|
The Magical Tea Shop
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Ivette Wayland caught her breath. With the sun shining down on him, Jaxon Langford always caught her just a little unawares. He only lived upstairs, but every morning she found herself anticipating his first appearance of the day. She gazed through the plate glass window of her cozy tea shop as his little black Scottie dog scampered to keep up with his long strides. Jaxon halted just outside her door. Would he enter? She ached to run her fingers through that molasses-brown hair, still damp from the shower and sparkling like sugared ginger crinkles. It was ridiculous how much she yearned to touch him. He was her landlord, for goodness’ sake. Ivy reined in her longing. Jaxon paused on the sidewalk and quickly stepped over to hold open the door for the tiny, elderly Hazel Bestwick, president of the Hazard Historical Society. Please come inside, Jaxon. A couple of young boys on their way to school, backpacks swinging, asked him a question. Jaxon leaned down to answer. He fist-bumped the taller of the two boys and grinned. Jaxon’s smile shot straight to her core. As if sensing her watching, he glanced at the window, trying to see through sunlight bouncing off glass, his eyes the color of a well-steeped Irish breakfast tea. She let out a little sigh. What she wouldn’t give to have him for… “Focus,” said a voice behind her. Ivy jumped and blinked twice to bring herself back to reality. “You have customers. Remember your goals.” Her older sister’s constant criticism put her on the defensive. Ivy swung abruptly to face her, causing her high blonde ponytail to smack her own cheek. She shoved it back. “Business is steady.” “My business is steady.” Holly drew herself up straighter in her pink bakery smock smoothing a hand over her flawless updo before sweeping an arm out to draw Ivy’s attention to the nearly empty tearoom. “Your business is slow. And he…” She flapped her hand toward the window “…is a distraction to success. You can’t have it all.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Avenge Me
-- EXCERPT: (from the short story, “Hands Clean: Afterburner”) Perry, as he was better known, stood on a grassy hill, overlooking the expanse of the beach and the churning waves just past sunset. Warm fur rubbing against his ankles reminded him he wasn’t alone, and he looked down with a gentle smile. A black cat weaved her away around his legs, purring loudly and looking up at him expectantly. “Calling you “Cat” sounds straight ridiculous, but you refuse to tell me your name.” The cat meowed and he chuckled. “Fine. Just “Cat”, it is.” He lifted her into his arms and rubbed noses. “It’s not often I ask animals to do my dirty work, so I thank you and promise to feed you.” Perry locked eyes with the cat and spoke softly in her mind. “Do you remember the plan? Are you ready to strike? When you get to the bar, be sure to give me a visual.” At her reassuring purr, he put her down and let her run to her destination. He kept his eyes trained on the huge wood door of the Blue Rose bar, which stood several yards from his position on the beach hill. Cat approached the bar’s entrance and sat on the walkway, patiently waiting, as she licked a paw. Soon enough, the heavy door swung open, and a laughing couple emerged from the bar. Cat darted inside the dimly lit front area and, within seconds, gave him the visual he needed. Perry almost immediately spotted his target, seated at a table with a large man. She was unchanged, both in face and body, even after a millennium. 
