Love Between Times

by Beth Ford

 

Publication date: November 27th 2024
Genres: Adult, Romance, Time-Travel

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When Ashley’s conventional 21st century life falls apart, she returns to England to write the book she shelved years ago, determined to take control of her life.

Meanwhile, in 1377 Wiltshire, Thomas fights his family’s desire that he become a priest and plots to chase his dream of knighthood instead. While Ashley and Thomas search for answers, Thomas suddenly appears in the modern day.

Unable to communicate, his first encounter with Ashley ends with the police demanding his immigration papers. All Thomas wants is to return to the world he understands, but he and Ashley are drawn together again and again. How will they find the answers Thomas needs before the authorities close in without losing each other forever?

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Neither of them said a word. They stood in shock, each assessing the other.

Ashley stared at the young man’s strange clothes. He wore a long, blue shirt over—were those tights?—and oddly shapeless leather boots. Everything he wore appeared homemade. The leather crossbody bag he wore was the only thing he had of decent quality.

She lifted her gaze to his face. His eyes immediately captivated her. They were the most gorgeous shade of blue she had ever seen. His face wasn’t bad either. His hair was thick and a bit long. Even beneath the beard she could tell he had a strong jawline and fine cheekbones. He appeared her age or a bit younger.

Snapping back to herself, she took a few steps backward to put some distance between them. “Sorry,” she said nervously.

The man cocked his head at her like a curious cat trying to figure out what the game was.

“Are you all right?” she finally asked.

He said something that she couldn’t interpret. It was her turn to look confused.

“Are you going to Salisbury?” she asked, since he was headed in the opposite direction she was. Then tried again, “Salisbury?”

“Sarisbury,” he said firmly, correcting her. The middle sound held more of a “r” shape in his mouth instead of an “l.” She couldn’t tell where he was from. The words he had said to her sounded like nothing she had heard before.

But they were getting somewhere. She pointed down the hill toward the city. “Sarisbury,” she said, mimicking him.

He nodded, satisfied. His gaze tracked in the direction she pointed. When his eyes lit on the city, he took a few inadvertent steps back and stumbled over a tree root. Once he was steady on his feet again, he glanced wildly along the horizon. Her eyes darted between him and the view, trying to guess what had surprised him so. Between them and the city, a stretch of highway trailed along the horizon. Nothing particularly remarkable about that. But the man turned pale and crossed himself. When that didn’t improve things in his mind, he pulled a necklace out from under his tunic—she had decided that was the best word for what he was wearing. The necklace was a simple leather cord holding a wooden cross. He rubbed the cross fervently and his lips formed a prayer she couldn’t interpret.

“Are you okay?” she asked again.

He glared at her before he turned and dashed back into the forest.

Ashley hesitated, then followed after him. Despite the fact that running into the woods after a potentially crazy man sounded like a setup for a horror movie, she had to make sure he was okay. She couldn’t just leave him here.

He didn’t go very far. A dozen or so feet farther into the woods, he knelt in front of a low, flat rock. Was he praying?

He stayed in that position for several minutes. Ashley hung back, debating what to do. All thoughts of her feud with Sadie blew away, and she focused on this new confrontation. Did he need help? He certainly seemed lost and scared. She would almost think he was a hermit living secluded in the woods, if they weren’t so close to town and the highway. She considered his clothes. Was there a medieval reenactment happening nearby, maybe at Old Sarum where she had been headed? His outfit appeared of that time period. Had she interrupted some event? But no, the small copse was silent except for them and the distant sound of cars passing along the road.

She still hadn’t decided what to do when his eyes opened again. He looked around. When he saw her his face fell, but he didn’t appear so scared this time. He set his jaw in determination, stood, and approached her.

He said something to her. She almost understood a few words. There was something in the middle that sounded like “thu”—was he saying “you” maybe? When she showed no recognition, he said something again. It sounded different this time. The accent on a few words reminded her of French, but she didn’t speak that language except for a few important phrases she had picked up through pop culture such as Voulez-vous couche avec moi? That probably wouldn’t be the best sentence to introduce herself with. She captured a smile before it appeared on her lips.

It would be mortifying if it turned out she just didn’t understand his accent. When she’d lived in England before, she had always found it nearly impossible to understand anyone from Sunderland. Maybe he was from there. “Sunderland?” she asked. He still looked confused. So much for that theory.

He watched her as if he expected her to provide him with some clue or direction.

“Do you need to go to Salisbury?”

“Sarisbury,” he said. This was still the only word they agreed on.

She sighed. If he was a psycho murderer, it was probably best to get out of the countryside and back into the city where she could get help. She inclined her head toward Salisbury. He nodded and followed her down the hill.

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About Author Beth Ford:

Beth Ford is a historical fiction author living in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. She is the author of the novels In the Times of Spirits and Love Between Times as well as the Cassie Woods, Reporter novella series. Her upcoming novel After the Spirits Come: A Continuation of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol will be released February 11, 2025. Her work has also appeared in a variety of literary journals.

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Remembering Demons

J. Cornelius

 

(The God Cycle, #1)
Publication date: May 9th 2024
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Paranormal, Thriller

Have you ever wondered what lurks in the mirrors?

Daryl doesn’t have to wonder… he knows.
But why do they stalk him? Why can’t he remember anything?
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy!

Meanwhile, the eerie asylum seems to know more than an old pile of rock and mortar has any right to and his therapy is uncovering a blood-stained past of pain and death, alongside something dormant within him of disturbing power. When Dr. Walker teaches him how to face his demons, the psychoses and dreams conspire to warn him of something even worse stalking him. Something ancient and evil.

To survive, Daryl must confront the repressed memories that drove him insane.

For madness—is a blunt instrument.

This dark fantasy epic and paranormal thriller with a Shutter Island’esque vibe will have you questioning what is real. The story mixes dark and traditional fantasy with horror and science fiction elements to explore mental health, guilt, and a world where the physical realm of our experience blends seamlessly with the fantastical realm of monsters and gods. Perfect for fans of The Gunslinger, The Dresden Files, and the TV series Black Mirror.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“Dad,” she said imploringly, “please don’t make me show you again.”

A shiver ran down his spine. “No, of course,” Daryl said quickly. “No need for that.”

“Why did you go?”

“I . . .” he halted, unsure. “I thought I could have both.”

“And then what happened?”

“I . . .” His mind blanked, and he looked out the window, petrified.

“You have to face this, it’s not—” The pitch of her voice rose in alarm. “The butter is burning!”

Daryl whipped around, depositing the smoking skillet at the back of the stove before cranking up the extractor hood.

“Thanks,” he said, about to turn back around.

The sound of small feet pattered across the floor, coming for him.

“This is not how it happened,” she said from right next to him, the accusation in her voice like a discordant note, slashing the air. He knew what was coming, fearing it with every fiber of his being. Still, her voice ignited a deep ache to turn around and hold her, but he knew that was impossible.

