Feature Post and Book Review: Summer at the Cape by RaeAnne Thayne

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SUMMER AT THE CAPE by RaeAnne Thayne. I was supposed to share this on an HTP Tour, but I put the posting reminder on the wrong month. Ooops! Better late than never and I loved the book so much, I was not going to skip it.

Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!

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Book Summary

Summer at the Cape is the fourth original hardcover from New York Times, USA TODAY, and Publisher’s Weekly bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne. With the emotional pull of Debbie Macomber, Barbara Delinsky, and Susan Wiggs, RaeAnne tells the story of the Porter sisters, Cami and Violet, who come together to mourn the death of Violet’s twin, Lily. Over the course of the summer, the sisters must make peace with each other and also individually with their free-spirited, outspoken, activist mother who left their father two decades earlier.

As the older sister to identical twins Violet and Lily, Cami Porter had always been the odd sister out. The breach became even stronger when her parents split up—while the twins stayed in Cape Sanctuary with their free-spirited activist mother, Rosemary, fourteen-year-old Cami moved to L.A. with her by-the-book attorney father, Ted. Nearly twenty years later, when Cami gets the tragic news that Lily has drowned saving a child, Cami returns to her childhood home—her mother and Violet need her.

Lily had spent her entire life looking for something to be passionate about, and in leasing a property from neighbor Franklin Rafferty and setting up Coastal Pines Glamping, she was about to see her dream realized. Following her death, the sadness and grief Rosemary, Violet and Cami feel is compounded by Jon Rafferty, son of the neighbor whose land Lily had leased. Jon, who hadn’t seen his father in years, is stunned to learn that his father is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s Disease, and he worries that the Porter women took advantage of him. But Jon can see that the Porter family is in mourning, and agrees they can keep the land through the summer, and then they’ll need to shut the glamping site down.

Then there’s Violet—the child Lily saved, Ariana Mendoza, is the daughter of Violet’s former high school sweetheart, Alex Mendoza. She could never forgive him way back when for cheating on her, but she is so grateful that his adorable little girl is okay. Alex still has feelings for Violet, but he is overcome with grief and gratitude at the same time for the loss of Lily, who died saving his child.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57938979-summer-at-the-cape?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=EzdApU3hLK&rank=1

SUMMER AT THE CAPE

Author: RaeAnne Thayne

ISBN: 9781335936356

Publication Date: April 5, 2022

Publisher: HQN

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

SUMMER AT THE CAPE by RaeAnne Thayne is a heartfelt women’s fiction novel about a divided family, grief, forgiveness, love and loss. This is a standalone novel that will take you on an emotional roller-coaster ride. Make sure you have the tissues close.

Cape Sanctuary is the coastal town Rosemary Porter with her twins, Lily and Violet has retreated to after the divorce of her high-powered attorney husband. Cami, the older sister of the twins has stayed with her father in Los Angeles and become a lawyer, also. As the years have passed, so has the divide as the sister live their own lives.

After nearly twenty years and only four months after the death of Lily as she was rescuing the lives of two young girls, Rosemary begs Cami to return to Cape Sanctuary to help with a legal issue Lily left unfinished. Besides dealing with the neighbor who stands in the way of Lily’s dream, she is also having to navigate her own strained relationships with her mother and younger sister. Violet is also trying to deal with the grief of her last words to her twin before her death and the man she once loved, who is the father of one of the girls her sister saved when she lost her life.

This is one of those books you pick up and are immediately lost in the story and invested in all the characters, which continues to happen when I choose books by this author. The three main female characters all deal with their grief and loss in different ways, try to reconnect with each other and travel the minefield of regrets and hurt feelings along the way. They are strong women who have made mistakes but have learned with Lily’s death that their love for each other is what is important, and they are willing to work for it. The secondary characters are fully fleshed and realistic, from the neighbor with Alzheimer’s and the little girl Lily saved, to the men who find romance with the women. This is an overall beautifully written story of family and forgiveness.

I highly recommend this excellent small town, women’s fiction/romance novel!

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Excerpt

2

VIOLET

WILD, FRENZIED BARKING RANG OUT WHEN Violet Porter let herself into the back door of her mother’s comfortable kitchen at Moongate Farm.

Rosemary was nowhere in sight. Instead, a cranky-faced schnauzer–toy poodle mix planted himself in front of the door, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was an intruder who wasn’t welcome here.

“Hi, Baxter,” she said, mouth stretched thin in what she knew was an insincere smile. “How are you, buddy?”

Lily’s dog only growled at her, baring his teeth with his hack-les raised as if he wanted to rip her throat out.

The dog hated her. Violet wasn’t exactly sure why. 

She might have thought he would look more fondly toward her, considering she was the identical twin to his late owner. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe the fact that she looked so much like Lily but clearly wasn’t her sister confused the dog and made him view her as a threat.

He had never really warmed to her, even when he lived in her condo with Lily. Since Lily’s death, he had become down-right hostile.

“Stop that. What’s gotten into you? I could hear you clear back in my bedroom.”

Her mother’s voice trailed out from down the hall, becoming louder as she approached the kitchen, still fastening an earring.

She stopped dead when she spotted Violet.

“Oh! Violet! You scared me! What are you doing here?”

“You invited me. Remember? You’ve known for months I was coming to help you out during my summer break.”

“You were coming tomorrow. Not today!”

Okay. That wasn’t exactly the warm welcome she might have expected, Violet thought wryly. Instead, her mother was staring at her with an expression that seemed a curious mix of chagrin and dismay.

She shrugged as Baxter continued to growl. Wasn’t anybody happy to see her?

“I finished cleaning out my classroom and calculating final grades this morning. Since all my things were already packed and loaded into my car, I couldn’t see any reason to wait until the morning to drive up. Is there a problem?”

Rosemary, usually so even-tempered, looked at her, then at the giant wrought iron clock on the wall of the Moongate Farm kitchen with a hint of panic in her eyes.

“No. It’s only…this is, er, a bit of a complication. I’m expecting dinner guests any moment.”

“That must be why it smells so good in here.”

It smelled like roasting vegetables mixed with garlic and cheese. Violet’s stomach rumbled loud enough she was certain her mother had to hear, but Rosemary didn’t seem to notice, looking at the clock again.

Why was she so nervous? Who was coming? If she didn’t know better, Violet might have suspected her mother was expecting a date.

Not impossible, she supposed. Her mother was still a beautiful woman, with high cheekbones, a wide smile and the deep blue eyes she had handed down to Violet and her identical twin.

Rosemary didn’t date much, though she’d had a few relationships since her divorce from Violet’s father.

As far as Violet knew, she had broken up with the most re-cent man she had dated more than a year earlier and Rosemary hadn’t mentioned anyone else.

Then again, just as Violet didn’t tell her mother everything that went on in her life in Sacramento, Rosemary likely had secrets of her own here in Cape Sanctuary.

“No problem,” she said, trying for a cheerful tone. “You don’t have to worry about feeding me. If I get hungry later, I’ll make a sandwich or something. I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in the way,” Rosemary protested. “It’s just, well…” She didn’t have time to finish before a knock sounded at the back door. Baxter, annoying little beast, gave one sharp bark, sniffed at the door, then plopped down expectantly.

Violet thought she heard a man’s deep voice say something on the other side of the door and then a child’s laughter in response.

Something about that voice rang a chord. She frowned, suddenly unsettled. “Mom. Who are you expecting?”

“Just some…some friends from town,” Rosemary said vaguely. She heard the man’s voice again and her disquiet turned into full-fledged dismay.

No. Rosemary wouldn’t have. Would she?

“Mom. Who’s here?” Her voice sounded shrill and she was quite sure Rosemary could pick up on it.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” her mom said defensively. “You told me you were coming tomorrow, so I…I invited Alexandro and his daughter for dinner. He’s been such a help to me with Wild Hearts. I could never have set up all those tents or moved in the furniture without him. I’ve been meaning to have him and his daughter over for dinner but the time got away from me, until here we are. I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow and I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

The news hit her like a hatchet to the chest. Alex was here, on the other side of the door. Alex, who had once been her best friend, the man she thought would be her forever.

Alex, who had betrayed her.

She had seen him exactly twice since they broke up a decade ago.

One previous encounter had been a few years after he married Claudia Crane, when she had bumped into him at the grocery store while home from college for a brief visit.

The second time had been four months earlier at Lily’s memorial service.

That was two times too many, really. Three encounters was asking far too much of her.

She wanted to jump back into her car and head back to Sacramento.

No. This was silly. She had known she would see him this summer. How could she avoid it? Cape Sanctuary was a small town. Not only that, but his house and boat charter business were both just down the road from Moongate Farm.

The concept had seemed fine in the abstract. Like algebra and the periodic table.

It had been nearly a decade, after all. She was a completely different person from that besotted girl she had once been.

He meant nothing to her anymore. She should be able to blithely chat with him about what he had been up to the past decade.

Yeah. Not happening.

Maybe she could turn around, climb back into her car and go hang out at The Sea Shanty until he was gone.

No. That was just kicking the can down the road. She had to face him eventually. Why not now?

She could come up with a dozen reasons, but none of them seemed compelling enough for her to flee without at least saying hello.