GIVEAWAY! --
I Love That Girl
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- EXCERPT: We locked eyes for a moment, the dim light and dark shadows between us. Her wavy sunset-blonde hair was in a messy bun, with tendrils falling around her face. I wanted to let her hair down, scoop it up with my fingers, inhale the flowery scent of her shampoo. I didn’t move a single part of me except my eyes, which traced the dotting of piercings up her left ear and then roamed across to her smallish nose that had just a blush of light freckles that matched her hair and down to her button-shaped mouth. “Okay,” she said, her shoulder sliding out from the old sweatshirt that she cut the hood off of. I wanted to kiss her shoulder so badly, I had to put my hand over my mouth and pretend to cough. The blackout made the moment dreamy. I reached over and pulled her shirt up to cover her shoulder, and when my fingers made contact with her soft skin, her expression changed, softened, and relaxed. She smiled. “I’ll get the wine.” She popped up, slid her feet into her fuzzy slippers, walked over to the kitchen area, and snatched the almost full bottle. Then she said, “Do you have a set of cards? We can play Bullshit. Remember how much we used to love that game?” I laughed and said, “I think it was the only drinking game we knew in high school.” “I’m pretty sure we were the only people who actually found a way to make it a drinking game.” In the darkness, her hair piled up, she looked like a princess but also like an angel, and while I couldn’t find those words in the moment, that’s what I saw. A princess-angel with a pretty but foul mouth. The combination was exhilarating. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Brian and Mina’s Holiday Hits
-- EXCERPT: It’s after dark when we arrive at the Windsor Estate. The heavily guarded iron gate extends around Drake Windsor’s massive property which seems to go on for miles. I grip Brian’s arm and lean in to whisper in his ear as we walk along the well-lit path up to the front door. “What about weapons?” I whisper. “No weapons,” he says. “They’ll pat us down and send us all through a metal detector inside.” “Then how in the f**k are we going to do this? Are you planning to kill him with your bare hands?” Brian shrugs. “I could. He’s too refined to get his own hands dirty. He’s old money.” “What does he do? Besides hiring assassins to kill all his enemies.” You’d think Brian would have listed this man’s profession on the murder wall. “Oil magnate.” “Is that even still a thing?” “Apparently,” he says. “I thought you’d tell me he was in the tech industry.” Brian laughs. “I said old money.” “Fossil fuel. Checks out.” Dinosaurs are for sure old. I stop talking as we get closer to the house. It’s so big, even the word mansion doesn’t quite cover it. The security detail are all big burly guys wearing suits and electronic ear pieces. They give us both a once over, their eyes staying on me a bit longer than is actually necessary. The first one pats Brian down, and then goes for me, but Brian closes a tight grip over the man’s wrist. His voice is low and calm when he speaks. “Elvin, I swear to every power living and dead that if you touch her, you will not survive to see your daughter’s first Christmas.” The guard swallows hard. “I have orders…” “You have metal detectors. You and I both know that’s the real security. This pat down business is just security theater—a display of Windsor’s power and nothing more. You think about whether it’s worth your life to participate in this charade.” He nods. “Go on in, Mr. Sloan.” Then he nods at me, “Ma’am.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Take Me Home for Christmas
-- EXCERPT: “Do you know who Everett West is?” Madelaine asked. Everyone with access to a television knew who Everett West was. He’d been a globe-trotting war reporter for the past thirty-five years. “He’s writing his memoir,” Elle responded. “We are serializing it in the magazine. The number of readers downloading the chapters has quadrupled over the past three months.” Helen beamed at her. “Impressive. You know your stats about other aspects of the magazine besides your own.” “The serialization is meant to whet the appetite of readers in hopes of getting them to order the book when we release it in July,” Madelaine explained. “The problem we have,” Helen added, “is that Everett hasn’t quite finished the manuscript despite signing a contract stipulating he would complete it by the first of this month.” “Oh.” Elle looked between the two women, still unsure what this had to do with her. Helen shook her head. “Mm. Men aren’t always good at keeping their promises as I’m sure you are aware, Elinor.” Whoa! Was Helen apologizing for her worm of a grandson? Madelaine leaned forward in her chair. “We need Everett to finish this book by the end of the year, or the magazine will run out of material to serialize.” “And we won’t have any way to fulfill those preorders,” Elle added. “Exactly!” Helen slapped her palm on the table. Elle continued to gaze at the two women, trying to divine some sort of explanation as to why they were telling her this. “That’s a serious problem for the entire company.” “Everett doesn’t seem to be able to focus on the manuscript here in New York.” Madelaine sighed. “Too many distractions.” “Too