Books You'll Love from Books We Love

Still Time to Win an eReader from Books We Love

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Thu, 23 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

At Books We Love we're celebrating Spring by giving away an eBook Reader. On June 15th one lucky winner will receive his or her choice of the pictured readers below.

Kindle Paperwhite Nook Simple Touch Kobo Touch

All winners must be newsletter subscribers.
Find the entry forms here, and good luck!

http://bookswelove.net/contest.php

Now Available: His Betrayal Her Lies by Angel de'Amor

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Mon, 20 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Sophisticated Taylor Briggs had her entire life planned out. Engaged to her college sweetheart, Ari Gallagher, Taylor learns a week before her wedding that her perfect life is all based on lies and betrayal. But being the daughter of the Mayor comes at a high price: Taylor’s life is not her own, and she has no choice but to go forward with the wedding.

Ari adds deception to the ultimate sin of unfaithfulness when he fathers a child by another woman. A string of events places Taylor’s life in danger and into the arms of the sexiest bachelor in Chicago, Kalon Knight. Will Taylor mend her relationship with her husband Ari and continue to live a lie? Or will she throw caution to the wind and embark upon a new journey of finding love with Kalon?

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CV7GJ00

Excerpt Week: Mountain Moonlight by Jane Toombs

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sun, 19 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Vala, now a divorcee, and her young son, Davis, arrive in Phoenix, Arizona, intending to hike into Superstition Mountain to follow an old map her son was given by an elderly Apache before he died. Davis believes it's a treasure map. Convinced by a camping outfitter that they need a guide, Vala checks the list on the store's bulletin board, and finds one name crossed out. Perversely she reads it anyway. . Bram Hunter! Even though she left Phoenix with her family when she was sixteen, she's never forgotten him.

Which drives her to call the number listed.

Bram's planning to leave for a Caribbean vacation in a few days, but he remembers Vala. He has no intention of guiding anyone anywhere right now, but remembers one night long ago, and agrees to meet her.

"Mountain Moonlight…is a leisurely-paced, heart-warming story with intriguing mythological overtones." Teresa Roebuck

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

"Apache Junction," Davis said as Vala stopped the rental car in front of a store advertising camping equipment. "That's a really cool name for a town, Mom."

Seeing his enthusiasm made her almost forget the hassle to get here--how she'd argued and pleaded for ten days off so they could fly to Arizona after the Christmas holidays, which she already knew she couldn't take off. Davis would have to miss a week or so of school, but that couldn't be helped. Finally her employer had rather begrudgingly given her the seven vacation days she had coming plus another three days leave of absence.

She was grateful she hadn't been fired. Heaven knows she needed the job. Since Neal's new wife had blessed him with a son last May, he tended to be careless about his child-support payments for Davis. He was equally careless about keeping in touch with his first-born son. Or maybe heartless was the right word.

Davis tugged at her arm. "Look!" He pointed. "That's it, that's Superstition Mountain."

She stared at the towering mass of rock--volcanic, she'd read somewhere--off to the northeast. It wasn't her first view of the mountain because she'd lived in Phoenix when she was young. Her thought now was the same as she'd had back then--Superstition Mountain didn't look real, thrusting up forbiddingly like it did in the middle of this flat land.

"I'm glad we came," Davis said, his gaze fixed on the mountain. "Really, really glad."

So was she. Davis probably believed he'd convinced her to make the trip because of his earnest arguments about how finding the treasure was going to make up for having to spend a lot of money to get to Arizona. She didn't intend to admit to her son that she was willing to do anything to keep the bright glow of enthusiasm in his eyes. Before John Mokesh had given him the old deer skin map, Davis hadn't been interested in anything. Even his Christmas computer game, one he wanted, failed to fill the bill.

Poor Mr. Mokesh had died in his sleep the night after he'd presented Davis with the map. To her surprise, her son had accepted the old man's death without excessive grief, saying, "Mokesh told me it was his time to die. That's why he gave me his treasure map."

"Mom, you're lollygagging," Davis said. The word came from her father and probably from his father, but it had caught Davis's attention and he liked to use it.

"I was just thinking," she said.

He grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the store entrance. Once inside, Vala told the clerk, a tanned, healthy-looking woman with a long braid down her back, that she and her son planned to make a trip into the Superstitions. "But I don't know much about camping," she admitted, "and so I haven't the faintest idea what we'll need."

The clerk's eyebrows raised. "You're planning to trek into the Superstitions without knowing anything about camping? I hate to rain on your parade but that is not a good idea. Not without a guide. That mountain isn't greenhorn-friendly. Fact is, Superstition Mountain can't be called friendly to anyone."

"A guide?" Vala repeated. "How do I go about finding one?" She hadn't planned on any extra expenses but maybe guides took credit cards.

"We got a list posted." The woman jerked a thumb toward a bulletin board near the front of the store. "Names and phone numbers. We don't guarantee any of the guides but, as far as we've heard, they're all able to bring you out of the Superstitions in almost as good a shape as you were when you went in. Any one of them can tell you what you need to buy and we'll be more than glad to sell you whatever they recommend."

Thanking her, Vala went to take a look at the list while Davis roamed through the store, examining the camping gear. The third name on the guide list was crossed off. Perversely, she wondered why, leaning closer to see if she could make out the letters beneath the heavy dark line. Was it Bruce something? Or Brian? No, that was an "a" and then an "m" after the Br. She gasped, staring at the paper in disbelief. Bram! Was it possible? The last name certainly looked like Hunter.

Turning toward the clerk, she called, "What about this Bram Hunter? Why is he crossed off?"

The woman shrugged. "That's Bram for you. He only works when he feels like it."

Glancing at the list again, Vala took a pen from her bag and squinted at the paper as she wrote down the barely legible phone number, all the time telling herself it was a waste of time. Bram had taken his name off the list, so why call him? She already knew he wasn't available as a guide and if she made the call for old time's sake, he probably wouldn't remember her anyway. Why should he? She'd left Phoenix with her family when she was sixteen and, at that age, she'd been a bookish, mousy, overly shy girl.

He might not remember her but she'd never quite forgotten him. At eighteen Bram Hunter was the most devastatingly handsome boy in the school with just enough of a shadowed reputation to intrigue every girl she knew. Including her. Her mother, unlike the mothers of her friends, had never bothered to warn her to steer clear of Bram Hunter, believing Vala was too shy to speak to any boy. Her mother had been right--in a way. But there were some things her mother never found out.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00971EM2A

Excerpt Week: Creole Hearts by Jane Toombs

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sat, 18 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

In 1803, the Louisiana Territory was in a turmoil. Spain was ceding this territory back to the France because the United States had offered to let them keep Florida. So the French flag was once again being raised to the joy of the Creoles. But Tanguay La Branche knew the joy would be brief since he was aware this was only part of a deal where President Jefferson would now buy the Louisiana Territory from France. Once they belonged to the United States what would become of the Creoles?

Previously published as "The Creoles"

Excerpt:

Chapter One

All streets leading to the square were thronged with processions and onlookers. Tanguy La Branche, staring down from a crowded Cabildo balcony, was taken back seven years to Paris and the rioting mobs in the city streets. He shook his head to dispel the memory. This was New Orleans, not Paris and, despite the thin drizzle, the Creoles were celebrating.

Below, to the left of the Place d'Armes, the Louisiana Regiment and the New Orleans militia stood at attention. To the right, the Spanish Cavalry Squadron sat stiffly on their mounts. The Spanish flag hung wet and limp but nothing dampened the spirit of the crowds about the square.

The wooden gallows thrusting up near the flagpole seemed out of place, an unpleasant reminder that the Place d'Armes had less joyous usages. The sight of it made Guy remember that this November 30, 1803, wasn't exactly the festive occasion that most thought.

He felt a hand tug at his sleeve.

"Guy, we can't see," his sister Madelaine complained.

Taking advantage of his authority as an aide of Prefet de Laussat, Guy cleared a space at the balcony's iron railing for Madelaine and her friend Annette Louise Courchaine. No one objected, the men smiling at the two pretty fifteen year olds in their high waisted gowns and colorful shawls and bonnets.

