Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for A LETTER FROM IRELAND by Ann O’Loughlin on this Bookouture Books-On-Tour post.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an about the author section, and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
My whole life, I’ve been haunted by a secret I’ve left behind on the coast of Ireland. I may be gone, but if you’re reading this Casey, I need to tell you everything…
When Casey’s dear friend Rosie passes away, her heart breaks in two; Rosie didn’t even tell her she was sick. And when a mysterious letter arrives from beyond the grave, describing the secluded island where Rosie spent every summer, Casey questions if she really knew her friend at all. With Casey’s hectic job ruling her life, and her marriage crumbling around her, she books a ticket to this beautiful Irish island to feel close to Rosie again, and find out what secrets she has hidden there.
Casey rushes to Rosie’s tumbledown cottage and immediately falls in love with the glimmering shores and breathtaking coves of Scarty Island. Why did Rosie keep this magical place a secret, even from her own husband? Desperate for answers, she jumps to the aid of locals organizing afternoon teas for tourists, and helps handsome but overworked pub owner Shay. Though Shay stays tight-lipped, Casey notices how his hazel eyes shine when she makes him laugh, and how her heart skips a beat when his rough hands brush hers.
But just as Casey finds herself falling for Shay’s quiet strength, a final letter arrives that changes everything. The tear-stained pages tell the story of a forbidden romance and a tragic day at sea that destroyed Rosie’s life. It could shatter Casey’s blossoming romance and tear the small island community apart.
A LETTER FROM IRELAND by Ann O’Loughlin is a women’s fiction story about four best friends who have a falling out and are never the same again. When Rosie passes away from cancer, which none of her friends knew about, she sets up a two-month long reunion of the remaining three women on her private island off the coast of Ireland, but there are secrets to be revealed in the form of letters from their dead friend.
The description of this story had me wanting to sit down and read about these women’s lives and it is full of surprises and big emotions, but not until far too late into the book. The first third of the story was repetitive, slow, and almost had me putting it down for good, but I carried on and was glad that I did as far as the overall plot.
The three women are portrayed at various stages of their lives and Casey is the focus. I had a hard time warming up to her and I never felt a deep connection to any of the three. The story focused as much on the location as the women which I felt their character development should have been deeper. The romantic subplot between Casey and Shay just felt thrown in and did not make me feel any more for Casey, especially since she was still legally married.
Overall, this was just an alright women’s fiction read that for me did not live up to the promise.
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About the Author
Ann is the Irish author of five novels and has been translated into eleven languages. Her first novel The Ballroom Cafe was also an ebook bestseller and in the top 20 bestselling books of 2015 on Amazon UK. Ann loves to write and often gets up at 5am to get the words down, before starting her other job of writing as a news reporter. A leading journalist in Ireland, Ann has covered all major news events in a long career with Independent Newspapers, Ireland. She is now a senior journalist with the Irish Examiner specialising in legal issues. Ann has also lived in India. Originally from the west of Ireland she now lives on the east coast with her husband and family.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ADIEL AND THE FUHRER (Project 613 Series Book #4) by Elyse Hoffman on this Black Coffee Book Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, book review, an about the author section, and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
Adiel Goldstein has a good life. Despite the anti-Semitism he faces as a German Jew, he has everything he wants. A dream job as an art professor, good friends, a loving father, and a precious nine-year-old daughter, Kaia. But his life is about to be upended. An old comrade from his time fighting in the Great War is gaining power: a man named Hitler. Adiel’s father insists that they need to leave the country before Hitler becomes the leader of Germany.
Adiel and his family plan to move to America, but before they can even pack their bags, he and Kaia make a shocking discovery. Adiel’s father, Natan Goldstein, is from the future. A Holocaust survivor who lost his family to unspeakable tragedy, Natan was given the chance to go back in time and take the life of Adolf Hitler. But when he failed to kill the future Führer, he devoted himself to his new family and awaited the inevitable.
Natan can’t face the Holocaust again, but Adiel’s unique connection to Hitler means he might be able to succeed where his father failed. Adiel now has a choice: escape as planned and let history repeat itself, or sacrifice everything to stop the Holocaust before it can begin.
Award winning author Elyse Hoffman has crafted a thought-provoking and daring work of historical fiction which will tug at your heartstrings.
ADIEL AND THE FUHRER (Project 613 Book #4) by Elyse Hoffman is another fascinating addition to the Project 613 series of historical fiction books set during WWII. They are not only historical fiction though, because they also contain folklore, spiritualism, time travel, alternate history and a cast of memorable characters either caught up in the horrors of the war or seeking redemption for their part in it. While you do not need to read all the previous books, some characters are carried over from the third book in the series, The Black Fox.
Adiel Goldstein has been raised in a loving Jewish home in Germany, but with the rise of the Nazi Party, his father has been helping friends and family to immigrate to the United States. When Adiel’s daughter, Kaia stumbles across an old chest, he learns his father and mother are from the future and they have been keeping a secret that could change the course of the Holocaust.
This alternate history story has so many twists and turns in an intricate plot of “what if”. It begins with the main characters planning their immigration from Germany as the Nazis make life unbearable for its Jewish citizens. Then the story takes a huge turn when the chest is discovered with things from the future, but it is not a surprise to Natan, Adiel’s father. This is when every decision from this point on is calculated to change the future that Natan and his wife came back to the past to change; to kill Hitler.
This book took me on an emotional rollercoaster ride. The life changing choices that are made in all the main characters lives and the death of a character I came to love had me pulling out the tissues. I was very impressed with how Ms. Hoffman was able to intertwine real historical facts with the alternative history and make it all appear seamless. This story had me captivated from beginning to end, but I also cannot share too much without giving spoilers, which I will not do.
I highly recommend this thought-provoking alternate history/historical fiction addition to the Project 613 series. The entire series is at times hard to read but also fascinating in its worldbuilding!
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About the Author
Elyse Hoffman is an award-winning author who strives to tell historical tales with new twists. She loves to meld WWII and Jewish history with fantasy, folklore, and the paranormal. She has written six works of Holocaust historical fiction: the five books of The Barracks of the Holocaust and The Book of Uriel.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LEOPARD OF CAIRO (Apex Predator Espionage Thrillers Book #1) by Bayard and Holmes on this Author Marketing Experts Blog Tour.
Below you will find a guest post from the authors, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the authors’ bios and social media links. Enjoy!
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Guest Post from the Authors
As Bayard & Holmes, we are known for accuracy in our espionage tradecraft. This is due to Jay Holmes’s fifty years of military and intelligence experience fighting against the Soviets and the terrorist groups they sponsored during the Cold War, straight through to the current Global War on Terror. As a result of our experience and authenticity, people like to ask us questions about the shadow world.
One of the common questions we receive is, “What are some of the most common mistakes writers make about the CIA?” The answer to that would be vocabulary.
Our espionage professionals at the CIA do not refer to themselves as spies. The word “spy” is considered a bit derogatory. As Holmes says, “Spying is seamy. It’s what the Russians do.” Technically, spies are foreigners who are spying on us, or they are foreigners who are spying on other countries for us.
Also, and this is a big one for the folks at the CIA, the intelligence personnel at the Agency are not “CIA agents.” In the world of the CIA, agents are people, most often foreigners, who are spying for our behalf on their own or other foreign governments.
The exceptions to that rule are the actual guards at the physical facilities. For example, if you were to go to headquarters, the personnel in security who would greet you at the gate are “CIA agents.” An easy rule of thumb is that if the position someone holds regards law enforcement, physical protection, or facilities security, they are agents.
