#pumpupyourbook

https://ift.tt/3nKciN7

A PERFECT STORM

Mike Martin Mystery

Sgt. Windflower is back, untangling another swirling mystery, this one bringing the meth crisis and biker gangs to the quiet Newfoundland town of Grand Bank, feeling the sting of their deadly tentacles reaching all the way from Las Vegas.  He’s working with his familiar crew of RCMP characters – but wait, are some of the faces changing? New challenges for Jones, an unknown side of Smithson reveals itself, and what ever happened to Tizzard?  In the midst of putting the pieces of the puzzle together, Windflower and his beloved Sheila also find themselves navigating sorrows and surprises on the family front.

Come back to Grand Bank for more fun, food and cool, clean, Canadian crime fiction with Sgt. Windflower Mysteries.

   MY REVIEW

 5 out of 5

A Perfect Storm is a great mystery. I really enjoyed this cozy mystery following various members of the RCMP stationed out of Newfoundland. Although this is a cozy mystery, it is far from fluffy. There's a wonderful balance between the hard and rough parts and the softer, sweeter side of life. At first I wasn't sure how much I would like the focus changing between characters, but Martin handled it seamlessly, and I was quickly lost in the story. This definitely made me want to read the other mysteries in the series!

Amazon → https://amzn.to/36sHEBz

  Chapter One

Eddie Tizzard passed his card over the sensor and pushed the door open. He flicked on the light. “Holy jumpins,” he said when he saw what was on the bed in his hotel room— thousands of dollars strewn around like confetti. When he looked closer, he saw something else. There, right in the middle of the bed, was a very red, very large bloodstain.

His first instinct was to run. But his years as an RCMP officer got the best of him, and he had another look around. Soon the source of the blood became obvious. It was a man in a suit lying face down in the bathroom with a visible hole in the back of his head. Tizzard should have trusted his first instinct because when he did decide to leave the room, he walked directly into the path of who he would later find out was the head of hotel security.

He was remembering all of this as he sat in a holding cell with a dozen other men in the Las Vegas jail. Tizzard had gone to Vegas for private detective training, having decided on a new career path after leaving the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, or the Mounties. Technically, he was on leave for the rest of the year, but he doubted he’d ever return to his old job. He’d applied for and received his firearms license, but he wanted a certificate to put on the walls of his new office, that is when he got an office. That seemed very far away right now, about as far as he could get from his home in Newfoundland on the eastern tip of Canada.

He’d watched enough police shows on TV to know that he could make one phone call. But nobody had said when he could do that. The duty officer kind of smirked when he pushed him into the lock-up with his dozen new friends and told him, “Yeah, yeah, coming right up.”

Tizzard was confused but tried to look like he fit in with his fellow cell mates. They, in turn, looked like they were measuring his clothes to see if they might be a fit. As long as they don’t find out that I used to be a cop, I’ll be OK, thought Tizzard as he backed up as far as he could into a corner.

It seemed like he had waited forever, but as several of his new friends came in for a closer look, he heard his name called, “Tizzard, Tizzard.”

“That’s me,” he said and pushed by the two large men who had got the closest.

The duty cop opened the door, and Tizzard walked along the hallway to an interview room. He was pushed inside, and the door clicked shut behind him. It was a small, windowless room with a camera in the ceiling, a mirror on the wall, a single chair on one side of a table, and two on the other. Tizzard knew the drill and took a seat on the one-chair side. Then he waited, again. Feels like home, he thought. Just not my home.

On the other side of the continent Mayor Sheila Hillier was wrapping up her town council meeting and was on her way to meet Moira Stoodley who was babysitting her daughter, Amelia Louise. The meeting had been made unpleasant by a couple of contentious issues, including whether the older buildings in the downtown core of Grand Bank should be modernized or restored to maintain their historic character. But Sheila also realized that most of the tension was really about who would replace her as mayor in the election only a couple of weeks away.

Jacqueline Wilson was Sheila’s preference, but there was another candidate, Phil Bennett, who was leading the anti-tax faction of council. Every meeting, Bennett would try to disrupt things to show how influential he thought he could be, but Sheila would have none of it and would put him back in line. Bennett’s behaviour in itself was more than enough reason for her to want to leave, she thought.

Sheila had decided to go back to school part-time, eventually do an MBA once she had cleared up her scholastic records and completed the course load for an old degree program she had started several years earlier. Politics had never really been her thing, even though she was very good at it. She had only taken the mayor’s job to try to improve the town’s economy. And she had succeeded, mostly. The Town of Grand Bank’s fish plant was now operating on a regular basis with a quota for crab and the sea urchins considered a delicacy in Japan and China. The town also had a recycling factory and a solar panel fabrication plant.

Half of the town’s people wanted to not just preserve the past but to live in it. The other half wanted to blow it all up and start over. They had no use for the old and wanted everything to be modern, like the way it was in St. John’s or even nearby Marystown. It seemed there was no middle ground for the residents of Grand Bank, yet Sheila was sure you could have the best of both worlds. Getting others to agree with her, though, seemed impossible.

Sheila gathered up her things and drove to the Mug-Up, which was known through much of the province to be the best little café there was in Grand Bank. That it was the only café in Grand Bank was usually not mentioned. Sheila had owned the place years ago but gave it up after a horrific car accident left her with a slight limp and no desire to stand all day. Moira and her husband, Herb, had taken it over, and it was there that she found Amelia Louise sitting at a table with her Poppy Herb.