The smoke from the burned butter grew in intensity, and he looked down. The tabletop was beginning to char. Wisps of smoke were gently rising from the crack where the counter met the wall. She jumped onto the tabletop, bringing herself level with him, reaching out for him with arms starting to blister from the heat.

His vision was blurring, as if sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his mind reeled. She grabbed him, causing him to stumble and seize hold of the now smoldering counter.

“Dad,” she said softly.

He tried to resist, but she forcibly turned him around, facing her. Facing those terrible eyes . . . eyes which held the truth.

“No,” he muttered.

“Listen.”

“Please no,” he repeated meekly.

She leaned in as if to speak, but instead opened her mouth wide and screamed. It tore through everything, cutting at his very soul. He knew why she screamed. He knew . . . Daryl felt a sudden sharp pain in his mouth, followed by a jolt as the dream receded. His surroundings grew foggy, her face retreating down a well. The dream dwindling, dwindling, gone.

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About Author J. Cornelius:

J. Cornelius is a medical researcher of pathogenic viruses by day and a writer of fantasy/sci-fi fiction by night. He is also: An equal responsibility father of three, a loving husband, an avid lover of many types of mountaineering, especially rock climbing and snowboarding, and a DIY maker of herb and fruit flavored spirits.

Sign up to his newsletter on his website to get a free copy of the God Cycle short story, ‘Catching Spiders’.

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Dreams That Bind Us

by Irene Lawless

 

(Romancing The Keys, #3)
Publication date: November 26th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

What does it mean when you’re tormented by sensual dreams night after night? When you wake aching for your lover’s touch?

Anna Kingsley spends her days crafting custom furniture for Key West’s top galleries and hiding from her psychic talents. Tortured on a nightly basis, she is visited by a mystery man who invades her dreams and sends her soaring to new heights with his touch.

James Armstrong, a billionaire real estate mogul, arrives in Key West to fulfill his deceased mother’s life-long dream. He left New York to open a five-star resort in her memory. But he never expects to be haunted by dreams of a beauty with turquoise eyes.

When Anna and James crash into one another at a local coffee shop, they realize their dream lovers are real. But when Anna runs, James becomes obsessed with tracking her down. He’ll stop at nothing to possess her and make their dreams a reality.

Goodreads / Purchase

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Enjoy this peek inside:

James jack-knifed in the bed, his hands reaching for the woman who always seemed to hover just out of his reach. He found nothing but air.

Sucking in a deep breath, he slumped against his pillow and groaned, grinding his palms into his eyes. It happened every night now: an amazingly erotic dream of a mystery woman with curly, blonde hair and eyes the shade of mesmerizing teal, similar to the waters surrounding the island. He could barely see her face, as if she were standing in a fog. But it was the silky locks and hypnotic gaze that always drew him in.

His hand wrapped around his rock-hard cock and squeezed, hissing at the sensation. The dreams had started when he’d moved to Key West months ago, yanking him awake and leaving him aching for more. Hell, he hadn’t been this horny since he was eighteen years old, and it was for a woman who didn’t exist.

He padded to the bathroom and braced against the cool porcelain counter, staring at his reflection. There were dark circles under his eyes now, probably from the lack of sleep, and he really needed to shave. He ran a hand over his bristly chin and grimaced. He’d grown lazy since he left New York.

If she were alive, his mother wouldn’t be pleased. She would remind him that, “you never get a second chance to make a first impression.” A pang of heartache hit at the thought. It had been six months and it still wasn’t any easier. She’d passed quickly from a stroke in her sleep, so she hadn’t suffered. Now the misery was all his because he never had a chance to say goodbye.

If only he had made the time.

He huffed out a sigh and drummed his fingers on the sink. It was time to get his life back in order and somehow figure out how to get that intoxicating figment of a woman out of his head.

If that was even possible.

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About Author Irene Lawless:

I fell in love with the romance genre in my teens and truly enjoy developing well-rounded romance stories that tug at the heart. When I’m not writing, I’m usually out on a hike or have a coffee and book in hand.

You can sign up for my newsletter or reach me at my website www.irenelawless.com

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Candy Crone is a Christmas Short Story standalone in
the bestselling Hawthorne University Witch Series.

Candy Crone

The Hawthorne University Witch Series Book 8

By A.L. Hawke

Genre: Paranormal Holiday Fantasy

Candy Crone is a Christmas Short Story standalone following Shadow
Cast
 in the Hawthorne University Witch Series.
While I’m enjoying a spicy caramel apple surprise at our local ice cream
parlor, an old lady in rags rambles nonsense about candy canes to children
waiting for Santa. That distracts me from prepping my young friend Cat for her
college interview at Hawthorne University.
Christmas turns into creepy Halloween when all the local children, including
Cat, disappear in the woods. Bryce and I search our forest but become
spellbound. All this voracious casting heralds the arrival of a new witch in
town. The Candy Crone.
As the Hawthorne Witch, I hold great power, but with my unborn baby kicking,
the witch exploits my sins and vices through gluttony. Am I nothing more than
my appetites and power as the Hawthorne Witch? Or can I accomplish something
greater? If I can’t sort my stuff out, Cat, my unborn baby, Chandra, and all
these innocent kids living in Hawthorne are toast.

 

Cadence Hawthorne returns in this Christmas novella taking place after
Shadow Cast, book 6, in The Hawthorne University Witch Series. Candy Crone
is a complete self-contained novella not ending in cliffhangers. Some spoilers
cannot be avoided, but the story is a STANDALONE book that can be enjoyed
without reading the preceding novels.

 

 

Content Warning: Candy Crone contains profanity, adult situations and, of
course, witchcraft.

 

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Cadence! Cadence!”

Bryce and I spin around in the direction of the shouting. That was Cat’s voice! I’m forced to squint as the sun’s rays open again through a gap in the trees. But then Cat stops crying for help.

Light shines over our dirt path, winding through the trees, and I see more breadcrumbs strewn along the ground. I don’t follow the path. Instead, I walk off the trail and start gathering large fallen branches in the bushes. I pile the thickest ones and start forming a five-pointed star.

“What are you doing, Katie?” Bryce asks.

“I don’t know. I remember doing this in my dream. All this happened before, in the dream…or…I foresaw it happening. You and I first spotted breadcrumbs. So I built this sigil as a signal and as a refuge during the nightmare. I think the headmaster’s right, this witch is very powerful. She, or whoever’s possessing her, is attacking us with powerful magic. I feel like I have to build this circle for protection.”

And I drag another stick along the ice, forming a circle surrounding my pentagram. Then I gesture at my work.

