Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Book Blast/Giveaway: Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen by Sally Smith O’Rourke


Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen
Was Mr. Darcy real? Is time travel really possible? For pragmatic Manhattan artist Eliza Knight the answer to both questions is absolutely, Yes! And Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley Farms, Virginia is the reason why!
His tale of love and romance in Regency England leaves Eliza in no doubt that Fitz Darcy is the embodiment of Jane Austen’s legendary hero. And she’s falling in love with him. But can the man who loved the inimitable Jane Austen ever love average, ordinary Eliza Knight?
Eliza’s doubts grow, perhaps out of proportion, when things start to happen in the quiet hamlet of Chawton, England; events that could change everything. Will the beloved author become the wedge that divides Fitz and Eliza or the tie that binds them?
 
Praise for Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen

O’Rourke creates a world that defies cynicism and demands suspension of disbelief – even in this age of doubt and hyper-realism. Sheer escapism at its best. Clever, charming and affectionate.

~Jocelyn Bury
…the reader must tenaciously read on rather than put the book down to satisfy their hunger for the story to resolve, which it does in characteristically Jane Austen fashion.

~Erin Murdock


In Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen, author Sally Smith O’Rourke creates a compelling story that investigates what and who might have inspired Jane Austen. While the story line is certainly far-fetched, it is a truly unique idea, one that captivated this reader until the very last page.

~Meg Massey

 
Purchase
 

 
Author Sally Smith O'Rourke

Sally Smith O’Rourke is a surgical scrub nurse at the City of Hope national cancer research hospital in Duarte, California and resides in the near-by Victorian village of Monrovia.

With her late husband, author Michael O’Rourke (aka F.M. O’Rourke) Smith O’Rourke owned and operated a medical advertising company where she used her diverse talents to produce and co-write teaching films and videos. Working not only with major medical and surgical manufacturing companies but also network television. These endeavors ultimately led to a collaboration on two feature films (direct to video) and three published novels.

The wife and husband writing team of Sally Smith and Michael O’Rourke, being long-time fans of Jane Austen, wrote The Man Who Loved Jane Austen released by Kensington Books in 2006. Kensington followed that very successful effort with The Maidenstone Lighthouse in 2007 and Christmas at Sea Pines Cottage in 2009, both also collaborative projects by Smith and O’Rourke. Published after her partner and spouse’s untimely death in 2001, the publisher chose not to use the names Michael O’Rourke and Sally Smith (as the manuscripts were presented), releasing all three books under Sally Smith O’Rourke.

Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen is Sally Smith O’Rourke’s first solo novel.
Yours Affectionately tour



Book Blast Giveaway

$50 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash

Ends 6/6/13
a Rafflecopter giveaway



Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Author Interview: Paranormal Properties by Tracy Lane



1. Who or what inspired you to become a writer?
When I was young I loved to read and thought it would be great if I could create the worlds I loved.



2. How long did it take you to write?
I tried for 6 years before I actually made myself sit down and do a bit of it a day everyday. Then it took me about 8 months to get it written.


3. While writing how many times do you go back and rewrite a plot?
I never did rewrite the plot. I did have it edited to make it presentable but I kept the original plot and it seemed to work.


4. You run into a bookstore, where do you go first?
Stephen King section. I love his books and he is the first one I look for.


5. How many books in a month do you tend to read?
I am lucky to get one read per month. I am a single mother and with working and writing I just can’t find the time to read.

6. In all the books you've read. Who is your most favorite character and why?
Katniss for sure! I can see myself as her, I would sacrifice for my family and step up to take their place in a situation like that. She is my hero!

7. State 5 random facts about yourself.
I smoked for 30 years before I quit.
I was skinny as all get out until I hit 40 and now I’m dieting.
I was in a ghost hunting group in Indianapolis for about two months.
I traveled to Tombstone Arizona when I found out the ghost hunters were there taping and met them all.
I really want to write the greatest story of them all. Wish me luck. lol

8. Your favorite Genre?
Paranormal/fantasy

9. What are you currently reading?
Nothing right now, I am busy writing my next book.

10. What is the best book you've read?
I would have to say Hunger Games right now. That trilogy made me very sad when it ended. I can’t wait for the next two movies.

11. Any new projects coming up?
I am now writing Entwined Courage. It’s about a young girl Aurora who gets involved in a struggle for power, a struggle that could end her world. She also gets romantically involved with a mage’s apprentice Kayne.

Here’s your chance to market your book. Describe it. And why readers should pick it up?

Paranormal Properties is about a young boy named Jake who helps his parents on their ghost-hunting show. Then one day Jake realizes he can see and speak with ghosts when he meets Dusk’s oldest ghost Frank Barrone, a lounge singer who was killed in 1951 by the mafia. Frank wants Jake to help him find his killer and promises that is Jake helps he will help his parents find a ghost to film for their show.

Readers will love this story of friendship and working together even though they are separated by different worlds.



Paranormal Properties
Paranormal Properties Book One
Tracy Lane

Genre: YA Paranormal

Publisher: Pants on Fire Press

ISBN: 978-0982727171
ASIN: B00BMHF6X6

Number of pages: 192
Word Count: 33,000

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/NwIoLYHHznU

Amazon Print Kindle

Book Description:

Jake Weir, while on the set of his parents ghost hunting TV show, agrees to help a ghost investigate a 61 year-old murder.

Jake Weir is not like the other kids in Dusk, North Carolina. Then again, Dusk, North Carolina is not like other cities. Known as one of the most haunted cities in America, behind Salem, Massachusetts and New Orleans, Louisiana, Dusk is ground zero for Jake's ghost hunting parents.

The Weir family has arrived in Dusk eager to scope out some of the town's 127 reported "paranormal properties," which just happens to be the name of their own ghost hunting show: Paranormal Properties. What Jake doesn't know, and what his parents could never imagine, is that Jake can see ghosts! And hear them. And talk back to them! This talent comes in handy when he runs into Dusk's oldest, most famous ghost: one Frank Barrone, a one-time lounge singer made famous by his booze-soaked ballad, "Barroom Eyes."

Frank was gunned down by a local mobster in 1951 and has been searching for his killer ever since. When he learns that Jake can see and hear him, Frank makes young Jake a deal: if Jake will help Frank find his killer, Frank will help his parents find a ghost to film for their upcoming Halloween Special on Public Access Channel #319. Jake enlists the only friend he's made in Dusk, an overweight tomboy nicknamed "Tank," to help him track down Frank's killer. As clues emerge and old leads heat up, Frank and Jake learn they make quite a team. But will Jake find Frank's killer? And will Frank find a real haunted house in time for Halloween?

“Paranormal Properties is a great, family-friendly Young Adult novel about a boy who can talk to ghosts. Equal parts Scooby-Doo, CSI and the Hardy Boys, you will enjoy getting to know Jake, Frank and Tank as much as I did. Now, if only ‘Paranormal Properties’ was a real show I could watch on TV every week…” ~ Rusty Fischer, author of Zombies Don’t Cry


About the Author:
I was fascinated with the paranormal when I was very young. I always felt like someone was around me even when I was alone. It caused me to be inspired to write a paranormal book where a teenager can see and hear ghosts and actually makes friends with one.

I use to love to write short stories in school and always wanted to be a writer. But raising children and working jobs I just could not find the time to indulge my passion. Then my children grew up and I ended up having two teenagers at home who did not need as much attention from me. I started toying with the idea of writing once again. So setting aside 5 to 10 minutes per day to write at least one page I could end up with a book a year. Now Paranormal Properties is published and I have a list of 8 more books to write. I don't think I"ll be slowing down anytime soon.


http:///www.tracylane.us

http://tossysbooks.blogspot.com/

http://www.paranormalproperties.us

http://www.facebook.com/jakesparanormalproperties

http://www.facebook.com/ParanormalProperties

http://www.facebook.com/tossylane

http://www.twitter.com/tossysbooks

http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/46688-paranormal-properties


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Monday, May 20, 2013

No Strings Attached Giveaway Hop - Ends 5/27




No Strings Attached Giveaway Hop
May 21st – 27th





GoodReads

Katie Wilkinson has finally found the perfect man - but one day he suddenly disappears, leaving behind only a diary written by a new mother named Suzanne for her baby, Nicholas. In it she intimately reveals the romance between herself and the child's father, her hopes for their marriage, and her unparalleled joy in motherhood. As Katie reads on, she realizes that the man she loves is Suzanne's husband. Now, filled with terror and hope, Katie must struggle to understand what has happened - and find out if her new love has a prayer of surviving.

a Rafflecopter giveaway



Promo Tour: The Equation by James Tarantin



The Equation

by James Tarrantin

Genre:
Action/Adventure, Spirituality, Personal
Growth & Inspiration
Publisher: Tarantin
Ent.
Release Date: November
22, 2012

Book Description:

The
Legendary Larry King writes “The Equation is a Cross-Cultural
Odyssey, an asset that will inspire in people the science of
accomplishment.”

The Equation Book tells a true,
cross-cultural saga that spans over 58 Years and explores exciting
adventures on 4 continents.

The Story of a young lad named
Omer, born to a wealthy family and shackled on an island of battling
hierarchies.

The youth leaves his home, and meets great
dangers and tragedies as he seeks to discover Time’s Silent
Secret.

At the turn of the Millennium, the mission was to
track historic clues and discover an Equation that was lost through
the times … hidden in the margins. An Equation that whoever finds
it will be Transformed. And with its 4 Rings of Power … design
destiny.

A Revolution is inspired! Time Stops!

Will the
lad transform or bite from the forbidden power and be carried to the
brink of Death?

Excerpt
One
:


Over
13 billion years ago ...when the universe sparked to life
... 
the spiritual Big Bang accelerated fluctuations of light
that swept the void of space with galaxies and dark energy.


Within
this creation, a promise was made. In its heart lies the greatest
light. The watchmaker watched the creation, as the universe was
endowed with the freedom to move on its own.

