Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for FAMOUS IN A SMALLTOWN by Viola Shipman on this HTP Books Summer 2023 Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
Fried Green Tomatoes meets Midnight at the Blackbird Café in USA Today bestselling author Viola Shipman’s FAMOUS IN A SMALL TOWN, a heartwarming story about intergenerational friendship and self-discovery, set in beautiful Northern Michigan.
In 1958, 15-year-old Mary Jackson became the first woman ever crowned The Cherry Pit Spittin’ Champion of Good Hart, Michigan, landing her in the Guinness Book of World Records, and earning her the nickname Cherry Mary. Nearly 80 years old at the story’s start, Mary runs The Very Cherry General Store, a business that has been passed through three generations of women in the family. While there is no female next of kin, Mary believes the fourth is fated to arrive, as predicted by “Fata Morgana,” a Lake Michigan mirage of four women walking side by side.
Becky Thatcher (yes, like the Mark Twain character), an Assistant Principal from St. Louis, has just broken up with her long-term boyfriend and heads to Good Hart for a healing girl’s trip with her best friend. When Becky drunkenly spits a cherry pit an impressive distance, Mary urges her to enter the upcoming contest, and wonders if Becky could be the woman she’s been waiting for.
Bursting with memorable characters and small-town lore, FAMOUS IN A SMALL TOWN is a magical story about the family you’re born with, and the one you choose.
FAMOUS IN A SMALL TOWN by Viola Shipman is a wonderful women’s fiction story with romantic elements that is full of Michigan summertime vacation nostalgia, generational family drama, the bonds of friendship, and the discovery and belief in the power of women all delivered with a cherry on top. This is the perfect summertime read, especially if you are a fan of all things tart cherry.
Mary Jackson became “Cherry Mary” as a girl of fifteen when she won the cherry pit spitting distance contest in her small hometown of Good Hart, not only beating all the men, but also obtaining the Guinness World Record. Sixty-five years later, she is now eighty years old, still undefeated and runs her family’s Very Cherry General Store and waits for the girl she was told in her visions would come to carry on.
Becky Thatcher has turned forty and feels stuck in a monotonous life, with nothing to show for it. She and her best friend, “Q” take off for a vacation in Good Hart to relive the fun childhood holidays she remembers with her grandparents. When Becky spits a cherry pit, Mary witnesses the record breaker and believes Becky is the girl she has been waiting for. While not the vacation she was expecting, Becky works under Mary’s wing and soon discovers peace and beauty in the small town and the belief that Mary may be right, and this is where she is meant to be.
Enchanting, emotional, and memorable characters and landscapes are all present in this story. It is summertime memories, trips with grandparents, small town nostalgia all intertwined with everything tart cherry. The strength and power of women is a recurring theme throughout. The sweet romance is a relatively small subplot in this story, but it is relevant to both main characters. I feel this is the perfect summertime read and I loved it.
I highly recommend this very cherry women’s fiction!
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Excerpt
THE LAKE EFFECT EXPRESS
August 1958
“Good News from Good Hart!”
by Shirley Ann Potter
It was the spit heard ’round the world!
Our town is still atwitter over the news that the daughter of Mr. Peter Jackson was crowned the 35th Annual Cherry Pit Spittin’ Champion of Leelanau and Emmet County last Saturday. Fifteen-year-old Mary Jackson, an Emmet County high-school sophomore, was not only the first woman—uh, girl—to win the contest, but her stone flew a Guinness Book of World Records–breaking distance of ninety-three feet six-and-a-half inches, shattering the previous record set by “Too Tall” Fred Jones in 1898 at the state’s very first Cherry Championship right here in Good Hart.
News of her accomplishment has flown farther than her cherry pit, with reporters from as far away as New York and London anointing our town sprite with the moniker “Cherry Mary.”
I caught up with Mary at the Very Cherry General Store—our beloved post office/grocery store/sandwich-
and-soda-shop run by Mary’s mother and grandmother—to see how she managed such a Herculean feat.
“My mom taught me to whistle when I was a kid (“A kid!” Don’t you just love that, readers?), and I had to be loud enough for her to hear me when she was down at the lake. I think that made my lips strong,” Mary says. “And I started eating sunflower seeds when I was fishing on the boat with my grandma. She taught me how to spit them without having the wind blow them back in the boat.”
Mary says she practiced for the contest by standing in the middle of M-119—the road that houses our beautiful Tunnel of Trees—and spitting stones into the wind when a storm was brewing on Lake Michigan.
“I knew if I could make it a far piece into the wind, I could do it when it was still.”
While her grandmother was “over the moon” for Mary’s feat, saying, “It’s about time,” Mr. Jackson says of his daughter’s accomplishment, “It’s certainly unusual for a girl, but Mary isn’t your average girl. Maybe all this got it out of her system, so to speak. I hope so for her sake.”
The plucky teenager seems nonplussed by the attention, despite seeing her face all over northern Michigan in the papers and the T-shirts featuring her face—cheeks puffed, stone leaving her mouth—and the words Cherry Mary in bright red over the image.
“A girl can do anything a man can,” Mary says in between retrieving mail, spreading mayonnaise on a tomato sandwich and twirling a cherry around in her mouth, before perfectly depositing the stone in a trash can across the room. “You just gotta believe you can. That’s the hard part. Harder than spitting any old pit.”
Mary seems ready to conquer the world, readers. Cheers, Cherry Mary! Our hometown heroine!
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BECKY
June 2023
“Okay, Benjie, would you like it if Ashley did this to you?”
He scrunches up his face to stave off tears and shakes his head. “No.”
“Well, it’s not a nice thing to do.”
I study Ashley’s hair, then take her face in my hands. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me?”
The little girl nods her head. I give her a hug.
I walk over to my desk and open the bottom drawer . There is a large jar of creamy peanut butter sitting next to a bag of mini Snickers. The peanut butter is for emergencies like this: removing gum from a little girls’ hair. The Snickers are for me after I’m finished with this life lesson.
“Well, I’m just glad neither of you are allergic to peanuts,” I say. “Allows me to do this.”
I cover the gum stuck in the back of Ashley’s pretty, long, blond hair and then look at her.
“I promise this works,” I say. “I’ve performed a lot of gum surgery.”
She nods. Her eyes are red from crying, her cheeks blotchy.
“Why did you do this, Benjie?” I ask the little boy seated in the chair before my desk.
He ducks his head sheepishly, his brown bangs falling into his eyes, and murmurs something into his chest.
“I didn’t catch that,” I say. “What did you say? Remember it’s okay to express your emotions.”
He looks at me, freckles twitching on his cheeks. “I can’t say,” he whispers.
“Yes, you can,” I say. “Don’t make this any worse than it already is.”
Benjie glances toward the door to ensure that it is closed. “Tyler Evans told me to do it or he’d punch me on the way home.”
Being a grade-school administrator is akin to being a detective: you have to work the perp to get the truth. Eventually—no matter the age—they break, especially when a verdict on punishment is waiting in the balance.
It’s the last day of school. Benjie does not want his summer to be ruined.
I lean down and slide the gum out of Ashley’s hair. I go to my sink, dampen a cloth and put some dish soap on it, return and clean the rest of the peanut butter off her locks. I move to a tall filing cabinet and retrieve a clean brush. The filing cabinet is filled with bags of sealed brushes and combs, toothbrushes and EpiPens, certificates and old laptops. I run the brush through her hair. I hold up a mirror for her to see the back of her head.
“See, good as new.”
“What do you say to Ashley, Benjie?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you accept his apology?”
Ashley shakes her head no. “You ruined the last day of school. You’re a big ol’ meanie.”
“Ashley,” I say, my tone sweet but authoritarian.
“I accept your apology,” she says.
“You’re free to go,” I say to her.
“But you’re still a big ol’ poop head,” she says, racing out of my office, bubblegum-free hair bouncing.
I actually have to clench my hands very hard to stifle a laugh.
Big ol’ poop head.
How many times a day would I—would any adult—like to scream that at someone?
“Are you telling my parents?” Benjie asks.
“I have to,” I say, “but I’ll tell them why you did it, and then I’ll have a talk with Tyler.”
“No!”
“I have to do that, too,” I explain. “And I’ll talk to his parents as well.”
He looks at me, his chin quivering.
“We have a zero-tolerance policy here for bullying,” I say. “Trust me, Tyler won’t do it again. You have to stand up to bullies. You have to show them the right way to do things. Otherwise, they never change.”
In addition to being a detective, an assistant principal is also akin to being the vice-president of the United States. Everyone knows your name, everyone knows you’ve achieved some level of status, but nobody really understands what the hell you do all day.
“I promise it will be okay,” I say. “Just promise me you won’t do it again. You’re a nice boy, Benjie. That’s a wonderful thing. Always remember that.”
“I promise.” He looks at me. “Can I go now?”
“One more thing. You know you aren’t supposed to bring gum to school.”
“I know. But one of the moms was handing it out before school.”
