{Once Upon A Book}

“You’ll never believe who I saw at the Register of Deeds yesterday afternoon.” Edith tossed her purse on the red vinyl booth across the table from Minnie before she scooted into the seat.

Minnie waved to their favorite waitress, Rachel, who balanced a tray of the daily specials and a half–‐‑empty pot of decaf coffee. She acknowledged them with a nod and headed toward the rear of the dining room. The rest of the diner held the usual bunch of early lunchers, reminiscing with their cohorts on the morning news, the chance of an early frost, and the state of affairs at the
zoning commission. Years of baked–‐‑on grease permeated the air and accounted for the signature flavor of the scrambled eggs.

Edith smoothed down her more‐‑salt‐‑than–pepper coiffure and reached for the specials card clipped to the jellies. “I didn’t think he’d ever set foot in Carterville again.”

“Who?” Minnie asked, already knowing the name that would spill from Edith’s lips.

Edith slapped the menu down on the table. Her eyes slid both ways, then she leaned across the table. “Gordon Anderson.” She raised her eyebrows conspiratorially.

“I had hoped he wouldn’t.” Her stomach roiled. He’d been here sixteen hours and already she was jumping out of her skin at every sound, expecting him to appear whenever she turned her back. She attributed it to loathing, but it felt like a high school crush.

Rachel arrived at their table and flipped their sturdy brown coffee mugs over. “Just decaf today, ladies, or half‐‑and–half?” She held the orange–rimmed carafe poised over Minnie’s cup.

“It’s a half‐‑and–half day,” Edith said. “Any day Gordon Anderson comes to town requires a dose of caffeine.”

Minnie snorted. “It requires Jack Daniel’s, but it’s a little too early in the day.”

Buy Links:
Astraea: http://astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7355585
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Hauntings-of-the-Heart-ebook/dp/B005Z8WJRY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1319568032&sr=1-1
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hauntings-of-the-heart-joselyn-vaughn/1106922258?ean=2940013221796&itm=2&usri=hauntings+of+the+heart
Audible: http://www.audible.com/pd/ref=sr_1_2?asin=B00BJRBFXE&qid=1363028176&sr=1-2
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/133674

Website: http://joselynvaughn.com
Blog: http://joselynvaughn.wordpress.com
Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/joselynvaughn
Twitter: @joselynvaughn
Facebook: http://facebook.com/joselynvaughn
Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Joselyn-Vaughn/225825554094665?fref=ts
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2907038.Joselyn_Vaughn

Laine was at EC — was there no escaping her? When I walked in, she looked up and for a split second, I saw fire flare from her eyes. “Emili, you lost?” she asked in a voice pulsing with irritation.

“Isn’t this Environmental Club?”

She jumped from her chair and came over to me. “Are you joining? Don’t you think it might be too much? I mean, a new school, and already on decorations committee for the ball?”

I regarded her expression, and noted the hint of desperation lurking behind the cool façade. “I think I can handle it.”
There was an awkward silence, and I thought she was going to forbid me to join. Then she broke into a stiff smile which didn’t reach her eyes.

“Okay, listen up!” She looked around the room and everyone gave her their attention. “This is Emili. She’s a sophomore, and she’s new here. She’ll be joining us.”

Thank you, Your Highness for introducing me.

I raised my arm in a half-wave and sank into a chair. On my left sat the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen. His smooth chestnut hair swooped over his deep toffee eyes. He sat relaxed, dominating the chair with his size. I saw how his broad shoulders strained the fabric of his Nike T-shirt. A shiver crawled up my spine. I couldn’t help it, I stared. Was this Jordan, the guy I’d decided to avoid?

How far would you go to escape your own personal teenage hell? Would you run away, break away from everything you know—even your own body?

Alex Robbins, Brooke Saunders and Maryanne Hemlock could not be more different, yet they all have something in common—deep and soul-searing pain. They are also all students at Streep Academy, a boarding school just one step away from juvie, where they’ve come to complete high school. The three have been relegated to Harvell House, the residence reserved for the hardest cases, the so-called Rejects from Reject Row.

In the forbidden attic of the old Victorian house-turned-residence, the girls discover the diary of Connie Harvell, a young woman who was confined and abused there some 50 years ago. In the end, Connie’s attic prison couldn’t hold her—not completely. She found a way out. At least a dark part of her did. And after reading her diary, the girls discover they can escape at will too. A terrifying, thrilling flight from their bodies and their troubles.

But God help them, their pain isn’t all they leave behind when they join with the night.

And God help anyone who’s wronged them…

About the Authors: NORAH WILSON is a Kindle best-selling author of romantic suspense and paranormal
romance. She lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada, with her husband, two adult children, dog Chloe, and kitty, Ruckus.

HEATHER DOHERTY fell in love with writing while taking creative writing courses with Athabasca University. Motivated by her university success, and a life-long dream of becoming a novelist, she later enrolled in the Humber School for Writers under the mentorship of David Adams Richards. Her first literary novel was published in 2006. While still writing dark literary
(as well as not-so-dark children’s lit), she is beyond thrilled to be writing paranormal/horror with Norah. Heather lives in Fredericton, New Brunswick with her family. (No pets, but I swear Norah’s dog, Chloe, calls me Aunt Heather). Together, Heather and Norah write dark, edgy, frightening young adult paranormal/horror.

Social Media links:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/wilsondoherty
Website: http://castersthebooks.com
Facebook Norah: http://www.facebook.com/norah.wilson1
Facebook Heather: http://www.facebook.com/heather.doherty.5

Links to find/buy the book: Amazon.com – ebook: http://amzn.com/B00AEVUERY
Amazon.com – print: http://amzn.com/0987803794
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/259473
Barnes and Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/comes-the-night-norah-wilson/1114073057?ean=9780987803795
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17069123-comes-the-night

Manda’s review: I received a free copy of Norah Wilson’s novel “Comes the Night” in exchange for an honest review.

It’s Alex Robbins’ senior year and she’s returning to Streep Academy, a boarding school. She’s been placed in Harvell House – a place that’s also known as Reject Row – with two other girls who couldn’t be more unlike her if possible and are fighting their own demons. Yet somehow the girls bond upon finding the diary of a woman named Connie Harvell, a woman who through reading her diary they get to know and learn of a world beyond the attic called “casting”, a world that’s thrilling yet dangerous.

Upon hearing “Casters”, I assumed this book would be a lot like “Beautiful Creatures” but boy, was I wrong. Not in a bad way though. I admit the book started off a little slower than I would have preferred – and to me, it was a little hard to get into as it jumped around from one girl’s perspective to another’s. However, midway through the book, I couldn’t it down. I felt drawn into the story of “casting” which, unlike my original assumptions of being able to cast spells, actually meant being able to leave their bodies and travel around almost unseen and without being harmed for the most part.

I loved how complex the characters got as the story progressed. Alex was battling her foggy memories of being attacked in the attic by an unknown man, Maryanne was dealing with the loss of her brother and her part in his death and Brooke was trying to regain her footing after her social status plummeted due to rejection and her need for revenge. I enjoyed watching three completely different girls bond over the diary and their newfound abilities to “escape”. And most of all, I loved how their bonded with Connie’s ghost and helped her find her peace after the horrific life she had led up to her death.

All in all, I really enjoyed this story and I’m happy that I didn’t give up on it in the beginning. It’s a definite must read for those who enjoy supernatural mysteries.

A quick warning, though. This book does include references to rape and violence.

Giveaway Information: #1: Five (5) unsigned print copies of Comes the Night sent from CreateSpace – open internationally; #2: Five (5) eBook copies of Comes the Night (Smashword coupon code) – open internationally; #3: Three (3) $10 gift cards – choice of Amazon, B&N, or Book Depository.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Follow the rest of the tour HERE.

Sweet On You by Darlene Panzera
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I received a review copy in exchange for my participation in the blog review tour. All opinions and thoughts are my own.

When I saw the email for the Cupcake Diaries series I knew I had to read it. After some heavy duty reading material, I needed some fluff.

And this was exactly the kind of delicious fluff I needed.

Andi, Kim, and Rachel have birthdays that are exactly four months apart. Every birthday they split a cupcake and make goals – not wishes – for between each birthday.

I loved all three women; they were spunky, determined, and just balanced each other out perfectly. Jake was a welcome addition, though he spent most of the book hiding in the background. Mia was so adorable.

The zumba group were annoying, but after awhile I just found them amusing.

If you’re looking for a series of books to keep you entertained at the beach for a weekend this summer, definitely pick up this trio…you won’t regret it!

But you might want a cupcake or ten…

Terri
by Sharon Srock

Book Description:

Despite a bustling day care center and a new foster child, Terri Hayes hungers for a family of her own. Then a plumbing mishap leaves her homeless and questioning God’s plan. Steve Evans’s gracious offer of his basement apartment as a temporary solution is an answered prayer.

Steve is a successful writer and a good father, but Terri is horrified when Steve’s book research leads him to a harsh confrontation with the parents of her foster child. She needs to distance herself from Steve, but her efforts fall short as his two scheming daughters plot to make Terri their new stepmother.

Will harsh words and sneaky plans drive Kelsey’s family further apart and put a wedge between Terri and Steve? Or does God have another plan in store?

Contest:
Sharon will be awarding an e-Book copy of Callie, the first book in the series, to a randomly drawn commenter at each stop, plus a grand prize of a $20.00 gift card to the Pelican Book Group website to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

Comment along the tour for a better chance of winning!!