“I’m sorry,” Rosemary said again, her hand on the doorknob. “It’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry about it. Don’t leave them standing outside. I’ll just say hello and then head over to the bunk-house to settle in. You won’t even know I’m here. It will be fine.”

She didn’t believe that for a minute, but she forced herself to put on a pleasant smile as her mother opened the door.

And there he was.

As gorgeous as ever, with those thick dark eyelashes, strong features, full mouth that could kiss like no one else she had ever met…

Her toes curled at the unwelcome memories and she forced her attention away from Alex to the young girl standing beside him. She had dark hair that swung to her shoulders, bright brown eyes and dimples like her father.

Right now she was staring at Violet like she had just grown a second head.

“Miss Lily?” she whispered, big brown eyes wide and mouth ajar.

Of course. Ariana thought Violet was her sister. It was a natural mistake, as they were identical twins, though as an adult, Vi had mostly seen the differences between them.

She approached the girl with the same patient, reassuring mile she used in her classroom when one of her students was upset about something.

“Hi there,” she said calmly, doing her best to ignore Alex’s intense gaze for now. “You must be Ariana. I’m Violet. Lily was my twin sister.”

“You look just like her,” the girl said breathlessly. Her gaze narrowed. “Except I think maybe your hair is a little shorter than hers was. And she had a tattoo of flowers on her wrist and you don’t.”

When they were in college, Lily had insisted on getting a tiny bouquet of flowers, intertwined lilies and violets and camellias to represent the three Porter sisters.

She had begged Violet and Cami to both get one, too. Cami, older by two years and always far more mature than either Vi or Lily, had politely explained that she didn’t want any tattoos because of the serious nature of the law career she was pursuing. Violet had promised she would but then kept putting it off.

She still could go get a tattoo. After Lily’s death, she had thought more seriously about it, but the loss of her sister was always with her. She didn’t need a mark on her skin to remind her Lily wasn’t here.

She forced a smile for the girl. “Right. No tattoo. That’s one sure way of telling us apart.”

Plus, she was alive and Lily wasn’t. But she wasn’t cruel enough to say that out loud, especially not to this child.

Lily had drowned after rescuing Ariana and a visiting friend when a rogue wave from an offshore winter storm dragged the girls out to sea. Lily had somehow managed to get both girls back to safety, but the Pacific had been relentless that day, and before Lily could climb out herself, another wave had pulled her under.

Violet certainly couldn’t blame this child for a cruel act of nature.

Or for her parentage.

Excerpted from Summer at the Cape by RaeAnne Thayne. Copyright © 2022 by RaeAnne Thayne. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Bio

New York Times bestselling author RaeAnne Thayne finds inspiration in the beautiful norhtern Utah mountains where she lives with her family.   Her stories have been described as “poignant and sweet” with “beautiful honest storytelling that goes straight to the heart.”  She loves to hear from readers and can be reached through her website at www.raeannethayne.com.

Social Media Links

Author Website

Twitter: @raeannethayne

Facebook: RaeAnne Thayne

Instagram: raeannethayne

Goodreads

Purchase Links

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-MillionPowell’s

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: A Family Affair by Robyn Carr

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for A FAMILY AFFAIR by Robyn Carr on the HTP Books Winter 2022 Women’s Fiction 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

An exceptional storyteller, #1 New York Times bestselling author Robyn Carr beautifully captures the emotionally charged, complex dynamics that come with being part of any family. Readers will laugh and shed a few tears as they discover what it means to be loved, supported and accepted by the people who mean the most.

When a woman notices a young pregant woman attending her husband’s funeral she realizes his mid-life crisis went far beyond his weekend warrior lifestyle. But Carr’s story of a family dealing with their grief is full of surprises and as everyone examines their own beliefs and behavior, they become closer than they ever thought possible. Carr tackles the serious issues women face with humor and heart.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58422306-a-family-affair?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=zr1eUM1UqR&rank=1

A FAMILY AFFAIR

Author: Robyn Carr

ISBN: 9780778331742

Publication Date: April 5, 2022

Publisher: MIRA

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

A FAMILY AFFAIR by Robyn Carr is an emotional women’s fiction family drama with romantic elements covering a year of upheaval, secrets, and revelations in the McNichol family after the sudden death of Chad McNichol. This is a standalone novel from this author.

Anna McNichol is a respected judge with three grown children. While her marriage has been rocky at times, she believes in commitment and working on problems, but she has reached a point in her life and marriage where she is ready to focus on herself. Before Anna and her husband, Chad can discuss current problems in their relationship, he dies on a rafting trip.

Anna has always been the rock of her family, but suddenly everyone is struggling with their grief and Anna does not have all the answers. Faced with one challenge after another Anna finds support in an unexpected source as she deals with not only her own problems but tries to be available as her children find their own paths to healing and happiness.

I enjoyed this quick read and was very content with the author’s handling of so many difficult issues. This family goes through so much, not only the sudden death of the husband and father, but the secrets they discover after his death, betrayal, health issues, aging, and relationships, both good and bad. The characters are all fully developed, and I felt realistically portrayed. I was fully invested in the growth and changes in this family followed over this year.

This women’s fiction family drama is a heartfelt story about many of the realities families face.

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Excerpt

The celebration of life was not held in a funeral parlor or church but rather in a fancy clubhouse in an upscale Mill Valley community. It was furnished with comfortable sofas, chairs, small round accent tables, thick carpet and carefully chosen art. Its primary purpose was for hosting parties. Residents in the community could rent it for events, which Anna had done. There was a huge viewing screen upon which the pictures of Chad’s life played, a hundred and fifty of them, carefully and lovingly chosen by Anna with a little help from the kids. Every picture had Chad in it, starting from old childhood prints she’d inherited from Chad’s mother years ago. She’d glance up to see one of him in a high school football uniform looking the worse for wear with a big grin on his dirty face; she caught a huge blowup of their wedding picture; there was one soon after of him with baby Jessie asleep on his chest. There were many pictures of Chad alone, a few of Chad and Anna, one of a young Anna gazing lovingly up into Chad’s face, several family groupings. The focus was Chad, his life, his accomplishments, his achievements, his happiness, a few of the important people in his life. Chad, Chad, Chad. Just like before he died.

Things had been tense lately, but she remembered those younger years fondly because, although it hadn’t been easy, they had been deeply in love. They met through what can only be described as fate, as destiny. In fact, their meeting was a legendary family story. Anna had been in San Francisco, shopping on her lunch hour down at Fisherman’s Wharf. Shopping but not buying, which was typical for her as she had been and still was very frugal. She loved the sea lions, enjoyed watching tourists, sometimes found bargains at Pier 1, enjoyed the occasional meal on the pier.

On that day, something strange happened. She heard a panicked cry rise from the crowd of tourists on the pier, saw a food truck trundling across the pier without a driver, picking up speed. A man in work clothes and apron was chasing the truck. She only had seconds to take it in. It seemed the food truck, its awning out and moving fast, was headed toward a group of people. Right before her eyes the truck knocked a man off the pier before the truck was stopped by a barricade. 

The man, completely unaware, flew off the dock and into the water below, startling a large number of fat sea lions who had been sunning themselves nearby.

The sea lions scrambled into the water and the man was flailing around in a panic. Someone yelled, “He can’t swim!” Hardly giving it a thought, Anna dropped her purse, kicked off her shoes and jumped off the pier, swimming to the man. Getting to him was no challenge; she practically landed on top of him. But he was hysterical and splashing, kicking and sputtering. “You’re okay, come on,” she said, grabbing his shirt by the collar. But he fought harder and sank, nearly pulling her under with him.

She slapped him in the face and that startled him enough he could let himself be rescued. She slid her arm around his neck and began pulling him to the dock where a couple of men seemed to be standing by to pull him in.

There was a lot of commotion, not to mention honking noises from sea lions. Anna was shivering in her wet clothes and all she could think at the time was how was she going to locate a change of clothes for her afternoon at work. Then there were emergency vehicles and a handsome young police officer draped a blanket around her shoulders and took a report. The near drowning victim was taken away in an ambulance and Anna was given a ride to her apartment by the cute policeman. She was delighted and surprised when the police officer called her a week later. She almost hyperventilated in hope that he’d ask her out.

“The man you pulled out of the water has been in touch. He wants your name,” the officer said.

“He isn’t going to sue me, is he?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” he said with a laugh. “He seems very grateful. He won’t have any trouble tracking you down but I said I’d ask. He probably wants to thank you.” 

The man’s name was Chad. He was finishing up his PhD at Berkeley while she was working in a law office in the Bay Area. She was twenty-three and he was twenty-seven and she was not prepared for how handsome he was and of course much better put together than when he was dragged out of the water.

He took her to dinner and, as she recalled, their first date was almost like an interview. He wanted to know everything about her and was utterly amazed to learn she’d had a job as a lifeguard in a community pool for exactly one summer when she was a teenager and yet jumped in to save him with total confidence. They fell in love almost instantly. The first time they made love, he asked her to marry him. She didn’t say yes right away, but they knew from the start they were made for each other. What they didn’t know was how many fights they’d have. Very few big fights but many small ones; she thought of them as bickering. They fought about what was on the pizza; a scrape on the side of the car that was not her fault, not even remotely; what kind of vacation they should have and where they should go. As Anna recalled, they always went where Chad wanted to go. They fought about what movie to see, where to eat, what was grumbled under his or her breath.