Mrs. Yates, I instantly know. She wants to be the cool mom. She’s Room Mom for 2A, and, Mrs. Trimbley, the Room Mom for 2B, told me that competing with her this year was like being a contestant in Squid Game.
Benjie continues. “It’s Bubble Yum. My favorite. My mom won’t let me have it because it’s bad for my teeth.”
Benjie opens his mouth and smiles. He resembles a jack-o’-lantern. He’s missing teeth here and there, willy-nilly, black holes where baby teeth once lived and adult teeth will soon reside.
Too late, I want to say to Benjie, but he won’t get my humor. Only my best friend, Q, understands it, and my grandparents who made me this way.
I think of how much I loved chewing gum as a kid.
“Do you have any more?”
“Am I going to get in trouble again?”
“No,” I say with a laugh.
He reaches into the pocket of his little jeans and hands me a piece of grape Bubble Yum.
My favorite.
“Do you know what my teacher used to say when I’d sneak gum into class?”
“You snuck gum into class?”
He stares at me with more admiration than if Albert Pujols from the St. Louis Cardinals suddenly appeared with an autographed baseball.
“I did,” I say. “It was about the only bad thing I ever did. My teacher used to hold out her hand in front of my desk and ask, ‘Did you bring enough gum to share with the whole class?’”
“Did you?” Benjie asks, wild-eyed.
“No,” I say. “That was the whole point. She wanted to embarrass me. And it always worked. Teachers just liked to say that.”
I take the gum from Benjie. “This is just between us, okay?”
He giggles and nods.
I pop the gum into my mouth. It’s even more insanely sweet and sugary and tastes even better than I remember. My taste buds explode. I chew, Benjie watching me with grand amusement, and then—looking out my window to make sure the coast is clear—blow a big bubble. A massive bubble, in fact. It expands until it’s the size of a small balloon. Benjie continues to watch me in silence as a child today might do today trying to figure out how to use a rotary phone. After a few moments, the flavor subsides.
“Want to learn a trick?” I ask.
“Yeah!”
“If you ever get caught chewing gum, don’t stick it in a nice girl’s hair or swallow it. Learn to do this.” I narrow my lips as if I’m going to whistle, puff my cheeks and spit my gum into the air as if Michael Jordan were draining a game-winning three-pointer as time expired. The purple gum arcs into the air and deposits directly into a trash can next to a low-slung sofa ten feet across my office.
Benjie pumps his fist and lifts his hand to high-five me.
VIOLA SHIPMAN is the pen name for internationally bestselling LGBTQIA author Wade Rouse. Wade is the author of fifteen books, which have been translated into 21 languages and sold over a million copies around the world. Wade chose his grandmother’s name, Viola Shipman, as a pen name to honor the working poor Ozarks seamstress whose sacrifices changed his family’s life and whose memory inspires his fiction. Wade’s books have been selected multiple times as Must-Reads by NBC’s Today Show, Michigan Notable Books of the Year and Indie Next Picks. He lives in Michigan and California, and hosts Wine & Words with Wade, A Literary Happy Hour, every Thursday.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for WHERE THE GRASSGROWS BLUE by Hope Gibbs on this AME Blog Tour.
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book description, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
How did you do research for your book?
Where the Grass Grows Blue is set in Kentucky, where I was born and raised, so I was comfortable with most topics—food, dialogue, and setting. But I did write in flashbacks and had to study pop culture during those decades so as to not get the year wrong. I also had to do some serious research into genetic diseases, as they are a plot point for my protagonist.
Which was the hardest character to write? The easiest?
The hardest to write by far was the main character, Penny. She is a complicated and sometimes frustrating character by design.
The easiest was Bradley, her love interest. I might have developed a literary crush on him while writing.
Where do you get inspiration for your stories?
I want to bring the charm of the South to a wider community of readers. It’s my goal to immerse them in the culture, food, and characters, so I look around my surroundings or dig back to my upbringing to find inspiration.
What advice would you give budding writers?
In the words of Nike, “Just do it!” You’ll never know unless you try. Of course, there are going to be bumps, sometimes mountains, along the way, but if you believe in yourself, your voice, and find the right support system, you can make it happen too.
Your book is set in Kentucky. Have you ever been there?
I was born and raised in the Bluegrass State. I still consider it home, though I’ve been gone for decades.
If you could put yourself as a character in your book, who would you be?
Penny’s best friend, Dakota. She is a truth-teller and doesn’t worry about what anyone thinks of her. She’s also fiercely loyal.
Do you have another profession besides writing?
I was a stay-at-home mother of five for twenty-five years. A few years ago, I started re-evaluating my life. At that point, it hit me. My children would soon be leaving for college. So I started “journaling” on a laptop. That lasted about a week before I noticed I wasn’t writing about my feelings or goals—I was creating a character. Now that my children are grown, I’m writing full-time. But that’s only one part of my “writing life.” I’m also a tour guide for Bookish Road Trip, an upbeat community of book lovers, authors, and bibliophiles. You can find them on Facebook, Instagram, and on their website. I’m in charge of the Author Take the Wheel program.
How long have you been writing?
I started about five years ago. It’s been a wonderful creative outlet.
Do you ever get writer’s block? What helps you overcome it?
Of course. Music has been a huge part of my creative process. It really inspires me and allows my mind to go places, creating new worlds. Also, running and exercise helps. Some of my best ideas happen when I work out.
What is your next project?
I’m almost finished with my second book, Ashes to Ashes. It’s an upmarket fiction book, set in the South, of course, that focuses on a tight-knit group of women whose world is rocked after the unexpected death of their dear friend, Ellen, under mysterious circumstances. But before they can even process their grief, they stumble across a web of secrets and lies, unraveling Ellen’s perfect life—the one she tried so hard to project to the outside world. Now they must rely on each other to find out who the real Ellen Foster was while grappling with the idea that they never really knew her at all.
What genre do you write in?
Women’s fiction and contemporary romance. But my third book will be historical fiction because it’s set in the early 1970s. I don’t want to be boxed into one genre.
What is the last great book you’ve read?
On Gin Lane by Brooke Lea Foster. I can’t tell you how much I loved that book.
What is a favorite compliment you have received on your writing?
“The author’s writing was like paint on a canvas, creating a vibrant picture of life in Kentucky, so much so that I was easily transported there.” Reader Views review.
If your book were made into a movie, who would star in the leading roles?
This is fun! Because it has dual timelines (flashbacks to the 70s and 80s and a “current” timeline set in 2009), I would have to cast young and older actors.
For the adult Penny, Elizabeth Olsen would be the perfect choice and for the younger version, circa 1985–89, it would absolutely be Sadie Sink. The adult Bradley? It’s Henry Cavill all the way with Tanner Buchanan taking the younger role.
As for Ruby Ray, Penny’s beloved grandmother, she would be played by Laura Dern (in the 1970s flashback) and Diane Ladd as the older Ruby Ray. They are two of my favorite actresses of all time and they are mother and daughter.
And finally, Dakota, Penny’s best friend with a salty tongue, would be played by Rashida Jones while Margo Martindale would make a fine Miss Paulette, Camden, Kentucky’s premier town gossip.
Maybe I should be a casting agent!
If your book were made into a movie, what songs would be on the soundtrack?
It’s funny you should ask. I literally made a playlist for this book as I was writing it. Whenever I was in the car or exercising, I listened to it over and over again.
Name by Goo Goo Dolls
American Girl by Tom Petty
Heaven by Brian Adams
When the Roll is Called Up Yonder by Johnny Cash
Cruel Summer by Bananarama
Let It Be Me by Ray LaMontagne
Feels Like Home by Edwina Hayes
The Promise by Tracy Chapman
Fix You by Coldplay
All That You Are by Goo Goo Dolls
What were the biggest rewards and challenges with writing your book?
The biggest challenge was deciding where to start. To be honest with you, I had no idea what I was doing. I spent about three and a half years writing, rewriting, and editing my novel, Where the Grass Grows Blue completely by myself. This was the first book I had ever written, so there was a lot of trial and error involved.
What is one piece of advice you would give to an aspiring author?
Write, write, write. It’s the only way to get better. Also, I suggest joining writing groups. I’m a member of the WFWA (Women’s Fiction Writers Association). It’s been a wealth of knowledge and has connected me to so many authors and aspiring writers, who are the most generous people on the planet with their time and advice.
Which authors inspired you to write?
Elin Hilderbrand. She’s the reason I started writing in the first place. I adore her. I even traveled to Nantucket last fall with a group of girlfriends to have the Elin “experience.” It was an absolute blast, plus I met her! On my website, you can find a blog post I wrote about that trip.
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Book Description
Penny Crenshaw’s divorce and her husband’s swift remarriage to a much younger woman have been hot topics around Atlanta’s social circles. After a year of enduring the cruel gossip, Penny leaps from the frying pan into the fire by heading back to Kentucky to settle her grandmother’s estate.
Reluctantly, Penny travels to her hometown of Camden, knowing she will be stirring up all the ghosts from her turbulent childhood. But not all her problems stem from a dysfunctional family. One of Penny’s greatest sources of pain lives just down the street: Bradley Hitchens, her childhood best friend, the keeper of her darkest secrets, and the boy who shattered her heart.