TOUR DATES

About the AUthor:

Sharon Srock lives with her husband, Larry, and two dogs in Rural Oklahoma. She is a mother, grandmother, and Sunday School teacher. Sharon has one and three-quarters jobs and writes in her spare time. Her favorite hobby is traveling with her grandchildren. She is a member of the ACFW and currently serves as treasurer for her local chapter. Sharon’s debut novel, The Women of Valley View: Callie released in October 2012. The second in the series, The Women of Valley View: Terri releases in April 2013.

Author Links:

WEBSITE | BLOG | FACEBOOK | TWITTER GOODREADS

Excerpt:
Terri Hayes chewed her bottom lip and prayed. Outside her windows on this sunny Friday afternoon, the Oklahoma summer persisted in spite of the September date circled on her calendar. Her hands sweated, and she clasped them behind her back. She would have raked them through her hair, but she wanted to telegraph calm and collected, not the nervous anticipation churning like ocean waves in her stomach. The weeks of preparation, the evenings spent in class, the hours of prayer, all came down to this.

The curly black head of her visitor disappeared under the kitchen sink. Terri heard grunts and clanks as the woman shifted and examined the contents of the cabinet. Her visitor stood and yanked the top of her crisply tailored suit back into place, her stern face thoughtful as she scribbled notes on a clipboard.

Despite Terri’s desire for calm, her lip chewing graduated to nail biting. Had she missed something? “Ms. Wilson, I…”

Cindy Wilson held up a hand. “Please, Ms. Hayes, I prefer to conduct my investigation uninterrupted. We’ll discuss my findings when I’m done.”

Terri swallowed her comments with a nod and trailed behind the imposing African-American woman whose job it was to poke and prod into every corner of Terri’s home. She ran through her own mental checklist as they proceeded from room to room. Outlets covered, medicines locked away, cleaning supplies stored out of reach, covers on all of her trash cans. A second perusal of Ms. Wilson’s expression produced no further insight. Pass or fail? Terri shook her head. I wonder if this woman plays poker.

The Cupcake Diaries
Sweet On You, Recipe for Love, Taste of Romance
By: Darlene Panzera

The Cupcake Diaries Book One: SWEET ON YOU
(Avon Impulse; on-sale May 7th, 2013; e-book ISBN: 9780062242662)

Fans of Debbie Macomber will love THE CUPCAKE DIARIES: Sweet on You, the first in the new and exciting three-book romantic comedy, by Darlene Panzera. Set in the small seaport town of Astoria, Oregon, Sweet on You begins the delicious and charming mini-series with Andi Burke’s adventure through love and cupcakes.
Sisters Andi and Kim, along with best friend Rachel, haven’t had the best luck in recent months: unemployment, divorce, and heartbreak. After so many disappointments, what can the trio do to change things around? Open up a much needed gourmet cupcake shop of course!
Andi has always had a dream—a kitchen big enough to bake and dance in, while still being able to support her dear daughter Mia, and hopefully find true love (one day). Could opening up a cupcake shop make it all a reality?
Together, the best friends are determined to open up Creative Cupcakes. But, with no business experience or money to finance the project it seems their dream won’t come true. Until, Jake Hartman, the hunky Astoria Sun reporter, offers to partner up with them.
Trying to hold it together as a single mom hasn’t been easy, and the thought of dating hasn’t crossed Andi’s mind since her divorce. But, the way Jake keeps looking at her might change her mind. After all, what could go wrong?
Plenty! There’s a shady tattoo parlor behind their shop and a crowd of crazy Zumba dancers out front—ready to ruin them. The trio is forced to think quick to counter the attacks from Zumba fanatic Pat, while still finding a way to bring in business. It seems the only thing that’s going right is Andi’s blooming romance with Jake. As if things weren’t hard enough, Jake’s media crew captures a story that could shut them both down forever.
Avon Romance / Amazon / Barnes and Noble

About the Author

Darlene Panzera is the winner of the “Make Your Dreams Come True” contest sponsored by Avon Books. The win led her novella, The Bet, to be published with Debbie Macomber’s Family Affair. The award-winning novella (chosen in a blind-read by Debbie Macomber) was then published as a full length novel retitled, Bet You’ll Marry Me. Born and raised in New Jersey, Darlene is now a resident of the Pacific Northwest where she lives with her husband and three children. When not writing she enjoys spending time with her family, two horses, and loves: camping, hiking, photography, and lazy days at the lake.

Author Links
WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER

Blurb: He is Lachlan MacRath, laird and pirate. And he intends to be her lover…

When Lachlan first sees Francine, the English beauty stirs his blood like no woman has ever before. As luck would have it, they must now play the besotted couple so he can protect her ….and Lachlan is determined to use all his seductive prowess to properly woo her into his bed.

Author Info: KATHLEEN HARRINGTON, winner of the Colorado Romance Writers’ Award of Excellence, has touched the hearts of readers across the country with her sparkling tales of high adventure and unending love. Her historical romances have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA, The Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Awards, the Virginia Romance Writers’ HOLT Medallion, and the Phoenix Desert Rose Golden Quill. Her fabulous heroes have garnered the KISS (Knight in Shining Silver) Award. She lives in Southern California.

Darkling’s Review: I use to read historical romances like potato chips, happily devouring one after another, and never finding my fill. Unfortunately over the years I began to read less and less historical romances and more and more history when my college years approached. I found myself missing the historical romances, where I can enjoy mixture of history and a good love story combined. I was given an arc copy of the Lachlan’s Bride in exchange for an honest review, this is the 2nd in a series by Kathleen Harrington. I’ve not read the first book in the series and I found the 2nd book is a good stand alone novel. I did not feel I was lost as a reader without having any knowledge of the prior book.

What I liked about this book is it mixed one of my favorite times in history, the Tudor England and Scotland together. It had a little bit of real history and a lot of interesting characters and plot. One of the things I appreciated most about this novel was the fact that the heroine had some wit, humor, and back bone to her. I detest romance novels where the main woman is a simpering dolt who needs a man to save her. The author was able to develop characters who felt real and not stereotypical romance archetypes. Francine was clever and strong willed. She did not just bend to men around her and was able to out wit a lot of them without them realizing it. I liked that she fought when the need arose, and was just as brave as the warriors around her.

The exchanges between Lachlan and Francine were filled with humor, tenderness and real emotions. I enjoy that the author was able to bring to life the people on the page, they stopped being mere typed words but became flesh and blood with each glance between them. I like being drawn into two people’s story and feeling that I am seeing a real romance and love story unfold, rather than just the same old rhetoric told a thousand times before, boy meets girl, blah, blah blah. To find a novel that actually shows how romance evolves over time with each conversation spoken, each glance stolen, each little exchange, and not just wham bam thank you ma’am is a breath of fresh air.

Not only does this novel have romance it also has intrigue and action too. The pace of the story was quick and kept me entertained until the last page was turned. I liked that the Machiavellian politics were touched upon in the book. The reader was kept on the edge of their seat waiting to see just what would happen and how would the main hero and heroine be able to maneuver through the protocol and different kingdoms. All in all I enjoyed reading this author’s works and would like to read more from her. I look forward to the third installment in this series and I plan to find the first book since the 2nd was a delightful read.

Abby’s life has come apart. With nothing left but the choice to blame God, or trust Him, she begins to sort through the fragmented parts of her life.

Through choosing to have faith, the shattered pieces of her heart begin to heal, and she is able to see the blessings that remain, two of them being her very young boys. What Abby learns is that God takes the ashes of our lives, and creates a deeper beauty than we ever expected. Abby heals from the rejection and betrayal in her former marriage, and chooses not to date.

She makes the decision to wait for God to bring someone into her life because it’s not just about her, its about a father for her two boys. When Levi is introduced to Abby, she fully expects him to turn and run when he realizes she has two children and is divorced…but he doesn’t.

Levi is nothing like she ever dreamed.

His strong faith and killer blue eyes shake all her doubts as he begins to try and win her heart. Abby learns about being pursued, about being sought after. the idea is so foreign after her whole ordeal with an adulterous marriage that it astounds her, and melts her last resistance towards Levi. But when her ex-husband finds out that she’s happy, and he’s not…he begins a plan hatched in vengeance to steal any joy she has gained. Will Levi continue to love her, love the boys caught in the middle, even when the evil intentions get far too personal?

Abby finds out first hand that God truly does write the most beautiful love stories…

Blurb:In a small town in Michigan, fifteen-year-old Sarah Cole is stuck spending the summer at her Aunt and Uncle’s with her sister, Lacey. She’s not happy with the situation until she befriends a girl named Jackie. The three girls stumble upon the ruthless murder of a reclusive neighborhood woman and what’s worse? One of the officers investigating the crime believes the girls are responsible for her death.

Or die trying…

Excerpt: The house sat hunkered down as if it were tensed to spring like a cat stalking a mouse. Sarah shuddered at the thought of going up on the porch and she chewed on her thumbnail.

Looking behind her, Sarah studied the church facing the Cat Lady’s home. It was a strong structure built of huge stones. She could tell it was as old as the town itself and its presence made her feel safe. Motioning for Jackie and Lacey to follow her, she moved from the sidewalk to the huge oak tree growing on the church’s lawn. The girls hid behind it, peeking out at the witch’s home.

“Are you still going to do it?” Jackie teased.

“Yep.”

“Do you think she’s inside?” Lacey asked wide-eyed.

Sarah smirked at her. “Where else would she be? I hear she never leaves her house.”

