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Nocturne
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Livi stood before the tavern’s bleak threshold, its heavy door cobbled of wrecked ships. She peered through its ragged window, quieting the wiser part of her, an inner voice calling for her to turn back. And truly, she was stunned that she’d mustered the daring to try this. There were dozens of men here—sailors all brooding over their flagons, many looking to be harboring grudges. The tavern’s splintery walls were studded with trophies—toothy payaras, dry in their death throes, tacked beneath golden portraits of infamous Korps Mariner ships and their dread captains. The men frequenting this sand-dusted, fish-pongy tavern--The Orphic, were the sun-beaten sailors and damaged soldiers of Merritaine, mercenaries and relieved fighters who’d reached the shore of old age still breathing. No one dared step a toe in The Orphic unless he bore epic tales—bloody acts of acclaim on the baleful blue seas. Many here had killed. Some for honorable causes in noble wars, yes. But they’d killed. For all their savagery, though, they were brave. Livi had heard enough stories to understand them as uniformly dauntless and skilled. If anyone could help her skip Merritaine’s coast and reach Nocturne, he’d be drinking here. Through the brume of pipe smoke, she measured each face for hints of affability. Or at least for traces of good humor—signs that someone might consider her offer. If she could just single out one sailor more approachable than not, perhaps she could move to him unnoticed. But that wouldn’t happen. Women scarcely set foot here, and sixteen-year-old girls certainly didn’t. A few of the sailors came across as jovial—but even they harbored an undercurrent of trouble in their looks, their ease striking like a gusty southerly bathing the seaside, forecasting a typhoon’s assault. The afternoon seemed all at once to grow late, a shaft of misted sunlight sluicing through the windows and casting the place in watery relief. In fixing on that panorama of ocean, Livi could almost see Nocturne’s peaks in the deep west, its moonstone shores marbled with the shadowy ash given by its volcanic chain. Those heights, she had to reach. For it was said that Nocturne’s high places were hived with sea caves—chambers shining with waters rumored to have healing properties. Some believed those springs could stave off even death. Livi eased from her jacket a small jar of pearls, each perfect, as plump as a blueberry—these a mere sampling of the trove she’d collected. They ought to be more than enough to buy passage to Nocturne from someone here bearing the skill, and the gall, and the ship, and the time to set sail for the Isles, along with some assurance that he could ferry her through storms, over waters where lurked sharks and killer whales and squids that tore up boats, and finally beyond the dread Maelstroms. Livi had imagined this moment many times—making her bold approach in The Orphic, striking a deal. She’d imagined that arriving at this brink would feel like the onset of her escape. But in finally standing here, readying to approach men alleged to be the most barbarous in Merritaine, the idea seemed beyond reckless. Célian, her best friend—maybe more—would be sick at the thought of her here. And truly, in darkening this threshold, she felt she was skimming the rim of the Maelstroms, those great whirlpools unceasing in their churning, twisting what strayed near straight down in a tempest, claiming ships and seafarers alike as a part of themselves. The bright Merrow Ocean glinting in, though, delivered some steadfastness. For at the sight of its rolling, Livi could gather a sense of what it might feel like, teaming with someone here, cruising on his scabrous ship to the treacherous west. A man seated at the tavern’s back corner stood out a touch. He looked a decade younger than the rest, and he had all his limbs, which was saying something. He seemed not resentful, or affable, or angry—just somber. His solemnity made it clear that he wanted to be left to himself. But it also lent an impression of patience. Maybe he’d listen. She edged open the tavern’s door and crept in. She eased behind a column in the entryway and held still. She’d have to get to the somber man quick. If she drew too much attention, the barkeep—a tall man, his eyes sharp to check all the action, his manner busy and swift with his bottles—would cast her out before she could lay down one word of her offer. Or worse—he’d let the men handle the disruption. Livi stepped from the shade, into the amber light of the tavern. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Royal Mayhem by Samantha Jayne Grubey #New Adult #Romance @Xpresso Book Tours18/4/2026
Royal Mayhem
