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Welcome to my stop on thye  virtual book tour for The Art Of Online Dating organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Fleur Lamot will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The Art Of Online Dating

By Fleur Lamot

 

 

Genre: Non-fiction

Synopsis

A step-by-step guide to navigating dating and finding love on the World Wide Web, written by someone with firsthand experience on the topic, and who has also tested the theory on a number of case studies and through research. Authored from a female perspective, directed to a female audience, although potentially an eye opening and helpful read for a male reader too.

This book is not about making you a better person, nor is it a self help book. It is about changing your mindset when embarking on singledom and internet dating to not fear it, by equipping you with the understanding of people’s actions and motives.

Throughout the book you will be guided in setting up your online profile, picking your match, the all important art and the do’s and don’ts through every step of courting someone, all the way to going forward with your ultimate love match!

Reading this book will bring you confidence and or at least clarity. It will make you think about your past experiences and open your eyes to see where they may have gone wrong, and more importantly to ensure the same mistakes don’t happen to you on future experiences.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Long gone are the days of meeting a potential partner in a bar or at a music festival or at parties. You might be lucky enough to do so, but as time goes on and you get older, or as you and your potentials rely more on technology to meet someone, or as you lose the skills to do so by becoming accustomed to technology, the chances are getting thinner. There will be fewer parties with fewer single people, or there will be more awkward interactions at these parties, or your friends will grow old and become tired of attending music festivals and going to bars. Also, let’s face it: as we get older, the music at venues become too loud and we simply just want to have a good conversation, good food, and good wine which brings on more occasions like dinner events and dinner parties. These are the least likely type of events to meet someone, unless you are lucky enough to be set up by a mutual friend.

So, you might find yourself single and at a loss. Maybe it simply might be that all your friends are in relationships and you have no one to go out with. This is where online dating comes into play. Online dating has such a bad stigma, but if you look at it at another way, whilst your friends are becoming old and boring or are in relationships and/or just don’t want to go out anymore for whatever reason, you have an infinite number of potential new people to meet and play with who are in the exact same boat as you.

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About Author Fleur Lamot:

I successfully found love online using historical principles, understanding people’s motives and actions, listening to the right people, as well as trusting my own instincts. I am now married and a mother. I am a business woman with a very successful business, built from extensive networking and relationship management experience. I have received professional mentoring and coaching, which has helped me achieve all of this.

INSTAGRAM / AMAZON

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Blood binds them.

Danger surrounds them.

Love could destroy them.

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Bound 

The Elite Series Book 1

by Charley Black

Genre: Dystopian Vampire Paranormal Romance

Bound by blood, Marked by
rebellion, Destined for a love that could save or destroy
them.

A forbidden
bond. A crumbling city. A choice that could change everything.

Serenity

Becoming an Elite—a blood donor for the Vampyr—was never part of the plan. But
with my family’s lives on the line, I had no choice but to step out of hiding
and into a world I barely understand. My rare blood has made me a target, and
now, I’m bound to Kane—the ruthless, untouchable head of the Vampyr Council.

The rebels want to use me. My family depends on me. And Kane… he’s the only one
who can keep me alive—but trusting him? That might be the most dangerous gamble
of all.

Kane

I never wanted an Elite. I certainly didn’t need one—especially not Serenity.
She’s everything I’ve avoided: human, stubborn, and a complication I can’t
afford. But from the moment I met her, she turned my world upside down.

Her blood sustains me, but it’s her spirit that leaves me hungry for more. As
rebellion threatens to tear the city apart, my focus should be on holding
everything together—not on the one woman who’s become my greatest weakness.

She’s more than just a distraction. She’s a risk. One I shouldn’t take.

But I can’t let her go. And if I’m not careful, she might destroy me—or save us
all.

In a world
where blood is currency and love is forbidden, Bound is a
spellbinding tale of passion, betrayal, and a bond that could shatter a city—or
bring it to its knees.

Fans of
dstopyian fantasy, forbidden romance, and slow-burn tension will devour Bound,
the first book in The Elite Series.

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CHAPTER ONE

 

Serenity

The Elite Program.

 

Every person, regardless of age or hatred for their kind, yearned to be selected. Deep down, they craved the privileges of being an Elite—the ones who willingly offered themselves to the vampyrs. But not her.

Serenity had no such desires; she refused to be a meal for anyone, no matter how tempting the rewards seemed. Yet, her personal feelings were irrelevant now. This program was her last hope, and if it didn’t work, she dreaded turning to Jax for help—something she desperately wanted to avoid.

Looking up at the clock, its hands slowly ticked as she waited for the nurse to arrive and begin the process that would, hopefully, improve her and her family’s lives.

Sighing deeply to calm her rising nerves, Serenity’s eyes wandered around the office, taking in the sterile and impersonal atmosphere. Four white walls encased a stark, bare office containing only the essentials: a simple desk, a utilitarian chair, a computer, a printer, and a cold, metal filing cabinet. There were no pictures or decorations. It was as if they intentionally designed it to be unwelcoming, discouraging any sense of comfort or happiness.

Honestly, it didn’t make any sense. One would think they would try to create a more inviting space to welcome potential Elites. The environment’s lack of warmth and care showed her what she was truly signing up for and how she’d be treated as soon as her application was approved.

And they would approve it. She did not doubt that.

Serenity had the type of blood that the vampyr wanted… and craved. At least, that was what her father told her. Only those with the rarest of blood types were selected as Elites.

Anyone whose blood type was A or B was automatically entered into the system as a donor, regardless of whether they were positive or negative. O positives were rarely chosen, and O negatives had better chances only if specifically requested. AB positives, the rarest of the rare type, were treated like gold and were consistently selected as Elites, typically matched with the wealthiest of the vampyrs. This made Serenity think despite their claims, money still talked within their society. AB negatives were a myth, according to the locals. Still, they were believed to represent a divine gift in vampiric lore, ‘ambrosia,’ so treasured that only the upper echelons in vampyr society knew of their existence.

As an AB negative, her blood was revered as the most delectable drink. She almost felt violated knowing that such an intimate part of her was seen as a commodity, something to be consumed with primal delight. It wasn’t just about her, though.

The Elite program was supposed to bring balance and peace between the two races, a part of the treaty the humans and vampyrs signed before she was born. But it seemed the vampyrs ruled their lives, despite humans sitting on the city’s governing Council. All the rules seemed to cater to the vampyrs survival, not humanity’s. It was infuriating.

When the office door opened, Serenity turned in her chair to see a petite woman in black scrubs walking through. The woman had caramel-colored skin and dark eyes. A laminated card clipped to her shirt read “Shelia” in bold capital letters.

“Can I have your name, please?” the nurse asked, sitting on the other side of the desk and placing a clipboard with an application next to the computer.

Such a simple question, but for Serenity, it was surrendering to the inevitable. Call it an innate feeling, but she had always known she would end up here signing up to be an Elite.

She couldn’t explain how, but a small part of her, deep inside, suspected it had to do with the rarity of her blood type. As if it had always known this would be her fate. But it was only a feeling and possibly the wariness of her situation.

Either way, she was here now. Taking a deep breath, she reluctantly spoke her name aloud. “Serenity.”

The words felt like a prison sentence once they left her mouth. Every inch of her screamed for her to get up and run away. They only had her first name. There was still the possibility of escape. She could get on the bus and go back home, where it was safe.

But she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to save her family. This was her choice, her sacrifice.

Her mother couldn’t become an Elite because of her sickness, and her sister was too young and sick, so it had to be her. They needed medicine, and this was the only way they could afford it.

Shelia’s kind smile and soothing voice washed over her, easing the tension in her shoulders. “What is your full name, honey? You don’t have to be nervous. You may not even get approved. This is just the application stage,” she assured her.

She was right; this was just the application process. She hadn’t even given a blood sample yet.

If Serenity was being honest with herself, she couldn’t deny the fear that gripped her. The thought of encountering a vampyr had always terrified her. She had hoped never to face one, but now, everything was about to change. She was preparing to leave behind everything she knew.

But she pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. She needed to focus on getting through this, or else her instincts would take over, and she would flee. Steeling herself with a deep breath, she forced the words out. “Serenity R. Wright.”

Shelia punched her name into the machine, attempting to assess her medical history. Her father had burned and erased every document that could identify her blood type a long time ago, insisting it was to keep her safe from them.

As Shelia stared intently at the screen, Serenity knew she was seeing the bare minimum of information. Her father had been thorough in keeping her out of the system. She had been homeschooled, never left the human districts, and always kept a low profile.

The scent of her mother’s homemade herbal concoction lingered on every piece of clothing she wore. The blend of lemon tea tree oil, activated charcoal, rosemary, and vanilla was meant to hide her natural scent.

Since she was young, she’d relied on it to cover up her unique scent. Her mother would create soap and shampoo for her to use and a specialized spray for when she ventured out into public. She always carried a small bottle of vinegar with her, a precaution in case she encountered any vampyrs.

She also wore a light brown cloak whenever she went out. But her mother believed her father’s true intentions were to hide her curly hair and honey-brown eyes, fearing they would attract unwanted attention. She never left without her cloak whenever she traveled, especially outside their district.

Except for today. She felt vulnerable without it but wouldn’t need it after this.

Shelia glanced up from the computer with curiosity evident in her eyes. “The only record we have of you in the system is your birth date. Have you never had a physical?”

It didn’t surprise Serenity that the woman was curious. If she were in her shoes, she would feel the same way. Her answer was simple: “My father was a doctor. He handled all my physicals and medical records.”

The memory of her father hung heavy in the air. He had been training her to be a nurse to help her mother and sister with their medical needs. But his life was cut short by a sudden heart attack during one of his routine trips into the city for more medicine.

With his absence, Serenity felt a part of herself missing; however, her family relied on her strength.

“He didn’t update your records.” Shelia glanced back at the screen and  asked, “What was his name?”

“Dr. Richard J. Wright.” She wouldn’t find him in the system. He never officially returned to practicing as a doctor after the war. He only worked as an informal doctor for their neighbors and friends.

The nurse’s brows scrunched in concentration as she surveyed her computer screen. “I can’t find him in the system, and your records have not been updated. We’ll need to do a physical today and draw blood to get your blood type for your application. Let me see if we can squeeze you in with Dr. Bradford.”

Serenity anticipated this; she had mentally prepared for this precise moment. But even with all her preparation, she couldn’t shake the waves of anxiety that threatened to engulf her. Soon, they would know her secret, and she would be in danger. But her family would be saved, reaping the benefits of her becoming an Elite.

She despised the crushing weight of her family’s future on her shoulders; the pressure was almost suffocating. Her palms were slick with sweat, and her chest tightened as she struggled to hold back a sob.

Needing to gather herself, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, seeking respite from the tension. Her mind raced with conflicting thoughts, and she was torn between the responsibility she bore and the fear of what lay ahead.

It was a delicate balancing act; her determination to be strong for her family clashing with the nagging doubt and uncertainty gnawing at her resolve. She knew she had to be here, but that didn’t make it any easier. The emotional turmoil within her was like a storm raging beneath a calm exterior.

With a quiet yet determined resolve, Serenity opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and braced herself for whatever lay beyond those cold, impersonal walls. She couldn’t let anxiety derail her; her family depended on her strength.

“Don’t worry, honey.” The sympathy in Shelia’s eyes didn’t help her worry. “The physical exam is painless, and the blood drawing is quick and painless.”

But it wasn’t the exam that made Serenity anxious. She was uncertain what would happen once her application was submitted, and there was no turning back.

Shelia typed a few more notes on her computer.

“Alright. I was able to squeeze you with Dr. Bradford. She is wonderful. This way.”

Shelia stood, grabbing a piece of paper from the printer before moving towards the door. Serenity stood to follow when suddenly Shelia stopped and turned back to her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Shelia asked with a seriousness that almost made Serenity want to run. “Once we walk out the door, there is no turning back. Your name will be filed into the system forever.”

Even if she wasn’t approved by some chance of fate, her name would still be recorded in their databases, making her a potential target in a future blood drought—which meant that if they ever ran out of human recruits, they could call upon her. It was one of the risks she took by even walking into the clinic, but it was her only choice.

“I understand your concern, and thank you for it, but I have to do this.”

Shelia nodded slightly and opened the door. Her eyes, wide with uncertainty, met Serenity’s briefly before she led them into the hallway, closing the door behind them.

Serenity was happy to know that at least one of the nurses here cared about the humans who signed up and ensured this was their choice. This gave her some hope that this whole process wouldn’t be as dreadful as she thought.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and followed Shelia into the hallway, heart pounding as she contemplated what lay ahead.

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Charley Black is
an up-and-coming writer and author who has been creating stories since she was
twelve years old. Her early short stories dabbled in different genres, but her
passion for romance novels — paranormal romance in particular — always shone through.
Charley currently resides in Rhode Island, with her family and works at a local
university.

Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bluesky * Bookbub * Amazon
* Goodreads

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1 winner each.

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 When truths uncovered cannot be forgotten. Or forgiven.