One
infinite garden, yet many trees of life. One humanity, yet many
stories. This book is a small story from the inner light: a story
that shall explore the Physical World and the Spiritual World. The
body of the story shall embark upon exotic adventures across the
lands of Planet Earth: from the continent of Asia to the continent of
Europe, and from the ancient civilizations of the Middle East to the
continent of America.

The
mind of the story will travel from a little roof to the vastness of
the stars, from the fires of the valleys to spiritual summits, from
War to Peace, and from the sorrows of a heart to the pursuit of a
dream.

There
is a treasure
. Yes! There is a treasure. A treasure that had been
lost for millennia, hidden in the margins of History. A force beyond
Time and Space – the source of all innovations. The myth tells that
whoever discovers this treasure shall be bestowed 4 Rings of
Power
The Fountain of Youth 
Water, Designing Destinies – Wind, The
Moment 
– Earth, and Cosmic Energy 
Fire. So let us light the torch of the future and sail towards
the unseen!

An
exchange of energy always occurs among all living things. Within this
circle, within this network of energy ... a small family once lived.
But in order for the family to be here today, past generations
decided to design the sands of time.
With
no fuel or oil, every day, 7 days a week, Planet Earth orbits the
sun. Every dawn, when the morning star shines high above, a
new hope 
is born. A long time ago, in a far away holy land,
on one of these mornings, an old man named Mati decided to transform.

About The Author:


I
believe that success is indivisible; the success of anyone anywhere
is the success of all of us everywhere.”

James Tarantin
is a Philosopher, Game Architect, Author, the Executive Chairman of
Tarantin Ent LLC and the Creator of 4=T²D².

An American
Citizen who immigrated to the United States alone with no family,
money or any formal education … as a Philosopher, James studied  5
Chief avenues; The Mind, Pragmatism & Enterprises, Morality,
Metaphysics and Aesthetics.  These avenues are explored in his
written works, such as The Equation.

After several
months of deep research and traveling to Rome, James saw the Equation
in a dream at age 16. From 9/22/10 – 12/25/10 he handwrote the
entire book.

James believes
that each person is just around the corner at accomplishing their
mountain top. And though he was a poor young man at the time, James
was the first immigrant to America, and one of the youngest spiritual
thinkers in history, to write a memoir at the age of 25, in a
language that isn’t his mother tongue and with no training in
writing whatsoever. The first memoir to present a new philosophical
theory and explores a rich array of issues: Family Life, History,
Mystical Science, Philosophy, Human Evolution, Personal Success,
Enterprises, Spirituality, Beauty, The Universe and Cultures on 4
Continents.

At the age of
22, the legendary broadcaster Larry King took James under his wing,
and he founded Tarantin Ent LLC … A company to be structured after
a 50 page model that includes international business classes,
classified strategy science, culture and values, and long-term
Life-Cycle vision.

As the
company’s Executive Chairman, James has 5 responsibilities: Content
Creation, Global Strategy, Legislation, Balancing the Budget, and
Transparency.

Before the age
of 26, with fierce belief, James created, almost single-handedly:
complete screen manuscripts, a library of stories, animated
superheroes, a trading card game, the mobile game design script, a
technical design document, goods and services, distribution channels,
and the platform for a new social network.

You
go anywhere in the world, from The Big Apple to Paris and from Brazil
to Berlin … the borderline between success and failure is blurred.
In this new century, people want something fundamentally different.”

The
Equation is the answer spoken by the hearts of young and old, rich
and poor.”







Sunday, May 19, 2013

Sunday Post Edition #19







The Sunday Post is a weekly meme hosted by Kimba the Caffeinated Book Reviewer ~ It's a chance to share news~ A post to recap the past week on your blog, showcase books and things we have received and share news about what is coming up on our blog for the week ahead.


This Last Week @ Books, Books The Magical Fruit

Week of May 12 – 18
Author Guest Post(Pump Up Your Books Tours) The Prophecy Collection: Prophecy Foretold by Ron Hartman
Author Interview (Bewitching Book Tours): Trust : A New Beginning by Cristiane Serruya
Author Interview: (Pump Up Your Books Tours) The Knights of Galaria: The Crystals of Power by O.S. Gill
Author Interview/Giveaway(Pump Up Your Books Tours) Grim by Joseph Spencer
Author Interview: (Pump Up Your Books Tours) Terminus by Joshua Graham
Book Blast (I Am A Reader): The Enemy by Larry Bograd
Clear Your Shelf Giveaway Hop (I Am A Reader)
Children’s Book Week Giveaway Hop (KidLitFrenzy, Mymcbooks & I Am A Reader, Not A Writer)
Kindle Freebie Spotlight Book Blast (Bewitching Book Tours): for Stranger at the Hell Gate by Ash Krafton
Release Day Blitz (Bewitching Book Tours): Blood Rush by Ash Krafton
Author Interview (Bewitching Book Tours): The Ifs by J.D. Pooker
Book Promo (First Wild Card Tours): Double or Nothing by Meg Mims
Cover Reveal: (AToMR) Damaged 2 by H.M. Ward
Guest Post/Promo/Giveaway(Reading Addiction Blog Tours): Whispered Truth by M.M Hall
Love in Bloom Giveaway Hop (I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & Portrait of a Book)
May Kindle Fire Giveaway (I Am A Reader)



Next Week @ Books, Books The Magical Fruit

Week of May 19 – 26
Author Guest Post: The Circle by Cindy Cipriano
Book Blast/Giveaway (I Am A Reader): Yours Affectionately, Jane Austen by Sally Smith O’Rourke
Children’s Book Week Giveaway Hop (KidLitFrenzy, Mymcbooks & I Am A Reader, Not A Writer)
Promo Tour(Virtual Book Tour Cafe'): The Equation by James Tarantin
Promotion Event(AToMR) : Rock and a Hard Place by Angie Stanton
Love in Bloom Giveaway Hop (I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & Portrait of a Book)
Author Interview (Bewitching Book Tours): Paranormal Properties by Tracy Lane
No Strings Attached Giveaway Hop (I Am A Reader)


Amazon Books






All Romance Ebooks


Books for Review

Friday, May 17, 2013

Cover Reveal: Damaged 2 by H.M. Ward



 photo damagedcover2med_zps6e9b8efb.jpg

Title: DAMAGED 2 (Damaged, #2)

Author: H.M. Ward

Expected release date: June 24, 2013

Genre: Romance

Age Group: New Adult

Cover reveal organized by: AToMR Tours

 photo goodreads-badge-add-plus_zpsa971cb04.png

Click here to pre-order on Amazon

 

The steamy sequel to the New York Times bestselling New Adult novel DAMAGED by H.M. Ward.

Home isn't supposed to be dangerous, but for Sidney it is. Returning home means that she has to face her past. It's not just the man who hurt Sidney that makes it horrible, but the family that didn't believe her. They were dead to her, but now that her mom is really dying things seem different. It's a chance to set things right.

What Sidney doesn't realize is that she's dragging Peter into a collision course with his past. Peter must deal with the demons haunting him if he wants to move forward with Sidney. He's willing to give up everything for her, even wade deeper into his past life to help her move forward. But, Peter isn't sure if he can get over what happened to him in New York.

 

About the Author

NEW YORK TIMES, WALL STREET JOURNAL, DIGITAL BOOK WORLD, & USA TODAY Bestselling author H.M. Ward is a native New Yorker living in Texas. She loves purple, glitter, and Disney World. Her bestsellers include THE ARRANGEMENT series, SCANDALOUS, and DEMON KISSED.

Don't want to miss a H.M. Ward release date: Text AWESOMEBOOKS to 22828 and get an email reminder on release dates.

Facebook | Twitter

 photo AToMRTours_zpse9017e91.jpg

Author Interview: Terminus by Joshua Graham



Describe your book in five words or less.
City of Angels Meets the Matrix (not counting “of” and “the”)

How did the ideas for your books come to you?
They’re often triggered by a thought, concept, character, or theme that has moved me deeply. But sometimes it’s something that fascinates me and compels me to explore it in the journey of a set of characters.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
There are many, but the most important ones are that there is so much more to our existence than the short lifetime we spend here in this mortal life. When put in that perspective, and knowing that there is an eternity to be lived afterwards, our priorities change. There is ultimately so much more hope, and equally so much more despair, when we know that this life is just so temporary and fleeting, like a dream. If there is truly an eternity to be lived this life, will that affect your attitudes, choices, and the way you live today? I hope so.

What is the hardest part of writing for you? What's the easiest?
The hardest part of writing is quite simply getting started. I’ve been at this for years now, and I still forget that I don’t need inspiration, I just need commitment. Things start to flow once I sit down. It’s usually the fear that what I write will be bad. But then, I remind myself that I can always edit and improve bad writing. But the only way to improve a blank page is to type.

The easiest part? When I’m in the flow, I can’t seem to type fast enough. This usually happens when I’m in the heads of my characters and they’re having a conflict. I love writing conflict dialogue.

What's next for you? Are you currently working on or have plans for future projects?
I have several books for which my readers are demanding sequels. I’m not certain which one will be first. But I have a feeling it might have something to do with a photographer. ;)

Why did you choose to write for specific genre?
I didn’t set out looking for the genre. The story came to me and later I figured out what genre it should be categorized as. The story is more important than which bookshelf it sits on.

What's it like hearing that readers are eagerly awaiting your book's release date?
Of course, it’s gratifying. But I face it with a bit of trepidation because I don’t only want to make sure not to disappoint them, but I really want them to feel that my latest book is the best one ever.

