YA Romance
Date Published: June 2017
Seventeen-year-old Alexa Cross is desperate to get to Broadway, but when she receives a failing math grade, hopes of a scholarship disappear. Now she’ll need her father’s help to achieve her dream. The only problem is he doesn’t consider her choice of careers to be sensible and after the pain her family has suffered, Alexa can’t go against his wishes. Trapped between a family she loves and her love of the stage, Alexa will have to find another way to achieve her dream or settle for what her father wants.
West Howell does his best to keep his head down and go unnoticed. It’s easier to be cut off than to try to explain to people why he’s so screwed up. After all, he can’t afford to get into any more trouble. When he’s recruited to tutor the hot, prissy girl from math, he never expects to fall in love with her. Or that she might be the one person who can relate to him.
Together, they may find a way to heal each other and get what they both desperately need, as long as Alexa’s father doesn’t decide that the one thing worse than his daughter’s love of the stage is her love for West.
Excerpt
Mr. Guin gave her a moment to adjust to the news and then continued. “Now, I know you’re capable of doing the work. You’re a smart girl, but you’re going to have to buckle down and put in some serious hours or you won’t have enough time to pull your overall grade up before the end of the semester.” He stood and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid you need more help than I have time to give, and that’s why I’ve spoken with the person in the class with the highest average. He’s going to be tutoring you at my request.”
He. Please don’t let it be West Howell. Please don’t let it be West Howell. Of course, it wouldn’t be. He wasn’t smart. Or was he? The truth was she had no idea. She didn’t know anything about him.
A shadow filled the doorway, and she didn’t have to look up to know her worst nightmare had come true. She could sense his presence like a deer in the woods can sense a predator.
“Ah, here he is now. Miss Cross, I believe you know Mr. Howell?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and sat up straighter. “Yes, sir.”
“West, I’ll leave it up to the two of you to work out your own schedule.”
West nodded, but remained quiet. Alexa was working hard not to stand up and pull her hair out like some sort of animated character in a cartoon while laughing hysterically. This could not be happening.
Mr. Guin continued on, unaware she was one step away from hysterics. “I’ll expect the two of you to work together four days a week.”
Alexa’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
“I’ll evaluate your progress by the extra assignments you’ll be required to turn in at the end of each week. Also, if Mr. Howell feels you aren’t doing your absolute best to succeed or if he feels you aren’t taking this second chance seriously, he’s been told to report to me immediately. You will not fail this class because you weren’t given every opportunity to succeed. The only way to fail is to give up.” Mr. Guin leaned down toward her. “And we both know you’re not a quitter.”
While she appreciated the chance and his opinion of her work ethic, she was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than having to spend time outside of class with West four days a week. And now, he also knew she was an idiot. Perfect.
About the Author
Christina Kirby is the author of the Warm Springs Trilogy, A Face In the Crowd, and writes YA under the name Kirby Hall. She holds a degree in Public Relations from Auburn University and is currently a stay at home mom to two sons. An avid reader of romance and obsessed with good TV, Christina likes nothing more than to talk pop culture with other fans. She also believes a copy of Entertainment Weekly and a chocolate chip cookie can cure anything. Christina writes young adult romance novels under the pen name Kirby Hall.
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Châteaux and Shadows, Book 5
Historical Romance
Date Published: July 19, 2017
Lucas de Granville—pious, respectable, impoverished, lonely—will do nearly anything for the godfather who raised him, even though his godfather doesn’t seem to want to do anything for him.
Melisande—mundane, illegitimate, dirt poor, lonely—will do nearly anything to make sure her mother and brother have shelter and food, even though they are critical of her lack of magical talent.
When Melisande’s father, a pious comte, sends his godson Lucas to bring her to Versailles and help him train her to be a fine, staunchly religious lady, their attraction is immediate, but so is their distrust.
Her eagerness to get as much money as she can as quickly as possible gradually changes into a wish for something higher, better, and holier. Something that Lucas can help her achieve: love.
Other Books by Philippa Lodge:
Châteaux and Shadows, Book One
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: October 2015
Aurore was delighted when a marriage was arranged with the boy she loved, her older brother’s friend Dominique, Comte de Bures. But in a few years the first rush of joy has worn off, and their promising life seems ruined by loss, betrayal, and misunderstanding. One terrifying morning mercenaries overrun their château and usurpers take Aurore hostage. Miles away at Versailles, where he is required to dance attendance on Louis XIV, Dominique is nearly killed by a crossbow bolt. Escaping, Aurore travels with a troupe of itinerant musicians, hiding in the open while discovering hidden resources within herself. Dom sets out to find his wife. He needs his old life back. He needs revenge. But his lands, his title, and his honor mean nothing unless he can win back the love of his indispensable wife.
Châteaux and Shadows, Book Two
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: April 2016
France, 1668
Hélène de Bonnefoi’s spirit has been squashed by the ever-critical aunt and uncle who raised her. Serving as nanny and stand-in mother to her cousin’s child has saved her from the convent, especially after her cousin’s death. When suspicious accidents threaten the toddler, Hélène overcomes her near-blindness to seek the help of the child's father, a colonel in Louis XIV’s army.
Jean-Louis, Colonel de Cantière, has spent his life proving his worth, integrity, and honor, first to his family and now in the army. When his daughter’s caretaker appears in his camp during a siege, claiming someone is trying to kill the girl, his loyalties are sorely tested.
Hélène must convince Jean-Louis the threat is real. But the true danger is to the heart of a shy young woman who has always loved her cousin’s husband from afar and to the colonel’s desire to resist complicated emotions.
Châteaux and Shadows, Book Three
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: September 2016
Emmanuel, Chevalier de Cantière, youngest son of a baron, is happiest raising horses far from his complicated family. When news comes his mother is deathly ill, he races to her side only to find she has apparently recovered and moved on, leaving behind her companion, Catherine.
Catherine de Fouet blends into the background, saving up so she’ll never have to wait on waspish, scheming old ladies like the baronesse again. She has no interest in a resentful gentleman, estranged from his mother, no matter how broad his shoulders or intriguing the wounded soul behind his handsome face. She just needs someone to escort her back to Versailles.
But Catherine is suspected of poisoning the baronesse. She rebuffs a pushy courtier who tries to use blackmail to make her his mistress, and her reputation hangs by a thread.
The chevalier wants more than anything to protect this woman whose prickly exterior hides sweetness and passion. They need his family to help him through court intrigues—almost as much as they need each other.
Châteaux and Shadows, Book 4
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: January 2017
Henri de Cantière has been surly since he returned from visiting his family at Versailles, but he doesn’t want to burden Marcel Fourbier, his longtime lover, with his problems. He can’t sleep and hurts all over at exactly the time when everything else seems to be falling apart.
Marcel can barely keep up with his usual duties of running their household and creating beautiful furniture in the de Cantière factory when more burdens fall on his shoulders. His estranged Huguenot family condemns him to hell but wants his help, a stranger attacks him in a dark street, an arsonist tries to destroy the factory, and Henri’s beloved sister-in-law, who has been like a sister to Marcel, is weakening after being in labor for several days.
Most of all, Marcel wants to find a cure for Henri, the man who holds his heart.
Excerpt
Chapter One
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago in France, there was a witch with no magic.
“Mélisande!”
The stranger’s shout echoed inside the damp walls of the tiny house she shared with her mother and her younger brother. If it were the house’s owner, who didn’t know they were squatting there, he wouldn’t have known her name. It didn’t mean the voice wasn’t trouble.
Her gut whispered unease. Well, who wouldn’t have a whisper of unease about a strange man shouting one’s name? In one’s home? After being the target of more than one lecherous oaf in the streets? And the target of religious people?
She leaned her scrubby straw broom in the corner and peeked up the hall, glad to be shrouded in darkness, grateful for the first time that there was no window except for the tiny, grimy one looking onto the narrow, dark street.
The front door stood open, letting in cold wind, the reek of filth, and weak evening light which left the man as nothing but a silhouette. Even so, Mélisande had another frisson of what her mother would have called premonition but was probably just fear. She was trapped in her house by a large, faceless man with a booming voice. What was not to frisson about?
She drew back into the room, hoping he hadn’t seen her. The front door scraped and thumped shut, leaving her in complete darkness. She waited, pressed against the wall much like the plaster: crumbling away from the inside. She held her breath and listened.
Maybe he’d left.
A footstep. Of course he hadn’t left; that would be too simple. This was more than her everyday fear: fear the other witches would discover she wasn’t one of them, fear they would starve, fear they would be arrested, fear a man would pull her into a dark room and rape her. Everything could go wrong in a heartbeat.