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Faeries Don’t Forgive

Heart of the Worlds Book 2

by TF Burke

Genre: YA Epic Fantasy

 

Returning to Nonderu,
the underworld court, to rescue her dad should have been simple after the
malevolent soul-sucking Boggleman fell to his presumable demise. They just need
to find a way in. And get past the Mockmen trolls.

Instead, Aunia is attacked by a fanatical soldier cult that seeks to kill or
capture her. Plus, her unmanageable magic notifies deadly wererats of her
location. It also hurls her into an evil sorceress’ study. If all this wasn’t
enough, she’s fighting a different battle with Mathias, her pegasus-riding
love. His insistence to keep her hidden is more infuriating than any of their
enemies. It leaves her determined to kick anyone who says first love is easy.

Worst of all are the truths she’s uncovering. Truths that can’t be forgotten.
Or forgiven.

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Chapter Seventeen

Clurichauns

What makes a man something worth admiring and when will you doubt his worth? — Queen Didianne, in the reign of the mad queen

A buzzing brushed Aunia’s skin like a hive of bees as she lurched in a mad attempt to keep her footing. The smell of woods, perfumes, and herbs had disappeared and in its place was the stench of waste, unfamiliar food, and burning metal.

A village-full of voices swirled within the buzzing . . . one pulled at her plaintively, though she couldn’t make out the words. Dust skated over Aunia’s feet as she appeared in a long boxed-in area surrounded by bulging timber buildings covered in faded paint and smeared pitch. And pressed within this area were more people than she had seen in her entire life.

“I said let the child go,” a gruff voice said from behind her.

Aunia swiveled.

An older man with a broken-nose, well-muscled and tall, like Oskan from her village, stood in front of two men in red cloaks.

“We don’t take orders from you, Mason,” the shorter of the two red-cloaked men said. He yanked a small boy towards him by the arm and the child’s sandy-haired head bounced off his chest.

“He’s hungry is all,” the broken-nose man said. “I’ll pay for him.”

“Bugger off,” the red cloak said.

Aunia stepped forward. “You can’t let a child go hungry.”

Several of the people glared at her.

“Shut your mouth, rover,” said a pillar-built woman with a messy bun, brown hair streaked in gray. She stood in front of a building with large windows and a swinging sign, which read ‘Forged Tankard.’ “Ain’t no food he stole.”

“Brana,” the broken-nosed man growled.

The woman rolled her eyes and pushed past him, holding up a small ring with two finger-length keys. “Missing these?”

The larger of the two red-cloaked men reached under his cloak patted his side, and his face turned red. “It’s the stocks for ye, boy.”

The boy dropped to the cobblestones and the shorter, red-cloaked man yanked him back one-handed. Held his other hand high to strike.

“Stop it,” Aunia yelled.

The larger of the red-cloaked men turned in her direction.

“Not the stocks.” A bearded man in a long-sleeved patchwork tunic, white powder streaks along his sleeves, stepped forward. “You’ve the boy’s mother in custody already. She was an unbraceleted faeblood. He’d be the same. You know it. It’s prison he should go.”

Faces pressed against the glass windows of the Forged Tankard’s tavern. Some folk stepped forward. Others melted back, including the broken-nosed man.

Aunia shook. Taya was indeed right of cities being dangerous. If this was how they treated small children . . . but what could she do? She was only one in a crowd.

“Stop,” she slid back, beseeching the broken-nose man. “You have to help. He’s just a boy.”

But the man slid into a narrow alleyway between the tavern and another building, and past a pig rooting in a pile of broken barrels, jugs, food scraps, and rags.

“She ain’t my mom,” the child screamed. “Not my real one. She picked me out of the garbage. I was just a slave to her.”

The taller, red-cloaked man yanked the child’s sleeve up. “Unbraceleted. You. Run to the Yanna’s forge. Grab a cuff. Now.”

“Don’t be thinking of calling on any magic,” the shorter, red-cloaked man said, bending to sneer those words in the child’s face.

“I’m . . . not a faeblood.” The child stopped his struggling and with his wrist in the guard’s grip, pointed in Aunia’s direction. “That’s the one you want. A real faeblood. Didn’t you see? She just skipped out of nowhere.”

The larger man straightened. “You. Rover.”

Aunia backed away, nearly colliding with a press of people guarding her back. Rover? But of course, she was wearing their garb. And by their expression and harsh tone, they did not like rovers.

“Don’t think you’re going anywhere,” one woman in a dark gray gown said.

Faeblood . . . this is how the people saw Reina. “I’ve . . . I’m looking for flyers,” Aunia said. “I flew with them over the Grashbear. Mathias. Keston. Fallo. You’ve had to have seen them. This is Dalin, isn’t it?”

The scowls of the people deepened. They shuffled closer. People in front of her and behind her, but the alleyway . . . could she flee with that pig in the way? Pig. She blinked. It had a quilted cloth saddle fastened around its girth with knotted cloth straps. And stitched cloth saddlebags hanging along the pig’s side. Who would be riding a pig?

[for a 700+ word excerpt use the verbiage above OR include the rest of the chapter for just under 1500 words]

“Look alive,” a raspy voice sounded.

Aunia squinted. Amongst the broken wooden boxes and broken jars, two little men, shin-high, drank from a clay jar over half the size they were. Clurichauns with their rosy, weathered faces. They were solitary beings generally. The last time she saw one was in Gaitha’s basement lapping up a bit of spilled apple brandy.

Someone, the taller red-cloak, grabbed Aunia’s upper arm and a raw thrill, like a sharp nail, rose through her throat. “Leave me be.”

She yanked. He held her firm, his fingers pressing into her flesh like a vise.

The adrenaline spike landed against the pit of her stomach like a stone. Mygul. She sucked in a breath, squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to coax a pinching sensation in her temples. Nothing. Her mouth turned to dry paper. Did she even have her glowing blue globefire anymore? She hadn’t seen it since the Boggleman’s veil tendril lodged itself in her gut when she stood on Hebsolum’s palm. Did that mean Hebsolum had it? Hebsolum, the thief who took her mother’s amulet. The only good thing he had done was to help her cage the roiling blue storm cloud made of Edvaras’ magic . . . but her bit of magic . . . the one that caused mischief, made her an outcast, kept her safe. He must have taken it, too.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Prison. Was that where they were sending her? How would Mathias even find her? A soft mew escaped her and Aunia shook her head. She couldn’t show weakness. And there were clurichauns. Faeries often would help her. Would these?

She turned her head to the alleyway where the clurichauns swilled leftover booze from broken crockery. “Help me.”

One of the clurichauns looked her way, bright eyes going wide. “She sees us.” His voice, gravelly and sing-song, sounded over the clamor of human voices.

“She don’t.” The blonder of the two clapped the auburn one’s shoulder. “She do. Drat it. On our way, Sharpish.” He pointed to the pig.

“She be the one Mara made mention.”

“We can’t be making the Boggles mad now, can we, you know,” the blonde one said. “We go.”

The Boggles? Did he mean the Boggleman? Aunia struggled against her restraint. “I want to, too.”

“Want to what?” the red-cloaked man sneered.

“Want you to let go,” Aunia said between her teeth. “You’re hurting me.”

The man tightened his grip. “I’m barely holding you.”

Aunia struggled toward the alleyway. Saying please would cause possible faery aid to disappear but what poem could she utter? Aunia groaned. “Help me now it’s good folk fashion. Aid to for those who seek compassion.”

“You call that a poem,” the blonde clurichaun said. He shook his head then made a running jump onto the pig’s back. His green pants contrasted with the wine-stained saddle. “Come on, brother.”

“Brandy. I’ll bring you brandy,” Aunia yelled.

“No one bribes the guard.” The stinging heat from his slap rang into her cheekbones. “Where’s that Davis? Cuff her good and she can blubber whatever nonsense with the other lobheads.

“Don’t know,” the shorter of the red-cloaked men said. He still clutched the boy’s arm. “But that face is sweet even with your handprint.”

“Ah, that’s done it,” Sharply said. “Dismount, Gargle. Now.”

Gargle patted the saddle. “There’s another tavern were—”

“Certain things don’t get done. Now off brother, lest you go for a ride.”

The two clurichauns glared at each other while some of the townsfolk shuffled aside and a thin man with iron cuffs jogged forward.

Gargle dismounted. “It’s on you if this is a bad decision.”

“I’m always the one you blame.” Sharply scooped up the neck of a broken bottle, drew his arm back and made a mighty throw at the pig’s backside. It hit with a thunk and the pig gave a squeal. People standing at the mouth of the alleyway fell back as the pig pelted straight for Aunia and the red-cloaked man.

“Doxy-churl,” the guardsmen swore. He staggered back, pulling Aunia with him out of the way but Aunia yanked with everything she had in the other direction. The man’s fingers slid over her upper arm painfully. There was the sharp rip of fabric. And then she was free.

Aunia ran.

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Faeries Don’t Lie

Heart of the Worlds Book 1

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Can Two Worlds Survive an Augury?

Releasing a Chandarion’s god-like magic into the world isn’t what
sixteen-year-old Aunia, the village’s outcast, intends. She only wants to
impress Mathias, a visiting seventeen-year-old pegasus flyer, who fiercely
believes the choice—either Faery or Mortal world surviving—has come.

Her action calls forth the Boggleman, a soul-sucking ghoul, who abducts her
dad, eats her faery friends, and sets Dagel demons on her isolated village. And
worse.

The worlds of Ahnu-Endynia are full of faeries, pegasi flyers, myths, secrets,
and themes of belonging, despite being misunderstood. And if you don’t watch
carefully . . . You might be pulled into the Betwixt. . . the space between the
worlds.

**On Sale
for Only .99cents!**

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Explaining true love to a garden faery wasn’t easy. Aunia tapped her pitchfork against the stone-slabbed floor and wrinkled her nose against the golden dust while her faery friend, Jennium, landed between a nanny goat’s ears. The escaped animal froze in place in front of the long wooden goat pens while the faery sat cross-legged on her furry perch, folding her iridescent wings, purples, blues, and yellows.

Another of Jennium’s mind-pictures arose in Aunia’s head. This one was of the villagers, old and young, dancing arm-in-arm in twisting steps around a bonfire—fiery sparks rising to the stars.

“That’s the party afterwards. True love is how you feel. How your heart would give away every constellation to see your beloved smile.” Aunia flipped her blond braid over her shoulder and wished she could disappear into the slithering crack along the stable’s high-vaulted ceiling—or, better yet, fly away to the faery world . . .if that doorway wasn’t watched. “But like I said, there’s no one here for me.”

Unlike the two lovers exchanging mating beads this night, she would stand in the shadows as an outcast, too different to be accepted. At sixteen years of age, she needed to accept this would be her life. She scooped another pitchfork of dirty hay onto the dung heap.

Jennium propelled another image—Aunia’s father standing, back turned and shoulders slumped, at his favorite fishpond. The faery tipped her raven-haired head as if to ask, “And where’s your father’s true love?”

Aunia’s hands slid on the pitchfork. She couldn’t answer that. Her father refused to talk about her. But it was obvious he clung to her memory—whoever she was. And he had to have loved her real mom desperately. Why else would he have treated Nehla like a sister. A sister he couldn’t save from being skewered by a wild boar. An accident. An awful, terrible accident.

Stomping, Aunia passed the long pen of bleating goats and turned up the middle junction of horse stalls to the quadruple-sized hay-less stall that had been Nehla’s pottery work area. She frowned at the grain buckets lining the shoulder-high wall where clay boards used to stand. She padded to Nehla’s pottery wheel, draped with a green and yellow blanket, and pressed her knuckles against the scratchy wool. Three years later and it still hurt.

With a light jingle, Jennium landed on Aunia’s head and projected another image—a woman’s silhouette, but not Nehla.

Aunia pulled her hand away from the pottery wheel. For a moment, she made out the curve of the woman’s left cheek, so like her own. Then, the silhouette was gone.

“I don’t remember my mother,” Aunia said. “But she probably had faery sight like me. Maybe she could even see people’s glows.”

A whiny buzz brushed against Aunia’s hair and a shiny green bug dove behind the stall’s black walnut wood.

Jennium launched up, and Aunia winced at the tug, reaching to free the faery’s tiny feet from her braid. Jennium yanked through, chittering, and landed on an empty pottery shelf—one that rested on iron spikes nailed into the wall. Those spikes had been made from Nehla’s sacrificed pot hooks to keep faeries from breaking freshly made bowls.

“How are you—”

A screech from the stable’s front door sent Aunia crouching behind the pottery wheel.

“The bottle in the back ought to muffle the evening proper,” said Sigmus with his deep wheezy voice.

Aunia tensed. Her father’s closest friend would still be livid about the faeries shoving tadpoles in his boots from yesterday’s yesterday. But it had been his own fault. He had insulted the water fae.

Aunia tiptoed forward and peeked over the stall’s wall. These two were supposed to be stacking wood for the cooking fires. Her father’s head and shoulders, glowing with his usual brick-red aura, seem to float above the horse pen-wall—or did until he dodged a buzzing insect.

Sigmus swiveled, cracking his hands together, presumably squashing the bug. “Ain’t no grace-fall smushing your own pest.”