They fought seriously about his affair. That was in the distant past but it took a long time to get over. Years. But when they finally pledged to stay married, to do their best to make it good, they fell into bed and had the best sex of their lives. And they had Elizabeth.

That experience was how she knew that all the excuses for this current marital rift, no matter what he called it, was probably about another woman and not them growing apart or having divergent needs. He wouldn’t admit it and she had no proof, but she had better than average instincts. She believed he’d gotten all excited at the prospect of falling in love and was rewriting their history to make that acceptable. He was looking for an excuse that would make it reasonable to step outside the bonds of marriage. She could feel it; he’d been involved with someone else.

Excerpted from A Family Affair by Robyn Carr. Copyright © 2022 by Robyn Carr. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Bio

Robyn Carr is an award-winning, #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than sixty novels, including highly praised women’s fiction such as Four Friends, The Summer That Made Us and The View from Alameda Island, as well as the critically acclaimed Virgin River, Thunder Point and Sullivan’s Crossing series. Virgin River is now a Netflix original series. Robyn lives in Las Vegas, Nevada. You can visit her website at robyncarr.com.

Social Links

Author Website

Twitter: @RCarrWriter

Facebook: Robyn Carr

Instagram: @robyncarrwriter

Goodreads

Purchase Links 

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-MillionPowell’s

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Crimson Summer by Heather Graham

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CRIMSON SUMMER (Amy Larson & Hunter Forrest FBI Book #2) by Heather Graham on the HTP Books Winter 2022 Mystery and Thriller 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

From New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham, suspense following agents from the FBI and Florida Department of Law Enforcement as they investigate a series of murders linked to conspiracy theorists and doomsday cults.

Just when FDLE agent Amy Larson thought she’d wrapped up her most chilling case, she was delivered a red toy horse–a not-so-subtle taunt from a Doomsday cult that she and FBI agent Hunter Forrest hoped they’d taken down. A apparent turf war in Seminole territory in North Florida is the scene of a bloody massacre, and the blame seems to lie with drug cartels out of South America. The trail will take the pair on a cross-country hunt, and deep into a world of conspiracy theories, greed and privilege, where a powerful, hidden group is trying to create civil unrest through violence.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57882713-crimson-summer?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=FGTvYa4FcD&rank=2

CRIMSON SUMMER

Author: Heather Graham

ISBN: 9780778311829

Publication Date: April 5, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

CRIMSON SUMMER (Amy Larson & Hunter Forrest FBI Book #2) by Heather Graham is the second book in this romantic suspense/crime thriller series with an overall series arc of a mysterious apocalyptic cult with each book featuring one of the four horsemen from Revelations. This book can be read as a standalone, but it is easier to follow the overall arc by reading them in order.

FDLE Special Agent Amy Larson and FBI Special Agent Hunter Forrest are on vacation when they receive a small red toy horse figurine delivered to their room. They return to Florida immediately to a massacre in the Florida Everglades.

As the investigation gets going, a second massacre occurs in New York City. The red horse is “War” and with tensions rising, law enforcement is afraid of retaliations. A mystery puppet master is killing every witness and lead Amy and Hunter uncover. With the stakes increasing nationwide, Amy and Hunter are in a race to uncover a trail that does not lead to a dead-end but will lead them to the red horse mastermind.

I was so happy to finally get the follow-up to Danger In Numbers and the next book in this series. This is a solid next step the overall arc and a good crime thriller in its own right. Amy and Hunter are a wonderful couple to follow as the main characters. Even with the brutality of the crimes and the danger along the way, Ms. Graham is able to give Amy and Hunter lighter moments, too. This is a pair of law enforcement officers I look forward to reading more about. All the secondary characters were interesting, and the plot twists make this a story I could not put down.

I recommend this series and author and I am anxiously awaiting the next book!

***

Excerpt

Prologue

The sun was out, inching its way up in the sky, casting golden rays and creating a beautiful display of color over the shading mangroves and cypress growing richly in the area. The sunlight touched on the streams running throughout the Everglades, the great “River of Grass” stretching over two hundred acres in southern and central portions of Florida, creating a glittering glow of nature.

The sky was gold and red at the horizon, and brilliantly blue above, with only a few soft puffs of clouds littered about. Diamonds and crystals seemed to float on the water.

Such beauty. Such peace. 

Then there was the crime scene.

The bodies lay strewn and drenched with blood. The rich, natural earth hues of the Everglades were caught in a surreal image, greens and browns spattered liberally with the color red as if an angry child had swung a sopping paint-brush around.

Aidan Cypress had never understood why the mocking-bird had been made Florida’s state bird—not when it seemed that vultures ruled the skies overhead. Never more so than today.

Now, as he stood overlooking the scene with his crew and special agents from the FDLE, trying to control the crime scene against the circling vultures, Aidan couldn’t help but wonder just what had happened and why it had happened this way—and grit his teeth knowing there would be speculation.

Stooping down by the body of a man Aidan believed to be in his midthirties—with dark hair, olive complexion, possibly six feet in height, medium build—he noted the shaft of an arrow protruding from the man’s gut.

All the dead had been killed with arrows, hatchets, axes and knives. Because whoever had done this had apparently tried to make it look like a historical Native American rampage.

Except the killers hadn’t begun to understand there were differences in the weaponry and customs between the nations and tribes of the indigenous peoples across the country.

In South Florida, the dead man’s coloring could mean many things; Aidan himself was a member of the Seminole tribe of Florida, though somewhere in his lineage, some-one had been white—most probably from northern Europe originally. He had a bronze complexion, thick, straight hair that was almost ebony…and green eyes.

South Florida was home to those who had come from Cuba, Central and South America and probably every island out there. The area was truly a giant melting pot. That’s how his family had begun. In a way, history had created the Seminole tribe because there had been a time when settlers had called any indigenous person in Florida a Seminole.

But while the killers had tried to make this look like a massacre of old, the dead men were not Seminole. They were, Aidan believed, Latino. He could see tattoos on the lower arms of a few of the dead who had been wearing T-shirts; a single word was visible in the artwork on the man in front of him—Hermandad.

Spanish for “Brotherhood.”

“What the hell happened here, Aidan?”

Aidan looked up to see that John Schultz—Special Agent John Schultz, Florida Department of Law Enforcement—was standing by his side.

John went on. “It’s like a scene out of an old cowboys and Indians movie!”

Aidan stared at John as he rose, bristling—and yet he knew what it looked like at first glance.

“Quaking aspen,” Aidan said.

“Quaking aspen?” John repeated blankly.

“It’s not native to this area. Look at the arrow. That wasn’t made by any Seminole, Miccosukee or other Florida Native American. That is a western wood.”

“Yeah, well, things travel these days.”

Aidan shook his head. He liked John and respected him. The older agent was experienced, a few years shy of retirement. The tall, gray-haired man had recently suffered a heart attack, had taken the prescribed time off and come back to the field. They’d worked together dozens of times before. He could be abrasive—he had a sometimes-unhappy tendency to say what he thought, before thinking it through.

A few years back John had been partnered with a young woman named Amy Larson. It had taken John a long time to accept her age—and the fact she was female. Once he’d realized her value, though, he’d become her strongest supporter.

But Amy wasn’t here today.

And Aidan missed her. She softened John’s rough edges. 

She was still on holiday somewhere with Hunter Forrest, the FBI agent she’d started dating. They were off on an island enjoying exotic breezes and one another’s company minus all the blood and mayhem.

Aidan stopped lamenting the absence of his favorite FDLE agent and waved away a giant vulture trying to hone in on a nearby body.

Half of the corpses were already missing eyes and bits and pieces of skin and soft tissue.

Aidan sighed and looked around. There were twenty bodies, all of them male, between the ages of twenty and forty, he estimated.

Because he’d noted the tattoos on a few of them, and using his own years of experience, he theorized the dead were members of a gang. Florida had many such gangs. Most were recruits from the various drug cartels, resolved to hold dominion over their territories.

He looked at John, trying to be patient, understanding and professional enough to control his temper. “You know, you may be the special agent, but I’m the forensics expert, and this was not something perpetrated by any of the Florida tribes—or any tribe anywhere. I can guarantee you no one sent out a war party to slaughter some gang members. Someone tried—ridiculously—to make this look like some Natives did this.”

“Hey, sorry, you’re right. Forgive me—just…look around!” John said quickly and sincerely. “It’s just at first sight…well, I mean—wow. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The apology was earnest. “Okay. Let’s figure out what really happened.”

The corpses were in something of a clearing right by a natural stream making its way through hammocks thick with cypress trees and mangroves and all kinds of underbrush.

While the area was customarily filled with many birds—herons, cranes, falcons, hawks and more—it was the vultures who had staked out a claim. The bodies lay with arrows and axes protruding from their heads, guts or chests, as if they’d fought in a bloody battle. And now they succumbed to decay on the damp and redolent earth.