In other words, Jack Ryan is not a CIA agent, but the guard he talks to at the front gate of headquarters is an agent, and the foreign spy who gives him information is an agent.
Instead of being spies or agents, our intelligence personnel are referred to as “officers” and “operatives.” Intelligence personnel at the CIA are technically called officers, which is a label particular to the CIA. CIA officers are actual employees of the CIA rather than contractors, and they get pretty touchy when you call them agents.
The term operative can apply to CIA officers and contractors, as well as to personnel from other civilian and military intelligence organizations. The term is rather vague and has no official definition, but it generally refers to men and women who work in field operations.
So to sum things up, Jack Ryan is not a spy or an agent, he is a CIA officer who must guard against foreign spies, collect intelligence from foreign agents, and sometimes goes into the field with operatives.
This is just one example of the accuracy that is the hallmark of our Bayard & Holmes fiction. To supplement, we have a Truth & Fiction section at the end of The Leopard of Cairo and all our novels, and we are happy to take your questions about the shadow world at the Contact page at our website, BayardandHolmes.com.
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Book Summary
John Viera left his CIA fieldwork hoping for a “normal” occupation and a long-awaited family, but when a Pakistani engineer is kidnapped from a top-secret US project and diplomatic entanglements tie the government’s hands, the Intelligence Community turns to John and his team of ex-operatives to investigate — strictly off the books. They uncover a plot of unprecedented magnitude that will precipitate the slaughter of millions.
From the corporate skyscrapers of Montreal to the treacherous alleys of Baluchistan, these formidable enemies strike, determined to create a regional apocalypse and permanently alter the balance of world power. Isolated in their knowledge of the impending devastation, John and his network stand alone between total destruction and the Leopard of Cairo.
THE LEOPARD OF CAIRO (Apex Predator Espionage Thrillers Book #1) by Bayard and Holmes is an edge-of-your-seat international espionage thriller with storytelling that pulls you into exotic locations and takes you on a thrilling adventure to stop a plot to change the world’s governments balance of power. This is the first book in the series, and I cannot wait to get started on book #2, The Panther of Baracoa.
John Viera has left the CIA to start a “normal” life, but occasionally gets called back into off-the-book operations with a team of other ex-operatives who are able to accomplish jobs the government legally or politically cannot. John and the team are sent to discover why an engineer and his young daughter have been kidnapped, but what they discover is just the tip of the iceberg in a conspiracy that could end up killing millions.
This plot never lets up on the action and peril. The authors are able to introduce you to many characters, both good and bad, while never losing the fast pace of the story and also surprising you with the many plot twists throughout. John Viera and the rest of the team are fully developed both in their personal lives and their contributions to the team. The intrigue and mystery of the shadow cabal is a great way to keep me hooked and ready to grab the next book in the series.
I highly recommend this exciting start to this international espionage thriller!
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Excerpt
THE LEOPARD OF CAIRO
John Viera jumped back from the swirl of soot. The bright green-and-blue Quetta city bus choked out another cloud, and a donkey beside it snorted, rattling its cart full of secondhand housewares. The vendor in the driver’s seat searched the crowd for one last customer. John ignored his hopeful glance and watched the bus chug deeper into the bowels of the Hazara Town market district.
The aroma of fresh bread sweetened the stench of exhaust that hung over the rush-hour crunch. John ducked into the bakeshop’s recessed doorway and scanned the street.
Bright paints battled vainly to beautify cement walls between dirty gray roll-down metal shop doors. Signs above the portals broadcast goods and trades in Urdu and English, revealing the creep of Westernization into the Islamic stronghold. Above John’s head, electrical wires crisscrossed, tying the one- and two-story structures together.
Vendors bustled to secure their wares in time for evening prayers. Mothers gripping plain cloth shopping bags herded children down sidewalks while bicycles competed with cars and donkey carts for street rights. None of them appeared to notice John. Western influence was widespread enough that he did not stand out with his collar-length umber hair, reddish beard, blue jeans, and khaki jacket.
Satisfied there were no immediate threats from the street, he glanced at his watch: 5:45. Martin would be waiting. John exited the bakery doorway and continued in the bus’s wake.
A bicyclist veered into traffic, and a truck swerved and jerked, cutting off a rusty sedan. The sedan’s horn blared. John flinched and pressed his hand to his ear.
¡Hostias! ¡Qué idiotas! He wished for a split second that he was still crouched in the mountains of Afghanistan, where he was sanctioned by the US government to capture or kill hostile actors, or at least to slam their heads in their car doors. In the city, though, he was constrained by rules of law and discretion. John quelled his irritation and strode to the corner.
He crossed with the light and visualized the remainder of his route to Martin’s. His MI6 counterpart had said his good-byes only a few weeks before, anticipating the welcoming women and rich cigars he would explore at his new post in Cuba. What ill wind could have blown the man from paradise back to hell so soon? Had he identified the mole in MI6? John picked up his pace.
An open truck shoved past, its load of sheep bleating protests through warped wooden slats, stinking of mud and hay. John wrinkled his nose. A block up the street, the truck spun a U-turn through an unlikely gap in the traffic and parked in front of a restaurant.
The bus ahead of John stopped at the corner across from the sheep. Passengers crowded on. Then a shopkeeper stepped from his corner store and threw his arms wide. The bus driver sprang to the sidewalk. The men clasped in a hug and submerged into conversation.
A fresh-faced woman in a pink hijab and sky-blue kameez veered around the talking driver, a little boy in tow. The child hugged a toy blow-up horse and grinned as if he clutched the Koh-i-Noor diamond. John gave the boy a smile when he passed.
Suddenly, three men in gray kameez tunics and salwar trousers burst around the opposite street corner. John’s head snapped up, drawn by their speed and focus. They stopped and scanned the crowd. One pointed toward the truckload of sheep and then pulled a pistol and fired.
John dove behind a parked car and drew his Makarov pistol from his waistband. Fight or flight? He stilled his urge to fire back. The last thing he needed was to become embroiled in a local turf war, particularly so near Martin’s. He only hoped his friend was not involved. He had to get to Martin.
More shots. Horns blared, and cars crowded one another to escape. The bus driver levitated into his vehicle. He threw it into gear and bullied his way around the corner. People who had sheltered behind the bus scrambled toward shops, even as shopkeepers slammed down their corrugated metal doors. Only two people weren’t moving—the child with the toy horse kneeling beside the woman in the pink hijab.
Blood seeped across her shoulder and rib cage. She gestured toward a shop with her good arm and shouted in Urdu. “Run. Now. Run.” The child burrowed closer.
John shoved his pistol in his waistband and charged to the woman. He swept her up and spoke to the boy in Urdu. “Follow us.” He sprinted toward a spice stall. The child dropped the horse and dogged John’s heels. The shopkeeper met John’s eyes, shook his head, and crashed down his metal door.
A bullet whizzed past and shattered a divot from the cement wall. John ducked away from the flying chips. The woman in his arms screamed, and her gaze sought her son. The boy tugged the end of her kameez and let go.
“Here,” cried a voice.
The bus driver’s friend crouched, holding open a slice of doorway at his corner shop. John ran, the boy beside him. The man rolled up the door to let them in and then slammed it down behind them.
Frightened people shuffled aside, and John laid the woman on the floor. Bright red oozed from her shoulder, shading her blue kameez a deep purple. She gripped her arm close and grimaced. John whipped off his jacket, peeled out of his T-shirt, and pressed the cotton against the wound.
The woman groaned. “Hakeem. Where is Hakeem?”