Dad jutted his jaw. “I can’t do that.”

“And you get a grumping every beading.”

Dad’s red glow dulled. “I am happy for them.”

“Sure. It makes all the sense you hankering to sneak off to the sheep cave.”

“Fish pond,” Dad clarified.

“Well, I’ve a better idea. Wait here.” Sigmus waddled up the middle aisle toward her.

Aunia ducked, pressing a hand over her mouth. Her sigh filled her palm when his footfalls veered toward the nearby tack and storage room.

Sheep-cave? No one was allowed near them. Dad himself had told her the Boggleman lived there now. She eased to a trousered knee and considered. Sigmus was probably just saying that for shock and her father was looking to wander off to be alone.

She had wanted to sneak away earlier, too. Sneak past the gate-minders to the woods for a game of tag with the moss-gnomes or maybe cajole a dryad into playing a whistle-tune. She had almost made it through the gate but got caught, so she ran and hid in the stable.

Aunia leaned against the chest-high wall. It would be better to stay with faery friends instead of being in the village.

The tack room door grumbled open, followed with chalky scuffles from dried leather and thud-clack of ceramics. Sigmus hooted. He probably stashed another bottle of the apothecary’s cider brandy.

Sigmus exited the tack room, popped the bottle, and shouted, “Figure you’ll get a fair healing, spilling out your sorrows.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” her father called back.

Stars. How long am I going to need to hide while they drink?

Sigmus pranced past her stall. Aunia inched forward. Her father stood about ten yards from her in the middle aisle and close to the dung heap.

“Ah, so you say,” Sigmus said. “But I knows these beading ceremonies remind you of yer Tamorian lady wife.”

Tamorian? Lightning crackled in Aunia’s belly and erupted against the back of her throat. “You’ll tell him about my mother but not me.”

Dad whirled in her direction, his glow retreating to a scant fingers-width around his head. She marched out of the pen while Sigmus stepped in her way.

“Move, Sigmus,” she said. “I’m talking to my father. My dad, not yours.”

Sigmus raised his hand. “You’re supposed to be stirring them stew pots.”

“Like you gathering wood?” Aunia tried sidestepping him but Sigmus’ elbow clipped the side of her head. She hunched-over, wishing she could melt Sigmus “Sourling-Beast” into pudding ash.

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TF Burke currently
works with NYT David Farland’s Apex-Writers as an admin and marketing
specialist, where she schedules industry leaders for weekly multi-Zoom calls,
provides content for social posts, and hosts several writer-focused Zooms.

Her published works includes hundreds of newspaper articles, blog posts across
various platforms, anthologies, including MURDERBUGS, the second volume of the
Unhelpful Encyclopediam a collection of short stories in WHIRL OF THE FAE, and
the first book of the Heart of the Worlds Series, FAERIES DON’T LIE.

When not writing or wearing other hats, she can be found with a sword and a
dagger in her hands for medieval-style fencing tournaments and melees,
something she’s been doing since 2010.

Website *
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Bluesky * Bookbub *
Amazon * Goodreads

 

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The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane Banner

THE KARMA FACTOR
by Thomas Lane
February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
NYPD Detective James Early wanted out. Taking his death wish into a tenement on the Lower east side, he stepped into a hail of machine-gun fire…and waited. But the bullets never arrived. Somehow they had been “diverted” and his life saved. Now he had to find out why.

Ricochetting between the mountains of Tibet, the streets of New York City and the haunted corridors of past lives, Early attempts to track down this mystery. A devastating truth from his previous lifetime awaits him. At its core lies a pure and innocent love that led to carnage and death. In the process of discovery, however, Early mysteriously gains access to a database of past lives (the Akashic Records), and begins to understand the submerged element that underlies the human condition—the godfather of change. Karma.

Infused with this new awareness, Early hits the streets—this time “awakened” to the deeper layers. Immediately, he is flung into the frantic hunt for an unknown assassin who has declared a private war on America and has already killed seven times.

While the combined forces of the NYPD, FBI and Interpol comb the streets looking for clues, James Early follows the twisting light.

In the end, it will come down to a wild card: The Karma Factor

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Praise for The Karma Factor:

“The Karma Factor not only delivers on all its IOUs—it provides ample food for thought as to how we live our lives and our connection to the cosmos.” ~ Joey Madia, Into the Outer Realms

“Demonstrating remarkable literary talent, Thomas Lane transcends the troubled police detective trope by incorporating elements of Eastern philosophy, predestination and reincarnation in this fast-paced thriller. In the tradition of The DaVinci Code and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Lane’s debut novel The Karma Factor is entertaining and thought-provoking; introducing readers to characters and concepts that are not often given center stage in Western culture…” ~ BOOKTRIB

“Tom Lane has written a powerful story of inner transformation and outer suspense and heroism that will have you turning pages, inspiring you to understand your own life within a new cosmic framework. I couldn’t put it down.” ~ Robert Thurman, Professor Emeritus of Tibetan Buddhism, Translator for the Dalai Lama and Author of Wisdom Is Bliss

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Supernatural Thriller, Visionary Fiction, Metaphysical Thriller 

Published by: Waterside Productions Publication Date: November 1, 2022 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 1958848212 (ISBN-13: 978-1958848210)

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

In times of crisis, James Early often found himself listening to the background noise of the city, the churning mantra of Manhattan that drifted up from the streets below. Somehow all those harsh single notes—the honking horns, the squealing brakes—could blend together and end up sounding restful, like the wash of the sea.

But tonight, watching her put her clothes back on, the air was charged and full of static. He had his reasons, but he hated himself for causing her this moment.

Lit only by the flickering light from the fireplace, Kelli Girard stood with her back to him, pulling on her skirt. Usually, after being together, getting dressed was a graceful act, a physical celebration of her womanhood. But on this evening, her motions were clipped and terse. Right then, the world was an ugly place. On top of everything else, she broke another nail fighting with the buttons on her blouse. She spoke without looking up.

“Come on, Early. This stinks. Throw me a bone here. Say something that makes sense.” Balancing on one foot, she leaned down and slipped on a high heel. “You won’t even give me the satisfaction of a cliché. There’s no ‘other woman.’ You’re not doing the ‘you deserve better’ bit. Nothing. Just—bang! It’s over. And you can’t even tell me why?” She stood up and smoothed down her clothes. “But I’ll tell you how it feels. Like you’ve had your little fling with the secretary. And now it’s time to toss her back into the general pool where she belongs. Cold, Early. Really cold.” He remained silent, compulsively rubbing his forehead, pushing back a clump of grey-tinged dark hair. In truth, there was too much to say, but words would trivialize it. And it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with anything he understood. All he knew was that his mind was finally giving way. The hostile voices and images were crowding him out. And he couldn’t access the language to describe it… Early finally stood up. At thirty-eight years old and driven, he was still lean and muscular. A hybrid of Irish and Jewish ancestry, his thin, sculpted face seemed overwhelmed by a collection of strong irregular features. Growing up in Brooklyn and living the daily warfare of the streets had deepened and darkened the effect, giving him an intense, somewhat brooding presence. As he turned toward her, his expression remained cloaked. “You’re making it worse. This was never about the big love. We knew that from the start. We’re friends, remember? Let’s leave it there before we regret the whole thing.” She turned away from him, almost fiercely, then checked herself and sighed. “What’s the use? You’ve got everyone else duped. I hear the talk. By day, the great legendary cop—intuitive, ballsy. Down at the station, a James Early hunch is considered gospel. And, on top of all that, he’s a regular good guy. Nothing but hard work and ‘go team, go.’” She squinted at him in the semidarkness. “But after hours? Well, strange things come out to play. Guy’s got a flip side. He’s doing women, liquor, God knows what else. And here’s the sad part. He’s working hard at it, but the bad boy thing doesn’t fit him. Doesn’t fit him at all.” She paused, retrieved her earrings from the bedside table, and jammed them into her purse. “So who’s James Early? The jury’s absolutely still out.” Early grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen. I’m bone-tired, and I’m not right. I have nightmares, vicious ones. I wake up sweating, with no memories—just worn out. And the pressure never quits, never gives me a day off. Right now, all I want to do is go sit on a beach somewhere and forget. But I can’t. And there’s no room . . . no room for anything else until I sort it all out.” He slackened his grip. “I can’t care if you don’t understand. I’m just asking you not to take it personally.” His words slapped her quiet. For a moment, she stopped her barrage and actually studied him. It had only been five months ago, but no, this was not the same man she had flirted with in a Soho bar. The sharp features seemed worn down, the grey-green eyes colder, more distant. Even his skin looked paler, drawn more tightly across his cheekbones. With his guard down, her sometimes-lover did seem ten years older and running very rough. “Hey Early, it’s the twentieth century. You feel messed up—you see somebody. There are medications that—” “Zombies and junkies. No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He mustered his best smile. “I just need to regroup. I’ll get through it. People do it every day.” Kelli resumed her packing. Wadding up her negligee into a ball, she tossed it unceremoniously into her overnight bag. “I thought I got in there,” she said softly, “but I swear there’s an electric fence around you.” He shrugged. It was true –– he avoided real intimacy. It was all about sex and liquor–– mind numbing sensation and quick routes to oblivion that had gotten hm through the nights. Now even that wasn’t working. The flames in the fireplace had softened into embers—a steady orange sheen bathing the room. As Kelly zipped up her bag, Early slipped on his underwear and trousers, then got her coat from the closet. Taking her arm, he navigated her around the chaos on the cluttered floor. Her traditional comment about the maid’s night off went unspoken. At the door, he put his arm around her waist. His six feet towered above her diminutive frame. “It’s better for both of us this way. I mean it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.” “Whatever.” She fixed her collar. “I’m not going to hold my breath, but if you need or want . . . hell, just a friend, call me.” She leaned up against him and gave him a girlish kiss on the cheek. Turning quickly, she disappeared down the stairs into the darkness of the lower landing. When he could no longer hear the click of her heels, he closed the door softly, then sagged against it, exhausted from his efforts. It was getting harder and harder to hold the surface together while the foundation was breaking into pieces… He willed himself upright and into the living room, where he collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Alone now, the fire hissed and danced quietly before him. His eyes scrutinized the small studio apartment. He was struck by its sadness, struck by the pervading sense of loneliness. The room was inhabited, yes, but not lived in. It hadn’t always been that way. When, as a rookie cop, he had first moved in, he had commanded the space. Within months, he had turned it into a bastion of discipline and masculine aesthetics: dark wood and brick and things in their rightful places. As his condition worsened, however, things unraveled. Chaos was an easy mistress. Now, from the unmade bed to a floor strewn with empty bottles, pizza boxes, and newspapers, no sense of home was being articulated. Maybe it never would again. Early leaned over and pulled his .38 revolver from the shoulder holster on the end table. It felt like a touchstone; the weight, the cold metal in his hand oddly soothing. The cylinder spun effortlessly beneath his fingertips. Round and round. He lifted it to his ear and smiled obliquely. Chamber music. With the heel of his hand, he brought the spinning cylinder to an abrupt halt, then unloaded a single bullet. Turning it around between his thumb and index finger, Early examined it carefully. Sexy. A jewel of death. Rotating the chamber slowly, he emptied the rest of the ammo into his hand until all six bullets lay nestled in his palm. They were asleep now. A family. At peace in their snug metal jackets. Then, as if feeding them to a wild animal, he began to toss the bullets, one by one, into the fireplace. “Here’s one for the sickos. One for the cop killers.” Then two more. “For all the scumbag lawyers, corrupt politicos. You’re the worse. You keep it all going. You’re supposed to know better.” Without warning, the first slug hit meltdown and exploded, sending a shower of shattered brick from inside the chimney down onto the flaming logs. The second and third followed quickly as ash and smoke belched into the room. Early’s face remained impassive as he fingered the last two shells. He isolated one. “For all of you. Your crap. Not mine anymore.” The next eruption came moments later, kicking out a fireball onto his carpet. A chunk of metal whizzed past his ear and tore into the wallpaper on the opposite wall. The hallway outside filled with the sudden cacophony of rattling deadbolts sliding and doors flinging open and people yelling. Early ignored the commotion. Unaware of the silent tears on his cheek, he leaned closer to the pit of swirling sparks and ashes, the last bullet resting in the middle of his open hand. “And this one, James Early, is for you. You and all your ghosts. You’re broken. Don’t know how to fix yourself.” A furious knocking at his door startled him back to reality. “Hey! Hey in there! Early, you all right?” Disoriented, the detective looked around. Caustic smoke swirled around the room. Live coals glowed on the carpet and from the side of the armchair. He stared down at the bullet still cupped in his palm. It seemed out of focus. Surreal. The knocking came again, this time louder. But now the sounds were far away, in someone else’s bad movie. Placing the final bullet back into his revolver, he adjusted the chamber. When he needed it, it would be there. Slowly and deliberately, Early got up, went to his closet, and finished dressing. His plainclothes uniform never varied: white shirt, tie, black shoes. Beneath the grey sports jacket, his revolver and holster pressed against his ribs. Trench coat under his arm, he crawled through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The sudden shift was abrasive. A sharp April wind lashed at his face. A massive city roared below. Hands gripping the railing, he leaned out into the night. All around, the inky skyline peaked and plunged. Above, the stars shone like dull silver—cold, eternal nails hammered into the night sky. As the wail of a siren grew closer, Early descended, zigzagging his way down to Seventy-Eighth Street. One thing was obvious. Whatever forces were conspiring, whatever madness was overtaking him, it was about to hit critical mass. *** Excerpt from The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane. Copyright 2022 by Thomas Lane. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Lane. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Thomas Lane:

Born and raised in Connecticut, Thomas Lane is a multi-dimensional creative drawn to spaces where art, spirit, and social justice intersect. He is the author of The Artists’ Manifesto–– a tribute to the power of the Arts, its value to a society that has forgotten the precious nature of life.