John followed Aidan’s gaze and winced. “It’s a mess. Okay, well…all right. I’m going to go over and interview the man who found this.”

“Jimmy Osceola,” Aidan said. “He’s been fishing this little area all his life, and he does tours. Two birds with one stone. Members of his family work with him and all of them fish and take tourists out here. He has a great little place right off I-75. It’s called Fresh Catch, and his catch is about as fresh as it gets. Catfish. He’s a good guy, John.”

“I believe you. But we’re going to need a break here—you and your team have to find something for me to go on.”

Aidan stared at him, gloved hands unclenching at his sides. John was rough around the edges and said whatever came to mind, but he was a good cop.

He’d be hell-bent on finding out just what had gone on here.

Aidan told him what he’d heard. “Jimmy was out with a boatload of tourists—they’re right over there. See—two couples, a kid who just started at FIU and two middle-aged women. The first officers on the scene made sure they all stayed. Go talk to them. They look like they came upon a bloodbath—oh, wait, they did.”

John arched a brow to him and said, “Yeah. I got it.”

He headed off to talk to Jimmy Osceola and the group with him.

Aidan studied the crime scene again, as a whole.

First, what the hell had all these men been doing out here? A few of them looked to have been wearing suits; most were in T-shirts and jeans.

The few bodies he had noted—not touching any of them, that was the medical examiner’s purview—seemed to bear that same tattoo. Hermandad.

That meant a gang of enforcers in his mind, and he was sure it was a good guess.

Had a big drug deal been planned?

They were on state land, but it was state land traveled only by the local tribes who knew it. The park service rangers also came through, and the occasional tourist who arranged for a special excursion into the wilds.

Bird-watchers, often enough.

All they’d see today, however, would be the vultures. 

“Aidan.”

He heard his name spoken by a quiet female voice and he swung around.

Amy Larson was not enjoying an exotic island vacation. 

She was standing just feet from him, having carefully avoided stepping on any of the bodies, pools of blood or possible evidence. She was in a navy pantsuit, white cotton shirt and serviceable black sneakers—obviously back to work. 

No matter how all-business her wardrobe, Amy had blue-crystal eyes that displayed empathy and caring. She was great at both assuring witnesses and staring down suspects.

“What are you doing here, Amy?” Aidan asked her. “You’re supposed to be sunbathing somewhere, playing in the surf with Hunter.”

“I was.”

“So what happened?”

“It was great. Champagne, chocolates, sun, surf, sand…” She sighed.

“And?”

“And a little red horse—like the one from last month’s crime scene—delivered right to the room,” she said.

Excerpted from Crimson Summer by Heather Graham, Copyright © 2022 by Heather Graham Pozzessere. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

***

Author Bio 
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her website, TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, or find Heather on Facebook.

Social Links

Author Website

Twitter: @HeatherGraham

Instagram: @TheOriginalHeatherGraham

Facebook: @HeatherGrahamAuthor

Goodreads

Purchase Links 

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-MillionPowell’s

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Sweet Home Cowboy Anthology

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the HQN blog tour for SWEET HOME COWBOY – an anthology.

Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the authors’ bios and social media links. Enjoy!

***

Author Q&A with Maisey Yates

· 1.  How many genres do you write in?

I write Women’s Fiction and romance, and within romance I write high fantasy romance for the Presents line, and Western romance.

· 2.  What is your favorite genre (or subgenre) to write? Why? 

I don’t really have a favorite, I love to change it up, it keeps everything fresh. I love the twists and family relationships in women’s fiction, and I love digging deep into the characters in western romance, and I love getting to do over the top angst in Presents.

·  3.  How do you decide who to collaborate with for anthologies? 

I did a publisher led anthology once, but the books weren’t connected. The Jasper Creek anthologies very much came out of my friendship with Nicole, Caitlin and Jackie, just something we brainstormed together, and now it’s taken on a life of its own! Three books – and more on the way!

·  4.  What book/genre have you not yet written that you would like to write in the future? 

I love historical and mystery elements in WF, a historical mystery would be really fun.

· 5.  Which of your characters would you most like to sit down for lunch with?

I’m a sucker for Luke Hollister from Smooth-Talking Cowboy and always have been, so I’ll always choose Luke.

·  6.  What is your writing routine? 

My routine really changes from book to book. Some books really like to be written in the morning, others like evenings. Some I plot, some I don’t. I try to write within normal office type hours, M-F and take weekends off, but every book is different, and some I don’t like to take a break from while I’m working on them.

·  7.  How do you research information for books? 

Google mostly. Seriously. And YouTube videos are great when you need visuals.

·   8.  Have any of your books been made into movies? If so, which one(s) and if not, which one(s) would you like to see as a movie? 

I want to see Sweet Home Cowboy as a miniseries. The sisters are so fun together, and I love the chickens and the humor. I think it would be delightful.

***

Book Summary

SWEET HOME COWBOY S is a Western-themed anthology featuring four stories from bestselling authors Maisey Yates, Nicole Helm, Jackie Ashenden and Caitlin Crews!

Four half sisters create the family they’ve always dreamed of in this enchanting quartet from bestselling authors Maisey Yates, Nicole Helm, Jackie Ashenden and Caitlin Crews.

The Hathaway sisters might have grown up apart, but when they agree to move to Jasper Creek, Oregon, to revitalize their grandfather’s farm, it seems a straightforward decision. Until they meet their neighborhood cowboys…

Sweet-natured Teddy has never met a man worth taking a risk on, until now. Tomboy Joey has more affinity with farm equipment than men, until a brooding cowboy changes her mind. Prickly baker Georgie can’t resist the temptation of the most forbidden cowboy of all, and sparks fly between ceramicist Elliot and the grumpy single-dad rancher next door.

The sisters’ feelings are anything but simple, but with the love and support of each other, they discover that a cowboy might be the sweetest thing of all about coming home.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/58562161-sweet-home-cowboy?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=Bmsp9x5xWp&rank=2

SWEET HOME COWBOY

Author: Maisey Yates, Jackie Ashenden, Caitlin Crews, Nicole Helm

ISBN: 9781335639967

Publication Date: March 29, 2022

Publisher: HQN Books

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

SWEET HOME COWBOY (Jasper Creek Book #3) by Maisey Yates, Jackie Ashenden, Caitlin Crews, and Nicole Helm is a wonderfully heartwarming anthology featuring the four Hathaway sisters, who never wish to be called half-sisters, come together to revitalize their grandfather’s farm in Jasper Creek, Oregon. The four sisters are featured in four novellas overlapping in time in this anthology which is the third in the Jasper Creek series and can easily be read as a standalone.

I can only say good things about this anthology. Each novella took me on an emotional ride with each sister and her cowboy match through an instant love romance with just the right amount of heat. The consistency between all the romance timelines was very well done as one sister was the focal point in each story, but there was still crossover. Each sister and cowboy couple is unique and fully drawn for being novella length. The sex scenes are not behind closed doors, but they are also not gratuitous. This is just an all-around enchanting anthology full of love, family, and house chickens.

I highly recommend this anthology!

***

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

It was never comfortable for people when four sets of vi­olet eyes zeroed in on them with the level of intensity the Hathaway sisters could manage.

A fact the half sisters had learned when they’d first met at summer camp, thanks to their families, who’d been care­ful to give the girls the opportunity to meet each other, without the pressure of having to become friends or even real sisters.

But sisters they had become that first day at the age of thirteen. In each other, they’d found kindred spirits. Not just in the unusual color of their eyes, but in the depths of their passions, and in their driving need to forge family out of the fragments their father had left behind when he’d impreg­nated all their mothers at different points in the same year.

So that, as adults, though they lived in different parts of the country, they were the best of friends. Sisters, through and through, and when Georgie had informed them of Grandpa Jack’s heart attack in Jasper Creek, the rest had rushed to the small Oregon town to see what they could do.

Grandpa Jack looked at each of them with his usual squinty-eyed suspicion. Though their father had never made any effort to be a part of his daughters’ lives, Grandpa Jack had always made it clear he’d be there if needed.

But not to expect him to be cheerful about it.

“Didn’t all have to come,” he grumbled, shifting in his hospital bed.

“Well, of course we did. And we’ll stay until you’re on the mend,” Teddy said, patting his hand. The squinty-eyed suspicion became a full-fledged scowl as he pulled his hand away.

While Teddy was all about gestures of affection, Grandpa Jack was decidedly not.

Which made the fact Georgie was the only local grand­daughter a blessing as she shared the discomfort with such goings-on. He turned his glare to her. “Didn’t have to call them.”

Georgie shrugged.

“She was right to,” Joey said firmly, meeting Grandpa Jack’s scowl with her own. “We won’t hear another com­plaint about it. A waste of time. You know how stubborn we are.”

Grandpa Jack grunted.

Elliot smirked. “Wonder where we got it.”

A nurse knocked on the door, then poked her head in. “Sorry, girls, it’s time to head home. Visiting hours are over.”

“Girls,” Elliot muttered under her breath with a consid­erable amount of disdain for the word.

But Teddy pressed a kiss to Grandpa Jack’s wrinkled forehead, Elliot touched his shoulder, and Georgie and Joey hovered at the door until they all left the room, chorusing goodbyes.