“Mama, mama,” she shrieked as Sheila’s heart melted. “Ook, ook.”

“I think she’s got talent,” said Herb Stoodley.

Sheila examined the crayon scrawls on the paper and murmured her approval. “It’s so nice,” she said. “Is it Lady, your doggie?” she asked, making a leap of faith based on the fact that there was one small circle on top of a large mass of scratches.

Amelia Louise smiled and nodded her head up and down emphatically. She had always been able to somehow say no, but now the 20-month-old toddler was happy to signify yes with a grand gesture.

“Well, thank you,” said Sheila. “And thank you, Herb. And here’s Moira, too. Thank you, Moira, for looking after her.”

“It’s our pleasure,” said Moira, wiping her hands on her apron. “I was just finishing off some baking.”

“Em,” said Amelia Louise. “Ook, ook,”

“I can see,” said Moira. “Has Poppy Herb been nice to you?”

“She’s like our baby, too,” said Herb. “It’s easy to be nice to her. ‘Those that do teach young babes, do it with gentle means and easy tasks.’”

“Okay, my soon-to-be-famous artist, let’s go,” said Sheila as she put on Amelia Louise’s jacket. Once outside again, Sheila noticed the November air had lost any tinge of summer warmth, and the wind was picking up, making it a bit of an adventure to walk the short distance to their house. Sheila tried to carry her daughter, but Amelia Louise was determined to walk on her own, while examining every leaf that blew their way.

When they got home, Molly the cat watched them carefully as they came up the walkway. The dog, Lady, was more directly affectionate and showed how much she had missed them both by almost knocking them over in the hall. The only one missing from the happy family was Sheila’s husband and the father of Amelia Louise, Sergeant Winston Windflower of the RCMP Grand Bank Detachment. He was at work, but Sheila expected to hear from him soon because his stomach would be rumbling any minute now, and he’d want to know what was on for dinner.

Mike Martin was born in St. John’s, NL on the east coast of Canada and now lives and works in Ottawa, Ontario. He is a long-time freelance writer and his articles and essays have appeared in newspapers, magazines and online across Canada as well as in the United States and New Zealand. He is the author of Change the Things You Can: Dealing with Difficult People and has written a number of short stories that have been published in various publications across North America.

The Walker on the Cape was his first full fiction book and the premiere of the Sgt. Windflower Mystery Series. Other books in the series include The Body on the T, Beneath the Surface, A Twist of Fortune, and A Long Ways from Home, followed by A Tangled Web, which was shortlisted for the 2017 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award as the best light mystery of the year, and Darkest Before the Dawn, which won the 2018 Bony Blithe Light Mystery Award. Fire, Fog and Water was the eighth in the series. He has also published Christmas in Newfoundland: Memories and Mysteries, a Sgt. Windflower Book of Christmas past and present.

He is Past Chair of the Board of Crime Writers of Canada, a national organization promoting Canadian crime and mystery writers and a member of the Newfoundland Writing Guild and Ottawa Independent Writers.

A Perfect Storm is the latest book in the Sgt. Windflower Mystery series.

  Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/mike54martin

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TheWalkerOnTheCapeReviewsAndMore

https://ift.tt/2GWYiPf

THE WICKED CRIES WOLF McKenna Grey Romantic Suspense / Thriller

In the shadow of Alaska’s Chugach Mountains, a darkness lurks and threatens a quiet coastal village in The Wicked Cries Wolf, the third book in the Kyndall Family Thriller series.

A woman desperate for solitude. A man with an enemy he can’t see. A dangerous game neither wants to play.

International bestselling author Meaghan Ryers has gained wealth, success, and fame . . . and all she wants is to be left alone. When her sister suggests she escape to someplace quiet where no one will find her, Meaghan picks a spot on the map and heads for Alaska.

Sheriff Donovan Kyndall of Stewart’s Crossing, Alaska, arrives at the scene of a car fire after receiving a mysterious call. He doesn’t expect a woman from out of town to be at the scene, begging him to believe someone was killed. As clues into the fire emerge, Donovan has to ask himself how she’s connected and how a caller knows details from his own tragic past.

As the truth is revealed, Donovan and Meaghan are entangled in a puzzle of lies, treachery, and clues they must decode if they are to survive.

  “The Dragon’s Staircase is a mind boggling adventure that will keep you guessing until the last page." – Night Owl Reviews, Top Pick

"Holy smokes! This is one suspenseful, anxiety-ridden, skin-crawling tale of murder, mystery, and psychological creepiness. Looking for a hard-to-figure-out mystery with a side order of nail biting? Then look no further!"  – InD'tale Magazine on The Dragon's Staircase

“McKenna Grey & Everly Archard, I loved this book! I was captured, terrorized, thrilled, and couldn’t put it down. I loved the first book in the Kyndall Family Thrillers, “The Dragon’s Staircase”, and this one ... well I read it in one day! I love all the Kyndall family characters and their love and protectiveness towards each other. Your mix of romance and thriller really is astounding! I cannot wait for book number three about Donovan Kyndall to come out.” —Kindle Reviewer on Shadow of the Forgotten

“I was literally at the edge of my seat. The suspense level is amazing.”

—Donna McBroom-Theriot, My Life, One Story at a Time

“I’m amazed at how smooth these two authors have combined their talents into one fabulous story." –Linda Thompson, Host of www.TheAuthorsShow.com

“THE DRAGON’S STAIRCASE by McKenna Grey and Everly Archard is romantic suspense full of thrills and spine-tingling moments. The twist at the end is as unexpected as it is disconcerting . . . the story keeps you guessing at every turn. This is a great start to a series that promises to be full of wonderful surprises."