What is one question that you've always wanted to be asked in an interview? How would you answer that question?
Hmmm…right, well this is one question I wish to be asked: Are you a Christian Fiction writer or not?
My answer: I am a Christian, yes. But I am not exclusively a Christian Fiction author. By that, I mean to say that while I cannot help but to express some of my own faith in my stories, I’m not writing to convert anyone or preach at anyone. Some of my novels might be a bit too edgy for some very religious readers, and yet lacking gratuitous sex, language, and darkness, perhaps not down and dirty enough for other non-religious readers. But I think it’s only the small minority of readers at those opposite extremes who might not feel my books are for them.
For the most part, I’m happy to say that my non-religious readers find my writing to be like I am, myself. I am not ashamed of my faith, but I don’t use it to beat people over the head with it. I share it because it’s who I am, but only when I think someone might find it either interesting or beneficial. I’m fairly safe to be around. :)

What was your road to publications like?
Full of mercy and unmerited grace. I honestly feel like the steps were laid before more and all I had to do was write the books. I won’t minimize the hard work involved, the hours of reading, studying, and learning. But to me, that was fun, not toil and labor. But aside from all that, I’m fully appreciative of how difficult it is to receive rejection letter after rejection letter, to watch your indie book remain relatively unknown. The fact that I have been published by Simon & Schuster/Howard Books, and that my independent books have hit the top of several bestseller charts is something I can’t fathom completely. I can only say how grateful I am to God, and to my wonderful readers who made this all possible. I’m humbled at the privilege of this career, and hope to do it justice in the eyes of all.

How can readers learn more about, and contact you?
I absolutely love connecting with readers! I can be reached on my website’s contact form:
www.joshua-graham.com/contact
on Facebook: www.facebook.com/j0shgraham
on Twitter: www.twitter.com/j0shuagraham



ABOUT TERMINUS

How far must an angel fall to find his destiny?

Having witnessed one too many senseless deaths, Nikolai, a disillusioned Reaper 3rd Class, resigns his commission with the Angel Forces after a tedious century of gathering souls.

Immediately, another division recruits him with the promise of a more rewarding career, and issues his initial assignments: To bring down a few very dangerous threats to the human race. In the process, Nikolai falls in love with one of his targets—Hope Matheson, a woman who will lead thousands astray.

Caught between conflicting agendas, Nikolai chooses to “fall” from his celestial state and become mortal in order to circumvent angel law and be with her. But for angels and humans alike, things are not always as they appear. Still a target, the threat against Hope’s life intensifies.

Now, in order to save her, Nikolai must rally the last remnants of his failing supernatural abilities to prevent her assassination, as well as the destruction of an entire city by a nuclear terrorist strike.

But his time and power are running out…

Terminus is a perspective-altering saga that delves into ageless themes of redemption, destiny, and the eternal power of love.

Purchase your copy at:
AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE

ABOUT JOSHUA GRAHAM

WINNER OF the INTERNATIONAL BOOK AWARDS (Beyond Justice),
#1 bestselling author Joshua Graham’s award-winning novel DARKROOM hit 3 bestseller lists on Amazon the night of its release.

CBS News described DARKROOM as a book with “action, political intrigue and well-rounded characters…a novel that thriller fans will devour.”

Many of Graham’s readers blame him for sleepless nights, arriving to work late, neglected dishes and family members, and not allowing them to put the book down.

Suspense Magazine listed BEYOND JUSTICE in its BEST OF 2010, alongside titles by Scott Turrow, Ted Dekker, Steven James and Brad Thor.

His short story THE DOOR’S OPEN won the HarperCollins Authonomy Competition (Christmas 2010.)
Publishers Weekly described BEYOND JUSTICE as: “A riveting legal thriller…breaking new ground with a vengeance…demonically entertaining and surprisingly inspiring.”

Joshua Graham grew up in Brooklyn, NY where he lived for the better part of 30 years. He holds a Bachelor and Master’s Degree and went on to earn his doctorate from Johns Hopkins University. During his time in Maryland, he taught as a professor at Shepherd College (WV), Western Maryland College, and Columbia Union College (MD).
Today he lives with his beautiful wife and children in Southern California. Several of Graham’s short fiction works have been published by Pocket Books and Dawn Treader Press.

Writing under the pen name Ian Alexander, Graham debuted with his first Epic Fantasy novel ONCE WE WERE KINGS, an Amazon #1 Bestseller in multiple categories and Award-Winning Finalist in the SciFi/Fantasy category of The USA “Best Books 2011″ Awards, as well as an Award-Winning Finalist in the Young Adult Fiction category of The USA “Best Books 2011″ Awards, and an Award Winner in the 2011 Forward National Literature Awards in the Teen/Young Adult category. ONCE WE WERE KINGS is available in ebook and hardcover editions.

And I hope everyone will subscribe to my occasional newsletter. All subscribers are automatically entered into all future contests and giveaways. Please sign up here: www.joshua-graham.com/newsletter


Pump Up Your Book

Kindle Freebie Spotlight Book Blast: for Stranger at the Hell Gate by Ash Krafton




Short Excerpt:

Jagger hung his head, looking very much out of patience. With an exasperated huff, he turned in place, his boots clomping. Cocky stance, head back, and eyes daring her to say something. But these things she only partially registered because when he turned to face her, his entire upper body—chest, face, arms—glowed with the marks of past insult and injury. And that sickle shape burned into the skin over his heart—
She whimpered, heart-sick to see him in this way. Her mother's blood cried out at the thought of what agony he must have endured to stand here now, so marred and wounded. Covering her eyes, she dispelled the Seraph sight and fought the tears.
"Hey." He was in front of her within moments, pulling her hands down and leaning to peer at her downturned face. "Hey, what's wrong?"
"You. You've been through so much. Just look at you."
"I'd rather not. I'm not a pretty guy."
"Jagger. These scars. You have countless hurts. I can't see a part of you that isn't injured." She raised her eyes, tears brimming on her lower lashes. "Let me help you."
"What, you're a plastic surgeon?"
She swallowed and regained part of her composure. "Better."
He looked alarmed and rocked back on his heels. "You don't mean—"
"Yes, I do." She held onto his hands and kept him from backing away. This felt right, this decision.
His eyes shifted. "Ah, I don't think it's a good idea, doll. Our kinds don't mix well."



Stranger at the Hell Gate
Ash Krafton


Genre: urban fantasy

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

Date of Publication: March 2013
ASIN: B00C14X6SG

Word Count: 20000

Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor

Amazon

Book Description:

Jagger Sintallon, a half-demon warrior, has dedicated his existence to fighting demons who enter the world through Hell gates. A loner of conflicting ideals, he offers shelter to a troubled woman but knows he is too rough, too dangerous, and too cocky for her delicate nature.

Dedicated to Divine Will, Sonya Camael, a Seraph, is determined to discover why she is drawn to Jagger's doorstep and the reason behind her mission. She needs the demon's help but fears he may get himself killed before she can figure it out and the world slips into Hell's dominion.

Sonya faces grave danger with evil stalking her every move, and Jagger shouldn't care but realizes he cares more than he'd likely admit. Sonya knows Jagger cannot win this war alone, but will her divine intervention mean his imminent end? Or will just the right combination of Heaven and Hell set the world right once again?

About the Author:
Ash Krafton writes from the heart…of the Pennsylvania coal region, that is.
She is the author of the Books of the Demimonde (Pink Narcissus Press).

BLEEDING HEARTS (Demimonde #1) is a six-time RWA finalist and was voted "Reviewer Top Pick" by Gravetells.com. Ash continues the story of Sophie and her Demivampires in her latest release BLOOD RUSH (Demimonde #2). She's hard at work (when she isn't watching Doctor Who) writing the third book, WOLF'S BANE.

Ash Krafton's poetry and short fiction has appeared in several journals, including Niteblade, Bete Noire, Abandoned Towers, and Silver Blade. She's a member of Pennwriters, RWA, and Maryland Writers Association. She lurks near her blog and contributes to the QueryTracker blog.

Ash lives with her family and their German Shepherd dog deep in the Pennsylvania wilds, awaiting the day the TARDIS appears in the driveway (the dog most likely keeps the Doctor away. What a beast.)

Until then, she writes.

Find Ash at:

The Demimonde blog

Facebook

Twitter

Goodreads

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Love in Bloom Giveaway Hop - Ends 5/22




Love in Bloom Giveaway Hop
Featuring Lighthearted/Contemporary Young Adult Romance
& Sweet, Clean Adult Romance
Hosted by I Am A Reader, Not A Writer & Portrait of a Book
May 16th to 22nd





GoodReads Synopsis


Orphaned and besieged, Princess Alesandra knew that only hasty marriage to an Englishman could protect her from the turmoil in her own land. To the amusement of her makeshift guardian, Colin, younger brother of the Marquess of Cainewood, the bold raven-haired beauty instantly captivated London society. But when Alesandra was nearly abducted by her unscrupulous countrymen, the fighting instincts that won Colin a knighthood for valor were kindled.

Deceiving himself that he wanted only to protect her, Colin swept her into a union meant to be a marriage in name alone...yet Alesandra's tender first kiss and hesitant caress ignited a wildfire in his soul. As the lovely princess dashed headlong into unforeseen dangers, Colin would follow, knowing he must claim her as his own forever. Now he would risk life itself before he would lose this sweet, tempestuous angel..


a Rafflecopter giveaway



Author Interview/Giveaway: Grim by Joseph Spencer



Describe your book in five words or less.
Grim’s a moral about vigilantism.

How did the ideas for your books come to you?
I gained inspiration from Heath Ledger’s Joker character in The Dark Knight, Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter book series and working with police officers everyday in an emergency 9-1-1 communications center.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?
My message is that anyone, no matter how pure of heart, might fall from grace given the right set of circumstances. It’s up to us to stay disciplined in our faith when dealing with personal tragedy.

What is the hardest part of writing for you? What's the easiest?
I work 50-60 hours per week because our center is understaffed, so the hardest part is making time to write every day. I get wrapped up in my characters’ stories and histories pretty easily, so I could write volumes of character sketches. I always have a true sense of each character, but sometimes fitting them all in a cohesive set of scenes to execute a plot is a little more difficult.

What's next for you? Are you currently working on or have plans for future projects?
I am picking up where Grim left off with my second book in the Sons of Darkness series, Wrage, which Damnation Books will release on June 1, 2013. Wrage delves deeper into the lives of supporting characters – Anna Duke, Jeff Wrage and Christopher Sinks – from Grim.