-- EXCERPT: Rolling onto my side, I was met with thin air falling to the floor letting out a groan as I hit the floor. How did I fall out of bed? I opened my eyes seeing I was in the living room. The memories of last night finally came rushing back to me. We had been binge-watching my favourite reality television show and fell asleep. Looking behind me, Alex was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful. With him asleep, I had time to admire him without him knowing it. It had taken a bit for Alex to get comfortable after the incident again. I could tell he was fighting with himself. There must’ve been a huge part of him that wanted to run and hide, whilst the other part of him wanted to stay. What scared me the most is that I wanted to know both of those parts of him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I wanted to know it all. I wanted to know him. Then, there’s the secret. Could I cope with not knowing what his secret was? It was obvious he had one, no adult had a grown babysitter without a reason. The security that had suddenly appeared around the campus, it all coincides with when Alex started at university. I couldn’t figure out what the reason was. Did he have a famous and important family? Was he secretly a political figure? Would I end up hurt? I wanted to google him so bad. I reached for my phone, opening up the browser and stared at it. Could I break my promise? I told him I wouldn’t. I let out a groan, throwing my phone back on the sofa. I stood up, made my way to the bathroom, and showered quickly. I wrap the towel around me heading to the bedroom changing into some clean clothes. My body ached so much. Sleeping on a small sofa with someone else was not the best way to sleep. After finishing getting ready, I made my way downstairs, Alex was still asleep on the sofa, and into the kitchen. I grabbed a can out of the fridge, opening it and taking a small sip. Maybe I should prepare some breakfast. I know Alex brought breakfast things I couldn’t believe he went shopping for me. I don’t think anyone would top what he did for me. I walked into the living room and saw he was sitting up looking confused. “Hey.” “Hi,” he said. “I was really confused about where I was then.” “Do you often wake up at random houses not knowing who you’re with?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not happened in a few years,” he admitted. “Do you have plans today?” I shook my head. “Do you want to go on that date?” “I’d love to.” Butterflies filled my stomach, this was my first real date. “Great,” he smiled. “I’m going to go home and then I’ll come pick you up” he looked at his phone “around midday if that’s alright with you?” “Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. He stood up, stretching his arms out. I made my way over to the door and let him out. “I’ll see you soon.” “Yes, you will. Just so you know, I had fun last night,” he said. “Me, too.” He got into his car and drove off. I headed into the living room, grabbing my phone. Megan answered straight away. “If this isn’t life or death, I’m going to fucking kill you, Melinda,” she mumbled. “Does Alex asking me on a date count?” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Can’t Shoot Whiskey
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I pressed my lips tight to fight the smile dying to break free. “What happened to your face?” He took off his glasses and shoved them in the white lab coat he wore over a green scrub top and khaki pants. “You’re late.” “You’re blue.” I bit back a snicker. His cheeks flushed. A snort giggle escaped me. “Did you have a Braveheart re-enactment after baseball? I’ve never heard of that kind of kink, but to each his own, right?” He rolled his eyes. “It’s Blu-Kote.” “The old fogie wound treatment stuff? Do you use that?” “No.” He wiped ineffectively at his face. “This morning, a horse owner poured it on the hoof while I was looking at the abscess before I could stop him. The mare kicked it all over me. It won’t come off my skin, and it ruined my shirt.” “Oh.” I compressed my lips to stop the laughter bubbling. A head duck helped while I threw my oversized purse on the client sofa. I reached for the bottle of alcohol off the shelf above the sink and grabbed a few cotton balls. “Hold still.” “Stop laughing.” He waved at me when I got close to keep me away. “I’m going to help you.” I saturated a cotton ball in alcohol and wiped his cheek. It didn’t come off easily since it had set into the skin. I rubbed harder. “Oww.” He tried to bat me away. “Are you trying to peel off my skin?” I held up the cotton ball to show the blue coming off. “Stop being a wuss. How many clients did you see like this?” He put the laptop on the counter and crossed his arms. “A few.” “You need to come up with a better story than some horse kicking it all over you.” I kept rubbing. “I’m not going with kink as my story.” I laughed so hard I had to step away from him and put down the cleaning items. I rubbed my eyes. “You’d have the ladies wondering.” “I’d rather not be known as the Blue Man of the bedroom.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Essence of His Soul