In addition to a book of poetry, screenplays and paintings, he recently recorded a CD of his songs, entitled Hotel Earth under the stage name, Trakker.

Politically active since his teens, Thomas subsequently created The Helen Hudson Foundation, a charitable organization focused on social issues –– including homelessness, racism, and the environment. He currently lives with his wife in Rhode Island.

Catch Up With Thomas Lane: www.ThomasLane.com Amazon Author Profile Instagram – @thomaslane494 YouTube – @thomaslane2402 Facebook – @musicwordimage

 

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Welcome to my stop in the virtual book tour for A Killer Whisky organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Susan Calder will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

A Killer Whisky

By Susan Calder

 

 

Genre: Mystery

Synopsis

The 1918 influenza pandemic strikes Calgary, Alberta, Canada. The Great War rages overseas. While her husband fights in Europe, Katharine works in a doctor’s office to support her children and her brother, a wounded veteran. One night their neighbour suddenly takes sick and dies. The attending doctor concludes the man died from influenza, but Katharine suspects someone laced his whisky with a drug that mimics the deadly flu’s symptoms.

Katharine convinces the police to investigate. Worried about her brother’s involvement with a suspect, she delves into his secrets and comes to fear he’s connected to the murder. She grows disturbingly attracted to the investigating detective who returns her affections. He’s convinced her brother or someone else close to her is a killer and risks his career to pursue the crime. Katharine must discover the truth so she can move forward in a world that has changed forever.

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Enjoy this peek inside: 

Detective Bertram Tanner strode into Calgary Police Headquarters, his steps lighter than they’d been this morning.

“How was your walk?” Julia, the receptionist, asked.

“Reflective.”

“I often think while walking too.”

It was too soon to tell his colleagues he might be leaving the police force. “How was your lunch hour?”

“Busy,” she said. “I tracked down balloons for my son’s birthday celebration tonight.”

“Which son?”

“The oldest. He’s ten years old. We decided to limit the party to family due to the flu. He’s disappointed his friends can’t come, but it will be lively with all of us there.”

Julia, a war widow with three children, lived with her parents—the police chief and his wife.

“I phoned my mother after lunch,” Julia said. “She went to every confectionary in town and managed to find all the children’s favourite sweets despite the sugar shortage.”

The chief’s wife was a ball of energy. A leader in the local suffragette and Prohibition movements, she claimed personal credit for Alberta women gaining the vote and the province going dry in 1916.

Bertram went into his office, closed the door, and draped his coat and hat on the coat tree. What work could he do this afternoon? Reports of the Spanish flu’s arrival on a train from Eastern Canada were keeping people away from the pool rooms and dance halls. Calgary hadn’t had a brawl or knifing in a week. Even the criminals seemed to be staying home.

He took out an old file, a robbery scheduled for trial next week. A man broke into a house in the Sunalta neighbourhood and stole $2.75. Disturbed by a noise, he fled through a window but foolishly returned an hour later. Caught red-handed by three residents, the robber could be sentenced to up to a year of hard labour. Bertram tried to organize his trial notes, but his thoughts kept shifting to his plan to leave the police force when the war ended and soldiers came home to replace him on the job. After fifteen minutes, he set the robbery file aside and decided to take a methodical approach to his lunch hour reflections about leaving.

He took out a clean sheet of paper, drew a vertical line down the middle, and titled each side “pro” and “con.”

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About Author Susan Calder:

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Susan Calder lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She is the author of five novels published by BWL Publishing Inc. A Deadly Fall, Ten Days in Summer, Winter’s Rage and Spring Into Danger are part of her Paula Savard Mystery Series. The books follow the adventures of Paula, a Calgary insurance adjuster who works with the police to solve insurance-related crimes. Susan’s standalone suspense novel, To Catch a Fox takes a troubled Calgary woman to Southern California on a quest to find her missing mother. In December 2024, BWL will release Susan’s first historical novel, A Killer Whisky. The story is set in 1918 Calgary and will be the 12th and final book of the BWL Canadian Historical Mystery Series. Susan has also published non-fiction articles. Her short stories and poems have won contests and appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines. She is a member of Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, and the Writers’ Guild of Alberta.

Author Links: Website / Facebook

Purchase Link: Amazon

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Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman Banner

BONE PENDANT GIRLS
by Terry S. Friedman
February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
THE ANDI WYNDHAM SERIES

 

 

Beware the Fisherman.

Andi Wyndham has communicated with spirits since she was a kid. When a bone pendant carved into the likeness of a girl’s face calls to her at a gem show in Pennsylvania, she can’t resist buying it and a sister piece. When she discovers the girls are missing runaways and the pendants are made of human bone, Andi is drawn into a mystery that will force her to confront her gifts, her guilt, and the ghosts haunting her. Pendant Girls Mariah and Bennie urge Andi to find a man they call “Fisherman,” a master of disguise. Teaming up with a handsome private eye and a South Carolina sheriff, Andi must find the girls’ bodies and put their souls to rest, before the Fisherman casts his deadly net to trap Andi.

Praise for Bone Pendant Girls:

“Beautifully written, Friedman’s lyrical style will lure you in and scare you senseless.” ~ Annette Dashofy, USA Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mysteries “Friedman’s fast-paced thriller is both heart-pounding and heart-wrenching.” ~ Starred review Library Journal, March 1, 2024 “Full of paranormal twists, Bone Pendant Girls is a supernatural thriller about trust and acceptance.” ~ Foreword Reviews “This supernatural thriller provides an enjoyable wrinkle in narration. The audiobook doesn’t feature a single narrator voicing all characters or a full cast with an individual narrator voicing each character. . . . Together, the three narrators provide enlightening perspectives on the hunt at the heart of this chilling production.” ~ D.E.M. © AudioFile 2024, Portland, Maine [Published: MAY 2024]

 

Book Details:

Genre: Paranormal Thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Southern

Published by: CamCat Books Publication Date: February 25, 2025 Number of Pages: 496 ISBN: 9780744307931 (ISBN10: 0744307937) Series: Andi Wyndham, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books | Goodreads | Audible

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MY REVIEW

Do you enjoy the paranormal? Suspense? Thrillers? Well, this book has it all. Along with a strong protagonist in Andi and the supporting characters. And it provides plenty of feels. From kind of eerie to sad and funny.

I admit, the cover was what first caught my attention. It’s gorgeous. And once I got further into the book, the cover and title held more meaning for me.

The story alternates between more than one POV and more than one world. I easily followed the story and was always eager to read about who and what was happening where.

There’s mystery, suspense, a sprinkling of romance and great dialogue. Many of the characters won me over and a certain someone needed to be voted off the island, permanently. There was never a time where I felt like skipping ahead. The writing and plot kept my full attention. This was an excellent story and I’m crossing fingers and toes that this won’t be the last time I read about these characters and worlds.

5 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:
Ginkgo leaves drifted down like butterfly wings outside the gem show. They made a yellow carpet on the walkway to the boarding school’s gymnasium. Within the swirling leaves, Andi heard a voice. Hollow metallic vowels rustled like leaves in gutters. Consonants scratched and thumped like animals trapped in heating ducts. When the frantic skittering of syllables merged into words, a ghostly plea slipped into her consciousness. Trapped . . . help. “You’ll find your way to the Other Side,” Andi whispered. Some days, the spirits refused to leave her in peace. Turning off spirits’ voices was like trying to keep a snake in a bird cage. The Shadows had been with her since she was four. Her mother had sent those spirits to watch over her. But the voice she heard today was not the Shadows. They rarely spoke. Please . . . help. Andi opened the door. “I’m not the one to help you,” she told the young voice. “I attract bad men.” The ticket ladies took her money and stamped her hand. She scanned from one end of the gymnasium to the other. So many vendors. Where to start. Left past the fossils to a station called P&S Lapidary. They always had unique pieces. Please . . . ma’am. The whisper had a faint Southern lilt. “Aw come on. Hijack someone else’s head. Go see my ex-husband. Convince him to give me all his money.” Andi looked left and right to make sure no one had heard. No need to worry. Odds were good that at least one other person in the crowd talked to herself. Andi made her way through thirty stations. Through bargain-bound women rummaging in bins of clearance beads, through vendors taking orders to set stones, through miles of bead strands, she searched for the perfect happy, shiny piece. Twice around the gym, and that whispering voice drilled its way into her conscience again. Please . . . buy . . . me. Cripes! The urgency of that sweet young voice. She heaved a sigh. “Hope you’re not expensive. Where are you?” Her feet ached and the place was stifling hot. “Where?” Over here! She couldn’t see a damn thing through the shoppers lined up two people deep at the stations. Up on her toes, down, from foot to foot, sideways. A tiring, annoying dance. Andi shivered despite the stuffy gymnasium. Here! Easing her way through the shoppers, she peered into a glass display case. Malachite beads, a red coral branch necklace, two strands of ringed freshwater pearls, and one pendant with a cameo-style face etched in bone. The vendor with a bolo tie looked like her ninth grade geography teacher. “Let me open that for you. The face pendants are going fast. Only two left.” He lifted the hinged glass cover. Me! A loud whisper from the carved pendant with a girl’s face. Andi looked intently at it. Like most cameos, the face was a side profile. Tendrils of the girl’s curly hair escaped an upswept hairdo, framing her face. At first, she appeared to be asleep. Then the girl’s face turned and studied her too, eyes blinking as if she’d just awakened. Andi shivered. In the spirit world she’d inherited from her mother, voices whispered. Images in jewelry didn’t move. What now? She spoke silently. Subconscious to subconscious. Hurry, ma’am! Buy . . . A woman who reeked of Chanel No. 5 snatched the face pendant from the case. “Excuse me,” Andi said. “I came here to buy that piece. It called to me.” There now, she’d admitted she was crazy. She gave a lopsided grin and a shrug. “Please could I have it?” “Sorry, hon. I got here first.” A condescending glance at Andi, and the lady wrapped her bratwurst fingers around the pendant. “Not to worry, ladies,” the seller told them. “I have another like this.” He pushed the tablecloth aside, reached under the table, and pulled out a second pendant. “It’s stunning with Namibian Pietersite accents. I could let you have it for the same price.” No . . . me. An adamant voice. “I don’t want the other pendant,” Andi said. “I came here for the one in her hand.” At the next booth, a woman holding a jade jar stopped talking and stared at her. Andi blushed, knowing she sounded like a petulant child. Suddenly, Chanel Lady gasped. “Ouch! Awful thing cut me. It has sharp edges.” A thin line of blood welled on her finger, and she dropped the pendant as if it had bitten her. Andi caught it before it hit the floor. The silver bezel felt ice-cold. A young girl’s eyes gazed up at her and blinked. Thanks, ma’am. She stared at the pendant. Her mother had warned about spirits attaching to people. If spirits attached, she’d said, terrible things could happen. Chanel Lady cradled the darker pendant. Not a word was uttered from it. Maybe the tea-stained piece believed in being seen and not heard. Its bone face was younger. Pietersite in the top bezel had chatoyancy, a luminous quality. Thin wavy splotches of browns, blacks, reds, and yellows swirled through the dark stone like tiny ice crystals in frozen latte. “Yes. I like this one better. Excellent quality Pietersite,” Chanel Lady said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take her payment first.” The seller probably wanted to send the woman to another station before she started a fight with his customers. “No problem. Is this ivory?” Andi asked. Whether vendors called it mammoth bone or not, elephants didn’t deserve to be slaughtered for jewelry. “Absolutely not. Wouldn’t sell it if it was. Cow bone,” he assured her. A triumphant smirk aimed at Andi, and Chanel Lady made her way through the crowd. Subduing an impulse to give her the middle finger, Andi turned back to the pendant. She studied the heart-shaped face, turned it over and winced at the tiny price sticker. Was she insane? Andi couldn’t afford that; she’d lost her teaching job. “I’ll need your address and email.” The seller handed her a clipboard. She’d fought over it and won, no changing her mind now. While he charged her credit card, Andi filled out the information for his mailing list. Then she weaved through the shoppers to find a quiet corner by the concessions stand. What the hell. The pendant was a dose of credit card therapy. Unzipping the plastic sleeve, she lifted the piece by the bail. Two bezels set in silver. One disk held labradorite, a luminous blue stone with black veins, and in the second bezel, a face carved in bone. She shifted it in her palm, studying the details. Had light played with the image, making it look like the girl moved? It would warm at the touch of her skin. Once more around the gym, and she left the show, slogging through the field toward her car, wondering how a whispering girl had convinced her to buy a pricey pendant. Yet, she had a sense that something other than her credit card bill had changed. *** Excerpt from Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman. Copyright 2024 by Terry S. Friedman. Reproduced with permission from Terry S. Friedman. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Terry Friedman:

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Terry S. Friedman

Terry Friedman is a writer and a rockhound. Her novel, BONE PENDANT GIRLS, a paranormal thriller, was published by CamCat January 30, 2024. Terry began her writing career freelancing for a small newspaper outside Philadelphia. While raising her daughters Jessica and Chelie in West Chester, PA, she taught English for decades and traveled abroad with students. Terry earned an M.F.A. from Wilkes University and also graduated from the FBI Citizens Academy. Thirteen of her fiction and non-fiction pieces have been published, and she co-edited Delaware Valley Mystery Writers’ short stories anthology. DEATH KNELL V. She is an award-winning author. In 2022 the Southeastern Writers Association awarded her first place in their writing contest for her humor piece, second place for BONE PENDANT GIRLS in a fiction category, and an honorable mention for THE BANSHEE’S WAIL, an unpublished Irish novel. She is a Killer Nashville Claymore Finalist in the Supernatural category. A Pennwriters Board member and a member of Sisters in Crime, she currently writes thrillers from coastal South Carolina. Terry has traveled the world from Fiji to Delphi and brings to her writing a solid respect for things that go bump in the night.