“I hate leaving him all alone,” Teddy said as Elliot linked arms with her. Teddy reached out and took Joey’s arm.

“He’ll be home soon enough,” Joey reassured her. She gave Georgie an apologetic shrug, then linked arms with her too, so they were a unit as they walked out of the hos­pital into the cool spring evening.

“He’s not going to let you fuss over him, Teddy. It isn’t his way,” Georgie said pragmatically as they walked to her truck.

Teddy frowned. “I think you misjudge my tenacity.”

Elliot’s eyebrows winged up. “Do we?”

Teddy wrinkled her nose, but didn’t argue with Elliot.

“I found an Airbnb closer to the hospital,” Georgie said, sounding tired as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “I knew this wouldn’t be a quick visit and we’d need more room than Felix and I have.” Georgie had grown up with her half brother right here in Jasper Creek.

The four sisters climbed into Georgie’s truck. Whatever belongings they’d packed were strapped into the bed of the truck from when Georgie had picked Joey and Teddy up at the airport this afternoon, after Elliot had driven down from Portland.

Georgie drove onto the highway, and it was only about fifteen minutes later she parked in front of a pretty little farmhouse just outside of Jasper Creek.

“This place is amazing,” Teddy said.

“Much better taken care of than the main house at Grandpa Jack’s property,” Georgie returned.

The women got out, grabbed what they’d need for the night, then headed inside.

“I’ll make us some dinner,” Teddy said, already mov­ing for the kitchen.

“The host said she left some things for us to eat when we arrived,” Georgie replied, dropping her stuff in the front room.

They all descended on the kitchen, which was quaint and old-fashioned—something that suited all four women to the bone. On the table were a variety of baked goods.

“I found a teapot and some tea,” Teddy said.

“Scones and sweet rolls for dinner sounds good to me,” Joey said, already unwrapping the plate of baked goods and digging in.

Elliot found plates and set the table, shoving one at Joey as she’d already plowed through three-fourths of a scone.

“Do you think Grandpa Jack is stressed about the ranch? And that’s what caused this?” Teddy asked, fiddling with the stove.

“I think he’s an old man who eats poorly and smokes cigars regularly. But…” Georgie sighed.

“He’s been talk­ing about selling off the last piece of land to Colt West next door. He’d keep the

cabin and about an acre around it, but the rest would go to Colt.”

“Even the main house?” Joey asked, as she licked crumbs from her fingers.

“You could hardly call it that these days. It’s falling apart at the seams.”

Teddy frowned. “That’s just not right.”

Georgie shrugged. “He hasn’t lived in that house in de­cades. He’s a single, old, grumpy man. He’s finally accept­ing he can’t really take care of the ranch. Why not sell?”

“It’s our legacy,” Joey said. Then she looked around the table. “Isn’t it?”

“It’s our absent father’s legacy,” Elliot returned. “As­suming he’s still alive.”

All eyes turned to Georgie, who was the only one who’d ever had any contact with Mickey Hathaway. She lifted her shoulders. “Far as I know.”

Silence filled the room until Teddy’s teakettle began to whistle. She poured tea for everyone, then took a seat at the kitchen table. As far as she was concerned, this was all fate. The timing, the chance of all four of them com­ing here at a point in their lives where they got to decide what came next.

“We’ve always talked about how much we wanted to live there, so why don’t we?”

“Why don’t we what?” Joey replied, mouth full with her last bite of scone.

“Live there. Do what we all love to do. Put together some kind of…business. Honey, eggs,” Teddy said, pointing to herself. “Produce,” she said, pointing to Joey. “Ceramics.” Elliot’s specialty. “Our sweet Georgie’s baked goods,” she said, grinning at Georgie’s negative reaction to being called sweet.

“Most of us are already selling our wares anyway. Why don’t we do it here? The four of us.”

It would be more than the year her mother wanted, more than just learning some independence. It would be actually, hopefully permanently, forging that independence. Well, with her sisters. Which suited Teddy better. She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted to be a part of a family. Her family.

“You’d move here all the way from Maine?” Joey asked dubiously. “Leave your mother?”

Teddy sniffed. “I can leave my mother.” Then she wrin­kled her nose. Subterfuge wasn’t her

strong suit.

“She wants me to move out anyway.”

“Why?” her sisters demanded, offended on her behalf.

“She thinks I need a year of independence. To find my own way. Apparently twenty-five is too old to have always lived with your mother, according to her.”

When none of her sisters argued, she glared at them. “You agree with her?”

Elliot shrugged. “I don’t disagree with her.”

“Well, anyway, this would solve that, wouldn’t it? We can fix up the house. I’m sure some people need bee re­moval around here, so I’ll start a new hive. Buy new chick­ens. Elliot can drive her ceramics van down here. Joey, you could start the farm of your dreams with local produce and flowers—a brand-new challenge, all yours. Georgie, you can design the baking kitchen you’ve been planning since childhood. And we’ll be close enough to Grandpa to help him—and far enough away he won’t beat us away with sticks.”

They looked at Teddy, varying looks of consideration and concern on their faces. But as the idea took shape in Teddy’s mind, she knew it was exactly right. This wasn’t some new dream out of left field; it was an old dream.

And if she had to be independent, why not make that old dream a reality?

“We always wanted to live in one place. Like a real fam­ily,” Teddy said. She would have reached out and grabbed all their hands if she had three herself. As it was, she only looked at them imploringly. “Sisters. Live together. Work together. It’s the dream. Maybe something good can come out of Grandpa’s health scare. If Grandpa lets us live in the house, and we pool whatever our savings are together, it’s not a financial stretch. Elliot and I can keep our indepen­dent businesses running while we get our joint business set up. Then we split the farm profit four ways.”

“Profit. That is optimistic at best,” Georgie said.

“You know I am all about optimism,” Teddy returned.

A wind chime tinkled from the front room, which was odd considering there shouldn’t be enough wind to make it move here inside.

“Did someone leave the door open?” Joey asked, push­ing back from the table. The girls got up and walked to­ward the door, which was indeed open.

“Look at that,” Elliot said.

They stepped out onto the porch together. Beyond the dogwood in the front just beginning to bloom, the sun was setting in a riot of colors—bright magentas, deep oranges, fading into lavenders and lighter pinks.

“It’s the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s a tad dramatic, Teddy,” Georgie said gently, though her voice held all the awe of someone who agreed, but would never admit it.

“We have to do it,” Teddy said, her voice almost a whis­per. “This is a sign. Don’t you believe in fate?”

Elliot nodded. “Yeah. I’m mobile. I go where I please. Why not right here?”

Georgie shrugged. “Don’t know about fate, but it wouldn’t change much for me, except you guys would be close. I’d like that. Felix is talking about leaving Jasper Creek.”

Teddy reached out, but Georgie stopped her with a quell­ing look. “It’s fine.” She offered a smile, or Georgie’s ver­sion of a smile anyway. “Especially if you guys are here.”

All eyes turned to Joey.

“I have to talk timing over with my mom. I don’t want to leave her short-staffed,” Joey said, her eyes still on the sunset. Then she pushed out a breath and looked at her sis­ters and grinned. “But why the hell not?”

Teddy smiled at the sunset, feeling a bit teary over the whole thing. But it was meant to be, she was sure of it. “Four Sisters Farm.” She looked at each of her sisters. “That’s what we can call it. Because it’ll be ours. Always.”

Excerpted from Sweet Home Cowboy by Nicole Helm, Maisey Yates, Jackie Ashenden, Caitlin Crews. Copyright © 2022 by Nicole Helm, Maisey Yates, Jackie Ashenden, Caitlin Crews. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

***

Maisey Yates is a New York Times bestselling author of over one hundred romance novels. Whether she’s writing strong, hard working cowboys, dissolute princes or multigenerational family stories, she loves getting lost in fictional worlds. An avid knitter with a dangerous yarn addiction and an aversion to housework, Maisey lives with her husband and three kids in rural Oregon. Check out her website, maiseyyates.com or find her on Facebook.

Author Website: http://www.maiseyyates.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/MaiseyYates.Author/ 

Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/maiseyyates Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/maiseyyates/

Jackie Ashenden writes dark, emotional stories with alpha heroes who’ve just got the world to their liking only to have it blown wide apart by their kick-ass heroines.

She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband the inimitable Dr Jax and two kids. When she’s not torturing alpha males, she can be found drinking chocolate martinis, reading anything she can lay her hands on, wasting time on social media, or forced to mountain biking with her husband.

Author Website: https://www.jackieashenden.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jackie.ashenden 

Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/jackieashenden 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jackie_ashenden/ 

Caitlin Crews is a USA Today bestselling, RITA-nominated, and critically-acclaimed author who has written more than 100 books and counting. She has a Masters and Ph.D. in English Literature, thinks everyone should read more category romance, and is always available to discuss her beloved alpha heroes. Just ask. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her comic book artist husband, is always planning her next trip, and will never, ever, read all the books in her to-be-read pile. Thank goodness.