“Be nice.” Jackie smacked Sarah’s arm.

“What are you waiting for? Are you afraid of the witch?” Lacey asked as she stared at the house.

“She’s not a witch. She’s just a freak, that’s all.”

“Well, if she’s not …then what are you waiting for?” Jackie snickered.

“I just want to make sure the coast is clear.”

“Hey, you guys, look at all the cats,” Lacey whispered. She pointed at the clusters of felines lolling about on the porch and walking in the yard. “There has to be at least twenty of them.”

“Yeah, that’s why she’s called the Cat Lady.” Sarah rolled her eyes and then felt the sting from Jackie’s slap.

“Do you think she put a spell on those cats?” Lacey asked with a wide-eyed expression, twirling her hair with her finger.

“Could be,” Sarah snickered. “Or maybe she just…you know…gives them food.”

“Knock it off, Sarah,” Lacey glared at her sister.

Sarah stuck her tongue out at her. “Okay, I’m going for it. I’ll meet you back here.”

“Cool beans,” Jackie said.

“Cool beans? Is this town still in the nineties?” Sarah teased.

“Shut up.” Jackie smacked her arm again.

“This is physical abuse.” Sarah rubbed her arm, trying to appear injured.

Jackie laughed. “Be thankful I like hanging out with you.”

“All I have to do is ring her doorbell, right?” Sarah poked her head out from behind the tree. She noticed the tomato pulp still clinging to the siding and peered up and down the street for the notorious Wykowski boys.

“That’s right,” Jackie chuckled.

Sarah took a deep breath and sprinted across the street. She stopped at the porch stairs. A group of cats were sunning themselves on the steps–they meowed at her as if they were hungry. Jumping when one of them rubbed against her legs, she bent down and stroked its back, never taking her eyes off of the house.

Sarah petted the cat, while she worked up the courage to climb the stairs. She heard the loud purr of the contented feline and it eased her anxiety. All of a sudden, she felt a hand squeeze her arm. Her heart leapt in her chest and she let out a yelp.

Turning, she spied Jackie. “I almost peed my pants!”

Jackie giggled.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah muttered and gave Jackie the evil eye.

“I couldn’t stay behind the tree and miss all the action.”

Sarah glanced around her and pointed to some overgrown bushes in front of the porch. “You can hide over there.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah spied her sister running toward them and stifled a groan.

“I didn’t want to stand by myself,” Lacey whimpered, slightly out of breath. She tugged nervously on the hem of her T-shirt as she eyed the house.

Sarah groaned and her shoulders slumped as if she carried a heavy burden. She sighed and pointed at the bushes again. “You hide over there with Jackie and be quiet.”

Sarah waited until the other girls were out of sight, and then climbed the stairs. Stopping when she reached the porch, Sarah took some deep breaths before stepping onto the sagging stoop. Stepping gingerly, she hoped the porch would support her. Her stomach clenched when it groaned. She took another step and then another, the porch complaining with every footfall.

Halfway across the stoop, she heard the girls behind the bushes.

“She’s almost to the door.” Lacey said in a low voice.

Sarah bit her lip, stifling the disapproving remark dancing on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she turned and glared at the bushes, willing its occupants to shut up. She made eye contact with Jackie, who quickly ducked behind the shrubs, pulling Lacey with her.

What in the world is she doing?” Lacey asked.

“Shhh,” Jackie responded.

Sarah shook her head and continued her journey. She felt Jackie and Lacey watching her as she crept toward the door. Reaching the entryway, she was surprised to find the storm door wide open. The only barrier between the Cat Lady and the rest of the world was a flimsy screen door hanging askew on its hinges.

Alarm bells rang in Sarah’s head–this has got to be out of character for someone who never leaves their home. She turned back and whispered to the other girls. “Hey!”
Jackie poked her head out. “What?”

“The storm door’s open.”
“So?”

“So…what do I do?”

“Duh…Ring the door bell.”

Sarah shrugged and pushed the doorbell. It let out an irritating buzz and she had the feeling it had been broken long ago and never fixed. She dashed down the stairs. The cats scattered, alarmed by the sudden activity. Reaching the shrubs, Sarah hid with her sister and Jackie.

Gasping for breath, Sarah waited for a reaction from the old woman. Her heart pummeled her ribs and she pressed her hand to her chest to calm it.

After a few minutes, Sarah started to pace. “Well…nothing’s happened.” She peeked out from behind the shrub and saw the screen door hanging ajar. “I bet she’s not even home. I’m going to try again.”

Jackie shrugged. “Be careful, remember she’s a witch.”

Sarah shook her head, and then peered out from behind the shrubs. Once again, she climbed the stairs. She was braver this time and it didn’t take her as long to make it to the door.
She looked inside, her heart lurching in her chest. She tiptoed to the picture window and peered through it. Gasping, she ran back to the entryway. Pulling it open, she lunged inside.
Sarah stared, unable to tear herself away. Shock ran through her body like an electrical current as she eyed the scene before her. The crumpled form of the Cat Lady lay on the living room floor, just inside the door. No life flickered in the old woman’s staring eyes. Her mouth gaped open in a silent scream and her hands were up around her head as if she were warding off blows. Turning away, Sarah gagged as the coppery scent of blood assaulted her. There was blood splattered everywhere, on the wall, on the carpet and under the Cat Lady’s body.

Suddenly, Sarah’s throat constricted and she gasped for breath. Fearing she would faint, she stumbled back out the door and collided with Jackie and Lacey on the porch.

Jackie grabbed Sarah’s arm and shook her. “What are you doing? Are you crazy? I never said to go inside!”

Sarah didn’t speak–she just stared blankly at the porch.

Jackie shook her again. “Are you under the Cat Lady’s spell?”

Lacey whimpered. “Hey, Sarah….can you hear me? Sarah?”

“She’s under the Cat Lady’s spell,” Jackie said waving her hand in front of Sarah’s eyes.

“Oh my–,” Sarah moaned and clutched Jackie’s arm.

“What is it?” Jackie shook her again. “Speak…say something!”

“Th-th-the C-C-Cat Lady, sh-sh-she’s,” Sarah stuttered.

“She’s what?” Jackie demanded.

“Sh-she’s dead.”

Blurb: Bryce Cameron is finally going home. Years spent away have him longing for the craggy landscapes from his childhood.

Lucy Lombard is on a mission. The mantel she carries was never meant for her possession yet it has been passed to her anyway. Alone and in danger, Lucy stumbles onto her greatest find.

Rescuing Bryce is either a blessing or a curse but regardless time is running out. With Bryce’s help can Lucy fulfill her mission or will she be too late?

Water swirled around in a torrent, sucking him under the vast currents. His arms flailed helplessly, attempting to grasp a rock, a limb, or anything available, only to have it ripped away. The noise of the rushing water confused him and severed his mental hold on his location. Tossed about by the raging water, he managed to surface long enough to catch a breath and notice a large boulder looming ahead. But it was too late to react. His ribs slapped the rock’s flat face and the wind was knocked from his weakened form.

So this was the end, to die by drowning so close to his destination. How had everything gone awry?

Several days earlier…

Bryce Cameron couldn’t be happier. Behind him, nestled amongst jagged rocks and trees, rested the Sinclair keep and his past. Before him awaited beautiful grasslands, with free-­‐‑roaming sheep and his future.

Leaving Grant behind had been a kind of necessary torture. His cousin needed to sever ties, whereas Bryce needed freedom to travel. The call to home beckoned. Who knew what would happen if he waited any longer?

For the arduous journey ahead, Duncan, the Sinclair laird, had given him a horse and a sword. Arbella, the laird’s wife, had supplied him with food and blankets. With gladness, he’d accepted the gifts. Without a worry, Bryce set out for home. His woman awaited.

Crissy, a red-­‐‑haired lass, short and round, full in bosom and hip, had a twinkle in her eye which constantly hinted at mirth.

Temper was her middle name as she took pleasure in exhibiting it most of the time. But instead of deterring Bryce, it only endeared her to him. With his mild-­‐‑mannered, laid-­‐‑back ways, having a forceful woman seemed necessary. Besides, when her temper flared, her adorable dimples showed, and he couldn’t get enough of them.

Thoughts of Crissy sent his feet knocking the sides of his horse, urging the beast into increased speed. The animal cantered by a field dotted with white sheep lazily plucking at the ground, chewing in a slow rhythmic motion. As he sucked in the fresh air, he also smelled the odor of wet wool and the bleating of ewes. With it came the desire to arrive home more quickly.

Daydreams of a field full of sheep and a house full of children floated through his mind. Crissy would be in the middle of both. Strong, secure, and fierce, his soon-­‐‑to-­‐‑be wife would be a force to be reckoned with.

A smile tugged at his lips, a laugh escaped. The trail suddenly grew quiet and daunting in the afternoon sun. Since his journey had begun, there had been no traffic. An unnerving silence pervaded the area. The sooner he arrived on Cameron lands, the better he would feel.

The miles sped by. Nothing was prettier than the Scottish countryside. Forests, fields of flowers, and inhabited and uninhabited keeps dotted the landscape. Bryce avoided stopping in civilized areas, which would lead him off course. Without any delays, the road would have him home in a week’s time.

At night, Bryce slept under the stars. The weather stayed clear and warm, cooperating with his journey. He gave thanks to the Almighty for his uneventful passage.