A thunder of cannon from the Argo, the French brig of war anchored in the Mississippi River just beyond the Place d'Armes, saluted the arrival of Prefet de Latissat and the Spanish officials as their processions halted in front of the Cabildo, the government building.

When he'd been sent home to Nouvelle Orleans from France, Guy's eyes, dazzled by la belle Paris, saw the small, stockaded town of his birth as a country village instead of the city he'd always believed it to be. New Orleans had perhaps four thousand houses and certainly no more than ten thousand inhabitants, half white, the rest either free colored or Negro slaves. But New Orleans was his home and he loved it.

Annette Louise turned her head to glance at him. As he met her gaze, she blushed and looked quickly away. He smiled, wondering if she realized he still thought of her as a little girl despite her ripening figure. Hadn't she and Madelaine plagued him ever since they were toddlers, getting underfoot, trying to follow him and his friends everywhere?

"They're coming into the Cabildo," Madelaine said. "What happens next, Guy?"

"Governor Salcedo and Prefet de Laussat will sign the documents issued by Napoleon and agreed to by King Charles of Spain, the papers that transfer the colony of Louisiana back to France after forty one years of Spanish rule. Think—we'll be able to call ourselves French in truth."

"We're Creoles," Madelaine said, "not French."

"Yes, but a Spaniard born in the Louisiana colony can also call himself a Creole," Guy said, "while he can never be a Frenchman."

"I think maybe being a Creole is enough," Madelaine said.

Guy shrugged. She’d never been to France, she didn’t understand.

After a time, the prefet and the governor, followed by the marquis de Casa Calvo, the Spanish commissioner said to be the man who’d really ruled the colony, appeared on a tiny balcony to Guy’s right. The crowd below cheered.

As the troops presented arms and the Argo saluted with cannon volleys, the Spanish flag came down and the French tricolor rose to the top of the staff. Guy threw up his arms and shouted in triumph, his cry echoed by hundreds of Creoles, the shouts continuing as the Spanish troops withdrew from the square.

“This is a proud day for Louisiana,” Prefet de Laussant said, beginning his speech.

Proud, yes, Guy told himself, but in truth, a mockery. He recalled what the prefet told him when he’s been appointed as an aide.

“Tanguy, you already speak Spanish in addition to our language. I must insist you also learn English.”

“May I ask why, prefet?

De Laussat had sighed. “I have the curse of being able to choose the best course for the most, even though it goes against my own instincts. I don’t expect you to understand why I ask this of you. Do it.”

Guy had complied, inadvertently teaching English to Madelaine when he asked her to help him memorize words.

He smiled at her now, though her attention was on de Laussat. Intelligence as well as beauty shone in her sable eyes. If only she could be a bit less willful, a trifle less determined to have her own way. Creole woman should be accommodating.

He forced his mind back to the speech, one he’d heard in different forms many times before as the prefect tried it out on his aides. Guy was the youngest of them, only nineteen.

“Money can never be ignored,” his friend Rafe Devol had said pointedly.

Guy knew the truth of this. His father had left him La Belle, the sugar plantation with its manor house and vast acreage below New Orleans as well as the yet undeveloped land on Lake Pontchartrain and the townhouse on the rue de Royal, Certainly Pierre de Laussat took this into consideration when choosing his aides, although Guy hoped there'd also been other reasons for his appointment.

After the speeches were over, Guy saw Annette Louise safely to the Courchaine townhouse, then walked with Madelaine the four islets, the four blocks, to the rue de Royal. The ditches along the dirt streets ran with water and mud splashed up onto the banquette, the sidewalk, from passing horses.

"My slippers will be quite ruined," Madelaine protested, poking a satin covered toe from beneath her gown.

"If you expect me to carry you, you'll have a long wait, dear sister," he said. "I happen to know you have dozens of other slippers while I'm your one and only brother. Wear out the shoes, not me."

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CHCALBM

New Interview with Author Jane Toombs

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Fri, 17 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Jane Toombs, the Viking from her past and their calico grandcat, Kinko, live on the south shore of Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula wilderness. Here they enjoy refreshing Springs, beautiful Summers, colorful Falls and tolerate miserable Winters. Jane is edging toward ninety with her published books and has over twenty-five novellas and short stories to her credit. She’s been published in every genre except men’s action and erotica, but paranormal is her favorite. She’s a member of a closed twelve author promo group called Jewels Of The Quill, where she’s “Dame Turquoise” at www.JewelsoftheQuill.com

Website: www.JaneToombs.com

Jane's BWL page

BWL: Why did you choose the genre you write in?

JT: Actually genre and sub-genres choose me. When a story pops into my mind, if if needs to be historical, okay, I write that. If it needs to be contemporary with a touch of paranormal, that’s what I write. And so on through the genres.

The only two I’ve never written in are men’s action and erotica. Not because of any reason other than that a story that needed to be told has never occurred to me in either of those genres.

I’ve even written non-fiction, but that was because my friend Janet Lane Walters and I were at a Pasic Conference where free drinks were being offered, so we had a couple and started jotting down funny names for chapters on cocktail napkins for the writing book we’d suddenly decided to do--some day. Later, cold sober, it didn’t seem like such a good idea. But then she sent me the first chapter to edit. Not to be outdone, I sent her the second chapter and before we knew it we had Becoming Your Own Critique Partner. But it took us the better part of two years to finally get it into publishable form. It’s recently been re-released, with a new title: Words Perfect: Becoming Your Own Critique Partner

BWL: Describe yourself in five words.

JT: Old. Short. Author. Caretaker (for my Life Partner with Parkinson’s). Optimist.

BWL: What was your favorite book as a child or young adult?

JT: I can still see the book--a small back one with gold-edged pages and tiny print called Edgar Allan Poe’s Stories, Ballads and Poems. My eyesight was fine then, so the print didn’t deter me and I immediately fell in love with his writing. I truly believe reading him at an early age gave me my love of the paranormal. And the way he put words together! “…the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir, ” for example.

BWL: What would readers be surprised to find out about you?

JT: I’m not sure. Maybe that I’m an eleven year cancer survivor. Or that I’m 86 years old--which even surprises me.

BWL: Thanks Jane!

Be sure to stop back over the next few days and read some excerpts from Jane's BWL titles.

Now Available: Jewish Soul by Rita Karnopp

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Thu, 16 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Jewish Soul
Tango of Death, Book 3

Mayla Sucuri’s world is falling apart . . . no Gypsy is safe in Hitler’s Germany.

Her twin sister, Vanya, has just run off with her love and joined the partisans. Now Mayla is being forced to leave her papa and younger sister, Zilka, with the kumpania.

Heading to Switzerland with her mother, to the safety of her Grandmother’s chalet in Switzerland, Mayla fears she’ll never see any of them again. Her grandmother is connected to every high official in the SS. But not everything isn’t as it appears.

Because of her drive to be a doctor, Mayla finds herself invited to Dachau and Auschwitz. She quickly finds herself in the company of Doctor Josef Mengele and Doctor Sigmund Rascher, who are only too willing to share the results of their medical experiments on Jews and Gypsies.

At great personal risk, Mayla refuses to turn down the opportunity to take notes and bear witness to the atrocities happening at the concentration camps. Mayla is drawn to Auschwitz where the distinctions between good and evil become blurred in a world turned upside down. Will it get her killed or will her unwavering resolve give her the strength and courage to rescue her sisters from the gas chambers?

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CS7TCPM

Now Available: Kissing Maggie Silver by Sheila Claydon

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Wed, 15 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Maggie Silver intends to put as much space as possible between herself and her family just as soon as her parent’s Ruby Wedding celebrations are over. She is fed up with their constant advice and her never-ending babysitting duties. There’s a great big world out there and she wants to see it before she settles for suburbia. Then Ruairi O’Connor turns up at the same time her sister-in-law goes into labor, and suddenly everything becomes a lot more complicated.