Author Website: https://megancrane.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MeganCraneAndCaitlinCrews/ 

Twitter: https://mobile.twitter.com/megancrane Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/meganmcrane/

Nicole Helm writes down-to-earth contemporary romance and fast-paced romantic suspense. She lives with her husband and two sons in Missouri. Visit her website: www.nicolehelm.com

Author Website: https://www.nicolehelm.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorNicoleHelm 

Twitter: https://www.instagram.com/nicole_t_helm/ 

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nicole_t_helm/ 

Purchase Links 

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-Million

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Last Duke Standing by Julia London

Hi, everyone!

I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on this HQN Books blog tour for the first book in a new historical romance series – LAST DUKE STANDING (A Royal Match Book #1) by Julia London.

Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author bio and social media links. Enjoy!

***

Author Q&A

1.     Tell us about your latest book. Who are the main character(s) and what can readers expect when they pick up Last Duke Standing?

Princess Justine Ivanosen is going to be queen of Wesloria sooner than she hoped—her father, the king, is dying from tuberculosis. Because he is declining, a marriage becomes very important. The Prime Minister is dead set against having a young woman ascend the throne without a man to guide her, and her mother is still smarting over Justine’s disastrous affair with a charlatan, the reveal of which has left her without great prospects at home. The Prime Minister convinces the queen that they ought to employ a matchmaker to make quick work of it. They can ship her off to England to apprentice with Queen Victoria, bring some suitors around to court her there instead of here, where all of Wesloria will be watching, and give strict instructions that she is to return with a fiance. The prime minister won’t leave the selection of the lucky fellow to chance, and persuades one of his old cronies to send his handsome son to London to keep an eye on the selection process.

William Douglas, the future Duke of Hamilton, has been flitting around Europe for ages. He’s met the princess before, but she was hardly more than a snippy girl who didn’t like losing parlor games. The last thing he wants to do is babysit that child. But he discovers the girl in his memory is now a very attractive grown woman. She’s still a challenge, however—she likes to be called Your Royal Highness a lot more than he likes saying it, and expressly forbids him from offering his advice. He’s one of those people—if someone says don’t do it, he’s going to do it. And he has some advice about every man that comes to meet her.

Lady Aleksander, the matchmaker, sees that these two might be perfect for each other. The only way to find out is to bring some gentlemen around that she knows will unite Justine and William. But they are too busy pretending they aren’t falling in love to even notice.   

2.     Who was your favorite character to write in THE LAST DUKE STANDING and why?

I like all the main characters. Justine and William were so meant for each other. Little sister Amelia has some growing up to do. Beckett Hawke and Donovan are back from A Royal Wedding series. But I really enjoyed creating Lady Aleksander, the matchmaker. She is the third point of view in this book, and her observations of what is happening is like the Greek chorus—she can see clearly what the leads can’t see. It liked that she’s in her forties, very much in love with her husband, and she just wants everyone to have what she has. She makes no apologies for who she is or what she does and she has the patience of Job. She also likes to eat. We have that in common.

3.     What do you like about writing in the historical subgenre? What are the challenges?

I fell in love with historical fiction when I was a girl. Castles and princesses were a long way from a ranch in West Texas, but I loved the stories of balls and gowns and the idea of a rich gentleman. I was surrounded by farmers and ranch hands, so the idea of a pretty dress and fancy dinner had a fairy-tale appeal. I loved history in school, and I minored in British history. The fairy-tale appeal still persists—through the last election and the pandemic, it was a great relief for me to slip off to another world where people were genteel and the biggest problem they had was the strict rules of etiquette putting a damper on their moves. The challenge of writing historical romance today is to make it interesting for the new generation of readers. There is a lot more competing for their attention than there was for mine at a similar age. But a good love story is a good story, no matter the era.

4.     Who are some authors you look to for inspiration?

One of the best romances I ever read was Here Be Dragons by Sharon Kay Penman. It is a history of Wales, and of King Llewellyn and his very young wife Joanna. The history is dark and bloody, but they truly loved each other.

I have also found a renewed admiration for Julia Quinn. I can look back at her Bridgerton series now and see how clever she was at giving us a large family with a lot of issues to enjoy for years. She must have taken excellent notes from her own books to keep up with all the twists and turns in that family.

5.     What is your writing routine like? Do you have a specific place you write? Time of day?

My routine is to do it every day. I usually do some physical exercise in the morning, but once I’ve done that, and picked up the house, and done my Wordle, I get to work. I write every day. I have an office, but the pandemic has made me sick of it. So I move around the house now. I am done with the day’s work by the time school is out—I used to be able to keep my head in two places (the book and family) but I can’t do that anymore. I don’t know what happened to my ability to multi-task, but it has been obliterated.  So I work as much as I can during school hours and then hit the wine fridge like any red-blooded working mom.

6.     What’s next for the Royal Match series?

I am just finishing The Duke Not Taken. It’s about Princess Amelia, who is also sent to England under Lady Aleksander’s care to find a husband. Amelia really wants a husband and a family. Her problem, however, is she’s too much of a straightshooter for most people. And she’s not willing to settle. Enter the Duke of Marley, who has to be the only man in one hundred square miles who is not the least interested in a beautiful, rich, young princess. He has his reasons…

***

Book Summary

When Crown Princess Justine of Wesloria is sent to England to learn the ropes of royalty, she falls under the tutelage of none other than Queen Victoria herself. She’s also in the market for a proper husband—one fit to marry the future Queen of Wesloria.

Because he knows simply everyone, William, Lord Douglas (the notoriously rakish heir to the Duke of Hamilton seat in Scotland, and decidedly not husband material), is on hand as an escort of sorts. William has been recruited to keep an eye on the royal matchmaker for the Weslorian Prime Minister, tasked to ensure the princess is matched with a man of quality…and one who will be sympathetic to the prime minister’s views. As William and Justine are forced to scrutinize an endless parade of England’s best bachelors, they become friends. But when the crowd of potential grooms is steadily culled, what if William is the last bachelor standing?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57893626-last-duke-standing?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=LezVsRslxO&rank=2

THE LAST DUKE STANDING

Author: Julia London

ISBN: 9781335639868

Publication Date: February 22, 2022

Publisher: HQN Books

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

LAST DUKE STANDING (A Royal Match Book #1) by Julia London is a charming enemies-to-lovers historical romance story start to a new series. I look forward to historical romances by Julia London for the witty dialogue and endearing characters and this one did not disappoint.

Crown Princess Justine of Wesloria is sent to England with her younger sister to find a suitable husband before her sick father, the king, dies. Justine not only has to put up with a matchmaker, she believes is incompetent, and servants always reporting back to her mother the Queen, but a gentleman from her past she is not happy to see again shows up to be an escort of sorts.

William, Lord Douglas has been recruited to spy on the Crown Princess and her prospects by the Prime Minister of Wesloria to make sure her new Prince Consort will be sympathetic to his views. William met Justine eight years previously, but the Justine he is sent to escort is a woman now and the more he discovers about her, the more intrigued he becomes. As their friendship grows, so do the faults of Justine’s suitors.

When it appears William may be the perfect match and the last bachelor standing, a scandal from his past may ruin any chance for a Happily Ever After match.

This is a fun and entertaining read with delightful banter between William and Justine and an entertaining plot that has a great twist at the end. William is an endearing hero throughout. Justine was a little more difficult to warm up to until you realize how her whole life has been manipulated and one small mistake in judgement as a young girl has led to constant supervision. All the secondary characters were fully fleshed, and I will be looking forward to meeting some in future books in the series.

I enjoyed this historical romance and I will be looking forward to reading more in this new series.

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Excerpt

PROLOGUE

1844

When Justine was fourteen, her father took her to the mountainous north country of Wesloria. He said he was to meet with coal barons because they were restless and in need of appeasing. Why? Justine had wondered.

“Because coal barons are always restless and in need of appeasing, darling,” he’d said, as if everyone knew that.

She’d imagined large, heavily cloaked men, faces covered in soot, pacing their hearths and muttering their grievances. But the coal barons were, in fact, like all well-dressed Weslorian gentlemen with clean faces.

They peered at her with expressions that ranged from disgust to indifference to curiosity.

“Don’t mind them,” her father had said. “They are not modern men.”

Justine and her father were housed at Astasia Castle. It was a fortress that jutted out forebodingly from a rocky outcropping so high on the mountain that the horses labored to pull the royal coach up the steep drive. It was purported to be the best of all the accommodations in the area, afforded to Justine and her father by virtue of the fact Justine’s father was the king of Wesloria, and she was the crown princess, the invested heir to the throne.

Justine said the castle looked scary. Her father explained that castles were built in this manner so that armies and marauders could be seen advancing from miles away, and runaway brides could be seen fleeing for miles.

“Runaway brides?” Justine had been enthralled by the idea of something so romantic gone so horribly awry.

“Petr the Mad watched his bride run away with his best knight, and then watched his men chase them for miles before they got away. He was so angry he burned down half the village.” Her father did not elaborate further, as the gates had opened, and the castellan had come rushing forward, eager to show the king and his heir the old royal castle he proudly kept.

Sir Corin wore a dusty blue waistcoat that hung to his thighs, the last four buttons undone to allow for his paunch. His hair, scraggly and gray, had been pulled into an old-fashioned queue at his nape. He kept a ring of keys attached to his waist that clanked with each step he took.