Why did you choose to write for specific genre?
I work in public safety and I’ve always enjoyed reading crime, thrillers and psychological horror, so I’ve tried to blend my experiences with my taste in entertainment. I talk with police officers on the radio each day, so I try to infuse some of the personalities I come across into my characters.

What's it like hearing that readers are eagerly awaiting your book's release date?
The greatest honor I can receive as an author is to get a favorable review or positive feedback from fans. It’s a feeling of accomplishment to know that I entertained readers.

What is one question that you've always wanted to be asked in an interview? How would you answer that question?
I’ve always wanted to be asked about what it’s like to see my novel being adapted into a movie. I’m a huge movie nut, and I’d probably cry tears of joy if I saw my work on a big screen.

What was your road to publications like?
When I finished my manuscript, I had Michael Garrett, Stephen King’s first editor, do the preliminary edits on Grim. I felt honored that he’d take me on. Then, I submitted to independent horror presses which accepted unsolicited manuscripts, and Damnation Books seemed as excited about my project as I was so it was a thrill to come to an agreement with them. They accepted my manuscript on March 15, 2012, a day after my wedding.

About the Book:


In a gritty town rife with organized crime, dirty cops and corrupt politicians, Detective Adam White stands alone as the people’s symbol of justice and hope for a brighter future. He’s cracked the biggest cases, and stood up to the crime families who’ve torn apart Prairieville with their power struggles. He’s gorgeous, humble and incorruptible; a crime fighter so pure that the locals nicknamed him the White Knight.

What the people don’t know is their reluctant hero is cracking before their eyes. Ten years have passed since a pack of bank robbers gunned down his wife in the street. He’s relentlessly worked every case he could get his hands on since that night with the hopes of finding some link to her killer, but every lead always winds up a dead end. He made a vow on her death bed that he wouldn’t stop looking or move on with his life, personal or otherwise, until her killer was either dead or behind bars.

His obsession is starting to affect his work, including a new set of murders which are eerily similar to cold cases in which a gangland legend called The Reaper is the main suspect. A routine canvas of the area in which the bodies were found led Detective White to Heath Grim, a reclusive millionaire with grisly facial scars and a past which doesn’t quite add up. There’s something about his story which makes Detective White curious to dig deeper into his background.

Just as Detective White closes in on his killer, the mob hatches an elaborate scheme which could cost him everything. In his moment of need, an unlikely ally presents a way out of the plot against him and information on his wife’s killer. However, it leaves Prairieville’s paragon of justice with a moral dilemma. Can he abandon all of the heroic ideals upon which he’s based his life and become the type of man he’s hunted for so long to settle a score with his wife’s killer?

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE


About the Author:

As a boy, Joseph Spencer immersed himself in the deductive logic of Sherlock Holmes, the heroic crime fighting of Batman and Spider-Man, and a taste for the tragic with dramas from poets like Shakespeare and Homer.

Before Joseph took to spinning his own tales, he pursued a career in print sports journalism, graduating summa cum laude from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale. He covered such events as NASCAR’s Subway 500 race in Martinsville, the NBA Draft Camp in Chicago, the Junior College World Series, and Minor League Baseball’s Midwest League All-Star Game during a ten-year career throughout the Midwest. Now, he works as an emergency telecommunications specialist with an Illinois police department. The combination of years of writing experience with a background working with law enforcement professionals gave rise to his writing aspirations.

Joseph was married Dr. Amy (Waggoner) Spencer, an accomplished veterinary doctor, on March 14, 2012. He received word his debut novel was accepted by his publisher, Damnation Books, the next day. Joseph and Amy look forward to their honeymoon in Paris in September 2012. Murphy, a 15-year-old orange tabby, is perhaps the most vocal member of the family. The Spencer family enjoys reading Charlaine Harris, George R.R. Martin, Mary Janice Davidson, and most paranormal stories. The Spencers also enjoy quoting movie lines from “The Princess Bride”, “Rain Man”, “Bridesmaids”, and “Office Space”.

His latest book is the paranormal crime thriller, Grim.

Visit his website at www.josephbspencer.com

Connect & Socialize with Joseph!

TWITTER | FACEBOOK | GOODREADS



Book Trailer:



a Rafflecopter giveaway

Author Interview: The Knights of Galaria: The Crystals of Power by O.S. Gill


Describe your book in five words or less.

Fantasy, Epic, Adventurous, Globe-Trotting, Fast-Paced

How did the ideas for your books come to you?

The overall idea for the novel just came to me one day. But the intricate details of the world and the characters came from months of planning and design and redesign.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

Well there are three main themes, namely friendship, teamwork and good vs. evil.

What is the hardest part of writing for you? What's the easiest?

The hardest part is finding inspiration some days. On those days the idea well is just dry. The easiest is the polar opposite of that. Sometimes the ideas just come flooding in, and I spend that day writing pages on end.

What's next for you? Are you currently working on or have plans for future projects?

What’s next is the second book in this series (The Knights of Galaria). I am working on the structure of the second novel right now.

Why did you choose to write for specific genre?

I chose this genre because it is what I love. Since I was little, I was fixated with sci-fi and fantasy, so writing in this genre is a dream come true for me.

What's it like hearing that readers are eagerly awaiting your book's release date?

It gives a sense of accomplishment. Having just one person wanting to read what you wrote is an indescribable feeling.

What is one question that you've always wanted to be asked in an interview? How would you answer that question?

Well I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to be asked about any interest other than novels. I wouldn’t mind doing screenplays to be honest. I do have a couple of ideas for different sci-fi films that I think would make good movies. But we’ll see what the future holds.

What was your road to publications like?

It was as much work as one would expect self-publication to be. I did all the work myself, from formatting to finding a publicist. But at the end of the day I thoroughly enjoyed the path that I took with this novel, and will happily do it again.



The Knights of Galaria: The Crystals of Power
Virtual Book Tour May 6 - 31 310 pages



ABOUT THE KNIGHTS OF GALARIA: THE CRYSTALS OF POWER
For Kaz Silverwynd, graduation from the Galarian Knight Academy begins normally, but an the attempt on the life of Xul Xandu, the newly-appointed head of the Confederation of Nations, pushes Kaz and his team into an epic and dangerous adventure. The action ranges from the floating city of Civitas to the underwater empire of Aequoria to the moon colony of Ourea. Kaz leads his band of knights on a perilous journey to stop a madman from achieving his ultimate goal – the conquest of the world of Galaria. Added to the already volatile mix are the legendary Crystals of Power, a collection of beautiful but deadly jewels that could tip the scales of power toward good or evil.
“Knights is an engaging novel that should be the start of a long-running series. The book should make a great addition to any YA collection in a reader’s collection. The Knights of Galaria: The Crystals of Power takes readers on an unforgettable interstellar escapade.”
– Pacific Book Review
Pick up your copy!

AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE

About the Author:


O.S. Gill grew up on the Caribbean island of Barbados. He was educated at The Lodge School, a 300-year-old former British boarding school and the second oldest learning institution on the island. A certified information technology professional, he has worked for The Banks Holdings Limited, a local conglomerate that owns the local brewery (Banks Beer) and Coca-Cola manufacturing plant for fourteen years. A Systems Analyst, he has been positioned in various capacities, primarily dealing with sales and distribution, as well as the sourcing and implementation of new technologies to further business efficiency. He always had a passion for writing and published his first novel, THE KNIGHTS OF GALARIA: THE CRYSTALS OF POWER, in 2012.

You can visit the author's website at www.osgill.com

Author Interview: The Ifs by J.D. Pooker



Little Blurb about yourself:

J.D. Pooker lives in wonderful Wyoming with her husband and two sons, along with a black lab named Ryder and a sweet kitty named Alia. J.D. likes to spend time with her family and go camping, fishing, and snowmobiling.

My sons are the inspiration for writing children's stories. I want to encourage them to be readers and show them how powerful and exciting the imagination can be. I want them to see that countless worlds exist, and all it takes to get there is a good book.

1. Who or what inspired you to become a writer?

I’ve always enjoyed writing and remember writing my first book in 3rd grade. After that, I dabbled off and on. In college, I had a couple of professors that completely shook my confidence, and I didn’t write for a long time. My friend Tamara got me back into writing when I was in my early 20s. I wouldn’t be where I am without her!

2. How long did it take you to write The Ifs?

This is a tough question. I started the story about 2 years ago, then put it on the shelf to work on other projects. I think when I pulled it down and seriously started working on it it took 3 months, included edits.

3. While writing how many times do you go back and rewrite a plot?

I don’t usually rewrite my plots. I have a basic idea of where I want the story to go, then I let the characters take me to the end. Sometimes I’m surprised on where the characters take me!

4. You run into a bookstore, where do you go first?

Science fiction and fantasy aisle.

5. How many books in a month do you tend to read?

It honestly depends on the month. I’m incredibly busy with a full-time job, a 4 and 6 year old, and trying to write myself. Some months I’m lucky if I get through ONE book!



6. In all the books you've read. Who is your most favorite character and why?

Oh, man. Another tough question. I don’t know if I can answer this. I like so many different characters for so many different reasons.

7. State 5 random facts about yourself.

1. My favorite food is hash.
2. I LOVE orange soda.
3. I don’t actually consider myself an author.
4. I prefer cats to dogs, even though I own both.
5. I used to raise rats, but I was allergic to them and would break out in hives when they walked on me.

8. Your favorite Genre?

Science fiction and fantasy, but I’ll read pretty much anything.

9. What are you currently reading?

Rot and Ruin by Jonathan Maberry and The Call of Cthulu by H.P. Lovecraft.

10. What is the best book you've read?

Man! A lot of hard of hard questions. If I have to pick one, I would say it would be Shadows of the Empire by Steve Perry. I’m a HUGE Star Wars nerd, and this book is the story of what happens between The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. The bad guy was so incredibly cool and evil. It was a fun read!