— Readers’ Favorite

"LOVED! LOVED! LOVED Shadow of the Forgotten, written by McKenna Grey and Everly Archard. A suspenseful story that makes you feel excited or anxious about what is going to happen next. It starts with fast action and it keeps going on until the very end. You won’t be disappointed! These authors have nicely woven endearing characters into a wilderness background that adds a touch of mystery. It's gripping from the start to finish.” —Nicole Laverdure on Shadow of the Forgotten

“Beware, this new series is highly addictive! It’s suspenseful, mysterious, and riveting! You won’t want to miss it!" —Nicole Laverdure on “Blade of Death”

"A well written story and well developed characters . . . give the reader an exciting ride of investigation and the gentleness of a protective loving relationship."

—Lyn Ehley, Book Reviewer

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3a99S4d

B&N: https://bit.ly/2Dz3wzi

Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-wicked-cries-wolf-mckenna-grey/1137085944?ean=2940164339043

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-wicked-cries-wolf

iBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1515852075

  All titles in this series can be read as stand-alone books.

“Blade of Death” – Short Story Prequel

The Dragon’s Staircase – Book One

Shadow of the Forgotten – Book Two

The Wicked Cries Wolf - Book Three

  Prologue

Fire snaked into his lungs. Suffocating. Debilitating. He couldn’t breathe, his body immobile. He clawed at the air, at the coarse rope binding his feet, at everything his hands managed to reach. Why were his hands free?

Is this how someone feels when they burn?

Helios promised him there would be consequences. It had only been one more fire, one more kill. He had craved it more than he feared Helios’s warning.

One more mistake.

Smoke curled upward from the flames, dancing up the walls in a seductive swirl of lights and sound. The crackling of gunshots echoed somewhere beyond the steel door.

No chance of escape.

He didn’t deserve to die this way. His scream lodged deep in his lungs, so deep it burned his insides. A round of hacking coughs escaped his scorched lips. He desperately wanted water or a beer. Yes, when he got out of this—if he made it—he’d down a whole six-pack of Bud Light and thank whatever powers that be for his salvation.

I’ll be good. If you let me live, God, I’ll be good forever.

Did he hear his name coming back to him from the darkness beyond the flames? Yes, but from where, exactly?

Damian.

It’s only in my head. No. No, no, no!

He heard shouts, or was fear mocking him? He yanked at the ropes around his ankles and brought away flesh covered in his own blood. Why couldn’t he move?

The door pounded. No, someone pounded on the door. The blaze caressed the floor around him, moving closer with a lover’s passion, inch by inch. He heard the loud crash this time and was certain someone stood on the other side of the door. A gust of air whooshed into the room and the fire found new life. It tormented him, licked his skin. A scream escaped, louder now because of the burn. Two strong bodies in masks lifted him away from the center of the inferno. His eyes remained opened, even as the sensation of floating carried him away from the chamber. He’d promised to be good and he would be. No man or woman or creature walking the earth could claim to be so good as he from this moment on and into forever.

Darkness consumed his whispered thanks while a cacophony of sirens trumpeted his fall into oblivion.

     McKenna Grey is the contemporary alter-ego of an award-winning, historical romance author. She writes romantic suspense, including the Kyndall Family series, and heartwarming, small-town romance to break up the murder and mayhem. She enjoys a quiet life in the northern Rocky Mountains.

  Website: https://www.mckennagrey.com

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormckennagrey

McKenna Grey is giving away a $25 Amazon Gift Card!

Terms & Conditions:

By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.

One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive a $25 Amazon Gift Card.

This giveaway ends midnight October 30.

Winner will be contacted via email on November 1.

Winner has 48 hours to reply.

Good luck everyone!

ENTER TO WIN!

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

https://ift.tt/3n2JsXV

SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY Jackie Barbosa Historical Romance When Mrs. Laura Farnsworth discovers the blood-stained body of a man wearing the distinctive red coat of the British army, her first instinct is to let dead dogs lie. It has, after all, been just two days since the Battle of Plattsburgh, and the disposition of enemy corpses is hardly her purview. But then the man proves himself to be very much alive by grabbing her ankle and mumbling incoherently. After almost twenty-five years in His Majesty’s service, Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey Langston never expected to wake up in heaven, much less being tended by an angel. But when he regains consciousness in the presence of a beautiful, dark-haired woman and with no memory of how he came to be there, what else can he think? Except it’s rather odd for an angel to have an American accent. As the long-widowed Laura nurses the wounded Geoffrey back to health, the attraction between them heats from a simmer to a boil. Bound by his oath to the British crown, Geoffrey should be working to find his way back to his regiment and from the, to England. Instead, he’s sleeping with the enemy…and thereby committing the crime of desertion if not treason. But then, who’s going to find out? If only Geoffrey didn’t have a family back home who refuse to take “missing in action” for an answer.

REVIEW

 4 out of 5

Sleeping with the Enemy is a wonderful war-time romance. This is one of those historical romances that you can curl up with a cup of tea and enjoy. I loved Laura. She's strong and independent, but her heart misses having something more than just her son to care for, especially now that he's about to become an adult. Geoffrey is an officer - wounded and on the wrong side of the war. Despite tension from outside, there's an undeniable spark between them, and it was nice to escape for a few hours into their world. 