He was a student of history, he’d said, and could answer any question they might have about Astasia Castle, and proceeded to exhibit his detailed knowledge of the dank, drafty place with narrow halls and low ceilings. A young Russian prince had died in this room. An ancient queen had lost her life giving birth to her tenth child in that room.

Sir Corin showed them to the throne room. “More than one monarch’s held court here.”

Justine was accustomed to the opulence of the palace in Wesloria’s capital of St. Edys. This looked more like a common room of a public house—it was small and dark, the king and queen’s thrones wooden, and the tapestries faded by time and smoke.

Another room, Sir Corin pointed out, was where King Maksim had accepted the surrender of the feudal King Igor, thereby uniting all Weslorians under one rule after generations of strife.

“My namesake,” her father said proudly, forgetting, perhaps, that King Maksim had slaughtered King Igor’s forces to unite them all.

They came upon a small inner courtyard. Stone walls rose up on three sides of it, but the outer wall was a battlement. Sir Corin pointed to a door at one end of the battlement that led into a keep with narrow windows. “We use it for storage now, but they kept the prisoners there in the old days. Worse than any dungeon your young eyes have ever seen, Your Royal Highness.”

Justine had never seen a dungeon.

“Is this not where Lord Rabat was beheaded?” her father asked casually. To Justine, he said, “That would have been your great-great-uncle Rabat.”

“Je, Your Majesty, the block is still here.” Sir Corin pointed to a large wooden block that stood alone, about two feet high and two feet wide. It looked to have been weathered by years of sitting in hard sun and wretched winters.

“Oh, how terrible,” Justine said, crinkling her nose.

“Quite,” her father agreed, and explained, with far too much enthusiasm, how a person was made to kneel before the block and lay their neck upon it. “A good executioner could make clean work of it with a single stroke. Whap, and the head would tumble into a basket.”

“If I may, Your Majesty, a good executioner was hard to come by. More miners in these parts than men good with broadswords. Fact is, it took three strikes of the sword to sever Rabat’s head completely.” Sir Corin felt it necessary to demonstrate the three strikes with his arm.

“Ah…” Justine swallowed down a swell of nausea.

“Three whacks?” her father repeated, rapt. “Couldn’t get it done in one?”

Sir Corin shook his head. “Just goes to prove how important it is to keep the broadsword sharp.”

“And to keep someone close who knows how to wield it,” her father added. The two men laughed roundly.

Justine looked around for someplace to sit so that she could put her head between her legs and gulp some air. Alas, the only place to sit was the block.

“Steady there, my girl. I’ve not told you who ordered the beheading,” her father said.

Sir Corin clasped his hands together in anticipation, clearly trying to contain his glee.

“Your great-great-aunt Queen Elena!”

Queen Elena had beheaded Lord Rabat? “Her husband?”

“Worse. Her brother.”

Justine gasped. “But why?”

“Because Rabat meant to behead her first. Whoever survived the battle here would be crowned the sovereign.”

“Ooh, a bloody battle it was, too,” Sir Corin said eagerly. “Four thousand souls lost, many of them falling right off the battlement.”

Justine backed up a step. A quake was beginning somewhere deep inside her, making her a little short of breath. Her knees felt as if they might buckle, and her skin crawled with anxiety, imagining the loss of so many. “Could she not have banished him?”

“And have him slither back like a snake?” Her father draped his arm around her shoulders before she could back up all the way to St. Edys. “She did the right thing. Why, minutes before, she was on the block herself.”

“Dear God,” Justine whispered.

“But at the last minute the people here saved her,” her father said. “She sentenced her brother to die immediately for his insurrection and stood right where we are now to watch his traitorous head roll.”

“Well,” Sir Corin said. “I wouldn’t say it rolled, precisely.”

The two men laughed again.

“Don’t close your eyes, darling,” her father said, squeezing her into his side. “Look at that block. Elena was only seventeen years old, but she was very clever. She knew what she had to do to hold power and rule the kingdom. And she ruled a very long time.”

“Forty-three years, all told,” Sir Corin said proudly.

“Queen Elena learned what every sovereign must—be decisive and act quickly. Do you understand?”

“I don’t…think so?” Justine was starting to feel a bit like she was spinning.

“You will.” Her father dropped his arm. He wandered over to the block to inspect it. “We almost named you Elena after her. But they called her Elena the Bi—Witch,” he said. “And your mother feared they might call you the same.”

“You said she was a good queen.”

“She was an excellent queen. But sometimes it is difficult to do the things that must be done and keep the admiration of your people at the same time.”

The spinning was getting worse. She gripped her father’s arm. “Why?”

“Because people expect a woman to behave like a woman. But a good queen must sometimes behave more like a king for the good of the kingdom. People don’t care for it.” He shrugged. “No king or queen can make all their subjects happy all the time.” He suddenly smiled. “You look a bit like Queen Elena.”

“The very image,” Sir Corin piped up.

Later that day Justine saw a portrait of Queen Elena. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t appear completely unpleasant. She simply looked…determined. And her dress was elegantly pretty, with lots of pearls sewn into it.

Later still, when her father and his men had retired to smoke cigars and talk about coal or some such, Justine returned to the courtyard alone. No one was there, no sentry looking out for marauders or runaway brides. She looked up at the tops of pines bending in a relentless wind, appearing to scrape a dull gray sky. She walked up the steps to the battlement and gazed out over the mountain valley below the castle. She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes and turned her face to the heavens.

That was the first time she truly felt it—the pull from somewhere deep, the energy of all the kings and queens who had come before her, rising up to the crown of her head, anchoring her to this earth. She felt the centuries of warfare and struggle, of the people her family had ruled. She felt the enormous responsibilities they’d all carried, the work they’d done to carve a road to the future.

Her father had often said that he could feel the weight of his crown on his shoulders. But Justine felt something entirely different. She didn’t feel as if it was weighing her down, but more like it was lifting her off her feet and holding her here. She didn’t believe this was a conceit on her part, but a tether to her past. She would be a queen. She knew that she would, and standing there, she felt like she should be. She felt born to it.

A gust of wind very nearly sent her flying, so she came down from the battlement. She paused just before the block and tried to imagine herself on her knees, knowing her death was imminent. She imagined how she would look.

She hoped she would appear strong and noble with no hint of her fear of the pain or the unknown.

Being queen was her destiny. She knew it would come.

But she hadn’t known then it would come so soon.

Excerpted from The Last Duke Standing by Julia London. Copyright © 2022 by Dinah Dinwiddie. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Bio

 Julia London is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over fifty novels of historical and contemporary romance. She is the author of the popular Highland Grooms series as well as A Royal Wedding, her most recent series. Julia is the recipient of the RT Bookclub Award for Best Historical Romance and a six-time finalist for the prestigious RITA award for excellence in romantic fiction. She lives in Austin, Texas. Visit her at www.julialondon.com.

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Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: A Lullaby for Witches by Hester Fox

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for A LULLABY FOR WITCHES by Hester Fox on the HTP Winter 2022 Historical Fiction 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

Augusta Podos has just landed her dream job, working in collections at a local museum, Harlowe House, located in the charming seaside town of Tynemouth, Massachussetts. Determined to tell the stories of the local community, she throws herself into her work–and finds an oblique mention of a mysterious woman, Margaret, who may have been part of the Harlowe family, but is reduced to a footnote. Fascinated by this strange omission, Augusta becomes obsessed with discovering who Margaret was, what happened to her, and why her family scrubbed her from historical records. But as she does, strange incidents begin plaguing Harlowe House and Augusta herself. Are they connected with Margaret, and what do they mean?

Tynemouth, 1872. Margaret Harlowe is the beautiful daughter of a wealthy shipping family, and she should have many prospects–but her fascination with herbs and spellwork has made her a pariah, with whispers of “witch” dogging her steps. Increasingly drawn to the darker, forbidden practices of her craft, Margaret finds herself caught up with a local man, Jack Pryce, and the temptation of these darker ways threatens to pull her under completely.

As the incidents in the present day escalate, Augusta finds herself drawn more and more deeply into Margaret’s world, and a shocking revelation sheds further light on Margaret and Augusta’s shared past. And as Margaret’s sinister purpose becomes clear, Augusta must uncover the secret of Margaret’s fate–before the woman who calls to her across the centuries claims Augusta’s own life.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/57578395-a-lullaby-for-witches?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=PVZImoOHji&rank=1

LULLABY FOR WITCHES

Author: Hester Fox

ISBN: 9781525804694

Publication Date: February 1, 2022

Publisher: Graydon House

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

A LULLABY FOR WITCHES by Hester Fox is an atmospheric gothic novel with romance and supernatural elements.

Augusta Podos has landed her dream job in a historic home turned museum, the Harlow House in Tynemouth, MA. The home was owned by a wealthy New England family for centuries. As Augusta researches the family, she is drawn to a mystery. A daughter of the Harlowe family from over a century ago has almost been completely expunged from the family history.

Margaret Harlowe is always drawn to the wilderness of the forest and coast by her family’s home. The women in town come to her for potions and aid in the dark, but never by day. The people whisper “witch”. When Margaret learns some buried truths, her power takes a darker turn.