As Penny struggles with sorting through her grandmother’s house and her own memories, a colorful group of friends drifts back into her life, reminding her of the unique warmth, fellowship, and romance that only the Bluegrass state can provide. Now that fate has forced Penny back, she must either let go of the scars of her past or risk losing a second chance at love. Can she learn to live an unbridled life?
WHERE THE GRASS GROWS BLUE by Hope Gibbs is a heartfelt, enchanting, and beautiful Southern women’s fiction/romance story that I found impossible to put down. This is one woman’s journey that will resonate in part or in total with so many real-life women’s stories.
Penny Crenshaw is far from her poor and emotionally fraught upbringing in Kentucky and is a happy housewife and mother in affluent Atlanta until she discovers not only is her husband having an affair, but he is divorcing her for a much younger woman. Even with their divorce, her husband still controls Penny’s life.
When he takes their three boys on an extended African vacation with his new wife, Penny returns to her small hometown of Camden, Kentucky to get the house her grandmother left her ready for sale. Penny knows the memories will be difficult, but she still has relatives and friends to help. The one person she is determined to avoid is Dr. Bradley Hitchens. He was her best friend, keeper of her most emotionally shattering secret, and the one who shattered her heart.
With Southern comfort and grace, Penny will struggle with her past, find comfort in old friends and relations, and learn to live without fear for a second chance at a soul deep love.
This is an emotional roller-coaster of women’s fiction/romance with exceptionally crafted characters. I love Penny and Bradley’s second chance romance. Penny is discovering sometimes you just cannot outrun your past; you must return and face it head on to move forward. Penny’s journey is written intertwined with exquisitely descriptive small town Southern cuisine, gardening, church, supportive relatives and friends to interfering gossiping busybodies. This is a story and characters that I will be thinking about for quite some time.
I highly recommend this wonderful story!
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Author Bio
Hope Gibbs grew up in rural Scottsville, Kentucky. As the daughter of an English teacher, she was raised to value the importance of good storytelling from an early age. Today, she’s an avid reader of women’s fiction. Drawn to multi-generational family sagas, relationship issues, and the complexities of being a woman, she translates those themes into her own writing.
Hope lives in Tennessee with her husband and her persnickety Shih Tzu, Harley. She is also the mother of five. In her downtime, she loves playing tennis, poring over old church cookbooks, singing karaoke, curling up on her favorite chair with a book, and playing board games.
Hope has a B.A. from Western Kentucky University and is a member of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE TORCHING (Olivia Callahan Suspense Book #3) by Kerry Peresta on this Partners In Crime Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Mysterious fires. A haunting past. A secret file.
Three years ago, Olivia Callahan endured an assault that resulted in a devastating brain injury. She survived, but she couldn’t remember anything about her life or who she was. Now, she’s determined to build a bridge between the past she lost and the life she must reclaim.
When Olivia crosses paths with PI Tom Stark, she is drawn to the investigative field, and becomes his intern. She finds a heavily redacted, forty-five-year-old file locked in his desk drawer that mentions her mother as a young woman. Why had her mentor hidden the file from her, and why had he never mentioned a case involving her mother?
As Olivia moves forward with her fledgling career, a string of mysterious fires moves through the community, puzzling the Baltimore Arson Investigative Unit. One of the fires strikes Olivia’s beloved farmhouse in rural Maryland. Now, in addition to uncovering the secrets bound within the redacted file, she becomes convinced that the fires happening around the area are disturbing calling cards…and they’re meant for her.
Genre: Traditional mystery or Suspense Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: March 2023 Number of Pages: 323 ISBN: 978-1-68512-323-9 Series: The Olivia Callahan Suspense series, 3 | Each is a Stand Alone Novel
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
THE TORCHING (Olivia Callahan Suspense Book #3) by Kerry Peresta is a suspense filled P.I. mystery featuring Olivia Callahan who is three years out from a traumatic brain injury. This is the third book in the series, but it can be read as a standalone book. The Torching features her working in her new profession as a P.I., while the previous two books, The Awakening and The Rising while suspense/thrillers also are focused on her recovery and the rebuilding of her life as she works to discover who harmed her.
With the passing of her P.I. mentor, Tom Stark, Olivia discovers a 45-year-old redacted file that mentions her mother’s name. Her mother has never mentioned any past connection to Tom or Tom to her.
Even as she works to discover the secrets from the old file, she is the victim of arson. Several more fires are set in her community and after the fires, she receives a bouquet of flowers from someone with ties to the on-line Facebook group who follow her because of her fame.
Arson, political corruption, family secrets, obsession and murder all come together in this mystery.
I enjoyed the continuing evolution of Oliva, both personally and professionally. I feel all the characters are fully fleshed and believable, but I have read the previous two books and it does make it slightly easier to keep track of all the family and friends. I am a dog lover and love the addition of Marlowe, Olivia’s rescue dog. There are several mysteries all intertwined with surprising plot twists and gripping suspense.
This is an engaging addition to the series, and I am looking forward to seeing where the author takes Olivia next.
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Excerpt
Smoke assailed us halfway up my long, winding, driveway. A dingy, gray film coated my windshield. I jabbed the brake to slow down, but my trembling foot slipped off the brake. Lilly gave me a look that broke my heart.
The surging, ballooning smoke hurled itself at us like angry fog. Visibility fell to near-zero the longer I drove. I slowed to a crawl. We inched along the lane until the strobing white-and-red lights cut through the smoke. I counted two fire engines and one black SUV on the lane as I approached. A couple of firefighters raced into my house. My door lay on the porch in three pieces, and an axe was propped against the wall. Each firefighter wore oxygen tanks attached to large, anteater-shaped masks. With their cumbersome, reflective-striped protective gear and masks, they looked more suited to step on the moon than inside my beloved Maryland farmhouse.
I brought my car to a shuddering halt.
We stepped out. I put my arm around Lilly.
Vaporous clouds of smoke cloaked my house. A couple of firefighters worked with giant, yellow firehoses. The men had divided themselves into teams, and the muted shouts told me some of them were behind the house. Flames leapt toward the sky from the backside of the roof. I counted six firefighters working on the house that I could see—plus the ones in the back. Tears trickled down my cheeks, and a terrifying thought struck—what about my cat?
“Lilly,” I said, my voice shaky, “Where was Riot when you last saw him?”
Lily’s face went white. “Mom…”
I grabbed her by the shoulders. “No, no…Riot’s smart. He will have found safety. I’ll find him. Stay here.”
I ran across the yard to a woman dressed in navy slacks and a white shirt with metal glinting on the front and official-looking patches on the arms. “I’m the owner,” I yelled over the whump of igniting flames, batting my way through smoke.
She shook my hand and identified herself as the public information officer. “Sorry to meet under these circumstances, but glad you were out of the home. We have it controlled. The team inside is checking to make sure it was contained. As far as we can tell, the seat of the fire is in the attic. Give us thirty minutes, okay? But ma’am, I’ll need you to stay back. Our investigator will be here soon. She’ll let you know when it’s safe to go inside.”
“My cat’s in there,” I yelled. “Can you have someone look for him?”
She spoke into a radio.
The smoke started to let up. Three hoses trained on the roof gushed out torrents of water. The huge flames stretching into the sky began to shrink. Radio chatter stuttered around the space. The firefighters stayed in constant contact, radios slung across their chests with a strap that held a mic.
These guys would not know where to look for Riot.
With an apologetic glance at Lilly, I skirted around the trucks, avoided the PIO, and dashed across the yard, up the front porch stairs, and into the house.
“MOM,” Lilly wailed through the billowy smoke.
Coughing, I ran inside. “Riot,” I screamed. “Riot, I’m here, buddy.”
I looked behind the couch. Underneath the dining room table. On top of his cat tree. Underneath the wingback chair. He wasn’t in any of his favorite spots. I plowed through the murkiness and melting sheetrock.
A bullhorn blared, “Ma’am. We need you to exit the building.” “Now!”
My throat was closing. My eyes stung like crazy. I needed to find him and get the heck out.
I scrambled into the kitchen and opened the lower cupboards, then the uppers. Searched the seats of the barstools, underneath the kitchen table. My heart thrashed like a wrecking ball in my chest. “Riot? I’m here, boy. Come on out,” I begged. A timid sound reached my ears. I waited. I heard it again, louder.
A shaggy, orange head appeared on top of the cabinets. I climbed up, grabbed him, and raced out the back door. The backyard firefighter team made group gestures that I interpreted as ‘get the hell out of here and let us do our job, ma’am’.
I zigzagged through the first responder obstacle course to my car, blinded by the strobing lights. Lilly spurted fresh tears and held out her arms for Riot. We watched in silence as the flames soared into the sky. After a while, we heard less commotion from the firefighters and the smoke around us grew white and wispy.
A very red-faced PIO barreled toward me. “I need you to stay out of the house until our investigator has completed the investigation.”