As for Ruairi, in a few weeks time he will be on the other side of the world, so now is not the time to fall in love, especially with Maggie. Until now he’s thought of her a little more than a child so why has he suddenly discovered she is very grown up indeed and the only thing he wants to do is kiss her.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CS8BO6Q

Now Available: Playing For Keeps by Jamie Hill

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Mon, 13 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Previously published as two novels: Hide and Seek and Run to Me

Life can’t be all fun and games, or can it? Madison Stewart spends her days taking care of children at the Sunny Days Childcare Center, and her nights wondering what’s missing from her life. When Robert Cooper brings his three year old daughter, Sophie, to the center, he not only fills the vacancy in Maddie’s classroom, but also the empty spot in her heart. Sophie’s mother returns with her own agenda, and Rob is forced to choose between an old, familiar existence and his new, more complicated relationship.

An urgent phone call from her mother draws Maddie into the past, where she’s flooded with memories, some of which are better left buried. Maddie struggles to deal with a series of unfortunate events, which increasingly complicate her daily life. Unresolved feelings niggle at her, until she’s forced to face her past and put things to rest, one way or another.

Reader Advisory: These stories are not erotic romance but they do contain graphic scenes and language, including flashbacks of college sex and drug use.

"Every once in a while you get a book that really touches your heart. Hide and Seek was that book for me. There are so many twists and turns and I was up late into the night just waiting to see what happened next.

Ms. Hill is one of my favorite authors and I'm reminded of that each time I read one of her books. She has a talent for taking the reader on a journey with unforgettable characters while developing a plot line that is highly entertaining. Hide and Seek is a very addicting read and I strongly urge you to pick it up the minute you get the chance." ~ Val, You Gotta Read Reviews

"Outstanding! I have a new fav author! I hadn't read Jamie Hill before, but I saw this book, Hide and Seek, when it was offered on a website I subscribe to. Boy am I glad I picked it up. What a truly amazing novel this is. The sincerity and emotional depth of this book just blew me away. It's not very often that a novel touches me in the way that this book did. Life is messy, things don't always happen the way you would like them to, but sometimes it's for the best so it can make way for something even better. I can't wait to read the sequel, Run to Me, that tells the back story of how Madison came to leave Harvard and ended up in Meridan, Okla. Buy this book, it's awesome." ~ 5 Stars, Scarlettladder, Amazon Verified Purchase

"Phenomenal Book. I laughed, cried, was mad, humiliated. I just went the gamut with this one. Any author who gets all these feelings along with a good story is top notch in my book. What a great book such depth in the writing along with great characters. I just loved it and look forward to reading the next one. Bravo to the author you made a fan out of me." 5 Stars, kooks, Amazon Verified Purchase

"Another great read by Jamie Hill - In this follow up to "Hide and Seek", Maddie and Rob are knee deep in sexy domestic bliss when a series of unfortunate events causes Maddie to reflect back on the circumstances that brought her from the halls of Harvard to a small suburb of Oklahoma City. We get to visit with old friends and meet new ones (I do wish that Zoey, the wild room-mate, would have popped in), find out how Maddie got her tattoo, her wild college days and why her relationship with her family has remained so strained. This is another solid outing by Jamie Hill and I really enjoyed getting to visit with Maddie, Rob and the babies again, finding out Maddies back-story, and the fact that, apparently (!!), Maddie has a definite type when it comes to men." ~ 5 Stars, Scarletledder, Amazon Reader and Verified Purchase

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CR2CAO8

Excerpt Week concludes with Genesee by Juliet Waldron

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sun, 12 May 2013 13:54:00 +0000

Born to a runaway teen and Iroquois Warrior, Genesee struggles to find her place, her loyalties eternally torn between two warring peoples. When the American Revolution sets the Mohawk Valley ablaze, will a young soldier’s love prove strong enough to save her?

"This is a great read. I really felt the depth of the main character as I followed her through her life. Very vivid scenes and richly woven. This author is great!" ~ 5 Stars, Karol A. Clifton, Amazon Reader and Verified Purchase

"This wonderful story takes us deep into the heart of a mixed-blood girl's life,and the conflicts she faces. The author shows great understanding of the time period and her research is extensive and shows in the countless details of life. Don't miss this well written story." ~ 5 Stars, Judith Schara Caldwell

Excerpt:

The Mohawk River, September, 1761

With a final powerful stroke, a young man in buckskin pushed his laden canoe through the shallows and onto the gray gravel shore. He was dressed as an Iroquois warrior, but he could never pass for one.

His fair skin was sunburned, his hair gathered into a yellow braid which trailed down his back. A full dirty beard, equally yellow, obscured his square face.

In other parts of the country he might have been a Scot or Irishman, the kind that had practiced rustling and revenge on the borders of the Old World and now did the same in the New. Here, however, far down the Mohawk, it was more likely that this was a Dutchman who'd been out to trade.

His canoe did carry furs, but that was not all it carried. There was a big raw-boned woman too, and she had been paddling almost as strongly as the man.

Now she expertly lifted her paddle, dripping silver, and shipped it beside the furs. She was brown skinned, as dirty as he from travel, in a buckskin dress and trousers. Her dark hair lay in two oily braids over her broad shoulders.

There was a crunch as the man got out and muscled the canoe higher onto the gravel. At the same time, a thin wail sounded. The woman bent and picked up a once handsome – now travel-worn – blue papoose sack.

"How is she?" the man asked.

"Ungry und vet, Mynheer Hendrik."

The woman splashed up to a spot beneath a willow, one that trailed long fingers in the water. A cry of anticipation arose as Anna put the papoose sack, decorated with a starburst design of porcupine quills, on the ground.

Her strong hands brought out a squirming, naked baby and laid her on the grass, a brown-skinned, black-haired girl. Methodically she began to clean out the sack, pulling out handfuls of wet moss and rabbit fur.

Ordinarily Anna would have first put the baby to her breast. The danger of allowing her to cry would have been too great in the wilderness. Here, however, through the trees, a group of cabins could be seen.

Even now, out of the cornfields, three people in rough country dress appeared, a woman and two men. The woman had a hoe; the men held long rifles.

Hendrik went out to meet them. "Hello, Vanderlyn," he said. "Hello, MacLeish, and you, too, Peggy," he added, inclining his fair head to the barefoot, weather-beaten woman.

"Hendrik van Cortlandt!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, it's me, home at last."

"Who have you got there with you, Hendrik?"

"That is Anna. There isn't a trail through Indian country she doesn't know. She guided me back."

The three stared beyond Hendrik to the woman nursing the naked baby, their eyes brimming with an equal mix of pity and revulsion. Why had Hendrik brought home this big, homely half-breed?

"Hendrik van Cortlandt," barefoot Peggy declared, "your Trudy's had a son."

"What?" Hendrik's strong jaw dropped foolishly.

"Christ, man," exclaimed MacLeish with a chuckle, "didn't you know her belly was full when you left?"

Looking dazed, Hendrik dropped to his haunches, Indian fashion.

" Guess he didn't," Peggy answered for him. "Well, Sir, this five months past you've had a bonny son."

"By The Almighty!" Hendrik cried. "Trudy?"

"Right as rain," said his informant. "She stayed with us 'til he came. Named him Schuyler after her Dad."

"We and the Douws watched your farm," added her husband. "Paulus and I ran some squatters off this spring."

"It seems I've got plenty to thank you for," Hendrik replied. In spite of the tan, he suddenly looked shades paler.

"Well, 'tis right good to see you," MacLeish repeated. "Beginnin' to think you wasn't comin' back."

"I was beginnin' to think so m'self."

"Tell you what," the hitherto silent Vanderlyn spoke into the ensuing pause, "I'll ride down Oriskany and tell your Misses you're on your way."

"Good idea," Hendrik replied. "I don't want to pop up like the devil and scare her to fits."

"Don't worry, Hendrik," said Peggy MacLeish, putting a reassuring hand on his broad shoulder. "First she's gonna cry, then she's gonna hit you over the head with the whatever comes to hand, but, after she's done and all, she's gonna be mighty glad to see you."

As Vanderlyn strode away up the bank, MacLeish turned his attention to the canoe. "I see you picked up a few skins," he said. The more obvious things Hendrik had brought back were ignored.