Bryce nods, but then he freaks me out when he covers his eyes, squinting over my left shoulder. Turning in the direction of his gaze, I see a bright golden glow. The light is heralding a small cottage among the trees. The breadcrumb trail ends at a walkway surrounding the cottage, which has two windows with shutters and a chimney. It’s as if the cottage has always been there, hidden in the woods. Two large red poles with white stripes by the entrance appear to be the size of people. They look like huge peppermint candy canes. And beside the peppermint sticks, in the snow, are two gingerbread-like statues about half my height. The top of one of the peppermint sticks forms the outline of a girl’s face. But her expression is frozen, motionless, like a statue. An icy pathway of shiny red and green candy tiles leads to the front door. The door and the shutters are composed of a brown cake-like substance. Gingerbread? White patches on the walls form a thick plaster. On the plaster brush marks stick out in sections, reminding me of frosting. Soft red and green gems embedded in the white plaster, covered in crystalized sugar kernels, reflect the golden sunlight. Gumdrops or sugar plums. Chocolatey-brown drippings fall from the rooftops, draining into chocolate pools. And the roof is made of a cinnamon red candy–like surface.

We walk slowly along the candy path. Bryce runs a finger along the white plaster beside the door. It’s not solid, and it’s not plaster, it’s like a thick white goo.

“Frosting?” Bryce asks me with a nervous chuckle.

I nod and run my finger along the wall too. I bring the goo to my nose. It smells so sweet and delicious.

“This has to stop,” snaps Bryce. “This sick witch is controlling us like in a fairy tale. And . . . I feel drowsy, as if I’m dreaming, Kate. I think she’s putting a spell on us.”

How can she not be? We’re standing in front of a gingerbread house.

I nab a large crystalized green gumdrop the size of my palm, stuck to the white frosting, and bite into it. It tastes so good! It’s soft, full of granules of sugar, with a wonderful tangy sweet lime. And the best part is the consistency. The gob sticks in my mouth like chewing gum.

“Cadence, what are you doing!”

He tries to snatch it from my fingers, but I pull it away. I don’t know why I’m eating it, but I am. It’s like I’m compelled to eat it. But it tastes sooo good. I don’t know how Bryce is stopping himself. I’m so hungry.

“It tastes really good, Bryce,” I say with my mouth full. “Wow. You should try some.” Then I dip it in some of the wall plaster and offer him some. “Try it, babe. Just take a bite.”

Growly, growler. Growly, growler.

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Do you write one book at a time or do you have several going at a time? 

If I’m really into a particular project, it becomes all encompassing. I prefer one book at a time but it doesn’t always work out that way. And lately, I also work on converting books to audio at the same time.

 

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

I always had ideas in my head about writing. I think I always wanted to be a storyteller my whole life.

 

Advice you would give new authors? 

Take a look at other books in your interested genre. Learn from other writers by looking at what’s been written before. And do it for the fun of writing, not for the dollar. At an average cost of $3.99 per ebook, just doing the math, this isn’t a job making writers rich. You really have to love it for the craft.

 

Describe your writing style. 

I think my books are very dialog-heavy. It’s funny because I’ve heard the opposite. Some say they were impressed with my descriptive writing, but I really feel like most of the time I’m using description as a scaffold for conversation. I’m letting the characters run the show. So, reality comes in the form of dialog. It’s what breathes life into my characters.

 

What makes a good story? 

Something engrossing.

 

What are you currently reading? 

I’m reading It Ends with Us. Heard of it? ☺ I’m giving that book a whirl.

 

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

No outlines. My characters shape what happens.

 

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

That’s a good question. It’s a mix. If I feel like something is successful, like my witch series has been, then I want to spend my time working with my success. That’s why I’ve written so many books in the series. But I write some books outside of my typical genre. And I like to take chances. It’s part of being an “artist” not a marketer. Because indie writers tend to be on different sides of that spectrum.

 

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

I can write about four pages an hour. I’m very prolific and can bust out a novel in a couple of weeks. The editing process can take longer, but, in many ways editing is more gratifying. There’s no blank pages staring at you. Or you’re not looking at page count and thinking “man, I’ve only got another hundred pages to go.”

 

Do you believe in writer’s block? 

Absolutely. I suffer from it all the time. But, for me, it’s not a blank page. I can write pages upon pages, but it’s a sense that I’m struggling to get work out. If the story comes easy, it’s so much more of a pleasure and I know it’s going to be good.

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A.L. Hawke is the author of the bestselling Hawthorne
University Witch series. The author lives in Southern California torching the
midnight candle over lovers against a backdrop of machines, nymphs, magic,
spice and mayhem. A.L. Hawke writes fantasy and romance spanning four thousand
years, from pre-civilization to contemporary and beyond.

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BURN THIS NIGHT
by Alex Kenna
November 4 – December 6, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:
The Kate Myles Detective Series

 

Told in alternating timelines, this gripping mystery about a PI and her quest for answers is full of twists and turns, perfect for fans of Allison Brennan and Gytha Lodge.

Struggling private investigator Kate Myles is shattered to learn her late father isn’t her biological dad. She’s still reeling when she discovers that an unknown distant relative is the prime suspect in a decades-old murder investigation. Trying to convince her to take on the case for free, an old colleague recommends her as an investigator for a recent arson murder in the same small town.

After giving up on a failed acting career, Abby Coburn is starting over as a promising social work student. With her life on the right track, she’s determined to help her brother, Jacob, whose meth addiction triggered a psychotic break and descent into crime. But when Abby dies in a fire that kills two other people and destroys part of the town, the police immediately suspect Jacob.

As the Coburn family grapples with the tragedy, Kate begins unraveling the cold case but finds herself caught in the middle of an emotional minefield. Pretty soon, she discovers that this town is full of dark secrets, and as she comes closer and closer to figuring out the truth, Kate must solve both murders before she becomes the next victim.

Praise for Burn This Night:

“The twists keep coming in this devilish PI mystery . . . Lisa Unger fans will devour this.” ~ Publishers Weekly

“Solid, heartfelt spadework into an alarming range of graves.” ~ Kirkus Reviews

“A true page turner . . . Full of twists, turns, and suspects.” ~ Book Review Crew

Burn This Night is a fast-paced thriller that masterfully utilizes alternating perspectives to tell an absorbing, character-driven mystery. This is an electrifying read that had me engaged and on the edge of my seat until the very end!” ~ Elle Grawl, Amazon Charts bestselling author of One of Those Faces and What Still Burns

“An absorbing read told from multiple layered perspectives, Kenna ranges from finely observed domestic scenes to adept portrayals of grimy addicts living on the ragged edge. Burn This Night is smart and satisfying.” ~ Adam Plantinga, author of The Ascent

Burn This Night is an utterly-absorbing mystery. Alex Kenna skillfully weaves a tale of two women who both face emotional and physical danger as they fight for truth and family love. Kenna masterfully draws the reader into the dark exploration of the secrets hidden in small towns and the depths some will go to hide the truth. With fiendishly smart dialogue, a captivating setting and a plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat, Burn This Night is absolutely fantastic!” ~ Elise Hart Kipness, author of Lights Out

“A dark, lyrical crime novel, Burn This Night weaves a complex and twisty spell about addiction, family ties, and how sins of the past can’t stay buried. Kate Myles is a great addition to LA’s canon of troubled PIs—real, flawed, smart, and very human—and I can’t wait to see what’s next for her.” ~ Halley Sutton, USA Today bestselling author of The Hurricane Blonde

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller – Private Detective Published by: Crooked Lane Publication Date: November 12, 2024 Number of Pages: 256 ISBN: 9781639109371 (ISBN10: 1639109374) Series: Kate Myles private detective series, 2

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House Books

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MY REVIEW

You might think it would be confusing to read this story as it’s written in multiple points of view in two separate time lines. The author made it easy to follow. And her choice to tell the story this way was a good one. There are two crimes to solve. One recent and one cold. And many characters involved, whether as suspects, those connected to the victims, or the person who’s charged with solving both crimes. Getting separate points of view invites you to get to know the characters. Get to know what they are thinking. And this makes the story move forward and keeps you invested in the conclusion.