Footsteps in the front room, where her mother read palms and sold the potions her uncle —her half-brother’s uncle—made. She hoped the yelling man hadn’t tracked anything foul in, as she had just scrubbed those rotting floorboards. A pause as the man listened. At least there was only one man and Mélisande had a sharp pair of scissors, which rattled against the tabletop as she picked them up.
“Mélisande?”
The voice was softer now. Kinder. Lilting. Tempting. The man was going to try to lure her from her hiding place. She hoped he meant her no harm.
A scuff and heavier step as the man tripped on the uneven floor. He halted at the head of the hall, only a few feet from her.
“Ecoutez.” He cleared his throat, waiting for her to say she was listening.
Oh, she was listening, but she was hoping he would leave.
He cleared his throat again. She should offer him a tisane of ginger and honey. She shook her head at her rambling thoughts, swishing her hair against the wall.
“Right. I was told you were here. Your mother said you would welcome my news. I’m sorry, but… Well, my shouting is unforgiveable. Your brother and mother angered me on purpose, I believe. They said I wouldn’t find you unless you wanted to be found. I suppose it’s true, what with witchcraft…”
He paused, listening. Probably expecting her to blast him with a curse. Too bad the worst curse she had ever doled out was when she was ten and made her brother’s nose bleed. Of course, she’d hurled a cup at him at the same time.
“Your father wishes to claim you. I’m to take you to Versailles.”
****
Once upon a time, there was a French nobleman who didn’t belong anywhere: a younger son with no portion, fostered with his godfather.
Someone gasped softly in the dark room to Lucas de Granville’s left. She really was there. Or someone was, anyway. Some woman.
If it was the right woman, the bastard witch daughter of the Comte d’Yquelon, and she came with him, the count had promised Luc a reward. He needed new breeches and a new hat for Easter and was counting on the supplement to his tiny allowance to buy the fabric.
Of course, the girl would get a larger reward, eventually. If she could be trained and refined and her soul purged of evil, d’Yquelon would give her a large dowry. Luc smiled sourly, sure the woman would be a hag and thoroughly wrapped in satanic rituals. Her mother had been positively deranged and her brother snide and crude.
Three feet from him, a girl slipped out of dark gloom into the slightly lighter gloom, her footsteps silent and her pale bodice picking up just enough light so she appeared to float like a ghost, her face a skull in the shadow. Only by the way she raised her arm did he notice she was holding something – a knife? He staggered back, flinging out his hands to hold her off.
He really hadn’t meant to die in a dirty, smelly back alley of Paris while running an errand for his godfather. He stumbled over the uneven floor again, catching himself on the wall beside the door. She stepped into the feeble light from the oilcloth-covered window and he caught his breath.
She was pretty. Beautiful. Regal. From death’s head to beauty? Magic. He crossed himself.
He had seen her in a dream the night before as he tossed and turned and dozed intermittently in the rundown inn on the edge of this slum. Dark hair, pale skin, and irises so light they appeared almost white. In his dream, he had been fascinated and frightened. He shook his head to clear his mind.
She sighed and lowered her hand slightly to reveal a pair of pointed scissors.
Then her chin came up, and she was beautiful in spite of pallor and gauntness. It didn’t stop him being wary of her, though the fear was dissipating.
“I am Mélisande.” Her voice was low and soothing. Another witch’s trick, probably, to lull him. “I don’t approve of intruders in my home.” She raised her eyebrows imperiously, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at this bit of bravado. “And yet, if my mother invited you here, I suppose you are meant to be a guest.”
He was afraid his curled lip betrayed his disgust at the pitiful room and stench of semi-frozen rot and sewage seeping in from the street. At least he hoped the rot and sewage weren’t inside the hovel. He shuddered.
She scowled. “What, exactly, did my mother say to you?”
Luc shuddered again. He had cornered her mother in a different dark room off an alley, off a small street that led to a dirty little market. “She laughed at me and told me about a premonition she had about the Comte d’Yquelon. She said I should pick my friends more carefully.”
He hadn’t picked the comte so much as been abandoned in the comte’s household at the age of three. His parents’ money had run out and all the boys except the heir had been dropped off with their various godparents.
Mélisande’s lips pursed as if she were trying not to laugh at him. “What brought about this desire to seek me out?”
“His son died.” Even after six months, Lucas felt the weight of Charles’ death.
“Oh.” Her face fell. “I am sorry to hear it. I wish I had known him.”
Was she mourning her half-brother?
When Charles died suddenly from a fever, the count raged about witchcraft and curses. Six months later, the comte recalled Luc from Normandy and told him where to find this bastard daughter, child of the witch who had cursed his son. None of those words had made any sense at all to Lucas, who had known the comte only as a fierce, strictly pious gentleman.
I’ve never seen her. Her mother was a beauty. I told the comtesse she used a spell or potion on me, but, of course, it was just normal lust.
Just normal lust certainly described the feeling growing inside Luc. This girl might be using a spell on him, but he was fairly sure she was tempting enough without it.
“He had no other children?” She sounded wistful. Not at all lusty.
“Just me.” He grimaced. “I’m not related by blood.”
Her eyebrows went up.
“He’s my godfather. He raised me. I’m the seventh son of a duke’s seventh son, and there were far too many mouths to feed.”
Her face lit up with her smile. “Seventh son of a seventh son? And you’re not a warlock?”
Luc jerked back and crossed himself to ward off the evil eye.
“Sorry.” She dropped her head. “It’s a rather coveted place in a family of witches, you know. Though I guess if you’re strictly religious...”
Luc cleared his throat. He had to bring Mélisande back. He needed the reward the comte promised, if just to have something to tide him over as he looked for employment.
“You wish to take me to my father?”
She looked around the room, presenting her profile, and he caught his breath at the sight of the huge knot of dark hair, braided, pinned, and tied at her nape. There was probably enough there to hang past her waist when she let it down. If it were styled properly, she could wear it on top of her head in a rich swirl. Her nose was a touch too large. In fact, it was much like the beak the late Charles had inherited from his father. Luc had still to see her in better light to know if her eyes were her father’s pale, icy blue, but he was sure he had the right woman.
“It’s the task I was assigned, yes.”
“You do not wish to accomplish the task? I suppose he’s paying you well.” She sounded like she was laughing.
Luc stiffened. “I wish to please my godfather, the man who was a father to me, whose son was like my brother.”
“Yet you don’t particularly wish to take me.” It was a statement, not a question. Her lips quirked up wryly.
No, he thought it was a fool’s mission for his godfather to try to civilize her. Luc let his eyes travel around the room, taking in the single, rickety table with two stools; the chimney with a few chunks of charred wood; the damp, crumbling plaster; the uneven, rotting floorboards. He wanted to take Mélisande away from here. He would want to take anyone away from here.
He shrugged. “I will be rewarded, but not as much as you. I won’t kidnap you. I won’t drag you bodily to Versailles. You will need to say goodbye to your family. When the comte gives you gold and fine clothing, you will have to decide if you wish to share with your mother or keep it to yourself.”
She sighed, her narrowed eyes never leaving his, her face wary. “I wish I knew what to do.”
The door flew open beside him, and Luc spun to face the threat. As the man moved away from the backlit doorway, Luc saw it was Mélisande’s brother, who had needled and taunted him in the marketplace before leading him to their mother.
“Of course she’ll share with us,” the young man announced, strolling in, bringing the odor of muck from the street with him.
Lucas coughed, trying to force the stench from his nose and mouth. He wished he had adopted the affectation of carrying a perfumed handkerchief as so many nobles did.
“We’ve supported her all these years, and she’s not good for much more than carrying messages and cleaning. Since she refuses to marry or take a rich lover, we’ll look to her father to make our fortune.”
Luc clenched his jaw at the mention of a lover, relieved she was not a prostitute. Or her brother said she wasn’t a prostitute, which could be a lie. At least she had one fewer sin than he expected. He immediately wondered why she wasn’t good for more than carrying messages.
As if answering his thoughts, Mélisande’s mother swept into the hovel, leaving the door wide open.
“Well, Mélisande! Your father has finally sought you out. He certainly sent a handsome enough little lord to do it. Are you sure you don’t want me to read your palm, little lord?”
Luc pulled himself up straight and stuck his chin out. “My godfather frowns on any of the witch’s arts. Palm reading reeks of the devil.”