"A few," the traveler replied.

"Beaver," MacLeish observed admiringly. "You must have been far west."

"Down Genesee."

MacLeish shook his head. "Damn!" he exclaimed, clearly envious of the adventure.

"Now don't you go getting any ideas," his Peggy grumbled, yanking her man's sleeve.

"Hey, come sit a while," said MacLeish, ignoring his wife and giving the now solemn Hendrik a brotherly back slap. "Let's smoke a pipe."

As the men squatted and prepared, his wife, wiping her hands on her stained apron, walked over to the nursing woman.

"I'm Peggy MacLeish," she said. "Any friend of Hendrik van Cortlandt's is a friend of mine."

"Danke," said the woman softly. "I am Anna." Detaching the black haired baby from her breast, she laid her over her shoulder and began to firmly pat its little back.

Into the baby's fretful grunts Peggy remarked, "Ain't you feared them savages will come after this pretty little thing o' theirs?"

"Ah, dis ist Genesee," said Anna, her attention focused upon bringing up the burp. "Zee hast no clan."

While Peggy MacLeish pondered the puzzle of that, a milky blat came from the baby.

"Ehr Mutter ist tod – dead – so I – feed," Anna went on, struggling with English even as she lowered the baby to try the other breast. "Zee angehoren – belong – to Mynheer Hendrik."

Peggy raised a tawny brow, mind working furiously. It wasn't uncommon for young Dutchmen to keep Indian wives during the three or four years they spent in the woods trading for beaver. The fur trade was the foundation of many a poor frontiersman's fortune.

But Hendrik's trading journeys had been over long before he'd married pretty Trudy. Suddenly, shockingly, understanding came. With utter clarity Peggy knew the reason why Hendrik van Cortlandt, a gentlemen if she'd ever met one, would bring a half-breed baby out of the forest to the house of an already much injured wife.

Not two months after Hendrik had taken his bride from Albany to the farm on Oriskany Creek, his baby sister Alyda, a wild little fool of fourteen, had run off with Black Wolf, a Seneca brave. Hendrik had gone after her, leaving behind a very frightened and very resentful new wife.

Tears sprang into Peggy's eyes. "What happened to Alyda?" she asked softly, touching the delicate naked shoulder of the baby.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004BSH1R2/

Excerpt Week ~ Angel's Flight by Juliet Waldron

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sat, 11 May 2013 14:18:00 +0000

Previously published as Independent Heart

Angelica is a Patriot heiress, stalked by a brutal, fortune-hunting British officer. Forced to trust Jack, the mystery man who pledges to take her on a dangerous war-time journey up river to her Albany home, she expects to encounter brigands, Tories and Indians. What she doesn't expect is to lose her heart along the way.

"It's quite a journey. If you like detailed historical novels, road romances, and war stories, then Angel's Flight is for you." ~ IRRS, Amazon Reader

"This story has heart…" ~ Linda, The Romance Studio

"I found Juliet Waldron's attention to detail and historical accuracy refreshing and entertaining. . .a unique voice. . . Readers will be transported to a time of peril, divided loyalties and intrigue as Angelica triumphs over threats and danger." ~ Southern Gal, Amazon Reader

". . .deftly written and well researched, concealed under a layer of romantic frosting. . ." ~ Celia Hayes, Amazon Reader

Excerpt:

Chapter One

The tall windows of the governor’s mansion shone with candles, and the polished wide board floor reflected the glow. It was a splendid New York City ball carried off in high style, as if a war weren’t crouched somewhere close by like a filthy, murderous maniac. Officers paraded in red uniforms and crisp white wigs, while the ladies exhibited low-cut dresses, tightly laced waistlines and towering hairstyles. The glossy, spilling curls were sometimes their own—but, more likely, purchased.

Into this scene-as sophisticated as any in London-strode Jack Carter. He was neither tall nor red-coated, of medium height and wearing a black suit. Not only his attire, but the way he moved and stood separated him at once from the crowd. The other men beside the governor were fawning—or, at least, deferential.

Not this stranger. Even as he was ushered onto the dais to be introduced to the governor, he paused, allowing his eyes to sweep the room with all the serene and abstracted confidence of a prince.

“Who is that lordly fellow? The one dressed like a rich Quaker?” Angelica whispered while hiding behind her fan. Her companion, Minerva Livingston, had recently married a British officer.

“Quaker?” The new Mrs. Colonel Bradford couldn’t quite smother the giggle. “Not by a long chalk, my dear. ‘Tis said Jack Carter was an officer and in all sorts of wars. My William heard that he’s a gentleman of good breeding who has come to our colony to escape the consequences of a duel. ‘Tis also said his family holds land up the Hudson, by Kingston. But, I must say, his timing’s marvelously bad.”

Angelica nodded. All the time her companion was speaking, her eyes had never left the strangely compelling Mr. Carter.

Suddenly, there was a shock, as tangible as a slap. The stranger’s restless search of the room abruptly ended—at the instant his gaze collided with Angelica’s.

Tingling all over, she watched his expression change to one of pure, masculine delight. And, unaccountably—recognition!

It must be a trick of the light, she thought. Then, casually looking away, she permitted herself a thought. Perhaps, he likes what he sees as much as I do.

Minerva had missed the whole episode. “I met Mr. Carter yesterday,” she went on, “at Lady Tryon’s tea. When you get closer, you will see he’s had his handsome face spoiled.”

She leaned ever closer as she talked. When she was quite close to Angelica’s ear, she whispered, “Carter isn’t his real name, either, my William says.”

“And what does your William say his real name is?”

“No one is entirely sure,” Minerva answered, a flash of annoyance brightening her plump cheeks. “Although the governor must know. Some say he’s Mr. Church of Oxfordshire, others that he’s a Villiers from Somerset or one of the Devonshire Clarkes. He was charming at supper, but what a way he has about him. Quite the cock of the walk.”

“Not at all. Poise isn’t the same as pride.” Angelica felt obliged to object.

“Well, Lord! Just look at him! You’d think he was the most important man on the dais.” Her friend boldly poked her fan in the direction of the subject of her gossip. “And you should see how polite the men are around him,” she continued. “He is supposed to be quite a dangerous fellow...to have killed a man. Over a woman, William says. Why,” she ended breathlessly, “he’s practically in exile.”

“Indeed.”

Even without Minerva’s gossip, Angelica was intrigued. The man’s easy manner, his absolute self-confidence, made a sharp contrast with the obvious peacocking of the young officers. As for the rest, she knew Minerva embroidered every tale she heard.

And the look he’d sent! So admiring, so—so—possessive... “Killed someone over a woman?” she asked. “Are you certain? That would be a terrible scandal, impossible to keep quiet.”

Although she could neither approve of dueling, (nor, these days, of British officers), Angelica found herself unable to keep her gaze from the mysterious Mr. Carter. When he passed close, dancing with one of the ladies of the governor’s circle, she saw he was older than she’d first thought—perhaps as old as thirty.

His only bow to fashion was a single row of white silk cross-stitch along the lapels of the jacket. With a proud, athletic bearing that spoke of far more than adequate muscle beneath his coat, his fair, unpowdered head held high, this Jack Carter was in manhood’s full glory.

Is this not the best-looking man I’ve seen in ages? Does he not carry himself like a lordly stag—out of place here, among these complacent—sheep?

“Here. Before I forget.” Minerva broke into her thoughts. Slipping a long, fair hand into a pocket, her friend removed a single, neatly pressed rectangle of printed calico.

“Oh! Just look!” Angelica exclaimed. The print—destined to be the center of a quilt she and her friends had planned to sew round robin—was a distraction. On an ivory background, a pair of bluebirds flew on either side of a brown nest containing a clutch of eggs. It was a triumph of the most modern method of textile printing, executed by a craftsman who had used a Dutch nature print for his inspiration.

“This is from a Philadelphia shop,” Minerva replied. “Even my William allows it is as handsomely done as any English piece he’s seen.”

“What a wonderful choice for our center! Such a sweet scene— and so many nice colors to work with!”