After several days of travel, the end neared. The smell of sheep excrement increased. Within a day, he would arrive home and into the waiting arms of his betrothed. All the ways he might be greeted by his love entered his mind. Perhaps she would run out of her home and throw her arms around his neck, even going so far as to flatten a chaste kiss upon his cheek. Or maybe Crissy would set up a fuss about the length of his absence, in which case he would smile and agree, enjoying the sight of her anger thus presented.

A faint wind blew. The odor of his unwashed body sent his nose crinkling upward. Perhaps a bath was in order before meeting his beloved.

Bryce knew a river ran near Cameron lands. It would take no time to stop and bathe before going to meet his love. In fact, Crissy might be more affectionate if he removed the stink. The thought of increased affection hurried him along.

A path through the foliage opened to the river. Dismounting, Bryce tied his horse to a thick branch. Tunic removed and laid over his arm and his trews still in place, he waded in. One step into the chill waters almost led to retreat. Only the desire to please Crissy kept him moving.

The water was now waist high. His teeth clacked together as he shivered with cold. Grasped by the moving water, his tunic fell from his shoulder and floated away. Exasperated, Bryce reached to grab the floating fabric. Each time his fingertips brushed the water-­‐‑ logged cloth, the moving waters jerked it away before he could retrieve it.
Without thought, Bryce followed it further and further in. As he approached the middle of the river, his foot slipped. His feet flew out from under him and the water swept him underneath its surface, surprising Bryce with its fierceness.

Life flashed before his eyes. The brevity of time depressed him even as the water sucked him under once again. Thoughts rankled. A life ending without Crissy by his side, without having had his children, or raising his sheep, thoughts of dying over a stupid tunic.

White water rushed around and over him. When his head rose above the caps, he quickly sucked in a breath. Less and less Bryce came up for air as the water tumbled him head over heel, over and over. Death was close at hand. Now there was one more regret to add to his long list. No one would know what had happened to him.

His chest burned as his wet wool clothing dragged his body down one last time.

When death is a new beginning and love an old curse. 

Still recovering from her last tango with the afterlife, Louisiana-born Madison LeBon struggles not only with her life as an Oxford postgrad but also with her budding love for Rupert Vance, aristocrat extraordinaire. One thing is certain, though: she won’t run away from her powers anymore. From now on she’ll face the music …… literally!

When a sixteenth-century ghost makes an appearance during a classical concert Madison attends and threatens her boyfriend’s family, she sets out to explore the dark mysteries of the Tudors, even if that means confronting their most royal and homicidal character. Her plans take an unexpected turn when her voodoo heritage catches up with her. With horror, she understands what her fate was always meant to be.

The question now is: Can Rupert be part of it?

My Review: 

I had a chance to review Oxford Whispers (The Oxford Trilogy, #1) back in February, so I jumped on the chance to review book two of the series. I just had to know what was next for Madison and Rupert!

Oxford Whispers once again showcases Madison’s unique ability to see and communicate with the dead, only this time, it isn’t a painting that brings her into the past – its a ghost that appears to her while attending the Opera with Rupert and his family.

While Madison is busy trying to figure out who he is and what he wants, a female ghost also makes her presence known, haunting Madison’s dreams until she is able to uncover the truth. Suddenly, Madison finds herself not only having to reveal the truth about herself to Rupert’s step-mother Camilla, but she has to also convince her that she and her unborn baby are in danger!

I loved Oxford Whispers! There was a nice blend of older characters (such as Madison, Rupert & the rest of the Vance family), as well as the introduction of new characters (I think hands down Sam was my personal favorite, the twist of his story-line was unforeseen and interesting).

There is a new, and different twist on Oxford Whispers (which I won’t spoil for you), but I have to say that I was really hoping Madison would be able to get out and away from what was going on before it was too late, and I love the way the author blends the new story-line with the per-existing story-line of Madison’s powers, and the new ghost she is trying to protect people from. It kept the book fresh and different from the first book, which added to it in that it did not feel like a repeat of the first book, but rather its own novel.

The ending of the story almost brought tears to my eyes. Even though I know Madison was trying to be noble and do what she felt was the best (and right) thing to do, I still wanted to scream that she was making a terrible mistake.

There is still one more book in this trilogy, and I sincerely hope that I will be invited to read and review that one for you all as well!

********************

About the Author:

In addition to being an author, I work as an entrepreneur, wife and mother-of-one but spend a good deal of time with books, DVDs and listening to my mp3 player; all for the sake of inspiration, of course. My debut series, The Oxford Trilogy, has been a blast to write because I can indulge in my favorite types of music: Country and English rock. My main goal as a writer is to make readers dream bigger and cause their hearts to beat a little faster. Since my writing is all about sharing dreams and stories, I love connecting with fellow readers and authors.

Want to learn more? You can find out via: The Author’s Website, Facebook, Twitter or GoodReads

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Coburn, New Jersey – 9:30 a.m.
Kate French shifted the phone from her left shoulder to her right and plunged her hand deeper into her lingerie drawer.
“Mom!” Her daughter Gwynn was no longer a teenager, but you would never know it from her tone of voice. “Are you listening to me?”
“I heard every syllable.” Kate pulled out an orphaned hand-knit sock and a silky pink camisole carbon-dated from the Disco Era and tossed them on the bed behind her.
“So what should I do?”
Unfortunately Kate had shifted into maternal auto-pilot five minutes into the conversation and had lost track. Was Gwynn still debating her roommate Laura’s excessive devotion to the New York Giants or had she segued into an old favorite of all the French women: a dissection of Kate’s non-existent love life.
She bent down and peered deeper into the perfumed recesses. One pair of plain cotton panties. Was that too much to ask for? “Run it by me again, honey.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Gwynn said. “You’re answering emails while I’m pouring out my heart to you. I really wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Gwynnie, I’m not on the computer.”
“I can hear the keys clicking.”
“What you hear is the sound of your mother searching her lingerie drawer for a pair of —”
“Hold on! I have another call.”
The distance between the thirteen-year-old girl her daughter used to be and the twenty-three year old woman she was hadn’t turned out to be quite as wide as Kate had hoped. She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand. Come on, Gwynnie. I have things to do.
“That was Andrew.” Gwynn the daughter had been replaced by Gwynn the girlfriend. She sounded almost giddy with delight. The sound hit Kate’s ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. “He called from the boat! Isn’t that the—”
“I’m going to hang up now,” Kate said. “I have an appointment down in Princeton and I’m running late. We can pick this up another time, can’t we, honey?”
“But, Mom, I still haven’t—”
“I know, I know, but this can’t be helped. I want to hear everything you have to say, honey, but not right this minute.”
“You’re going to Princeton?”
“Yes, but not if I don’t get out of here in the next ten minutes.”
“If I leave now I could meet you for lunch at the Mexican place and I can tell you my news in person.”
“I thought you were working lunch shift at O’Malley’s during the week.”
“Mondays are slow. They won’t miss me.”
“You can’t just not show up, Gwynn. That’s how you lost your last job.” And when you do show up, you’re always late. That’s not how you get ahead.
“You always do that to me.”
“Do what?” She glanced at her watch. Was she the only one in the family who believed in punctuality?
“Keep score. Why can’t you just accept that my career path isn’t like yours and let me live my life my own way?”
“Gwynnie, do we need to have this conversation right now?” She was still on London time and not up for a discussion of individual rights and freedoms with an independent young woman who still expected mommy to foot the bill for her car insurance.
“You sound pissed.”
“What I sound is jetlagged.” She waited for the appropriate response from her only child but none was forthcoming. “Did you forget I’ve been in England for almost ten days? I got home very late last night and I’m still on London time.” Does any of this ring a bell, Gwynn? She liked to believe most daughters would notice when their mothers were out of the country.
“You’ve been gone forever. That’s why I have so much to talk to you about.”
“Honey, this can’t be helped. I really have to go.”
“Are you okay?” Gwynn asked. “You’re not acting like yourself.”
“We’ll talk later, honey,” she said and then disconnected.
Normally Kate would have felt guilty for cutting her daughter short but today she only felt relieved. She loved Gwynn more than life itself but her daughter’s melodramatic outbursts had a way of sucking the oxygen right out of her lungs.
“Okay,” she said as she tossed the cell onto the bed. “Let’s get down to business.”
There had to be something wearable in the house. A ten-day trip to the U.K. shouldn’t deplete a woman’s reserves. She pulled out the second drawer of her lingerie chest and dumped the contents in a pile. T-shirts from various island paradises. A garter belt with tiny roses embroidered across the handmade lace, remains of a long ago Valentine’s Day celebration. More bras than any one 34B woman needed in three lifetimes. A puka shell necklace. The black lace mantilla she had found in a shop in Seville during her last married vacation. Ticket stubs, a McCarter playbill, a deflated balloon dachshund, and what was easily the worst birthday present her mother had ever given her: the infamous red lace thong.
Maeve had come of age at the start of the turbulent 60s and she believed in shaking up the status quo whenever she had the chance. How better to ignite some passion in her forty-year-old daughter’s life than to present her with outrageously sexy underwear in front of friends, colleagues, relatives, and a half-dozen prospective boyfriends. Unfortunately the passion Maeve ignited in her daughter had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with embarrassment. Kate had tried to be a good sport about it but it had taken every ounce of self-control at her command to keep from throttling her own mother.
She held up the thong. It wouldn’t cover a Barbie doll, much less a full-size woman. What on earth had Maeve been thinking?
She considered making a quick run to Target for a three-pack of Jockey for Women but the clock was ticking and Professor Armitage wasn’t known for his patience. And there was the fact that she was way beyond exhausted. Jet lag rarely bothered her, but today she was having trouble keeping her eyes open long enough to finish getting dressed.
She cringed her way into the scrap of lace and elastic then peered at herself in the mirror opposite the bed. That was better than a jolt of caffeine. The thong should have come with a warning sticker. This much reality so early in the morning was hard to take.
She looked closer. That couldn’t possibly be right. The human body wasn’t supposed to have quite so many indentations. Maybe they should add an instruction label too for the lingerie-impaired. She slipped off the thong, spun it around, then tried again.
A forty-one year old woman with a red lace wedgie was a sight to behold.
Thank God it was a sight nobody else on the planet would likely ever see.