The old witch cackled, just as he thought witches should. Her hair was as thick as her daughter’s, though light brown threaded with gray instead of dark. Their faces were the same shape, with full lips. She would have been seductive twenty years before. “Oh, you pious prigs are so easy to tease.”
“Maman, would you please…” Mélisande looked embarrassed.
“That wasn’t always the Comte d’Yquelon’s attitude, you know. How do you think he got me with child? He was quite adventurous when he was younger. I heard he turned prudish and preachy.” The older witch strode across the room and dropped a cloth bag on a box in the corner. “Well, at least you have nothing to worry about from Mélisande. We’ve kept it secret around here, but she has no special powers. Weak premonitions, sometimes, but those don’t count for much. Healing skill, but not healing power.”
Mélisande looked down at her hands, her cheeks pink.
“And like Thomas said, she doesn’t want to be a whore. She does deliveries, cleaning, and cooking. She’d make some merchant a good wife, if we knew any merchants who wanted a bastard witch. Bunch of prudes they are, too, probably worse than you nobles.”
Her brother shoved Mélisande’s shoulder. “Go get your things. The sooner you get your inheritance, the sooner we can live someplace nice.”
“If you go, daughter”—the witch spread her arms—“don’t bother to come back without enough for all of us to live on. Better yet, just send us some gold.”
Mélisande’s mouth fell open in shock. “Maman…”
“You won’t wish to come back, and you’re no use to us here.” Her mother turned away.
No, Mélisande wouldn’t want to come back once she had a taste of a better life, but Lucas felt a pang of sympathy anyway. He didn’t remember his parents leaving him behind when he was three, but he had grown up separated from his family and without much contact with children his age. “The comte will make sure you have all you need. He will find you a husband. You’re his only surviving child.”
The witch looked him over. “The heir died? I foresaw it years ago. D’Yquelon thought I was cursing him, which would have been different magic, of a type I don’t approve of. What was your name, again, little lord?”
“Lucas de Gran—”
“Lucas, I foresaw the heir would die. I told your count he should recognize the child he would leave me with and raise her alongside his doomed son.”
Mélisande slipped from the room into the stygian hallway.
“He laughed at me. He didn’t believe I was pregnant. I knew, of course. When I had my Mélisande, I sent him word, but he replied I should leave him alone. He’s going to tell you I cursed him and his family. It was only later, when we realized Méli was hopeless in magic that I thought I should have cursed him when I had a chance. I still thought Méli would be worth something. And now maybe she will be.”
Luc pursed his lips. He wondered if the woman’s mercenary attitude toward the worth of her daughter was any worse than nobles paying a dowry to buy an influential husband.
The brother grunted. “Well, she’s a good sister, I have to say. It’s been hard to cover up her mundaneness, but she’s a good draw at fairs and such, as long as no one expects her to do any magic. Her sweet smile gets the gentlemen’s attention and the ladies trust her. They rush in to consult with me and Maman because she looks so wholesome.”
The sound of Mélisande stumbling made Luc turn. She had a kerchief in her hand, something rattling inside it. Probably those wicked scissors. For some reason, the thought reassured him. She was going to need protection in the coming weeks.
“Are you ready, Mademoiselle?”
She kissed her mother and brother goodbye. They responded perfunctorily and waved her off.
Luc led her off to her future.
****
Mélisande stumbled through the muddy streets, gripping the handsome young nobleman’s arm as he strode far too quickly up and down the streets. The neighbors stared. She spied her uncle bent double with mirth. She ignored them all as best she could.
“Finally found a protector, chérie?” an elderly man cackled as she passed by.
She stood up straighter. “I’m going to meet my father.”
The warlock pursed his lips, suddenly sober. “I guess we won’t be seeing you again.”
His hunchbacked wife made a sign of blessing with her claw-like, arthritic hands, bringing Mélisande to tears again. “Go with the goddess.”
Monsieur—What was his name? de Grandeur?—pulled on her arm as Mélisande made the same sign back.
They wove through the dirty streets and doubled back several times until they were a short walk from her house. In her shock at her mother and brother’s hard hearts, she hadn’t thought to point out that they were parading up and down seemingly at random.
“Monsieur de Gran…?”
His frowned ferociously. “De Granville.”
“I hate to question you, but where, precisely, are we going?”
He looked around. “I met your mother just over there.” He nodded toward the alley where her mother met with clients.
Mélisande nodded silently.
“From here, I believe I can backtrack my way out of here.”
“Or you could tell me where we’re going, since I know the quartier.”
De Granville went still. Mélisande ducked her head, afraid she had injured his pride. Her uncle or brother would have slapped her.
His chest expanded against her arm as he sighed. “I’m not really sure which way I came along this street.”
She risked a glance at him as he wrinkled his nose and stared down the street. He smiled just slightly. He was pleasant to look at when he smiled. His jaw became less sharp and his dark eyes squinted with amusement.
He told her at which inn he had left his carriage. Not a rich one, and Mélisande knew she wasn’t welcome inside, but she knew where it was.
When she resisted at the door, de Granville said, “I just need to ask them to summon the carriage.”
She shuffled in, head down, trying to look as if she belonged.
The innkeeper’s memory was long. “Witch!”
“I’ll wait outside.”
She darted toward the door, but de Granville caught her hand.
“She’s with me.” He faced the innkeeper, looking cool and confident.
“I will not rent you a room for a few hours. This isn’t that sort of inn.”
De Granville scowled, his eyes dangerous slits. Mélisande looked down at her feet, her heart pounding, Run, run, run.
“I paid you for last night. I only wish to reclaim my carriage and be off. I am taking the girl to her father. But it is not any of your affair.”
“Is her father a witch, too? And you? You looked respectable, but maybe you aren’t. Maybe you’ve stolen the fine carriage. Maybe I should call the guard.”
“The carriage belongs to the lady’s father.”
“The lady? What lady? All I see is a whoring witch.”
She stood up straighter. I am not a whore. I’m not even a witch.
De Granville banged his fist on the rickety table serving as a counter. His actions were fire, but his voice was ice. “Bring the carriage. I will pay the rate agreed on for stabling it and feeding the coachman. I am more respectable than you could comprehend.”
Mélisande sidestepped away from him as the innkeeper went out back, grumbling. Her brother would have taken out his anger on her. She stood in silence, waiting for the blow to come, but de Granville did nothing but cross his arms and breathe.
Several minutes later, when a boy came in and called his name, de Granville, jaw still clenched, held out his arm gallantly and led her out front to a small, dark carriage, an elderly man on the driver’s seat.
“That’s her, then, Monsieur Lucas?” The driver glared, taking in her stained, patched dress, not approving.
De Granville helped her up. “It will be night in only a few hours, Grosporc. Let’s get out of Paris and try to get to the usual inn before dark. It will be clean there. Unlike here.”
The innkeeper shouted his outrage from the doorway of his inn.
Mélisande wondered if this Lucas de Granville was really who he said he was and if she weren’t instead being kidnapped to be used, sold, and discarded. Her mother had not been worried, but there was very little that bothered her mother. Of course, her mother usually claimed she knew what was going to happen before it did.
De Granville held out his hand and helped her up.
About the Author
Philippa Lodge has a hundred stories in her head and a social media addiction.
She writes historical romance set in Louis XIV’s France; New Adult romantic women’s fiction set in small-town, small-college America; and contemporary romance with nerdy beta heroes and cranky heroines whose pasts can be healed with the love of a good man.
She lives with one husband, two cats, and three kids in the inland valley of California.
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On Tour with Prism Book Tours.
Book Tour Grand Finale for
The Renegade's Redemption
By Stacy Henrie
We hope you enjoyed the tour! If you missed any of the stops you can see snippets, as well as the link to each full post, below:
Launch - Note from the Author
Ever since sharing some of Tex’s story in my last Love Inspired Historical book about his twin brother Tate, I’ve eagerly anticipated the chance for readers to get to know Tex better—through his own story this time. A legendary, charismatic outlaw, Tex was a fun and complex character to write. So, too, was his reunion with the girl he left behind eight years ago Ravena Reid.
Hearts & Scribbles - Character Descriptions
An identical twin, Tex looks just like his brother Tate with their matching blue eyes and brown hair, but their similarities end there. Tex is charming, fun-loving, and never in one place for long. But when he realizes Ravena needs help with her farm, he offers to stay and help, if only to atone for leaving her behind years ago. In the process, he comes to face-to-face with his past, his mistakes, and his long buried faith. Before long he’ll have to make the toughest decision of his life—to stop running or not from everyone, including himself.