Catch Up With Terry S. Friedman: www.TerryFriedmanAuthor.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads – @tfried44 BookBub – @tfried44 Instagram – @wineandreeses Threads – @wineandreeses X – @tfried44 BlueSky – @tfried44 Facebook – @TerrySFriedmanAuthor

 

 

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,

When a single dad and his son’s teacher clash, sparks fly and it’s not only because his son is
neglecting his chores to read.

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A Family With the Cowboy

The Westons of Montana Book 1

by Elsa Winckler

Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance

Widowed rancher
Hayden Weston knows what it means to be responsible for his siblings, his
eight-year-old son, and the running of the huge family cattle ranch. Some even
call him a stern and grumpy taskmaster and they’re not exactly wrong. So when
Hayden discovers his son reading a storybook instead of doing chores, he calls
on Luke’s teacher to talk about priorities.

School teacher
Laura Anderson is new to Marietta, Montana, and has never—until now—been
reprimanded for encouraging a child to read. It doesn’t help that
sweet Luke’s father is the handsome cowboy with the amber eyes that she met in
Grey’s Saloon, or that she’s wildly attracted to him.

Sparks keep flying as their paths keep crossing, but Hayden is determined not to give in to
his incomprehensible need to have, hold, and protect Laura from any type of
harm. He’s the one who’ll hurt her if he lets her stray too close. He’s not ready to admit his feelings or commit to sharing his life with her.

Even if love comes tumbling in.

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Pen or type writer or computer?

I plan my stories with a pencil but once I start writing, it’s on my computer.

 

What made you want to become an author and do you feel it was the right decision?

I’ve always love writing essays while at school but I grew up in a small town where people like authors were from another planet! If it hadn’t been for a competition in a magazine looking for romance stories I don’t think I ever would’ve had the guts to try and send anything to a publisher. Now, of course, I can’t imagine any way of life.

 

A day in the life of the author? 

I get up around seven in the morning, do all the usual chores and try to get in front of my computer by nine except for those days I do online Pilates classes when I only start at ten. I work until lunch time, make sure hubby has something to eat and then I write until about four when it’s time to think about dinner. I try not to write on weekends, but when deadlines are looming, I’ll write on Saturdays. I have also found I need about four weeks a year away from the computer to recharge.

 

Advice they would give new authors? 

Reading books on how to write or attending workshops about writing is all well and good but if you want to be writer, you have to sit down and write. Write your story, not anyone else’s.

 

What are they currently reading? 

I have just finished reading Midnight at the Blackbird Café and loved it. A beautiful story about family, loss, grief, regrets, forgiveness and second chances.

I have a stack of TNR and next is Still life by Louise Penny – a murder mystery.

 

What is your writing process? For instance do you do an outline first? Do you do the chapters first? 

I find inspiration in different kind of things. Sometimes an article I’ve read, something I’ve heard or something that has happened to me. Creating the characters is usually the first step for me. What do they look like? (I have a Pinterest board for inspiration) and then comes the interesting part – who are they, where do they come from, what are their quirks and flaws and what do they want, why can’t they get it?

I usually send the publisher a proposal outlining the story and that is what I use. I don’t plan chapters, though. I have find as I write, I get to know the characters better and they usually tell me what they want to do next.

 

What are common traps for aspiring writers?

Don’t try and mimic someone else’s writing. Write your own story. You’re going to be someone’s favorite author!

 

Do you try more to be original or to deliver to readers what they want?

Readers of romance novels have very definite expectations of any romance the pick up (as a study by Janice Radway has shown) and you as a writer has to deliver what they are looking for – a handsome hero, gorgeous heroine and a happy ending but it is also the duty of the author to find different and exciting ways to do that – for me, this is the fun part.

 

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Writing, like most things in life, is a process. It takes as long as it takes. Some stories bleed from your fingers on to the page, others is like giving birth – a long, and painful process. It doesn’t help to try and force it, though, you’ll only frustrate yourself. Trust the process, is one of my favorite mantras.

 

What’s the most difficult thing about writing characters from the opposite sex?

The way men and women think, is different so writing from a man’s perspective can be challenging but I learn a lot from my husband, two sons and three grandsons! Men don’t think so much about the things that keep us women awake at night ☺

 

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

It depends on the story. I try to write two thousand words a day and I love those weeks I have nothing else going on and can just write. I have written a story in three weeks, but it usually takes me anything from four to six weeks.

 

Do you believe in writer’s block?

It hasn’t happened to me, yet. I do sometimes get stuck, but that is usually when something is wrong – there isn’t enough conflict or reason for a conflict, or I sometimes I need to change a name!

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I have been reading love stories for as long as I can remember and
when I ‘met’ the classic authors like Jane Austen, Elizabeth Gaskell, Henry
James The Brontë sisters, etc. during my Honours studies, I was hooked for
life. I married my college boyfriend and soul mate and after 47 years, 3
interesting and wonderful children and 4 beautiful grandchildren, he still
makes me weak in the knees. We are fortunate to live in the picturesque little
seaside village of Betty’s Bay, South Africa with the ocean a block away and a
beautiful mountain right behind us. And although life so far has not always
been an easy ride, it has always been an exciting and interesting one! I like
the heroines in my stories to be beautiful, feisty, independent and headstrong.
And the heroes must be strong but possess a generous amount of sensitivity.
They are of course, also gorgeous! My stories typically incorporate the family
background of the characters to better understand where they come from and who
they are when we meet them in the story.

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The luck of the draw has never been riskier.

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Would You Rather…

part of The Haunting of Pinedale High Series

by Kimberly Baer

Genre: YA Paranormal

Pick a card, any
card…

Would you rather be an amazing artist or a brilliant mathematician?

Would you rather lose your mother or your father?

Would you rather roast to death or freeze to death?

It’s a silly game hosted by a substitute teacher, an exercise in exploring the
workings of the teenage mind. Twenty-three students make their choices, and the
game is forgotten—until the chosen scenarios start coming true. Classmates Ava,
Blake, and Charlie are determined to track down the mysterious teacher and
persuade him to end the curse. But the clock is ticking, lives hang in the
balance, and the foe they seek is more menacing than they could imagine.

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Deej stared at his card for a long time. Then he shot Mr. Trinkley a dark look. “This is effed up.”

Mr. Trinkley said, “Read the card aloud, Mr. Nolty.”

Deej’s mouth twisted like he was chewing something nasty. He read, “ ‘Would you rather die of cancer or be killed in a vehicular collision?’ ”

A horrified silence followed. Jared mumbled, “That’s harsh.”

Deej said flatly, “So either way I’m screwed.”

“Some may see it that way,” said Mr. Trinkley. “Regardless, you must choose. Surely one scenario is preferable to the other.”

Deej shook his head, his lips pressed together. Mr. Trinkley glanced around the classroom. “Thoughts, anyone?”

For the longest time no one spoke. Finally, Charlie said, “If you die fast, you don’t suffer. Dying slow gives you time to reflect back on your life.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” said Mr. Trinkley.

“Fine,” said Deej. “Then kill me in an accident. I’ve only lived for sixteen years. I don’t have much to reflect back on.”

Blake wondered if everyone else was as eager for class to end as he was. He glanced at the clock. Twenty-five minutes to go. He wished the bell would ring before his turn came up, but that was unlikely. There were only six people between him and would you rather.

His heart thudded sickly, a fight-or-flight response with no rational basis. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm himself. Everything is fine. It’s just a silly game.

But was it? His gut insisted something was very wrong.

Mr. Trinkley moved to the next desk and then the next. Blake felt like a fly caught in a web, waiting for the spider to scuttle over and devour him. Would you rather scenarios flowed into his ears and took root in his imagination, like horror-movie shorts.

Would you rather live in a house infested by bedbugs or by spiders?

Would you rather roast to death or freeze to death?

Would you rather have a grotesque rash or chronic diarrhea?

The room blurred and shimmied around him, and he clutched the edges of his desk to steady himself. This whole situation seemed surreal, like a dream. A nightmare, actually. Why were so many of the scenarios bad? Nobody’d had a good one since Jared.

A shape materialized at Blake’s side, dark as a shadow. “Your turn, Mr. Pedley.”

Blake wondered suddenly how Mr. Trinkley knew everybody’s name. Had he memorized the seating chart before class started? That didn’t seem possible unless the guy had a photographic memory.

Blake eyed the tray apprehensively. The cards were no longer lined up neatly but had gotten jumbled, like objects jostled around by an earthquake. The card backs were ivory in color, though it was possible they’d started out bright white and had yellowed over the course of many years. Each one featured a dark blue star with a staring eye in the middle of it. A fancy curlicue design danced around the border.

Blake reached for a card near the middle of the pile but then withdrew his hand. He almost chose a card that was half hidden under several others but changed his mind. He finally selected a card that was off by itself in a corner of the tray.

He winced as he turned it over.

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Kimberly Baer is an author
and professional editor who was born and raised in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, a
town marginally famous for having endured three major floods. She even lived
there during one of them. She enjoys power-walking on days when it’s not too
hot, too cold, too rainy, too snowy, or too windy. On indoor days, you’re
likely to find her hard at work on her next novel or binge-watching old
episodes of Survivor, her favorite guilty pleasure.

 Kim has had her nose in a
book practically since birth. Her first story, written at age six, was about a
baby chick that hatched out of a little girl’s Easter egg after somehow
surviving the hard-boiling process. These days she writes in a variety of genres,
including young adult, middle-grade, and adult romantic suspense. Her books are
published by The Wild Rose Press and have won several awards.

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She’s the first female police detective in Acapulco.

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Barracuda Bay

Detective Emilia Cruz Book 9

by Carmen Amato

Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Female Detective

.

Political corruption turns Acapulco’s first female police detective into a fugitive on
the run . . . in Washington DC.

“A thrilling series” — National Public Radio
In a derelict building for sale, Acapulco police detective Emilia Cruz stumbles
on the body of a woman brutally shot to death. Incredibly, the victim was the
sister of Acapulco’s ambitious mayor, who is running for re-election against an
opponent with deep pockets.
Emilia’s investigation is immediately under pressure for a fast result. The
victim’s ex-boyfriend has a suspiciously weak alibi but is the crime scene the
key to finding the murderer? The building was once used for a secret Mexican
government operation targeting a ruthless drug lord.
Meanwhile, there’s a conspiracy within the police department to force Emilia
out.
Before Emilia can save her job or arrest her prime suspect, she’s sent on an
errand of mercy to Washington, DC.
There she becomes a fugitive hunted by killers masquerading as cops. Alone,
desperate and on the run, Emilia turns for help to a man she once vowed to
murder.
He’s her only chance to survive a deadly game of political intrigue on the
wrong side of the border.
From Acapulco’s beaches to the streets of Washington, DC, the stakes couldn’t
be higher in this electrifying, page-turning thriller.

 

2019 and 2020 Poison Cup award, Outstanding Series – CrimeMasters of
America

 

 

“Emilia is a character who is close to my heart” –
MysterySequels

 

 

“Amato brings her characters to life with her vivid writing style
and sets them on the streets of a Mexico steeped in Catholicism and
corruption” – OnlineBookClub.org

 

With unflinching authenticity from the author’s own espionage and counterdrug
experience in Mexico and Central America, this is a female detective mystery
series like no other.
The Emilia Cruz series is for fans of international mystery and crime by Ian
Rankin, Jo Nesbo, Ann Cleeves, Donna Leon and Liza Marklund, plus the
Department Q series by Jussi Adler-Olsen. Fans of Don Winslow’s cartel and
border thrillers set in Mexico love the plots torn from the headlines of the
Detective Emilia Cruz police series set in Acapulco.