I wiped my sooty hands on my pants. “Your guys wouldn’t have found my cat. Riot would have been scared to death by the way they look. I didn’t have a choice.”
She told me the fire investigator had arrived, and under no circumstances was I to enter the home without her permission.
Lilly held Riot tight against her chest.
“Thought you hated this cat,” I joked.
“Whatever, Mom,” she said.
A small, thickset, woman with short hair approached.
“Mrs. Callahan?”
“It’s Ms. I’m the owner.”
“Good news, Ms. Callahan. The rear quadrant of the roof and attic sustained most of the damage. The firefighters are checking the ceiling of the second floor now, for hot spots. I think you got lucky.”
“It didn’t spread?”
She smiled her assurances. “They’re going to clean up here and have a final look around. They’ll let me know when it’s safe to go in.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m Tasha Jackson, fire investigator. I work with these goofballs.” She grinned.
I shook her hand.
In the background, firefighters wrapped hoses. A couple of them worked the hydrant. Another walked the perimeter of my home. Instead of the burble of radios, most of them had ditched the headgear. A man got out of the black SUV and strode toward the PIO. After a few minutes of speaking with her, he approached me. He introduced himself as the Battalion Chief, told me he was sorry the fire had interrupted such an important occasion, and if there was anything they could do…to call the PIO. She wiggled her fingers at me, then went to talk to the camera crews and TV reporters that had crashed the scene. His expression somber, the Battalion Chief handed me his business card.
“If you need them, Red Cross services are available for three nights at a local motel and $600 gift cards for each displaced person. Please contact your insurance company immediately, they’ll do their own investigation.”
I gave him a blank look and took his card.
“Our investigator will talk about next steps, and ask you some questions to complete her report. Please remember not to go inside the area of damage alone, Ms. Callahan. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
With a sigh, I glanced over my shoulder toward my compact, office on the corner of Worthington Avenue and my property. I could stay in the office guest bedroom, and Lilly could stay at my neighbor’s house. “Yeah. We do. Is the…do you think the bedrooms in my house are okay? Can we get some clothes?”
He yelled a couple of names and asked them to check. They walked toward my house. The porch that stretched across the front of my house looked as if someone couldn’t decide whether to drown it or blow it up.
The public information officer waved off the reporters as she walked in my direction. One of the firefighters stared at me so long it became uncomfortable. I groaned. Was he one of them? A cult fan of the ‘Mercy’s Miracle’ persona? Why had I thought it was a good idea to write a book? After the publisher’s marketing department flew me all over the country for publicity events, the book hit the bestseller list and stayed there. The story of my survival and struggle to re-create my life had developed a rabid following.
I gave the firefighter a hard stare. He dropped his gaze. Reporters screamed questions at me from a distance. The PIO did her best to keep them under control.
I longed for a normal life.
My mind flew back. I closed my eyes, remembering.
The first few days, waking up in the hospital panicked and breathless and unable to move; the second week, when I’d begun to see flickers of light, the third week, when my fingers twitched and hope sprang to life. Neurology interns stealing in and out of my room at odd hours to see the ‘miracle’ restoration. I remembered my daughters’ first visits and the terrified looks on their faces when they realized I didn’t remember them. The fourth and fifth weeks, when physical therapists did everything they could to help restore my mobility and speech.
I could still visualize the reporters closing in on me. Waving their microphones in my face before I could even form a coherent sentence. I remembered watching my mom herding my daughters to my room on the fifth floor of the hospital, and the television crews that formed a tight knot around them as they made their way to the entrance of the hospital.
My youngest daughter had burst into my hospital room with an excited smile. “Reporters are dying to talk to you, Mom! Get ready.”
I rubbed my eyes and sighed.
Reporters were a plague to be avoided, now.
“Olivia? Are you okay?” The PIO looked at me in concern. I blinked. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m okay.”
She held out her cell. “Create contact info for me?”
I entered my number, and my neighbor Callie’s, for good measure. The two firefighters that had inspected the bedrooms returned with a thumbs-up. “Bedrooms look good. Stairs are intact.”
The PIO smiled at me, tilted her head toward the reporters. “I didn’t realize you were that Olivia Callahan.”
I attempted a smile. She was trying to be nice. She had no idea that I hated the notoriety.
She handed me her card. “If you need anything. I mean it.” She left.
Lilly put her hand on my shoulder. “Mom? Everybody’s leaving. Now what?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. How do I accept this new reality?
***
Author Bio
Kerry Peresta is the author of the Olivia Callahan Suspense series. “The Torching,” book three, releases March, 2023, and books four and five in 2024 and 2025. Her standalone suspense thriller, “Back Before Dawn,” releases May, 2023. Additional writing credits include a popular newspaper and e-zine humor column, “The Lighter Side,” (2009—2011); the short story “The Day the Migraine Died,” published in Rock, Roll, and Ruin: A Triangle Sisters in Crime Anthology, articles published in Local Life Magazine, The Bluffton Breeze, Lady Lowcountry, and Island Events Magazine. She is past chapter president of the Maryland Writers’ Association and a current member and presenter of the Pat Conroy Literary Center, Hilton Head Island Writers’ Network, South Carolina Writers Association, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. Kerry is the mother of four adult children, and spent thirty years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, copywriter, and editor. When she’s not writing, you’ll find her working out, riding her bike or kayaking, enjoying the beaches of Hilton Head Island, or cuddling her two cats, Agnes and Felix. She and her husband moved to Hilton Head Island in 2015.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE BOYFRIENDCANDIDATE by Ashley Winstead on this Summer 2023 HTP Books Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
As a shy school librarian, Alexis Stone is comfortable keeping out of the spotlight. But when she’s dumped for being too meek—in bed!—she decides she needs to change. And what better way to kick-start her new more adventurous life than with her first one-night stand?
Enter Logan, the gorgeous, foul-mouthed stranger she meets at a hotel bar. Audacious and filterless, Logan is Alexis’s opposite—and boy, do opposites attract! Just as she’s about to fulfill her hookup wish, the hotel catches fire in a freak lightning storm. In their rush to escape, Logan is discovered carrying her into the street, where people are waiting with cameras. Cameras Logan promptly—and shockingly—flees.
Alexis is bewildered until suddenly pictures of her and Logan escaping the fire are all over the internet. Turns out Logan is none other than Logan Arthur, the hotshot candidate challenging the Texas governor’s seat. The salacious scandal is poised to sink his career—and jeopardize Alexis’s job—until a solution is proposed: he and Alexis could pretend to be in a relationship until election day…in two months. What could possibly go wrong?
THE BOYFRIEND CANDIDATE by Ashley Winstead is an absolute treat of a fake romance/rom-com contemporary romance featuring a shy, book loving school librarian and a foul-mouthed, audacious politician running for office. Opposites attract in this slow burn fake romance.
Alexis Stone has always preferred books over people and has a job she loves as a school librarian. When her boyfriend cheats on her for a second time and blames her, she is determined to change her life. She gets dressed up and goes out looking for a one-night stand. When she is hit on by an obnoxious drunk, the gorgeous man next to her at the bar rescues her.
Logan Arthur just wants some down time and stops for a drink after work in the bar by his office. He stands up to the obnoxious man hitting on the woman next him at the bar and finds he loves listening to her stories. As they go to leave, both find they want each other. But when a lightening strike starts a fire in the hotel, they find themselves outside, half dressed, and Logan takes off, leaving Alexis when the photographers start taking pictures.
Logan is single and running for Governor and the scandal of coming out of a hotel with a woman brings up his playboy history, so his campaign finds Alexis and proposes a fake relationship just until the election in two months.
I really loved the opposites attract dynamic between Alexis and Logan. They both learned from each other how to be bold and when to hold back, while both were trying to get beyond being hurt by others in the past. While there is plenty of romance, it is a slow burn with a love triangle thrown in three quarters of the way through the story. I felt the entire romance plot moved at a believable pace with no sex scenes until almost the end of the story, but plenty of chemistry between the H/h. The election and campaign issues added interest to the overall story, also. All the characters are fully fleshed and believable. This is an overall enjoyable read with fun characters, dialogue, and plot.
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Excerpt
Alexis Stone Is Not a Mouse
I’LL SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT MY EX CHRIS TUTTLE: the man was the entire reason I was here, standing at the entrance to the sultry Fleur de Lis hotel bar, wearing a red dress so plunging I kept it in the back of my closet for fear of scandalizing visitors, on the verge of reinventing myself. The memory of Chris and the still-fresh psychic wounds he’d left me were like a marching drum line urging me forward as I’d left my apartment, Ubered downtown to the Fleur de Lis, and cut a determined path across the lobby to the bar, a place with a reputation as Austin’s Grand Central Station of hookups. Unfortunately, now that I was standing at the entrance, the sight of all the laughing, drinking, dazzling people—dressed to the nines like me, but looking much more at ease about it—had me momentarily cowed.
I thought back to what Chris said the day I discovered he was cheating on me (for the second time): “I do have needs you can’t satisfy. You should really learn to be more adventurous in bed, Lex. You’re like a timid little mouse. It can get really boring.” Remembering those words, I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. I was not a boring mouse—or at least I wouldn’t be one anymore. Starting tonight, I was going to be a new version of Alexis Stone: as bold and adventurous as my flaming-red dress.