"This story was such an amazing journey for me. Filled with rich characters, precious children, a wounded past, and best of all…forgiveness and a second chance at love.
THE RENEGADE’S REDEMPTION was impossible to put down. I read the entire book in one sitting, it’s that good. "
Heidi Reads... - Review
"I loved the various personalities of the orphans that Ravena cares for and how it shows her compassionate nature. She struggles with her long-held feelings for Tex and forgiveness of others and self is a big theme in the story. There is some action as Tex's outlaw background catches up with him but I appreciated that he came to terms with it of his own volition before he was forced to by circumstances. Lovely romance between a stalwart young woman and a charming rogue!"
I Am A Reader - Excerpt
“Ravena,” Tex called as she reached the door.
She blew out a sigh and turned to face him. “Yes?”
“Thank you for this. But you said one night and I won’t stay longer than that.”
Gripping the edges of the tray until they dug into her palms, she willed the words she wanted to say to reach her lips. Yes, Tex, you have to leave. I have enough concerns right now, without worrying about you and the fragileness of my heart.
Sylv.net - An Old Flame
Can past hurts be overcome and forgiven in order to have a second chance at love? In my newest Love Inspired Historical book, that’s what Tex Beckett and Ravena Reid must decide.
Tex and Ravena grew up together on neighboring farms in Idaho. They were inseparable friends, though Tex’s twin brother Tate often tagged along with them. As they grew older, Tex and Ravena realized their friendship had developed into something more. Though different in temperament—Ravena is far more serious, and Tex is fun-loving and eager for adventure—they complemented each other and shared a deep love.
Rockin' Book Reviews - Review
"This Historical fiction is full of action, suspense, drama and romance. The reader will be unsure of the ending until the last pages. The characters are defined well and the reader feels very endeared to them. The background scenes are portrayed well. The story steadily flows smoothly until the very end. The reader’s interest is held throughout the tale."
Reading Is My SuperPower - Review
"Vivid characters with lots of personality join forces with swoony romance, adorable children, and a heartfelt message of redemption and restoration. Stacy Henrie is skilled at knowing the right combination of each of those elements to achieve a ‘just right’ balance and a smooth story. If you’re a fan of stories set in the late 1800s West then you need to definitely make time to read Stacy Henrie’s books as well!'"
Singing Librarian Books - Review
"Stacy Henrie has done it again! Her novel Renegade’s Redemption is simply splendid!! This western romance is filled with plenty of adventure and romance that readers will not want to miss. In addition there are themes of inspiration, forgiveness, and redemption that will tug at the heartstrings of readers. . . . This sweet historical romance novel is a fantastic sequel to The Outlaw’s Secret that readers will adore."
Katie's Clean Book Collection - Review
"I enjoyed the gentle chemistry between these two and the way they each worked through trust issues. I love the descriptions of their every day lives and the way the past and present fit together. There are many things to be resolved and through journeys of self-discovery and responsibility, a satisfying conclusion resulted."
Mel's Shelves - Review
" I devoured it quickly and love the way it all came together! I love Stacy Henrie's writing style and she is quickly becoming a favorite author! If you enjoy clean historical romance, you will want to read both of these books!"
Getting Your Read On - Review
"Tex and Ravena were great characters. The book flowed gently and easily, weaving in daily life events with the rekindling of friendship and love. The children in this book were a fantastic addition and really gave the story a feeling of family and love."
Wishful Endings - Excerpt
For one moment, Tex knew the familiar thrill of a clean escape. Then the sheriff shot at him again. This time the bullet found purchase. It struck Tex in his right side, and his body jerked hard to the left in reflexive response. He clung to the horse with trembling arms to keep from falling as searing fire registered through his shock.
Paulette's Papers - Five Fun Facts about The Renegade’s Redemption
1. The final scenes of this book take place on Independence Day. And while I knew the release date for the book was in July 2017, I didn’t pay much attention to which day. So it was serendipitous and lots of fun when I realized it was releasing on Independence Day.
The Power of Words - Review
"The road for this unlikely pair seemed impossible, and I loved how everything was resolved. . . . I enjoyed The Renegade’s Redemption very much and look forward to much more from Stacy Henrie."
Tell Tale Book Reviews - Review
"The Renegade's Redemption is a sweet historical romance with strong themes of forgiveness and trusting in God. The story begins and pretty much ends with a bang, and the pages in between are sure to keep readers anxiously turning them to find out what happens with Tex, Ravena, and the orphans."
Cafinated Reads - Review
"This is a truly wonderful story of seeking one’s faith, relying on God, forgiveness and redemption. Ms. Hernie will steal you away with this book and leave you wanting more instantly! This 5 star book is the second in a series, and while I wasn’t confused and it could be easily read as a stand alone, I do plan to go back and read book 1 and see where it all began with Tex. Hats off to this talented author who is now on my favorites list!!"
Brooke Blogs - Review
"I really enjoyed this sweet story. I quickly found myself attached to the characters and immersed in the setting. I loved this story so much. The setting and time period was just perfect. The Renegade’s Redemption is well-written and a quick read. If you are looking for a sweet, clean romance, give this one a try. You won’t regret it."
Refuge for the Outlaw
When Tex Beckett arrives at Ravena Reid's farm, he's eight years too late for the elopement they'd once planned—and it's far too early to win her forgiveness. He's seriously wounded, though, and she can't turn him away, though she knows better than to trust him. Yes, it's wonderful having help with the farm, and with the orphans she fosters, but if she opens her heart, she'll get hurt again when he leaves. And Tex always leaves.
As a notorious bank robber, Tex is used to danger. Yet reuniting with the only woman he's ever loved is the riskiest thing he's ever done. All he wants is to stay with Ravena and the children. But can he build a new start before his past catches up with him?
Other Books in the Series
by Stacy Henrie
Christian Historical RomancePaperback & ebook, 288 pages
February 7th 2017 by Love Inspired Historical
Lawman in Disguise
Getting taken hostage by a gang of train robbers wasn't in dime novelist Essie Vanderfair's plans, but interviewing these men could make her career soar. Especially since the gang includes legendary outlaw Tex Beckett, better known as the Texas Titan. Tex is famed for his protection of women and children, so she'll be fine…right?
Keeping the gang in line was hard enough before a stubborn, beautiful writer interfered. Now Tex is scrambling to keep Essie safe, to gather evidence against the gang and most of all to hide his dangerous secrets. First, that he's a detective working undercover. And second, that he's not the Texas Titan at all, but Tex's twin brother, Tate Beckett.