Goodreads / Amazon / Girls Anthem -- EXCERPT: I looked at his face, then slowly walked over to him. “Clayton wants to know when you guys can do dinner.” My heart dropped in my stomach. I had been ignoring Clayton, literally not responding to any of his messages, but I also hadn’t blocked him. “Babe, it’s not like that.” He placed my phone down. “What is it like, Essence?” I raised an eyebrow. Since we’d been dating, he barely called me by my first name. I walked over to him, grabbing his hands. He let me. “My father thinks Clayton is the guy I should be dating. I told him I was dating but haven’t told him who, but my mother knows. Clayton and I went on a date four years ago and I haven’t talked to him since. My father thought giving him my number when he ran into him was a good idea.” He stared at me intently. This was the first time he was looking at me, and I didn’t feel the warmth I usually felt. “Baby, I promise, you have nothing to worry about.” “You know Rayna DM’d me about a week after we started dating. I blocked her because, even though we weren’t that deep yet, I knew we were on to something.” I swallowed. I knew he was all in when we were on our third date. Shane was a one-woman type of man. I picked up my phone and blocked Clayton in front of him. Then I showed him the text thread. “You can see I never even responded.” “Then why not block him sooner?” he said, scrolling through the texts. I started chewing on my bottom lip. I brushed my hair behind my ears, trying not to speak too soon. “If I’m honest, this is scary for me. I’m afraid that this thing with you and I won’t work out. That’s not to say Clayton was a backup, because he knows that even if he was the last man standing, there would never be an us. Trust me.” He smirked, placing the phone back on the counter. “He’s that bad?” “Horrible.” I laughed. He was still staring at me, but his smile faded. “I don’t always feel safe,” I continued, hoping the rest of this would come out making sense, “and some of it has to do with what happened when I was younger. I also feel like my father’s controlling ways plays into how unsafe I feel. It’s like he would never let anyone else hurt me, yet he does it all the time; and then, there’s what my ex did.” His face scrunched up. “Dixon?” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Broken Wings
Broken Wings is now on Kickstarter! -- Some truths are inherited. Some are stolen. Others wait quietly, buried so deep that only loss knows how to uncover them. The world teaches obedience first. Then fear. Then silence. Breaking the pattern was never part of the design. Get a FREE CHAPTER here! -- Why the kickstarter collector’s edition is special.This is not just a book. It’s the beginning. Broken Wings is a 20,000 word prequel novella and the very first story in the Enchanted Skies universe. It introduces Marty at age ten and her father who tried to protect her from a truth that was always going to catch up. This edition will never be sold through retailers. It is only available through this Kickstarter, and later Miloa’s direct store. No algorithms. No middlemen. Just readers who chose to be here from the start. Backers of this campaign will have their names printed in the book as founding readers, permanently recorded as the ones who helped this world take its first breath. Visit the KICKSTARTER HERE! 
GIVEAWAY! --
Their Healing Hearts: A Later-in-Life Small Town Romance
-- EXCERPT: (In Cattle Trail Cafe Deborah sees Luke after months apart) She picked up her phone, but before Deborah could respond, the bell over the door jingled. She looked up—and froze. Luke walked in, tall and easy. He paused by the counter, scanning the room, and then his gaze landed on her. Her pulse slammed against her ribs. His warm smile made her heart flutter. It had been too long. She’d forgotten how easily he could undo her—how her body reacted before she could stop it. He ordered coffee, then turned and headed straight for their table. He’s coming this way. Not now. I look a fright. She tried to smile as a flush crept up her neck, suddenly aware of everything—her breathing, her posture, the space between them. “Good morning, ladies,” he said, voice low and calm, his eyes fixed on Deborah. “Good morning, Luke,” Liz, Peggy Sue, and Sissy chimed in together. Deborah stayed silent, her throat traitorously empty while the rest of the room practically gushed with approval. Luke winked, and she nearly fell out of her chair. What on earth was happening? He turned to her. “How are you? Jon told me your divorce is final. Are you holding up okay?” His voice was gentle. Genuine. She managed a nod, cheeks burning, words stuck somewhere deep in her chest. The café’s chatter blurred around her, drowned out by the pounding of her heart. The moment stretched—too intimate, too exposed—until Luke cleared his throat. He glanced at his watch. “Did you hear about the town hall meeting Monday? Someone’s opposing a new development on the edge of town.” Sissy leaned forward. “What kind of development?” “They’re not saying,” he admitted. “City Hall, 6:30. It could affect the small businesses.” His gaze flicked over the group, then settled on Deborah again. “It was really good seeing you all,” he said softly. “Especially you, Deb. I miss our dinners.” Her breath hitched. “It was great…for me too.” She could only watch as he turned and walked away. When the door jingled shut behind him, Deborah realized she’d been holding her breath. She dropped her face into her hands. “That was intense,” Liz said. “Yep,” Sissy added with a grin. Deborah forced herself to sit up, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “So… the town hall meeting. Do you think it’s about the shelter?” Her phone buzzed under the table. Unknown number. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Trial by Town
-- EXCERPT: “Mr. VanAnt, as you may know, the Professor asked me to speak with Miss O’Neill. I did so only to be of help.” She made certain her tone continued calm and reassuring, not wanting to give the misimpression that she was speaking as a defense attorney. “Miss O’Neill is unwavering in her claim of innocence.” He was quick to respond, the red deepening in color. “I’m not surprised by anything she says. She’s always been a strange girl. Her uncle was strange. I guess it was just in the genes. However, that’s not an excuse. Mrs. Russo, as far as myself and this community are concerned, she killed him. Whether by accident or intentional, she killed him. The sooner she’s removed from here, the better. We have enough to deal with without her presence being a constant painful reminder.” He tried to take another sip of coffee, but his shaking hand made him unsteady. A small amount poured onto the table. Katie grabbed a few napkins to blot up the puddle. She worried that she may have pushed him too far, but as concerned as she felt for him, she was compelled to continue the discussion. “I can only imagine the pressure you’ve been under. The Professor mentioned that Mr. Keans Sr. has had virtually no involvement with the business since his son’s death.” He paused a moment, then looked directly at Katie. “One does what one needs to do to survive. I have a responsibility to our customers, our workers, our community, and our families. A lot of people have been affected by this tragedy, and I’ll do everything and anything it takes to see that this business continues.” Katie felt a chill up her spine. His words almost sounded like a threat. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the gentle giant she had thought. It was clear that the conversation had gone as far as it was going to go. “I’m certain you have everyone’s support and appreciation.” Katie glanced at her watch and noted the lateness of the hour. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She rose and extended her hand. “This was an unexpected pleasure meeting you, and I very much enjoyed the tour.” “Likewise.” He held the chair for her, the way a gentleman did in an old black-and-white film, and then escorted her to the elevator. “I hope you don’t mind if I say goodbye here. I have a few hours of paperwork ahead of me and I’d better get started.” “Not at all. Again, thank you.” He stood there looking at her until the doors closed. The chill she got earlier seemed to return. She tried to explain away her discomfort. After all, he had a right to feel such anger, and it wasn’t directed toward her. More chills as she walked briskly to the car, only this time, they were caused by the late afternoon breeze off the water. She slid into the seat and turned on the engine and the heater and waited until she was sufficiently warmed. As she drove out the gate, she thought about his words. Other than Jennifer, everyone she’d spoken to since arriving were aligned in their sentiment, although none expressed it so succinctly as Mr. VanAnt. “The sooner she’s removed from here, the better.” Katie rounded the bend, happy to be heading toward the comfort of the Professor’s home. As he lost sight of her car, VanAnt drew the blinds and returned to his paperwork. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Pity Prank
-- EXCERPT: Finley As soon as I enter, I notice a man sitting on one of the two overstuffed shabby chic chairs by the window. He looks up and makes direct eye contact which causes every thought in my brain to pour out like sand in a sieve. Holy. Hot stuff. Batman. This man is extraordinarily handsome, but his appeal is more than just physical. He emanates a kind of golden energy that’s positively intoxicating. “Hi there.” As soon as he stands up, I can feel the room start to sway. I stagger to the counter, so I don’t fall over. He’s well over six feet and from what I can tell he’s built like he spends hours at the gym every day. “H…h…hi, yourself. Thomas Culpepper?” I ask, both hoping he is and isn’t at the same time. How in the world will I be able to take sexy pictures of this man and keep my wits about me? I can’t even look at him fully clothed without