As Augusta digs deeper, can she resist the power that Margaret unfurls between the two across the lines of blood and time to save and keep her own life?

This story pulled me in with both women and both timelines. The author is great at setting a sinister atmosphere with plenty of twists and surprises. The two intertwining timelines with alternating perspectives come together at the climax with a twist that is foreshadowed and though easily resolved, it was still entertaining. Augusta and Margaret are great characters, but there are trigger issues with an eating disorder and abuse. I would have liked a little more from the secondary characters, who for me, seemed two dimensional. I did enjoy all the family research and felt the historical information was very accurate.

Overall, an entertaining atmospheric gothic read.

***

Excerpt

Prologue

Margaret

I was beautiful in the summer of 1876. The rocky Tynemouth coast was an easy place to be beautiful, though, with a fresh salt breeze that brought roses to my cheeks and sun that warmed my long hair, shooting the chestnut brown through with rich veins of copper. It was enough to make me forget—or at least, not care—that I was an outsider, a curiosity who left whispers in my wake when I walked through the muddy streets of our coastal town.

Do I miss being beautiful? Of course. But it’s the being found beautiful by others that I miss the most. It was the ambrosia that made an otherwise solitary life bearable. And it was being found beautiful by one man in particular, Jack Pryce, that I miss the most.

He would come to find me out behind my family’s house as I helped our maid hang the laundry on the lines or weeded my rocky garden. He always brought me a little gift, whether it was a toffee wrapped in wax paper from his parents’ shop, or just a little green flower he had plucked because it reminded him of my eyes. Something that told me I was special, that those stories around town of him stepping out with the Clerkenwell girl weren’t true.

“There she is,” he would say, coming up with his hands in his pockets and crooked grin on his full lips. “My lovely wildflower.” He called me this, he said, on account of my insistence on going without shoes on warm days when the grass was soft and lush. Whatever little chore I was doing would soon be forgotten as I led him out of sight of the house. With my back against a tree and his hands traveling under and up my skirts, we found euphoria in a panting tangle of limbs and hoarsely whispered promises. Heavy sea mists mingling with sweat in hair (his), the taste of berry-sweet lips (mine), the gut-deep knowing that he must love me. He must. He must. He must.

But like all things, summer came to an end, and autumn swept in with her cruel winds and killing frosts. Jack came less and less often, claiming first that it was work at the shop, then that he could no longer be seen with the girl who was rumored to practice witchcraft and worship at the altar of the moon on clear nights. Finally, on a day where the rain fell in icy sheets and even the screeching cries of the gulls could not compete with the howling wind, I realized he was not coming back.

Time moves differently now. Then, it was measured in church bells and birthdays, clock strokes and town harvest dances. It was measured in the monthly flow of my courses, until they stopped coming and my belly grew distended and full. Now—or perhaps it is better to say “here”—time is a fluid thing, like water that flows in all directions, finding and filling every crack and empty place, like my womb and my heart.

I did not want to give the babe up, though I knew it could only bring heartache and pain to my family. A mother’s heart is a stubborn thing, and no sooner had I felt the first stirrings of life within me, than I knew I would do anything in the world to protect my little one.

It was folly, I know that now. A woman like me could never hope to bring a child into this cruel world, could never hope that the honey-sweet words of a man like Jack Pryce carried any weight. What irony that I should not realize such simple truths until it was too late. Should not realize them until my blood ran icy in my veins and my broken heart stopped beating. Until the man I thought had loved me stood over my body, staring down as the life ran out of me like a streambed running dry. Until I was dead and cold and no longer so very beautiful.

1

Augusta

“Hello?” Augusta threw her keys on the table and slung her bag onto one of the kitchen chairs. As usual, a precarious stack of plates had taken over the sink, and the remnants of a Chinese food dinner sat out on the table. Sighing, she covered the leftovers with plastic wrap, stuck them in the fridge and followed the sounds of video games to the living room.

“I’m home,” she said tersely to the two guys hunched over their gaming consoles.

Doug barely glanced up, but her boyfriend, Chris, threw her a quick glance over his shoulder.

“Hey, we’re just finishing up.” Turning back, he continued mashing keys on the game controller, shaking his dark fringe from his eyes and muttering colorful insults at his opponent.

Chris and Doug weren’t the best housemates. Sure, they paid their share of the rent on time, but the house was constantly a mess, and video games took priority over household chores. She supposed that’s what she got for living with her boyfriend and allowing his unemployed brother to move in with them. 

“Well, I guess I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Augusta said, too exhausted to pick a fight about the mess in the kitchen.

“You can stay and watch,” Chris said without turning back around.

She’d had a long, hard day. Between the air-conditioning being broken at work and discovering she only had ninety-eight dollars in her bank account after paying her cell phone bill, she wasn’t in the mood to watch Chris and Doug massacre each other with bazookas. She grabbed an apple from the kitchen, and went back to the room she shared with Chris, closing the door against the sounds of gunfire and explosions. Outside, the occasional car passed by in a sweep of headlights and somewhere down the street a dog barked. Loneliness curled around her as she sat at her laptop and began cycling through her bookmarked job listing sites.

Her job giving tours at the Old City Jail in Salem was all right; she got to work in a historic building, it was close enough that she could walk to work, and the polyester uniform was only a slightly nauseating shade of green. But it wasn’t challenging, and she wasn’t using her degree in museum studies for which she’d worked so hard. Not to mention the student debt she was still paying off. The worst was dealing with the public, though. Some of the people that showed up on her tours were engaged in her talks, but mostly the jail attracted cruise tourists who hadn’t realized that it was a guided tour and were more interested in snapping a quick picture for Instagram than learning about the history. The other day she’d really had to remind a full-grown man that he couldn’t bring an ice cream cone into the house, and then had to clean up said ice cream cone when he’d smuggled it inside anyway and dropped it. And the witches! Just because they were in Salem, everyone who came through the door assumed that there would be history about the witches, never mind that the jail didn’t even date from the same century as the witch trials. Most days she came home tired, irritable and unfulfilled. 

From the other room came an excited shout as Chris blew up Doug’s home base. Augusta turned her music up. Most of the listings on the museum job sites were for fundraising or grant writing, the sliver of the museum world where all the money was. She knew she shouldn’t be choosy, the millennial voice of reason in her head telling her that she was lucky to have a job at all. But Chris, with his computer engineering degree, actually had companies courting him, and his job at a Boston tech firm came with a yearly salary and benefits.

She was just about to close her laptop when a new listing popped up. Harlowe House in Tynemouth was looking for a collections manager to work alongside their curator. As she scanned the listing, her heart started to beat faster. She wasn’t familiar with the property, but a quick search showed that it was part of a trust dedicated to the history and legacy of a seafaring family from the nineteenth century. She ticked off the qualifications in her head—an advanced degree in art history, museum studies or anthropology, and at least five years of experience. She would have to fudge the years, but other than that, it was made for her. She bookmarked the listing, making a mental note to update her CV in the morning.

The door swung open and Chris came in, plopping himself on the bed beside her. Tall, with an athletic build and dark hair that was perpetually in need of a trim, he was wearing a faded band shirt and gym shorts. “We’re going to order subs. What do you want?”

“Didn’t you just get Chinese food?” she asked.

“That was lunch.”

Augusta did a quick inventory in her head of what she’d eaten that day, how many calories she was up to, and how much money she could afford. After she’d fished ten dollars out of her purse, Chris wandered back out to the living room, leaving her alone. She picked up a book, but it didn’t hold her interest, and soon she was lost scrolling through her phone and playing some stupid game where you had to match up jewels to clear the board. A thrilling Saturday night if there ever was one.

In both college and grad school, Augusta had had a vibrant, tight-knit group of friends. She’d always been a homebody, so there weren’t lots of wild nights out at clubs, but they’d still had fairly regular get-togethers. Lunches and trips to museums, stuff like that. So what had happened in the last few years?

Her mind knew what had happened, but her heart refused to face the truth. Chris had happened.

She had been with him ever since her dad died. She’d run into Chris, her old high school boyfriend, at the memorial. He’d been a familiar face, and she’d clung to him like a life raft amid the turmoil of putting her life back together without her father. It had been clear early on that beyond some shared history, they didn’t have much in common, but he was steady, and Augusta had craved steady. A year passed, then two, then three, and four. She had invested so much time in the relationship, sacrificed so many friends, that at some point it felt like admitting defeat to break up. For his part, Chris seemed content with the status quo, and so five years later, here they were.

That night, after Chris had rolled over and was lightly snoring, Augusta lay awake, thinking of the job listing. The words Harlowe House, Harlowe House, Harlowe House ran through her mind like the beat of a drum. A signal of hope, a promise of something better.

Excerpted from A Lullaby for Witches by Hester Fox, Copyright © 2022 by Hester Fox. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A

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Author Bio 

Hester Fox is a full-time writer and mother, with a background in museum work and historical archaeology. A native New-Englander, she now lives in rural Virginia with her husband and their son.

Social Media Links

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Twitter: @HesterBFox

Facebook: N/A

Instagram: @hesterbfox

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Purchase Links 

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

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