11. Any new projects coming up?

I have finished The Ifs Return, and I’m hoping the publisher will pick it up for publication. (Fingers crossed!)

Here’s your chance to market your book. Describe it. And why readers should pick it up?

The Ifs is an action adventure story and shows kids what it takes to get along with their sibling. Readers should only pick it up if they want to have a fun time and meet new and interesting characters.

About the Book


The Ifs
J.D. Pooker

Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy

Publisher: Little Devil Books
Date of Publication: April 23, 2013

Number of pages: 146

Cover Artist: Frank Walls

Book Description:

Landon and Broden are brothers. Some days they DO NOT get along very well. They spend most of their time fighting, arguing and plotting ways to get revenge on each other.

Then, strange things start happening…

Noises in their room that are not the cat.

Homework is mysteriously finished.

A broken shoelace repairs all by itself.

Clothes are put in the hamper on their own.

The brothers want to share their weird experiences, but they don’t know if they can trust each other. But when they find out who’s behind all the strange things around the house, they are called to battle.

Battle? Whoa! Right there in the forest by their house! A battle with the most unusual creatures and wildest of beasts. And when the battle turns more dangerous than they imagined, Landon and Broden must face their fears, put their grudges aside and learn how to work together.


CHAPTER 1

“Good night, boys. I love you.” Mom smiled slightly as she blew each of the boys a kiss.
“Love you, too, Mom,” the brothers said in unison.
She clicked out the light and closed the door.
Landon settled into bed and closed his eyes.
He dreamt that he ran through the forest. His breath came in pants, his legs were heavy and hard to move. Something stomped behind him, breathing on his neck. When he glanced over his shoulder, there was nothing but trees. He turned back just in time to see a branch in front of his face. He ducked just before hitting it, but the movement shifted his weight and threw him off balance. He fell forward, rolling through dirt and leaves. As soon as he stopped, he held his breath and listened. The footsteps still sounded behind him. He tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t move. A puddle of mud surrounded him, and he sank into it. He grabbed at the tree roots in an attempt to save himself. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Landon quit struggling and glanced around. The forest grew darker, and someone laughed—a low, menacing laugh, like a villain in cartoons. The renewed desire to pull himself out overwhelmed him, but his movements caused him to sink faster. When the mud was about to cover his face, he jerked awake.
His foot connected with something on his bed, and it thumped onto the floor before scurrying across the room. Landon wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed his eyes. Cautiously, he glanced over the edge.
“Tiki?” he whispered. “Tiki is that you?”
He waited for the meow, but it never came. He shrugged and hopped off the bed, walking to the bathroom to get a drink of water. As he came back to his room, something clinked. What was that? He squinted in the darkness, hoping the gesture would allow him to see what made that sound.
“Tiki?” He walked to his bookshelves. He was sure the sound came from that area. “You know you’re not supposed to be up there.”
He stood in front of the shelves, patting each shelf with his hand, looking for the cat. A meow sounded behind him. Tiki stood in the doorway. Something thumped in the closet to his right. His heart began to beat rapidly, and he jumped back into bed, throwing the covers over his head. It was a zombie, he knew it. Mom and Dad told him they didn’t exist, but he was sure they did. What else would have made that sound? It was going to come out of the closest, its eyes glowing red and teeth dripping with spit, and eat him. The only protection he had was the force field created by his blankets. Hopefully, they kept him safe.
Landon listened intently, waiting for another sound to permeate the darkness, but nothing sounded. He relaxed. The zombie must have moved on. It knew it couldn’t get through his shields. His heart rate slowed; he took a deep breath. Eventually, he fell back asleep.
His alarm woke him the next morning. He poked his head out of the covers and glanced at the clock. 7:00. He folded the covers to his waist and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t feel very rested. In fact, he was incredibly tired. He wanted nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. Landon finished rubbing his eyes and glanced down. Tiki lay at the end of his bed, staring at him and blinking slowly. Landon huffed. Dumb cat caused a lot of issues during the night, and she looked at him like she was innocent and did nothing wrong. It was her fault he was so tired. But what could he do? He had to go to school, and Mom would be mad if he hurt the cat. The only thing he had to look forward to was that it was Friday. He jumped onto the floor and turned to Broden.
“Hey.” He shook Broden’s shoulder. “It’s time to get up. We have to get ready for school.”
Broden rolled over and swatted at his brother but missed. Landon backed out of the way.
“I’m up, I’m up,” he said.
Landon felt ornery and punched him in the arm before running down the hall. Broden yelled at him from the bedroom. It wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but Broden needed some motivation to get up. As he turned to go downstairs, he heard Broden right behind him. Landon glanced over his shoulder, smiling. He took the stairs two at a time and went into the kitchen. Mom sat at the table, checking her email and eating a bowl of cereal. Phew! Landon was safe.
“Good morning,” she said between bites.
Landon was about to answer when Broden burst into the room. He tried to smack Landon on the head, but Landon blocked it, and the two started a slap fight. Broden must not have noticed Mom at the table, or maybe he didn’t care. With her there, Broden could get into a lot of trouble for starting a fight. After all, Mom didn’t see Landon hit Broden in the bedroom, so she couldn’t punish him for that.
“Boys,” Mom called over the melee. “It’s too early for that. Knock it off.”
“He hit me,” Broden whined.
“No I didn’t,” Landon protested.
“I don’t care who did what. Knock it off before I hit you both.”
The two settled down and grabbed a bowl and a box of cereal out of the cupboard. As they sat at the table, they kicked at each other. Landon tried to whack his brother good, but he missed and hit the table leg. He jammed his toe and yelped in pain. Broden laughed. Mom just stared at him, her lips pursed.
“I hope that teaches you a lesson,” she said and stood, taking her bowl to the sink. She walked out of the room without saying another word.
Landon put his foot on the chair and examined his toe. It was red and throbbing, but there was no blood, so he would be fine. Still, it upset him that Mom didn’t get Broden in trouble. She was there, she saw him start the fight. Landon didn’t know why he wanted Broden to get in trouble. He was tired and grumpy, so it sounded like a good idea. Maybe he wanted Broden to feel as bad as he did. Either way, it didn’t work out, and that made him angry. He wouldn’t have hurt his toe if it weren’t for Broden. That made him even madder.
“See, that’s what happens when you mess with me.” Broden smiled.
Landon flipped milk at him. There was no other way to retaliate. Plus, he knew it would upset Broden. He’d be sticky and dirty for school.
“Mom! Landon’s throwing food!”
“No I’m not!”
“Boys,” Mom called from downstairs, “you don’t have time for this. Did everyone finish their homework?”
Landon’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, yeah. My math.” He scarfed down the rest of his cereal and ran upstairs.
The night before, he’d been having a hard time solving a math problem. He agonized over it and tried several way to find the answer, but he never did. The paper was stained gray from him erasing his work so many times. He was determined to finish it, but he never got the chance. It was bedtime. His only hope was that when he went upstairs, a new idea would come to him and he would be able to solve it.
Once in his room, he pulled on his clothes, ran into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then sat at his desk. The anger and frustration from the morning faded away, replaced with determination to finish his assignment. He opened his math book and pulled out the paper. He grabbed his pencil and scanned down the paper, stopping on the problem he had been working on before bed. Determination was replaced with confusion. He was sure he hadn’t finished the problem, but as he stared at the paper, there were numbers filled in on the page. The writing was crooked and light, as if whoever had written it had a hard time holding the pencil. He scrutinized it for a long time.
Broden came into the room and pulled him out of his stupor. Landon placed the paper back into his book. He looked at his brother.
“Did you do my homework?”
Broden stopped getting dressed and looked at him. “Why would I do your homework?”
“I don’t know. To mess with me. The writing is all sloppy.”
Broden cocked his head to the right. “Landon, if I wanted to mess with you, I wouldn’t do your homework for you. I’d flush it down the toilet.”
Landon shrugged. “Well, someone did it.”
Broden pulled on his pants. “Maybe it was Mom.”
Landon nodded. “Maybe.” He placed his book in his backpack.
“Boys,” Mom called from down the hall, “are you getting ready?”
“Yes,” they answered.
“Mom,” Landon yelled, “did you do my homework?”
“What?”
“Did you do my homework?”
Mom poked her head into their room. “Why would I do your homework for you?”
Landon shrugged. “I don’t know. ‘Cause you felt sorry for me?”
Mom rolled her eyes. “First of all, sweetie, I didn’t even know you were having trouble with your homework. Secondly, I’m busy sleeping at night, not sneaking around in the dark finishing people’s homework. Maybe it was the homework fairy.”
Landon chuckled. “Mom! You know there’s no such thing.”
“There is if you believe.” She knocked on the wall. “Now, c’mon, we’ve got to get to school.” She left the room.
After the boys were dressed and ready to go, they met their mom in the living room. They piled into the car and backed down the driveway. The ride to school was silent. Mom pulled in front of the building and turned to face the boys.
“Have a good day, angels.” She smiled. “Go straight home after school. Your dad will be waiting for you.”
“Okay, Mom,” they said as the climbed out of the car. “Love you!”
“Love you, too!”
Landon turned and waved as he walked toward school, but Broden was already half way to the playground. They played until the bell rang, then headed into their classrooms.