stuttering. “That’s me.” He flashes a brilliant smile which makes me wonder if he’s ever starred in toothpaste commercials. His hair is the softest looking wavy chocolate brown I’ve ever seen. My hand lifts of its own accord like it’s trying to reach out and touch it. Which of course I know I can’t do. At least until it’s time for me to style his hair for the shoot. I practically drool at the thought. Thomas looks at my hand suspended in mid-air before copying the gesture and waving at me. “He-llo.” He breaks the word into two syllables like I’m new to the English language and might not understand otherwise. I drop my hand immediately and try to regain my composure. “Constance is very excited about these shots.” “Really?” He looks confused, like he doesn’t know who I’m talking about. “Really,” I assure him. “She’s ordered the basic package to start but if she likes what she sees…” In lieu of finishing my sentence, I give him an exaggerated wink. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal to her,” he says. I wonder if I got it wrong and they aren’t a couple? Darn it, that’s the thing with me, I have an awful time reading people. “Oh, it’s a very big deal.” Thomas’s hazel eyes narrow in confusion before he bends down to pick up the bag he brought with him. “I brought some different shirts.” “Oh, we won’t need shirts.” There’s no way, I’m covering up this man in unnecessary clothing. No way. Unless of course it’s a pirate shirt, wide open, and billowing in the wind. Lucky for him, I have such an item in my costume collection. Thomas’s gorgeous brow furrows, drawing my attention to the golden flecks in his eyes. “I brought a doctor’s coat too, if you prefer that.” “A doctor’s coat?” I love the idea of turning him into a sexy doctor. It’s decided then, we’ll do a pirate look and a doctor one. Constance is going to love these. Motioning to Thomas, I tell him, “Follow me into the backroom and you can get ready there.” As he approaches, I inhale his spicy aftershave. Cloves, cinnamon, and orange, oh my! “You smell great.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. That’s another fun thing about me, I don’t always think before speaking, which can sometimes make other people uncomfortable. Like the time I told a woman in the grocery store that her pants made her butt look amazing. While meant as a compliment, it was clear she wasn’t used to such a forthright comment from a stranger. I figured that out when she walked out of the store, leaving a full cart behind. The last thing I want to do is make Thomas nervous, so I hurry to tell him, “You smell like my favorite Christmas cookies.” “Huh. I’ve never heard that one before.” “It’s a compliment of the highest order,” I assure him. “My mom makes the best orange spice shortbread you’ve ever tried.” Just when I think I’ve saved the moment from getting too awkward, I groan suggestively and declare, “Yummy!” Thomas’s eyes pop open wider in an expression I once again worry is fear. The backroom of my store is one big unfinished space with a variety of backdrops scattered about. I point toward the barber-style chair in front of a big lighted mirror in the corner and tell him, “Let’s start there. I’ll get your hair and makeup done first and then we’ll settle on wardrobe.” “Hair and makeup?” “Yeah, you know, so we can get the look we’re after.” “I thought I was okay the way I am.” “You’re fantastic,” I assure him. “Really great! But I want to make sure we capture your character to the fullest.” “I’m a doctor,” he tells me. I’m starting to think Thomas might be the one new to the English language. “Doctor, pirate, sexy duke with a superiority complex… you can be anything you want and I’m here to make that happen.” Thomas sits down in the makeup chair looking highly uneasy. “I really am a doctor.” Then he asks, “Do you get a lot of pirates and nobility in here?” “Tons,” I assure him. Thomas sits down with the same amount of enthusiasm he might have knowing he was about to be electrocuted. “I’m pretty sure I don’t need hair and makeup,” he says again. “I’m not putting lipstick on you, Thomas.” Picking up a bronzing palate, I tell him, “Just a bit of contrast to sharpen your angles.” “Why exactly do I need sharper angles?” How is it possible that he’s even sexy when he’s acting stupid? Turning to look him square in the eye, I ask, “Why do you think you’re here?” “I’m here to get my picture taken for …” “Constance,” I finish his sentence for him. “You’re here for Constance. And you want to make her happy, don’t you?” “I… suppose?” He isn’t selling it. “You suppose? She’s paid me four hundred dollars to take very specific pictures of you and that is exactly what I’m going to do. Do you understand?” He nods his head almost imperceptibly, so I tell him, “This is my job, Thomas. My job. It’s what I do for a living. It’s how I pay my bills.” “Yes, but…” “Constance came in here herself to tell me what she wants, and as she is my client. I’m not going to let her down.” Thomas sits as still as a statue while I brush bronzer on his cheeks and jaw. By the time I’m done with him, he could have posed for a Michelangelo statue of a Greek god. I can’t take all the credit for that though; he practically is one on his own. Once I’m convinced his face couldn’t look any better, I put the makeup brush down and face my model once again. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. After turning the chair so his back faces the mirror, I lift my hands and run all ten of my fingers through his hair. Holy heck. It’s even softer than it looks. It’s better than all my furry sweaters combined. It’s like running my hands through a litter of baby minks. It’s softer than the Barefoot blanket I spent way too much money on. But only because it lost some of its softness after being washed. Until then, it was worth ten times as much. Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is to rub Thomas Culpepper’s head every day of my life until I die. Reluctantly, I remind myself that Thomas is Constance’s boyfriend, not mine. Yet I don’t understand how that can be because this man is so vital and alive. Constance has the warmth of a vampire bat in winter. But they got together somehow and now it’s my job to give my client the best fantasy material I can. She never has to know it’s doing the same for me. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Maiden Tomb by Cynthia Sally Haggard (Twelve Cursed Maidens, 1) òXpresso Book Tours27/3/2026
Maiden Tomb
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: In the past week or so since we’ve arrived, life has taken on a predictable rhythm. I spend the mornings entertaining the ladies of the castle, with the lyre, my singing, playing knucklebones, and listening to their gossip. Truth to tell, nothing they say is particularly interesting as high-born ladies spend their time inside. When they are not diverting themselves with such pastimes as I provide, they are spinning, weaving, running the household, and caring for their children. They talk incessantly about their children. They know little of the outside world. I escape after the midday meal, taking advantage of the ladies’ habit of resting as the sun’s chariot crests at the highest point of the day. While they sleep, I head out into the scorching countryside looking for Father. We sit together in the shade, while Father does some task, usually repairing something, while I tell him everything I’ve learned the evening before. It is not that hard. Because I am small, and people are now familiar with my face, no one pays me any mind as I take my seat at the bench that runs along the side of the huge table where all the working folk of the castle eat their meals. Father has told me never to be inquisitive, but I am dying to know more about the twelve mysterious ladies locked up in the castle tower, the ones people whisper about behind their hands when they think no-one is noticing. As the light of the sun drains from the sky, as the king’s men sink lower onto wooden benches eating dish after dish, quail, pheasant, peacock, duck, eggs, bread, olive oil, wine, and olives, the noise of seven hundred men sharing jokes, laughing, and swilling wine reverberates around the hall. Finally, I can take it no more.”Is it true what they say about the King’s daughters?” The grizzled stranger on the bench next to me wipes the grease off his mouth with the back of a hand and spits out an olive pit. “Where’ve you popped up from? You shouldn’t be here. You’re only a young lad.” I am used to these remarks. After I left home I took a ship that was blown off course, taking me west to the land of the Italoi. I had to beg for money in the streets and in the taverns and it was not long before I heard news of Father, who was sailing to the west of this land. And so I made my way across steep mountains before coming down to a lush plain. Playing my lyre to entertain strangers I followed their directions to the sea, to a wide bay within sight of a simmering, high, conical-shaped mountain. And there, in a tavern, I met Father. Now we are traveling home together. But Father is not here on the bench beside me, as he should be, but outside at a nearby farm pretending to be a stable hand. This is one of Father’s clever strategies. He is a master at extracting information. He calls his strategy “divide and conquer” and it means that I have to use my lyre to find a berth for the night in some local chieftain’s house. This is not usually difficult, especially if there are ladies around because for some reason they always want to pet me. Meanwhile, Father finds work on the outside as a shepherd, farmhand, or stable boy. By concealing his origins and pretending to be dumb, drunk, or both, Father is able to overhear a great many things. We have a plan to meet every day at noon, I escaping the blandishments of the ladies to visit the local farm for milk, cheese, eggs where I could happen upon the new stable boy, farmhand, or shepherd. The only fly in the ointment