Kate Myles, a private investigator is hired to investigate an arson case which resulted in two people’s death. The brother of one of the victim’s is accused of the crime and she’s tasked with finding out whether the clues lead to his innocence or guilt. She’s also assigned a cold case that, while investigating, seems to point to a dark secret.

There is a lot going on in this book and I appreciated the slow build up. I was able to easily follow both time lines and the characters of each. And I liked having more than one mystery to solve. Did I guess who did it? Not the first time. The second time I tried? Nope. At the end? Again, nope and nope. But, I sure enjoyed getting to the answers.

4 STARS

 

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Enjoy this peek inside:
PROLOGUE
Eight Months Ago—Grace

My eyes shot open when I heard the yelping. Barney was going to wake the baby. I dove toward the old dog, grabbed his snout, and held it closed with both hands. “Shh,” I pleaded.

I lowered one hand and rubbed Barney’s back, trying to calm him. He let out a whine, and like clockwork, Liam started to cry. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and braced myself for another late-night nursing session. My body felt heavy with milk and stress and exhaustion.

Carefully, I scooped up the howling baby, carried him over to the rocking chair, and lifted my T shirt to feed him. Liam quieted down and nestled against me. I sniffed his hair and stroked his cheek as we rocked back and forth. Part of me wanted to stay like this all night. But a bigger part of me longed to be under the covers, passed out in a warm oblivion.

I heard the shower turn on down the hall. Ted must be back from serving his warrant. A few months ago, he’d gotten smart with a lieutenant, who then started feeding him late-night assignments. These frequent absences were brutal now that I was back from maternity leave and needed sleep to function at work.

Barney whined again and clawed at the bedroom door. Clutching Liam, I rose to let the dog out of the room.

I looked down at the baby, who was asleep and making little catlike snores. With slow, deliberate steps, I made my way toward the crib and lowered him until his back rested against the fabric. But the change in angle caused his eyes to open and his lungs to inflate. Then came the cry—and Barney ran back to the bedroom, joining Liam in a horrible wailing duet. I reached out toward the dog and felt wet fur. Damn it—Barney must have peed in the house. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. What I wouldn’t give for one night’s sleep.

The door opened and Ted walked in with a towel around his waist. “I need help,” I snapped. “What?” asked Ted, surprised by my tone. My eyes were closed, and I was crying. But Ted couldn’t see that in the dark. He just sensed the anger in my voice. I knew it wasn’t his fault that the baby wouldn’t sleep, that the dog couldn’t hold it, and that his boss was a jerk. But I’d reached my limit, and Ted was the only living being in earshot who understood human language. “Barney peed in the house. Take Liam so I can let the dog out before he does it again. Just try to get him back to sleep.” I placed the screaming, wriggling infant in Ted’s arms before either of them could protest. Flipping on the hall light, I made my way to the kitchen. Barney scampered ahead of me, spinning in circles. I threw on Ted’s faded hoodie. It reeked of old sweat, but I was too tired to care. I hooked Barney’s leash to his collar, and bracing myself for the cold, I unlocked the back door and stepped outside. The Santa Anas blew hard, and I shivered as cold air soaked through the hoodie’s weave. I could hear the Jeffrey pines rustle in the wind. Thrusting my hands into the central pocket, I rubbed them together for warmth. A smoky odor hung in the air—maybe the residue of a neighbor’s barbecue dinner. But the wind should have blown away the scent by now. Barney tugged at his leash. I let him drag me toward the street. Now that we were outside, he wouldn’t be satisfied without a walk, and it might clear my head as well. The sky was lighter than I’d expected. Idlewood doesn’t have streetlights. It’s a conscious decision to preserve the log-cabins-in-the-woods feel of the place. Darkness adds to the storybook charm, and it can be hard to find your way on moonless nights. But the sky had an orange-gray glow that reminded me of LA smog. Maybe it was later than I thought, almost morning. Barney tugged on his leash, half-dragging me up the road toward the intersection. He seemed agitated, and I wondered what had gotten into him. As we passed the Hernandez’s place, our footsteps activated the motion sensor, and the automatic light above their garage snapped on with an electric hum. I noticed something floating in the air. Tiny particles, like gray snow or dryer lint. The flecks danced in the air, and Barney snapped at one as it fluttered toward his jaws. The smell of smoke was growing stronger. Oh my god. Clutching Barney’s leash, I ran the rest of the way to the cross street, which cut straight to the mountain. High in the pines, I saw an orange glow—luminous against the dark sky. My vision tunneled, and all I could see was the fire on the hillside. The light was near Abby’s cabin. But I couldn’t tell how near. I grabbed my phone and scanned my recent calls, but it had been weeks since I’d spoken to my sister, and her name didn’t pop up. I pulled up my contact list and clicked on her name. After four rings, a cheerful recording prompted me to leave a message. Maybe she’s already fled. No, Abby would’ve called if she were awake. She might hate me, but she’d warn me about a wildfire. I called back, praying that her cell wasn’t on silent. Come on Abby, answer the phone. When I heard the prerecorded message again, I started to panic. I left a voicemail: “Abby, it’s Grace. There’s a fire by your cabin—you need to leave now!” The orange glow was getting bigger as the Santa Anas blew the flames toward Idlewood. It was how I’d always imagined an erupting volcano would look, with lava flowing down its sides. I called Abby a third time, cursing under my breath. Across the street, a door opened, and an old man stepped outside, holding a little white dog. “There’s a fire!” he shouted. I looked at him and then back at the mountain, ringing phone pressed against my ear. Dammit, Abby, pick up! “My son works at the fire station,” said the man. “They’re about to put out an alert. We have to evacuate. The whole town could burn.” “My sister’s cabin is on the hillside, and she’s not answering,” I shouted. “Can you call your son and tell him someone’s up there?” I heard a chime and looked down at my phone. It was a text from the fire department, ordering us to leave Idlewood. But my feet stayed planted. My sister was on that mountain, with nothing but a narrow dirt road leading down to safety. If the fire overtook the path, she’d be trapped. “Jeffrey, it’s Pop,” I heard the old man say. “There’s a lady here whose sister has a cabin near the fire.” Hearing those words unleashed a fresh wave of panic. Abby’s cheerful answering machine message sounded for a fifth time in my ear. “Abby, get out of there!” I screamed into the phone. “We have to go,” said the neighbor. “This thing could spread faster than they can contain it.” My phone chimed and I looked down at the screen, hoping to see Abby’s name, but it was a voicemail from Ted. Before I could call him back, a text flashed across my screen: FIRE—COME HOME NOW I looked back and forth from my screen to the mountain. My sister was up there. But my husband and son were at the house. I couldn’t wait any longer. I tugged at Barney’s leash and ran home. *** Excerpt from Burn This Night by Alex Kenna. Copyright 2024 by Alex Kenna. Reproduced with permission from Alex Kenna. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Alex Kenna:

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Alex Kenna

Alex Kenna is a mystery writer, prosecutor, and amateur painter. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, son, and giant schnauzer. Alex’s first novel, WHAT MEETS THE EYE, was a 2023 Shamus Award Finalist for best first P.I. novel. Her second novel, BURN THIS NIGHT, is coming November 12, 2024.