The first thing Landon’s teacher asked for that morning was the math homework. Landon turned it in, feeling pretty proud of himself that he had finished all of it, even if he had a little help. He came to the conclusion that he must have gotten up in the middle of the night and finished it in his sleep. It was the only way to explain it. Surely, the zombie in his closet didn’t do it, so who could have? And it would explain why he was so exhausted.
He went through the rest of his day without giving it a second thought. By the time lunch rolled around, the only thing he thought about was getting onto the playground and playing kickball. He ate his turkey and noodles as fast as he could, then ran outside. On his way, his shoe came untied. While retying it, the shoelace broke. He held the string in his hand and stared at it.
“Oh, man.”
“Landon, c’mon!” his friends called.
He put the lace in his pocket and headed onto the field. He’d have plenty of time to worry about it later. Right then, the most important thing was the game.
Landon’s team was up by two points, and it was his turn to kick. He was easily one of the best kickers in his class. The game would be won by the bell. There was a runner on second, and Landon was sure he could get him home. He lined himself up at the plate and eyed the pitcher. The boy watched him for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed to slits, before winding up his arm and tossing the ball. Landon steadied himself and watched the ball approach. He took one step forward and kicked. His foot connected with the ball with a thump, sending it sailing over the other player’s heads, along with his shoe.
At first he didn’t notice, the excitement of the great kick overwhelmed him, but when he started running, the gravel dug into the bottom of his foot. Still, he wasn’t going to let it slow him down. The runner on second base took off; Landon had to get to first. He would, even if he had to limp. He was half way there when he turned to see where the ball was. The shortstop was crouched down with his arms out. The ball bounced and he scooped it up, shifting it quickly to his right hand to throw. Landon quickened his pace. If he didn’t hurry, he would be out. As his shoeless foot came down, he stepped on a rock. Pain started in his heel and traveled up his calf, causing him to almost lose his balance. He wanted to yell, but the pain took his breath away. That, and he had to get to first base. There wasn’t time to yell. The shortstop cocked his arm back. Landon braced for the blow. Before it could come, the bell rang. Landon stopped in his tracks, and he and the other kids groaned with disappointment. He turned to get his shoe, then headed back into the building.
Landon was thankful to be able to sit down. The heel he hit on the rock was on the same foot he jammed his toe. His whole foot felt like it was pulsating. He lifted his foot to his chair and slid his sock down. The heel was already bruised. A black circle surrounded by red covered part of his foot. That was going to be sore for a while. He was a little thankful that he couldn’t tie his shoe. The pressure might have made his foot explode. He replaced his sock and put his foot on the floor as the teacher handed back their homework from the night before. Landon looked at his grade. B. He shrugged. Not bad. He glanced down the page to see which problems he missed. The first one that caught his eye was the one he didn’t finish. Not only was it checked, but the teacher had written a little note beside the problem. It read: “Please make sure I can read your writing. This is a mess.” Landon shook his head and stuffed the paper in his desk.
After school, Landon met Broden at the monkey bars, as usual, and they headed home. They only lived a few blocks from school, but their mom liked to drop them off on her way to work. They didn’t mind because that meant they got to sleep in a little bit longer. They didn’t say anything the whole way home. Landon’s foot was sore from the rock, although it didn’t hurt as bad as it had earlier in the day, and he had to concentrate on walking so he didn’t lose his shoe. Broden was busy kicking a plastic bottle cap down the sidewalk.
When they got close to the house, Broden turned and kicked the cap at Landon. It hit Landon in the hand, and even though it wasn’t going fast enough to cause real damage, it still stung. Landon’s gaze flicked up from the ground. Broden smiled, then took off running. How dare he! He would pay for that! Landon tried to follow him, but his shoe kept falling off, preventing him from running. He would have taken it off, but that would make his foot hurt even more. It didn’t really matter. There would be plenty of time to get revenge. Broden didn’t have anywhere to hide.
Landon walked into the house and noticed Broden hugging Dad around the waist. He would have to wait to get back at his brother.
“Hey, sport,” Dad said. “How was your day?”
Landon set his backpack by the couch. “Good.”
Dad smiled. “We’re going to go play some football in the backyard. Do you want to come?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Let me change my shoes real quick.”
He ran upstairs and kicked his shoe into the room. Sitting on Broden’s bed, he took off the other one and pulled on a pair of old sneakers. He ran back downstairs and joined his dad and brother outside.
Playing with Dad was always fun, but Landon’s foot still hurt, so he wasn’t overly excited. Still, he tried his best. Broden caught the first throw, so Landon promptly tackled him. The second one was his, and Broden whacked him hard. Broden’s shoulder dug into his back, which hurt, then when he hit the ground, the air got knocked out of him. That was painful, too. It took him a few moments to get to his feet. When he did, his arm was around his waist to help with the pain. He thought about quitting and going inside, but then Broden would tease him. He could stick it out for a little longer.
Mom got home a few hours later, and the family ate dinner and watched a little TV. Broden didn’t tackle him hard again, and Landon was thankful. By the time they sat on the couch to watch cartoons, Landon was so tired, he forgot about getting revenge on his brother. Landon and Broden went to bed at 9:00. All night, Landon kept dreaming that someone was poking his foot, right where he stepped on the rock, with a small stick. At one point, they poked it so hard, pain radiated through his leg, causing Landon to jerk awake. His foot throbbed again. He rubbed his heel for a moment, barely able to keep his eyes open. Right before falling asleep, he couldn’t help but think something weird was going on.


About the Author:

J.D. Pooker lives in wonderful Wyoming with her husband and two sons, along with a black lab named Ryder and a sweet kitty named Alia. J.D. likes to spend time with her family and go camping, fishing, and snowmobiling.

Her sons are the inspiration for writing children's stories. She wants to encourage them to be readers and show them how powerful and exciting the imagination can be. She wants them to see that countless worlds exist, and all it takes to get there is a good book.

http://jdpooker.blogspot.com/




Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Book Promo: Double or Nothing by Meg Mims


It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!




You never know when I might play a wild card on you!








Today's Wild Card author is:




and the book:


CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (March 20, 2013)

***Special thanks to Meg Mims for sending me a review copy.***


ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Meg Mims is an award-winning author and artist. She writes blended genres – historical, western, adventure, romance, suspense and mystery. Her first book, Double Crossing, won the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel from Western Writers of America and  was named a Finalist in the Best Books of 2012 from USA Book News for Fiction: Western. Double or Nothing is the sequel. Meg has also written two contemporary romances, The Key to Love and Santa Paws -- which reached the Amazon Kindle Bestseller list.





Visit the author's website.




SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:


A mysterious explosion. A man framed for murder. A strong woman determined to prove his innocence.



October, 1869: Lily Granville, heiress to a considerable fortune, rebels against her uncle’s strict rules. Ace Diamond, determined to win Lily, invests in a dynamite factory but his success fails to impress her guardian. An explosion in San Francisco, mere hours before Lily elopes with Ace to avoid a forced marriage, sets off a chain of consequences. When Ace is framed for murder before their wedding night, Lily must find proof to save him from a hangman’s noose. Will she become a widow before a true wife?







Product Details:

List Price: $9.99

Paperback: 258 pages

Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (March 20, 2013)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1483901629

ISBN-13: 978-1483901626






AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:







‘Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father is also merciful… forgive,



and ye shall be forgiven.’ Luke 6:36-37



Chapter One



1869, California



I jumped at a screeching whistle. Men swarmed over the distant slope like bees over a wax honeycomb in a mad scramble. “Good heavens. What is that about?”



Uncle Harrison pulled me out of harm’s way. “Just watch. They’re almost ready to begin the hydraulic mining,” he said and pulled his hat down to avoid the hot sun. “You’ll see. This is far better than panning for gold in a creek bed.”



“I can already see how destructive it is, given the run-off,” I said, eyeing the rivulets of dried mud that marked each treeless incline. “I’ve read about how the farmers can’t irrigate their fields and orchards due to the gravel and silt filling the rivers—”



Water suddenly gushed from two hydraulic nozzles in a wide, powerful stream. The men’s bulging arm muscles strained their shirts, their faces purple with the effort to control the water. I turned my gaze to the ravaged earth. Mud washed down into the wooden sluices, where other men worked at various points to spray quicksilver along the wide stretch. Others worked at a frantic pace to keep the earthy silt moving.



An older man with a grizzled goatee and worn overalls held out a canteen. “Have a sip while you’re waiting, miss,” he said. “A body gets mighty thirsty out here.”



“Thank you so much.”



I sipped the cold, refreshing ginger-flavored liquid that eased my parched throat. Dirt from the canteen streaked my gloves. Not that it mattered. At least the spatters of fresh mud wouldn’t show much on my black mourning costume and riding boots. Two days of rain earlier in the week had not helped.



The kind man offered the canteen to Uncle Harrison, who brushed it aside with a curt shake of his head. Steaming, I bit back an apology. The man had already headed back to his position near the sluices.



Bored of watching the ongoing work, I wandered over to several horses that stood patient in the sun and patted their noses. A tooled leather saddle sat atop one gelding’s glossy brown hide, and the silver-studded bridle looked just as rich. The horse gave a low whicker in greeting. If only I’d pocketed a few carrots or sugar lumps from breakfast.



“You’re a beauty. I wish I could ride you for a bit.”



The gelding’s ears dipped forward. One of the men left the knot of others in a huff. His dusty open coat swung around him as he stalked, spurs jingling, and closed the distance. He passed by me with a mere tip of his wide-brimmed hat and untied the reins. The horse pawed a bit while the man mounted, jittery, sensing his foul mood. I noted his scowl. Was he upset that I’d dared touch his property? A scruffy beard and thick black mustache hid his mouth. He rode off, keeping the gelding’s gait easy, down the gully toward the Early Bird’s entrance.



“Who was that?” I asked a miner.



The worker wiped sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. “Senor Alvarez? He’s got a burr under his blanket as usual. Pay him no mind, miss.”



I rubbed the remaining horse’s flank and glanced around the mining site. My uncle continued to chat with the foreman close to the shack near the head of the sluices. Another section of the wooden troughs was raised from the ground further north at a different bank of earth. My curiosity increased. I walked to the sluice and stared down at the filth in the bottom. No glints of gold flecked the bits of rock and slag. I had no idea what quicksilver looked like either. This whole business seemed crazy, although Uncle Harrison disagreed.



In the distance, pines smudged the lower half of the Sierra’s tiny white-capped peaks. To the west, gray clouds threatened the pale blue sky. No doubt rain would soak everything again by morning. My uncle had mentioned how winter was wetter here than back home in Chicago, or even St. Louis. I hadn’t known what to expect for autumn in California. Now that it was close to October, the stands of golden aspen on a ridge high above sported various shades of green, gold and hues of orange.