is my age. I am only twelve years old and to my great annoyance, I look it. So Father made me memorize some phrases to offer when this issue arises. “Father is here with me, but is suffering with an ache to his belly.” One sentence is usually enough for most people. Father has instructed me never to offer explanations that are not asked for as it only makes people more curious. But the fellow is staring at me, waiting for more. I turn my eyes down. “Father told me to eat supper and then berth with him in the stable yard.” “He’s the new stable hand, is he?” I nod. “Much good he’ll be with a bellyache.” I look up. “Do you have a remedy for that good sir?” Father always stresses the importance of asking for advice when a conversation turns sour, as it flatters the vanity. The fellow hawks and spits, rising from his seat. “You’ll have to go to the kitchens for that, son.” He ambles off. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Secrets of the Midwife
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I am sitting in the little park situated between the town clerk’s office where happy couples come rushing down the steps, laughing and kissing after tying the knot, and the family court where some of them will end up, when things go badly. As I eat my lunch, I chuckle to myself at the irony of these two tall, brick buildings facing each other like powerful gods who already know our fate, providing what we need when we need it. The thick scent of the candied hazelnuts cooking in a nearby vendor cart wafts over me in the cool April breeze. I pull the collar of my trench coat up around my neck and tighten the knot in my silk scarf. Collecting the wrapper from my sandwich, I put it back in the brown paper bag as my eyes catch a stooped old woman pushing a double stroller with two girls in it. The one closest to me is a baby with golden blonde hair. Maybe a little more than a year old. I can’t take my eyes off her. The other girl has thick brown hair and looks to be about four years old. They make their way down the path to me, and then, without warning, the older girl unbuckles herself, jumps out of the stroller, and runs into the crowd. The woman yells at her to stop, but the girl keeps running, weaving between the people walking through the park. After unbuckling the smaller child, the woman picks her up and thrusts her into my lap. “Hold her,” is all she says before she runs after the other girl, leaving the stroller behind. I look down at the small face staring up at me. The child does not seem afraid, relaxed even. She explores my face as a growing tension rises in my chest. Groaning in frustration, I stand up, holding the baby in my arms, shifting her weight to my hip, and desperately search the crowd for the woman or the other little girl. They’re gone. My first inclination is to go after them, but after a few steps I stop. What am I doing? I’m holding a child who isn’t mine in the middle of a public New York City park. My armpits grow wet with sweat, and I loosen the scarf around my neck. Wondering what to do, I go back to the bench and sit down. Without thinking, I smooth the girl’s wavy blonde hair, tucking a piece behind her tiny ear. Time passes and the woman does not return. Panicking, I’m afraid to leave the bench because I want the woman to know where to find me. Assuming she’s coming back. The baby rests her head on my shoulder, and her beautiful blue eyes study me. Without disturbing her, I raise my arm, pull up the sleeve of my coat, and look at my watch. It’s getting late. I have to go back to work. Twenty minutes pass. Without hope, I stand up again and look for the woman. The lunchtime crowd is starting to grow thin, and I am beginning to feel desperate. After pulling my cell phone out of my bag, I call 911 and the operator says she will send a patrol car. The minutes tick by slowly. The wait is agonizing. Finally, a squad car pulls up, and I watch as two officers get out, walk to the gate, and scour the park. A man and a woman. They look so young, fresh-faced with heavy equipment hanging off their belts. They see me, and I stand up with the girl who is starting to feel heavy in my arms. When they reach me, the male officer asks, “Did you call 911?” “Yes. I was just sitting here, and a woman wearing a scarf and a long skirt gave me this baby.” I stammer knowing how incredulous it sounds. The officers stare at me, then at the baby. Finally, the female officer takes a pad out of a box on her belt. “What’s your name?” “Anabel Leigh.” “Where do you work?” I tip my chin in the direction of my building. “Right there.” “No. What’s the name of your employer?” she asks with annoyance. “Oh, sorry. C&W Communications.” “Okay. So, what did the woman look like? Where did she go?” She continues to question me. “Yes, I need to go back to work. Will you take her?” I try to peel the baby away from my shoulder. 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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