“I have him.” A man pushed forward and showed her the child in his arms. “He is unharmed.”
John spotted the shopkeeper. “Call an ambulance, and bring some towels.”
“We don’t have towels,” the man said. A woman with her hands full of T-shirts pushed past him.
“We can use these. I’m a nurse.” She knelt beside John. “I will care for her.”
“Thank you.” John moved out of the woman’s way and turned to the store owner. “Where is your bathroom?”
The man pointed to a door at the back of the store. John wedged through the people and opened it onto a reeking closet where a window gaped wide above a hole in the ground with a footprint on each side. He pulled himself through the window into an alley, and he landed on his feet and ran.
Three blocks later, he slowed to a walk. A knife vendor gawked and John glanced down. His blood-smeared jacket hung open, revealing his bare six-pack. He zipped up the coat.
A block away, a sign reading Changezi’s tilted across the street front of a three-story cement apartment building. In front, a white panel van purred to life and whisked away as John crossed the street. John circled toward Changezi’s dwelling at the back of the building. He turned the corner and froze.
Changezi’s goat pen hung open, and his three nannies clustered at his front door. John’s skin prickled. Even Changezi’s youngest child would not be so careless with such valuable property. He drew his pistol and shooedthe goats the five steps into the pen. Then he knocked at the manager’s door. Silence answered—a sound unprecedented from a home with two wives and five young children.
John bounded up the steps to Martin’s old apartment door. A bullet hole gaped next to the doorknob, and splinters littered the ground. His heart racing, he hugged the wall, pistol in hand, and tried the knob. The door swung wide. More silence.
He ducked low and peeked around the corner into the apartment’s shadowed hallway. Nothing. He crept up the passage to the living room.
A threadbare divan squatted under a window next to a weathered table that had been tipped sideways. Two straight-backed chairs stood by an upended bowl with two apples on the floor.
“Come out,” John said.
A man rose, his hands up. His gaze riveted to the bloodstains on John’s jacket, and his knees quivered. “Don’t shoot. I have a wife and child. Please.” A woman in a navy-blue headscarf peered from behind him. She clutched a bundle in her arms.
John lowered his weapon slightly. “I’m looking for a man named Martin. He’s English. My height and build. Blond hair and blue eyes. Have you seen him?”
The man’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head. “I saw nothing.”
John dropped his pistol to his side. “I don’t even need to know your name. What happened, and did you see him?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened.”
The woman’s glance darted from John to her husband and back. Then she lowered her eyes and stared at the child in her arms.
“It’s clear a bullet came through that door recently. I’m not with whoever did that. I only want to find my friend.” John retrieved an apple from the floor and settled into a chair with the manner of an overlord. “I can see something happened here, and I’m not leaving until you tell me.” He raised the apple to take a bite.
“Wait,” the man said.
John moved the apple away from his mouth and cocked his head.
“I saw a blond man in the hallway. I was taking out my trash, and he ran out of the flat next door. He jumped down the rubbish chute. Then three men ran up the stairs and started shooting. I barely made it back inside.”
John stood. “Have you seen these men before?”
“Never.”
“What did they look like?”
The man shifted and glanced toward the door, as if expecting the men to reappear. His voice was barely audible. “Black hair and gray clothing. That is all I saw.”
John’s mind flashed on the shooters at the market, and dark fear unfolded. He tossed the unbitten apple to the man. “Thank you.”
He readied his Makarov and stole from the apartment. The next door slanted ajar. Standing against the wall, John reached out and tapped it. It creaked open. A sharp whiff of bleach wafted into the hallway. He peered inside.
Chaos. A table skewed sideways, kitchen drawers dangled, and stuffing sprouted from chair cushions. No sign of Martin. John scanned the debris and noticed a minute red spot on the carpet. He knelt down and touched it. Then he sniffed. The iron tang of blood filled his nostrils.
John bolted down the stairs to the trash room. A red trail spotted from the Dumpster to the back door and stopped. A chill ran up his spine. He combed the alley. It was empty—no one and no clues. Martin was gone.
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Author Bios
Piper Bayard is an author and a recovering attorney with a college degree or two. She is also a belly dancer and a former hospice volunteer. She has been working daily with her good friend Jay Holmes for the past decade, learning about foreign affairs, espionage history, and field techniques for the purpose of writing fiction and nonfiction. She currently pens espionage nonfiction and international spy thrillers with Jay Holmes, as well as post-apocalyptic fiction of her own.
Jay Holmes is a forty-five-year veteran of field espionage operations with experience spanning from the Cold War fight against the Soviets, the East Germans, and the various terrorist organizations they sponsored to the present Global War on Terror. He is unwilling to admit to much more than that. Piper is the public face of their partnership.
Together, Bayard & Holmes author non-fiction articles and books on espionage and foreign affairs, as well as fictional international spy thrillers. They are also the bestselling authors of The Spy Bride from the Risky Brides Bestsellers Collection and were featured contributors for Social In Worldwide, Inc.
When they aren’t writing or, in Jay’s case, busy with “other work,” Piper and Jay are enjoying time with their families, hiking, exploring back roads of America, talking foreign affairs, laughing at their own rude jokes until the wee hours, and questing for the perfect chocolate cake recipe.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE COLOUR OF MYSTERY (Ellie McEwan Mysteries Book #2) by Joy Ellis on this Books ‘n’ All Promotions Book Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
THREE NICE PEOPLE. THREE TERRIBLE CRIMES. WHAT MADE THEM DO THESE AWFUL THINGS?
It’s the night shift worker who finds them. Huddled in a hospital store cupboard is elderly Edith Higgins. Knifed to death. Sitting behind her is Staff Nurse Lily Frampton, a scalpel clasped in her blood-soaked hand.
No one can understand why this kind-hearted, dedicated nurse would brutally murder a frail patient she’s spent months caring for.
That same day, mild-mannered schoolteacher Rod Black is found surrounded by the battered bodies of his pupils. Why would a well-respected teacher beat five schoolboys to death?
Then a third shocking — and equally inexplicable — incident takes place in a London homeless shelter.
What could turn three honest, upright citizens into cold-blooded killers?
Once again, DCI Bob Foreman calls on Ellie McEwan for help. Can Ellie use her extraordinary psychic gift to uncover the truth?
Book 1: AN AURA OF MYSTERY Book 2: THE COLOUR OF MYSTERY
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE COLOUR OF MYSTERY (Ellie McEwan Mysteries Book #2) by Joy Ellis is the second of two mysteries with paranormal elements written by Ms. Ellis at the beginning of her career and just recently published. This book can be read as a standalone because the reader is brought up to date on important elements from The Aura of Mystery and it is set two years after the first, but I feel it is best to read them in order.
Ellie McEwan and Michael Seale are still deciding on what to do with the immense inheritance left to them by their friend Carol two years ago. They have started a Healing Center for specialty care with a variety of specialists and healers. After three respected and loved people commit unimaginable murders and then go into a catatonic-like state, DCI Forman asks for Ellie’s help on this case using her psychic gift once again.
This is an engaging mix of paranormal anomalies and police procedural. The characters are well developed and interesting. The mystery plot is suspenseful with help from friends from beyond and law enforcement friends, but at times, especially in the beginning of the story, the pace feels a bit slow. Overall, an intriguing genre mash-up.
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About the Author
Joy Ellis grew up in Kent but moved to London when she won an apprenticeship with the prestigious Mayfair florist, Constance Spry Ltd. Having run her own flower shop in Weybridge for many years, Ellis then worked as a bookseller until a trip to the Greek island of Skyros, where she took part in a writer’s workshop with Sue Townsend, encouraged her to write her own books. Joy soon after moved to the Lincolnshire Fens, where she has spent many of years living among the countryside accompanied by her partner, Jacqueline, and her variety of springer spaniels.