Homesickness overwhelmed me. I longed to see the brilliant shades of orange, red and yellow oaks, the thick forest of elms and birches behind my father’s house in Evanston. To ride along the shoreline of Lake Michigan’s navy waters, and watch the snow falling fast on a chilly winter’s day. I wouldn’t even mind listening to Adele Mason’s endless chatter about the latest dinner parties she attended with her many beaus.



It seemed like an eternity since I’d crossed two thousand miles of prairie and mountains on the Union and Central Pacific railroad. Donner Lake had resembled a sapphire jewel nestled among pristine snow fields. Perhaps it was frozen already.



I shivered, remembering the darkness of Summit Tunnel. It also brought back the delicious memory of feeling safe, nestled in Ace’s strong arms. Feeling the sudden shock when his tongue sought my own…



“Miss? It’s dangerous standin’ that close to the sluice. Over yonder is best.”



Guilt flooded my heart. Nodding to the man, I twisted around and glanced in the direction he indicated. My uncle remained at the shack. “Will they ever stop talking business?”



“Doubt it.” The miner was the same one who’d offered me water earlier. He carried a roll of canvas slung over a shoulder. Shrugging, he swiped his muddy goatee and cheek against his burden’s nubby surface. “Reckon they’ll yammer on for a while more.”



“Thank you. I’ll be careful.”



“Sure thing, miss.”



He passed by and handed the canvas to a pair of men. They unrolled it and laid the fabric inside the wooden sluice. I walked across the shifting ground, trying to avoid the worst of the mud’s damp patches. One claimed my uncle’s shoe when we arrived that morning. I fought hard not to laugh aloud, watching Uncle Harrison hop about on one foot, so comical with his blustery red face. At last a worker retrieved his shoe, mud up to his elbow, half his face coated as well. My uncle had not thanked the man for the rescue, either.



On higher ground, two workers held long snaking hoses that spurted water at the high bank. Two others sprayed quicksilver over the sluice. It didn’t look like anything but dirty water. I sighed. This entire trip had been a waste of time. Uncle Harrison resented the questions I’d peppered the foreman with and ignored my opinions on how the operation damaged the countryside. Why had he suggested I tag along in the first place?



I should have stayed back in Sacramento. My sketchbook drawings needed work. I had yet to finish anything I’d glimpsed during the journey on the train. Etta had brought all my watercolor supplies from Evanston, and most of my books too.



But I didn’t want to read or paint. A deep melancholy robbed me of energy. Nightmares haunted my sleep, of the deep ravine and the lizard I’d caught, of the sandy slope I climbed on Mt. Diablo, desperate to escape my father’s killer. Of being trapped, with no way out, and facing death, and of seeing that shocked surprise… and hearing the gunshot.



Self-defense, as Ace claimed. My uncle and the sheriff agreed.



Poor Ace. He’d felt bad afterward, forced into a cowardly deed. I had never shot anything except a badger with Father’s Navy revolver. Missed, too. But I’d tried to protect my darling pet lizard’s clutch of eggs in the garden back home. The thought of shooting a human being turned my stomach. I suppose stabbing someone wasn’t any less of a sin. Heavy guilt weighed on me. Had it been self-defense? I shuddered at the memory.

As Mother used to say, it was ‘water under the bridge.’ Nothing I might say or do now would change the past. But I’d rather avoid making such a horrible choice again.

Instead I trudged toward the shack. The foreman held a large piece of blueprint paper between his hands while my uncle pointed at various sections. Two other men argued with them, their heated words carrying over the whooshing of hoses and creaks and jolts of skeleton wagons over the rutted ground. Most of their argument was peppered with technical jargon that didn’t make any sense. Even Chinese sounded more familiar.



“We haven’t made enough headway,” said a man in a tailored suit, whose gold watch chain glinted in the sun. “I say we dig out the ridge all the way.”



“You take that ridge down any more than we have and we’ll never get equipment to the furthest point of the claim, over here,” my uncle said and prodded the map. “That was Alvarez’s advice. He knows this land better than you, Williamson.”



“I agree, it’s too dangerous,” the foreman said.



 “I’m the engineer! Are you implying I don’t know my business?”



“I’m saying it’s stupid to undermine that ridge. You’re being a stubborn coot.”



“You’re a fine one to call me stubborn—”



Good heavens. I reversed direction and headed back toward the sluice. They were sure to argue for another few hours. I wanted to ride that horse, even if it meant hiking my skirts to my knees and baring my ankles. The poor animal looked like it a good run, or at least a trot over the rough ground. I had to do something productive or I’d go mad.



Steering around the same boggy patch of mud, I cut close to the sluice. A blood-curdling yell halted everyone. I whirled to see the entire bank of earth, a huge avalanche of mud, rocks and two large trees root-first, rushing straight for me. Someone grabbed me by the waist from behind. I found myself sprawling head-first in the wooden trough. Other men shouted. The mine whistle screeched in my ears, so loud my head throbbed.



Spitting mud and gravel, I struggled to my knees. The tidal wave of mud and rocks hit the trough, rocking me backwards, and then pushed it off its moorings. I screamed when the miner was swept off his feet. Reaching out, I grabbed for his hand—he lost his grip and vanished. A large boulder slammed into the trough and almost tipped me off my perch. I fought to keep my grip on the wooden edge. At last the massive mudslide halted.



Somehow I found myself staring up at a huge tree trunk that hovered over my head. The thing teetered in the wind. Terrified it would crush me, I held my breath. Several workers waded waist deep into the mud and threaded ropes over the tree’s boughs. Two dozen men scampered from all directions, pulling and tugging, until the huge trunk slid backwards a few inches.



“Hold still, miss! We’ll get you to safety quick as a wink.”



“There’s a man buried somewhere! Please try to save him first!”



The crew, grunting and panting, lugged the tree out of harm’s way. Two other men lifted me off the wooden sluice’s remnants. The younger one carried me up the slope toward the shack and set me on my feet. I sagged like a limp rag doll into Uncle Harrison’s arms. White-faced with shock, he stripped off my gloves and chafed my hands.



“Are you all right, Lily? Say something!”



“That worker was buried alive. He saved my life—”



“Hush. They’ll find him.”



Together we watched the workers dig and scrabble with bare hands at the massive runoff. Horrified, my body shaking, I prayed hard that they’d find him before it was too late. My uncle pushed me onto a camp stool. Once he thrust a clean handkerchief into my hands, he forced a drink down my throat from his silver flask. The brandy burned its way to my stomach. I almost retched, but it calmed my jangled nerves. Uncle Harrison wiped my face and neck before he departed. Shivering, wet and muddy, I glanced down at the cotton cloth in my hand. Brown grime stained it along with streaks of pale pink. Blood.



I mopped my neck again, aware now of the stinging pain below my earlobe, and scraped away tiny bits of gravel. My uncle had left his flask. I tipped it against a clean spot on the handkerchief and dabbed my flesh. That burned as well.



A worker pushed me back onto the stool when I stood. “Better rest, miss. You look ready to faint, and we ain’t got any clean clothes for you.”



“Have they found that poor man yet?”



“They will. One way or another,” he said, his tone mournful. “This ain’t the first accident we’ve had at the Early Bird.”



Mortified, I clenched a fist. “How many others have been hurt? Or killed?”



“I better not say.”



He stalked toward the crowd, who continued to clear rocks and a second tree trunk from the muddy runoff. I heard a shout. Five men jumped to assist a sixth who called for help. They lifted a prone figure between them. My heart quailed at the sight of a huge splinter of wood protruding from the man’s blood-soaked shirt. I turned away, tears blurring my vision. I could have suffered the same fate if not for his courage.



The poor soul. He’d been so kind, offering a drink of ginger water, even warning me away from the sluice. He’d given his life to save mine. How could something like this happen? And he had not been the only victim to this destructive mining practice.



Numb, I staggered to my feet and hunted down the foreman. “What was the man’s name, the one who died? Please tell me. Does he have any family?”



“Hank Matthews.” The worker swiped mud from his bearded cheek. “Wife and three kids from what little I know.”



I marched off to find my uncle, ignoring the itching from my stiff clothing. He was busy consulting with the engineer and three other men, supervisors no doubt, given their clean clothes. Uncle Harrison turned to me at last.



“We must send money to Mr. Matthews’ family,” I said, “for the funeral, and to care for his wife and children—”



“We will discuss the matter later.”



“I insist that we support his family! It’s the least we can do. He saved my life, you must see that—ow.” He’d snared my arm and pulled me aside, his voice lowering.



“We cannot support every family of all the men who’ve suffered accidents,” Uncle Harrison said. “They knew the risks. They chose to work at the Early Bird.”



“But—”



“Enough, Lily. I said we’ll discuss it later.”



He marched me back over the rough terrain to the small camp. Someone brought a real chair and placed it inside the “store,” a crude canvas tent shelter. Two wooden barrels covered with a plank served as a counter. Fifty pound burlap bags of flour, coffee beans, sugar, salt and dried navy beans covered the shelves, along with tins of pepper and saleratus. Another man brought a wooden bucket of clean water. I washed my face, hands and neck, weeping in silence over Hank Matthews’ death. He’d died in a horrible fashion. How many others had suffered similar fates or life-threatening injuries?



At last my uncle arrived to fetch me. I stood, exhausted, still filthy and depressed. “I’d like to find out where Mrs. Matthews lives—”



“That’s not important now. This landslide will set back production for a few weeks,” he said, “but that can’t be helped. Forget what happened, Lily.”



“I cannot forget what happened! I won’t forget.”



Uncle Harrison shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s time to return home.”