“Yes, I thought so, too. Will you have any difficulty matching the material?”

“Not a bit.” Carefully, Angelica refolded the square and tucked it into her own deep pocket.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0098CSH5Q

Excerpt Week ~ Red Magic by Juliet Waldron

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Fri, 10 May 2013 11:34:00 +0000

Red-headed Caterina von Velsen, a tomboy and superb horsewoman, detests her older sister's husband-to-be. Christoph von Hagen is handsome and brave, but he is also a Casanova, a man with a reputation that stretches from his mountain manor all the way to Vienna. When Caterina’s older sister dies in a riding accident only a week before her wedding, Caterina is forced to take her place. She now belongs to a man she firmly believes to be “a cold-hearted rake.”

There is magic in Christoph’s lonely mountain home, as well as in the locket Caterina’s aunt gave her long ago. Misunderstandings and preconceptions hinder the coming of true love, as well as the strange attraction she feels toward her husband’s magnetic, foreign horse master. Set in 18^th Century Germany, RED MAGIC tells the story of a young woman’s transition from rebellious girl to adored--and adoring--wife.

"Red Magic is an adventurous story set in 18th-century Germany. I thoroughly enjoyed the horse whisperer aspect and watching Caterina grow from a child to a woman. A fast-paced plot that kept me turning the pages. Definitely recommended!" ~ 5 Stars, Mystic Reader, Amazon Reader and Verified Purchase

"I loved it! Red Magic is a wonderful adventure. Thanks for the experience!" ~ 5 Stars, Kay Cochran, Amazon Reader and Verified Purchase

Excerpt:

Chapter One

"Ha! See her coming out of the pines over there?" Christoph von Hagen, his hazel eyes narrowing, lifted a muscular arm to point. "Just as I thought. She went through the rocky thicket south of von Beiler's woods. Now she's angling this way, the crafty vixen."

The red Arabian mare with the taffy colored tail had begun a wild gallop across the pasture. The breakneck daring left no doubt that a superbly confident rider was astride.

It was a game, a game played by young aristocrats, a wild and dangerous game of Fox and Hounds. Several 'foxes', given a head start, must reach the safety of a goal, riding across rough country, while the 'hounds', rode after them in hot pursuit.

The well-to-do players wagered among themselves on every possible outcome, but the prize for any fox who escaped was the largest, particularly because it so rarely happened. Today escape was to be rewarded with a spirited yearling colt.

"But," the speaker went on, a wry smile on his handsome face, "no one will ever catch that whirlwind of hers on the flats."

Christoph von Hagen and his cousin Max had ridden fast, intent upon getting ahead of the hunt and setting an ambush for the last uncaught 'fox' at a steep hill just before the goal. Sitting easily on a powerful bay, Christoph was an Austrian nobleman in his middle twenties. He was tall, erect, and, under the fine tailoring of his elegant clothes, muscular. His dark, curly hair was captured in a black queue ribbon, and his large eyes flashed with intelligence and humor.

Along with an exceptional body, men and women alike agreed that von Hagen was good looking. Men described his face as "open" or "forthright." The praise of the women was a good deal warmer, tending towards the classical. "Like some pagan god" was the phrase most frequently whispered behind fluttering fans at the valley's parties.

Von Hagen's companion shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to get a better look at the horse blazing across the flower dotted green below. His more ordinary blonde good looks were diminished by proximity to the dark handsome giant.

"Hers? A female? Riding like that?" Fox and Hounds was considered too dangerous for the gentler sex. And wasn't this fox astride? Astride and wearing trousers?

"The Devil," the smaller man abruptly exclaimed. He'd answered his own question. "It's Caterina von Velsen and her red Moroccan."

"And you know how well that rascal rides." Christoph said with a broad grin. "Besides, there's not a horse around that can catch that mare of hers over the flat, not even my Brandy." One strong hand gave his mount's glossy, sweating neck a pat.

"We've got to get her, Max. Right now."

As if he understood the urgency, the bay stallion reared. In the next instant horse and rider were plunging down the hill, showering earth and green grass behind.

"Christoph," called his companion, hurriedly spurring after. "The dike! You can't go that way!"

If von Hagen heard, he paid no attention. The big bay, black mane and tail flying, continued on course straight towards a lethal looking heap of broken stone. It would have to be taken in one leap, for landing atop it, would certainly break the horse's legs. No one had risked his mount across von Beiler's dike in a generation. Max could hardly believe Christoph would. Cousin von Hagen's horse was a rare Prussian, bred in the stables of the warrior Elector Frederick, and worth a small fortune.

As he came parallel to the dike, Max reined in to watch the impossible. First came the gathering of the powerful burnished hindquarters of the Prussian, then the breathtaking leap as the bay tucked up his high black stockings and rose skyward.

Max gave a whoop as giant horse and rider flew over the murderous pile with all the elan of a bird of prey. The clean landing on the other side led at once to a resumption of the same regular hoof beat thunder, a relentless charge. Giving another sportsman's cheer, Max kicked and used his whip, beginning a hasty circumnavigation of the dike.

As he rode forward, he could see the hurtling fox—Caterina von Velsen—speeding on a parallel course. Her mare was fully extended, never more than one foot on the ground. The girl's hat, which she'd worn to hide her hair, had blown off and now her thick braid writhed like a red snake behind her.

More riders, a troop, boomed over the hill. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Caterina knew that of two foxes, she must be the only one left.

There was a momentary flash of triumph. The yearling would be hers, and how proud Papa would be!

On the other side of the willow banked river she could see the beginnings of the manicured grounds attached to the von Beiler's Schloss. Anticipating the bridge—the goal, the ground on the other side—Caterina's gaze swung ahead. That was when she saw a rider coming towards her from an impossible direction, the other side of the insurmountable stone dike.

"Gottesblut!" Cursing was unladylike, but it was precisely what she felt. She had at once recognized the big Prussian bay and his equally imposing rider.

Christoph! The only one with the horse, the skill and the guts to try it…

Both horses thundered towards the bridge. For a moment it looked as if they would meet head on. Caterina reined her red mare hard. An impossibly sharp turn later, horse and rider plunged off the high bank, landing with a huge splash in the river.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00774BXDA/

New Interview with BWL Author Juliet Waldron

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Thu, 09 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

“Not all who wander are lost.” Juliet Waldron earned a B. A. in English, but has worked at jobs ranging from artist’s model to brokerage. Many years ago, after the kids left home, she dropped out of 9-5 and began to write, hoping to create a time travel experience for her readers. Mozart’s Wife won the 1^st Independent e-Book Award. Genesee won the 2003 Epic Award for Best Historical, and she’s delighted these books are available again from Books We Love. Her other novels include Angel's Flight, another American Revolutionary War tale, Red Magic, a fantasy romance, Roan Rose, set during the Wars of Roses, and My Mozart, the companion to Mozart’s Wife. She loves cats and grandkids, taking long, long walks, books and plants. She’s a passenger, riding behind her husband on his big “bucket list” sport bike.

Visit her website:
http://www.julietwaldron.com

Her blog:
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/

BWL: Why did you choose the genre you write in? Is it your favorite to read, or another reason?

JW: History, for me, is a family thing. Everyone - parents, grandparents - always talked about historical events, not only the kind that happened in the places we lived, but also about famous historical characters. A large 19th Century painting of the Canterbury Pilgrims graced my professorial grandpa’s study, so I heard stories about English history as I soon as I could talk. After my parents moved to upstate NY, away from the rest of the family, we lived in the country in an old house which suffered from “disturbances.” As an only child, I made up my own games. Past and present were already mingled in my world, so writing the kind of stories I do became sort of inevitable.

BWL: What was your favorite book as a child or young adult?

JW: I’ll pick a popular favorite: The Once and Future King, by T.H. White. This book has been a jumping off point for entire schools of fantasy and historical novelists.

BWL: What super power would you like to have and how would you use it?

JW: I think I’d like to shape-shift into a migrating bird, like a snow goose. What they must see, on their way back and forth across the continents! And all the amazing things they must have in their heads—their own star maps, their own GPS. Would love to have that kind of strength and endurance, too.

