the test of time.  I enjoyed watching their relationship progress and while it wasn’t always easy, they made it work.

This book was very enjoyable and I had a hard time putting it down because I wanted to know what was going to happen next for Robert and Louisa.

We give this book 4 paws up.

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

High Wood, mid-July 1916

 

It was beautiful; so unexpectedly and profoundly perfect that he felt his heart might break. Robert looked out over the cornfield at High Wood, tears spilling down his cheeks, surprised he still had the ability to cry. Perhaps there was something in him that was still human after all. A little way behind stood Private Nesbitt, his signaller. The two of them had come out in advance to assess the lie of the land.

The breeze brushed softly through the ripening ears of corn, as if for the simple pleasure of feeling them part. And the corn, in turn, seemed to shiver with pleasure at its touch. There was scarcely a shell hole to be seen. Nearby, a song thrush spilled its joyous tune. It was warm, the sky mostly overcast, but every now and then a shaft of sunlight broke through and gilded the landscape and heated the back of his neck. Only the distant boom of the guns gave away the fact they were still at the front.

He closed his eyes, drank in the silence. He could almost be back at home in the fields of his boyhood, tramping through the thigh-high buttercups with a jam jar, catching beetles and pretending not to hear Cook at the bottom of the garden calling him back in for lunch. He could scarcely believe he’d ever been that boy. That time increasingly seemed like a fantasy dreamt up by someone else.

It was just two weeks since the great offensive had kicked off, but he felt he’d aged a lifetime. His battalion had been sent further down the line, south of the Albert to Bapaume road, where the attack had been a bit more successful on the first of July. There, the British had not only taken a little ground but held it – albeit at great cost. Now Sir Douglas Haig wanted to exploit the gains. Things had gone well so far that morning. Instead of a long preliminary bombardment proclaiming loudly to all and sundry the fact that the British were coming, there’d been a short, lightning bombardment. Under cover of darkness, they’d been able to take the Germans by surprise and turf them out of three miles of their own second line. Luck had, for once, been on their side. Now they must press their advantage and advance further. There were no two ways about it. This time they simply had to succeed.

‘Here.’ Robert tossed back a packet of Woodbines. He always kept some. They calmed the men’s nerves in a tight spot. He lit himself a Turkish cigarette, then threw back the matches. Normally, he’d have struck the match for the man himself, but his hands were very unsteady.

‘Sit down, Nesbitt,’ Robert said, wiping the dust from his eyes. ‘I think we’ve earned a breather, don’t you?’

Nesbitt was a Kitchener’s Army volunteer. He was twenty-one and had worked in a greengrocer’s shop in Kent. He kept making involuntary frowning movements and his breath came quick and rough, like a saw rasping through wood.

‘Not long now and we’ll be in billets behind the line,’ said Robert, trying to sound reassuring. ‘You did well this morning, Nesbitt. The whole company did splendidly.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Nesbitt looked up at him like a child, frightened but trusting. Best to keep him close by, Robert thought, or he might simply disappear off into the woods. He’d be far from the first to lose his nerve and desert, and several had been shot for it.

But Robert could understand the lure of escape. These new men were all civilians, just like he’d once been – farmhands, miners, postmen, chandlers. They’d come to France fired up by vague and noble ideas of ‘doing their bit’, hoping for adventure and a hero’s welcome back home to boot – only to find themselves tossed like dry sticks into the scorching furnace of the Somme. How many of those he’d taken over the top on that appalling first day now lay dead, their bodies filling out the bloated stomachs of the rats and flies of Picardy?

‘Have you anyone waiting for you at home, Private?’ Robert asked. ‘Anyone special?’

‘Just my mum and sister, sir.’

Robert knew that already, of course, from censoring the man’s letters. ‘Dearest Mother, dearest Ruby, all is well with me,’ Nesbitt would always begin. He wasn’t the sort to complain about his lot; few of them were. ‘We’re in a nice, quiet sector here, so you’re not to worry . . . ’

Robert nodded. ‘Well, I dare say there’ll be a letter or two waiting for you when the post arrives.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He trained his field glasses on High Wood. How wonderful it was to see trees again: tall and glorious as nature had made them, unmarked by war, the wind sifting through their leaves – not mutilated stumps, eerie forests of stark telegraph poles. And here there was no hideous background drone of billions of flies feasting on the bloated black flesh of the fallen, reheated every morning by the sun.

There wasn’t the least sign of activity. Had the Germans been driven out? He hardly dared to hope so. But if so then finally, finally they might be on the verge of the breakthrough that had eluded them. If they could take High Wood, they could cut through the German lines, and the advantage, for the first time, would be theirs. The Big Push and all the unspeakable bloody shambles of the last two weeks wouldn’t have been all for nothing.