I tried to soak in the beauty of the bar while beelining through the crowded tables, anxious to leave the peculiar spotlight of being the only person standing among a bunch of cozy, seated people. But then I realized new Alexis wouldn’t care if everyone’s eyes flitted to her as she walked across a room—in fact, new Alexis would welcome it, because she’d spent nearly an hour straightening and then recurling her hair into movie star ringlets, and maybe that effort should be appreciated. I forced myself to slow and look up at the bar’s gorgeous glass ceiling, shaded a twinkly blue thanks to the night sky. Real palm trees lined the circular perimeter, fronds reaching toward the stars. They made the bar look like a very urbane urban jungle, which actually wasn’t too far off the mark.
My older sister, Lee, and her friends liked to roll their eyes at the entire downtown bar scene, calling places like the Fleur de Lis “meat markets where you go to spend thirty-five bucks on a martini while beating back horny yuppies” (Lee’s words). They preferred the hipster bars on the east side of Austin, where the clientele was cooler yet dirtier (my words). I thought the Fleur de Lis was romantic, so it made sense to come here tonight for my critical but one hundred percent private mission: I, Alexis Rosalie Stone, was going to have my first one-night stand. I was going to sleep with a man with no strings attached, no stakes or expectations: just one night to do whatever felt right. Alexis the unadventurous bore? I’d killed her and buried the body.
The gleaming brass bar was crowded, but I managed to slip a shoulder between two men and catch the bartender’s attention. “Vodka martini,” I said, feeling a sudden rebellious compulsion to do anything that would raise my sister’s eyebrows. By the time my drink came, I’d completed a full three-sixty swivel in my barstool to survey the sea of men for potential candidates. How exactly did one negotiate a one-night stand? Did you lead with it in conversation so all your cards were on the table (“Hi, I’m Alexis; you might be interested to know I’m trolling for a stranger to ravish me”), or did you hold back, let your intention slip out at just the right moment (“I see you’re ordering an Uber home; could I interest you in going splitsies back to my place for a wild night of sex”)?
I braced a hand on the bar, taking a fortifying sip of my martini. Even if I made a complete fool of myself tonight—even if I was roundly rejected by every man I spoke to—coming here alone at least meant Lee and her crew couldn’t witness my flop, then use it to skewer me for all eternity like the jackals they were.
A whistle cut through the bar’s ambient noise, followed by a loud, “Now that’s a dress.” Out of nowhere, a man appeared and sidled up beside me. One look at him and my mind blurted forehead! Probably because his was shiny as a disco ball, framed by waggling eyebrows, and tilted all the way to the side. The next second, I realized his head was turned that way so he could get a clear view down my dress.
“Thanks.” I placed a protective hand over my chest and swiveled in the opposite direction. Hoping my body language would signal my disinterest, I took another sip of my martini and studied the empty corner of the room like it was fascinating.
No such luck. “I’m Carter Randall,” the man said, jutting out his hand. “What’s your name?”
My deep desire for him to go away warred with my silly lifelong compulsion to be nice. “Um…” I twisted back to shake his oddly moist hand and searched for inspiration. My gaze snagged, as his clearly had, on my dress. “Ruby…” The next word came unbidden. “Dangerfield. Ruby Dangerfield.” Curse my polite hardwiring that had me sitting here inventing a new name instead of dismissing him with something cool and clipped like, “Not interested.”
Carter gave my hand a little squeeze. He was twice my age, probably well into his fifties. Well-dressed, with a massive gold watch on his wrist, and—now that I squinted—a strangely sweaty face, like he’d just done a lap. Was he on party drugs? He used his sleeve to mop his forehead and I pulled my hand away, resisting the urge to wipe it on my dress. Carter’s eyes drifted down the length of my body yet again. “Well, Ms. Ruby. Can I buy you a drink? A stiff one?” He grinned.
“Oh,” I said. “That’s very nice. But—um—no thank you.” Inside, I burned with the fire of a thousand suns. Saying no to anyone, even a stranger, stretched the limits of my bravery.
“Aw, come on.” Carter leaned in closer and I scooted back so fast I nearly tipped over. “Look at you, sitting there in that dress. Clearly fishing for attention. Well, you caught me. Let’s get you drunk and see what happens.”
Apparently, I was going to get a lesson in how not to proposition someone tonight. But my cheeks were burning, because in a small way Carter was right—I had come here to put myself on display and find someone, just very much not him. Be the new Alexis, I urged myself. Stop prioritizing this stranger’s feelings and tell him to leave you alone. But I couldn’t—at the slightest provocation, old, sad, doormat Alexis had quickly jumped back in charge.
“I’m not trying to be rude,” I said carefully, feeling my heartbeat spike. “I would just like to be by myself tonight.” Well, shoot. Now that I’d committed to that, would I have to leave the bar so Carter didn’t catch me talking to anyone else later? My palms started sweating.
“One drink—” he started.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” came a voice, tinged with an accent I couldn’t place—British mixed with Texas panhandle? I nearly knocked over my martini. “She said no, mate. Get it through your thick skull and leave the poor woman alone.”
Carter spun to get a look at the man who’d interrupted us, and without his body blocking the view, I got a clear line, too. My stomach flipped over and released a conservatory’s worth of butterflies. Even wearing a look of contempt, the man on the other side of Carter was stop-in-your-tracks, tongue-tyingly handsome. He was around my age, maybe a little older—he certainly radiated an older person’s authority—with a head of dark curls cut close and tight, brown eyes that were currently blazing, and thick eyebrows arched, waiting to see how Carter would respond. He had on a dark suit like most of the other men in the room, but he’d taken off his jacket and hung it on the back of his seat. He was sitting hunched over his drink in a white dress shirt with the sleeves messily rolled back, wearing a dark slim watch that was the antithesis of Carter’s flashy gold one. The wrinkles in his suit, creases under his eyes, and day-old stubble gave the impression of a weary business executive after a long, hard day at work. His eyes flitted to mine for the briefest moment before returning to Carter, but the charge that ran down my spine was enough to root me to my chair.
Carter shifted his weight. Apparently, he was going to play the tough guy. “Why don’t you mind your business, pal?”
The beautiful, tired man rolled his eyes. “Oh, good. You’re one of those.” He got to his feet so fast his barstool made a screeching sound as it scraped across the floor. “Then let’s go ahead and get this over with, because I’ve had a shit day and I would like to kick your ass and get back home at a reasonable hour. So come on. You’re the one campaigning for Most Punchable Man in the Bar. Let’s have your prize.” The dark-haired man spoke calmly and quickly in his hard-to-place accent, like he invited people to get their asses kicked at least once a day. He made a little “come on” gesture that conveyed utter boredom.
People around us had stopped talking to watch. The extra attention only made me feel like I was going to melt into the floor at twice the speed. But if I had no idea how to respond to this turn of events—what to say or even where to put my hands—Carter was even more clueless. I could see his eyes dancing, doing quick calculations. On the one hand, Carter was thicker around the middle than the dark-haired man. On the other, the dark-haired man had revealed himself to be tall and well-built when he stood up.
“Nah, man.” Carter put his hands up. “We’ve got no problems. Just making new friends like you’re supposed to at a bar, for Christ’s sake.”
“Great,” said the dark-haired man. “Then kindly fuck off as suggested.”
Carter didn’t wait to be told a third time. As he hightailed away from the bar, a woman nearby muttered, “What a douche.” And with that judgment rendered, the room dialed back to a normal volume.
“Thank you,” I said to the dark-haired man. He waved me off with a grunt and settled back in his barstool, leaning comfortably over his drink, apparently hoping to resume his night like nothing had happened.
I stared at him. The adrenaline was draining out of my system, which left me feeling hollow. I should have been the one to tell Carter to fuck off. I should have had the guts, but instead I’d tiptoed around and this man had to step in and do it for me. How humiliating. It hit me like a ton of bricks: from the moment Carter arrived, I’d been unequivocally mousy. Exactly like Chris said.
Ashley Winstead’s 2021 breakout thriller, In My Dreams I Hold a Knife, was an Amazon Editor’s Best Thriller, an Apple Books Best Book of August, as well as a Library Journal, New York Times, CrimeReads, Parade, and Goodreads best or most anticipated thriller of the year. Her 2022 thriller, The Last Housewife, was a Library Reads pick, a Loan Star pick, an Amazon Editor’s Best Thriller, as well as a Cosmopolitan, Good Morning America, Good Housekeeping, Seattle Times, and Southern Review of Fiction best or most anticipated thriller of the year. Her 2022 romance debut, Fool Me Once, was an Amazon Editor’s Best Romance as well as a USA Today, PopSugar, New York Post, and Goodreads best or most anticipated romance of the year. Her work has been translated into more than a dozen languages and optioned for film/TV.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for OPAL (GEM Series, Book #1) by Freya Barker on this Buoni Amici Book Blitz.