many cronies to go out drinking with, you mean,” Helen muttered. If Madelaine agreed with her boss’ sentiments, she was too professional to show it. “We need him to go someplace quiet, someplace with a lot slower pace and fewer diversions so he can buckle down and get the job done.” The man had reported from deep below the ocean inside a Polaris submarine, while rumbling along in a tank in Iraq, and even while embedded in the Afghan desert with special forces. Surely, he didn’t need a convent to finish his memoir? He already knew the ending, after all. “Do you need me to research some potential places?” Elle asked. “No, no, dear girl.” Helen waved a hand. “In fact, Jeremy gave me the most brilliant idea earlier this week when we met for dinner. He was reminiscing wistfully about the wonderful times he spent when you two visited your mother’s inn in North Carolina.” Elle tried not to bristle. Why would Jeremy be “reminiscing wistfully” about the Tide Me Over Inn? He only visited there twice. Now that she thought about it, both times he found something to complain about—from the inn to Chances Inlet. He’d found the whole town to be “provincial.” “My mother’s inn? You want Mr. West to go there to finish his book?” Both women nodded. “Um, sure. I’m happy to check with her to see what openings she has. Christmas time is usually as popular as the summer months in Chances Inlet, though. I can research some backup inns just in case.” Please, Mom, don’t let your inn be full. “No need.” Helen grinned. “I’ve already spoken with your mother. She’s arranged a suite for Everett through the end of the year.” “Oh.” Elle was surprised her mom hadn’t said something to her. “That’s great. Do you need me to make any other arrangements for him?” “Everything is all taken care of.” Helen stood. “You’ll both be flying out first thing tomorrow. Everett has less than five weeks to finish his damn book. I’m counting on you, Elinor, to see that he does. If it comes down to it, chain him to a chair. Stand over him twenty-four hours a day. Whatever it takes.” She gave Elle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walked past. “I know you’re up to the task.” The publisher was out of the room before Elle realized the impact of her words. “Wait. What?” she whispered. “No, no, no.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Inked in Blood and Memory
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: You never forget your first ritual sacrifice. So why had I? That seems like something you’d remember. It’s not something most American families gather for. Hey, Má. Could you pass the rau răm? Oh, and what time is the sacrifice tonight? And yet, I had forgotten. I had forgotten the little things, too. My mother’s laugh, her abrupt chortles that often devolved into giggles. My childhood nickname. We eat pho the night our own parents sacrifice one of my best friends. It’s weird what sticks with you after years of trying to forget. We eat in silence, though I haven’t yet realized the reason for the solemn mood. My nine-year-old brain doesn’t quite grasp the idea of “sacrifice.” I can’t wait to wear my new ceremonial cloak. I begged my parents to let me wear it through dinner, but they refused. “It’s too special,” they say. “You don’t want to ruin it, do you, con gái?” No, I don’t want that. Still, my eyes wander to the piece of clothing that hangs on the coat tree next to the front door. The intricate symbols fascinate me. The only other place I’ve seen them is on the book. Not just any book. The book. I get to see it on special occasions during the four months out of the year our family guards it. The other eight months are split between two additional families. My best friends’, Sophie Vanguard and Jeremy Berg-Nilsen. We’ll join them later for the ceremony or the “thanksgiving,” but not that Thanksgiving. We are not pilgrims, but our three families are special. Chosen. And today, Jeremy is the most special. “Ông xã, are you sure this is the only way?” Má squeezes Ba’s arm. Ba remains quiet for so long I almost ask him if he’s heard Má. I’m not sure what she means by her question or why it’s gotten even quieter than before. Ba answers before I speak. “It’s too late to back out. Maybe we could have years ago, but not now. This is how we keep our family safe.” He kisses my mother’s hand and stands to clear the plates. I knit my brows together. Why are they so serious? It’s like they’re sad. But it’s the day of the thanksgiving. They should be happy. Later that night, I beam proudly in my cloak with the strange symbols, relishing the feel of the velvet hem between my fingertips. Incense burns in a corner, permeating the air with a smoky aroma that I’ve always hated, but it reminds me of the days we celebrate the four equinoxes. The adults hug and talk amongst themselves excitedly. All but Mrs. Berg-Nilsen, Jeremy’s mom. She stands against the wall, keeping to herself. Her long blonde hair covers most of her face, but I can tell her cheeks are wet. I ponder this as I sit cross-legged on the antique rug with Jeremy in his family’s living room. We sip Capri-Suns and talk about what we think will happen in a few minutes. “Happy birthday, Jeremy,” Sophie says after arriving with her parents and barreling through the adults’ legs. She holds a cloak that matches mine out