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Casa de Plata looked just the same except for the yellow crime scene tape proclaiming PROHIBIDO EL PASO zigzagging across the massive front entrance. Emilia peeled it back on one side and unlocked the door.

The huge echoing foyer was the same as well. Emilia didn’t bother to turn on the chandelier. She wasn’t there to gaze upward.

The crime scene techs had come and gone but she combed the entire building, checking for door locks that looked to have been jimmied open and finding nothing. She even studied the balconies from all angles and concluded that the only way someone could have accessed a balcony from the outside would be to swing Tarzan-style over the razor-topped perimeter wall.

Each of the two ground floor apartments had a French door that opened to a patio running the full width of the rear of the building. In Casa de Plata’s heyday, the doors would have allowed for a beautiful view of gracious living. Now all that remained were paving stones choked with weeds, shards of half a dozen terracotta planters, and an abandoned wrought iron table slowly turning into a heap of rust.

She went back inside and unlocked the door to the apartment where Monica had been killed. She stood in the silent dining room. The crime scene techs had taken the armchair away, presumably for forensic study, but Emilia was more interested in the faint streaks it left on the terrazzo floor.

“You were sitting here,” Emilia muttered as she squatted by the chair. Dust motes swirled gently in the air, illuminated by sunlight filtered through the grimy windows. “Eating all sorts of different tapas. There must have been lots of small plates or takeout boxes.”

Certainly Monica had not been there by herself. No, someone else sat across from the woman, sharing an impromptu but elegant picnic complete with linens and champagne.

Until something spooked her. Monica pushed herself away from the table hard enough to leave skid marks on the floor. Raised her hands to ward off danger. The killer had faced her, with the table between them. Two shots, one through each hand.

She straightened up, looking at the clean tabletop and mute row of chairs on the other side. A tablecloth would have prevented fingerprints and made cleanup easy. No extra bullets that missed the target and hit the wall or chair. No wasted energy. The nerve to shoot a defenseless woman while staring straight at her.

“Her date was either lucky or a pro,” Emilia said, thinking aloud. “He shoots her. Takes her purse and cell phone, then gathers up the tablecloth with all the leftovers and walks out.”

Either way, the killer was someone Monica knew and trusted. Was comfortable eating and drinking with them.

But why here? Why Casa de Plata? Was there a federale angle to this? Lieutenant Campos rose up in her mind’s eye. He was slick and trendy. Not at all the somber federale officer of public imagination.

Help me. 

An invisible hand touched Emilia’s cheek. She flinched so hard that her feet went out from under her.

Her hip hit the floor first, then her right shoulder. Emilia twisted to keep her head from cracking like an egg against the terrazzo. She was instantly dazzled by sparks of pain shooting from thigh to neck.

Her phone rang. Breathing hard, Emilia managed to roll onto her stomach and extract it from the back pocket of her jeans.

“Where the hell are you?” Silvio thundered. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. Meet me downtown. We found Monica Montoya’s car.”

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**Don’t miss the rest of the Detective Emilia Cruz Series!**

Find out more on the Author’s Website!

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  1. Your Ticket to Acapulco

Ask someone to name a vacation spot in Mexico and chances are good that they’ll say Acapulco.

Name recognition is one of the reasons I set the Detective Emilia Cruz series in Acapulco. It’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Viewed from the famous Las Brisas neighborhood, the city is a picture postcard with its sweeping bay, gorgeous sandy beaches, white skyscrapers and sparkling nightlife.

Not only is Acapulco a spring break destination, but it used to be a playground for Hollywood stars. John Wayne and Johnny Weissmuller owned the Hotel Los Flamingos, which they ran as a private club for friends. Rita Hayworth celebrated her 28th birthday on Errol Flynn‘s yacht, while Elizabeth Taylor married producer Mike Todd there. Elvis starred in Fun in Acapulco in 1963.

But Acapulco has fallen on hard times. Thanks to the drug trade, the city is a prize fought over by rival drug cartels. Chinese precursor chemicals used to make meth and fentanyl come through its ports. Drugs of all types pass through on the way to the United States.

This duality—Hollywood glam vs dangerous drug waypoint–makes Acapulco a unique setting for a mystery series. Trying her best to be an honest cop in a tough situation, Detective Emilia Cruz is caught in the middle. How does she balance investigating gruesome homicides, then having cocktails in a hi-rise?

Resilience is a theme through all the books in the Detective Emilia Cruz series. Especially in  BARRACUDA BAY, Emilia’s resilience will be tested like never before. On the eve of city elections in Acapulco, a violent murder leads her to Washington DC where she is stalked by killers determined to make sure she never makes it home alive.

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A 30-year veteran of the Central Intelligence Agency,
Carmen Amato writes the contemporary Detective Emilia Cruz series pitting the
first female police detective in Acapulco against Mexico’s cartels, corruption,
and social inequality. Beginning with Cliff Diver, it’s a 2-time winner
of the Outstanding Series award from CrimeMasters of America and a 4-time
finalist for the Silver Falchion award, lauded by Kirkus Reviews as “Danger and
betrayal never more than a few pages away.”

 Carmen Amato is also the 2023 winner of the Silver
Falchion Award for Best Historical for Murder at the Galliano Club,
inspired by her grandfather’s experiences as a deputy sheriff during
Prohibition. Her standalone thrillers include The Hidden Light of Mexico
City
, which was longlisted for the 2020 Millennium Book Award.

 Carmen is a recipient of both the National Intelligence
Award and the Career Intelligence Medal. She has been a judge for the BookLife
Prize and Killer Nashville’s Claymore Award. Her work has appeared in Huffpost,
Criminal Element, Publishers Weekly,
and other national publications.

 Originally from upstate New York, after years of
globe-trotting she and her husband enjoy life in Tennessee.

  

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Follow Jessica Warren, her family, and friends as they find true love in the competitive world
of equestrian sports.

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Dressage Dreaming

Horses Heal Hearts Book 1

by Kimberly Beckett

Genre: Steamy Contemporary Romance

Michael Stafford
was on top of the world. A proud member of the British Olympic dressage team
and Olympic gold medalist, his life was perfect. Then, he lost his mount, his
fiancée left him for another man, and now, his brother has been arrested for
manslaughter.

He believes his
luck has turned when he learns that a beautiful and talented stallion is
available in Germany, just in time to compete in the next World Cup
competition. The horse’s name is Tempest.

Jessica Warren is
an up-and-coming American dressage prodigy with a brilliant future. Orphaned at
the age of 21, when her parents were tragically killed in a car accident, and
the legal guardian of her younger sister, Jessica has lost her competition mount
to injury and needs a new horse if she wants to compete in next year’s World
Cup.

She learns of a
spectacular horse available in Germany named Tempest, but when Jessica arrives
in Germany with her trainer, she discovers she will have to compete with the
extremely handsome and talented Michael Stafford for the right to ride Tempest.

Jessica has
nothing but respect for Michael, but sparks fly when they’re thrown together in
a competition that both must win.

Who will win
Tempest? Will Michael be able to trust another woman with his heart? Will
Jessica allow herself to be loved, or will her personal demons keep them apart?

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.

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Chapter One

A loud, rhythmic banging noise shattered the glorious dream of his past Olympic glory, and Michael slowly woke and made the agonizing transition from perfect bliss to cold, stark reality. An earsplitting voice invaded his foggy, alcohol-dazed state “Oy! Mike! I know you’re in there, man. Open up!”

“Bloody hell!” Michael groaned, as his head throbbed in pain. “Stop that pounding, I’m coming, I’m coming.” Michael pulled himself up off the overstuffed leather sofa upon which he had apparently crashed sometime in the early morning hours after finishing off his last bottle of scotch. His mouth felt like it was lined with cotton, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His head was pounding in time with the beat of his heart, and his walk was unsteady as he took the first few steps toward the door.

The clock on the wall showed it was ten o’clock. Even the slow, steady ticking away of the seconds was painful to his head this morning. He gradually made his way to the door as he tried to mentally bring himself into the present. Now, a year later, Michael was living in the refurbished manor house on the farm in Surrey that he had purchased with the money he had earned as a result of his Olympic success. He had turned the small farm into a dressage training yard and boarding stable and christened it Stafford Oaks Farm. It was what he and Emma had dreamed of that night, the best night of his life. So much had happened since then.

As he moved toward the door, Michael scanned the compact living area that had once been the family parlor and noticed piles of dirty clothes and dishes strewn about the room. He hastily tried to move some of the worst of it out of the way. He gingerly opened the curtains of the window closest to his front door and squinted into the late morning sun to see who had so rudely awakened him. Lionel Hayes, his best friend for nearly twenty years and a fellow dressage rider, stood outside and peered back, motioning to the door. “Do you mind?”

Michael opened the door. “Lionel, you sod, what the hell are doing here?”

Lionel pushed his way into the room. He was a bit taller than Michael, but much thinner, almost gaunt in appearance. His blond hair and blue eyes were stereotypically British as was his long, thin nose, and prominent square chin. “I tried to call you on your cell phone an hour ago and you didn’t call me back. I got worried. What in God’s name have you been doing?” Lionel grimaced as he looked around at what had once been a neat and tastefully decorated manor. He wrinkled his nose “This is disgusting.” Then Lionel noticed the empty bottle of Scotch on Michael’s coffee table. “Now I know what you’ve been up to, trying to drown your sorrows in drink yet again. Well, my friend, it’s not going to work, and I’m here to make sure you don’t end up in the hospital with liver failure.”

Lionel walked around Michael’s home, opening curtains and cranking open several windows to allow a cool morning breeze to circulate through what had been a hot, stuffy home filled with dirty laundry and dishes and smelled like a cross between a men’s locker room and a garbage dump.

“Look, Lionel, I think I’m entitled to an occasional drinking binge considering everything that’s happened to me in the past year.” Michael’s mind immediately flashed back over the year that had passed since he had experienced the best day of his life: winning a gold medal at the Olympic Games held in his home country. Since that day, his life had been nothing but a series of setbacks and disappointment. First, the owners of Romeo, the gifted stallion he rode to a gold medal in the Olympics, decided to take the horse out of competition immediately after the Games to make a tidy profit breeding him. Without Romeo, Michael wasn’t able to continue to compete internationally, and was having a great deal of trouble finding another horse as talented to ride in Romeo’s stead. Without the public exposure competition gleaned for him, his Olympic fame began to fade. His fiancée, Emma, who had enjoyed the glitter and attention he drew immediately following the Olympic Games, became bored with their lives after Michael moved out of the spotlight. It wasn’t long before she began acting suspicious of his relationships with other women, accusing him of being unfaithful to her. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and he had tried to explain to Emma that he had to travel to teach clinics and market his skills as a trainer, but all she seemed to be able to see were the many women who clamored to meet him and get close to him. Her suspicions baffled him, because he took great pains never to be alone with any of the women he met through his clinics and loved Emma too much to cheat on her with any other woman.

Michael still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened between them, but everything seemed to fall apart right after the Olympic Games. Before the Games, he and Emma were on top of the world, looking forward to a life together living on his training yard in the country outside London, where he would raise and train horses for himself and others in dressage, and she would continue working in the city for a prestigious law firm. He was certain they loved each other unconditionally, although he must admit in hindsight that their relationship wasn’t perfect. Still, he felt betrayed, and had vowed to himself never to give his heart so foolishly ever again.

Michael picked up the tabloid from his coffee table and showed it to Lionel. On the cover was a picture of Emma with a one of Britain’s most famous footballers. She was laughing and looking at him adoringly, and he seemed to enjoy her attention, smiling down and holding her close, with his arm around her waist. “I can’t go anywhere without some reminder of Emma. While standing in line at the grocery store buying food for the week, I saw this in a rack next to the checkout line.” He pointed to the photo on the cover. “It seems she has a penchant for rich and famous men,” he said bitterly. “She used to look at me like that,” Michael fumed. “Just wait until you get injured or retire, friend” he told the man in the photos, “she’ll drop you like a rock.” Unfortunately, although his head told him he had escaped a bad situation and should be grateful, his heart was still engaged, and he had tried last night to dull the pain with Scotch.

“Look, man.” Lionel threw the tabloid back on the table. “You’ve got to let her go and get on with your life. You can’t let her be your ruin.”

Michael knew Lionel was right. His career and his life had gone seriously downhill since Emma left. While he had once been scrupulous about his preparation for public appearances and had always been punctual for clinics and lessons, he was now either late or, even worse, a last-minute cancel or no-show for fully booked weekend clinics for which he had already been paid half up front. He had also started to be chronically late for lesson clients, and one of his two working students had left him in frustration. As a result, the invitations to do clinics stopped coming, and many of his lesson clients moved on to other trainers. The agent he hired after the Olympic Games eventually dropped him. He had barely any income except for some horse boarding clients at his stable, and a couple of training clients who were also good friends and understood why he was acting out of character. Even those clients, though, were losing patience. As a result, he was becoming alarmingly close to financial ruin. He was barely able to make the monthly mortgage payments on his farm, and had been forced to live a very austere existence, the occasional drinking binge notwithstanding.