Below you will find a book blurb, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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BookBlurb
GEM: A PRIVATELY-FUNDED ORGANIZATION OPERATING INDEPENDENTLY IN THE SEARCH FOR—AND THE RESCUE AND RECOVERY OF—MISSING AND EXPLOITED CHILDREN. ALTHOUGH, AT TIMES WORKING IN CONJUNCTION WITH LAW ENFORCEMENT, GEM AIMS TO ENSURE THE VICTIMS RECEIVE JUSTICE…BY WHATEVER MEANS NECESSARY.
GEM Operator Opal; multifaceted, versatile, a chameleon.
She hides in plain sight, adapts, and infiltrates.
When Opal goes undercover in a youth center several teenagers have disappeared from, she’s shocked to find a ghost of her own traumatic past at the helm. However, her worry for the missing kids is greater than her concern being recognized and she risks her own safety to discover the truth.
To complicate matters, a familiar FBI agent shows up conducting his own investigation and almost blows the whistle on her. It takes some doing to convince him to join forces with her but as it turns out, they work well together.
In the course of uncovering an organized group of child molesters, they find themselves falling—for each other.
OPAL (GEM Series, Book #1) by Freya Barker is an exciting and fast-paced first book in a new romantic suspense trilogy with each book featuring a female operative, Opal, Pearl, and Onyx from GEM. These three operatives share a traumatic past and are now working to locate, rescue and save missing and exploited children and teens without the constraints of working for a law enforcement agency.
Kate is GEM operative Opal and a master at blending into any type of environment and a master markswoman. She is back in Kentucky in the town from her own private nightmares to investigate the disappearance of the sheriff’s grandniece and several others from the community youth center.
FBI Agent Mitch Kenny is investigating the same case as Opal and as they cross paths, not only do they agree to a certain amount of cooperation, but there is an attraction between the two. As the investigation heats up, so does the danger, surprises, and romantic heat.
Ms. Barker never disappoints! Opal is a talented, intelligent, and strong GEM operative with a terrible past, but the horror also brought the three friends together. Mitch is a strong, dedicated, and caring FBI agent who is described by Opal as a “silver fox”. Ms. Barker does a great job of bringing them together under terrible circumstances at a believable pace with a few bumps in the road. Opal. Pearl, and Onyx are brought together by the mysterious Jacob Branch and while some of the childhood and teen exploitation scenes are tough to read about in spots, I kept occasionally smiling at other scenes because the set up with Jacob and the women reminds me of Charlie’s Angels, but the middle-aged edition. I really loved Opal and Mitch’s story, and I am looking forward to finding out who Pearl and Onyx are paired with.
I highly recommend this first gripping romantic suspense in the GEM trilogy!
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Author Bio
USA Today bestselling author Freya Barker loves writing about ordinary people with extraordinary stories.
With forty-plus books already published, she continues to create characters who are perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy. Recipient of the ReadFREE.ly 2019 Best Book We’ve Read All Year Award for “Covering Ollie, the 2015 RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for Best First Book, “Slim To None”, Finalist for the 2017 Kindle Book Award with “From Dust”, and Finalist for the 2020 Kindle Book Award with “When Hope Ends”, Freya spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LONER by Diana Palmer on this Spring 2023 HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
Tanner Everett spends most of his time jet-setting around the world. But that hasn’t stopped innocent Stasie Bolton, the daughter of a neighboring rancher, from falling head-over-heels for the jet-setting playboy. So Stasie is secretly thrilled when both her father proposes linking the properties in matrimony…which means Tanner will be hers, for good.
Despite his globetrotting ways, Tanner can’t help but be enthralled by the quiet girl next door. But as the embers between the two are fanned into flames, Tanner wonders if he’s found forever in the last place he ever expected.
Anastasia Bolton, nicknamed Stasia, was nineteen today. She looked at herself critically in her bedroom mirror, making a face at her lack of beauty. She had a pretty mouth and big, soft brown eyes. Her cheekbones were high, her ears small. She was only medium height, but her figure was perfect. She had elegant long legs, just right for riding horses, which she did, a lot. She’d done barrel racing when she was younger, but art had taken over her leisure hours. She painted beautifully.
She was named after a semi-fictional character in a movie her romantic late mother had loved, Anastasia, which starred Yul Brynner and Ingrid Bergman. Her mother had loved the movie and named her only child after the unforgettable heroine. Stasia lived with her father, Glenn Bolton, on a huge beef ranch in Branntville, Texas. Her last living grandparents, her dad’s parents, had died of a deadly virus the summer before her graduation from high school. Her mother had died tragically when Stasia was only thirteen. There was no other family left, just Stasia and Dad. They were close.
Glenn Bolton was only fifty years old, but he had a very bad heart and he was in the final stages of heart failure. It was treatable, but he hadn’t shared that knowledge with Stasia. He was terrified of the open-heart surgery treatment would require. He and the doctor had spoken privately the week before, and afterward, Glenn had been quieter than usual and he’d contacted his attorney. That had been a private conversation as well. Stasia worried about what was being discussed. She didn’t want to think about what her life would be like without him. She had no family except him.
Well, there were the Everetts, who lived next door to her father’s ranch on their own enormous ranch, the Big Spur. They were sort of like family, after all, since Stasia had known them all her life. Cole Everett and his youngest son, John, were frequent visitors. Glenn had the only groundwater suitable for ranching in the small community of Branntville, Texas. A river ran like a silver ribbon through his entire property, so he wasn’t dependent on wells for watering his cattle, as other ranchers were. He approved of Cole and John. He wanted more than anything to see his daughter settled with one of the Everett sons, but she was only in love with one of them—with Tanner, the eldest, who was the cookie-cutter design of the spoiled rich kid. Cole hadn’t spoiled Tanner. That had been his wife, Heather, a former singing star and current songwriter. Their firstborn had been the light of her life. He was twenty-five now, a strong, incredibly handsome young man with dark hair and pale blue eyes, almost silver like his father’s, and a Hollywood sort of physique. He liked variety in his women, but for the past year he’d had a girlfriend who enjoyed the jet-setting lifestyle that he favored.
Cole had given Tanner a Santa Gertrudis stud ranch that he’d bought when the owner went into a nursing home, hoping to settle down his wild son. It was a good property, adjoining his and the Bolton properties, but the water situation there was dire. There had been drought in the past year, and they’d had to drill wells to get enough water just to keep the livestock watered. The Bolton place had a river running through it, and many small streams that ran over into the Everetts’ holdings. However, that water didn’t belong to them so they were unable to divert it for any agricultural purposes.
For a long time, Cole had toyed with the idea of a merger with Glenn Bolton, but Glenn wouldn’t hear of it. He found all sorts of reasons for his stubborn attitude. Cole saw right through him. Stasia was still living at home, and she was in love with Tanner. The fly in the ointment was that Tanner didn’t like Stasia. He liked experienced, sophisticated women like Julienne Harper, his girlfriend. Tanner could have made an empire out of the ranch Cole had given him, but he wasn’t home enough. He and Julienne were always on the go somewhere. Skiing in Colorado, parties on somebody’s yacht off Monaco, summers in Nice. And so it went.
Stasia knew about Julienne. Everybody in Branntville did. It was a small community where gossip flourished. It was mostly kind gossip, because the people who lived there had known each other’s families for generations. Tanner was one of them. But Julienne, who was sarcastic and condescending, was an outsider, a city woman who’d alienated just about everyone she came into contact with.
Tanner had a couple, Juan and Minnie Martinez, who ran the house and managed the ranch for him while he played around the world. They’d just threatened to quit because of Julienne’s last visit to Tanner’s ranch. Cole had played peacemaker. The Martinezes were good at ranch management, and somebody had to keep the place going. Cole despaired of Tanner ever settling down to real work. He’d always had everything he wanted. Cole, who adored his wife of twenty-five years, hadn’t had the heart to make her stop coddling Tanner, while there had still been time to knock some of the selfishness and snobby attitude out of him. Now, it was too late.
Stasia came into the living room where the men were talking with a tray of coffee and sliced pound cake. All three men stood up, an ancient custom in rural areas that still had the power to make her feel important. Her generation cared less about such things, as a rule, but Stasia was a throwback. Glenn had raised her the way his parents had raised him. She’d absorbed those conservative attitudes on the way of the modern world. She hated it. She hated it most because Tanner liked women who belonged to that sophisticated crowd.
John Everett looked like his mother, Heather, in coloring, at least. He was big and blond and drop-dead handsome, with his father’s silver eyes. His young sister, Odalie, also looked like Heather, with pale blue eyes and blond hair. Tanner was the one who most resembled Cole, who was tall and still handsome. Tanner had the same thick, dark hair but with pale blue eyes that just missed being the silver of his father’s.
John went forward and took the heavy tray from her. He grinned. “I love cake.”
She laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “I know.”
She smiled at him with warm affection. He was like a cuddly big brother to her. He knew that and hid his disappointment. “How’s the art going?” Cole asked with a smile.