After many years of writing, Jasper Joffe, from Joffe Books, discovered Joy’s work and approached her with the offer of becoming her new publisher. This new relationship introduced Joy’s work to the fascinating world of ebooks and audible listening. Since their partnership, Joy’s success has grown further than she could have ever imagined. She has recently celebrated her 10th UK No.1 book on the Amazon ‘Best Sellers’ chart, with her 9th instalment in the Jackman & Evans series, Solace House. Joy boasts a staggering estimated total over 3.4 million copies sold worldwide, and became a short-listed nominee at the British Book Awards, 2021.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE FEARLESS ONE (Osborn Brothers Book #2) by Lori Foster on this HTP Books Romance 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
He had it all planned…until she showed up.
Jedidiah Stephens came to the Colorado Rockies for one reason: to uncover the truth behind the fire that killed her family. She’s been chasing down clues, and everything has led her to an isolated campground. Her plan is to get a job there so she can investigate who comes and goes. Getting involved with her boss, Memphis Osborn, the ruggedly handsome groundskeeper, is definitely not part of the plan.
When Jedidiah arrives on the scene, Memphis just knows she’s up to something. He can see the desperation in her eyes and warily agrees to hire her. As they work side by side, Diah triggers his deepest protective instincts—and the chemistry between them ignites.
But the more Diah digs into her family’s past, the more secrets she unravels…and the more afraid she becomes. She lost everything once before. She’ll never forgive herself if now she loses Memphis, too.
THE FEARLESS ONE (Osborne Brothers Book #2) by Lori Foster is a gripping, fast paced romantic suspense featuring another Osborne brother fighting injustice. While this story can easily be read as a standalone, there are carryover characters from the first book, and I enjoyed it more by reading The Dangerous One first.
Jedidiah “Diah” Osborne and her dog, Tuff arrive at the Colorado campgrounds Memphis Osborne has purchased to rehab and use in his plans. Diah is qualified in all the trades and really needs the job, but she also has her own reasons for showing up at this particular campground. When Diah begins sneaking around, she does not realize Memphis knows her every move.
Diah and Memphis feel a powerful attraction to each other, but they are both hiding secrets. When they warily agree to work together, Memphis’ protective instincts are on full alert, but Diah begins to fear her past may come back to take Memphis from her, too.
I have enjoyed this entire fictional world of vigilante characters from The McKenzie Series and then this offshoot of books with The Osborne Brothers. Diah’s past was heartbreaking and yet she was so strong and determined through it all even when she believed she was always afraid. Memphis was an excellent hero who was protective, smart, and sexy. I loved the witty back and forth dialogue between them before and after their secrets are revealed. The sex scenes are super-hot and explicit, but not gratuitous. The suspense plot in this book has a lot of set-up and you do not find out Diah’s background until half way through which made it drag a bit for me in the first half, but the second half takes off at a fast pace to the climax.
Overall, an exciting romantic suspense with wonderful main characters.
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Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
For early April, the Colorado weather was unseasonably warm. Probably in the low sixties with enough sunshine to make it feel warmer. Jedidiah Stephens, who went by Diah for short, loosely held Tuff’s leash in the only available finger she had. Loaded down with supplies, she made her way along the rutted, occasionally muddy road leading to the budget campground.
Hard to call the miserable path an entry, though. Surely the guy who’d bought the place planned to fix it up a little before he opened in mid-May. If not, she’d see what she could do about it. At the very least, the potholes needed to be filled and everything regraveled. Otherwise, anyone pulling a camper was in for a really bumpy ride, possible damage to the undercarriage of their travel trailer, and there was a good chance they’d get stuck.
Checking the time on her phone, she saw that she was thirty minutes early. Hey, it wasn’t easy to be timely when she relied on others for her transportation. Good thing she’d found a nice woman who’d let her, her number-one guy, Tuff, and her luggage hitch a ride in the back of her pickup. Talk about getting jostled, and now she was more windblown than ever.
Not that she cared. This was the chance she needed to solve the mystery, rid herself of nagging questions and finally get on with a new, better life. Free.
Oh, how she wanted to be free.
She couldn’t change the past or stop the occasional nightmare; she understood that. But by God, she could put an end to running, and in the process forge a new future.
If she let it, excitement and even a little nervousness would take over. Ruthlessly, she tamped down those two disagreeable emotions. The owner’s brother had sent her here, so her early arrival shouldn’t be a big deal. Supposedly, she was a shoo-in for the job.
“Can’t be too much farther,” she said to Tuff, who looked up at her with a frown of concern. For real, her dog was a world-class worrier, but this time Diah had to agree with him. It was starting to feel creepy. The long road in, lined by tall aspens and pines, was plenty isolated. Other than the sounds of critters in the trees, the area was dead silent.
Don’t be such a chickenshit… You gotta toughen up… Jesus, you’re a scaredy-cat.
She’d heard those comments too many times to count. Worse than hearing them?
Knowing they were true.
To the right of her, something rustled in the underbrush—and effectively stalled her breathing. Tuff went alert, staring in that direction, then dismissed it. Almost immediately to her left, a flock of birds took flight, stripping a year off her life. Tuff sidled closer.
Automatically, she sought to reassure him, and in the process reassure herself as well because Tuff’s nervousness always became her own, and vice versa.
Putting a hand on his neck, appreciating the contact with another living creature, she gently rubbed. “Yeah, maybe I should have asked that lady to drive us right up to the campground, huh? I hadn’t figured on it being such a hike, though. His street sign should give a damn clue, right?”
Tuff looked forward and perked his ears.
“Squirrel?” she asked, because she could handle a critter. “Rabbit?” But no. She heard it now, too. Singing. And there up ahead, finally, the winding road opened to a clearing, with a small parking lot on the right and a wooden shed that served as a gatehouse and check-in station on the left. Right now the shed was empty, but it had been recently painted and looked big enough to accommodate a few people. Nearest the road was a drive-through window, so visitors wouldn’t have to get out to check in for their stay.
Thank God they’d finally reached the campgrounds. With a duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, her packed tent slung over the other, and a suitcase in her hand, her shoulders were killing her. The soft suitcase was a roller, but not on this pitted, bumpy path.
Seriously, she wished she were stronger. Wished she were braver, too.
Sometimes she wished she were someone else entirely.
As Tuff strained against the leash, he almost got away from her. Quickly readjusting her free hand, not just a few fingers, Diah said, “Quiet,” in her low command voice, and although Tuff’s furry lips rippled, he didn’t make a sound. Such a smart boy. So many times over the past two grueling years, she’d given thanks that Tuff had come into her life. He was her best friend, her protector and pretty much the only reason she ever smiled. “We’ll sort of sneak in, okay?”
A muffled, “Fft,” was Tuff’s reply. And yup, she grinned.
When she got to the check-in, Diah unloaded her belongings beside it. Looking around, she took in several small cabins that appeared newly repaired. Some trees had been trimmed, RV and tent lots were mostly cleared, but overall the grounds were a work in progress.
Straight ahead, not too far from the entry, a larger cabin—which by no means made it large—appeared to be the source of the singing. She heard, “Love me, love me, saaaay that you love me,” in a high falsetto and couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, man, Tuff, do you hear that?”