BWL: If you could go back in time for one day, which time period would you like to visit?

JW: I’d like to see the US before there were any people in it, while the mega fauna was still around, the saber tooth tigers, mammoths, giant sloths, giraffes, camels and the whole big mammal Pleistocene gang that used to live here. I’d like to see those two mile high glaciers melting, creating huge rivers and roaring floods. It would be terrifying and magnificent.

BWL: Choose one person, living or dead, you'd like to share a meal with.

JW: This changes regularly, but, at the moment, I think it’s one of the ill-fated Duchesses of Gloucester, Eleanor Cobham. I would, of course, like that dinner to take place during her glory days when she and her husband presided over a medieval “court of pleasure,” before her trial for “witchcraft” and her long imprisonment afterward. (Astrology, it seems, and making love potions, were her downfall.)

BWL: What's one genre that interests you but you've never tried to write?

JW: S/F! It’s the flip side of Historical, so once again, I’d get to go “somewhere else.” I have started several, but never get past a first chapter. Murder mysteries, too, attract me. We’ve all had people we’d like to dispose of--at least, psychically. Imagine, though, how many murders there’d actually be if you tallied up a count from all those years of NCIS or CSI or Law & Order!

BWL: Thanks Juliet!

Be sure to stop back over the next few days to read some excerpts from Juliet's Books We Love titles. Find all her BWL novels at http://bookswelove.net/julietwaldron.php

Now Available: Defective, a novella by Joan Hall Hovey

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Tue, 07 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Defective

A Novella by Joan Hall Hovey

Therapist Melanie Snow is driving to her office when her Honda is struck by a dark-colored van and sent spinning into a ditch, where it catches fire. The driver never stops. A passerby pulls Melanie from the car just seconds before it explodes.

Waking from the coma nine days later, she is devastated to find she is blind.

As Melanie struggles to cope with her new reality, life as a blind woman, her fragile state of mind is further threatened by a madman who is stalking and strangling disabled women. The first two victims were mentally challenged and Detective Matt O’Leary, who carries a torch for Melanie, (even though Melanie is engaged to someone else) tells himself she is not the killer’s targeted prey. But then a woman who lost a leg to cancer is murdered, and another physically disabled woman is stalked. Even with a whole town in terror, Melanie refuses to live her life in fear and reopens her practice in the basement of her home. She has a living to earn.

And Detective Matt O’Leary must find a way to keep Melanie safe until the monster is caught. But how? Her door is now open to the public and the killer can just walk through anytime he chooses.

And he does.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CO81XAW

Attention Authors: BWL Open Submission Call

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Mon, 06 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Books We Love Ltd. is an electronic publisher of discriminating fiction. Our authors are primarily experienced previously published authors. For the first two years we have only accepted submissions by invitation. In 2013 we will be opening our doors to new authors, however, our requirements are exceptional.

We are looking for well-polished, ready to market manuscripts that have either been previously published in print, or new manuscripts that (with a limited amount of editing and support from our team of editors) will be ready to be published within weeks of submission. Authors submitting manuscripts to Books We Love should either have been previously published or have had experience working with an established critique group and/or taken courses and workshops in writing fiction for publication.

If you are interested in submitting your manuscript to Books We Love Ltd. complete the form on our website and we'll be in touch with you. Our areas of interest are: Romance contemporary, historical, paranormal, regency, gay and lesbian, mystery, suspense, thrillers, western, science fiction, fantasy, young adult, historical novels, women's fiction. We also have an erotica line (Books We Love Spice), however, Spice books are accepted from previously multi-published authors only. We do not publish non-fiction, with the exception of historical novels of fact/fiction.

We look forward to considering your submission, and will contact you by email to advise if we are interested or not. Please note we respond within one week of submission and we do not take simultaneous submissions.

Find the submission form here:

http://bookswelove.net/submissions.php

New 5 Star Review and Video for A Novel Murder by Ginger Simpson

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sat, 04 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

"First off I loved the title, I thought it was a clever play on words and the storyline. Now I am not a mystery reader I rather prefer romance, (that being said I am addicted to Criminal Minds tv show) but there was some nice sexual tension that lured me into reading further and the super natural elements were a great extra. The story drew me in quickly and kept me wondering until the very end. I found the characters relatable and believable. Overall A Novel Murder was a really good read and I would not hesitate to recommend it to others. 5 stars!" ~ Killarney

Unexplained visions, murder and mayhem. . . that's what Michelle's life has come to, and she desperately wants out of her detective position to be behind her own desk, being the author she's forced to conceal behind a pseudonym. Even though the fodder for her first book came from past cases, if she can just write her break-through novel under her real name, she'll leave the force, switch her genre to romance, and pursue the relationship she wants with her hunky partner. His desire is evident, but fraternization on the job is forbidden, and she can't gamble with the income she needs. Still, maybe those horrible visions seen through the killer's eyes will go away for good if she's no longer part of the local police department.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CB3N998

Now Available: Bats in the Belfry, Bells in the Attic by G. L. Rockey

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Thu, 02 May 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Sixteen Off-The-Wall Short Stories

Bus Ride
Cora's Diary
The Doctor's Film
Seance Chat
Fish Story
Him
Shroud Of Turin
A Little Late
Classique Amour
Moments In Time
Chicken Or Egg
Ms. Collette
Second Coming
F In English
Some Place Warm
What If

G.L. Rockey, author of Time and Chance, Truths of the Heart and The Journalist, has enjoyed a long career as a newspaperman, a television producer and always a writer. These sixteen stories are an irreverent look at the human condition through the decades.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CL52ENS

Still Time to Win an eBook Reader from BWL

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 10:30:00 +0000

At Books We Love we're celebrating Spring by giving away an eBook Reader. On June 15th one lucky winner will receive his or her choice of the pictured readers below.

Kindle Paperwhite Nook Simple Touch Kobo Touch

All winners must be newsletter subscribers.
Find the entry forms here, and good luck!

http://bookswelove.net/contest.php

Now Available: Hurricane House by Sandy Semerad

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Still grieving the death of her fiancé, Maeva Larson vacations on Paradise Isle, Florida, “the luckiest fishing village in the world,” where she finds the dead body of Miss Florida, Tara Baxter, floating in the Gulf. The cause of death is uncertain, and when a hurricane blows ashore, another woman is found dead and two other women are reported missing. As a catastrophe insurance investigator, Maeva knows the storm has destroyed precious clues, but she thinks her CAT credentials will allow her to find out what happened to these women.

Sean Redmond, acclaimed mystery writer and Paradise Isle resident, pursues Maeva from the first moment they meet. She tries to resist him, but then succumbs to his charm, until she reads a section of his latest manuscript, which is too close to the truth to be fiction. Uncertain of Sean, yet hoping he is not a murderer, she follows the clues from a crystal necklace, a hitchhiker, who may have seen the killer, and a black dog named Onyx. No doubt this dog possesses special powers and Maeva decides to trust Onyx’s instincts while risking her own life.

"An excellent pick for mystery fans, not to be overlooked," 5 out of 5 stars from Midwest Book Review.

"The forces of nature become a primary character in this gripping tale of kidnapping and murder," 4.5 out of 5 stars from Romantic Times.

"Read Hurricane House, wonderfully Macabre, a crackling mystery, though I'd recommend you start reading it only on a sunny day and in a location where you feel safe." Award-winning author and teacher Jeremiah Healy

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CIXM8Q6

Excerpt Week Concludes with Renee Simons' Dearest Enemy

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 10:30:00 +0000

When Callie Patterson roars into Blue Sky, New Mexico, on her Harley she disturbs more than the quiet of the dying gold mining town. She unnerves the townsfolk who want to reopen a long dead mine that conflicts with her plan to turn her family’s Victorian mansion into a tourist haven and art colony. She stirs up old memories for Mercedes Gunn who fears the discovery of long-held secrets, and for Fernando Moreno, once the love of her now-deceased grandmother. Most of all, she shakes up the mostly well-ordered future that sheriff Luc Moreno has planned to protect his own family and their home. Being on opposite sides of the valley’s future threatens a growing attraction. Will it ultimately destroy any hope for love to blossom?