Amazon Kindle   *    Kobo    *    Nook   *   Apple

_____________________

  Other Books by Jackie Barbosa:

  _____________________

  Chapter One Plattsburgh, New York – September 13, 1814 It was the flicker of red in her peripheral vision that first caught Laura Farnsworth's attention. A bright, unnatural red that didn't belong in the tangled underbrush of the forest that lined the narrow dirt road. "Daniel," she said, placing her hand on her son's arm to draw his attention, "stop the wagon." He drew back on the reins, slowing the horses, even as he turned a querying gaze on her. "What for?" In answer, Laura pointed toward the unbroken patch of red that peeked out from between the trees on the left side of the road. "What do you suppose that is?" Her son squinted as if doing so would help him answer her question, then shrugged. "I don't know. But surely it's none of our business." "Maybe not," she admitted, rising from her seat on the hay wagon's bench, "but I'd like to have a closer look, just the same." "Wait." Daniel's tone carried a trace of fear. "It could be some kind of trap." Laura kept moving, gathering her skirts to avoid tripping as she stepped off the wagon. "The battle ended two days ago. If the British were laying traps for average citizens, I should think we would have encountered one before now." "Still…" She turned her most quelling maternal gaze on him. "I will thank you to remember who is the parent and who is the child here." Granted, she had a hard time thinking of her seventeen-year-old son as a child, given that he was a head taller than she and broad as an ox. It had been years since she had been able to get him to obey her by physical means, which meant she'd had to learn a long time ago how to enforce her rules by moral authority alone. He sighed and set aside the reins. "Fine. I'll come with you." Laura waited while he clambered down and then began picking her way through the undergrowth. When she got close enough to make out what she was looking at, she gasped with a combination of surprise and distress. Lying face down on the carpet of leaves and branches was the body of a man clad in the red coat and black breeches of a British soldier. The back of the coat was liberally spattered with brownish splotches that could only be dried blood. His hair, a pale shade of brown that reminded her of fresh apple cider, was also matted with blood at the base of his skull. He must have taken a terrible blow to the back of the head during the fighting and somehow managed to make his way here, where he had expired, miles from the battlefield where his body could be claimed.         Poor man. No one deserved to die alone and lost like this, not even an enemy soldier. After all, attacking her town and killing people she knew had probably not been his idea. And his family should know what had become of him. Have the opportunity to bury him. She turned to look at her son, whose complexion had gone ashen pale. Daniel was hardly a stranger to death, having lost his father at the tender age of seven, but Laura had taken a good deal of care to protect him from the more unpleasant aspects of her husband’s passing. Certainly, Daniel had never before seen a dead person who had not been prepared for burial, and the obvious violence that had been done to this man before his passing was shocking, even to her. “At least he is out of pain and at peace now,” she said gently. “We will have to drive back to town and tell Reverend Shackleford about this. He’ll be able to get a message to Fort Moreau so they can come retrieve the body and return it to the British.” Daniel’s nod was slow, but his color improved slightly. “Makes sense. But…shouldn’t we do something to try to protect the body from scavengers?” That was a good point. It would be hours before anyone from the fort would arrive to collect the corpse. In fact, now that she thought about it, the man must have expired quite recently, for there was no hint of predation. Nor, come to think of it, did she detect any of the foul odors she associated with death. Though she could perceive no signs of life at this distance—no rise and fall of chest, no twitch of limbs or digits, no breath stirring the leaves beneath him—perhaps she should take a closer look, just to be certain. Lifting her skirts again, she edged through the brambles until she was near enough to the body to stoop down and touch it. “Mother?” “We should be su—” Her words ended on a startled shriek because the corpse’s hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, large fingers closing tightly around her boot. “Mother!” Daniel’s panicked tone echoed her own as he thrashed his way to reach her side. The dead man was most certainly not dead, but quite alive, and his steely grip easily resisted her efforts to pull free. Daniel caught her by the shoulders to keep her from toppling over as she continued to yank against the man’s grasp. Over the wild pounding of her heart—not so much the result of fear as of surprise—she could hear the man’s voice, thick and raspy, as he mumbled words she couldn’t make out but that she understood well enough, despite their incoherence. Help me. Please. “It’s all right,” she reassured her son as her shock subsided to be replaced by concern and compassion. “He isn’t hurting me, and he certainly can’t hurt you in his condition.” She ceased trying to loosen the man’s grasp on her ankle and bent her knees to get closer to him instead. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she said, “Have no fear, sir. You’re safe now.” At her words, his grip relaxed and his mumbling ceased. He had slipped back into unconsciousness. *** Getting the wounded man—who, based on the epaulettes on the shoulders of his coat, must be an officer, not an enlisted soldier—from where he lay to the wagon was no mean feat. Daniel might be large and strong for a young man in his late teens, but the British officer was nearly as big as her son and a dead weight, to boot. Daniel could not have carried the man more than a few staggering steps without Laura’s assistance. Although she worried about doing further injury, she and Daniel had no choice but to roll the man over onto his back before moving him. He groaned in what was undoubtedly pain as they turned him but roused no further. Laura couldn’t prevent herself from drawing in a sharp breath at her first glimpse of his face, for though his bronzed skin was smudged with dirt and his eye sockets had the sunken appearance she associated with a prolonged lack of water, none of this detracted from the arresting masculine beauty of his features. Several days’ worth of stubble covered his strong, square jawline, which was punctuated by a tidy cleft in his chin. He had sharply delineated cheekbones and a well-proportioned nose that skewed just slightly at the bridge, suggesting it had been broken at least once. His cider-colored hair was a trifle overlong and clung to his well-proportioned forehead, which made her notice that his eyes were well-spaced and possessed of thick lashes a shade or two darker than his hair. She wondered what color those eyes were, and immediately berated herself for giving such a trivial question even a second’s consideration. What sort of woman thought about such shallow, inconsequential things when a man might well be dying at her feet? A shameless one. Or a lonely one. Once the man was on his back, Daniel stooped down and carefully lifted his head and shoulders while Laura grabbed his legs at the knees. Together they managed to carry him the ten yards to the wagon. Fortunately, today’s trip to town had been for household supplies, not feed for the livestock, so there was plenty of room in the bed of the wagon. The jolting journey from there to the farm would likely have been unpleasant for the man had he been awake, but he remained insensible. And Daniel argued with her the entire way. “We should take him to the hospital at the fort. Turn him over to them. It’s not our job to take care of wounded soldiers. Especially enemy soldiers.” “We have a Christian duty to help anyone who is sick or injured,” Laura answered. “Friend or enemy.” “Taking him to the fort would fulfill that duty,” her son retorted stubbornly. She glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious man. His lips were cracked and bloody, and his sun-bronzed skin had a sallow, lifeless undertone. If they hadn’t found him when they did, she doubted he would have survived much longer. “He’s British, Mother,” Daniel continued, his