“Lovefool” by The Cardigans. If she hadn’t heard it in a bar during karaoke night, she’d have no idea. The drunken chick who’d sung it then hadn’t done as good of a job as this guy. He really belted it out with gusto.
Snickering, she said to Tuff, “No time like the present,” and led him along to the cabin, around to the side and there… Ho boy.
Naked.
Using an outside shower.
Forget the warmth of the sunshine. It was freaking April in Colorado.
Thank God a concrete block half wall kept her from seeing him in all his glory, but holy moly, what he showed was enough to keep her gawking. Dude had seriously hot, muscular shoulders and flat abs… Heck, she could see the tops of his hip bones, too. It was a mighty fine display, one she hadn’t been prepared for.
Tuff sat down, maybe mesmerized. Diah’s legs were suddenly shaky enough that she wouldn’t mind sitting, too.
Lounge back and watch the show? Would’ve been nice.
Unfortunately, she was a human adult, not a dog, so she had to announce herself. She tried loudly clearing her throat, followed by a sharp “Ahem.”
Nothing.
Face turned up, he sang out another verse while rinsing shampoo from dark brown hair a few inches too long. When was the last time she’d seen anyone built like him, all firm, ropy muscles on a tall frame?
Yeah, that’d be never.
Not once in her twenty-four years had she ever encountered any guy, anywhere, who looked like this one.
Shameful to admit, but she eyeballed him a little longer before saying again, louder this time, “Ahem.”
Pausing in midverse, he cocked open one dark blue eye, framed by spiked lashes. He spotted her and at his leisure, without a hint of haste—or modesty—pushed back his wet hair and got both eyes open.
Intently watching her now, no longer singing, he…continued his shower.
What. The. Hell.
A big soapy hand went over his throat, the back of his neck, across his chest and beneath one arm.
He was so damn attractive, her heart ping-ponged around in her chest. Since he didn’t speak, she assumed she’d have to. “Hi, I’m, um…” Who was she? Oh, yeah. “Jedidiah Stephens. Appointment at three.”
Turning his back to the water, not at all put off by being caught in the buff outside, his gaze moved over her body, but quickly came back to her eyes. “I don’t have any appointments.”
She went blank for a moment before the obvious answer came to her. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Belatedly remembering that people were usually put off by her intent stare, she turned to give him privacy. But yeah, she wasn’t comfortable with anyone at her back so she shifted again, facing to the side. If he tried to leave the shower to approach her she’d catch him in her peripheral vision, but at least her gaze wasn’t directly on him. “I’m looking for Memphis Osborn.”
“He’s busy showering.”
Confusion hit her. “You’re both showering?” How… Why…? Thoughts of mud wrestling or some other sexy activity flashed through her mind. Two sweaty guys. Muscles straining…
Sucked that she’d missed it.
A gruff, short laugh came from him and he said, “You’re not seeing the big picture. I’m Memphis, I’m showering and I don’t have any appointments.”
Chagrin brought her around so that she fully faced him again. Yup, still gloriously naked. How could she not stare? “You own this place?”
Beside her, Tuff stirred. The poor dog was as tired as she was and no doubt ready to bed down somewhere for a nap.
“Guilty. As you can see, I haven’t opened yet.”
“I know the place isn’t open.” She resisted adding “Duh.” As if explaining to a little kid, she spoke slowly. “I have an appointment about a job.”
His gaze dipped over her bare legs, making her wish she’d worn jeans instead of shorts. Yeah, if only she’d had a chance to do laundry, but it wasn’t always possible on the road. His attention lingered for a mere heartbeat before returning to her face…and roaming over her every feature as if figuring out who—or what—she was. Rude!
Because she’d ogled him, too, she couldn’t really get huffy about it… The hell she couldn’t! She was fully dressed, not prancing around outside bare-assed. “Take a picture, why doncha?”
“You wouldn’t mind?” He reached for the cell phone he’d left on the top of the half wall near a folded towel. As he lifted the phone, the music that came from it abruptly died.
The sudden quiet was jarring.
He pretended to take aim.
Belatedly, she found her voice, which erupted with irritation. “Look, I was told to be here and that you’d hire me.”
“Sight unseen?” Shaking his head to deny that, he set the phone aside, turned off the water and reached for the towel—which he only slung around his neck. “I don’t think so.”
Swear to God, she could see steam rising off those impressive shoulders. Her palms tingled at the idea of touching him, maybe coasting her fingers over the swells of muscle. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“Little bit.”
Yet, he didn’t dry off. “Is there a reason you’re showering out here instead of inside somewhere?”
“Yeah.”
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. Fine, she could play this game. “Wanna share?”
Amusement tugged at one corner of his very sexy mouth. “Might as well, since you’re still here.” He made a halfhearted effort at drying himself. “I’ve been living in this cabin, which is the biggest on the grounds, but still not big enough for me.”
“Seriously?” It looked great to her.
“The shower was especially small,” he explained, “so I’m extending the back end with a larger bedroom and bathroom. It’s not quite done and until it is, I have more room out here.” He eyed her again. “Used to have plenty of privacy, too, until some girl and her dog just showed up out of the blue.”
Odd that the words were disgruntled, but the tone not so much. If anything, he seemed amused. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. After adjusting her tinted glasses, she tried on a congenial smile. “This is Tuff.”
“What is?”
“My dog. His name is Tuff.”
Glancing down, he gave a short laugh at the dog’s sleepy expression. “Hey, boy. Are you really that tough?”
“T-u-f-f,” she explained. “He came with the name when I adopted him. He’s fast, smart and super protective.” She tacked on the last just in case he wasn’t as easygoing as he seemed and had any thoughts of hassling her.
Disinterested in all the human chitchat, Tuff yawned.
“He’s also tired.” Memphis searched the area. “Where’s your car? I didn’t hear you drive in.”
“I walked.”
Skeptical, he asked, “From where?”
Right. Nowhere was near so the question made sense. “We hitched a ride in the back of a woman’s truck. She dropped us off by the camp sign.”
“The camp sign that’s a little over a mile away?”
That far? Hmm. Maybe she could garner some sympathy and that’d soften him up. “Only a mile?” To add an edge of drama, she put a hand to her back. “Felt longer with me carrying all my gear and leading the dog. I think it took me a good forty minutes.”
Lacking even an ounce of pity, he grinned. “Great exercise, right?” He turned a finger in the air. “I’m stepping out now, so unless you want your feelings hurt, you might want to turn around.”
“Why would it hurt my feelings?”
He hitched one of those big shoulders. “No idea, but you’re acting all affronted that I’m out here naked, on my own property where you shouldn’t be, showering in a place that’s none of your business, so I assumed you’d object.” After spewing that mix of nonsense and censure, he waited.
Left with no choice, she gave him the truth. “Eh, since you’re a stranger and everything, I’d prefer to keep an eye on you.”
“What a weak excuse. Admit you want to see me.”
Of all the… She folded her arms and tried to glance away. Couldn’t quite do it, though. “I won’t stare.” She wouldn’t. Her stare had gotten her into trouble too many times.
Had gotten her hurt as well. A long time ago, she reminded herself, and yet it was a lesson she’d never forget.
“Suit yourself.” The towel wasn’t nearly big enough to adequately wrap around his lean hips, but he came out from behind the block wall anyway.
And strolled away.
“Hey.” Diah hustled after him. “Where are we going?”
“I’m going for clothes, and you aren’t invited.” He glanced back. “Much as you’d apparently love to watch.”
Damn it. She had to do better about staring—and usually she did. Given how good he looked, she’d cut herself a little slack for the lapse.
Ignoring his jibe, she aimed for a marginally reasonable comment. “I’ll wait out here.”