As Lionel moved a pile of clothes out of the way so he could sit down on the sofa, Michael’s phone started ringing.

“Good God!” Michael groaned, as his head throbbed in pain. “What now?”

He picked up the phone. “Yes, what is it?” Michael growled into the receiver.

“Mr. Michael Stafford?” The clipped, and very formal male voice on the other line responded.

“Yes. This is Michael Stafford. Who is this?”

“This is Constable Eric Madden of the Surrey police. We have your brother Ian Stafford in custody here at the station.”

Michael’s heart sank, and he raked his fingers through his hair. “What has my brother done, Constable Madden? Why is he in custody?”

“Last night, your brother started a fight, and stabbed one of the patrons of the Rusty Nail Pub in Woking. The pub owner called us for assistance, and when two constables arrived in response to the Pub owner’s call, he resisted arrest. He punched one of our officers before we were able to subdue him. He also had been drinking excessively according to witnesses at the scene. We have him in custody. Unfortunately, the man your brother stabbed died at the hospital two hours later, so Mr. Stafford has officially been charged with manslaughter.”

Michael’s heart sank. “My God!” he exclaimed, “That’s simply not possible. Ian would never purposely hurt anyone unless he was defending himself. “Something must be seriously wrong if Ian had gotten himself into this kind of trouble. “How is he, Constable?”

“He has a few bruises from the fight, and he has a pretty powerful hangover, but otherwise, he seems to be physically all right, and no one else was seriously injured,” the constable replied. “He’s asked me to contact you. He wants to see you.”

“Certainly, Constable Madden. I’ll be right there.”

“Mr. Stafford, if I may, your brother has refused to speak with us about exactly what happened last night, and he has also not requested a solicitor to assist with his defense. I suggest you engage a solicitor to represent him at your earliest convenience. These charges are serious, and he may be facing life in prison if found guilty.”

“Thank you, Constable. That’s good advice. I’ll get on it right away.” Michael hung up the phone and looked at Lionel.

“I’m sorry Li, I have to go to the police station. It appears my brother Ian has gotten himself arrested, and could be in some serious trouble.”

“Do you want me to come along? It might be nice to have some moral support.”

“No, but thanks for the offer. This is family business, and I don’t want you to get entangled in this mess. At least not until I get to the bottom of this.”

“At least let me fix you something to eat while you shower and change. There’s no way you want to go to the police station looking like you do right now.” Lionel opened the refrigerator and searched for something he might be able to cook. “Do you have any eggs or milk?”

Michael shuddered at the thought of solid food hitting his much-abused stomach, but he knew Lionel was right. He needed nourishment, and scrambled eggs would work as well as anything.

“I do. If you look a bit, there should be both in there. Thanks, man.” With Lionel now occupied in the kitchen, Michael turned and went into the bathroom. After Michael left the room, Lionel could no longer suppress the malicious grin he had been hiding since he arrived at Michael’s home. His plan was working. He was, slowly and surely, ruining Michael Stafford’s life.

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Racing Toward Love

Horses Heal Hearts Book 2

Ian Stafford is a
former British Special Forces soldier and Afghanistan war veteran who still has
nightmares after watching his best friend cut down by a sniper in a remote
village in Afghanistan. When he sees a woman in a local pub being harassed and
threatened, he intervenes. During the ensuing brawl, the woman escapes, but Ian
accidentally stabs one of his attackers, who later dies. Ian is charged with
manslaughter, and the woman who can exonerate him has disappeared.

Megan Brady and
her father Daniel never imagined that the thoroughbred colt they raised from
birth would grow up to be a contender for the British Triple Crown. Seabiscuit
II is the last horse you might imagine as a champion if judged by looks alone.
Like his namesake, Seabiscuit II is not much to look at, but has a heart as big
as all outdoors, and refuses to be beaten.

Unfortunately,
the Irish mob has also taken notice, and has approached Megan’s brother Stephen
with an offer of a bribe to purposely lose the most important race of his
career. Stephen refused, and Megan has taken it upon herself to thwart the mob,
but their brutal tactics nearly see her raped until Ian steps in to save her.
Megan knows she must come out of hiding to exonerate Ian. But she also knows
that if she does, the mob will be there, too.

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Chapter One

Megan Brady’s stomach fluttered as she parked her car in front of the Rusty Nail Pub just outside of Woking and near Guildford. There were no other buildings nearby and very few cars in the lot. She had to admit that the location was ideal for a clandestine meeting, but the atmosphere clearly favored the men she was supposed to be meeting. The pub was practically deserted, so there wouldn’t be anyone to help her should the encounter go badly.

Megan gripped the steering wheel of her father’s car as she debated whether she should even go in. This wouldn’t be easy, primarily because the party she was there to meet was expecting her brother Stephen and would not be happy she had come in his place.

“OK, Megs,” she whispered under her breath. “You’re here now. There’s no going back. Let’s do this.”

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened the car door.

Megan entered the pub and was immediately assailed with the stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Although smoking had been banned in bars in the U.K. for years, it appeared this establishment didn’t abide by government rules. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, drab interior. Getting her bearings, she slowly walked to the bar. She was somewhat surprised to see she was the first to arrive. No one resembling the party she was supposed to be meeting was in the pub. There were only a couple of other patrons in the place, none of whom took any notice of her. She walked over to the bar and sat down.

The bartender looked at Megan curiously. Apparently, few people other than locals frequented the Rusty Nail. He approached cautiously and asked, “What can I get for you?”

Megan knew she needed all of her wits about her if she was going to survive a confrontation with the organization that was threatening her family, so she ordered a soda.

The bartender cast her an even more curious stare and dispensed the soda, placing the glass in front of her.

Just as the bartender served Megan her drink, the pub door opened, and Megan quickly turned. A tall, good-looking, well-built young man with sandy blond hair cut in a distinctive military style entered the pub. Megan watched with interest as his gaze scanned the interior of the pub as if to memorize every detail of the place and its inhabitants. Once he had completed his sweep of the room, he made his way to a table. The bartender walked over to take his order, and Megan overheard the man order a steak and potato pie and a beer. The bartender served him the beer right away.

She surreptitiously watched the man as he sipped his beer and waited for his food. This wasn’t the person she was there to meet. For one thing, he wasn’t looking for anyone; he just went about his business. It appeared he was reading a booklet of some sort, but he occasionally looked in her direction. Obviously, he was just as curious about her as she was about him. Did he live nearby? Or was he just passing through? She wasn’t very familiar with this area, but she was fairly certain there weren’t any military bases in the vicinity.

A door slammed in the back of the pub, drawing her attention. Four large, burly men emerged from the shadows. They scanned the room but quickly focused on her. As one, they moved toward her. The apparent leader, the largest of the four with a jagged scar down one side of his face, sauntered up to Megan and leered at her.

“Im surprised to see you here, Miss Brady,” the man said insolently. Megan noticed immediately that he spoke with a distinctly Irish accent. “We have business with your brother. Where might he be?”

Megan hoped the men couldn’t see how fast her heart was beating as she dug deep and found the courage to respond in a clear, firm voice. “Stephen sent me in his place.” She squared her shoulders and looked at the leader defiantly. “My father asked me to give you a message. Neither Stephen nor my father will accept your bribes. Seabiscuit II will run his race at the Epsom Derby. We will not agree to lose intentionally as your boss has requested. We ask that you accept our decision and leave us alone.”

Megan watched as the man’s expression slowly changed from lascivious to enraged. In truth, her father didn’t even know she was there, and he probably would have tied her up and locked her in her room if he had known she had talked Stephen into allowing her to take his place for this meeting. However, when Stephen had approached her and told her that members of the O’Reilly crime family had tried to bribe him to throw the Epsom Derby, one of the richest races in Britain and the second race in the British Triple Crown, she easily fell back into her familiar role of big sister and protector and persuaded him to allow her to take care of things.

She was now seriously regretting that rash decision. Feigning a bravado she didn’t feel, Megan looked toward the pub entrance. “Now that I have delivered my father’s message, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have to go.” Megan left some cash on the bar to pay for her drink and started toward the door.

The leader, who unbeknownst to Megan was the O’Reilly family patriarch’s nephew and chief enforcer, Colin Fitzpatrick, grabbed Megan’s arm and hauled her back toward him with enough strength that she lost her balance and fell into him. She shoved both arms against his massive chest, trying to push herself away from his brutal embrace, but he only laughed at her ineffective struggles.

“My friends and I came a long way to make a deal with your brother, darlin’,” he said with a sneer. “Now that you’ve taken that away, I think you owe us. Boys, let’s take her to the back of the pub and collect our payment before we go back to the boss. This way we’ll at least get something for our trouble.”

The other three men grinned their approval and raked her with their eyes, lingering on her breasts. She shuddered with revulsion, and her heart raced as the full implication of what she had gotten herself into hit her. She glanced at the bartender to see if he would help her, but he was purposely ignoring the situation. No help there. She scanned the pub to see if anyone else was paying attention and noticed that the blond military man was watching and appeared concerned. Would he help her? She had to try.

“No,” she said in a loud, clear voice. “I don’t want to go with you. Leave me alone, or I’ll call the police.”

Colin only chuckled. “No one here is going to help you, sweetheart. This pub is owned by the same people who pay my salary, and, as for the police, well, let’s just say I’m not too worried about them either. Come along quietly, now, and we’ll try to make this easy on you. If you fight us, you’ll only get hurt.” His gaze swept her body hungrily.

Regardless of the man’s assurances, Megan knew that if she surrendered to these men, she would suffer unbearably. Her only option was to resist. She refused to go quietly and allow these men to rape her without a fight. “Please just leave me alone,” she pleaded. When the man continued to drag her, she planted her feet, forcing Colin to stop. “Let me go!” she shouted. When the man didn’t respond, she lashed out with her open hand and slapped him. “I said, let me go!”

Megan was shocked at her own audacity and watched in horror as Colin drew his fist back to strike her. He could easily break her jaw.

Suddenly, a very strong and very large hand grabbed the man’s fist and held it. “You heard the woman. Let her go.” The resonant and commanding voice came from just behind Megan, and she turned around to see the man she had decided was a soldier standing right behind her, appearing big, strong, and determined. Megan noted with some relief that the man was over six feet tall, had a muscular, athletic build, and exuded strength and confidence.

Ian Stafford had been watching the scene unfold before him, and, seeing no one in the pub willing to help the woman who was clearly in danger, made the split-second decision to come to her defense.

“Mind your own business, laddie,” Colin replied. “This is none of your affair.” He loosened his fist, though, and Ian released his grip on the man’s wrist. Little did the thug know how close he had come to having his wrist broken.

“I’m making it my affair since the woman clearly doesn’t want to go with you. Do yourself and your friends a favor, and let her go.”

Colin snickered and glanced over at his friends, who were also laughing. He responded, “I don’t know how you’re going to stop us. You’re only one man against four.” He turned toward the back of the pub, dragging Megan with him. Megan realized there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable, thankful that her rescuer had at least tried to help her. Then, before she realized what had happened, the thug was lying on his back on the pub floor with his nose broken and blood streaming down his face. The impact of the stranger’s fist to his face had caused him to let go of Megan, who moved out of harm’s way toward the pub entrance. Unfortunately, after she escaped his grasp, the man’s friends surrounded the stranger, who even Megan knew was no match for four trained mob enforcers.

Ian knew he was in trouble, but at least he had gotten the woman out of immediate danger. Now, he could deal with the four thugs who had tried to rape her. He’d broken the leader’s nose, but the brute wasn’t entirely out of commission, and Ian could tell that the other three were experienced brawlers. They wouldn’t be easy for one man, even one man with Special Forces training, to subdue.

To survive this fight, he would need his knife, tucked conveniently in his boot. It was the one habit he had brought home from Afghanistan that had been difficult to break. Since his last tour in country, he didn’t feel safe without a weapon of some kind on his person at all times. Ian reached down quickly and unsheathed the knife. With it, he was able to fend off the men for a time, but despite Ian’s best efforts, it wasn’t long before two of the thugs pinned his arms, and a third tried to wrest his knife out of his hand.

Ian knew from the nature of the men he was fighting that if he lost his knife, his life would be forfeited, so he dug deep and used all his remaining strength to wrest his right arm away from one of the thugs. The knife he still held went straight into the belly of the man directly in front of him. The man collapsed immediately, and Ian was shoved to the ground as two of the thugs carried their comrade away—presumably to a hospital.

Colin looked at the bartender and barked, “You, I know you work for my uncle, tie this man to a chair and call the police.”

At first, the man looked confused, but the leader spoke to him sharply. “Look, man, we know where you live, and we can reach your family easily. Do what you’re told, or they’ll pay the price.”

The man paled, and then rushed to comply. His hands trembled as he tied Ian to a chair.

The leader further instructed the bartender, “When the police come, you will tell them this man started the fight and attacked us without provocation. We acted in self-defense, but he stabbed our friend. Do you understand?”