“I sold a painting!” she exclaimed happily. “There was a man passing through, from someplace back East, and he saw the landscape I painted in the local art shop. He said it was far too cheap for something that lovely, so he gave Mr. Dill, the owner, three times my asking price. I was just astonished.”
“You paint beautifully,” John said, his eyes brimming with love that she tried not to see. He indicated the landscapes on the walls of the Bolton home; one with running horses in a thunderstorm was entrancing.
“Thanks,” she said, flushing a little. “Mr. Dill said the man looked Italian. He was big and muscular and he had these two other big guys with him. He was passing through on the way to San Antonio on business.”
“Sounds ominous,” John teased.
She laughed as she poured coffee all around and offered cake on saucers with sparkling clean forks. “He told Mr. Dill I should be selling those paintings up in New Jersey, where he was from, or even New York City, where he owned an art gallery and museum. He said he was going to talk to some people about me! He even took down Mr. Dill’s number so he could get in touch.” She sighed. “It was probably just one of those offhand remarks people make and then forget, but it was nice of him to say so.”
“You really do have the talent, Stasia,” Cole told her. “It would be nice if he could put you in touch with some people in the art world back East. If that’s what you want to do with your life,” he added gently.
She smiled at him. “I like to paint.” She grimaced. “I’d like to marry and have a family, though.”
“No reason you couldn’t do both,” John said. “And if you had to fly back East to talk to people, well, we have a share in a corporate jet, you know. You could let us know when you had business there and I could go with you.”
She smiled sedately. “Thanks, John, but it’s early days yet.”
“How’s Tanner?” Glenn asked.
Cole’s light eyes grew glittery. “Off on another trip. To Italy, this time. My daughter’s studying opera in Rome. He thought he’d stop by and see her on the way to Greece.”
“Odalie has a beautiful voice,” Stasia replied, hiding disappointment. She’d hoped Tanner might show up with his brother and father. “Does she want to sing at the Met eventually?”
“She does,” Cole replied. He drew in a long breath and sipped coffee. “I’ll hate having her so far from home. But you have to let kids grow up.” He glanced at John with affection. “At least this one doesn’t have itchy feet yet!”
“I’m a homebody,” John said easily. “I love cattle. I love ranching. I don’t want to leave home,” he added, with a covert glance at Stasia.
“Good thing,” Cole chuckled. “I have to leave the ranch to somebody when I’m gone.”
“You’re not going anywhere for years,” Glenn chided. “The Everetts are a long-lived bunch. Your grandfather lived to be ninety.”
“Yes, but my father died before he was sixty, and my mother died before I married Heather,” Cole replied. His face tautened as he relived those days, when a lie split him apart from Heather, whom he’d loved with all his heart. It had been a torment, those months apart before he discovered that a jealous rival had told him lies about Heather’s parentage and made it sound as if he and Heather were actually related. They weren’t, but it was heartbreaking just to think it. Heather had been singing in nightclubs in those days. Cole had been cruel to her because her feelings for him were all too visible and he thought nothing could ever be allowed to happen between them. When he found out the truth, Heather had already backed out of his life. It had taken a long time to win her back.
He glanced at Stasia. She reminded him of Heather in her youth. She wasn’t as beautiful as his wife, but she was sweet and gentle and she’d make someone a good wife and mother. He knew that it wasn’t going to be Tanner. The boy had mentioned weeks ago that he hated having to talk to her father at all because Stasia would sit and stare at him as if he were a tub of kittens needing a home. He found her juvenile and dull. John, on the other hand, adored her. Cole grimaced as he processed the thought, because Stasia so obviously thought of John as the brotherly type.
“Now, about what I mentioned on the phone,” Cole began as he finished his coffee and put it and the cup and saucer back on the tray.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Glenn broke in, with a smile. “But I’ll never give you permission to dam the streams.” Cole sighed. “Only one stream, the one nearest my south pasture. The cattle are going to suffer for that decision,” he told the older man. “We’ve drilled every well we can.” “I know that,” Glenn told him. “I’ve got things in motion that will solve your problem. Don’t bother asking; won’t tell,” he chuckled. “But you’re worrying over something that’s already fixed. Just a matter of time. Short time, at that,” he added with a faraway look in his eyes. Cole started to argue, realized it would do no good and just shrugged good-naturedly. “Okay. I’ll rely on your conscience.” “Good place to put trust, since I do have one,” Glenn replied.
He scowled. “That boy of yours got himself into hot water in France, they say. It was on the front page of the tabloid those Lombard people back East publish.” “It wasn’t Tanner who started the trouble,” Cole replied curtly. “It was his…companion, Julienne Harper. She started a row in a high-ticket French restaurant with another woman, and her companion started cursing and threw a punch at Tanner when he intervened. Tanner had some explaining to do.” He glanced at Glenn. “This time, I didn’t interfere, and I wouldn’t let Heather do it, either. The boy’s got to grow up and take responsibility for his own actions.”
“According to the tabloid, he made restitution for the victim’s dress and paid the dentist to replace one of her date’s front teeth.” Glenn shook his head. “Reminds me of you, when you were that age,” he added with twinkling eyes. “Got arrested for a bar brawl when you got home from the service, I believe…?” Cole glared at him. “Some yahoo made a nasty joke about what soldiers did overseas. I took exception. The guy wasn’t ever even in a good fight, what would he know about being a soldier?” “Well, your dad kept him from suing, at least,” Glenn said, and chuckled. “Most people around here were scared of your father anyway. He was a real hell-raiser.” Cole smiled sadly. “He was, and he died far too young.” Glenn knew some stories about Cole’s father that he wasn’t about to share. Some secrets, he reasoned, should be kept.
“Your son was in black ops when he went in the military, wasn’t he?” he asked suddenly. Cole looked thunderous. “Yes, he was. I didn’t find out until he was back home.” He sighed. “I told him he had to get an education, so he joined the Army and got it that way. At least he finally decided that risking his life daily wasn’t conducive to running a ranch. It’s one reason I bought the old Banks property for him, to draw him back home.” He leaned forward. “I thought if his income depended on ranching, he’d make better life decisions. At least he did get a degree in business, even if it was between assignments.” He laughed shortly. “And then he met her.” He shook his head.
Everybody knew what that meant. “Her.” Julienne Harper. The fly in the ointment. She’d lured Tanner back into the jet-set lifestyle the military had purged him of, and now he was even less responsible than he’d been before. “A bad woman can make a fool of a good man. And sometimes, the reverse,” Glenn added. He didn’t mention his late wife, but they all knew the tragic story. His wife had been suddenly and hopelessly attracted to a man straight out of prison who’d worked on the ranch. The tragic consequences were still being lived down, by Glenn and his daughter. “She was a good woman,” Glenn said stubbornly. “She was just impulsive and easily led.” “Which is how many good people end up in prison,” John said sadly. “I’m hopeful that we can keep my big brother out of it.” Cole stood up with his son and clapped him on the back. “Something I’ll never have to worry about with you,” he said with obvious affection.
“At least one of my kids turned out right.” He was referring to Odalie, who’d had a brush with the law in her teens, just as Tanner had—when going into the military was the only thing that saved him from serving time. Tanner had fallen in with a few ex-cons and gotten drunk with them. He passed out in the back seat just before they robbed a convenience store, but Cole had to get attorneys and pull a lot of strings to keep his son out of jail. “Most kids turn out right eventually, even those who have a rough start,” Glenn said with a smile. “Yours turned out very well,” Cole said, smiling gently at Stasia. “She reminds me of Heather at her age.” “And that’s a compliment indeed,” Glenn said, watching his daughter flush shyly. “Well, we’d better get back home,” Cole said. “We’re getting ready for roundup. If you need any help over here, when you start, you know we’ll do anything you need us for.” Glenn smiled and shook hands with both men. “Yes, I do know. I’ll send my hands over if you need extras. We’re waiting a week to start.” “We’d be grateful. No matter how many hands you have, a few more are always welcome.” “Done. Just say the word.”
“I don’t guess you’d like to take in a movie this weekend?” John asked Stasia on the way out the door. She hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She smiled gently. “I would, but I’m working on a landscape and I have a real incentive to finish it quickly now, just in case that nice man does give my name to somebody back East,” she added with just the right touch of regret. She liked John, but she didn’t want to encourage him. Nobody could replace Tanner in her heart. “Okay,” John said easily, hiding his disappointment. “Rain check?” “Sure,” she lied. He grinned and they all went out onto the long, wide front porch to see the Everetts off.
Cole stared into the distance. “Good weather, for early spring,” he said, admiring the grass that was just getting nice and green in the pastures beyond. “I hope it holds.” “So do I,” Glenn replied. “See you.” Glenn threw up a hand. Stasia waved. The Everetts got into one of their top-of-the-line black ranch trucks and drove away.