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Stacy Henrie is the author of western romances and the Of Love and War series, which includes Hope at Dawn, a 2015 RITA Award finalist for excellence in romance. She was born and raised in the West, where she currently resides with her family. She enjoys reading, road trips, interior decorating, chocolate, and most of all, laughing with her husband and kids. Website│Goodreads│Facebook│Twitter│Pinterest
Tour Giveaway
- 1 winner will receive copies of The Express Rider's Lady and The Outlaw's Secret, and a $10 Amazon e-gift card (US only)
- 1 winner will receive a $25 Amazon e-gift card (open internationally)
- Ends July 22nd
About the Book:
A blend of science fiction and stylish mystery noir featuring a robot detective: the stand alone sequel to Made to Kill Another golden morning in a seedy town, and a new memory tape for intrepid PI-turned-hitman--and last robot left in working order-- Raymond Electromatic. When his comrade-in-electronic-arms, Ada, assigns a new morning roster of clientele, Ray heads out into the LA sun, only to find that his skills might be a bit rustier than he expected.... Killing is My Business is the latest in Christopher's noir oeuvre, hot on the heels of the acclaimed Made to Kill. Buy the Book: AMAZON | BARNES & NOBLE | BOOK DEPOSITORY Praise for KILLING IS MY BUSINESS "Hits hard, spins your head around, and leaves you stunned. The Ray Electromatic mysteries are so freakin’ perfect you’d think robot hitmen and retro supercomputers had always been part of noir fiction.”--Peter Clines, author of Paradox Bound and The Fold "Humor, action, and heart: everything I've come to expect from an Adam Christopher book, and then some. A marvelous read!"--New York Times bestseller Jason M. Hough, author of Zero World “Delivers like a punch from a two-ton robot in a zoot suit.”--Delilah Dawson "Atmospheric and charming as hell. Adam Christopher has an extraordinary talent for scooping you up and dropping you into an alternative LA that feels just as real as the street outside your house."--Emma Newman Praise for the RAY ELECTROMATIC MYSTERIES "Robot noir in 60s Los Angeles? You had me at 'Hello.'"—John Scalzi, New York Times bestselling novelist "Gripping, funny, deadly and suspenseful."--Boing Boing “Delivers like a punch from a two-ton robot in a zoot suit.”--Lila Bowen (aka Delilah Dawson) "The dialogue is effortlessly swift and clever, and even the B-movie climax is a spectacle to behold. Above that, though, Ray sparks to live, and his antiheroic slant only makes him that much more compelling and and sympathetic. Knowing that there are only two more Raymond Electromatic mysteries to come is the book's only disappointment."--NPR "Genre mash-ups don't always succeed, but this one will please fans of both gumshoes and laser beams."--Publishers Weekly "A fun, fast read for anyone willing to take the speculative leap--a must-add for most fiction collections."--Booklist (starred review) "Made to Kill is yet more proof that we should all be thankful for Adam Christopher and his imagination. This tale of robot noir is unlike anything I’ve ever read—Adam’s is a weird and wonderful voice and we are lucky to have it."--Chuck Wendig, New York Times bestselling author of Aftermath "Adam Christopher has brilliantly deduced what should have been obvious all along: Classic noir and robots are a perfect match. Part Chandler, part Asimov, and part Philip K. Dick, Made to Kill is a rip-roaring cocktail of smart, sharp, twisty, cyber-pulp awesomeness."--Adam Sternbaugh, author of Shovel Ready "Made to Kill is just the sort of exciting genre collision that marks out Adam Christopher as one of the hottest new young SF writers."--Paul Cornell, author of The Severed Streets "A smart, rollicking noir/SF mashup. One of the best books I've read all year."--Kelly Braffet, author of Save Yourself
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Adam Christopher’s debut novel EMPIRE STATE was SciFiNow’s Book of the Year and a Financial Times Book of the Year. The author of MADE TO KILL, STANDARD HOLLYWOOD DEPRAVITY, and KILLING IS MY BUSINESS, Adam’s other novels include SEVEN WONDERS, THE AGE ATOMIC, and THE BURNING DARK. Adam has also written the official tie-in novels for the hit CBS television show ELEMENTARY, and the award-winning DISHONORED video game franchise, and with Chuck Wendig, wrote THE SHIELD for Dark Circle/Archie Comics. Adam is also a contributor to the STAR WARS: FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VIEW 40th anniversary anthology. Born in New Zealand, Adam has lived in Great Britain since 2006. Photo Credit: Lou Abercrombie WEBSITE: http://www.adamchristopher.co.uk/ TWITTER: @ghostfinder GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/590743.Adam_Christopher FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/adamchristopherauthor/
Read an Excerpt:
Killing is My Business Chapter 1 Listen to this: Vaughan Delaney was a planner for the city of Los Angeles. He occupied a position high enough up the ladder that it entitled him to an office at an equally high altitude in a tall building downtown that was home to a number of other local government desks. The office came with a salary that was high for a city employee but nothing to write a favorite uncle about, and a view that was simply to die for. Vaughan Delaney was forty-two years old and he liked suits that were a light blue-gray in color. He carried a buckskin briefcase that wasn’t so much battered as nicely worn in. On his head he liked to position a fedora that was several shades darker than his suit. The hat had a brim that looked at first glance to be a little wide for the kind of hat that a city planner would wear, but Vaughan Delaney did not break the rules, neither in his job nor in his private life. He had a position a lot of people envied, along with the life that went along with it, and he stuck rigidly within the boundaries of both. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. Because the one thing that didn’t fit Vaughan Delaney was his car. His car was 1957 Plymouth Fury, a mobile work of art in red and white with enough chrome to blind oncoming traffic on the bright and sunny mornings that were not uncommon in this part of California. The machine had fins like you wouldn’t believe and when the brake lights lit you’d think they were rocket motors. It was the kind of car you could fly to the moon in, only when you got to the moon you’d cast one eye on the fuel gauge and you’d pat the wheel with your kidskin-gloved hand, admiring the fuel economy as you pointed the scarlet hood off somewhere toward Jupiter and pressed the loud pedal. It was a great car and it was in perfect shape. Factory fresh. It was getting on for ten years old but Vaughan Delaney had looked after it well. And, I had to admit, that car caught my optics. It wasn’t jealousy—I liked my own car well enough, a Buick that was a satisfying ride, functional and elegant and with a few optional extras you wouldn’t find outside a science laboratory. No, what I had for the red Plymouth Fury was something else. Admiration, and admiration for Vaughan Delaney too. He was every element the city man but that car was a jack-rabbit. Perhaps it was his mid-life crisis. Perhaps he was telling the city to go take a jump while he sat shuffling papers in his nice office with his sensible suit and practical hat. Look what I get to drive to the office in the morning, he said. Look at what I get to drive out to lunch every Wednesday. Look what I get to drive home in the evening. It was the kind of car that people would lean out of the office windows to take a look at, and Vaughan Delaney did every bit to help, the way he parked the red-and-white lightning bolt right outside the office door. Because Vaughan Delaney had reached a certain level within the city hierarchy that allowed him to pick his own secretary based on the color of her hair and the length of her skirt and he was not a man who had to walk very far from his car to his desk. He was also a family man. When the Plymouth Fury wasn’t outside the office or being driven to lunch on Wednesdays it lived in a two-car garage that sat next to a modest but modern bungalow in Gray Lake. Next to the Fury was commonly parked a yellow vehicle that General Motors had shooed out the door without much of a fuss, a rectangular lozenge on wheels with whitewall tires shining and seat belt tight and the sense of humor removed for safety reasons. This was not a car to take much of an interest in. It belonged to Vaughan Delaney’s wife. Her name was Cindy Delaney. Cindy Delaney loved her husband and let him know by kissing him on the cheek each and every morning before her husband went to work. The children loved him too. There were two of those, a boy and a girl, and both of them had blond hair like their mother and they were both a decade shy of joining the army and both of them kissed their father on the cheek each and every morning like their mother did, the only difference being that Vaughan Delaney had to go down on one knee so they could smell his aftershave. Then he blasted off in the Plymouth Fury and the quiet street in Gray Lake was quiet once more until Cindy Delaney took the children to school in the yellow boat and then came back again twenty minutes later. Then she put on a housecoat to keep her dress clean and she drove a vacuum over the bungalow while her husband drove a desk down in the city. They were a nice family. Middle class, middle income, middle ambition. The children would grow up and the boy would play football at high school with his parents watching and the girl would play flute in the school orchestra with her parents watching and all was right with the world. I knew all of this because I’d been watching Vaughan Delaney for three weeks. I’d been to the street in Gray Lake and had sat in my car and I’d watched life in and around the bungalow. I’d been to the office building downtown and had sat in my car and watched the Plymouth Fury come in for landing and Vaughan Delaney hop, skip, and jump up the stairs into the building and then waltz down the same steps some eight hours later. Vaughan Delaney looked like a swell guy with a good job and a nice car and a happy family. It was just a shame that he had to die. Excerpted from Killing is My Business © Adam Christopher, 2017 Keep an eye out for another excerpt from Killing is My Business appearing on Tor.com this June!
Steamy Romance/Erotica
Date Published: May 2017
Sarah wants a lover, but she wants one on her terms. She doesn’t have time to date and picking a guy up at a bar is not only dangerous but it doesn’t guarantee he’ll let her act out her fantasies. Then she hears about La Petite Morte Club—a place for willing males and females to meet with rules and contracts so that all parties leave satisfied.
She signs up with the club and starts the process of finding the man who’ll be her lover for six nights. Six nights of fantasy—his and hers. Six nights of sex and then they’re done. Simple, uncomplicated and fun, but she doesn’t count on Nick’s ability to make her desire everything he has to offer and more.
Excerpt
Sarah opened the door and walked into the room, trying to stay balanced on these stupid heels. Men wouldn’t find them so attractive if they had to wear them. The room was dark except for one light highlighting a small platform. That was for her. She stepped up onto the small stage. The room was silent but they were there, above her, hidden behind the one-way mirrors, watching her, deciding if they wanted to take the next step—to eventually take her.
She stared into the blackness of the room. It wasn’t huge but its emptiness made it seem vast. She glanced upward, the light making her squint and she quickly stared back into the darkness. This was arranged for them to see her. That was it. She’d get no glimpse of them yet. She’d seen their pictures, chosen them but meeting them in person would be different. A picture couldn’t tell her their smell or the sound of their voices.