Keeping his back to her, he said, “No reason. I’m not hiring you.”
Unacceptable, so she stalled with a question. “You don’t have a shower room here for guests?”
Idly, he pointed in the direction of a concrete building farther out. “Right there, but it’s still loaded with spiders.”
Even as she shuddered, she prodded him by asking, “Squeamish about bugs?”
“Not particularly, but I’d as soon not shower with them.” He went up a few wooden steps to his front door.
Rather than keep chasing him, Diah acted like everything was on track. “Go ahead and get dressed, then I’ll explain.”
At that, he dropped his head forward and laughed.
She waited to see what he’d say, but with another shrug, he opened his door and went inside.
Damn. Now what?
Pacing away, her every step kicking up debris in the gravel walkway, Diah tried to plan. She came up blank. He had to hire her, period. In fact, thanks to Memphis’s brother and his wife, she’d already considered herself hired. They’d offered her assurances.
Could she use that to her advantage?
Twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t returned. People didn’t take that long to get dressed. It was a nice day. Underwear, shorts, a shirt…presto. He’d be done in under a minute.
So he was dodging her. Did he think she’d give up and leave? Fat chance.
She considered knocking on his door, but that wasn’t a great way to make a good impression on a job interview.
If she could turn this into an interview.
If she hadn’t just been completely dismissed.
Crap, what if he was calling the police or something?
Tuff whined, and that helped strengthen her resolve. She hadn’t come this far just to give up. True, she wasn’t the bravest person. So what? She had perseverance and initiative. “Come on, buddy. We both need a rest and Mr. Naked can just do whatever the hell he’s in there doing. I’m not budging unless I’m dragged away.”
Lori Foster is a New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author and a recipient of the prestigious RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in Central Ohio, where coffee helps her keep up with her cats and grandkids between writing books.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for HEART LIKE A COWBOY (Cowboy Brothers in Arms Book #1) by Delores Fossen on this HTP Books Romance 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
He’s Emerald Creek’s hottest cowboy—and the one man she shouldn’t want
On the surface, Egan Donnelly is hometown hero material—top gun, commanding an elite fighter training squadron and ranching royalty. Inside, he feels like a fraud, convinced he’s responsible for his best friend’s death. At least he won’t let himself succumb to the heat between him and Jack’s widow, Alana. Yet. Now that she’s making regular trips to his ranch to care for his dad, that vow is getting harder to keep.
Alana Davidson isn’t just grieving her husband’s loss, she’s feeling betrayed over his secret infidelity. Wanting Egan makes things even more complicated. As a nutritionist, she can help Egan’s dad recover from his health scare, but it’s not so easy to get her own heart back on track. Because despite shared guilt and family pressure, she’s falling fast, and Egan is right there with her…
HEART LIKE A COWBOY (Cowboy Brothers in Arms Book #1) by Delores Fossen is an emotional start to the new Cowboy Brothers in Arms series set in smalltown Emerald Creek, Texas. The Donnelly’s live on a generational ranch with all four siblings serving in the military on active duty. This story introduces the entire family and features the romance of the eldest brother, Lt. Col. Egan Donnelly.
Air Force Lt. Col. Egan Donnelly is both a hometown Top Gun hero and commander of an elite fighter training squadron and the eldest sibling in a ranching family. When his father has a massive heart attack, Egan takes a month’s leave to run the ranch and try to figure out how he will go forward. When his father returns home to recuperate, Egan comes face to face with the nutritionist working on his case. It is the sister of his ex-wife and the widow of his best friend, Jack, who he hoped to avoid. Egan has carried the guilt for Jack’s death from an IED when he was visiting him for three years.
Alana Davidson is the nutritionist helping Egan’s dad and while everyone still considers her Jack’s grieving widow, she is ready to move on from her grief. She had an argument with her husband right before he died overseas when she discovered he had cheated on their marriage. She is determined to tell Egan she feels just as responsible. Despite smalltown gossip and family interference Alan and Egan begin to discover they are ready to move on and stand together.
There are a lot of obstacles, twists, and surprises on the road to romance for Egan and Alana. I loved both fully developed characters because they communicated and did not play games. They also stood together when faced with smalltown gossip and the emotional adversity that Jack’s mother put them through. All the secondary characters added to the realism of the story and believable life situations. There are sexually explicit scenes in this romance, but they were not gratuitous. The introduction of the other siblings was entertaining, and I am looking forward to their stories in the future.
I recommend this first heartfelt book in the Cowboy Brothers in Arms series. Dolores Fossen is one of my favorite go-to cowboy romance authors and she never disappoints.
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Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
That whole deal about bad news coming in threes? Well, it was a crock. Lieutenant Colonel Egan Don- nelly now had proof of it.
First, there’d been the unexpected visitor, AKA the messenger, who’d started the whole bad-news ball rolling. That’d teach him to open his frickin’ door before he’d even finished his frickin’ coffee.
Then, there was the so-called celebration that would stir up the worst of his past and serve it up to him on a silver platter. Or rather on a disposable paper plate, anyway.
Then, a letter from his ex, which he figured was never a good sign. Who the heck actually wanted to hear from their cheating ex? Not him, that was for sure.
Those were the three things—count them: one, two, three—that was supposed to have been the final tally of bad crap even if for only a day, but apparently the creator of that old saying had no credibility what- soever. Then again, Egan had known firsthand that bad news didn’t have limited quantities.
Or expiration dates.
Now he was faced with ironclad confirmation that
those other three things were piddly-ass drops in the proverbial bucket compared to bad-news number four.
And now, everything in his world was crashing and burning.
Again.
Thirty Minutes Earlier
In the dream, Lieutenant Colonel Egan Donnelly saved his best friend’s life. In the dream, the explosion didn’t happen. It didn’t blast through the scorched, airless night. Didn’t tear apart the transport vehicle.
Didn’t leave blood on the bleached sand.
Didn’t kill.
In the dream, Egan was the hero that so many people proclaimed he was. He made just the right decisions to save everyone, including Jack. Especially Jack.
Egan didn’t fight tooth and nail to come out of this dream—unlike the ones that were basically a blow-by-blow account of what had actually happened that god-awful night nearly three years ago. Those dreams were pits of the darkest level of hell where everything spun and bashed, stomping him down deeper and deeper into the real nightmare. Those dreams he fought.
Had to.
Because Egan had learned the hard way if he let those dreams play out, then it was a damn hard struggle to come back from them. Heck, he was still trying to come back from them.
Despite wanting to linger in this particular dream
where he got to play hero, it didn’t happen, thanks to his phone dinging with a text. He frowned, noticing that it was barely six in the morning. Texts at this hour usually were not good. Considering that all three of his siblings were on active duty, not good could be really bad.
He saw his father’s name on the screen, and the worry instantly tightened Egan’s gut. His dad had just turned sixty so while he wasn’t in the “one foot in the grave” stage, he wasn’t the proverbial spring chicken, either. Added to that, his dad still ran the day-to-day operation of Saddlebrook, the family’s ranch in Emerald Creek, Texas. The ranch that’d been in the Donnelly family for over a hundred years and had grown and grown and grown with each succeeding generation. All that growth required hours of upkeep and work.
Found this when I was going through some old photo albums, his dad had texted.
What the heck? That gut tightness eased up, some, when Egan saw it was a slightly off-center image taken in front of the main barn on the ranch. His dad had obviously used his phone to take a picture of the old photo. Emphasis on old.