Catch Up With Alex Kenna: www.AlexKenna.com Goodreads BookBub – @akenna Instagram – @alexkennabooks Twitter/X – @AlexKenna9 Facebook

 

 

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Forever We Fall: A Dark MM Romance

by Meg Everly

 

(Pieces of Us, #2)
Publication date: November 26th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Dark Romance, LGBTQ+, Romance

A love worth dying for.

Hotaru Kido

Leaving Japan was bad. Leaving sh*tty London is worse. Why? My destination. Willoughby Ridge Boarding School.

It smells as old as it is. No one can find the place on a map. And it’s boys only. Did you hear that last bit? No. F*cking. Girls.

Even the teachers. Male. The only pair of t*ts for kilometers belong to the headmaster’s hot little secretary. That’s why I got myself in trouble and am sitting in the office when he walks in.

This guy is new. He’s gaunt and terrified of the big man behind him. No one seems to notice the wince when he sits or the way he catalogs the guy’s every move. I do.

If I’d stayed in class that day, my life would have been a billion times easier. If given the chance, would I have chosen to keep it simple or put myself between him and his tormentor?

Arlo Judge

When your parents and brother die in a freak accident, you certainly think that’s the worst that could happen. It’s not. I’ve seen the depth of h*ll. Felt the burn. Lived the agony.

When I’m deposited in the middle of nowhere boarding school, I’m relieved for the first time in a long time. Only my suitemate sees too much. He gives me hope when I know there is none.

In him, I find comfort and friendship that can’t last. My tormentor won’t allow it.

With his care and kindness, I see a way out. I have to finish my journey through h*ll to get there. I don’t know what will be left of me, of us, when I get to the other side.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

“To the headmaster’s office.”

“Thank you.” I stand and reach for my bag.

“Thank you?” he scoffs. “Why on earth are you thanking me for that?”

One day, he’ll learn not to speak to me in front of the class. If he has any semblance of a brain, it’ll be today.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door. When I’m on his level and standing several inches taller than him, I grin.

“It will give us, Bridgeport and me, a chance to discuss your subpar teaching skills and your nightly visits to a certain student’s room.” The class gasps. “Plus, the headmaster’s office has to be more interesting than this class.”

Before he can formulate a response, I’m out the door and headed for the main office. The classroom erupts into chaos behind me.

I’m smiling for the first time since I arrived at this awful place.

Have I actually seen him visiting another student’s room? No. But he doesn’t know that. And I like to fuck with people. They’re pretty easy to manipulate. I don’t know why, but people always have been. Easy to read. Easy to influence. Puppets, most of them.

No one is in the hallways. All the tenth through thirteenth years are in class. They separate us from the first through fifth, sixth through ninth, and then the rest of us. I haven’t seen the whole school come together, but I heard they do for the beginning and end of the year celebrations.

Can’t wait.

I exit our building, head across campus, and shove through the main office entrance. The place is bustling. A lady behind the desk is on the phone. Or should I say the lady, as in the only one? I sit in the waiting area, put my backpack on the chair beside me, and drink her in.

Blond hair pulled back at the nape. Glasses sit on the bridge of her nose. A cardigan hugs her shoulders and meets with little buttons at the center of her chest. Her breasts aren’t large, but they’re the biggest in these parts. They’re big enough to fill my mouth and tempt my tongue.

She clocks me and automatically gives me the hold-on-a-minute finger. Then her gaze meets mine.

Her pink lips part. Her throat works on a big swallow. She turns in her seat and faces the wall. A blush creeps up the side of her neck, and she fidgets with her hair.

Yeah, she remembers me. I chatted her up real good while my father signed my life away. She made things bearable. She can make things better than bearable. Just the warm, wet spot I need to forget about this horrid place for a bit.

My smile is back.

It’s a good day.

The door opens, and Headmaster Bridgeport enters. He holds the door for a big man with wide shoulders and a civil smile on his lips. A smile that I don’t buy. Not for one pence and not for one second.

There’s evil behind his gaze.

Now I’m the one swallowing. Gulping really. The hairs on the back of my neck go up. My pulse thrums in my stomach.

“Sit there.” The man’s fat index finger points toward me. I fight the urge to squirm, and I don’t fucking squirm for anyone. “I’ll speak with the headmaster.”

Threat coats the man’s words. No one else seems to pick up on it, though. Not the secretary. Not the young office workers in the back. Not the dumb-as-dirt headmaster. His dog, that ugly motherfucker, diverts from his master’s office to cower behind Miss Booth’s desk. The only smart one of the lot. He can sense the bad coming from that guy and gets the hell out of Dodge.

While the two men continue to the headmaster’s office, a guy materializes from behind the nightmarish man.

His spine is ramrod straight, and his chin is high. He looks strong and regal and also scared out of his fucking mind. No one else could probably tell, but I’m sneaky and stupidly good at reading people. It’s a gift…and a curse.

His eyes are intent on the man, hyper-focused, even as he sits with perfect posture. He releases a small bag gently on the floor. It’s a ratty duffel the size of a carry-on. There’s a wince as his ass meets the chair two away from mine. He favors his right side as though sporting an injury on his left. His hands are fists, and his jaw is screwed so tight it looks like he’s about to crack a molar.

The door closes, and the evil man disappears.

It’s as if the guy next to me takes his first breath of the entire day. It practically shakes the damn room. He blinks as though just taking in the world around him. He clocks the secretary first but doesn’t really see her and all she has to offer. Maybe he doesn’t yet know that she’s the only slice for miles.

Looks like he’ll learn soon enough.

This is for sure the new kid everyone’s buzzing about. He’s wearing a bespoke suit that’s two sizes too big for him instead of the school uniform.

If I’d seen him before, I’d remember.

His isn’t a face I’ll forget.

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About Author Meg Everly:

Meg Everly writes stories with sentiment, smut, and love with no bounds.

Website / Goodreads / TikTok / Instagram / Booksirens

 

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Their fantasy is her reality.

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Tune in Tomorrow

by Randee Dawn

Genre: Humorous Pop-Culture Fantasy

A funny, thrilling and mysterious adventure into the
world of alternate reality television… Perfect for fans of Jasper Fforde and
Christopher Moore.