She tugged at her dress where it hugged her hips, wishing the questions would start, but there was only silence. She shifted, the heels already killing her feet. Ethan hadn’t liked them and if they weren’t going to impress, she might as well take them off. She moved to the back of the stage, leaned against the wall and removed her shoes. As she returned to the center of the stage a man spoke, his voice loud and commanding almost echoing throughout the room.
“Don’t stop there. Take off your dress.”
She bent, placing her shoes on the floor. That wasn’t part of the deal. She wasn’t going to undress in front of five men, only one. Only the one she chose. She straightened. “No.”
“What?” He was surprised and not happy.
“I said no. That’s not part of the Viewing.”
“I want to see what I’m getting.”
She stared up toward the windows, squinting a little. She couldn’t tell from where the voice had come. The speaker system made it sound as if it were coming from God himself. “And you will if I pick you.”
Another man laughed.
“It’s not funny. She’s disobedient,” said the man with the loud voice.
“Not always. I can be obedient.” These men liked to be in control but sometimes, so did she.
“Will you raise your dress? Just a little,” asked another voice.
Author Bio
Ellis O. Day grew up with her nose buried in books and now enjoys writing the kind of stories she loves to read. Romance—the steamier the better—as long as there’s love in the heart (and plot).
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Romance
Date Published: June 2017
Andy may not have pipeline know-how, per se, but she’s got brains and every right to prove that she can do the job. Her estranged grandpa, Buck, believes she has what it takes to be his engineering assistant, and she’s not about to let him down.
Rooster isn’t a bad guy. He respects women, he was raised by one of the best. But that new girl is too small and… feminine. She’s a distraction, plain and simple, and she doesn’t belong on a pipeline. This job is his chance to impress Buck Brennan, a pipeline legend, and no girly greenhorn is going to ruin it for him.
Will Andy prove herself to her grandfather and forge a relationship with the old man, or will continuous disagreements and unexpected sexual tension between Andy and Rooster derail their hard work?
Excerpt
Excerpt From Chapter 12, Love on the Line by Kirsten Fullmer
Craning her neck, Andy stared down the right-of-way, but there was no sign of Buck. Rooster was now nearly the only man left on site, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to ride back to the access road with him.
As if she’d conjured it, Rooster hollered at her from across the right-of-way.
“Hey, I’ll give you a ride back. Get in the truck.”
“So that’s how is now,” she muttered. Just a hey you, get in the truck. “No thanks.” She yelled back, motioning down the road. “Buck will be along soon, I’ll walk.” Grandpa wouldn’t forget her, she reasoned. She wasn’t being difficult, just…
Rooster hesitated for a second then pulled a sour face and finished loading his equipment on his truck.
“Whatever,” she sighed, turning her back to leave.
The steep slope of the right-of-way as it led down the hill was a problem, but added with the slick mud, Andy had to concentrate on each step to not slip and fall. She’d slogged about a hundred feet down the hill when a noise ahead drew her attention, and she stopped to watch one of the crew trucks slide sideways. Mud flew up behind the truck’s tires like a fantail before the rig straightened out and continued on.
Rooster’s truck started up behind her with a roar, riling her anger even more. Allowing room for him to pass, she moved to the side of the right-of-way, but what looked like a puddle turned out to be much deeper, and to her horror, one booted foot sunk nearly to her knee. Desperate to get her footing, Andy worked to plant her other foot on some sort of solid ground so she could pull her boot loose. Unfortunately, the ground was thoroughly soaked and churned, and every move made her sink further in the mud and mire. Soon both feet were stuck to the point that she couldn’t lift either foot.
Rooster’s truck chugged passed, and she seethed, glaring at his face through the mud-splattered window. Steam likely came out her ears, she thought, clenching her teeth in frustration. Could the day possibly get any worse? Depending how long it took Buck to find her, it certainly could, she supposed. She may have to stand there all night.
Frightened more than a bit by the thought, she tried again to loosen her feet from the mud, but to no avail. She was stuck, no ifs, ands or buts about it. “See what being stubborn gets you, Andy?” she huffed under her breath.
Twenty feet ahead, Rooster’s truck came to a stop and Andy could see him peer into the side mirror to watch her struggle. Humiliation settled like a boulder in her stomach and she froze. Sure enough, right on cue, the day had gotten worse.
***
“And… she’s stuck.” Rooster muttered.
Turning from the mirror, he leaned back in his seat, removed his safety glasses, and rubbed his hands over his face. As if trying to pretend she wasn’t driving him insane all day hadn’t been enough torture, now he had to rescue her. There was no doubt in his mind that she would not want to be saved, but he’d been stuck in the mud a few times himself and he knew what it felt like. Besides, she was Buck’s granddaughter, and the old man would not be pleased if Rooster left her out on the right-of-way alone. Not that he’d ever leave one of his crew, or anyone else out there alone, he reasoned. Buck had told him over the radio at lunch, that he’d be back for Andy, but he must have been delayed, which left Rooster to do his duty.
He’d known as he packed up, that he’d have to offer her a ride, but of course she’d told him to buzz off. Now he was just as stuck as she was, only this was a trap of his own making.
What a mess. This was supposed to be an epic job, he lamented, the one where he made his mark as a respected tie-in man. Now everything was going pear shaped. First he’d accidentally jumped the boss’ granddaughter, and then the relentless rain and mud had brought work to a stand still for nearly a week straight.
He took another glance in the mirror. She was still there, looking angry as a wet hen. He sighed. Would the memory of kissing the woman never let up? Every move she made reminded him of having her under him. When she was around, he could barely concentrate on the task at hand.
Andy hadn’t said a word to him since that night in his trailer, not that he blamed her. He’d been an idiot all the way around. She was the one woman within a hundred miles that he should stay away from, and he’d known it all along. Yet what had he done? Invited her right in and…
He pounded his fist on the dash. Fate was cruel. He was finally working with the one boss he wanted to impress more than anyone else on the planet, and all he could think about was getting the old man’s cherished granddaughter naked!
His red, tired eyes were drawn once more to the mirror. It was growing dark and Andy was obviously not going to get out of the mud without help. “Damn it all!” He cussed as he reached for the door handle.
***
“Well, here it is” Andy said with her shoulders slumped and her arms hanging limp at her sides. . “The moment I finally die of embarrassment…”
Unable to bear it, she turned her head and refused to look at Rooster as he approached, but she could see the scene play out in her mind’s eye. There they were, on the muddy right-of-way, his truck chugging where he’d left it with the door hanging open. He’d be stomping towards her with his fists clenched. Oh, and he’d be frowning for sure, likely more of a black scowl, she amended, adjusting the vision in her mind. He’d slosh up to her and say something snotty and condescending, like “Don’t you know better than to step in the mud after a week of rain?”
***
As he struggled up the hill toward Andy, Rooster had to admit that the walk was a treacherous one. He’d be lucky to make it to her without getting stuck himself. The afternoon sun had dried the mud to the thickness of wet cement, and since the crew’s trucks had passed, it was a damned disaster. If it rained tonight, they’d be lucky to make it up the hill in the morning.
He glanced up from his feet and his heart sank in his chest. The poor girl looked as if she wanted to cry. She was splattered with muck from head to foot, and two mud soaked gloves hung from each of her front pockets. She was sweaty and sunburned, and her face was turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.
He’d been a complete clod, he moaned. None of this was her fault. This wasn’t how he treated women. Especially women he liked.
Resolved to handle her with more consideration, he reached for her arm. Just as his hand made contact with her elbow, she whipped toward him, her expression angry as all holy hell.
“Yes, I know better than to step in the mud!” she snapped, jerking her arm away.
“I never said you didn’t,” he returned, stung by her response.
She sputtered momentarily, then continued, crossing her arms across her chest. “Maybe not, but I’m sure you thought something along those lines!”
He scowled. That hadn’t been his thought, but it could be…
“Just help me out of this, and I’ll be on my way.” she snapped.
“There’s no need—” he started, but she cut him off.
“Don’t bother to pretend you care.”
He tossed his hands in the air. “I’m not pretending—”
Eager to have the whole confrontation finished, Andy reached for his safety vest and grabbed hold, tugging hard in an attempt to gain leverage.
Startled, Rooster swayed, braced himself, and grabbed her arms. “Hold on a minute, don’t—”
Andy felt one of her boots move in the mud. Excited, she grappled her way up Rooster’s shirt and safety vest. “I’ve almost got it…just…”
Struggling to brace one foot behind him to keep his balance, Rooster shifted, right as Andy’s boot came loose. Barely managing to keep his footing, he glared down at her.