It was a shot that his grandmother, Effie, had snapped thirty years ago on Egan’s eighth birthday. His brother, Cal, would have been six. His sister, Remi, a two-year-old toddler, and his other brother, Blue, was just four. Stairsteps, people called them, since they’d all been born just two years apart.
In the photo, his dad, looking lean, fit and young,
was in the center, flanked by Egan and Remi on the right, and Cal and Blue on the left. Remi and Blue were both grinning big toothy grins. Cal and Egan weren’t. Probably because they’d been old enough to understand that life as they’d known it was over.
Their lives hadn’t exactly gone to hell in a handbasket, but this particular shot had been taken only a couple of weeks after their mother had died from cancer. A long agonizing death that had left their dad the widower of four young kids. Still, his dad was eking out a smile in the picture, and he’d managed to gather all four of them in his outstretched arms.
Bittersweet times.
That’s when their mom’s mom, Grammy Effie, had come to Saddlebrook for what was supposed to have been a couple of months, until his dad got his footing. Effie was still living on the ranch thirty years later and had obviously put down roots as deep as his father’s.
Egan was wondering what had prompted his dad to go digging through old family albums when his phone dinged again. It was another text from his dad, another photo. It was an image that Egan also knew well, and he mentally referred to it as the start of phase two of his life.
The first phase had been with a loving mother that sadly he now couldn’t even remember. That had ended with her death. Phase two had begun when his dad had gotten remarried four years later to a young fresh-faced Captain Audrey Granger, who’d then been stationed at the very base in San Antonio
where Egan was now. It was an hour’s commute to the ranch that Audrey had diligently made.
For a while, anyway.
In this shot, his dad and new bride dressed in blue were in the center, and both were flashing giddy smiles. Ditto for Remi and Blue. Again, no smiles for Cal and Egan since they’d been ten and twelve respectively and were no doubt holding back on the glee to see how life with their stepmom would all play out.
It hadn’t played out especially well.
But then, it also hadn’t hit anywhere near the “hell in a handbasket” mark, either.
If there’d been a family photo taken just two years later, though, Audrey probably wouldn’t have been in it. By then, she’d been in Germany. Or maybe England. Instead of an hour commute, she’d come “home” to the ranch a couple of times a year. Then, as her career had blossomed, the visits had gotten further and further apart. These days, Brigadier General Audrey Donnelly only came home on Christmas. If that.
Egan sent his dad a thumbs-up emoji to let him know he’d seen the pictures, and he was considering an actual reply to ask if all was well, but his alarm went off. He got up, mentally going through his schedule for the day. As the commander of the Fighter Training Squadron at Randolph AFB, Texas, there’d be the usual paperwork, going over some stats for the pilots in training, and then in the afternoon, he’d get to do one of the things he loved most.
Fly.
Of course, it would be under the guise of a training mission in the T-38C Talon jet, not the F-16 that Egan used to pilot, but it would still give him that hit of adrenaline. Still give him the reminder of why he’d first joined the Navy and then had transferred to the Air Force so he could continue to stay in the cockpit.
Egan showered, put on his flight suit, read through his emails on his phone and was about halfway through his first cup of coffee when his doorbell rang. He had the same reaction to it as he had the earlier text. A punch of dread that something was wrong. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet and hardly the time for visitors. Especially since he lived in base housing and therefore wasn’t on the traditional beaten path for friends or family to just drop by.
Frowning, he went to the door. And Egan frowned some more when he looked through the peephole at the visitor on his porch. A woman with pulled back dark blond hair and vivid green eyes. At first glance, he thought it was his ex-wife, Colleen, someone he definitely didn’t want to see, but this was a slightly younger, taller version of the woman who’d left him for another man.
Alana Davidson, Colleen’s sister.
“Yes, I know it’s early,” Alana sighed and said loud enough for him to hear while she looked directly at the peephole. “Sorry about that.”
Wondering what the heck this was all about, he opened the door and got an immediate blast of heat. Texas in June started out hot as hell and got even hotter. Today was apparently no exception. He also
got another immediate blast of concern because there was nothing about Alana’s expression that indicated this was a social visit.
Then again, Alana and he never had social visits.
Never.
Just too much old baggage, old wounds and old everything else between them. Ironic, since she’d been married to his best friend. Now, she was his dead best friend’s widow and bore that strong resemblance to his cheating ex-wife who’d left him just days before Jack’s death.
Egan was no doubt an unwelcome sight for her, too. He was the man who’d not only failed to keep her husband alive, but he was also the reason Jack had been in that transport vehicle in the first place.
So, yeah, old baggage galore.
“Sorry,” Alana repeated, looking up at him. Not looking at him for long, though. Like their avoidance of social visits, they didn’t do a lot of eye contact, either. “But I have an appointment at the base hospital in an hour, and I wanted to catch you before you went into work.”
“The hospital?” he automatically questioned.
She waved it off, clearly picking up on his concern that something might be medically wrong with her. “I’m consulting with a colleague on a chief master sergeant who’s being medically retired and moving to Emerald Creek. I’ll be working with the chief to come up with some lifestyle changes.”
Alana made that seem like her norm, and maybe it was. She was a dietitian, and because as Jack’s widow
she still had a military ID card so she wouldn’t have had any trouble getting onto the base. Added to that, Emerald Creek was a haven for retirees and veterans since it was so close to three large military installations. There were almost as many combat boots as cowboy boots in Emerald Creek.
“How’d you know where I live?” he asked.
“I got your address from your grandmother.” She glanced over her shoulder at the street of houses. “I occasionally have consults here, but it’s the first time I’ve been to this part of the base.”
Yeah, his particular house wasn’t near the hospital, commissary or base exchange store where Alana would be more apt to go. Added to that, Jack had never been stationed here, which meant Alana had never lived here, either.
“Full disclosure,” she said the moment he shut the door. “You aren’t going to like any of what I have to say.”
Now it was Egan who sighed and braced himself for Alana to finally do something he’d expected her to do for three years. Scream and yell at him for allowing Jack to die. But there was no raised voice or obvious surge of anger. Instead, she took out a piece of paper from her sizeable handbag and thrust it at him.
“It’s a mock-up of a flyer that Jack’s mom intends to have printed up and sent to everyone in her known universe,” Alana explained.
At first glance, he saw that the edges of the flyer had little pictures of barbecue grills, fireworks, the
American flag and military insignia. Egan intended to just scan it to get the gist of what it was about, but the scanning came to a stumbling slow crawl as he tried to take in what he was reading.
“Join us for a Life Celebration for Major Jack Connor Davidson, July Fourth, at the Emerald Creek City Park. It’ll be an afternoon of food, festivities and remembrance as a celebratory memorial painting for Jack will be unveiled by our own Top Gun hometown hero, Lieutenant Colonel Egan Donnelly.”
Well, hell. Both sentences were full-on gut punches and thick gobs of emotional baggage. Memorial. Life celebration. Remembrances. The icing on that gob was the last part.
Top Gun hometown hero.
Egan was, indeed, a former Top Gun. He’d won the competition a dozen years ago when he’d been a navy lieutenant flying F-16s. The hometown part was accurate, too, since he’d been born and raised in Emerald Creek, but that hero was the biggest of big-assed lies.
“I can’t go,” Egan heard himself say once he’d managed to clear the lump in his throat.
She nodded as if that were the exact answer she’d expected. “I’m guessing you’ll be on duty?”
He’d make damn sure he was, but wasn’t it ironic that the memorial celebration would fall on the one weekend of the month he usually went home to help his dad on the family ranch? Maybe Jack’s mom knew that, or maybe the woman just believed that such an event would be a good fit for the Fourth of July.