 

She’s just a small town girl, with big mythic dreams.

Starr Weatherby came to New York to become… well, a star.
But after ten years and no luck, she’s offered a big role – on a show no one
has ever heard of. And there’s a reason for that. It’s a ‘reality’ show beyond
the Veil, human drama, performed for the entertainment of the Fae.

But as Starr shifts from astounded newcomer to rising fan
favorite, she learns about the show’s dark underbelly – and mysterious
disappearance of her predecessor. She’ll do whatever it takes to keep her dream
job – though she might just bring down the show in the process.

Raves for the book:

“I thought I’d seen everything in the galaxy of reality
TV, until Randee’s book!” – Andy Cohen, Host / Executive Producer, Watch
What Happens Live with Andy Cohen and New York Times bestselling author

“Randee Dawn has single-handedly created a glittering
new genre: the Backstage Comedy Fantasy Romance — and I want more!” –
Ellen Kushner, World Fantasy Award-winning author of Thomas the Rhymer and
Swordspoint

“Randee Dawn’s Tune in Tomorrow is a wild ride through
the world of reality TV, Faerie style. It’s a satire and a romance (of a sort)
and a fairytale and a mystery, full of characters I loved (and loved to hate)
and situations that had me biting my nails. It’s also hilariously funny.”
– World Fantasy Award nominee Delia Sherman, author of The Porcelain Dove and
The Evil Wizard Smallbone

“Tune in Tomorrow is a joyride. It takes you on a
journey into the make believe world of a soap opera. It dives in and out of
what could possibly be fantasy or in fact is reality. As with the sands of
time, as you Search for Tomorrow, or you are feeling Young and Restless, get
lost in the adventures of Starr and be taken over by all that is Tune in
Tomorrow.” – Emmy-nominated actor Gregory Zarian

“Dawn’s Tune in Tomorrow is a ton of fun with a lot of
heart, charming characters, and devilish foes. And it’s funny as hell.” –
Zin E. Rocklyn, author of Flowers for the Sea

“Few authors can open the door to another world as
easily as you might turn on the TV, but Randee Dawn has the key and the remote
control firmly in her hand. Flip through the fae and the grindylows, let her be
your TV guide and psychopomp. You will find yourself howling at the gate for a
rerun.” – Meg Elison, author of Number One Fan

“This book is a BOUNCY CASTLE! This book is like a
candy store and a screwball comedy had a fling in fairyland and the result was
a mythic soap opera! There was no predicting it, there was only riding this
dragon all the way to its rollicking rollercoaster conclusion. How dear and
joyous it is, how satisfying, and how worthy of praise!” – World Fantasy
Award-winning author of Saint Death’s Daughter C.S.E. Cooney

“Dawn balances over-the-top drama and comedy with
genuine intrigue to create a fun story with plenty of heart. Fans of Douglas
Adams and Terry Pratchett will want to snatch this up.” – Publishers
Weekly

“Tune in Tomorrow is a hilariously well-constructed
story with surprising complexity, and one that uses its reality TV premise not
as a destination, but as a jumping off point to create something uniquely
interesting that stays entertaining the entire way through.” – Lightspeed
Magazine

“Dawn’s witty take on society’s fascination with
peering at life through a camera lens spotlights the sometimes-blurred
intersection between fantasy and reality, all captured on video. Her playful
narrative propels readers into the realm of alternate possibilities while
questioning what is real and what is make-believe, and if we can even tell the
difference.” – BookTrib

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On the surface, Phil made sense as a security guard. He was a proper, enormous dragon, theoretically full of fire in the belly and leftover meat in the teeth.

But so far as Starr had seen, Phil was a receptionist. For one thing, his belly fire was mostly a small, flickering flame. “My therapist says I got lack of confidence,” he’d muttered to Starr some weeks back in his tractor trailer-sized voice. “I got issues.”

One of which was that flame—which meant he’d be more likely to smoke things than scorch them—and the fact that he’d never consumed a human. “Yet,” he always made sure to add, third eyelid nictitating over one lightning-bolt pupil. It was meant to be a threatening gesture, but mostly it made him seem like he was winking at Starr.

His “issues” left him with a smaller skill set and fewer job prospects than most dragons of his size, which meant he put extra effort into guarding the contents of his cave, a jagged rocky opening that burst from the wall behind the reception desk like an explosion and emitted damp breezes.

Yet Starr hadn’t expected pushback when she asked if she could go through the archived scripts he held back there. Much had happened in the Central Park/Centaur Park Nexus, but the action item that had stuck with her was Nico’s advice to read Joseph’s old scripts. Which she knew were kept in archives in the cave.

For weeks, Phil had refused her entry. “It’s a mess back there,” he said. “I don’t get visitors.”

He hadn’t budged when she promised to leave any gold or jewelry alone, either; the mere mention of precious valuables had made the spikes on his back rise up, piercing his grey shirt. Sparks had shot from a corner of his mouth.

“Mortals steal from me,” Phil slurped sriracha from his mug. “If my possessions are under threat, I can’t help myself. It’s in the blood. Even if I let you in, I’d feel you in there rooting around. And you’d end up mangled or maimed or smoked and I’d end up fired and my therapist would have to see me four times a week, instead of three.”

Starr shivered. It was like talking to Hannibal Lecter about his favorite recipes.

Phil ran his long tongue around the inside of his cup, lapping up the final drops of the hot sauce. “Sigh. There’s never enough.”

A small explosion lit Star up. That was it. Sriracha was going to save the day.

 

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Who designed your book covers? 

Alas, I’ve never met the designers. The covers for Tune – both the original and the reissue one – were done through my publisher Solaris. I was presented with a nearly-complete idea for the first version, and asked for some tweaking of color and font. It wasn’t what I had imagined in my head, but the truth was I hadn’t imagined much! I couldn’t figure out a good hook for a cover. In the end, I loved it – people commented on the cover all the time and I’d always say back that it was “loud and garish, which is perfect for the novel.” When they said they were going to do a cover redesign for the reissue, they asked for more direct input: What would be the main focus image, what about colors, did I have ideas. I told them – retro fluorescent bright colors, an old-fashioned TV, the “color bars” looking wonky on the screen, and some pixie dust swirling around. The addition of Phil came a bit later, and I described him. They sent a PowerPoint of slides of possible images, and I picked the ones I liked best. And it came together beautifully. I’m so happy Phil the security dragon, guarding both mangoes and scripts, is now my mascot for presenting the book!

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Randee Dawn is an author, journalist, and lucky denizen of
Brooklyn. Her first novel, the humorous pop-culture fantasy Tune in Tomorrow,
published in August 2022 (Solaris/Rebellion).

Randee’s short fiction has appeared in publications and
podcasts including 3AM Magazine (“The View of My Brother’s Profile in the
Rear-View Mirror,” 2001; “Warm, In Your Coat,” 2004) and
Well-Told Tales (“Home for the Holidays,” 2015; “Can’t Keep a
Dead Man Down,” 2017).