behind her as she runs like she’s a superhero or a bat and plops down on the rug between us. “Thanks, Sophie,” Jeremy mumbles, staring at his Capri-Sun. Of the three of us, Sophie is the most frenetic. I think that’s the word Ba used. The adults are always hiding the sugar from her. She channels her chaotic energy for good most of the time. At school this past week, a couple kids from our grade cornered Jeremy. Sophie took me by the hand and came to Jeremy’s aid, not letting up until the kids backed off. “Why is your mom crying?” I ask Jeremy. His eyes move from his drink to his shoes, and he tugs at the laces. “Dad says she’s happy, but she won’t look at me.” “Grownups are weird,” I say, watching Jeremy’s parents lead the rest into the kitchen. “I think I did something real bad,” Jeremy says. The door swings closed, and I’m on my feet, ignoring Sophie’s questions and drawn to the conversation happening behind the closed door. 
GIVEAWAY! --
A Christmas Dream
-- EXCERPT: Another thirty minutes passed, during which time Brant envisioned thick slices of smoky ham encased between fluffy biscuits hot from the oven as he worked. He was just about to suggest to Remington they take a break for the noon meal when a woman as pretty as any Brant had ever encountered breezed into the room carrying a large basket covered with a blue-checkered cloth. “Denver! I thought I’d never find you in this colossus of a house. I saw Colin outside, and he said you were in the library, but so much has changed since the last time I was in here, I thought I might wander around lost until you starved to death.” The woman’s gaze shifted from the carpenter on the second floor, taking in Brant and Remington as they hastily stood. “Oh, hello.” Denver scrambled down the ladder where he’d been working on the trim at the top of a bookcase. Brant was surprised he didn’t fall and break his neck the way he skipped the last four rungs, using just his hands on the sides of the ladder to slide to the floor. It was a trick Brant intended to have Denver teach him another day. “Holland, I didn’t know you were coming today. I would have met you outside.” Denver glanced nervously from the young woman to Brant, and then back to the fetching female as he raced down the spiral staircase. The woman shrugged. “We wanted to surprise you.” Did Denver have a wife and children awaiting him at home in Silver Bluff? In the three years of Hudson House’s construction, Brant had gotten to know the names of every worker and thought he had a thorough mental list of those who were married and those who were not. How had he overlooked Denver’s family? Especially when the man had such an attractive wife? Shiny brown hair she wore pulled back from her face, fastened with a ribbon at the nape of her graceful neck, fell in glorious waves to her waist. Freckles splattered a narrow, upturned nose. Her bottom lip, fuller than the top, rested in a natural pout that was most alluring. Her brown eyes snapped with intelligence and interest when they landed on Brant again. Her features were delicate and decidedly feminine, and she owned such a happy countenance, it made Brant want to smile just being in the same room with her. Denver Drake was a most fortunate man if the woman holding a basket from which delicious aromas emanated was, indeed, his wife. “Who might this be, Denver?” Brant asked, taking a step closer to the couple, curious and oddly interested in the answer. “Holland Drake,” Denver said, taking the basket from the woman and giving her a slight nudge forward. A wave of disappointment washed over Brant. So, she was married to Denver. “My sister,” Denver continued. The desire to raise his fist and cheer was almost more than Brant could contain, but he managed to tamp down his victorious feeling and school his features into what he hoped was a welcoming expression. The lovely woman was not married, at least not to Denver. “Miss Drake,” Brant said, closing the distance between them and taking her hand in his. He raised her slender fingers to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand while holding her gaze. Her eyes widened slightly, though he could see curiosity lingering there, and she quickly pulled her hand away. “I haven’t seen you working around the house before. Are you new?” It was on the tip of Brant’s tongue to tell her the truth. To say he was the one who would eventually live in the house that had once been a dream scattered across multiple sheets of paper. Instead, he decided he wanted to get to know this woman, not as the owner of a fancy home, but as one of the many men helping to build it. “I’m not new, but help was needed in the library today.” That wasn’t a lie, but the stark truth. He and Remington would likely contribute countless hours of physical labor if the house was to get finished by his own self-imposed deadline prior to his sister’s holiday arrival. “Mister …” Denver started to speak up, but Brant gave him a brief shake of his head along with a warning look. The young man swallowed hard and nodded once in understanding. “Mr. Hudson is hoping to be able to use the library soon. It will also serve as his office, and he’d like it to be the first room completely finished. That’s why we’re all working so hard to make that happen.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!