“John’s sweet on you,” Glenn mentioned over supper that night. “I know,” she groaned. “I like him so much. He’s like the brother I never had. But he wants more than I can give him, Dad. It wouldn’t be right to encourage him.” Glenn nodded. “I agree.” He cocked his head at her. “It’s still Tanner, isn’t it?” She grimaced and nodded. “I can’t help it. I’ve been crazy about him since I was fifteen, and he can’t see me for dust. It’s such a shame that I’m not beautiful and rich and sophisticated,” she added heavily. “A man who loves you won’t care what you are or what you’ve got,” he said gently. “I guess not.” She poked at her salad with a fork. “Julienne’s really beautiful. Of course, she doesn’t talk to the peasants. I saw them together in Branntville just before they left for overseas. She looked me up and down and just laughed.” Her face burned at the memory. “So did he, in fact. He thinks I’m a kid.”
Glenn had a faraway look in his eyes. “That could change,” he said, almost to himself. He turned his green eyes toward her, the same green eyes that he’d hoped she might inherit. But her brown ones were like his late wife’s, he reflected, big and brown and beautiful. “You’ll inherit this ranch,” he added. “I hope you’ll have the good sense to find a manager if you don’t want the responsibility of running it yourself. And I hope you won’t be taken in by any slick-talking young man who sees you as a meal ticket,” he added worriedly, because she wasn’t street-smart. “This property has been in our family for a hundred years. I’d hate to see it go to an amusement park for tourists.” She frowned. “Why would it go to someone like that?” “Oh, this guy offered me a lot of money for the property just the other day, when I was at the bank renewing a couple of CDs. The bank president introduced us.” “You told him no, of course, right, Dad?” she asked.
He pursed his lips. He drew in a breath. “I told him I’d think about it.” He didn’t tell her that the ranch was mortgaged right up to the eaves of the house. His bad business decisions had led the place to ruin, something Cole Everett knew. It was why Cole was trying to get the ranch. But then, he’d have it soon, Glenn thought sadly. He couldn’t let Stasia become a charity case, and the sale of the ranch wouldn’t even cover the debts, as things stood. “But it’s right next door to the Everetts’ new ranch, the one Tanner owns,” she said worriedly. “Can you imagine how nervous purebred cattle would react to an amusement park next door?” “I can,” he said. “Tanner could lose everything,” she said. “His livelihood depends on the new ranch, especially since his dad has already split the inheritance at Big Spur between John and Odalie. He figured Tanner would have enough of a fortune with the Rocking C.” The Rocking C was the name of Tanner’s ranch. The previous owner, an elderly Easterner, had called it his rocking chair spread. Hence the name.
“Well, Tanner might have to make a hard decision one day, when I’m gone,” Glenn said, and smiled to himself. “Are you plotting something, Dad?” she asked, worried. “Me?” He contrived to look innocent. “Now what would I have to be plotting about?” He chuckled. “How about some of that apple pie you made? This new heart medicine my doctor put me on makes me hungrier, for some reason.”
“You never did tell me what he said when you went to him last week,” she mentioned. “Same old same old. Take it easy, take my meds, don’t do any heavy lifting,” he answered, lying through his teeth. He was due to speak to a cardiologist soon, who would decide if the open-heart surgery Glenn was frightened of was required to keep him alive. A quadruple bypass, the doctor had recommended, and soon. Too many fats, too much cholesterol— despite Stasia’s efforts to make him eat healthy food—a history of heart problems and not recognizing his limitations had placed Glenn in a bind. Glenn hadn’t shared that information with his daughter. No need to worry her. Besides, he felt fine.
A few days later, just after his cardiologist’s office had phoned with an early appointment to see the intervention cardiologist, he started up the steps into the house and fell down dead.
Tanner Everett was cursing at the top of his lungs, so loudly that Cole had to call him down before Heather heard her son. “Go ahead. Rage,” Cole snapped. “But the will can’t be broken. Nobody in Branntville will agree that Glenn Bolton wasn’t in his right mind when he made it.”
“An amusement park! Next to my purebred herd!” Tanner whirled on his heel and glared at his parent. “And if I don’t marry damned Stasia, that’s my future.” Cole felt the resentment in the younger man. In his place, he’d have felt it as well. “It was a rotten thing to do,” Cole agreed. “But we have to deal with what we’ve got, not what we wish we had.”
“I’m twenty-five years old,” Tanner raged. “I’m not ready to get married! Not for years yet!” He stared at his father. “You were older than me when you married Mother.” “Yes, I was. I played the field for years.” He looked down at his boots. “I loved your mother. For a long time. But she had a rival who lied and said Heather and I were related by blood. She took years away from us.” Tanner knew the story. All the Everett kids did. It would have been a tragedy if Cole hadn’t found out the truth in time.
“Heather was just about Stasia’s age when I fell in love with her. She sang like a nightingale, just like Odalie does now. She was beautiful. She still is,” he added softly. Tanner, who’d never felt love for a woman, just stared at him without comprehension.
“There must be some way to dispute the will,” Tanner said doggedly. “Go ahead and look for one. But I’ll tell you what our attorney told me: no way in hell. You marry Stasia or the property goes to the Blue Sky Management Properties. Stasia will get nothing.”
“Bull! The ranch is worth millions,” Tanner shot back. “It was. Glenn was no rancher, even if his father was,” Cole replied curtly. “The place is mortgaged to the hilt, and you can’t tell Stasia that. She’s got enough misery right now coping with her dad’s death.” He grimaced. Even he was sorry for Stasia’s situation. She couldn’t help what she felt for him, he supposed. But he was never going to return it. She had to know that.
“Which leads to my suggestion. I’m giving you the Rocking Chair ranch, and merging Stasia’s with Big Spur. We can pay off the debt by disposing of most of Glenn’s beef cattle and replacing it with our purebred Santa Gerts. In other words,” Cole added quietly, “either you make a go of your new ranch or you’ll be out in the cold. I’m not changing my will, Tanner,” he added firmly. “I’m sorry. But you could do worse. And it’s about time you stayed home and managed your own damned ranch and stopped acting like some Eastern playboy.”
“I hate dust and cattle,” Tanner muttered. “You should have given this ranch to John. Then he could have married Stasia.” “She wouldn’t have him,” Cole said simply. “She doesn’t love him.” He jammed his hands into his slacks pockets. “She doesn’t love me, or she wouldn’t have encouraged her father to do this to me!”
“I don’t think she had anything to do with it. Glenn had a bad heart and she had no other family.” “You could have adopted her,” Tanner said with a sarcastic bite in his voice. Cole’s silver eyes narrowed and started to glitter. Tanner cut his losses. “All right, damn it!” he muttered. “I’ll do what I have to. But I’m not settling down to aprons and babies and white picket fences! Not for any woman!” “Nobody’s asking you to.” Cole felt sorry for Stasia. She loved Tanner. Maybe, maybe love on one side would be enough. But he was worried. Tanner was like a stallion with a new rope around his neck. This wasn’t going to end well.
Stasia was in shock. She sat at the kitchen table and made the funeral arrangements, relying on the funeral home and her father’s attorney for clarity. She was penniless. Worse, her father had forced his attorney to put a clause in the will. Tanner married Stasia, or her father’s property went to the amusement park man, who would turn it into a loud, cluttered nightmare for Cole’s horses and cattle. She’d heard the terms of her father’s will from their attorney, Mr. Bellamy. She was shocked and miserable, especially when she recalled what her father had told her only days before, about the offer from the amusement park man. She’d thought she’d get at least enough to live on from the deal, but it wasn’t like that at all. Her father had kept so much from her. The ranch was worthless, mortgaged and debt-ridden. There was no way she could run it for a profit, or even hire someone to run it. And if the amusement park man got it, it would destroy Cole’s ranch as well as Tanner’s. Neither of them could afford to tear down existing stables and barns and rebuild them in a safer location. In fact, there would be no safer location, with that overlit nightmare of noise and light nearby.
Not for one minute did she think Tanner would give in to her father’s subdued blackmail and marry her. She was ashamed that he’d even put that clause into his will. Tanner would probably think it was her idea. When she finished the preliminaries, she went to her father’s closet to look for his one good suit and his best pair of wing-tip shoes. The sight of the suit set her off. She dropped down onto the spotless paisley duvet on her father’s bed and bawled until her eyes were red and her throat hurt. That was probably why she didn’t hear the knock at the front screen door, which wasn’t locked. It was also probably why she wasn’t aware that Tanner had come into the room and was standing in the doorway, just watching her.
He knew she loved her father. He was the only family she had left. It hurt him to watch her cry. He’d had no real feelings for her, except irritation that she was infatuated with him and let it show too much. But she was really hurting. He’d never lost anyone in his family. Both sets of his grandparents had been dead when he was born. He didn’t know death except as an observer.
“Stasia?” he called quietly. She jumped, startled, and lifted a wet face with red-lined eyes to his. She swallowed down the pincushion that seemed stuck there and swiped at her eyes with the tail of the bright yellow T-shirt she was wearing. “It wasn’t my idea, what he put in the will,” she said, as if he’d already accused her of engineering it. Angry brown eyes warred with his pale blue ones.
The prolific author of more than one hundred books, Diana Palmer got her start as a newspaper reporter. A New York Times bestselling author and voted one of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humor. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia.