Dawn’s stories have appeared in anthologies including Where
We May Wag (“The Last Dog,” Writing Piazza Press, 2018), Children of
a Different Sky (“Can’t Find My Way Home,” Kos Books, 2018), Magic
for Beginners (“Queen Zoe and the Spinning Game,” Fantasia Divinity,
2019), Dim Shores Presents (“Rough Beast, Slouching,” 2021), Another
World: Stories of Portal Fantasy (“The Way Is Clear,” SummerStorm
Press, 2021), and Horror for the Throne: One-Sitting Reads (“Cat
Person”).

She has a short collection of dark speculative fiction short
stories, “Home for the Holidays” (2014) and co-authored “The Law
& Order: SVU Unofficial Companion” (BenBella Books, 2009). She
co-edited the speculative fiction anthology of “what if” stories
about The Beatles, “Across the Universe: Tales of Alternative
Beatles” (Fantastic Books, 2019).

When not making stuff up, Randee publishes entertainment
profiles, reviews, and think pieces regularly in outlets including Variety, The
Los Angeles Times, Today.com and Emmy Magazine, and writes trivia for BigBrain.

She can be found at RandeeDawn.com and @RandeeDawn (on
Twitter).

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How Well Do You Know Your Husband?

by M.Q. Webb

 

Publication date: November 15th 2024
Genres: Adult, Psychological Thriller

Aria’s seemingly perfect life begins to unravel when she suspects her husband, Ethan, is having an affair.

As she navigates her feelings of betrayal, Aria starts to notice someone is following her. When her best friend Isla is murdered in a dark bar bathroom, Aria is left grappling with the chilling possibility that Isla’s death was meant for her.

Amidst the police investigation, rising paranoia, and Ethan’s increasingly suspicious behavior, Aria is forced to question everyone around her, including herself.

In this gripping psychological thriller, the lines between trust and deceit blur, leaving you wondering: how well do you really know the people closest to you?

Goodreads / Amazon

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

I’ve been watching her for three weeks now. She hasn’t noticed, perpetually focused on herself, lost in her thoughts. Not for the first time, I struggle to understand what he loves about her. I suppose it could be the obvious things. Anyone can see she’s beautiful, but so are a million other women in New York City. She’s caring, but everyone cares about something. What makes her so special?

Her gray knit dress moves with her as she walks, accentuating the way her slim waist curves into round hips. He wasn’t supposed to fall for her, but I think he has. She was supposed to be temporary, a fleeting chapter in his life, but she has become a permanent fixture.

I watch her as she lines up at a street vendor and orders a pretzel, refusing the change offered by the mustached man who delivers the freshly baked knot with a smile that reaches his eyes. She doesn’t appreciate the life she has been given. She spends his money as if it’s hers to waste, buying new things for their home. Treating herself to expensive clothing.

People who do bad things shouldn’t get away with it. There are meant to be repercussions. I’m not superstitious enough to expect justice, but she did what she did, and now there should be consequences. Order maintained. Rules followed.

Tonight may be the night I end her life, like she ended mine.

I slip a hand into my pocket and feel the smooth metal, imagining what it would be like to sink it into her side. I would leave her there for everyone to see who she really is instead of the perfect avatar of a loving wife she’s created. She’s hiding her true self now, but all she needs is a nudge for her real nature to surface. He won’t love her once he sees that.

The smell of unemptied trash in the alleyway fills my nostrils, growing more pungent, but I press on. I curl my fingers around the knife and increase my pace to catch up. She’s fast, but I’m taller, lengthening my strides so I don’t lose her.

I’m close now. Much closer, and I risk being noticed. I promised myself that if that happens, my choice will be made, and I will kill her.

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About Author M. Q. Webb:

M. Q. Webb writes psychological thrillers and suspense novels, including the Oscar de la Nuit series. Her books have hit the Amazon best seller chart in the US. She studied psychology and business.

How Well Do You Know Your Husband is a stand alone psychological thriller, and her third release.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / X / Instagram

 

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Can the love that binds this family deliver Christmas
miracles?

Or will the unforgiving wilderness crush their holiday
spirit?

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A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon Trail

A Ghosts Among the Oregon Trail Holiday Novella

by David Fitz-Gerald

Genre: Historical Holiday Western Adventure

Dorcas and her family endured a harrowing trip along the
Oregon Trail in 1850. Now, they face their first brutal winter in the rugged
wilderness. Can they survive the harsh realities of frontier life?

Devastating setbacks threaten their lives, crush their
hopes, and test their faith in timeless traditions. Their cabin is unfinished.
Wild animals shred their tents, ruin their food supply, and wreck their camp.
As winter closes in, a powerful storm strikes their remote homestead. How much
more can they endure?

Dorcas suggests skipping Christmas to focus on survival, but
her children balk. They don’t want to give up on the cherished holiday. Is
Christmas a luxury they can’t afford?

When her husband, Agapito, fails to return from a critical
supply run, Dorcas ventures into the wilderness with a rifle in search of food
for her children. She must brave the elements as a mountain lion stalks her
through a violent winter storm.

Can the love that binds this family deliver Christmas
miracles? Or will the unforgiving wilderness crush their holiday spirit?

Start reading A Pioneer Christmas Beyond the Oregon
Trail
 today. Get wrapped up in this gripping western adventure of
love, survival, and the enduring power of hope. Perfect for fans of frontier
fiction and heartwarming holiday tales, this novella will keep you on the edge
of your seat.

Amazon
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That scream curdles my blood and makes me shiver in fear. I clutch Agapito tightly against me.

Agapito says, “I think it is an owl. I do not know why owls howl like that. But I think it is because they are owls.”

I say, “We’d better check on the children.” After a mad dash to the river’s edge, I shiver as I climb into my clothes.

Agapito scampers after me. Racing to catch up, he laughs and says, “I lasted longer than you.”

The wilderness is full of undiscovered frightening beasts. Fortunately, the camp is safe, the children are asleep, and whatever attacked the camp while we were away is not a danger now.

It’s hard to believe an owl can make a sound like that. If I believed in such things, I might say it was a banshee.

It has been ten days since something attacked the camp, but we remain vigilant. Whatever it was could return at any time.

Being short of food is a constant worry. We’re trying to get by on less. The boys sometimes complain about the watery soup, but we must stretch what we have.

This morning, instead of chopping wood, Christopher and I are fishing in the Clackamas River. But neither of us are having much luck.

Dahlia Jane sits nearby, making nests. She collects dried grasses, then weaves them together into long strands, and then coils the lengths into bowl-shaped replicas. Considering she’s only four years old, her creations are quite convincing.

The cat plays nearby, never venturing far from the girl. It’s hard to believe the docile kitten is the same animal that we took in almost two months ago. I thought that vicious monster could never be tamed, but somehow the fur ball came around. Dahlia Jane says Christopher tamed it.

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**Don’t miss the rest of the series!**

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Find them on Amazon!