It wasn’t.
Barbecue, hot dogs, beer and such didn’t go well with the crapload of memories something like that would stir. He didn’t need a memorial or a life celebration to remember Jack. Egan remembered him daily, hourly even, and after three years, the grief and guilt hadn’t lost any steam.
“I’ll let Tilly know you can’t be there,” Alana said, referring to Jack’s mother. “She’s mentioned contacting your stepmom to see if she could be there for the unveiling.”
“Good luck with that,” he muttered, and Alana’s sound of agreement confirmed that she understood it was a long shot.
What would likely end up happening was that his brother Cal would get roped into doing the “honors.” He’d known Jack, and Cal’s need to do the right thing would have him stepping in.
“The last time I ran into Tilly, she didn’t want to discuss anything involving Jack’s death,” Egan recalled.
Alana nodded. “That’s still true. Nothing about how he died, et cetera. She only wants to chat about the things he did when he was alive.”
“So, why do a memorial painting?” Egan wanted to know.
“I’m not sure, but it’s possible the painting will be another life celebration deal that she’ll want hung in some prominent part of town like city hall or the library. In other words, maybe the painting will have nothing to do with Jack even being in the military.
Tilly was proud of him,” she quickly added. “But she’s never fully wrapped her mind around losing him.”
That made sense. The one time he’d tried to talk to her about Jack’s death, she’d shut him down. As if not talking about his death would somehow breathe some life back into him.
“There’s one more thing,” Alana went on, and this time she took a pale yellow envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “It’s a letter from Colleen.”
Egan had already reached for it but yanked back his hand as if the envelope were a coiled rattler ready to sink its fangs into his flesh. The mention of his ex-wife tended to do that. Memories of Colleen didn’t fall into the “hell on steroids” category like Jack’s. More like the “don’t let the door hit your cheating ass” category. Colleen had obviously liked that direction just fine since she hadn’t spoken a word to him since the divorce.
He glanced at the envelope, scowled. “A letter? Is it some kind of twelve-step deal about making amends or something?” he asked.
Alana shook her head. “No, I think it’s a living will of sorts.”
That erased his scowl. “Is Colleen dying?”
“Not that I know of, but she apparently decided she wanted to make her last wishes known. She sent letters for me, our aunt and your dad. I have his if you want to give it to him.”
Egan reached out again to stop her from retrieving it, and Alana used the opportunity to put the letter for him in his hand. “I don’t want this,” he insisted.
“Totally understand. I read mine,” she admitted. “Along with spelling out her end-of-life wishes—cremation, no funeral, no headstone—she wants us to have some sister time, like a vacation or something.”
Egan had no idea how much contact Alana and Colleen had with each other these days, but it was possible when Colleen had walked out on him, she’d also walked out on Alana. He thought he detected some animosity in Alana’s tone and expression.
He went straight to the trash can in the adjoining kitchen and tossed the envelope on top of the oozing heap of the sticky chicken rice bowl that had been at least a week past its prime when he’d dumped it the night before.
“I’m not interested in wife time with her,” he muttered, knowing he sounded bitter and hating that he still was.
Unlike what he was still going through with Jack, though, his grief and anger with Colleen had trickled down to almost nothing. Almost. He now just considered her a mistake and was glad she was out of his life. Some days, he could even hope that she was happy with the Mr. Wonderful artist that she’d left him for.
When he turned back to Alana, he saw she had watched the letter trashing, and she was now combing those jeweled green eyes over his face as if trying to suss out what was going on in his head. Egan decided to diffuse that with a question that fell into
the polite small talk that would have happened had this been a normal visit.
“Uh, how are you doing?” he asked. On the surface, that didn’t seem to be a safe area of conversation since it could lead to that screaming rant over his huge part in her husband’s death. But Egan realized he would welcome the rant.
Because he deserved it.
Alana took a deep breath. “Well, despite nearly everyone in town deciding I should live out the rest of my life as a widow, I’ve started dating again.”
That got his attention. Not because he hadn’t known about the town’s feelings. And not because he believed she shouldn’t have a second chance at romance. But Egan had thought she didn’t want such a chance, that she was still as buried in the past as he was. Apparently not.
“I’m only doing virtual dating for now,” she went on, not sounding especially thrilled with that. “Last week, I had a virtual date with a guy who has six goats and eleven chickens in his one-bedroom apartment in Houston.”
Egan didn’t especially want to smile, but he did, anyway. “Sounds like a prize catch. You’d never have to buy eggs again. Or fertilizer.”
She shrugged. “He was a prize compared to the one I had the week before. Within the first minute of conversation, he wanted to know the circumference of my nipples.” Alana stopped, her eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected to share that.
Egan smiled again, but this one was forced. He
hadn’t wanted Alana to think he was shocked or offended, though he was indeed shocked. He’d never considered nipple size one way or another.
He’d especially never considered anything about Alana’s nipples.
And he hated that was now in his head. That kind of stuff could mess with things that already had a shaky status quo.
“Dating at thirty-five isn’t as much a ‘fish in the sea’ situation as it is more of a, uh, well, swamp,” Alana explained. “Think scaly critters, slithery, that sort of thing, with the potential and hope that some actual fish lingering about will eventually come out of hiding.”
That didn’t sound appealing at all, but then he hadn’t had to hit any of the dating sites. He could thank the eternal string of matchmakers for that. Unlike the widowed Alana, apparently everyone thought a divorced guy in his thirties shouldn’t be solo. Especially a guy who’d had his “heart broken” when his wife had walked out on him right before his best friend had been killed.
“How about you?” she asked, clearly aiming for a change of subject and her own shot at small talk. “Have you jumped into dating waters?”
He shook his head. “Too busy.”
She broke their unwritten rule by locking her gaze with his for a second or two. “Yeah. Busy,” she repeated. And it sounded as if that were code for a whole bunch of things. For instance, wounded. Damaged. Guarded. Guilty.
All of the above applied to him.
It was hard for Egan to think about his happiness when he’d robbed Jack of his. Busy, though, was a much safer term for it.
“Well, I gotta go,” Alana said when the silence turned awkward, as it always did between them. “I’ll let Tilly know you won’t be at the life celebration so she can find someone else to do the unveiling.”
Egan frowned when a thought occurred to him. “She won’t ask you to do it, will she?” Because he couldn’t imagine that it’d be any easier for Alana than it would be for him.
“No.” Another sigh went with that. “Tilly still has me firmly in the ‘grieving widow’ category, which apparently will preclude me from lifting a veil on a painting and doing other things such as dating or appearing too happy when I’m in public.”
He wanted to ask, Aren’t you still a grieving widow? But that would go well beyond small talk. It could lead to an actual conversation that would drag feelings and emotions to the surface. No way did he want to deal with that.
Obviously, Alana wasn’t on board for such a chat, either, because she headed for the door, giving him a forced smile and a quick glance before she left and went to her car. Egan watched her, doling out his own forced smile and what had to be a stupid-looking wave.
Since he didn’t want to stand around and think about this visit, Colleen’s trashed letter—or Alana’s nipples—he grabbed his flight cap and keys so he could go to his truck. He barely made it a step, though, before his phone dinged with another text.
Great. Another photo trip down memory lane.
But it wasn’t.
It was his father’s name on the screen, but there was no picture. Only six words that sent Egan’s heart to his knees.
USA Today bestselling author, Delores Fossen, has sold over 125 novels with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She’s received the Booksellers’ Best Award, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award and was a finalist for the prestigious Rita ®. In addition, she’s had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines.