Furious, I followed him toward the coach we’d hired in Folsom earlier that morning. My stiff skirts and jacket rustled with every move. I refused his help and climbed inside on my own. For the past month, my uncle refused to listen to reports in the newspapers about farmers who complained how their orchards and soil were ruined by silt and gravel from the hydraulic mining runoff. The Early Bird was only one of over a hundred or more sites in the high hills surrounding Sacramento. Now I’d seen the truth of the destruction first hand. Somehow I had to get through to Uncle Harrison. To him, this tragedy meant nothing.



I had to take matters into my own hands.



###



Etta flung the door wide. “Miss! What in the world happened—”



“A bath, please, as fast as you can prepare it.”



I pushed past her into the house. The ride to Folsom had been bad enough, along with the short trip to the railhead at Roseville. Uncle Harrison gave in when I rejected his offer to find a hotel and have my dress sponged. I’d borne the scrutiny of several late night passengers on the train to Sacramento with wounded pride, and in extreme discomfort. My skin crawled, my muscles ached to the point of agony. I wanted to scream with impatience.



Once upstairs in my bedroom, I stripped every bit of clothing off with a weary sigh and tied a wrapper around my waist. My whole head itched, as if plastered in place. I pulled several hairpins out and dislodged a hunk of dried mud. Ugh.



Etta knocked. “I’ve heated water. Let me have your clothes, miss.”



“There’s no use salvaging them.”



“Now, Miss Lily. Your uncle explained everything, and it’s not your fault what happened.” She bent to gather the filthy clothes. “I’ll get you something to eat.”



“Hot tea, with milk and sugar, thank you. I’m exhausted. I need to sleep.”



“You received a letter, miss. I left it on the dressing table.”



“I’ll read it tomorrow.”



Etta held out a small bowl with creamed paste. “Your favorite type—lavender, honey and a bit of oatmeal. Cover your face and hands with that, and I’ll mix some fresh beeswax with rose hips and almond oil when you’re done.”



I sank into the hot bath water in the screened alcove. Once I scrubbed all over, Etta washed my hair and brought fresh water to rinse all the dirt out. She poured a mixture of rose-scented mineral oil and massaged it into my curls. The room’s cold air sent shivers up my spine. I slipped into my nightdress, slathered my face and hands with cream and crawled into bed. It seemed the minute my head hit the feather pillow, I woke to tugging on my scalp. Etta sat beside me, comb in hand. Mid-morning sunlight streamed into the room.



“I’m sorry, Miss Lily. I couldn’t see all the tangles in your hair last night,” she said. “You’ll never grow it long again if I have to cut snarls out.”



Flexing my sore limbs, ignoring the pain, I yawned wide. “I don’t care—” Yawning again, I hunched down while she tugged and pulled. “Go ahead and cut it short.”



“That’s silly. Your future husband wouldn’t appreciate that.”



“I will never have a husband.”



“Didn’t Mr. Mason marry that young lady you met on the train?”



“Yes, Kate Kimball.” I hadn’t been surprised at that news when the telegram from San Francisco arrived last week. “She’s better suited to be his wife than I ever was.”



“That doesn’t mean you won’t find a suitable young man to marry.”



I didn’t bother to answer. Etta clucked to herself and left the room. I rolled onto my back, yawning again, too tired to rise. Disappointment lingered inside me when I recalled Kate and Charles’ news. They hadn’t asked me to witness their vows or invited me to a small celebration. Not that I’d expected them to host a lavish wedding. But I had lost the chance to share in their happiness. Perhaps they assumed I wouldn’t leave Sacramento, being in mourning for Father. They were wrong. Wearing black wouldn’t have stopped me. Friendship and loyalty meant far more than the customs of the day.



California wasn’t as exciting as I’d expected. I hadn’t made friends in the neighborhood. Most women here were either elderly or married with children, none my age. Uncle Harrison often missed meals, and only returned home to sleep. Thank goodness Etta had arrived from Evanston to keep me company.



I stretched, working out the soreness in my shoulders, back and limbs. Boredom had driven me to visit the mine yesterday. Now boredom struck again, harder than ever. Kate would be cooking breakfast for her new husband right now. To think a few months ago, Charles had wanted me to marry him and fund his mission trip to China. I snatched up the letter that Etta  brought last night and slit the envelope with a hairpin. Kate’s scrawled handwriting covered every inch of the paper, both sides. Father had often written letters to Mother during the War like this, the inked words smeared a little, and difficult to decipher.



Padding barefoot over the rug, I curled up on the window seat. Thick gray fog shrouded the city streets below, and a scent of mildewing leaves invaded the room. A horse-drawn milk wagon clopped over the cobblestones and halted, its outline faint. The driver scurried toward the porch with a wire rack of bottles. He walked back with the empties and vanished. At last I turned my attention to Kate’s letter.



Dearest Lily, I hope you are well…we are so happy, even though we haven’t a penny to our name. At first we had to accept the kindness of strangers, staying two days here and another elsewhere. But our ministry has grown here in San Francisco. We hope to build a permanent church in Rock Canyon. The poor come to us, and bring whatever they can to share a meal every Wednesday and Sunday. That’s when Charles preaches the Word. He is winning souls to the Lord’s work every day…



Charles? Preaching, when he never had the courage to speak to Father back in Evanston! Had he changed that much? To think I might have slept on the floor in a stranger’s house next to a husband—but no. My inheritance would have guaranteed a hotel room, a house, and passage to wherever Charles wanted to serve as a missionary. But that door had closed. I was thankful, too, because Kate proved a better choice for him.



She’d made no mention of Ace Diamond. What was he doing now?



I let out a long breath. He’d taken the three thousand dollars my uncle had given him and vanished. Had he forgotten me? Gone back east on the railroad to buy a ranch somewhere? I had no idea. I’d been curious enough to send Etta when she first arrived in Sacramento, inquiring at every hotel, steamer and ticket clerk for the Central Pacific. She failed to learn anything about the young Texan. That hurt far more than I expected.



Our last conversation in the Vallejo hotel hallway was clear in my memory. Ace’s fury, the gleam in his odd mismatched eyes—one blue, one blue-green—matched his determination to win me. But my uncle’s insults had been too much to bear.



Ever since, I’d engaged in daily shouting matches with Uncle Harrison over acting as my  guardian. He proved to be a dictator of my clothing and behavior, disregarded my opinion on the Early Bird mine or about social events, parties and dinners he insisted I attend. My resentment grew over being treated like a child. I cherished independence from a young age, since my parents had fostered that. Father had indulged me further after Mother’s death. Uncle Harrison wasn’t aware of that, however, and his iron-fisted control irritated me.



I sighed aloud and stretched once more. My black skirt and jacket were ruined after the trip to the Early Bird. I’d have to order new mourning attire or else give up my intention to observe the custom. Father would no doubt laugh if he stood here. He’d shake a finger and remind me about his wish to dandle a grandchild on his knee.



The only way to fulfill that was to marry. One man had sparked my interest, yet he was gone. I yearned to hear Ace’s drawl, see his face and that boyish grin again. I missed him. We’d spent so much time together on the train, and several pleasant hours on Mt. Diablo waiting for my uncle’s return with the sheriff. My heart quickened at the memory of sharing his hot kisses. And I hadn’t protested when his warm hands roamed my neck and shoulders. Or the sly way he’d tugged a few buttons free on my shirtwaist to kiss my bare skin. Along the curve of my bosom above my corset cover, and then…



Etta’s loud rap at the door scared me witless. She carried in a tray with a silver urn, cups and saucers plus a covered dish. “So you found the letter from San Francisco?”



“Yes. From Kate.”



“There’s another this morning. I hope you’re hungry. You missed dinner last night. Captain Granville told me about that poor man yesterday, who saved your life.”



“He did?” Surprised, I glanced up at Etta. She looked wary.



“He’s not keen on sending them any money like you suggested, miss.”



“I don’t understand. He was always generous in the past—”



“To you, maybe, because you’re family.”



I let out another long breath. As if a little money would help that family anyway. No amount could substitute for a man’s life. My resentment increased. I rubbed my forehead and temples, wishing my headache away. The delicious scent of coffee and bacon wafted over me.



“Where’s this other letter?”



Etta poured two cups of coffee and handed me one. “I didn’t recognize the handwriting on the envelope.” She drew it from her apron pocket.



I studied the spidery writing and then used the same hairpin to open the thin envelope. “Hmm. Mrs. Wycliffe says she wrote every word that Aunt Sylvia dictated. It’s postmarked from Sacramento, but I thought she was in a San Francisco hospital.”



“Could be your uncle brought her here to recover.” Etta perched on a chair. “What does it say, miss? If you don’t mind me asking.”



“Of course not.”



I crunched a rasher of bacon, ate the still warm eggs and then wiped my hands on a linen napkin. What did Aunt Sylvia want? She’d warned Uncle Harrison about Ace being a gambler. She’d cursed me, Ace, Uncle Harrison, and every one of the men who rescued her from the ravine that day at Mt. Diablo—worse than a miner—while they carried her on a makeshift litter to the buckboard wagon. Aunt Sylvia hadn’t stopped cursing on the journey back to Vallejo. She deserved every bit of such rough treatment for what I’d suffered at her hands.



After I flattened the letter, I started reading aloud. “‘The doctors say I have little time to live.’ That’s doubtful, I bet. ‘Gangrene has taken one leg, and another infection is spreading fast. Come and visit before it is too late. We have much to discuss.’”



“Gangrene is bad, Miss Lily. My father suffered terrible from that before he died. They cut off his leg that summer, but it spread past that point. Maybe you ought to go.”



“What could we possibly have to talk about? She hates me.”



“True enough,” Etta said bitterly, “but she is family. Remember that.”



“Father never wanted me to speak her name.”



“The colonel’s gone to his reward, miss, and is resting in peace. Along with your mother, God rest her soul.”



I didn’t reply to that, scanning the rest of the letter to myself. The words on the page blurred—words that cut me deep. Words my aunt knew would summon me to her deathbed. My mother’s favorite Scripture verse from Luke, and one word stood out.



‘…forgive…’