#

Rocky Hill, New Jersey – 9:45 a.m.

“Congratulations,” the realtor said as Mark Kerry handed her four signed copies of the contract. “It’s now official: your house is sold.”
It was also officially the point of no return. “Now what?” he asked, wishing he felt more enthusiastic about the sale.
Bev the realtor scanned the signature pages then slipped them into a large folder. “We have a tentative closing six weeks from today. I’ll arrange for the appraisal, the home inspection, radon testing, smoke alarms, yadda yadda yadda. All you have to do is pack for your move,” she said with a cheery smile.
“And dig up the township permits for the new roof.”
“See?” Bev rolled her eyes. “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached. We’ll need the roof permits, the signed lead paint disclosure, and your attorney’s name. You can fax copies to me and I’ll pick up the originals.”
“So far it’s been almost painless.”
“Five days from listing to contract,” Bev said, clearly pleased, “and we managed to get top dollar. It doesn’t get much better than that.”
She gave him a contact sheet with pertinent phone numbers and a metaphorical pat on the back.
“You look shell-shocked,” she said as he walked her down the gravel driveway to her car. “I promise you the hard part is over.”
Easy for her to say. When Memorial Day weekend rolled around he would be on his way back up to New Hampshire to find out if you really could go home again.
Where was home anyway? This small stone cottage in New Jersey didn’t have much going for it but somehow over the last two years it had become home. Or as close to it as he was likely to get.
Two postage-stamp bedrooms. Small kitchen. No dining room. No family room. A basement with its own share of troubles. When he walked through the front door he knew he was where he was meant to be.
But nothing lasted forever.
The other contract he needed to sign was propped up against the toaster, along with a note from his old friend Maggy Boyle who was shepherding him through the process.
The funny thing was, he thought he would have more time. Bev the realtor had warned him to be patient. The New Jersey real estate market wasn’t as hot as it used to be and the whole thing might take a while.
It didn’t.
Kris and Al Wygren showed up on Sunday for the first Open House and fell head over heels in love with the place. They loved the wonky windows, the big stone fireplace, the squeaky floor boards, every single thing. He had pointed out all the flaws and they only loved it more.
The Wygrens were all of twenty-five or twenty-six. Newly married. Newly pregnant. Ready to build a nest of their own.
He and Suzanne had been just like them. Young and in love with their entire future spread out before them like a field of wildflowers. Not that he would have ever thought of the wildflowers simile. That was pure Suzanne. She had seen life through a prism of joy that even in memory still amazed him.
Her mother used to say that God had been feeling generous the day he made Suzanne. He had granted her beauty and wit, intelligence and a kind heart, a sense of humor that could still make Mark smile across the years.
But the one thing God hadn’t seen fit to grant her was the one thing that would have made all the difference: a long life.
When she looked at him, she saw a hero. The kind of man his father had been, the kind of man he wanted to be. But time hadn’t been on their side. She had been taken from him while he was still very much a work in progress.
At least Suzanne never saw him stumble and fall. She never saw him flat on his face on their front porch, stinking of cheap whiskey and pain. She hadn’t been there to see him try to outrun the memories of their past. The lost days, those dark nights, belonged to him alone and for that he was glad.
She never found out her hero was only a man.

#

Central New Jersey – around 10:30 a.m.