-- EXCERPT: “You’re stalking my client,” Hudson yelled at the old woman, who was completely unfazed by his anger. My teammates’ eyes bugged out like the pugs’, then they all collapsed, howling with laughter, at my feet. Even Coach snickered into his gloves. “You’re the Crusher?” My mouth dropped open. “You’re the one who’s been stalking me for the last five months?” “Stalker? Pshaw!” Granny Murray was offended. “I’m not stalking anyone.” “You’re going to be arrested.” Hudson bore down on the woman. “Don’t arrest my grandmother,” Dakota snapped at him. “She’s stalking him.” Hudson made a knife hand in my direction. “Do you know how much goddamn money this woman has cost me?” “I’m not stalking. I’m leaving him presents and nice notes,” Granny Murray shouted. Hudson slapped a hand to his forehead. “Notes? They’re fucking pornographic.” “Now see here.” Granny Murray wagged her finger at the tall man. “I’m just trying to rile him up for Dakota.” “You frightened him, Gran,” Gracie scolded. “Oh my god.” Erik gasped at my feet, holding his side. “College Boy is afraid of a little old lady.” I sputtered, “Shut your mouth, Canada.” “Are you going to ‘oh heck’ him?” Pete snickered. “Sonny, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You seem like a nice boy.” The old woman patted me on the arm. Hudson slapped her hand away. “As an apology present”—she grabbed Dakota and pushed her toward me—“I will let you have sex with my granddaughter. She puts out, and her boobs are real.” She squeezed Dakota’s chest. “Oh, uh…” I rocked back on my skates. “That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but no. No thank you.” Dakota had the nerve to look offended. My teammates’ mouths dropped open, then they laid into me. “Who the hell are you?” “Fucking Boy Scout.” “Come on, Ryder!” “Jesus Christ, College Boy.” “Dude!” “Shame! Shame to the family. Shame to the team…” Rick slapped his glove. “I’m not having relations with her,” I stammered. “I don’t even know her.” Dakota raised an eyebrow. Pete muscled up to Dakota. “I’ll take the apology present, beautiful. I have a very nice hotel suite—hot tub, big bed. Expense account.” “No! No expense accounts,” Coach barked. Erik shoved Pete aside. “How about a two-for-one deal?” Dakota looked interested. The pretty brunette put her finger to her lips like she was seriously thinking about it. I sucker punched Erik. “Hey!” Coach slapped the back of my head. I didn’t even feel it. “You’re not sleeping with her. Certainly not both of you, ingrates,” I snarled. “Ooh, College Boy is mad!” Rick giggled. “All of you, shut the fuck up!” Coach yelled. “Shaddap!” I sniffed. “Ryder, you’re kind of a prude.” Coach turned on me. “Dial it back. You’re almost thirty, for Chrissake, and for someone who says he wants a family, you’re about as effective as a panda in that department.” Mike applauded. “But they’re trying to… you know… with a fan. That’s against the rules,” I argued. Coach sighed loudly. “Oh.” Dakota piped up. “I am definitely not a fan. In fact, I hate your team. Arctic Avengers all the way. I’d never date the captain of the motherfucking Icebreakers. I will, however, sleep with you all.” She blew me and my teammates a kiss. “Fuck that!” My friends refused. “We’re not traitors.” “Dammit, Dakota!” Granny Murray scolded, “All that work down the toilet.” “Definitely snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory,” Gracie said. Dakota scowled. “Well, that is how the Arctic Avengers do it.” I sneered at her. Dakota gave me the finger. “I hope you lose all your teeth out there.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
My Only Friend, the End