Excerpt:

Chapter One

“Made it, Gram. We’re almost there.”

Aboard the Harley that had carried her cross-country from New York, Callie Patterson cruised past the Mercantile, the general store she knew marked her arrival in Blue Sky, New Mexico.

A sheriff’s vehicle stood in front of the building and a group of men lolled in the shade cast by the store’s rusting roof. She could almost feel their collective gaze boring into her back as she rode by. She would deal with them and their curiosity in due course. At the moment, she was more concerned with what waited a mile down the road.

As she roared past, Sheriff Lucero Moreno and four citizens of the dying southwestern town watched the chrome and black Harley round the bend in the road and disappear.

"Nice machine," someone said. “Don’t ya think, young Luc?”

Luc hadn't noticed the bike. Blurry though his vision had been lately, he had no trouble zeroing in on the way the wind molded the woman’s white tee shirt to her curves .

"Time for rounds, gentlemen.” He turned the ignition key and waited for it to catch.

"If you find that bodacious young thing, be polite," a grizzled observer commanded.

"Yeah, don't be throwing your weight around just ' cause it's holdin' up a badge." Mayor Chandler chuckled. "Be nice and maybe she'll stay around and improve our scenery."

"I’m not promising miracles but I’ll do my best," Luc said with a grin. "These eyes need someone to look at 'sides you ugly old goats.” Their good-natured laughter followed him onto the highway.

A spin through what remained of the village turned up nothing unusual. He headed north and, a mile away, spotted the machine on the shoulder. Its rider sat on a stone wall facing the valley where miners and other townsfolk had once lived. Without a helmet, her blonde hair shimmered in the midday light. Luc pulled in. As gravel crunched beneath his wheels, she turned in his direction and seemed to await his approach.

"Afternoon, Miss.”

"Good afternoon. Sheriff, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am." He tugged at his hat brim. "Luc Moreno."

“I’m Callie Patterson."

Despite the aviator shades hiding her eyes, he felt impaled on her gaze. She released him finally by turning back to the valley and a decaying Victorian house. Freed of her scrutiny, he picked up the acrid odor of asphalt baking in the sun.

“The Mansion was one of a kind," he said, "the jewel of this town. It hasn't been of use to anyone in years.”

“Tourists would love it,” she murmured.

“We don’t attract many of those. Even the shunpikers rush past on their way to Santa Fe.”

“Shunpikers?”

She shifted position, revealing strong yet feminine features and a luscious mouth made more tempting by a tiny smile hovering at one corner. Waves of heat assailed him in places he’d ignored far too long, places that now throbbed with expectancy. He forced himself back to the conversation.

“Folks who leave the highway to explore the back roads.”

“I like that word,” she said. “We’ll use it in our ads.”

“What ads would those be?”

She removed her glasses. Why did her eyes have to be that startling shade of blue? He groaned silently. Past history told him if she stuck around, he’d be in big trouble.

“The ones I’m going to write after I restore the building and put in a restaurant and a gift shop.”

“What’s your connection to the old place?”

“I own it.”

Por Dios, he thought. “The owner didn’t tell you it’s being torn down to make way for land development?”

"My grandmother left it to me when she died. She never planned to tear it down.”

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, realizing how feeble the stock phrase sounded. "But my family holds the lease on that land and Mrs. Mayfield knew we weren't renewing. So unless you put the building on rollers and move it, the place won't be standing come June."

"I never saw notice of your intent.” Her eyes darkened to a stormy grey and her fair skin flushed.

He shrugged. "Maybe the letter got lost.”

"Why are you taking such arbitrary action?"

"Nothing arbitrary about it,” he said. “Just good economics. I wish we could have saved you an unnecessary trip."

"Apparently, this trip is even more necessary than I thought.” The tremor in her voice attested to her anger. She crammed her helmet down on her head and with a shaking hand fastened the chin strap. "This is far from over, Sheriff. Count on it."

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007Q2BMB6/

Excerpt Week: Renee Simons' Eye of the Storm

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Fri, 26 Apr 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Five years after his imprisonment for treason, Marine Corps Major Michael Stormwalker gets a chance to prove his innocence. The one person qualified to help him uncover the truth, however, has other plans. Convinced he murdered her fiancé, Alexandra McLaren means to see that Stormwalker goes straight back to Leavenworth.

Sparks fly in the clash between a seemingly immovable object and an equally irresistible force. The sexual sizzle ignites Stormwalker's love for the auburn-haired beauty, who becomes as vital to his happiness as the restoration of his honor, the pride of his people and his career.

"Four Stars! A fast-paced, suspenseful read complete with clues and red herrings. . .Description is woven into the action. . .with the addition of some entertaining Indian myth and lore." ~ SimGen Reviews

"Eye of the Storm was great from beginning to end. The story was well plotted with a consistent amount of feeling and mystery. Definitely a page turner!" ~ Rhapsody Magazine

Excerpt:

Chappter 1

The man sitting on the corral fence had killed her fiancé. He belonged in prison. And two months from now, she would send him there.

Reigning in her fury, she walked toward former Marine Major Michael Stormwalker, who was watching a mare and her filly nuzzle beneath a brilliant South Dakota sun. Pretty as it might have been, the scene left her cold.

Stormwalker also seemed at odds with the idyllic setting. Every aspect of his posture radiated the edgy power of a man alert to any sign of threat. Beneath a black leather vest, his broad shoulders hunched as if waiting to spring into action. Long, powerful legs tapered to ragged boot heels resting lightly on the bottom rail. Smoke from his cigarette streamed past a rugged profile nearly hidden by the satiny black hair falling across his cheek. Massive and brooding, he personified danger. He was exactly what she expected of a stone-cold killer.

Until he faced her. His startling sea-green eyes warmed with appreciation and the ghost of a smile turned up one corner of his mouth. Expecting curiosity, even a hostility echoing her own, she found his undisguised interest both disconcerting and infuriating; his admiration an unwelcome intrusion. Her hands curled into fists and she shoved them into the pockets of her linen jacket. She would not allow herself the luxury of anger when all her energies must be directed at bringing this man to justice.

As if reading her thoughts, he let his gaze turn cool and detached. "You're Zan McLaren."

"Alexandra McLaren," she said. Her steady voice pleased her.

"Sorry. Your brother always calls you that."

"My brother can."

The smile returned. Some women might have considered it a sexy smile. She, of course, did not.

"You have your brother’s concise way with words,” he said. “Do you also share his objectivity?"

"Is that a family trait?"

"If it isn't, I can't trust you'll do the right thing."

"And that is. . . ?"

"To get at the truth even if you don't like what you find."

"What if you don't like what I find?" she asked.

"An informant tipped your brother that I’d been set up by a mole buried deep in his beloved Federal Security Agency. That new information allowed him to negotiate my release. I may be outside a cell, but unless I can restore my career and reputation I might as well be back there."

He braced his shoulders. The movement told her that being "back there" had no place in his plans.

We’ll see, she thought. "Who restores Dar's life?" she asked.

"I wasn't responsible for his death. Not even the Navy Tribunal could make that charge stick." His eyes narrowed. "Look, you'd have to be a saint to help someone you believe committed treason and killed the man you loved. So if you can't, I'll understand. I'll find another way."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're guilty on both counts." She took a slow breath to calm her pounding heartbeat. "But I'll search until I find the truth. Is that objective enough?"

He seemed to be evaluating her response. And well he should, she thought. Only a fool would accept her at face value. He was no fool.

"Why did you come here if you think I'm guilty?"

Someone had to pay for Dar s death. She straightened to her full height and met him eye to eye. "I want to be the one who sends you back."

One eyebrow raised. "You're honest."

"I try."

"You don't mind being on the reservation?" he asked.

"I think this so-called new information is a crock and I intend to prove it. Where I do my work is irrelevant." She matched his penetrating gaze, steeling herself against the wicked gleam in his blue-green eyes. What matters to me is your spending the next 25 years behind bars.