Kate was stopped in traffic near the Bedminster exit on Route 287 when a wave of something uncomfortably close to nausea swept over her. Jet lag on an empty stomach was bad enough but for sheer misery she would put her money on the thong.
Traffic eased up as she neared Bridgewater Commons Mall but the cell phone calls kept coming. Her assistant Sonia called twice. Clive phoned from England to tell her she had left a pair of sunglasses behind. Armitage’s secretary wanted to make sure she was on schedule. Jackie the furniture refinisher with another one of her minor emergencies designed to boost her going rate another ten percent.
They all called for different reasons but every call ended the same way. You sound exhausted . . . you need a vacation, not a buying trip . . . I’m worried about you . . .
Bless call waiting, the greatest exit strategy ever invented. What was wrong with everyone? Sure, she had noticed the dark circles under her eyes but that was genetic. Maeve had them and Maeve’s mother before her. And unless she missed her guess, Gwynn had something to look forward to. She wasn’t twenty any longer. Not even Estee Lauder could turn back the clock.
She shifted around in the driver’s seat, tugging at the elastic band pinching her hipbone. Her mother had promised her that the thong would release her inner goddess and turn her into a siren capable of luring men away from ESPN and repeats of Baywatch, but so far her inner goddess was missing in action.
Her cell burst into the William Tell Overture as she neared the Route 1 exit. Her mother’s theme song.
“What did you say to Gwynn? She called me, sobbing.”
“Hello to you too, Mom. I thought you were in New Mexico.”
“I am and our girl woke me up with her tale of woe. What is going on back there?” Maeve was on the other side of the country, touring for her latest self-help tome, but family drama transcended geography.
“It was Gwynn being Gwynn,” Kate said. “She wanted to talk, I needed to finish dressing and get on the road.”
“You hurt her feelings. She had some news she wanted to share with you.”
“I cut her short once in twenty-three years and it’s a major incident?” She took a series of deep breaths and tried to calm herself. “I haven’t slept in almost thirty-six hours, Maeve, and my body thinks it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“You don’t sound like yourself,” Maeve observed. “What’s going on, sweetie? We’re worried about you.”
“Is Mercury retrograde again or something? There’s nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep won’t take care of. Why is everyone suddenly asking if I’m okay?” Jet lag was hardly a new concept.
“Maybe because it’s clear you’re not yourself. You’ve seemed a little depressed, forgetful–”
“Ma!” Kate practically shouted into the tiny cell phone. “I think your imagination is running away with you.”
“You might be entering perimenopause,” Maeve volunteered.
The morning was actually deteriorating. She wouldn’t have believed it possible but she had learned long ago to never underestimate her mother.
“So how did things go in London with Liam? Any sparks?” Maeve was nothing if not resilient.
“We had tea together my first day. That was it.”
“Sharon said he would be perfect for you. She’ll be so disappointed.”
“Next time why doesn’t Sharon fix you up with the Liams and Nigels of this world. I keep telling you I’m not looking for a man and I mean it.”
“You might not be looking but you wouldn’t turn down a good one if he popped up.”
“I’m not sure there are any good ones,” she said, “at least none that I’d be interested in.”
“That’s not normal, honey. You sound like you’ve given up.”
“Mom, this is old news. I’m perfectly happy being on my own, even if that seems to bug the living daylights out of everyone else in the world except me. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
“Sara Whittaker’s son is back in town. He’s been working in Tokyo the last few years, a graphic artist. I think you two might hit it off.”
“Mom, I have another call. We’ll have to pick this up later.”
“You don’t have to use the call-waiting excuse with me, sweetie. I know when you’ve had enough.”
Kate had to laugh. “It’s a real call this time,” she said as her irritability lifted. “I’ll call you tonight. I promise.”
Paul Grantham, old friend and confidante, was next in queue.
“Took you long enough, French.”
“Thank God it’s you,” she said, adjusting the headset. “This thing hasn’t stopped ringing since I got off the plane.”
“So how was the big buying trip? Is there anything left on the other side of the pond?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “I may have struck gold.” She told him about the stack of Revolutionary War era letters she’d found in a tiny shop near Lincolnshire written to a colonel’s wife in New Jersey.
“When will you know if you found the mother lode?”
A truck, horn blaring, appeared out of nowhere in her blind spot. “Oh, damn! Sorry!” She veered back into her lane, heart pounding wildly. “What were you saying?”
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You sound a little out of breath.”
“I’m not out of breath. It must be the connection.” That and her surging adrenaline.
She held on while Paul answered an assistant’s question.
“Sorry,” he said. “Crazy morning. We’re still on for the Hospital Gala this week, aren’t we?”
“I take it Lisa’s no longer on the scene.”
“Lisa is looking for somebody who’s willing to go the distance,” he said, “and we both know I’m saving myself for you.”
It was an old joke between them, but lately she had the feeling there was more behind her old friend’s words than either one of them cared to acknowledge.
Paul was a partner in a prestigious Manhattan law firm, another one of the Coburn High School Class of 1982 who made good. He had been in her life for as long as she could remember, part of their crowd from kindergarten through high school. He had hung out with them at Rutgers where Kate had struggled unsuccessfully to combine marriage, motherhood, and college, and he had stayed a good friend even after their respective marriages fell to the divorce statistics. They had tried dating once early on but the absurdity of dressing up and staring at each other over candlelight and a bottle of Taittinger had pushed them both into helpless laughter which was pretty much where they had stayed.
Or so she had thought until recently.
“Oh my God,” she said through clenched teeth. “I almost rear-ended a cop.”
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Maybe you should take the day off and catch up on your sleep.”
“That’s something you say to your aging aunt,” she snapped. “I’m not ready for the nursing home yet, Paul.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “How about if we’re not both hooked up by the time we hit retirement, we pool our social security checks and move in together.”
“Sweet talker.” She rolled to a stop. “No wonder Lisa’s not going to the Gala with you this weekend.”
“She’s twenty-eight. I don’t have time to wait for her check.”
She tried to think of something suitably witty to say in response but her mind was filled with nothing but air.
“Kate?” Paul’s voice poked through the fog. “Are you still there?”
“Sorry,” she said yet again. “I don’t know what my problem is today.”
“Did you eat anything? You’re probably hungry.”
“I grabbed a brownie and a Frappuccino at the airport while I was waiting for my bags to get through Customs.”
“And now you’re crashing. Pull into a McDonald’s and get an Egg McMuffin.”
He sounded uncharacteristically solicitous which made her wonder how bad she sounded.
“I don’t have time. Armitage expects me there in twenty.”
“Screw Armitage. Get something to eat. You’re running on fumes.”
Another wave of nausea gripped her. Maybe he was right. “I’m coming up on Princeton Promenade,” she said, easing over into the right hand lane. “They have a great food court.” She could grab some protein and a bottle of water and be on her way again with time to spare.
“Good thinking.”
“Oh, wait! I don’t have to stop. I have some nuts in the glove box.” She leaned across the passenger seat and popped open the glove box in search of smoked almonds, survivors of her last trip down the shore for the semi-annual Atlantique City extravaganza. The Atlantique City trade show was a must for New Jersey antique shop owners, and Kate was no exception. French Kiss maintained a prominent spot twice a year. She sifted through her insurance card, registration, owner’s manual and pushed aside a mall flashlight and an open packet of tissues. Where were the almonds?
She veered toward the fender of a white Escalade and quickly steered back into her own lane to a chorus of angry horns.
“What the hell is going on?” Paul asked. “It sounds like you’re at the roller derby.”
She caught sight of herself in the rear view mirror and the odd feeling in the pit of her stomach intensified. A single bead of sweat was making its way down her forehead toward her right eye. It was barely seventy degrees outside. Nobody broke into a sweat in seventy degree weather, least of all her.
“You’re right,” she said. Everybody was right. “I’m a menace. I should get off the road.”
“Want me to drive down there and get you?”
She turned on her blinker and made the right into the parking lot of Princeton Promenade. “Don’t be silly. You’re in Manhattan. I’ll be fine after I get something to eat.”
“I’ll send a car for you. We use services all over the tristate area.”
She zeroed in on a spot two lanes over and headed for it. “I’ll stop. I’ll eat. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m gonna hold you to it.”
She whipped around the head of the third lane from the entrance and zipped into the spot as a dented blue Honda angled itself behind her. “Uh oh,” she said.
“What’s going on?”
“Some guy in an old blue car is glaring at me. He seems to think I stole his spot.”
“Did you?”
“He didn’t have a turn signal on.” She hesitated, replaying the scene in her head. “I might have.”
“Where is he?”
“Stopped right behind me.”
“Blocking you in?”
She slunk down low in her seat. “I never do things like this. I’m the most polite driver on the planet.”
“Is he still there?”
“Yes.”
“Want me to call mall security? I can use another line.”
She hesitated. “Maybe you—oh, thank God! He’s driving away.” She watched through the rear view mirror. Good-looking men in her own age demographic had no business wearing Grateful Dead t-shirts.
Paul wanted to talk her into the mall and out again but her cell battery was running down. The only way he would let her go was if she promised to phone him after she saw Professor Armitage.
Normally she would have told him to back off, but so far nothing about the morning had been even remotely normal. It wasn’t like him to be so solicitous. The last time he had sounded that worried was when one of his daughters said she wanted to become a model.
A vague sense of dread wrapped itself around her chest and it wouldn’t let go.
“Okay,” she said out loud. “Don’t go getting crazy.”
The problem was so obvious that it was almost laughable: she needed food and water and she needed them right now. The food court was located near the multiplex at the south end of the Promenade. A huge round clock mounted to the left of the Sushi Palace sign offered up a reality check she didn’t need. Armitage expected her at his front door in exactly thirteen and one half minutes. Even if she ditched the search for protein she would never make it on time.
Why hadn’t she just cancelled out earlier this morning when she was trapped at the airport waiting for her boxes and bags? Why had she been so hell bent on squeezing as much from the day as was inhumanly possible?
She swallowed hard against a sudden, acrid burst of nausea at the back of her throat. The air was soft and sweet with spring promise and she swept huge gulps of it into her lungs in an attempt to clear away the discomfort but that didn’t help either.
She flipped open her phone and said, “Call Armitage,” then waited while it attempted the connection.
“Call Armitage,” she said again.
No luck this time either.
She would have to find a pay phone in the Food Court and –
And what?
Professor Armitage. That was it. Concentrate! The thought of facing the professor’s wrath wasn’t half as unnerving as this weird, disconnected feeling that seemed to be growing more intense. Unless Armitage wanted to assess the documents in the emergency room of the nearest hospital he would simply have to understand.
Understand what? She went blank for a second as scattered images flooded her brain. Professor Armitage’s wooly grey beard. His fierce little eyes. The cold slick feel of the metal box in her hands. The way that stupid thong pinched exactly where no sane person wanted to be pinched. The whooshing sound inside her head . . .
Don’t faint! she warned herself. She would die of embarrassment if the EMTs saw what she was wearing under her peach cotton twin set and pearls.
A shiver ran up her spine and she pushed the thought as far from her mind as she could. Clearly her imagination was as jet-lagged and out of whack as the rest of her, hopping without warning from one bizarre thought to the next.
She didn’t know the first thing about being sick. Her last hospital stay was twenty-three years ago when she gave birth to Gwynn. She was the one who visited patients and brought them flowers and candy and trashy magazines to while away the hours. She was always the one who got to go home when visiting hours were over.
The thong pinched when she took a step, then pinched harder when she stopped. What she wanted to do was duck between the parked cars and make a swift adjustment but wouldn’t you know it: the man she’d beat out for the parking spot was a few aisles over and looking right at her.
Bad enough she was wearing underwear ten years too young and two sizes two small for her. Imagine being caught fiddling with it in public by an angry man in a Grateful Dead t-shirt. They locked eyes for a second and she looked away. His look was disconcertingly direct but it wasn’t angry and that unnerved her. She had expected anger or irritation but she saw neither. His look wasn’t flirtatious but there was something there, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She couldn’t remember the last time a man’s gaze had unsettled her this way. The stupid thong was even affecting her judgment.
She shot him another quick glance. Tall, lean. Thick dark hair that caught the sunlight and held it. A deeply intelligent face alive with open curiosity aimed in her direction and a smile that–
Okay. Enough of that. The smile was for whoever was on the other end of his cell phone connection. Besides, the guy was wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt. What more was there to say?
A woman with three small children in tow raced past her in a cloud of baby powder and soap. Her stomach lurched at the sweet smell and for a second she thought she was about to faint. She tried to steady herself with another deep breath of spring-fresh air but suddenly her chest felt tight, like some unseen force was wrapping a band around her ribcage and pulling tighter and tighter and she knew she was going down.
Or was she down already? She wasn’t sure. The world had gone all soft-focus on her except for the sickening smells of pickled ginger, old Juicy Fruit, and motor oil.
I’m asleep, she thought. What other explanation could there be? This had nothing to do with real life. Open your eyes, Kate. You really don’t want to be having this dream.
The room smelled like a Dumpster. The mattress was hard as a rock and the covers were all tangled up around her legs and she felt like she was being –
She opened her eyes and screamed. Actually she tried to scream but she couldn’t draw down enough oxygen to manage more than a loud whisper.
The guy in the Grateful Dead t-shirt, the same guy she had beat out for the parking spot, was bent over her, tugging at the hem of her skirt.
“Glad you’re back with us,” he said, like they were chatting over cocktails at TGI Friday’s. “I was starting to worry.”
He tugged again and she tried to strike out at him but her arms seemed weighted with lead.
“Whoa!” He pretended to duck. “Take it easy. I’m on your side.”
She thought of a half dozen remarks she could make but none of them found their way to her lips. What was wrong with her? Usually she could deal out a smart remark at the speed of light. “Get your hands off me,” she managed. That’s the best you can do? Pathetic.
“You don’t want all of Princeton to see that red lace, do you?”
Oh God . . . the thong . . . just leave me here so I can die of embarrassment . . .
“So what happened? Did you trip? One second you were walking toward the Promenade and the next–” He made a falling gesture with his hand.
Couldn’t he see she wanted to roll under a car and disappear? Why was he trying to make conversation?
It wasn’t a hard question but she couldn’t seem to figure out the answer.
“Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”
“Never.” She cleared her throat. “Absolutely never.”
“I’m going to take your pulse again.”
Again?
“It was over a hundred when I checked your carotid artery. That’s not great.”
Not every Dead Head could use “carotid artery” in a sentence with such ease. Was it possible he actually knew what he was doing?
“No thanks.” But she wouldn’t mind an extra-strength Advil. Her shoulder. Her back. Her hand. Even her teeth hurt from the fall. Her left jaw was actually throbbing.
“I’m a licensed EMT.” He pulled some cards from his pocket and she pretended to examine them but the truth was she couldn’t focus on the text. “Fifteen years’ experience. New Hampshire and New Jersey.”
“This really isn’t necessary,” she said. Or at least that was what she tried to say. She was having trouble following the conversation and even more trouble synching her thoughts with her words.
“Do me a favor and lie down. You look like you’re going to pass out again.”
She wanted to protest but suddenly the thought of lying flat on her back in the middle of the Princeton Promenade parking lot sounded like the best idea she’d ever had. He opened a newspaper wide and spread it down on the ground beneath her head but the combined smells of pickled ginger, motor oil, and chewed-out bubble gum seeped through and made her retch.
He placed two fingers on the pulse point in her inner wrist and monitored the second hand on his watch. “One twenty. Any nausea?”
She nodded. You felt queasy in the car too. Maybe you should tell him that too.
“Any underlying medical conditions that might have some bearing on this?”
She was perfectly healthy. Why couldn’t he see that for himself?
“Are you on any medication?”
“Vitamins.”
“Are you in pain?” The man was relentless.
“Not–not exactly pain.”
“Discomfort?”
Oh God. Even through the fog swirling around her, she could see where this was going. “Yes.” Admit it, French: you’re in big trouble.
“Where?”
“My back.”
“Sharp pain?”
“Not sharp . . . pressure.” Three words and she was totally wiped out. What was happening to her?
“Okay. I’m not trying to worry you but we need to call 911.” He pulled a cell phone from his back pocket and punched in some numbers.
The band around her chest tightened and she broke into a sweat.
“. . . yes, I’ll stay here with her . . . thanks.” He jammed the phone back into his pocket. “You’re probably right. I’ll bet it’s nothing too but I know you’ll feel a lot better if you heard that from a doctor and not some guy in a Dead shirt.”
She wanted to laugh at his joke but all she could manage was a quick smile. She was sweating. How could that be? She wanted to say, “This isn’t really me,” but that required more energy than she could muster up. He wiped her forehead with the back of his hand and she almost wept from the gentleness of the action. “Heart attack?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said. “There’s a good chance that’s what it is.”
“Lie to me,” she managed. “I don’t mind.” She tried to force another laugh but the iron band around her rib cage wouldn’t let her.
He didn’t pull his punches but the deep compassion in his eyes made her feel safe.
“It could be indigestion, a panic attack, a sprained muscle. But if it is your heart, we need to get help sooner rather than later.”
“Are you sure you’re not a –”
She was going to say “doctor” but the pain exploded and it blew everything else away. Deep crushing pain from the center of her body that stripped her of her identity, her memories, her future, stripped her of everything but bone-deep terror.
“Oh God . . . oh God . . . ” Was she saying it or just thinking it? She didn’t know. She felt like she was floating above the parking lot like a helium balloon on a very fragile string.
He leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath against her cheek. “What is it? Do you want to say a prayer? Is that what you’re saying?”
No . . . no . . . make it stop . . .
“Stay with me.” His voice flew at her on the loud rush of wind inside her head. “I’m not going to let you go.”
Don’t let go . . . don’t let me go . . . I’m scared . . . this is really happening . . . oh God . . . Gwynnie . . . I’ve got to see Gwynnie . . . I have to tell her I love her . . . I don’t even know your name and you’re the one who’ll have to tell my daughter . . .
“The ambulance is on its way . . . you’re going to be fine . . . just hold on a little longer . . . I’ll stay with you . . . ”
I can’t hold on . . . I want to but I can’t . . . don’t let me go . . . don’t let me go . . .
“Talk to me . . . come on . . . look at me . . .open your eyes and look at me . . . grab my hand and hang on . . . I’m not going to let you go . . . ”
Somewhere in some other universe he took her hand and held tight but it was too late. His words were the last ones she heard.