jaw set at that stubborn angle that still reminded her of his father. Her husband, gone ten years and more. If it weren’t for their son, who looked so like him, she wondered if she would even remember Samuel Farnsworth’s face. Sometimes, she wasn’t even sure that she truly did. “What if he’s not as injured as he appears and means us harm? Means you harm.” “What if he is as injured as he appears and dies before we can get him to the fort?” Laura gave her son the hard, narrow-eyed stare that she’d been using to cow him since he had grown too big for her to bend him to her will by physical means. To her gratification, he flinched ever so slightly. It still worked. “He could die on the way to the farm.” Dear Lord, she hoped not. Her throat tightened painfully at the very idea. Something had happened in those few seconds when the man she’d taken for dead had grabbed onto her and begged her for help. A tug at her heart, an answer to a longing she hadn’t even known existed inside her. This man needed her. And it had been so long since anyone had truly needed her. Oh, certainly, she felt she was useful. Her life was positively chock-full of activity, sunrise to sundown, after all. Running both the household and overseeing the day-to-day operation of the farm kept her busier than a flail on threshing day, and there was always someone who wanted an answer to this or a decision about that. But the reality was that very soon, Daniel would take control of the farm. He was, in fact, perfectly capable of managing things himself now, though by legal formality, the farm would not become his until his twenty-first birthday. But whatever the law might have to say about it, Daniel did not need her help any longer, and Laura rather suspected that, should she up and vanish, he would quite handily sort out the household side of things as well. She’d raised a competent son, as she’d intended. She just hadn’t realized what would happen when his competence equaled her own. How…empty it would make her feel. And then there he had been, a person in desperate need of someone to do the right thing, and that someone seemed to be her. Not that there was any way she could possibly explain this to her son, whose concern was not entirely misplaced. So she said, “And if he does, we will know we did everything we could to save him by trying to get him to help as quickly as possible. If we take him on an hour-long journey, we will have no such assurances.” “And if he is too injured for you to help him? If he requires a surgeon to save his life? I know you know what you’re doing when it comes to treating common illnesses and injuries, but for all we know, he has been shot or stabbed or has some other condition you won’t be able to do anything for. Then what?” Laura bit her lip and visualized what she had observed when they had turned the man onto his back before transporting him the wagon. Aside from a few drops on or near his shoulders, all of the blood on his coat had been on the back. If he had been shot or stabbed, there should have been one or more holes in his uniform, but she remembered none. All of his limbs had appeared undamaged, with no evidence that they had been broken or crushed. Everything she had seen indicated that his only injury was to the back of his head, where someone had struck him hard enough to draw a significant quantity of blood and likely fracture his skull. That could, of course, have done serious harm to his brain, but if it had, there was nothing a bonesaw could do for him that she could not. Well, short of amputating his head, she thought with grim humor, but that seemed unlikely to be therapeutic. After a long pause, she answered Daniel’s query. “Then I will have to answer to God for my error. But given what I have seen, I believe all he needs is water and food, once he can manage it, and to be kept dry, warm, and clean so that he can heal. The rest is up to the Lord.” *** Laura’s initial visual assessment of the British soldier’s wounds proved accurate. Aside from a few scrapes and bruises likely sustained on a stumbling trek through the forest to where she and Daniel had found him, the only injury was to the base of his skull. The blow must have been delivered in close quarters when his back was turned, which seemed an odd way for a soldier to come to harm in a battle that had been fought mostly by mortar and gunfire, but then, she supposed it was possible for hand-to-hand combat to occur even under those circumstances. The incongruity bothered her nonetheless. After Daniel and Joseph Robinson, the freeborn Black man she had hired ten years ago to be her foreman and orchardist, had undressed the man, bathed him according to her specifications, and then tucked him into the bed in the downstairs bedroom—her bedroom, normally—Laura undertook the task of his day-to-day care. Although none of them were familiar enough with military insignia to guess at the man’s precise rank, the star and crown on his epaulets certainly suggested he held a position of some importance. Despite the fact that British forces had decamped from the area, Laura could not imagine that no one would be looking for the missing officer. As one day stretched into the next and then into another, however, her concern that soldiers might turn up on her doorstep demanding to know what she had done with the wounded man faded, to be replaced by concern that he stubbornly continued to not wake up. Though he reflexively swallowed the small amounts of water and meaty broth she dribbled into his mouth several times each day and managed the other routine bodily functions often enough that she no longer worried he would die as a direct result of injury or infection, as two days turned into three and then became four, she had to face the very real possibility that the damage to his brain had been severe enough that he would never regain consciousness. At some point, water and broth would no longer be sufficient to sustain him, and he would die. Perhaps Daniel had been right. Perhaps they should have taken him to the fort. At least then, it would not be her burden to watch another man die by inches despite her efforts to save him. It did not help that every day, Daniel pointed out that there was no reason they could not transport the man to the fort’s hospital now. His condition, while not improving, was clearly stable enough to allow for the journey. Wouldn’t he be better off in the hands of people whose job it was to treat the sick and wounded? The worst of it was that she knew her son wasn’t wrong. There was no reason for her to continue pouring so much of her time and effort into caring for a complete stranger. A man whose name she didn’t even know and who, if he regained consciousness, would likely consider her an enemy. A man she ought to consider her enemy, given that the United States and Britain were at war. Part of the reason she resisted was sheer pigheadedness. Laura liked to succeed. After Samuel’s death, she’d thrown herself first into raising their son and then into transforming the family farm from a subsistence-level operation into a money-making enterprise. This she had accomplished by quadrupling the size of the apple orchard and planting varieties good for making cider, which she sold to the local taverns and townspeople alike at a healthy profit. The first few years had been difficult, of course. She’d had to take all her hay fields out of production to plant the new trees, which meant she had to purchase hay for the livestock rather than growing it herself while at the same time waiting for the trees to reach maturity. But she had persevered despite the obstacles now the farm made a tidy profit each year which she reinvested into the continued expansion of the orchard and the equipment she needed to press and age her cider. Giving up simply did not suit her, and turning the wounded lieutenant colonel over to military doctors would be an admission of defeat. But the lion’s share of the reason, she was forced to admit to herself, was curiosity. Ever since she’d found him, she had been plagued with questions. How had he been injured? How had he come to be lying in the woods near her home, miles from the battlefield? What was his name? Where was he from? Did he have a wife and children? What color are his eyes? And so each night, she promised herself that if he did not waken on the morrow, they would do as Daniel wanted and take him to the fort. And each day, she utterly failed to do so. Until mid-afternoon on the fifth day.