Excerpt Week: Renee Simons' Safe Haven

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 10:30:00 +0000

Waging war on the mob may not be smart, but Jordan VanDien and architect Ethan Caldwell are after the men who, years earlier, destroyed Jordan's family and now threaten Ethan's future. Scarred by childhood trauma, the two loners never expected to battle an unwanted attraction. Yet hard as they try to fight their feelings, a common purpose and shared danger ignite a spark that grows to a flame neither can deny. In their quest for justice, will they let that fire die or can the beauty with a dark past and the guilt-laden Aussie transplant find a haven in each other's arms?

"I loved this book. Jordan and Ethan are characters you want to root for. This complex story has it all--betrayal, survival and an inspiring love story. I look forward to reading more from this talented author." ~ 5 Stars, Kathryn, Amazon Reader and Verified Purchase

Excerpt:

Prologue

The man with the weird yellow eyes stared down at her but she tried not to be afraid. She sent her mind to this other place she'd found and she went, too, leaving her body behind, so whatever he did wasn't happening to her, just this empty...thing...lying on the cot.

After a while, someone knocked on the door and called out something she didn't understand because she was so far away. The metal frame of the cot squeaked. The eyes moved away and so did the smell of after-shave that reminded her of wet leaves when you turn them over to get at the bottom of the pile.

She must have shivered because he grabbed the hem of her plaid jumper and flipped it down so it covered her legs. She hated her school uniform, but now the long pleated skirt kept her warm and that was okay. He passed his hand down her chest as if smoothing the prissy white blouse. She felt like throwing up but swallowing hard helped push the feeling down. The stillness returned and she was okay again.

A gust of wind swept into the shed as he opened the door and went outside. The wooden bar slipped into place with a thump. It was safe to come back now - not all the way or worse feelings than the nausea would start up again - but a little ways.

When the sound of his shoes crunching on the gravel grew faint, she went to the window. He was walking toward some men standing in the yard. One of them looked like her uncle, but she knew that couldn't be. He would never have let anything bad happen to her.

The dirty window kept her from seeing clearly, but when the group drifted apart, she knew the man towering above the others crowding around him was her father. She used a corner of her skirt to make a clean spot, then tried to signal, banging as hard as she could with her fist. The sound didn't seem to carry very far and the glass wouldn't break.

Her uncle pointed to the shed. Her father turned toward her. She screamed his name, over and over, till her throat grew raw, even though she felt he couldn't hear her. Suddenly he grabbed one of the men around the neck and took something away from him. Even through the grime, she saw it glitter in the sunlight and somehow knew it was a gun. He'd come for her now. He’d put his arms around her and tell her everything would be okay. Her heart pounded because she'd be out of here and home where people cared about her.

But he didn't come. The circle of men closed around him again. After a little while and a lot of pushing and shoving a dull thud echoed in the silence. She watched for a long time. Finally, she closed her eyes and sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest and leaning back against the rough wood wall.

Why didn't he come? Didn’t he know he was her only hope? Did he know what had happened to her? Was he ashamed? She choked back a sob. Was he hurt? Was he...no, she wouldn't think about that. More questions tumbled forward. She didn't try to stop them. Thinking was okay as long as feeling didn't start, and it mustn't, not until she knew what more would happen to her. Finally, a man came and let her out. He tried to steer her to one of the cars but she shook him off and headed for her father.

He didn't move. His eyes were open, looking sad and empty, maybe even a little surprised. Not warm and smiling as she remembered. In a movie once, someone closed the eyes of a dead person. She couldn't bring herself to do that, so she just touched his cheek. His skin was still warm. It seemed like maybe he wasn't really dead. Then she saw the blood puddling on the grass beneath his head and a trickle forming beside his mouth and knew he had to be. His arm lay beside his head. It was bent at a weird angle and the fingers were wrapped around a gun.

Above her, figures in dark suits formed a wall. Some of these men had been to her parents' house for summer barbecues and dinner parties. No one reached out to help. Their faces were expressionless, except for her uncle, who looked like he'd swallowed something rotten. She expected him to talk to her. He just turned his back.

The man with the yellow eyes didn't turn away. He watched her without blinking, without any expression on his narrow face. She stared back, the way you did when you were facing a wild animal and trying not to be afraid. She'd learned to do that in the shed, when she knew he wanted her to be scared. Just like before, neither of them looked away, until her uncle said something to him and he went inside the farmhouse. She looked down at her father one last time, then let herself be taken home.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0072XIWV2/

New Interview with Author Renee Simons

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 00:20:00 +0000

Renee Simons has been many different things in her life: a wife, a working mother, an amateur auto mechanic, vet to a mixed-breed shepherd and a rescue mutt of questionable parentage; unlicensed home decorator as well as an often unsuccessful cook (ask her marketing director son and medical examiner daughter about her spaghetti pie – ugh.) She enjoys painting, photography, swimming, music and travel. She began her first romance novel (still unfinished) while in college and has been reading and writing ever since. Recalling her earliest ambitions to be a painter, she now spends her time painting pictures with words. "'Tis the best of both worlds," she says. "Life is good.

BWL: Why did you choose the genre you write in? Is it your favorite to read, or another reason?

RS: Romantic Suspense chose me, I think. I've always enjoyed mysteries, even as a child (see next answer) and romance just happened along, kind of like it does in real life. 'Though I do owe some influence to 70's writer, Rosemary Rogers, and her steamy historical romances.

BWL: What was your favorite book as a child or young adult?

RS: Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier. I read it at the age of about 10 yrs old.

BWL: What super power would you like to have and how would you use it?

RS: I'd like to travel to the future and see how we're all doing.

BWL: If you could fix one problem in the world what would it be?

RS: I'd try to help people accept and appreciate each other, in spite of, and because, of their differences. We all have so much to offer each other if we only gave ourselves the chance see into each other's hearts.

BWL: If you could go back in time for one day, which time period would you like to visit?

RS: Post depression-pre-WWII, and have an ice cream soda in my grandmother's luncheonette on the east side of New York City.

BWL: Choose one person, living or dead, you'd like to share a meal with.

RS: I'd like to sit down with my maternal grandfather, who died when my mother was an infant. I only know a little about him but would love to know more and from his lips.

BWL: Name one thing you'd change about yourself if you could.

RS: I'd be more disciplined about everything in my life, from weight watching to my writing and my painting, which I can't seem to find time for these days.

BWL: What's one genre that interests you but you've never tried to write?

RS: Historicals, thought I must admit to attempting a civil war/gone with the wind knockoff, when I was in college. Fortunately for all of us, I never finished it. LOL.

BWL: Thanks Renee!

Find Renee's BWL books here: http://bookswelove.net/simons.php and please stop back the next few days to read excerpts from some of her work!

Now Available: Creole Hearts by Jane Toombs

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 11:44:00 +0000

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CHCALBM

Attention Authors: BWL Open Submission Call

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Sun, 21 Apr 2013 13:41:00 +0000

Find the submission form here:

http://bookswelove.net/submissions.php

Now Available: I Hitched a Ride into Hell by Joan Hall Hovey

noreply@blogger.com (Books We Love) — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 18:12:00 +0000

I Hitched a Ride Into Hell

A Young Adult Novelette by Joan Hall Hovey

All we wanted to do was hitchhike across Canada before we got into the college grind – get to know our country. Everyone said travelling was educational and my best friend Shirley and I thought it would be fun and exciting to go off on our own. Neither of us expected the nightmare it would turn out to be.

"…Ms. Hovey's talent in creating characters is so real, you feel their emotions and their fears. You want to yell at them to warn of the danger . . . and you do! The best suspense writer I've ever read!
Beth Anderson, Author of Raven Talks back

"...Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King come to mind, but JOAN HALL HOVEY is in a Class by herself!…"
J.D. Michael Phelps, Author of My Fugitive, David Janssen

"…CANADIAN MISTRESS OF SUSPENSE…The author has a remarkable ability to turn up the heat on the suspense… great characterizations and dialogue…" James Anderson, author of Deadline

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CF48ZY2