‘We’ll go on a bit further and take a look,’ he said.

Nesbitt got to his feet.

‘Stay low,’ Robert ordered, feeling for his gun.

 

 

About the Author

 

Catherine Taylor was born and grew up on the island of Guernsey in the British Channel Islands. She is a former journalist, most recently for Dow Jones News and The Wall Street Journal in London. Beyond The Moon is her first novel. She lives in Ealing, London with her husband and two children.

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Synopsis

It’s 1905, and the Japanese victory over the Russians has shocked the British and their imperial subjects. Sixteen-year-old Leela and her younger sister, Maya, are spurred on to wear homespun to show the British that the Indians won’t be oppressed for much longer, either, but when Leela’s betrothed, Nash, asks her to circulate a petition amongst her classmates to desegregate the girls’ school in Chandrapur, she’s wary. She needs to remind Maya that the old ways are not all bad, for soon Maya will have to join her own betrothed and his family in their quiet village. When she discovers that Maya has embarked on a forbidden romance, Leela’s response shocks her family, her town, and her country firmly into the new century.

 

 

 

 

Excerpt

 

The next day my cheeks, my eyes, and my hair are as good as they’re going to be when Nash arrives just after breakfast. Instead of inviting us to his family’s for lunch, he is taking Maya and me to Gol Ghar. Everybody, from children to grandparents, loves Gol Ghar, but I wonder if he’s chosen the grain silo so that we will have an excuse to walk hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder up the narrow staircase. As Maya tells him about the good luck we’ve had with the training college’s opening, I study him.

Nash has always been beautiful: his dark skin smooth, his broad lips projecting softness, his lashes longer than mine with three coats of petroleum jelly. Beautiful, and somehow therefore gentle: the Chowdhurys have always been successful, and lucky, and generous. They have nothing to prove, and Nash, a diamond in this fine setting, even less so. And so though he’s always been tall, and always looked at each person as though they were the only one left in the city, he’s always struck me as laughing, comforting, with kindness to spare. In childhood, we hardly saw anything of him, but once we were formally engaged, he withstood the taunts of his classmates and often swung by with ices or samosas or the choruses of songs from the latest films. It was easy for him to love, and as all I’d ever dreamed of was loving someone back, he was perfect.

He’s changed: his lanky frame has tightened, straightened, and as he listens to Maya, I can see in the stiffness of his hands in his lap and of his toes, curled around the edge of his sandals, that he’s kept the tiniest portion of his attention for himself. He is still beautiful, but also… threatening? Is that the right word for the way he makes my body, still seated and composed, feel called to attention against any inclination of its own? His hair is longer, I see—his barber must only have shaved him this morning, rather than give him the accompanying trim—and this imperfection lets me catch my breath.

The carriage is pulling up to the Gol Ghar— our very own Round House, our silly English silo that once held grain and now serves as a pleasure ground for those of us too brown to make use of the club—as Nash responds to Maya’s exclamation that she’s more than ready for us to go back to school next week. “But surely…” he says.

When Nargis and Mawiyya do that to me in school—trail off in the middle of a thought there’s no chance I could finish on my own—it’s to mock me, but Nash doesn’t mock. I realize that while Maya and I have had numerous conversations about my post-marriage life and how to keep it as seamless a transition as possible, Nash and I haven’t had any. “Why don’t you run slightly ahead and check on the crowd?” I ask Maya with our shared look. We trail her, slowly, and I want to throw my arms around him again, but instead I say, “You know I won’t attend the training college from August if you or your parents don’t approve.” I start with what Maya would call a barefaced lie because I suppose that, all said and done, it’s the truth. November, really, is wedding season, but ours is to be held as soon as the weather settles. Some families need time to negotiate; ours will be efficiently put together as Papa has ceded complete control to the Chowdhurys since, as even Koyal Chachi would agree, there’s no chance of their taste being anything less than impeccable.

“Oh, no, of course I wouldn’t dream of stopping you!” he says. He actually stops, and turns to me, and reaches for my hands before he realizes, and stops himself. “Leela, I didn’t realize you wanted to become a teacher, but I should have guessed. You’ve read all of the great histories of Chandrapur, and your Sanskrit is far better than mine. I’ve no right or desire to stop you making the most of yourself.” “Well, that’s good, then,” I say. “Though if I’m being honest, I mostly just want to attend the school to make sure I’m able to see Maya every day. I’m not used to a joint household and I’m not sure I’ll be able to play a dutiful daughter-in-law without her as a sounding board.” I pause, but Nash smiles, and laughs. “And after suffering through a mixed education, I think it will be nice to have the chance to teach in the Hindu school whenever it opens.”