_____________________

____________________

    Jackie Barbosa can’t remember a time when she didn’t want to be an author when she grew up, but there were plenty of times when she wasn’t sure she ever would be. As it turns out, it just took her about twenty years longer to grow up than she expected! On the road to publication, Jackie took a few detours, including a stint in academia (she holds an MA in Classics from the University of Chicago and was a recipient of a Mellon Fellowship in the Humanities) and many years as a technical writer/instructional designer for a data processing company. She still holds her day job, but her true vocation has always been writing fiction and romance in particular. Jackie is a firm believer that love is the most powerful force in the world, which that makes romance the most powerful genre in the world. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise!

 WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.jackiebarbosa.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/jackiebarbosa Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JackieBarbosaAuthor/

https://ift.tt/34bmntp

UNDER A FULL MOON: THE LAST LYNCHING IN KANSAS Alice Kay Hill True Crime UNDER A FULL MOON: The Last Lynching in Kansas tells of the tragic abduction and death of an eight-year-old girl at the hands of a repeat offender in 1932. This crime stands apart as the last mob lynching in Kansas. Based on true events, this account takes a deep dive into the psycho-social complexities of pioneer times and their impact on this particular crime and the justice meted out to the perpetrator. Beginning in the year 1881, and written in a chronological narrative non-fiction format, author Alice Kay Hill vividly weaves the stories of the victims and the families involved. She reveals how mental and physical abuse, social isolation, privations of homesteading, strong dreams and even stronger personalities all factored into the criminal and his crimes. Spanning the years of settlement to the beginnings of the Dust Bowl, historic events are lived as daily news by the seven families whose lives become intertwined. Historically accurate and written with an intimate knowledge of the area, UNDER A FULL MOON is as personal as a family diary, as vivid as a photo album found in an attic trunk, and will remain with the reader long after the book is closed.  

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3kI18XG

Barnes & Noble → https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/under-a-full-moon-alice-kay-hill/1137286542?ean=9781952225192

WildBlue Press → https://wildbluepress.com/under-a-full-moon-alice-k-hill-true-crime/

_____________________

Their son Addison Alanson (A.A.) is born on a spring day in 1889. Children are one crop that can be counted on. Drought, grasshoppers, late freezes and early frosts might take out fields and gardens, but the babies are persistent in their regular arrival. Mary is thirty-eight years old. In rural homes a girl is trained for motherhood and learns the basics of house management through helping to raise younger siblings. Typically, not long after puberty, she will be married and delivering or nursing babies without let up for most of her life. Often her first daughters have children before she herself is done. Mary gazes into her squalling newborn’s face and knows that his life can be taken in a moment. Though she would never know the numbers, she was clearly aware of childhood mortality. In 1870, two years after her marriage to Alanson and while they were living in Nebraska, 114 deaths occurred in their county. Nearly 100 of those were children, most less than five years of age. Cholera infantum had taken their little boy, John. Mary would never forget his extreme distress as vomiting and diarrhea drained his life so quickly, his feverish lips cracking like parchment, his skin becoming translucent until she could trace his veins and see his heart thumping below his heaving chest. Not long after John was buried a near neighbor lost her not quite one-year-old when he choked on a piece of seed corn. The frantic mother carried his lifeless body from home to home while screaming for someone to save her purple faced child. Anything and everything could happen to these defenseless babies. As she puts Addison Alanson to her breast Mary shivers, teeth chattering from childbirth strain and fatigue without hope or expectation of relief.