The bartender nodded again, and, apparently satisfied with the response, the leader left the pub, presumably to join his friends at the hospital.

When the police arrived, the bartender did as he was told, and despite his protests, Ian was arrested for criminal assault with a deadly weapon. The woman he saved had disappeared.

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Lionel’s Leap of Faith

Horses Heal Hearts Book 3

He doesn’t know
the mob has him in its cross hairs.

Lionel Hayes is
shocked to discover a world-class jumper among the abused horses he
rehabilitates. Unfortunately, the only man with the talent to ride that horse
is not only the man of Lionel’s dreams – he has also been recruited by the mob
to frame him.

One fateful
decision in a moment of weakness destroyed Lionel Hayes’ life as he knew it and
led to the death of his longtime partner and lover. At first, he blamed his
friend Michael Stafford for his misfortune and sought revenge, but through his
work rehabilitating abused horse, and the trust of one special horse, he
realized that he had to take responsibility for his actions, and that he and he
alone should take the blame. From that day forward, Lionel vowed to restore his
image and resume the career that he loved. In the process, he found the horse
of a lifetime, Gideon’s Rainbow.

Monty Campbell
was a rising star on the international show jumping circuit until he lost his
horse to injury. Desperate for a replacement mount, and with the support of the
British Equestrian Team, he learned of Gideon’s Rainbow and knew this horse was
for him. To his surprise, the horse’s owner was also a perfect match for him,
although the man stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. How could Monty convince
Lionel they were meant for each other and would the sinister force that sought
to destroy Lionel destroy Monty as well?

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Lionel watched as a late-model black Range Rover traveled up the farm drive and stopped in the nearby parking area. As soon as the vehicle engine was shut off, two men exited the vehicle. He recognized the man exiting the driver’s side of the vehicle as Randall Bridges. Randall had always been a bit cagey when it came to admitting his age, but Lionel guessed that Randall was in his early sixties.

What Lionel knew for a certainty was that Randall always presented a distinguished appearance with his wavy salt and pepper hair perfectly styled. Today he was wearing a tweed jacket, crew neck sweater, and designer jeans with western boots, which was his usual uniform.

Lionel had a fondness for Randall because he was the first member of the British equestrian establishment that was willing to forgive Lionel’s transgression and give him another chance. For that, Lionel would always be in Randall’s debt.

The second man drew Lionel’s interest from the moment he exited the car. He was a couple of inches over six feet tall, with thick, wavy auburn hair that seemed to defy any attempts at taming. He was clearly young, which confirmed Rachel’s recollection that he was about twenty-five, and had an air of confidence bordering on arrogance Lionel rarely saw in someone that young. He was dressed more casually than Randall, wearing a polo shirt and breeches. Lionel noted with approval that he was already wearing his riding boots, meaning he was eager to climb aboard Beau and give him a try.

So, this is Monty Campbell. At that moment, Randall turned to Monty and said something that drew his attention. Lionel took advantage of the distraction Randall provided to look the young Scot over further. Lionel had to admit that he was incredibly handsome, tall, and fit, without being overly muscular. If only I were ten years younger. Lionel caught himself short. Where did that thought come from? Disconcerted by the direction of his wayward thoughts. Lionel mentally shook himself and fixed a smile on his face and stepped forward to greet the two men.

“Gentlemen,” he said as he shook hands with each of them in turn. “Welcome to Second Chance Farm.” He looked directly at Monty. “Mr. Campbell, I’m Lionel Hayes. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Randall has been singing your praises, and I must confess I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do with Gideon’s Rainbow.” Before the man could respond, Lionel turned and started to lead the two men to the barn. “My farm manager, Rachel, is in the barn tacking up Beau as we speak. He should be ready for you in a few minutes.”

“I’m really looking forward to seeing Gideon’s Rainbow in action,” Randall effused. “I’ve heard such great things about him.”

“He is special,” Lionel assured him. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Monty took the opportunity to interject. “If you don’t mind, Lionel, I think I’ll withhold judgment until I have to chance to try him myself. It wouldn’t be the first time an owner has puffed up a horse’s abilities to make a sale.” He then turned to Randall and said in a low voice, although not low enough that Lionel wasn’t able to hear him, “I hope you aren’t wasting my time here, Randall. I don’t have much time to find a replacement for All In, and this farm doesn’t impress me as the kind of place that would produce a world class jumper.”

Lionel’s temper flared. It took everything he had not to give this young man the set down he deserved. It appeared Rachel was right. This man was too arrogant by half. Not someone he would ever consider a romantic partner. Now he was really looking forward to Beau’s reaction to the man. This could be very interesting. Pointedly ignoring Monty’s rude comment, he turned to an embarrassed Randall and asked after his family.

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Her Forever Love

Horses Heal Hearts Book 4

She thought she’d
never see him again.

High school
sweethearts Liz Randall and Jason Merrick were deeply in love, but when Liz
rejected his marriage proposal to fulfill her dream of riding international
level dressage, Jason joined the army and broke off all contact. Fifteen years
later, they’re both back home, and Liz must find a way to tell Jason they have
a daughter.

Liz Randall is
coming home a champion.

Fifteen years
after leaving Columbus to follow her dream of riding dressage for the United
States Equestrian Team, Liz has returned with a gold medal, a determination to
raise her teenage daughter, and a dream to expand her therapeutic riding
practice.

Falling in love
again isn’t in her plan, especially not with Jason Merrick, her first love, the
boy whose heart she broke all those years ago. The man with whom she shares
more than just a history.

Jason Merrick came home a hero.

An army ranger seriously wounded in the same attack that killed his best
friend, Jason sought the familiar comfort of his hometown to recover. Now he’s
ready to build something rather than destroy. What he wasn’t ready for was
seeing Liz Randall – the girl who broke his heart 15 years ago. His growing
construction company needs the money remodeling Liz’s stables will bring.
That’s the only reason to take the job…or so he tells himself.

The moment they see each other again, feelings that never died come rushing
back. Jason knows he’ll doing anything to have her. But as much as Liz wants to
be his, she has a secret. A secret that, once revealed, could make him walk
away from her forever.

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Excerpt – first kiss after being reunited

Liz felt him squeeze her hand, then allowed him to pull her into his warm embrace.

“This is what makes me feel alive, Lizzie. This connection between us that has never gone away. Do you feel it too?”

Liz sighed and leaned into his body, relaxing for the first time in days, just allowing him to hold her and offer her the protection of his arms. She couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. Not now. “Yes, I feel it. I don’t know what to do, Jason. It’s been such a long time, and so much has happened.”

He pulled away from the embrace and cupped her cheek in his hand. “Let’s start with this”—he lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that started tentatively, then when Liz didn’t resist, become gradually more urgent. Feeling like she was finally home after an eternity of separation, Liz opened herself completely to him, and in that moment, passion overcame them both, and the heat of their mutual attraction burned between them.

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Winning Hailey’s Heart

Horses Heal Hearts Book 5

After losing both
legs below the knee in a drunk driving accident, Hailey Warren dreamed of
helping others similarly disabled by becoming a physical therapist. When the
university she decided to attend denies her that opportunity based solely on
her disability, she is left devastated and rudderless.

Now, the handsome
and irresistible Marcus Harrington, eighth Earl of Storrington, has offered to
use his education, connections, and position to help her fight for her dream,
but will her love for him survive after she discovers his devastating secret?

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Prologue

“Help her, Doc! Hurry!” Hailey Warren fought to escape the darkness holding her captive and struggled to identify the woman’s voice panting with exertion at her side. She tried in vain to force her eyes open. Where am I? What am I doing here? Mom! Dad! Where are you? I’m scared! 

She was lying down, but whatever she was laying on was moving at breakneck speed. She could feel the firm touch of hands on her body from all sides and the rapid thudding of several feet surrounding her as they hurtled to their ultimate destination. The woman’s voice had come from near her feet.

“How long was she unconscious?” a male voice coming from her right demanded.

“I don’t know,” the unknown woman replied. “Whoever called 9-1-1 was driving by and saw the wreckage. When we got the call, all we knew was the car had overturned, and this girl’s legs were pinned underneath it. I have no idea how long they’d been there. Her parents were still in the car. After we arrived, the firefighters helped us move the car, then we stabilized her until we could airlift her here.”

Hailey wracked her pain-fogged brain trying to remember—to confirm for herself what the woman was saying. What had happened and why she was here now?

Why did her entire body hurt as she had never in her twelve years of existence felt before? She vaguely remembered being in the back seat of the car, and Mom and Dad had been arguing about his drinking, but that wasn’t unusual—at least not lately. She remembered being afraid, then angry that her father had insisted on driving the car even though he had been drinking beer all afternoon.

Suddenly, the car had swerved violently, and her mother reached for the wheel. The car lurched again, her mother screamed, then everything went black. The effort to remember anything else made her head ache and she knew it would be futile to try to attempt to recall any more at this point.

Through her eyelids she could see light, which told her she would be blinded by brightness if she dared to open them. She kept them closed. A searing, indescribable pain forced itself into her awareness. It emanated from her legs, and before she could even think of stifling it, she screamed as waves of excruciating agony threatened to overcome her and send her back into the black unconsciousness which had been protecting her until now.

“More morphine! Now!” A female voice barked the order from a place near her head. Another, this time male, voice responding, “Morphine drip increased, Doctor.”

“Good,” the female voice replied. Hailey felt her body turn suddenly then abruptly stop. She was lifted onto a more stable bed, then she heard the beeping of a multitude of electronic machines and felt hands on several parts of her body applying sticky tabs to her skin.

She felt herself drifting away from her body, and the pain she had been feeling gradually faded into the background.

She struggled against the fog clouding her awareness to understand what was happening around her.

“Type and cross her for blood transfusions. She’ll need at least four units. She’s already lost a lot of blood, and I don’t want to do surgery until she’s stabilized sufficiently to have the best chance of survival.”

Then the voice added in a much calmer tone, “The parents?” There was a heavy silence, then the voice went on.

“Have you been able to locate any other next of kin?”

“We found the patient’s sister, Jessica Warren, from her cell phone. We’ve placed a call, and she will be here as soon as she can. She’d been traveling out of state and was on her way back when I reached her.”

Jess! Thank God you’re coming. I have no idea if Mom and Dad are all right, and I need you.  Her heartbeat slowed, the tension in her chest and shoulders slowly melted away, and she took a deep breath for the first time since regaining consciousness. She finally felt safe enough to open her eyes.

The room she had been taken to was brightly lit, but the lights were aimed toward her lower body, not glaring in her eyes. She looked around the room to try to get her bearings.

A man she guessed was a nurse approached her right arm and inserted a needle into the crook of her elbow, then attached a bag of blood to the needle, beginning what Hailey knew to be a transfusion of new blood into her body. He hung an additional three bags to the tree which held the first bag, then looked at her face as if to reassure himself he hadn’t caused her any additional pain. Her gaze met his and she tried as best she could to smile at him to let him know she was grateful for his care.

“Doctor, I think she’s coming around,” he said.

A woman wearing a surgical mask and green scrubs addressed Hailey. “Hello, young lady. I’m Doctor Marshall.

Your identification says your name is Hailey Warren. Is that right?”

“Yes.” Her voice croaked, and she grimaced. Somehow her throat had become so dry she was having difficulty making even the slightest sound. She swallowed a couple of times to try to moisten her throat so she could be better understood.

“It’s all right, Hailey. I heard you just fine. If we weren’t going to be taking you into surgery in a few minutes, I’d let you have a big drink of water, but unfortunately, that’s not allowed right now. What I can do is let you suck on a few ice chips. Is that OK?”

Hailey nodded, then gratefully opened her mouth so one of the nurses could lay a few fragments of ice on her tongue.

The cold, moist relief was instantaneous.

The doctor looked at her team and the machines surrounding Hailey. “It looks like we’ve got you stabilized and have enough blood to get you into surgery.” She leaned over and lowered her mask just long enough for Hailey to see her smile. “We’ll get you taken care of in no time. By the time we’re done, your sister will be here, and everything will be fine.”

“OK,” Hailey responded, then closed her eyes as a plastic mask was placed over her face. The anesthesia soon took over, and she lost consciousness once again.

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Ever since she
can remember, Kimberly Beckett has loved horses. She wore out 4 rocking horses
before she was 5 years old, and as she got older, she read every horse story in
print, from Black Beauty to The Black Stallion. Her parents couldn’t afford to
buy her a horse of her own, and believed it was just a phase she would soon
outgrow, but as soon as she had her first attorney job nearly 30 years ago,
Kimberly bought her first horse, and she hasn’t been without at least one ever
since. She has been riding dressage for several years and has earned her United
States Dressage Federation Bronze Medal. When she wasn’t reading about horses,
she was reading romance novels, and her favorites always involve an alpha male
Hero riding a magnificent horse. Kimberly has now found a way to combine her
love of horses with her love of romance by writing her own version of
equine-facilitated happily ever afters. She truly believes that Horses Heal
Hearts. She lives in southwest Ohio with her warmblood horse. She hopes you
enjoy her stories, and encourages you to leave positive reviews for her work.
She also loves to hear from her readers.

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