About the Author:
Barbara Bretton is the USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of more than 40 books. She currently has over ten million copies in print around the world. Her works have been translated into twelve languages in over twenty countries.

Barbara has been featured in articles in The New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, Romantic Times, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Herald News, Home News, Somerset Gazette,among others, and has been interviewed by Independent Network News Television, appeared on the Susan Stamberg Show on NPR, and been featured in an interview with Charles Osgood of WCBS, among others.

Her awards include both Reviewer’s Choice and Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times; Gold and Silver certificates from Affaire de Coeur; the RWA Region 1 Golden Leaf; and several sales awards from Bookrak. Ms. Bretton was included in a recent edition of Contemporary Authors.

Barbara loves to spend as much time as possible in Maine with her husband, walking the rocky beaches and dreaming up plots for upcoming books.

www.Barbarabretton.com

http://barbarabretton.blogspot.com/

www.Facebook.com/barbarabretton

www.Twitter.com/barbarabretton

www.Goodreads.com/Barbara_Bretton

Book Description:

Contemporary witch Cara Augustine goes international and inter-dimensional, from San Francisco to France to an alternate Eden-like dimension, in this second book of the Synemancer series.

Cara is a fugitive, pursued by the Portalkind police for breaking a major covenant. When she accidently made a werewolf her witch’s familiar, it amounted to enslaving a human. And the punishment is death. On the run for her life, she and her companions stumble into a strange paradise dimension. But they quickly find the dangerous world is filled with strange creatures, deadly and beautiful. And, because she’s quickly learning a Synemancer’s life is never simple. Cara has to deal with an amorous Nephilim (half-angel half-witch), a dangerously deranged French werewolf, and the darkly handsome Nightkind she just might love. Each powerful supernatural man has his own reasons for wanting to possess Cara, body and soul. But if the Portalkind police catch her, she’ll be in a fight for her life.

Contest:
Mertianna will be awarding a canvas tote bag printed with the book cover on one side and a saying on the other(“Are you a syn-er?”), and filled with goodies plus a $20 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US ONLY).

Be sure to follow the tour and comment along the way for a better chance at winning this fabulous prize!!

TOUR DATES ARE HERE

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Mertianna currently lives with her husband, son, and three dogs in Northern California. At a young age, while traveling the globe with her military family, she discovered the joys of reading. Armed with a fascination for science fiction, the paranormal, and fantasy, she amused, shocked, and impressed her teachers with her imaginative stories.

As an adult, reality reared its boring head, and she joined the business workforce. After many years working as a professional manager while secretly wishing she was a writer, she took a detour from the corporate world to immerse herself in the fictional worlds of her own making.

Mertianna has accumulated multiple graduate degrees in business and survived years of doctoral studies in psychology, all of which undoubtedly has influenced how her characters behave or don’t behave as the case may be.

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Excerpt:
The nape of my neck tingled with the familiar sensation of being stalked. I glanced over my shoulder to see my bodyguard, Azrael. He was named after the angel of death, but he was no angel—in any sense of the word. I used to think it was a nickname. It wasn’t. We were both witches, but he came with specialized security training. He watched me from his favorite indoor spot halfway up the stairs to the second story of our Berkeley hills house. His sky blue eyes stared at me hungrily.That stare reminded me of a hawk watching a tasty mouse. Irritated, I took a last bite from my nearly finished apple, turned, and threw the core at him with deadly precision. I’d been practicing using non-magical self-defense skills. My magic skills were unreliable to say the least.The apple core flew between the wooden posts directly at his beautiful face. He deftly caught it in a blur of motion, put it up to his nose, inhaled deeply, and slowly licked the apple. His eyes never left me.

Blurb: Elizabeth Turner once loved Oliver Randall, but was blind to his desire to travel without the encumbrance of a wife weighing him down. When she learned the truth, Beth settled for the security of a loveless marriage. Now a widow with a son to support, desperation has driven her into service at Romsey Abbey and directly into the path of the man she’d loved and lost.

Oliver has no intention of letting his dream of travel slip away again, even for a pretty face from his past. Since his return to the abbey, he’s planned a grand tour to the continent even while examining the astonishing emotional changes a decade apart from his brothers has wrought. The last thing Oliver wanted was stronger ties to the people living at Romsey. But then fate offers him both an affair and an unexpected friendship. Is it curiosity alone that stirs him, or the beginning of an unexpected adventure?

Heather’s Bio: Heather Boyd is the author of sizzling romance with an historical bent. A fan of regency England settings, she writes m/f and m/m stories that push the boundaries of propriety and even break the laws of that time. Brimming with new ideas, she frequently wishes she could type as fast as she can conjure up new storylines. Heather lives with her testosterone-fueled family north of Sydney, Australia.

Author Links: WEBSITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS

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Excerpt: WHEN OLIVER RANDALL had been very young, he’d believed heaven could only be found in the thirty-feet-square library of Romsey Abbey. At seventeen and wrenched from his studies, he’d been assured he’d never see that library again and the long, lonely years after proved that heaven would be denied him. At eight and twenty, and thanks to his younger brother Tobias’s daring rescue two weeks prior, he’d thought he would be granted his reward.

Yet once he’d stood within Romsey library’s hushed confines, filled with books of every sort and description, he’d acknowledged that this place was merely a stepping stone on the path to adventure.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Oliver set the polished wood stepladder against the uppermost shelf edge and scaled the heights of literature, prose, and radical thought in search of entertainment. “They are all still there as far as I can tell, Leopold.”

“Damn it, Oliver. Come down at once before you break your neck,” his elder brother demanded.

Oliver ran his fingers over the spines of the books closest. So many bright minds had been granted the freedom to live and experience the world as they saw fit while he had been condemned to the never-ending repetition of days and years with only the wonders of nature’s transitions outside his window to provide any sort of adventure. “Given the circumstances I’ve endured at the duke’s hands these past years, I do not find your reference to my sanity particularly amusing. I’ll come down when I’m ready and not a moment before.”