_____________________

  _____________________

  ____________________

  Alice Kay Hill is passionate about her Kansas heritage. She has published in Hobby Farms magazine and written an instruction manual title GROW TOPLESS: A Modified High Tunnel Design for Headache Free Extended-Season Gardening which is available on Amazon. UNDER A FULL MOON: The Last Lynching in Kansas is her first narrative non-fiction work.

  Website: https://www.akhillauthor.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AKHillauthor

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/realhistorynow/

https://ift.tt/2EGCAy0

THE SEX DARE Tenisha Collins Christian Nonfiction

Sex is great and feels real, real good! Societal trends advocate doing whatever feels good, including having sexual intercourse with someone you are not married to. The limelight shining on sex isn't a good one. It's almost impossible to find positive models of sex while married, in any medium, today. Television sitcoms, movies, magazines, romance novels, gossip radio, and talk shows all highlight marriages consumed with infidelity, trust issues, dehumanizing sex or a lack of sexual intimacy. Most mediums imply that singles are the ones having the best sex of their lives and, if they do marry, great sex ends after the honeymoon. But the truth is, God has reserved great sex for a husband and his own wife -- period! This guide removes all the defective propaganda surrounding sex so that a husband and wife BOTH enjoy sex without any issues. In just 21 days, married couples could be having the best, bed-breaking, intoxicatingly addictive sex with one another. Go ahead and read it...I dare you!

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://bit.ly/SEXDARE  

Amazon → https://bit.ly/SEXDARE

_____________________

  ____________________

  Tenisha N. Collins is an author, accountant, editor & proofreader, speaker, entrepreneur and marriage coach. She recently published two devotionals, focusing on parenting & marriage, which can be found on Amazon, Apple Books, Kindle, Thriftbooks, Walmart, Kobo and other online platforms. A graduate of the University of Kentucky’s Gatton College of Business, she holds a Bachelor’s of Science in Accounting. When Tenisha’s not preparing corporate and individual income taxes at the firm where she works part-time, she is balancing her mom life with her wife and entrepreneur life. Founder of Strong Marriage, a Facebook Christian support group designed to give its members the tools necessary to obtain & maintain a strong marriage, Tenisha is passionate about families functioning as God purposed. Tenisha lives in Thousand Oaks, California (USA) with her husband of 27 years, their four children and grandson. Visit her website, TenishaCollins.Com, to learn more or to join her community.

Website: http://www.TenishaCollins.Com Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/TenishaCollins4 Facebook: http://www.Facebook.Com/AuthorTenishaCollins

____________________

THE MIS-EDUCATION OF THE CHURCH GIRL Mavis McKnight, M.S. Christian Nonfiction The Mis-Education of the church Girl is a Personal Journal of Self-Discovery that sheds light on damaging messages about sex, sexuality, and self-love. This journal will help you:

Unpack negative beliefs about sex,

Uncover obstacles to sexual joy

Unleash your potential for sizzling and fulfilling sexual intimacy

It is loaded with journal activities, action steps, heart-opening exercises, amazing health benefits, and a few surprises to help move you toward a transformed mind and a new relationship with your sexual self. Discover and embrace your right to pleasure!

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2E0g8zr

_____________________

Review

5 out of 5

The Mis-education of the Church Girl is liberating. Let me start by saying that I was raised Catholic, and while I no longer consider myself Catholic or Christian, having been raised in that environment I figured I'd give this book a try. I'm so glad I did. Even after so many years ago those restrictive teachings have stuck with me. This was a great way to work through years of piled on guilt surrounding sex. Highly recommend for anyone who struggles with their sexuality and sexual pleasure, especially if you are a current or former Christian.

____________________

  Mavis McKnight is a candid, caring, and passionate Certified Sex Coach and Marriage Advocate. She is on a mission to educate, empower, and inspire Christian wives to enrich their sexual relationship. She encourages women to embrace their sexuality, learn to be creative, and bring more fun and excitement to their intimate lives. Her goal is to teach women to add flavor and spice to their sex life, blend sex positive messages with actions, and create tantalizing sexual experiences that burst with sweetness. Some of the areas she coaches are:

Little or no interest in sex

Problems getting or holding an erection

Problems ejaculating too soon

Never experienced an orgasm

Can’t orgasm with a partner

Body Image Issues

Sexual inhibitions

Uneven desire

Little or no sex skills

Desire for enhanced pleasure

Additionally, she explores the areas of:

More fun and fulfilling sex

Planning romantic and erotic dates

Taking the stress, distress, and worry out of sex

Kicking sexual frustration to the curb

Speaking up boldly for your sexual needs

Deep soulful connections

Intimacy inside and outside of the bedroom

She has conducted numerous workshops, seminars, marriage classes, and bible studies for over eleven years; provided counseling and coaching in marriage and relationships for over 10 years; Earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Psychology; a Master’s Degree in Human Services; She is a Certified Sex Coach and Clinical Sexologist, a Certified Life Coach, Published author, and Co-Founder and CEO of Intimate Connections. When Mavis is not bubbling over with passion to teach about sex, she enjoys dancing, traveling, reading, laughing, music, spending time with her handsome, adorable, loving husband and family, and having her grandkids over for a sleep-over…sometimes. 😊