We have only taken a few steps, but already Nash stops, causing the mother and daughter behind us to bump into our calves and mumble apologies. “Leela,” he murmurs, so softly I have to lean in to hear, and the proximity is causing my heart to do a furious dance. But then he keeps walking.

“Leela,” he says again after a few steps. “When I was in Japan, at first it was terribly lonely. We tried to integrate, but without eating fish, we Hindu students found ourselves isolated in the canteen; without much money, additionally, I found myself unwilling to hole up and play cards with boys from Lucknow or Kanpur. I know you didn’t have it easy at Bankipore, either, with your father in trade.”

I nod.

“But after the triumph against the West, it was as though divisions had melted away. Even when we were sent home, I knew I was coming back to something important, and the sight of you in that swadeshi sari running towards me solidified every commitment I’d hardly understood, before Tokyo, that I’d had. I’ve dreamt about you in red for years,” he says, and though I want to faint I press my hands to the wall and keep myself barely upright, “but for the past year, I’ve dreamt about you in white. I’m so lucky that my life partner shares my dreams, not only for us, but for the country.” Nash sees me faltering, and risks censure from the auntie behind us by steadying me, a hand to the small of my back. I am dizzy for so many reasons.

“I just cannot understand why there is no hesitation towards a communal training college that will only lead towards a communalization of the school system itself, when we’re fighting, desperately, against communalism!”

We have almost climbed to the top; I see Maya awaiting us, and when she catches my eye, she winks, but I can’t reciprocate. “It wasn’t a British initiative,” I tell him. “The Director of Schools wanted to keep us girls together, in fact, and then both the Nawab and the Maharani joined together to oppose him. There are surely more than twelve Hindu girls in Chandrapur who may have wanted to get educated alongside us, and soon there will be places, and teachers for them. Education can only help us.”

I am out of breath, but we’ve climbed Gol Ghar, and the view is rewarding enough to let me tear my eyes away from Nash for a minute. And thank heavens, because looking at this new Nash while he is deliberating is… no, not threatening. Unsettling, I decide on. I wink at Maya, and we play our usual game of identifying all of the best places: the fields, in the distance, past the river, where on the way to Gaya we always stop, much too soon, for the best roasted corn; the Rama temple with the most rambunctious monkeys; the Sikh gurudwara that is unquestionably our most beautiful building; the Khudabaksh library where the real scholars spend their days with microscopes, studying the beautifully illuminated manuscripts; the market, where one day soon we must go and see what Indian-made lingerie I will wear to start my married life.

Nash speaks up again, finally. “I’ve missed this place so much.”

There are the beginnings of tears at the corners of his eyes, and I don’t know what to say.

Maya never has this problem. “And didn’t you miss us, then? I didn’t get even one letter from you, Mister.”

She has cracked the gloomy spell, and Nash rifles through his bag until he hits upon a small wrapped package. “I thought you’d prefer the paper,” he says, handing it to her.

“You didn’t have to get her a gift,” I say, knowing what it has cost his family to send him away, and all for a trip with no degree certificate.

“But he did,” Maya says, as though he’d take it back, ripping it open willy-nilly instead of properly, neatly. I lean over to get a better look, and am glad I did: he’s brought her stationary more beautiful than I have ever seen. The British have their formal, heavy paper to announce their galas, and I’ve coveted that often enough, but this is its opposite: thin, almost translucent, and sparkling, oyster pink with sea-green filigree adorning its edges. Maya is staring at it, and I squeeze her shoulders. “Oh, yes,” she says. “Thank you.”

She walks ahead of us on the way down, staring at it; it is a good thing, after all, that we’ve been here countless times before. Nash and I pretend to watch her, to stop her from falling off the edge, but really we are stealing glances at one another. “Thank you,” I tell him, and just for a moment, before our feet reach the solid ground, he takes my hand.

Reprinted from Where the Sun Will Rise Tomorrow with the permission of Galaxy Galloper Press. Copyright © 2020 by Rashi Rohatgi.

 

 

About the Author

 

Rashi Rohatgi is the author of Where the Sun Will Rise Tomorrow. An Indian-American Pennsylvania native who lives in Arctic Norway, her short fiction and poetry have appeared in A-Minor Magazine, The Misty Review, Anima, Allegro Poetry, Lunar Poetry, and Boston Accent Lit. Her non-fiction and reviews have appeared in The Review Review, Wasafiri, World Literature Today, Africa in Words, The Aerogram, and The Toast. She is a graduate of Bread Loaf Sicily and an associate professor of English at Nord University.

 

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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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GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!  GIVEAWAY!

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

2ND PRIZE: Signed Copy of Rio Ruidoso

FEBRUARY 18-28, 2020

(US ONLY)

 

 

 

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