“I’m just about out!” she cried excitedly, clasping one hand around his neck to pull at her other foot with all her might.
“Wait, wait… don’t—” He stuttered, working to get his own footing secure.
Not listening to anything or anyone, Andy continued to tug at her boot. A sucking noise was heard seconds before her muddy, stocking-clad, foot slipped completely from her laced boot. Andy flew forward, hurling directly into Rooster’s chest.
He grasped her, knowing for sure that he could not stay upright, but he was determined to break their fall the best he could. His concern was needless, however, because they fell directly back into a giant pool of goo, with Rooster on the bottom and Andy riding on top. An enormous splash enveloped the couple, and neither could do much beyond sputter and blindly paddle at the mud. Rooster got the worst of it, by far, but Andy managed to get a mouthful of mud as they went down.
He knew she was okay when he heard her spitting. Beyond angry, he shoved her off his chest and grappled to stand, rubbing mud out his eyes. He made it to his feet first, still unable to comprehend the sheer amount of mud that covered him. Unfortunately, Andy’s similar attempt to stand resulted in her slipping and falling backward, causing another huge splash.
She pushed to a sitting position, looking up at Rooster exactly like a furious wet cat. Nearly every inch of her was soaked and most of her was covered in mud, even her face and her hair. It was like she’d been dipped in dirty chocolate. Mud was in her eyes and her ears. Bugs and bits of branches and leaves, rocks and gravel, stuck in the mud as well. Rooster couldn’t help himself, and laughter rang out into the twilight. Able to see humor in the situation, he reached out to help her up, only to be shocked when she gave his hand a solid jerk, sending him headlong into the mud at her side.
Spitting sludge, Rooster surfaced to see Andy grinning wickedly behind the mud covering her face, so he swung one arm around her waist and swung her over him and back into the mud. Laughing and screaming, she clutched at his clothing, struggling to get a grip so she could drag him down with her.
“What have we here?” a loud voice boomed over the couple’s heads and both froze. Rooster worked to swipe mud out of his eyes as Andy caught sight of Buck standing beside his truck with his arms crossed over his chest.
Paddling and splashing, Rooster hurried to stand, then offered a hand to Andy. She pulled herself silently to her feet, by his side. He bent to collect his hard hat and plopped it on his head, mud and all. Silence settled on the right-of-way, then Andy cleared her throat.
“I lost my boot…” She muttered, holding up one unrecognizable bootless foot.
Buck was silent for a moment, then one brow arched. “You’re either riding home with him,” Buck tossed his head toward Rooster, “Or in the back of the truck…”
The younger man took a step forward. “Sir, I...”
With a blush burning under the mud, Andy collected her hard had, turned it over to dump mud and water from it, then headed toward Rooster’s truck.
“Don’t forget your boot,” Buck reminded her, “You can’t come out here barefooted tomorrow.”
Andy did an about face, feeling like a naughty child, and gingerly picked her way back to the mud hole to search for her boot.
Buck and Rooster stood with their gazes locked, like stags in battle.
Rooster spoke first. “I’ll take her home, Sir.”
Finally a grin played at the corner of buck’s mouth, and he nodded at the young tie-in foreman. “See that you do…” He said with a wink.
About the Author
Kirsten Fullmer lives and writes in her 36 foot travel trailer, touring the country with her husband as he follows pipeline construction. Her three other novels, The Shabby Chic Trilogy, have spent the last two years rising to the top of the Amazon Kindle market.
Love on the Line is Kirsten Fullmer's fourth novel, and it's based loosely on her own daughter's experiences working on a pipeline with a group of rough and tumble men.
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Reflecting Roni
Beauty in the Darkness - Book 3
By Brooke Lee
Genre: Erotic Suspense
Release Date: May 27, 2017
Cover Design by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs
~Blurb~
Mistakes
Bad Choices
Too trusting
These are all words that describe the old me.
The mistakes I made over a decade ago still haunt my subconscious. I’ve tried to keep my past buried, but every time I see the darkness in my best friend Shelby’s eyes, my heart breaks all over again.
Sexy
Successful
Self-confident
These are words that describe me today.
Looking in the mirror, I see a sexy, confident and successful woman reflected back at me. I’ve found a man that not only fulfills my carnal desires, but one who is quickly filling the empty space in my heart. With both Kyle and Shelby by my side, my life is nearly perfect.
Perfect until one of the biggest mistakes of my life strolls back into town, bringing with him all of the darkness from my past.
I am Roni Monroe and this is my story.
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What others are saying about Reflecting Roni
“This was a story that took me through the paces emotionally. I laughed, I cried, I got mad as heck and I even got a little hot a bothered heck I got hot and bothered a lot. I was drawn into this story and felt a connection to the characters.”– 5 Stars Lita Tasty Wordgasms
“Roni and Shelby are still best friends and I may be a little jealous of their relationship. Everyone needs friends like these 2 women. They laugh together, are protective of each other and they cry together. I loved this book and hope others will too.” – 5 Stars, Tanya Rae, Tasty Wordgasms
“Thoroughly enjoyed this journey with Roni, I couldn’t put it down it was so exciting.” – 5 Stars, Janine P
~~ Other Books in The Beauty In The Darkness Series ~~
~More About Brooke Lee~
Growing up, Brooke’s mother instilled a deep respect for the English language and a love of words. She taught Brooke to read and write and shared her appreciation for poetry. As a teen, poetry became an outlet for Brooke’s innermost thoughts and deepest, often times darkest feelings.
In school, teachers always told her “write what you know”, so that is what she did. At the not so tender age of forty-three, she started to write her first novel, I Am ShelbyJames (Beauty in the Darkness) and it is what she knows—emotions.
In her spare time—when she’s not writing—you can find Brooke cuddled on the couch with her husband of 20+ years, their fur babies, and a good (often naughty) eBook—unless of course she’s having cocktails with her Bestie at one of their favorite haunts.
~Connect with Brooke~
Title: Inked Hearts
Author: Lindsay Detwiler
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 21, 2017
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
Cover Designer: Claire Smith
Preorder for half price!
Buy Links: books2read.com/inkedhearts
Available on Amazon soon
Suffering from the sting of betrayal, twenty-eight-year-old Avery Johannas quits her job and moves hundreds of miles away to Ocean City, the beach town of her dreams. With the help of her zany roommate, Jodie, Avery finds a new career, home, and freedom. Throughout her self-exploration, she makes only one rule: She won’t give her heart to a man again. She’s living for herself this time. But then she meets Jesse. A tattoo shop owner, the green-eyed Jesse Pearce is wild with a touch of mystery. As Jesse and Avery explore Ocean City and their friendship, they’ll have a hard time drawing a line in the sand between their hearts. When summer nights get a little more heated than either expected, they’ll have to ask themselves: Can they let go of their notions of love, or will their hearts be permanently inked by past pain?
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Buy Links: books2read.com/inkedhearts
Available on Amazon soon
A high school English teacher, an author, and a fan of anything pink and/or glittery, Lindsay's the English teacher cliché; she love cats, reading, Shakespeare, and Poe.
She currently lives in her hometown with her husband, Chad (her junior high sweetheart); their cats, Arya, Amelia, Alice, and Bob; and their Mastiff, Henry.
Lindsay's goal with her writing is to show the power of love and the beauty of life while also instilling a true sense of realism in her work. Some reviewers have noted that her books are not the “typical romance.” With her novels coming from a place of honesty, Lindsay examines the difficult questions, looks at the tough emotions, and paints the pictures that are sometimes difficult to look at. She wants her fiction to resonate with readers as realistic, poetic, and powerful. Lindsay wants women readers to be able to say, “I see myself in that novel.” She wants to speak to the modern woman’s experience while also bringing a twist of something new and exciting. Her aim is for readers to say, “That could happen,” or “I feel like the characters are real.” That’s how she knows she's done her job.
Witch/Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Date Published: July 19, 2017
Dylan Apel is at it again…
When the Magical Abilities contest is announced, Dylan couldn't give a flip about entering. But when she discovers the prize is the coveted Never Forget, a spell that makes you immune to mind erasing, she's all in.
That is, until the potion is stolen. Now, she's on lock down in Castle Witch with a thief on the loose. But lucky for her, the witching elite has also arrived, and Dylan's convinced one of them is the Master, an elusive criminal who she believes committed a heinous murder twenty years ago. All Dylan has to do is slip a magical ring on the right person's finger and she's got her killer.
But when the ring is stolen, Dylan's not sure who to trust. Things get worse when her boyfriend is arrested for a theft he didn't commit, a close friend can't remember important details, and Dylan herself is accused of cheating in the contest. Before things get any worse Dylan must find a thief and a murderer—before she becomes the next victim of the Master.
Don't miss another Southern fried witchery—read Don't Give a Witch today!
BLESS YOUR WITCH series:
Excerpt
An arm snaked around my waist. My breath caught in my throat.
“It’s been too long since I’ve smelled your hair,” came the gruff voice over my shoulder.
I narrowed my eyes. “I didn’t know you had a hair fetish. That’s totally weird.”
Hot breath parted my locks like fingers. “You’ve got a knack for ruining romantic moments. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
I giggled. “Anyone ever tell you that telling a girl it’s been too long since you smelled her hair is weird?”
Roman spun me around. I pitched forward only to be caught by muscular arms as soon as made of iron as they were of flesh and blood.
“Hold on there. Don’t fall over.”
I straightened. Sea-green eyes met my poo-brown ones. Yes, they were poo brown.
Blond hair grazed the top of his shoulders. I wove my fingers through the ends, pretending to be getting out a bit of lint or something, but really I just wanted to touch his hair.
He wrapped me in a quick hug. “You do smell good.”
“I try.”
We parted and he smiled at me. A goopy look filled his gaze. I bit down on the lopsided grin I knew was stitched on my own face.
“So,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Roman pocketed his hands. “You come to weddings often?”
“All the time.”
“I bet you go to pick up men.”
I rocked back on one heel. “Am I that obvious?”
Roman leaned on one hip, studying me. He rubbed his chin. “You’re not that obvious. It’s more of a sense I get from you.”
I quirked a brow. “Oh?”
“You seem like the type who goes to weddings, picks one guy, dances with him all night. It’s just long enough for that guy to fall a little bit in love with you. Then you dump him.”
My jaw fell. “That’s horrible. Why would someone do that?”
Roman shook his head. “Ever heard of a black widow?”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re terrible. I’m not a black widow. If anything, you’re a dark assassin.”
It was time for Roman to do some major eye rolling. Which he did. Which didn’t surprise me. “Right. Listen, how about you agree that I’m right and we do some dancing?”
I folded my arms over my chest. “Is that the proper way to ask a lady to dance?”
In a flourish of testosterone, Roman dropped to one knee and extended his hand to me. “My lady, would you care to dance with this poor soul?”
I nearly busted my gut laughing. Tears blurred my vision as I said, “Yes.”
Roman guided me out past the chairs. The quartet strings thrummed as he twirled me into the space. Others quickly joined and the post wedding fun kicked into high gear.
I have to tell you, those of us who weren’t centaurs had to make a lot of room for them.
Laughter buzzed in the air as the romance of the wedding took hold of us. Roman and I fell into a smooth rhythm, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me protectively. There was no place else I would rather have been.
A crack of light splintered into the center of the dance floor. People screamed. Others leaped back. Roman pushed me behind him, shielding me with his body.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Heat rose in my chest, rippling up my neck. I peered over Roman’s shoulder.
A man stood in the center. He wore an ebony cape with lapels starched up to his eyebrows. His amber hair was slicked back and he had a deep widow’s peak that plunged down his forehead.
He clapped his hands. “Greetings, everyone!”
The air stilled. The looks of shock on people’s faces quickly changed to confusion.
The man’s gaze washed over the crowd. He studied the gathering as if analyzing us in bits and pieces. He clapped his hands again. “I’ve come with good tidings to the happy couple.”
From his seat at the wedding table, Pearbottom gave a stiff nod. Eliza clutched his hand, her knuckles stretched to white.
I was surprised that neither Pearbottom or Roman had moved on this guy. The small bit of analytical brain I had quickly realized they didn’t consider him to be a threat. That one notion made me relax a tiny bit, the muscles in my neck and shoulders unknotting.
The man flashed a brilliant smile. “This year’s Magical Abilities contest is open for submissions. The grand prize is a vial of Never Forget.” His eyes swept across us once more, landing on me. His piercing gaze made my stomach knot. Maybe it was the cape, but I felt kinda creeped out by him.
The man raised his hands. “You may enter the contest,” he brought his watch to eye level and said, “starting now!”
A puff of gray smoke billowed up around him. The smoke took on lines, becoming sharper at the edges, more delineated until small circles broke off from the edges. These orbs of gas transformed into doves. Their wings fluttered as they rose high into the sky before disappearing.
A shimmering picture remained where the caped wizard had been standing. A halved roman column sat squat on the ground. Resting on it was a small, golden trophy. A halo shot out around it. After a few seconds the picture faded away, revealing a red banner with yellow script.
REGISTER NOW FOR THE MAGICAL ABILITIES CONTEST!
ALL ENTRANTS MUST BE RECEIVED WITHIN 24 HOURS
From all around me, the wedding crowd released a collective breath.
Roman turned. “You okay?”
I dragged my gaze from the banner. Energy still bubbled in my stomach from where the wizard had stared right through me.
“Hmm?” I said. I shook my head. “Yeah. I’m fine. Wow. That was totally weird. What was that all about?”
“I’ll tell you what it was about, toots.”
I glanced over and saw my paternal grandmother, Milly Jones, caning up to us. She’d dressed up for the occasion. Oh, she still wore black orthopedic shoes, beige support hose, a dark skirt and a shapeless cardigan. But this sweater had sequins!
“Milly, you’ve out done yourself,” I said.
A loud snort jutted from her gnarled hook nose. “I spare no expense when it comes to weddings. What can I say? I love seeing people get married. The only thing better than that is playing with babies,” she said flatly.
I really didn’t know if she was being serious or not. Milly loving babies? That was kind of like an alligator liking small deer.
Not that Milly was going to eat said children. She didn’t do that. Of course not. But she just didn’t strike me as the type to love playing with sweet, cooing babies.
I’d been known to be wrong before, though. It could happen again.
Milly eyed Roman like a pirate eyed treasure—with a glint. The only thing she was missing would have been a metal hand and maybe a gold tooth.
“Roman, it’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you, Milly.”
She studied the magical banner. People were milling about, taking their places once again on the dance floor.
“So I missed the announcement,” she said.
I pulled a tissue from my clutch purse and dabbed a splotch of sweat from my neck. “Where were you?”
“Bathroom.” She drifted toward the banner. “So it’s time again, huh? Time for the contest.”
I shrugged. “Looks like.”
Her neck snapped back to me. “You know you need to enter.”
I dropped the tissue. I shot her a panicked gaze. “Me? Why me? Why do I need to enter?”
She thumbed her nose. “All of you do. You and your sisters.”
“Why do we have to enter?”
Milly’s lips coiled into a serpentine smile. “So that you can win the Never Forget spell.”
I frowned. “Why would I need that?”
Her eyes dragged across the pavilion until they landed in my grandmother Hazel’s direction. “You need the spell,” she said slowly, “so that you can start remembering.”
Confusion fogged my brain. “Remembering what?”
Milly glanced back at me, her eyes stony cold as she said, “Everything your other grandmother makes you forget.”
About the Author
Amy Boyles grew up reading Judy Blume and Christopher Pike. Somehow, the combination of coming of age books and teenage murder mysteries made her want to be a writer. After graduating college at DePauw University, she spent some time living in Chicago, Louisville, and New York before settling back in the South. Now, she spends her time chasing two toddlers while trying to stir up trouble in Silver Springs, Alabama, the fictional town where Dylan Apel and her sisters are trying to master witchcraft, tame their crazy relatives, and juggle their love lives.
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Short Stories, Fiction
Date Published: January 20, 2017
The Windless Echo is a collection of stories that delve into the minds and feelings of characters as they struggle to resolve, understand, and uncover the realities of their experiences.
Joy and emptiness, rest and effort, meaning and madness - these and other themes weave their way into the tales and the problems these characters seek to unravel.
Contents: 18 Short stories, 178 6''x9'' pages, ~62k words.
Preview on Amazon contains the first story, "The Ashen Heart", and 3/4 of the second, "The Woodchopper's Son".
Two of the stories, "The Woodchopper's Son" and "The Prisoner of the Ashen Lake", have been put into audio form, read by the author, and can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLw9MjSFObAc2D1Jwi-JOIZ7ZiJtzZ6iUl
About the Author
Oliver Kaufman is an author and the founder of theworldwithin.org, a website dedicated to self-awareness, self-healing, growth, and the exploration of one’s own inner, conscious world. He currently lives in Redmond, Washington, in the US.
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