Website: www.MavisMcKnight.com

Blog: http://www.mavismcknight.com/blogs/

Facebook Address: https://www.facebook.com/mavisthecoach

https://ift.tt/343ZS9V

MAGNOLIA James S. Kelly Historical Fiction/Civil War Love Story Two young men grow up in the south, become great friends and love the same woman. One moves north as the civil war nears and becomes Administrative Asst to Abraham Lincoln The one who remained in the south vacates his office of US Senator to become the south’s chief spy. Both men are pitted against each other during the war. As the war ends, they try to renew their friendship but will the presence of the one they both love be an impediment.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2ZulevO

3 out of 5

Magnolia is an enjoyable read. If the pacing had been a little faster, I would've rated this at a four. The story is interesting, and the characters likable. A nice book to disappear into for a few hours. If you like realistic historical fiction, you'll thoroughly enjoy this story.

As soon as the seven southern states seceded from the union, their sons and relatives in the Union Army and Navy resigned their commissions and became the elite officers of the Confederacy. They were euphoric; they threw parties and prided themselves on their great fortune. They didn’t’[t stop there; they became aggressive. The state of South Carolina, one of the first to secede, claimed that Forts Moultrie and Sumter in the Charleston Harbor belonged to the Confederacy; therefore, the Union Soldiers in the fort must vacate. General PGT Beauregard, the former Superintendent of Cadets at West Point, who immediately switched sides,  was in charge of that state’s militia, but was taking his orders from Jefferson Davis in Montgomery, the interim Capitol of the Confederacy. Whether Jefferson Davis’ request to Lincoln to turn over the forts was rejected because it lacked merit or Lincoln took too long to respond, is mute in the long run.             The firing on Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861 began a war that had no reason to happen. It was as though a disagreement between father and son had escalated way beyond what either wanted. At some point, each realized that they had gone beyond the normal barrier of good behavior and tried to step back and assess their actions. The father made every effort to try to explain to his son why his actions were unacceptable, but a sense of freedom to do as he wished, made that view almost impossible for the son to accept. He and his friends were caught up in a wave of excitement, which escalated into a cause. The normal civility between father and son was met with obstinacy and imprudence. Consequently, neither could see how to rectify a situation that continued to fester and finally got out of control. There seemed to be no common ground, no mediation and no chance for reconciliation. Just like a family, a nation was splitting apart.             So too, did the distance between two childhood friends from Charleston, South Carolina, widen even though in the early stages, they tried to maintain a sense of decorum and respect, ignoring all outside influences. But it was not to be. The tension had grown from anxiety to acceptance, on both sides; their views were incompatible.             On that fateful day, James Stephen Harris and his wife Claire were sitting at the dining room table in their rented Georgetown Residence in Washington DC. The lights on the black wrought iron lamps on their porch illuminated their entrance steps and their beautiful white slump stone exterior.. They were hosting four of their closest friends to celebrate Claire’s thirtieth birthday. Her mother and step-father planned to attend, but the situation was such that they wanted to see what would happen next before they crossed the Atlantic to be with the one they raised.             James had spent the busiest two weeks of his life getting acclimated to his new position as Special Advisor to the newly elected President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln. All six friends looked solemn; the neighborhood outside was quiet; it was as though an honored member of their family had died. No one spoke of the situation; no one wanted to. They talked of trivial things until ten that evening and then the guests left.             Several hundred miles to the south in their home outside Charleston, South Carolina, John William Beauregard, with his wife Louisa and their two children were celebrating the same occasion with champagne at their magnificent plantation, called Magnolia. He’d resigned from the US Senate, as soon as the State of South Carolina seceded from the union. Interim President of the Confederate States of America, Jefferson Davis, with an endorsement from John’s cousin, General PGT Beauregard, asked him to lead the Confederate Signal Corp. He was that new nation’s chief spy.              They were embarking on an adventure and everyone was excited. John looked over at his wife and said, “We won’t be told what to do or how to run our lives anymore by some Union Bureaucrat in Washington.”             “Be careful what you wish for, John.” She responded.             “I just don’t understand the provocation. Why start something that can’t be reversed. The forts weren’t being supplied, so why not wait. The defenders would eventually have no recourse but to leave. Firing on the forts seemed to force the issue.” James Beauregard, their son, who was scheduled to attend West Point in the fall asked.             “I wouldn’t have done it that way, but the die is cast. I believe many in our new administration wanted to make the break as sharp and as quick as possible, so there’d be no recourse.” His father responded             Over the next four years, the two childhood friends, James Harris and John Beauregard, would be rivals, as antagonistic and would use every conscious moment during that period to assist their side in this ridiculous loss of life, property and dignity..

James S. (Jim) Kelly is a retired United States Air Force Colonel with over 100 combat missions in Vietnam. Prior to his retirement, Jim was Program Director for a Communication’s Program in Iran, working directly under the Shah. Jim and his wife, Patricia own and operate High Meadow’s Horse Ranch outside Solvang, California. All of his novels use Solvang and the Santa Ynez Valley as a setting. Over the past 15 years, Jim and his wife have been active in a charity supporting our troops in forward operating locations, in hostile territory, overseas. To contact Jim, email him at [email protected]. Website: www.kellywritings.com