Oliver had only recently returned to the family fold, to the Romsey Estate and the sweet freedom of personal liberty. Leopold did not understand that Oliver looked for adventure at every opportunity now, even if it was merely helping himself to a second corner of toast and strawberry jam at breakfast or exploring a new point of view. He was plotting his biggest escapade yet—a grand tour of the known world. A world far away from this library.

He plucked three volumes from the shelves at random—Greek, Italian, and French—and descended to the main floor. Just enough light reading to last him until morning. Unlike others in his family, he enjoyed reading at all hours of the day and night. He devoured books as quickly as his younger brother demolished a well-roasted leg of lamb at dinner. The years without such precious volumes were a gaping pit of boredom he needed to fill.

“Everyone is waiting on you to go into dinner. Whatever you are doing can wait at least two hours.”

Oliver set two of the books beside the maps of the continent he’d appropriated for his preparations and settled in his favorite chair. “I’ll eat later. A tray in my room, perhaps.”

As he was about to open his first selection, Leopold snatched the book from his hands. “You will not return to the patterns of your youth. I will not indulge your obsessions as Mama did. We dine together each night and if I have to drag you there and strap you into a chair to accomplish that feat, I certainly will.”

Oliver assessed his brother’s mood. Not much had changed in Leopold’s demeanor since they were young lads on the cusp of manhood. Bossy. Opinionated. Stubborn. Leopold would make a fuss and bluster until Oliver capitulated. He’d never enjoy one fresh new word these books offered in peace at this rate. He resigned himself to the inevitable. He would have to adjust his daily schedule to include this unnecessary interruption of his study until he departed England. Hopefully, word would come soon concerning a ship bound for his destination and save him from excessive sentimentality. “Very well. No need for threats of violence.”
Leopold shook his head. “I never really understood how much trouble you must have been for Mama to manage when Father was away. Families eat together.”

“If you insist.” Oliver stood and drew on his tailcoat. “But I should point out that our definitions of family differ considerably. You’re not even married to the duchess. Nor is Tobias married to Lady Venables. Hardly a family affair.”

A quick grin crossed Leopold’s usually serious face. “All in good time. The wedding date is set. Hurry up now.”

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The King of Threadneedle Street
Moriah Densley

BLOG POST:
Most of us have an “old flame” story. Sometimes being apart cools the attraction, and a chance meeting years later is a friendly trip down memory lane. But what if you bump into that person after so much time and change have separated you, only to discover you’d missed out on the real deal?

Alysia Villier always knew she could never have Andrew Tilmore, her childhood sweetheart. A courtesan’s daughter is no match for a financial genius and peer of the realm. Alysia sees Romeo and Juliet’s story as a cautionary tale. Besides, who is truly in love as an adolescent? She expects to oversee the wedding preparations for Andrew’s sister, perhaps wave at Andrew from across the room, then never see him again.

Here’s what happens the first time Alysia meets Andrew after years apart. Have you ever felt this way, seeing an old flame?

EXCERPT:
A long shadow blocked the sun, accompanied by broad footsteps trampling the grass.
“What have we here, a unicorn caught sunbathing? Prime hunting,” came an almost familiar voice. A sonorous chocolatey bass, somehow deeper and throatier than when she had last heard it, and his Lancashire accent replaced by a genteel inflection she found jarring.
“Not at all,” she replied without opening her eyes, rattled by the jolt in her pulse. “Such plodding footsteps could only belong to a troll. Easily outrun by a unicorn. But trolls are really quite harmless, if you keep them fed.”
“On unicorn meat?”
“No. Pomeranians.” An old joke stemming from their mutual love of mastiffs and disdain for yapping small dogs.
The sound of his laughter was perfectly familiar. She distrusted the easy, boyish, tone tempting her to believe all would be well now that he was here. She winked open one eye, unsurprised to find their years of separation had rendered him not at all like a troll. Over six feet of Gallic demi-god sharing the same body with the most bookish man she ever met. Andrew Tilmore, Lord Preston, heir to the illustrious Marquess of Courtenay. Drew, to her, or when he deserved it, Troll.
“Lisa,” he said in a tone he should reserve for a hot bath or rare cognac, and sat beside her on the grass. “As lazy as ever, I see.” Adolescent teasing which meant, So you managed to sneak away. Bravo.
“You were not expected until Friday next, Drew. Unfortunate timing you will no doubt regret.”
“Why? Is something amiss?”
“Only the apocalypse.”
Andrew snorted, waiting for her to explain. She would not. Lady Courtenay trying to run her household for the first time — while pretending to arrange a ducal wedding, which Alysia was truthfully in charge of — would not mix well with the problem Andrew’s presence would bring. Specifically, his being in the vicinity with Alysia.
She pushed herself up on her elbows, mindful of the buttons she had loosed on her bodice. He wasn’t looking, but fastening them would draw his attention. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her bent knees.
Andrew leaned in to catch her gaze, and she suppressed a shock. Of anxiety or lust-related, she couldn’t say, but in the seconds it took to trade glances, it became apparent that what his parents had tried to douse between them had not yet faded. He cradled her chin between his thumb and forefinger then stroked the edge of her jaw, which in times past heralded a kiss.
Two years ago, he would have mock-whispered, See, I am making eyes at you, Lisa. Wet your lips, I will lean closer, and as soon as you close your eyes, the violins will start. When you see firecrackers, say so. Then he would overly pucker his lips, smacking them together like a fish while she dodged, squealing. But sometimes his manner was quite serious, and those memories were best left buried in the back of her mind.
He was serious now. She knew that expression he wore, as plainly as though she heard his thoughts. Still it made her stomach drop and her lips tingle with longing. Alysia pulled away, not trusting herself to look him in the eye.
If she had any hope of surviving two weeks under the same roof with Andrew, she had best set the precedent now for their behavior, and this must be her last private conversation with him. Their last kiss had been more than two years before. After his sister’s wedding, she would never see him again.

BOOK DESCRIPTION:
He owns three shipping companies, a diamond mine, and his own castle.
He knows Portuguese, Hindu, Mandarin and Morse code.
His assets net thirteen million.
Lord Preston wants the one thing money can’t buy…

Andrew Tilmore, Lord Preston, the financial prodigy dubbed “The King of Threadneedle Street” wants the one prize out of reach: his childhood sweetheart. The papers can waste a sea of ink scandalizing over his lavender-eyed Alysia; so what if she is the daughter of his father’s mistress?

Alysia Villier learned the craft of the courtesan from her infamous mother―by osmosis apparently. A gifted artist who almost won the Prix de Rome, Alysia is not interested in following in her mother’s footsteps, since Andrew ruined her for any other man. But with her legal guardian—Andrew’s father―in control of her inheritance, she has little choice in the matter.

Keeping Alysia out of trouble and away from eager suitors becomes a cross-continental quest for Andrew. Not his old-fashioned family, the disapproval of the ton, nor even Alysia’s dedication to duty and propriety will stop him. Playing newspapers and investors like pawns, tumbling world markets, inciting riots… has he gone too far?

AUTHOR BIO:

Moriah Densley sees nothing odd at all about keeping both a violin case and a range bag stuffed with pistols in the back seat of her car. They hold up the stack of books in the middle, of course. She enjoys writing about Victorians, assassins, and geeks. Her muses are summoned by the smell of chocolate, usually at odd hours of the night. By day her alter ego is your friendly neighborhood music teacher. She lives in Las Vegas with her husband and four children. Published in historical and paranormal romance, Moriah has a Master’s degree in music, is a 2012 RWA Golden Heart finalist, 2012 National Reader’s Choice Award “Best First Book” finalist, and 2012 National Reader’s Choice Award finalist in historical romance.

LINKS:
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The Reason is You by Sharla Lovelace

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

When life takes an unwelcome turn Dani Shane finds herself returning to her hometown with her daughter, Riley. Unfortunately for them Dani’s childhood wasn’t the best due to her unusual ability to see and talk to the dead, and when she finds her daughter talking to her dead (and sexy) best friend she has new worries to contend with. As if that wasn’t enough, there’s also Dani’s new boss…

This is a well constructed story that will keep you reading until the very last page! The plot is excellent and the characters are believable. I found the mother/daughter relationship a little off for the ages, but I don’t really have the experience to judge on that point.

One of the criteria that some people use to determine if a story is a good one is whether it can make you empathize enough with the characters to laugh and cry. I find that if I’m yelling at the characters for being idiots (okay, not out loud) that’s an excellent sign for how good the book is.

In short, I found this to be an excellent book and I will now look forward to seeing what else Sharla Lovelace has out there, whether now or in the future.

Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.

~Aurora

Sharla will be awarding a custom tote bag with book swag, a themed recipe card and $20 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour. One randomly drawn host will get their choice of eBook from Sharla’s booklist.

Want more entries to win? Follow the book tour! The tour dates can be found here: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2013/04/book-blast-reason-is-you-by-sharla.html

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Sharla Lovelace is the National Bestselling Author of THE REASON IS YOU, BEFORE AND EVER SINCE, and the e-novella JUST ONE DAY. Being a Texas girl through and through, she’s proud to say she lives in Southeast Texas with her family, an old lady dog, and an aviary full of cockatiels.

Sharla is available by Skype for book club meetings and chats, and loves connecting with her readers! See her website www.sharlalovelace.com for book discussion questions, events, and to sign up for her monthly newsletter.

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