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Blogger’s Introduction: Today, I’m stepping into the dreams of Christopher Moon, or as he’s more fondly known, Dunk. He’s a lively nine-year-old boy who’s experienced more adventure on the Oregon frontier than most could imagine. With his almost magical knack for understanding animals and his boundless curiosity, Dunk’s life is full of excitement and discovery. Join me as I chat with him in the warmth of a dream, where stories and secrets are shared.

Blogger: Hi, Dunk! Thanks for meeting with me in this dream. Tell me about your nickname.

Dunk: [As he speaks, he motions with his hands, forming a cup with one, and making a dipping motion with the other.] People make fun of me because I like to dunk food in stuff. Like biscuits in stew, pancakes in porridge, or donuts in syrup. So, they call me Dunk instead of Christopher. I reckon that’s shorter.

Blogger: I’ve heard you like to get away on your own sometimes. Is there someplace special you like to go?

Dunk: [Eyes light up with a mischievous grin] Oh, I got a place, all right. Found an abandoned cabin deep in the woods. A mountain man called Crabapple Nick used to live there. Nobody knows about it but me. I like sneaking back there when I need a bit of quiet or when I just want to pretend I’m a real explorer. It’s like my own secret fort. Just don’t tell anybody, all right? I’d like to keep that a secret.

Blogger: Your secret’s safe with me! I’ve also heard that animals seem to listen to you in a special way. What’s your trick?

Dunk: [Leans in close, voice dropping to a whisper] It ain’t really a trick. It’s just something I can do. Boss, our puppy born right along the trail, listens to me better than anybody else. And then there was Dahlia Jane’s kitten, mean as a snake at first, but now that ball of fluff is all soft and purrs. Even the oxen, they do what I say like I’m the head honcho. Sometimes, I even talk to birds. [Laughs and looks around] Better not mention that either. Don’t want folks thinking I’m daft.

Blogger: That’s incredible, Dunk! It sounds like you’ve got the heart of a true adventurer. Do you ever wish you could be out on the trail more?

Dunk: [His expression shifts to a mix of longing and excitement] Yeah. Boy. Do I ever! I sure was mad when Alvah and the crew left without me. They get to have an adventure every day. I wanted to go so bad, but Ma said no. Said I’m too young, but I ain’t. Someday I’ll be a guide. Or a soldier. Maybe even a trapper. [His lips shift from side to side as if trying to decide which profession might be best for him.]

Blogger: I’m sure you’ll show them all, one day. Speaking of the trail, I heard you broke your arm. Tell me about that.

Dunk: [He looks at his arm and gives a proud smile] Got trampled in a river crossing. It hurt real bad, but I didn’t cry much. Hated the sling though. Ma said I was brave, and I reckon I was. It just made me tougher, I think. If I can go through that, I can do just about anything. I’ll be the best guide or adventurer this side of the Mississippi, you’ll see.

Blogger: I have no doubt about that, Dunk. Now, Christmas on the frontier must be quite different. What’s the best part for you?

Dunk: The best part’s the stories and songs we share. And this year, we had a Christmas cake! I don’t know where it came from, but it was like magic. Hey, do you like to dip your cake in milk? [He laughs heartily] You should give it a try. Tastes even better.

Blogger: I’ll have to try that! One last question before you wake up: if you could tell other kids one thing about life out here, what would it be?

Dunk: I’d tell ‘em that life’s tough sometimes, real tough. But there’s always something worth smiling about. Whether it’s your dog, a warm fire, or dipping cake in milk. And even if folks say you’re too young, don’t listen. You know what you can do.

Blogger: That’s wonderful advice, Dunk. Thank you for sharing your stories and dreams with me. Merry Christmas!

Dunk: Merry Christmas to you, too! And remember, keep the cabin a secret. [He winks as the dream fades away]

Blogger’s Closing Note: Christopher “Dunk” Moon is a boy full of heart and wonder, with dreams as big as the frontier. His stories remind us that even in the hardest times, there’s always room for hope, adventure, and a bit of magic. And, if you enjoy this character as a child in A Pioneer Christmas and the series Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail, you might be surprised to encounter him as an adult in the newly released book, First Drive: A Seph Vermillion Western Adventure.

Blogger’s Closing Note: Andrew’s ambition and depth remind us that even in the hardest times, dreams and determination can light the way. His story is one of hope, resilience, and finding a voice amid the wilds of the frontier.

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David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He
is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the
Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best
in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers
of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.

Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye
and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has
hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s
happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.

Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes,
movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing
memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of
wild horses.

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Teacups And Temptations organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Kate Ellington will award a $20 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.

Teacups And Temptations

by Kate Ellington

 

 

Genre: Historical Romance

Synopsis

Molly Merriwether readily accepts an invitation to Waverly Hall, eager for adventure and amusement with her best friend. She never expected to be left unchaperoned with three intriguing young gentlemen for weeks.

Roger Bailey, recuperating in more ways than one, avoids Molly until her kindness and humor tempt him to deepen their acquaintance.

Molly lands in one unlikely escapade after the next with Roger and soon considers him a friend—perhaps more—but the barriers he puts up make it impossible to truly know him. Has she only imagined those tender looks in his eyes?

For a chance at love, Molly will need to bare her innermost self and trust someone more deeply than she’s ever dreamed possible.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Molly finished her tea and turned to Caroline. “Perhaps we should take some time to discuss our options. Alone.”

“Yes, I think we’d better,” Caroline said, setting her cup down.

Benedict rose. “We’ll step out so you can talk.”

Fred settled deeper into his chair as if hoping not to be noticed, but after a sharp look from Benedict stood and followed him out of the room. Mr. Bailey took Penny by the collar and left, closing the door behind him.

As soon as it clicked shut, Molly replenished their teacups. “Would you ever have dreamed we’d find ourselves in such a pickle?”

“Absolutely not. I imagine this means we need to leave.” Caroline sighed a sigh that sounded like it had been waiting years to get out.

Molly lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know…we’re already here and, as Fred said, it isn’t as though we’re alone in the house.”

“I’ve the feeling Fred would say anything to get us to stay. He seems the type of man to enjoy bending the rules.”

“I have the same feeling.” After glancing at the door, Molly whispered, “What do you think of Benedict?”

Caroline shifted on the sofa so she was facing Molly. “It’s too soon to say.”

“Do you think we should move to the inn?” Molly held her breath as she awaited Caroline’s answer.

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About Author Kate Ellington:

Kate grew up in a woodsy New England town where summer days at the lake seemed to last forever. She read her first historical romance at age eleven when a teacher challenged her to find a book in the library written by an author she’d never heard of. Thus began a life-long love of love stories.

After graduating from college she settled in the Pacific Northwest, where she currently resides with her family.

Kate wrote her first romance when she was sixteen, then set her pen down for years until another story floated into her head out of the clear blue sky. She jotted it down, just for fun, but soon it took on a life of its own.

Author Links: Website / Instagram / Facebook / Goodreads

Buy Link: Amazon

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.