-- EXCERPT: I spent the next two days nursing a chill fever and watching the fires engulf pockets of the city—more slowly than you might expect, with prodigious walls of steam wherever fire met the Missouri floodwaters. Despite the vivid show, there was something anticlimactic about the way the town died so gradually after everyone in it had died so fast. The amoxicillin and painkillers aided the convalescence, but they did nothing for my mental health. Whether awake or asleep, I obsessed over my wife and son. I also immersed myself in a sea of questions that had no answers, questions that begat other questions, borne of illness of the body and mind. Some of the more obvious ones: What to do now? Go find survivors? Stay here and make sure I’m visible when the National Guard comes? Some were darker: Did Ronnie and Evan suffer, or did everyone everywhere really drop dead at the same time? The biggest question of all, which I asked myself every few minutes: What the hell happened? And that question’s obvious cousin: Why didn’t it happen to me? A fact that ruled out positive answers: No rescuers had come to the aid of the 60,000 souls of Great Falls, Montana. This, combined with the death of all radio signals from near and far, told me this plague or, I don’t know, supercharged virus or whatever had a potentially planet-wide scope. But since I was alive, other people were alive too, right? At the very least another skydiver. A deep-sea diver. Someone who was immune to this … to this what? Was it a virus? Bioterrorism? How could it kill the people on the ground and the people in my plane but spare me? Did my high-speed fall—115 miles per hour—was that what saved me? My unique movement within a certain pocket of air pressure shielded me from a blast from an otherwise apocalyptic pathogen or radiation pulse or microwave beam? If so, were other jumpers still breathing? Or climbers up on Everest? How about miners and spelunkers and sailors in submarines? I couldn’t be the only one left. 
GIVEAWAY! --
New Beginnings in Twinkle Falls
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- EXCERPT: “Man, I suck at this,” I blurt out, while on a jog around the perimeter of the Fall Fair with Jesse. We started hanging out years ago after our sisters became BFFs. “O-kayyy…” He elongates the word, briefly cutting his eyes in my direction. “Do you care to elaborate?” “Ugh, at romancing a woman. It’s like I forgot how to do it, since I haven’t dated for years. Before Kylee, Roxanne was the only woman I’d ever loved. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m sure Roxanne put the moves on me first. Which means, I have no game. Dang, I’m doomed.” “I assume you’re talking about romancing Kylee? Tell me what happened before I give my opinion on the situation. Shaking my head as we run past a seven-foot scarecrow and two smaller ones along the jogging trail, I try explaining. “It’s bad; really bad,” I huff. “One minute, we were sipping wine and cuddling on the sofa after an amazing French meal she made, and the next, something completely different than what I had planned to say came pouring out of my mouth.” “Oh, gosh, what’d you say?” “I said something like… if it’s not clear that I want us to have a future together and to, uh, share a house so we can do more stuff like this—” “Stop!” We quit running as Jesse steps to the side of the trail. “You’re right, you do suck at this.” He chuckles. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard a guy say to the woman he loves. What was her response?” “It wasn’t great. She didn’t say anything at first, so I added, unless it’s not something you want. Finally, she grabbed my hand and said she’d love for us to live in the same house, but then she looked confused after she said it.” “Man, I can definitely see why. You need to watch some romance movies or something because you’re right, you have zero game with the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with.” “Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy,” I quip. As we resume running, I’m suddenly feeling worse than I did before.” 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
Archives
January 2025
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed
