Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the HTP Holiday Romance Blog Tour for THE CHRISTMAS WEDDING GUEST by Susan Mallory.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
The last thing Reggie Sommerville wants is to come back home for Christmas. It’s only been a year and a half since her boyfriend, Jake, proposed and then broke up with her, all in one weekend, and the prospect of facing the entire town is humiliating. But when her parents reveal that they’re renewing their vows in the lavish wedding they always wanted and her mother asks her to be a bridesmaid, Reggie knows she can’t say no. No matter how much she wants to. She expected the town would be gossiping about her relationship with Jake, but she never expected to run into Toby, her first love that broke her heart all those years ago, living in town and raising his son. She always thought things between them were long over…but this Christmas is full of surprises.
Dena Sommerville has only ever wanted one thing: to have a child. But motherhood has been alluding her because she never met the right man…until she took the bull by the horns and decided to have a baby as a single mom. She knew it would be difficult and the morning sickness alone is knocking her down for the count, but she’s determined to do this on her own. So when a handsome musician checks into the inn where she works, Dena is surprised when a friendship develops. He has his own issues to work through—that much is clear. But she can’t deny there’s something between them
This Christmas, guilted into being bridesmaids at their parents’ vow renewal ceremony, Reggie and Dena Sommerville just might find the most unexpected gift of all—love.
THE CHRISTMAS WEDDING GUEST (Wishing Tree Book #1) by Susan Mallery is an enchanting small town Christmas contemporary romance story times two featuring two sisters and their very different paths to HEA. I am very excited that this is going to be a series and I cannot wait for more from Wishing Tree.
The Somerville sisters are excited about their parents wedding to renew their vows.
Dena Somerville is a teacher at the local Wishing Tree elementary school besides owning the small town’s B&B. Being financially secure and never having been lucky in love, Dena decides to have a baby on her own. Micah Ruiz has come to town for the holidays to visit his ex-band mate and try to get inspiration for his song writing. When he meets Dena, he is intrigued by this woman’s strength to have a baby on her own and he is falls for her with their first kiss, but Dena is afraid to believe that a rock star could fall for a small-town girl.
Regina “Reggie” Somerville has returned after a year away to help her mother with her wedding. Being her own boss and having a job she can do from anywhere she moves back to her parents’ home for the holidays with her rescued Great Dane, Belle. She is surprised to learn her first love and high school sweetheart is back in Wishing Tree with an eight-year-old son. Toby finds he is just as attracted to Reggie as he was before he left town as an eighteen-year-old. Reggie wants to give their relationship a second try, but Toby has been hurt in the past and has difficulty trusting. Can Reggie and the holidays work their special magic to get Toby to love again?
Ms. Mallery’s writing wraps you up in the story like a cozy blanket that you do not want to leave until “The End”. I feel like I should be able to find Wishing Tree on the map and become friends with all the town’s occupants. I appreciate that the sisters are very forth right and honest. They were each dealing with different relationship paths and men, but their stories were believable with the help of family and their circle of friends. These are mature relationships with realistic problems and dialogue. There are no sex scenes in either storyline, but there is plenty of caring, love and romance. I am looking forward to reading about more romances in Wishing Tree and checking in with these two couples again.
I highly recommend this Christmas contemporary HEA times two and this author!
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Author Bio
Susan Mallery is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women’s lives—family, friendship, romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations,” and readers seem to agree—40 million copies of her books have sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live.
Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She’s passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the two ragdoll cats and adorable poodle who think of her as mom.
Today I am excited to once again be sharing on the HTP Books Fall 2021 Women’s Fiction Blog Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for FOREVER HOME (Dogwood County Book #2) by Elysia Whisler.
Below you will find an author Q&A, 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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Author Q&A
Q: This is the second book in a series? Do you have plans to write more books in this series?
A: Yes! “Becoming Family” is Book 3 in the Dogwood County series. It will be out in August of 2022. I have hopes for a couple more books in the series after that, too!
Q: What should the reader know if they have not read the first book in the series?
A: So far, the early readers think Forever Home does really well as a standalone if you have not read Book 1. The only thing I’d add, if you have not read Book 1, be prepared that I always have 3 points of view. Some traditional romance readers like to see the POV go between two love interests but I always have a third POV that typically sets up the next book. This third POV does not get as much space as the other two but just be prepared for it. I know it’s unusual but I’m okay with that.
Q: Where do you get your story ideas from?
A: My stories usually start with a single scene or idea that I build around. With Rescue You I worked around the idea of how everyone (human or animal, male or female) can be either the hero or the saved in life, depending on the situation. With Forever Home, I wanted a super strong female lead to match up for my detective character from Book 1. My teen daughter had just finished getting her motorcycle license and it hit me … my heroine was going to be a badass biker chick. We see so many guys on motorcycles in romance and the women are always on the back. I wanted a heroine who drove her own bike and a man strong enough to love that.
Q: Are you a plotter or pantser when it comes to writing?
A: Mostly a pantster. I usually have a broad concept of the story, have a beginning and an end and usually a midpoint idea. Then I start writing and once I’ve got the opening (first 30-50) I’ll go back and outline a little more. Then write. Then outline. Etc.
Q: What is a fun fact about you?
A: I love to read horror, especially literary horror. I read everything — I don’t care about genre, only good storytelling and solid writing — but 75% of my TBR pile is horror/thriller/mystery.
Q: You grew up in the military and moved around quite a bit. Did you enjoy this? How do you think it has affected the stories you write?
A: Moving around was a mixed bag. I loved getting to travel and go to new places. I actually adored the traveling part — by plane, train, car. I made up stories in my head about being a fugitive running off to new lands. I’d spend a lot of plane/car time writing by hand. The hard part was getting to the new places and having to establish all new friendships and schools. I barely ever got to see extended family (grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins). I never had that community of people I grew up with. That said, I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone’s. I got to experience so many different lands, cultures, climates. Living in Alaska at a young age in particular instilled in me a great love for the natural world that I’m grateful for to this day. All of that informed my writing in a big way. There’s definitely something to be said for seeing the world, getting outside your bubble and having that experience. The best compliments I get are on my characters being complex and real and I credit that directly to all the moving around I did. When you’re always new you have to be quiet, pay attention, watch and understand. You learn a lot that way.
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Book Summary
If home is where the heart is, Dogwood County may have just what Delaney Monroe needs.
Newly retired from the Marine Corps, Delaney is looking for somewhere to start over. It’s not going to be easy, but when she finds the perfect place to open her dream motorcycle shop, she goes for it. What she doesn’t expect is an abandoned pit bull to come with the building. The shy pup is slow to trust, but Delaney is determined to win it over.
Detective Sean Callahan is smitten from the moment he sees Delaney, but her cool demeanor throws him off his game. When her late father’s vintage motorcycle is stolen from Delaney’s shop, Sean gets to turn up in his element: chasing the bad guy and showing his best self to a woman who’s gotten under his skin in a bad way.
Delaney isn’t used to lasting relationships, but letting love in – both human and canine – helps her see that she may have found a place she belongs, forever.
FOREVER HOME (Dogwood County Book #2) by Elysia Whisler is a wonderful addition to The Dogwood County series featuring memorable characters in a Women’s fiction with romantic elements/small town fiction mash-up. This book can be read as a standalone, but many characters and locations carryover from the first book, Rescue You and I feel they are better read in order.
Delaney has served 20 years in the Marines and right before she got out her father who raised her died. She plans to carry on his and her dream of owning a vintage motorcycle repair shop. She finds the perfect place, but she finds not everyone is happy with her choice.
Detective Sean Callahan and his partner are assigned the case of a stolen motorcycle. He is surprised to find the woman who shot him down at Semper Fit is the owner of the shop and vintage bike. As he works to discover who stole the motorcycle, he finds himself wanting to solve the case to impress the woman who he finds he cannot stop thinking about.
Delaney is not used to lasting relationships, but this might be the man and place that changes her mind.
Ms. Whisler’s writing makes you believe every character is just waiting for you in Dogwood County. Semper Fit is the perfect place for all the Marine veterans to come together in a place where they are understood even as they sometimes struggle with civilian life. Delaney and Sean are perfect for each other with their similar childhoods, but it is never an easy road for an H/h. Ms. Whisler writes veterans with PTSD and/or physical impairments with empathy and never forces an easy or quick solution. I also love the inclusion of the dog rescue and the training of dogs for veterans with disabilities. I live with and love all pittie breeds and this author has represented them wonderfully in her stories.
The theft of Delaney’s family vintage motorcycle and the problems with the previous occupants of her motorcycle shop are the crime/mystery plots that brings the H/h together and moves the story along. With Delaney’s lack of permanence and trust and Sean’s once bitten attitude, the romance proceeds at a slow pace, but it also moves at a realistic pace which is why I feel this story is more a Women’s fiction story with romantic elements than a straight romantic suspense, but that does not distract from my love of the story at all.
I loved this second book as much as the first! These are memorable characters that I hope I will be able to visit over and over again.
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Excerpt
ONE
Three Rebels Street.
Delaney should’ve known that this was where she’d end up. This was the kind of street a woman went down when all the big changes in her life were happening at once. You simply couldn’t hit a retirement ceremony, the road and a funeral all in one week and not end up on Three Rebels Street.
“Small is not the right word. I prefer quaint.” The real estate agent, Ronnie, gazed around the studio apartment situated on Three Rebels Street, and nodded her head in approval. “You said it was just for you, right? Which means it’s the perfect size.”
Stop trying to sell me on the apartment. Ronnie had described it as an “alcove studio”—not just a studio—because even though the living room and kitchen were all in one large space, the bedroom was situated in a little nook, with its own door. Delaney didn’t care. The living quarters didn’t really matter. Right now the place was dumpy. Dust everywhere, the ceiling fan hanging crooked with exposed wires, and debris in the corners, like the previous tenants hadn’t taken care of the place and then left in a hurry.
“We didn’t have a chance to get this cleaned before your showing,” Ronnie said, following Delaney’s gaze. “Remember, I suggested waiting until Friday.”
But Delaney hadn’t been able to wait.
Ronnie lowered her voice to a near whisper. “They were evicted. But this place cleans up nice, I promise.”
“Can we go back down to the shop?” Delaney ran her hands through her hair, rubbing the weariness from her scalp. Ronnie had whisked them through the front bay door and up the stairs, like the apartment was the prize inside the cereal box. And Delaney supposed it was—small, an add-on, not really the point. For Delaney, the shop downstairs was the entire point.
“Of course.” Ronnie’s voice was bright, forced, like she didn’t give two shits. This was probably her last showing of the day and she wanted to get home, into a hot bath with a glass of red as soon as possible. She clacked down the stairs in her high heels.
Delaney followed, the earthy clunk of her motorcycle boots the bass drum in the cacophony of their feet.
“The shop.” Ronnie swept out her arm. “Look how much space.” There was no enthusiasm in her voice. Ronnie, who probably did mostly living spaces, had no idea how to sell the garage.
Didn’t matter. Delaney sized up the shop herself: concrete floor, perfect for working on bikes. It was kind of dinged up, but that was okay, she was already envisioning painting it beige with nonslip floor paint. Modern fluorescent lighting. Large bay door, wide-open to the cool air, excellent for ventilation. A countertop with a register. Empty shelves on one side for parts and motor clothes. Showroom space for custom bikes, and enough room for at least two workspaces out front. The rest, Delaney would provide. Hydraulic lifts. Workbench. Parts tank. Tools. Parts. Bikes.
She wanted to pinch herself, but chose a poker face. Ronnie stood in the center of the floor, like she was trying to avoid touching anything, to avoid getting any grease or oil on her smart red suit. The shop was in better condition than the apartment, but it still looked like the last occupants had left quickly—or, if they’d truly been evicted, perhaps reluctantly was a better word. Nothing important remained, but the place hadn’t been swept or washed or readied for sale in any manner.
“I’ll consider this.” Delaney rubbed her chin as she strode through the shop. “It’s a little small.” It was actually larger than she’d expected. “Light’s good, but might get a little cold in the winter.” It was winter now, technically. Mid-March. Delaney loved this time of year, when winter and spring intersected, like lovers making up after a nasty fight, the weather edgy and unpredictable.
“There’s a lot of interest in this space.” Ronnie clutched her clipboard to her chest as she looked around. She could be looking at the inside of a spaceship and hold that same expression.
Motorcycle shops were going out of business, all over the place, including the one that had recently vacated. After suddenly finding herself on Three Rebels Street last week, in front of a shop-apartment combo for sale, Delaney had done her research. The previous tenants, who she now knew had been evicted, were brothers who ran a shop by day and lived upstairs by night. They sold mostly new bikes and motorcycle gear. Repairs and maintenance were basic. Their website was still up, despite the fact that Dude’s Bikes had closed. Dude’s appeared to focus mostly on male riders, leaving Delaney to wonder if Dude’s was just about dudes or if one of the owners was, indeed, named Dude.
“What’s the story on this place?”
Ronnie glanced at her clipboard. “The owner wants to sell. After the last renters’ lease ran out, they were given the option of buying or moving. I don’t think their shop was doing well, because they couldn’t afford to buy. They weren’t even paying their rent. And they weren’t quick about moving. The rest, as they say, is history.”
If the last motorcycle shop had failed, buying would be a gamble. But any business venture was a gamble.
Life was a gamble.
“There are a couple of people looking, after you.” Ronnie continued, “About five.”
Delaney could respect white lies in the sales biz but seriously? Five? Five or so people were waiting to check out the bike shop with an overhead apartment suitable for one small, low-maintenance tenant? She had no idea how two brothers had managed up there.
She strolled through the space, wanting a good feel. She needed to touch things, inhale the shop, draw its molecules into her lungs and taste its history before she could decide on the symbiosis of her dream space. Triple M Classics—short for Martin Monroe’s Motorcycles, named after her father—would own her as much as she would it, so this relationship was going to be deep and mutual. Through the front window, she could see the parkway that ran the length of the county. At just past eighteen-hundred hours, rush hour was a jam of red taillights in the waning daylight. No amount of time would erase Delaney’s memory of her last tour here, when she had to commute to work every day. Pure hell. It would be nice to go right upstairs to her cozy little apartment after closing, rather than having to sit in that mess.
Across the street was a row of shops, including a grocery story and an Italian restaurant. Food. Check.
On the south side, the shop butted up to the woods, which had a downward slope of grass and weeds that led to the trees. Privacy. Double check. Plus, Delaney figured if there was a tornado, that slope could count as a ditch, and would probably be the safest place to run. She laughed at herself. This wasn’t Omaha. Virginia tornado season consisted of a few warnings that rarely panned out.
Delaney withdrew the listing, printed from the internet, from her back pocket, crammed together with a grocery receipt for extra firm tofu, Tater Tots and Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. “This is the price, right?” She handed over the paper. Money would be tight, but Delaney should be able to manage for a little while until things got going.
That is, if she was going to do this.
Was she really going to do this?
All her adult life Delaney had moved around, from station to station. Forts, camps, bases. Not shops. Not homes. She’d never put down roots. Never had anything permanent other than her childhood home with Dad. Never owned a thing she couldn’t cram into a duffel bag.
Ronnie looked at the paper. “No.” She sniffed. “There’s a newer listing.” She flipped through her clipboard, laid it on the counter and pointed. “Here we go.”
Delaney looked at the asking price, choked a little bit, almost thanked Ronnie for her time and left. That would be the smart thing to do. Sometimes childhood dreams just needed to stay dreams.
She strode around once more, mentally saying goodbye to everything that she’d never even made hers. Even though all of this had been a panster move, it felt like all the blood in her veins had been replaced with disappointment. She stopped by the far wall, where a ratty piece of paper hung by a sliver
of tape. Delaney smoothed out the curled edges and read the flyer.
Fiftieth Annual Classic Motorcycle Show.
Dogwood County Fairgrounds.
The event was in July. There was a contest, including prizes. The grand prize for the winning classic cycle was five grand plus a feature article in Ride magazine.
The disappointment started to drain away. Five grand wouldn’t pay all the bills, but exposure in a major motorcycle magazine would be a boon for business. Plus, there was something about that poster, just hanging there like that.
Elysia Whisler was raised in Texas, Italy, Alaska, Mississippi, Nebraska, Hawaii, and Virginia, in true military fashion. If she’s not writing she’s probably working out, coaching, or massaging at her CrossFit gym. She lives in Virginia with her family, including her large brood of cat and dog rescues, who vastly outnumber the humans.
Today I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the blog tour for THE LAST LINE (Traci Crosswhite Book #8.5) by Robert Dugoni.
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section, the author’s social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
From books to movies to television, police procedurals are incredibly popular with audiences. What do you think is the appeal of these stories?
I think the appeal is readers and viewers have good guys to root for and bad guys to root against. Readers also like a good mystery. They like to see if they can solve the crime, determine the bad guy and figure out what he did and how he did it, just like the detectives. It keeps them engaged in and part of the story.
Do you recall the first detective story you ever read or perhaps you have a favorite? What was it about this type of story that made you want to write in the genre?
Years ago, I remember reading Michael Connelly’s The Poet. I don’t know if it was the first detective story I read, probably not, but it was visceral and stuck with me. I do recall reading All The President’s Men when I was in high school, and though Woodward and Bernstein were not detectives, per se, they very much functioned like detectives in that story—finding clues, trying to piece together those clues, and then solve the puzzle. In many ways, that’s what a good detective story is all about: solving a puzzle. I think that is one of the appeals to writers, as well as readers and viewers.
Del Castigliano, the police detective in your newest release The Last Line, has worked in narcotics, arson, sexual assaults, robbery, and now homicide. He has definitely seen the worst that humans have to offer. What keeps him sane and on the job?
For most police officers I’ve spoken with, they do the job knowing that they are keeping people safe—maybe people they know or even love. It’s a tough job and burnout can be a problem. Most detectives have to be mentally tough and can be frequently rotated to help minimize burn out. It’s one of the reasons detectives and uniformed officers, I believe, are underappreciated. It’s a tough job.
Throughout The Last Line, readers get to see Del at his worst—he faces loss, failure, insecurity, loneliness…yet we also respect him. He is honest, hardworking, and clever. How do you see him? If you were to sit down to have a beer with him, what would you talk about?
In The Last Line, I see Del as a guy trying to find his way after life has thrown him a curveball. If we sat down for a beer, I’d ask him if, looking back, he has any regrets, or if time has helped him put life in perspective and he realizes that what he went through as a young man actually helped him to get to a better place in his life.
The Last Line ends in a way that will have readers wanting more. Do you have any future plans for Del and the larger cast?
Very much so. Del is a central character in the Tracy Crosswhite series, and in Tracy #9, What She Found, the story of Del’s first case from The Last Line comes back to Tracy, who is now working a cold case and trying to figure out what happened 24 years ago.
For fans of your bestselling Tracy Crosswhite series, will they feel at home with Del as the lead protagonist? For readers who haven’t discovered Tracy yet, will they be able to dip right in?
Absolutely. The Last Line is a standalone story that predates Tracy arriving at Seattle PD. I’ve had so many readers ask me for more of Del and Faz! Writing The Last Line was an opportunity to dig into how they got started and what shaped them. I have a thought now about Tracy #10 being a cold case that Del and Faz investigated 25 years earlier and telling the story from both time periods leading up to Tracy solving the crime in the present.
What do you have coming up next?
The third book in the Charles Jenkins espionage series, The Silent Sisters, will be published, February 22, 2022, followed by Tracy #9, What She Found,which will be out August 23, 2022. Beyond that, readers can look for a new standalone legal thriller introducing criminal defense attorney Keera Duggan. I’m excited about that novel and working hard to get it finished soon.
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Book Summary
His old life in the rearview, Del Castigliano has left Wisconsin to work homicide for the Seattle PD. Breaking him in is veteran detective Moss Gunderson, and he’s handing Del a big catch: the bodies of two unidentified men fished from Lake Union. It’s a major opportunity for the new detective, and Del runs with it, chasing every lead—to every dead end. Despite the help of another section rookie, Vic Fazzio, Del is going nowhere fast. Until one shotgun theory looks to be dead right: the victims are casualties of a drug smuggling operation. But critical information is missing—or purposely hidden. It’s forcing Del into a crisis of character and duty that not even the people he trusts can help him resolve.
THE LAST LINE (Tracy Crosswhite Book #8.5) by Robert Dugoni is a short story which takes us back in time to when Delmo Castigliano first becomes a homicide detective for the Seattle PD. This is a prequel that features Del’s first lead on a homicide case and the beginning of his friendship with another rookie detective, Vic Fazzio.
Del is paired with veteran detective Moss Gunderson and they are called out to investigate two bodies fished out of Lake Union. Moss gives Del the lead, but every trail is a dead end until he reinterviews the harbormaster that Moss interviewed alone. Information is missing and Del goes to Vic for advice and assistance. Everyone does not have Del’s back, and he learns a valuable lesson.
I was immediately hooked. This short story has familiar characters from the Tracy Crosswhite series in an intriguing case from their pasts that is quickly read. This 1990’s case cements Del and Faz’s friendship and I am looking forward to how it impacts Del in the present.
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Excerpt
Del drove from the parking garage into a blustery and cold November morning—cold being relative. In Madison, anything above freezing was balmy for November, though Del was starting to understand what Seattleites meant when they said it wasn’t the temperature that chills you; it’s the dampness. He could feel the cold in his bones. A stiff wind rocked his metallic-blue Oldsmobile Cutlass.The wind had started blowing late the prior evening; branches of a tree scraping against Del’s bedroom window had kept him awake half the night.
He drove from Capitol Hill with the defroster on high and worked his way around the southern edge of Lake Union, noting marinas and water-based businesses. He pulled into a parking lot where Moss stood beside a black Buick LeSabre, sipping coffee and towering over a patrol officer. Moss was almost as big as Del, who stood six foot five and weighed 250 pounds.
Del pulled up the collar of his coat against the howling wind as he approached the two men. He recognized the green logo on Moss’s Starbucks coffee cup, the company name taken from Captain Ahab’s first mate on the Pequod, the whaling ship Moby Dick sent to the bottom of the ocean. The logo, a green siren, tempted sailors to jump overboard and drown. Neither was a good omen.
“Look what the cat dragged out. Did we wake you, Elmo?”
“Funny.” Del had heard iterations of Elmo since his teens, when the beloved puppet first appeared on Sesame Street. Moss introduced Del to Mike Nuccitelli, the patrol sergeant. “How’d you get here so quick?” Del asked Moss. He understood Moss lived in West Seattle, twenty minutes farther from the marina than Del’s apartment.
“I didn’t take time to do my hair.” Moss rubbed the bristles of a crew cut. “I’m like my name. You know. A rolling stone.”
Del knew. More than once, Moss had told him his parents bequeathed him the moniker because as a child he never remained still. Vic Fazzio had said it was more likely Moss gave himself the nickname. His Norwegian first name was Asbjorn.
“Halloway here?” Del asked.
“At this hour of the morning?” Moss scoffed. “Stayaway doesn’t come out this early on a cold morning unless he thinks the brass might show up and he can shine their badges with his nose.”
“What do we got?” Del asked.
“Two grown men. Looks like they drowned,” Nuccitelli said. “We’re waiting for the ME.”
“What more do we know about the victims; anything?” Del asked.
Nuccitelli raised the fur collar of his duty jacket against the wind. “Hispanic is my guess, though the bodies are pretty bloated and their skin the color of soot. I’m guessing roughly late twenties to early thirties, but again . . .”
“They didn’t have any ID?” Del asked.
“Not on them,” Nuccitelli said.
“That strike you as odd—they didn’t have ID?”
Nuccitelli smiled.“Not my job.That’s your job.”
“How far out is the ME?” Moss looked and sounded disinterested.
Nuccitelli checked his watch.“Should be here in ten.”
“We’ll take it from here.”
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About the Author
Robert Dugoni is the critically acclaimed New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, and Amazon Charts bestselling author of the Tracy Crosswhite series, which has sold more than seven million books worldwide. He is also the author of the bestselling Charles Jenkins series; the bestselling David Sloane series; the stand-alone novels The 7th Canon, Damage Control, The World Played Chess, and The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell, Suspense Magazine’s 2018 Book of the Year, for which Dugoni won an AudioFile Earphones Award for narration; and the nonfiction exposé The Cyanide Canary, a Washington Post best book of the year. He is the recipient of the Nancy Pearl Book Award for fiction and a three-time winner of the Friends of Mystery Spotted Owl Award for best novel set in the Pacific Northwest. He is a two-time finalist for the Thriller Awards and the Harper Lee Prize for Legal Fiction, as well as a finalist for the Silver Falchion Award for mystery and the Mystery Writers of America Edgar Awards. His books are sold in more than twenty-five countries and have been translated into more than two dozen languages.
Today I am excited to be on the HTP Books Fall 2021 Women’s Fiction Blog Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SISTERS OF THEGREAT WAR by Suzanne Feldman.
Below you will find an author Q&A, 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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Author Q&A
Q: Your books have won quite a few awards. Do you ever feel pressure when you write a new book to make it an award winning book?
A: I do love awards and who doesn’t? (I’m striving for a Pulitzer!) But awards are sort of a wonderful perk for what I already love doing, which is making something big from a little spark of an idea. I think it’s a stretch to think to yourself, ‘I’m going to write something for THIS award.’ because what if the book doesn’t win anything? I’m much happier just writing and editing until I think it’s ready to go out into the world–then we’ll see how it does.
Q: What inspired this book?
A: Sisters of the Great War was a four-year project that started one morning as I walked into my classroom at some pre-dawn hour. I’d been thinking about my next project after ‘Absalom’s Daughters’ and I knew I wanted to write a war story–but there were already so many books about WW2. So I thought, what about WW1? Could I write something epic yet intimate about that period? I wrote on a post-it: ‘WW1; epic yet intimate,’ and put it in my pocket. After school that day, I found the post-it and by some miracle, I still knew what I’d meant.
I started doing research and realized pretty quickly that the reason WW1 literature peaked with All Quiet on the Western Front was because it was a trench war, and over the space of four years, the trenches barely moved so there were very few ‘victories.’ The war itself was awful beyond description. Troops went out and were mowed down by new weapons, like the machine gun, tanks, and poisonous gas. It’s hard to write a glorious book about a barbaric war that had no real point, so I decided to explore the lives of the forgotten women–the nurses and ambulance drivers who were in the thick of the action, but not really mentioned in the movies and books about the period.
Q: Where is your favorite place to write?
A: I have a room where I write, my ‘office.’ I have all my favorite art, my most-loved books, and a bed for my dog. I love being able to close the door and just get into the groove of writing, but I have been known to write in coffee shops and libraries. When I was teaching, when I would get an idea, I would write on a post-it and put it in my pocket, so, yes, technically I have written at work as well.
Q: Do you have a writing routine?
A: My writing routine involves getting really wired on coffee in the morning and then taking a long walk with my dog, sometimes by the river and sometimes in the mountains. I get my ideas for the day in order, and the dog gets tired. Then I spend about four hours working on writing projects–sometimes novels, sometimes short stories, and drinking a lot more coffee. By then the dog has woken up, and we go out for another walk. I like to treat writing as a job. It’s not too exciting, but it works for me.
Q: Are you a plotter or pantser when it comes to writing?
A: I’m a pantser and proud of it! I love not really knowing what’s going to happen, and I love the discovery of plot points and personalities that might not show up in an outline. My favorite part is when a character does something on the page that I never thought of, and I get to go with that. What’s funny is that as a teacher (before I retired) I needed a plan for everything!
Q: What is a fun fact about you?
A: I was a high school art teacher for almost 30 years, and I am also a visual artist. I do a lot of abstract painting, which you can see on my Instagram account, Suzanne Feldman Author. I’ve taught every art class you can imagine, from darkroom photography to ceramics. I had a wonderful time teaching, and I loved nearly all of my students.
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Book Summary
Two sisters. The Great War looming. A chance to shape their future.
Sisters Ruth and Elise Duncan could never have anticipated volunteering for the war effort. But in 1914, the two women decide to make the harrowing journey from Baltimore to Ypres, Belgium in order to escape the suffocating restrictions placed on them by their father and carve a path for their own future.
Smart and practical Ruth is training as a nurse but dreams of becoming a doctor. In a time when women are restricted to assisting men in the field, she knows it will take great determination to prove herself, and sets out to find the one person who always believed in her: a handsome army doctor from England. For quiet Elise, joining the all female Ambulance Corps means a chance to explore her identity, and come to terms with the growing attraction she feels towards women. Especially the charming young ambulance driver who has captured her heart.
In the twilight of the Old World and the dawn of the new, both young women come of age in the face bombs, bullets and the deadly futility of trench warfare. Together they must challenge the rules society has placed on them in order to save lives: both the soldiers and the people they love.
SISTERS OF THE GREAT WAR by Suzanne Feldman is a Woman’s fiction/historical fiction story which follows two American sisters who volunteer to work at the front during WWI. Both want to escape the conventional roles society and their father demand they follow.
Ruth Duncan has grown up assisting her doctor father and dreams of attending a medical school to train as a doctor rather than the nursing school she is currently attending. Her father refuses to even consider assisting her and wants her to be a nurse then a wife and mother.
Elise Duncan has grown up being able to take anything mechanical apart and put it back together again. She is currently living at home and is the mechanic for her father’s car he needs for house calls. She has always felt different than other girls and her father believes she will continue to live at home and never marry.
Both sisters want their freedom and travel to England to join the war effort. Ruth volunteers as a nurse and Elise follows volunteering as an ambulance driver and are sent to the front at Ypres, Belgium. As both adjust to the appalling conditions, they also both seize the opportunities to realize their dreams. The sisters suffer heartache and loss, but also realize their resilience and strengths. Bonds of friendship are forged that cannot be broken by war.
I really enjoyed this story even as there are many scenes depicting the horrors and suffering of the troops and volunteers during WWI. The field hospital doctors and nurses had to deal with so much loss and the lack of current medical knowledge and antibiotics underscore how lucky we are with the medicine of today. The sister’s personal dreams and love interests are depicted with strength, vulnerability and empathy. This Women’s fiction/historical fiction story realistically depicts some of the horrors of WWI, feminist issues and an LGBT relationship all through the eyes of two American sisters.
I recommend this Women’s fiction/historical fiction story.
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Excerpt
1
Baltimore, Maryland
August 1914
Ruth Duncan fanned herself with the newspaper in the summer heat as Grandpa Gerald put up a British flag outside the house. If he’d had a uniform—of any kind—he would have worn it. People on the sidewalk paused and pointed, but Grandpa, still a proper English gent even after almost twenty years in the U.S., smoothed his white beard and straightened his waistcoat, ignoring the onlookers.
“That’s done,” he said.
Ruth’s own interest in the war was limited to what she read in the paper from across the dining table. Grandpa would snap the paper open before he ate breakfast. She could see the headlines and the back side of the last page, but not much more. Grandpa would grunt his appreciation of whatever was in-side, snort at what displeased him, and sometimes laugh. On the 12th of August, the headline in the Baltimore Sun read; France And Great Britain Declare War On Austria-Hungary, and Grandpa wasn’t laughing.
Cook brought in the morning mail and put it on the table next to Grandpa. She was a round, grey-haired woman who left a puff of flour behind her wherever she went.
“Letter from England, sir,” Cook said, leaving the envelope and a dusting of flour on the dark mahogany. She smiled at Ruth and left for the kitchen.
Grandpa tore the letter open.
Ruth waited while he read. It was from Richard and Diane Doweling, his friends in London who still wrote to him after all these years. They’d sent their son, John, to Harvard in Massachusetts for his medical degree. Ruth had never met John Doweling, but she was jealous of him, his opportunities, his apparent successes. The Dowelings sent letters whenever John won some award or other. No doubt this was more of the same. Ruth drummed her fingers on the table and eyed the dining room clock. In ten minutes, she would need to catch the trolley that would take her up to the Loyola College of Nursing, where she would be taught more of the things she had already learned from her father. The nuns at Loyola were dedicated nurses, and they knew what they were doing. Some were out-standing teachers, but others were simply mired in the medicine of the last century. Ruth was frustrated and bored, but Father paid her tuition, and what Father wanted, Father got.
Ruth tugged at her school uniform—a white apron over a long white dress, which would never see a spot of blood. “What do they say, Grandpa?”
He was frowning. “John is enlisting. They’ve rushed his graduation at Harvard so he can go home and join the Royal Army Medical Corps.”
“How can they rush graduation?” Ruth asked. “That seems silly. What if he misses a class in, say, diseases of the liver?”
Grandpa folded the letter and looked up. “I don’t think he’ll be treating diseases of the liver on the battlefield. Anyway, he’s coming to Baltimore before he ships out.”
“Here?” said Ruth in surprise. “But why?”
“For one thing,” said Grandpa, “I haven’t seen him since he was three years old. For another, you two have a common interest.”
“You mean medicine?” Ruth asked. “Oh, Grandpa. What could I possibly talk about with him? I’m not even a nurse yet, and he’s—he’s a doctor.” She spread her hands. “Should we discuss how to wrap a bandage?”
“As long as you discuss something.” He pushed the letter across the table to her and got up. “You’ll be showing him around town.”
“Me?” said Ruth. “Why me?”
“Because your sister—” Grandpa nodded at Elise, just clumping down the stairs in her nightgown and bathrobe “—has dirty fingernails.” He started up the stairs. “Good morning, my dear,” he said. “Do you know what time it is?” “Uh huh,” Elise mumbled as she slumped into her seat at the table.
As Grandpa continued up the stairs Ruth called after him. “But when is he coming?”
“His train arrives Saturday at noon,” Grandpa shouted back. “Find something nice to wear. You too, Elise.”
Elise rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?”
Ruth pushed the letter at her and got up to go. “Read it,” she said. “You’ll see.”
Ruth made her way down Thirty-Third Street with her heavy bookbag slung over one shoulder, heading for the trolley stop, four blocks away, on Charles. Summer classes were almost over, and as usual, the August air in Baltimore was impenetrably hot and almost unbreathable. It irritated Ruth to think that she would arrive at Loyola sweaty under her arms, her hair frizzed around her nurse’s cap from the humidity. The nuns liked neatness, modest decorum. Not perspiring young women who wished they were somewhere else.
Elise, Ruth thought, as she waited for a break in the noisy traffic on Charles Street, could’ve driven her in the motor-car, but no, she’d slept late. Her younger sister could do pretty much anything, it seemed, except behave like a girl. Elise, who had been able to take apart Grandpa’s pocket watch and put it back together when she was six years old, was a use-ful mystery to both Father and Grandpa. She could fix the car—cheaper than the expensive mechanics. , For some rea-son, Elise wasn’t obliged to submit to the same expectations as Ruth—she could keep her nails short and dirty. Ruth wondered, as she had since she was a girl, if it was her younger sister’s looks. She was a mirror image of their mother, who had died in childbirth with Elise. Did that make her special in Father’s eyes?
An iceman drove a sweating horse past her. The horse raised its tail, grunted, and dropped a pile of manure, rank in the heat, right in front of her, as though to auger the rest of her day. The iceman twisted in the cart to tip his hat. “Sorry Sister!”
Ruth let her breath out through her teeth. Maybe the truth of the matter was that she was the ‘sorry sister.’ It was at this exact corner that her dreams of becoming a doctor, to follow in her father’s footsteps, had been shot down. When she was ten, and the governess said she’d done well on her writing and math, she was allowed to start going along on Father’s house calls and help in his office downstairs. Father had let her do simple things at first; mix plaster while he positioned a broken ankle, give medicine to children with the grippe, but she watched everything he did and listened carefully. By the time she was twelve, she could give him a diagnosis, and she remembered her first one vividly, identifying a man’s abdominal pain as appendicitis.
“You did a good job,” Father had said to her, as he’d reined old Bess around this very corner. “You’ll make an excellent nurse one day.”
Ruth remembered laughing because she’d thought he was joking. Her father’s praise was like gold. “A nurse?” she’d said. “One day I’ll be a doctor, just like you!”
“Yes, a nurse,” he’d said firmly, without a hint of a smile. It was the tone he used for patients who wouldn’t take their medicine.
“But I want to be a doctor.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He hadn’t sounded sorry at all. “Girls don’t become doctors. They become nurses and wives. Tomorrow, if there’s time, we’ll visit a nursing college. When you’re eighteen, that’s where you’ll go.”
“But—”
He’d shaken his head sharply, cutting her off. “It isn’t done, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
A decade later, Ruth could still feel the shock in her heart. It had never occurred to her that she couldn’t be a doctor because she was a girl. And now, John Doweling was coming to town to cement her future as a doctor’s wife. That was what everyone had in mind. She knew it. Maybe John didn’t know yet, but he was the only one.
Ruth frowned and lifted her skirts with one hand, balancing the bookbag with the other, and stepped around the manure as the trolley came clanging up Charles.
Suzanne Feldman, a recipient of the Missouri Review Editors’ Prize and a finalist for the Bakeless Prize in fiction, holds an MA in fiction from Johns Hopkins University and a BFA in art from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Her short fiction has appeared in Narrative, The Missouri Review, Gargoyle, and other literary journals. She lives in Frederick, Maryland.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for IT TAKES HEART (Heart Resort Book #1) by Tif Marcelo on this Montlake/Amazon Publishing Blog Tour.
Below you will find a note from the author, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section, the author’s social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy and good luck on the giveaway!
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A Note from the Author
It was at the Romance Writers of America conference in 2019 when I came up with the idea for the Heart Resort series. Though I was under contract for a third contemporary fiction book (which would become my sixth novel), my first three books were romance novels, and an escapist series tugged at my shirt sleeves. My initial idea: interconnected destination romance novels with the setting as relaxing and lush as it could be, despite the romantic angst and family drama I knew my characters would be placed in.
Then came COVID-19. I had released my second contemporary fiction, ONCE UPON A SUNSET, and was in edits for IN A BOOK CLUB FAR AWAY, and I was no longer under contract for future books. My need to escape heightened during the fear of lockdown. So, I dove headlong into the proposal of the Heart Resort series. At first, I thought of setting this book on an island in the Pacific Ocean but I could not make myself write it knowing that the borders were closed to travel due to the virus. Though I tried not to put COVID into my novels, still I needed to be realistic for the times.
Then the location dawned on me: our family’s most favorite vacation spot: the Outer Banks, or OBX. And especially south of 12: Nags Head, Rodanthe, Hatteras. On a printed map, I drew what would be the Heart Resort peninsula, connected to highway 12 via a land bridge.
Heart Resort is serendipitously heart-shaped. In the epicenter is the headquarters and the apartments of the four Puso siblings. Puso, which means “heart” in Tagalog—of course it does! Chris, Gil, Bea, and Brandon, the four Puso siblings, live and work on this resort. They are the heart, they make the resort and peninsula “go.” Though, we come to find out that they each have their own secrets and matters of the heart to contend with.
Everything on this peninsula is specific and special. Each home is named. Every employee is family. The view from every window is spectacular. And though they promise their clients their own version of the HEA, or the happily ever after, the Puso siblings clamor for theirs.
IT TAKES HEART, the first in the series, introduces Brandon Puso and Geneva Harris, former lovers reunited in their common mission to help rebuild the resort after a tropical storm. Neither knew the other was going to be there, and their first instinct is to run. But both are loyal to a fault, and soon they find themselves growing closer despite their best intentions. Surrounding them are a cast of characters, all with their stories to tell, all while trying make the resort successful despite throes of competition with another resort.
Love, loyalty, and business all in one peninsula located at one of the most gorgeous locations in the United States. Heart Resort is truly a place to read about to get your heart pumping.
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BookSummary
Heart Resort, a private resort in the Outer Banks, is a romantic getaway for couples but a hotbed of family drama for its proprietors, the Puso family. Brandon Puso, the youngest of the four siblings, prefers life on his own as a licensed contractor in DC after a falling-out with his eldest brother.
After a hurricane plows through the Outer Banks, Brandon has a change of heart. He returns to the resort to help with the grand reopening but encounters his big sister’s best friend, designer Geneva Harris, who’s there to do the same thing. But Geneva and Brandon have a secret. Years ago, they had a secret romance that ended in heartbreak.
With the resort’s future at stake, Brandon and Geneva decide to put the past aside and to keep peace with the family. But as their mutual attraction heats up, they have to decide if history will repeat itself—or if this time, love gets a second chance.
IT TAKES HEART (Heart Resort Book #1) by Tif Marcelo is a second chance contemporary romance and the first book in a new series featuring a Filipino-American family of three brothers and one sister who own and run the Heart Resort in the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
Brandon Puso is the youngest of the Puso clan and a licensed general contractor in business with his friend from college. Since a falling out with his oldest brother, Brandon has been living in the home of his deceased parents in Annapolis. But after a hurricane rips through the Outer Banks, Brandon returns to Heart Resort to help his siblings get it repaired and set up for a grand re-opening.
Interior designer Geneva Harris is Brandon’s sister best friend and has always been around the Puso family. Geneva is at the resort to help with the interior design and a rest from her hectic schedule. Geneva does not know Brandon will be at the resort and none of the siblings know that Geneva and Brandon had a secret romance that ended in heartbreak.
Brandon and Geneva agree to work together as friends, but their mutual attraction continually heats up. They have a short time to work together and to decide if they will once again go their separate ways or if this time, they will get a second chance at love.
This is a romance that was so enjoyable to read. The family gives you not only the usual sibling dynamics, drama, angst, love and understanding, but also an interesting infusion of Filipino culture and food. Brandon is doing well professionally but dealing with so much emotionally. Geneva is also doing great professionally but she never settles anywhere and lives out of her bags. Both run from their emotions and emotional situations and Ms. Marcelo does a good job of having each work through their baggage with the help of family and/or having frank conversations between themselves. There are short sex scenes that are neither explicit nor graphic. I am definitely looking forward to reading the other siblings‘ stories in this Heart Resort series as well.
I recommend this heartfelt second chance contemporary romance!
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Excerpt
Brandon tripped over his own feet as his sister leapt from her chair.
“Now it’s my turn to surprise you.” Beatrice wrapped her hands around his bicep and pulled him toward the round table. She was laughing, enthused.
But Brandon, simultaneously exhausted from a fitful sleep and amped from laborious work that morning, could not grapple with what was before him. He was seeing a ghost. Or, rather, he was seeing the living, breathing apparition of the woman who had all but ghosted him.
He shut his eyes for a beat to clear his vision, but when he opened them and refocused, she was still there.
“Geneva,” he breathed out.
The Geneva Harris he’d fallen for four years ago after a stunning three weeks together. The same Geneva Harris who, after an argument, had left him to wake alone the next morning with her side of the bed all tucked back into place as if she’d never been there. Like she had been a vivid dream.
The memory yanked Brandon’s heart out of his chest, leaving a cavernous space. He’d had a myriad of feelings over the years after their breakup: loss, anger, sadness. Now, all he felt was nothing—was this shock? No, shock was the brick wall he couldn’t get around when his parents died. This felt like . . . emptiness.
He was dumbfounded even as he got close enough to reacquaint himself with the details of her face: her high cheekbones, which even without makeup carried a muted shade of pink; the one tiny mole next to her nose; and what he now knew was a forced smile because it was this exact same smile she had placated him with the night before she had taken off.
“Hi,” Geneva said.
Beatrice dragged him down to sit in the chair across from Geneva, then took the third seat at the table. “You remember Geneva, right?”
The cue threw him off his running thoughts. Time had passed. They were not in Las Vegas, but in Heart Resort. His family didn’t know about them. “Oh, yeah. Hey. Sorry, I’m just a little . . .” He stuck a hand out.
What looked like relief played across Geneva’s features. She shook his hand. “It’s okay. It’s the ocean air. Nice to see you again.”
Was it nice to see him? Had she hoped to see him? Did she know he’d be here?
“How long has it been for the both of you? Since we left for school?” Beatrice asked.
Four years, actually.
“Four years.” Geneva echoed his thoughts, eyes leaving his sister’s face, then down to her drink. “Chris and Eden’s wedding.”
“How could I forget.” Beatrice bumped her forehead with a palm. “I take that back. Of course I forgot—I planned that event and was probably stressed to high heavens. Now that was a whirlwind.” Then, to Brandon, in a change of subject only Beatrice could manage, gestured to their surroundings. “Did you want me to order? I assume that you’re here for lunch. Chef Castillo pivoted to feed us even if our restaurant’s closed. Oh, just as an FYI, our new Friday dinners are now at Chef Castillo’s and her sister’s eatery, south on 12.”
That took his attention for a beat. “A Filipino restaurant, down here?”
“Yep. So keep your Friday night free, both of you. It’s required.” She grinned. “So, what’s your poison.”
“Actually, I’m good.” Whatever appetite he’d had disappeared. “I spotted your golf cart and thought I would stop to say hi before my first meeting with the team.”
“Perfect timing! I was telling Geneva about your demo sesh this morning. You might have been exactly where Geneva’s was. She’s in Ligaya.”
Brandon had found it clever that the family had decided to assign a Tagalog word for each of the cabins, the yoga studio, and restaurant. It had been Gil’s idea, though taken right out their parents’ playbook of hammering their wooden sign at every residence.
“Ah . . . I was definitely next door, at Habang-buhay.” Brandon snorted at the irony, that he’d demoed a beach house that was named forever, and all that morning, she had been just beyond his reach in a cabin whose name meant joy.
She had been his joy, once.
***
About the Author
Tif Marcelo is a veteran US Army nurse who holds a BS in nursing and a master’s in public administration. She believes in and writes about the strength of families, the endurance of friendship, and the beauty of heartfelt romance—and she’s inspired daily by her own military hero husband and four children. She hosts the Stories to Love podcast, and she is also the USA Today bestselling author of In a Book Club Far Away, Once Upon a Sunset, The Key to Happily Ever After, and the Journey to the Heart series. Sign up for her newsletter at www.TifMarcelo.com.
Today I am once again posting for the Harlequin Trade Publishing Women’s Fiction Summer 2021 Blog Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE WILDEST RIDE (A Closed Circuit Novel Book #1) by Marcella Bell. I love this story, but FYI, it is more of a romance than Women’s fiction story.
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
Rodeo meets reality-TV with this never-before-seen Closed Circuit competition, where an undefeated city-boy champion goes head to head with his world-class, kick-ass female rival. Romance ensues as they battle for the million-dollar prize.
At thirty-six, undefeated rodeo champion AJ Garza is supposed to be retiring, not chasing after an all new Closed Circuit rodeo tour with a million-dollar prize. But with the Houston rodeo program that saved him as a wayward teen on the brink of bankruptcy, he’ll enter. And he’ll win.
Enter, Lilian Sorrow Island. Raised by her grandparents on the family ranch in Muscogee, OK, Lil is more a cowboy than city-boy AJ will ever be. It shows. She’s not about to let him steal the prize that’ll save her ranch, even if he is breathtakingly magnificent, in pretty much every way going.
The world watches on as reality-TV meets rodeo in a competition like no other. In front of the cameras they’re each other’s biggest rivals. Off screen, it’s about to get a whole lot more complicated…
THE WILDEST RIDE (A Closed Circuit Novel Book #1) by Marcella Bell is the first book in a contemporary multicultural romance series that is listed under Women’s fiction, but the only reason I found for this was the ending is more of an implied HEA than being a written, explicit one.
Lilian ‘Lil’ Sorrow runs her grandparents ranch since the death of her grandfather. When it is disclosed that her grandfather took a reverse mortgage out on the ranch, they find they must begin to pay it back or lose the family ranch. Lil was trained by her grandfather to shine in all rodeo events so when the Closed Circuit event is announced, her grandmother signs her up. Lil will get to follow her and her grandfather’s dreams of starring in a PBRA event.
AJ Garza has been the undefeated rodeo champion for years and is supposed to be retiring, but the Closed Circuit event is what he needs to save the Houston rodeo program for at-risk boys which introduced him to rodeo when he needed it.
The world watches as reality TV meets rodeo. Both Lil and AJ need the grand prize, but the competitors find it difficult to keep their personal attraction under control and out of the competition.
I loved the idea and setting of this story and the author did not disappoint. Lil is a small powerhouse who knows how to run a ranch and shine at a rodeo but is living in fear of making her mother’s mistakes. AJ only knows rodeo as his profession and he does not know how to move on. The two of them are pitted against each other, but soon they are also helping each other. Ms. Bell does an excellent job of moving the story at a good pace with the rodeo events while still moving the romance at a slower, believable pace. When the sex scenes occur, they are very sexy, hot and not gratuitous. All the characters in this story are memorable and fully fleshed. It was interesting to learn of the segregation in the PBRA and the rodeo in general, not just in color and culture, but sex also. Since this is a series, I will be interested to see if it features a different H/h focus in each book around the Closed Circuit shows or we will get to see Lil and AJ in future stories.
I recommend this start to this engaging new series and I am looking forward to seeing how it progresses.
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Excerpt
One
On their own, the sheep weren’t that bad. It was the goats that were the problem. They gave the sheep ideas.
And what the hell sheep needed with ideas, Lilian Island did not know.
The dogs, Oreo and Carrot, had gone in opposite directions, each pulling wide to flank the scattered sheep on the left and right while Lil and her horse harried them from behind. As they picked up speed, her heart caught the rhythm of her horse’s hooves thundering against the ground as they chased the lead ewe together, two beings becoming one in motion.
The wind whipped across the shaved sides of her head, drowning out all other sounds beneath its gusty whoosh. It deposited traces of prairie dust in the loosely braided column of black hair that trailed back along the center of her head to hang down the midpoint of her spine.
Lil transferred the reins to her left hand in order to wrap them around the pommel of her saddle, steadying herself with her thighs as she did.
With her right hand, she reached for the rope coiled at her hip.
Her tornado-gray eyes, both narrowed beneath two thick black eyebrows, locked on the sheep like a missile on target.
Woman and horse flanked the sheep. Lil uncoiled the rope with a snap of her wrist while releasing the pommel with her other hand, letting her body tilt down the side of the horse until she was level with their quarry.
This close, she recognized the sheep as BB, or Bossy Betty, the herd’s matriarch.
It just went to show: a fierce woman could be counted on to keep everybody in line, but watch out when they got wild.
Lil surprised herself by laughing out loud as she leaped from the side of her horse to tackle the sheep. Catching three of its legs in her left hand, she quickly roped them off with her right.
She might not be quite as fast as she once was, but there was no denying she still had it.
After a few half-hearted attempts at resistance, BB heaved a huge sigh and slumped against the ground. To the tune of the occasional disgruntled bleat, Lil freed the defeated but unharmed animal.
She made the rope into a makeshift lead and tied the wayward leader to her saddle, giving her a consolation pat along the way, making a mental note to tell Piper that the herd was coming due for shearing.
Still smiling, Lil said to the sheep, “Inconvenient, BB, but it’s been a long time since I did any mutton bustin’.” With a final pat and chuckle, she added, “A damn long time.”
The lingering rush of the chase was familiar—once it got you, the thrill of the ride never really let go—but the wish to do it again, that was unexpected. She was a grown woman, well past her rodeo days.
Sharp barking approaching from her right signaled that Carrot and Oreo were on their way back with the rest of the flock.
Soon they would have the whole herd of them back in the yard, and then Lil could start her actual workday.
Feeding the barn stock was supposed to be her meditative morning ritual.
One that might need reconsideration, she thought as she hooked a foot into her stirrup and swung onto her horse.
The horse was the same stormy gray color as Lil’s eyes, with a black mane and tail matched to the inky midnight tone of Lil’s hair. Fanciful, Lil had named her Aurora, the most beautiful thing she could think of at the time, but everybody called her Rory.
Rory had been Lil’s twenty-fifth birthday present from her granddad. The last one he ever gave her.
Leaning forward, she pressed the side of her face against Rory’s warm neck, breathing deep that unique-in-all-the-world scent that was horse.
Oreo and Carrot brought in the remaining six sheep, and Lil led the group back toward the yard.
The coyotes could have the goats for all she cared. They had been the ones to open the fence.
She turned to Oreo, on her left, “With my luck, they would just eat the coyotes, and then we’d still have the stupid things, plus an enormous vet bill, to boot.”
Oreo gave a cheerful whuff, and Lil tried not to wonder what it meant that the response satisfied her.
Lil led the sheep and dogs back into the barnyard and tied the gate shut with the backup rope. The broken lock needed replacing—another task she added to her mental list. Once a goat figured out the mechanism, you had to get a whole new style lock.
Shaking her head, she unsaddled Rory, brushed the horse down, gave her a pat of hay, and tossed her a handful of oats.
Wrapping up her morning routine, Lil spread feed out in the yard for the chickens. They’d eat bugs and other bits around the farmhouse throughout the day, but it was always a good idea to start the day with a hearty breakfast. Besides, there was comfort in the action of spreading feed, especially after the chaotic morning.
The familiar action finally brought her heart some of the calm she typically found in doing the morning chores. She might spend her days chained to a desk running the business end of things, but she was still a hands-on rancher at heart.
The chickens settled into contented clucking and rooting just in time for Lil to hear her grandmother shriek from the kitchen.
Lil was across the yard in four seconds, up the stairs, and into the kitchen in another two.
Her eyes and muscles worked faster than her mind. Before she knew what she was doing, her rope was out, its tail end lashing out to snake around the delicate wrist of the arm raised against the woman who had raised her.
A flick of Lil’s wrist and the stranger—a woman, after a second more processing—flipped into the air before landing hard on her back on the kitchen floor.
“Lil.” Gran’s voice was cross.
Lil crossed the kitchen in three strides, crouched at the stranger’s side, and rolled her over.
The woman’s face had gone pale and sweaty, all the more unfortunate for being paired with a green three-piece skirt suit with a little too much square in the shoulders. She was probably in her midforties and had a tight perm shorn close to her head. Based on the faint traces of grow-out, the woman was a natural sensible brown that she had dyed an even more sensible brown.
Lil considered the woman for a second longer before saying, casually, “I could shoot you, you know.” Granddad had always said calm was scarier. “You’re in my home, uninvited, and this is Oklahoma.”
“Lil.” Gran’s voice turned up a notch, breaking through the cold rage in her mind. “Apologize.”
Lil’s chin angled up, and her heels dug down, “I’m not saying sorry to this stranger. She was about to hit you.”
Gran’s face cracked with a smile that had a hint of bite in it. She patted the front pocket of her apron before pulling out her mace key chain. It was the color of a purple highlighter. “I might have said a few provoking words about her mother… But that’s beside the point. I had the situation under control. I’ve got my mace. Carry it everywhere since Granddad passed.”
Lil groaned, her mind filled with images of Gran spraying innocent fools in the face, all of which were more comfortable than knowing that carrying mace around was just another sign that Gran felt a little less safe in the world without Granddad around.
“Gran. You know that doesn’t make you any safer. And were you planning to wait until after she hit you to use it?”
The woman cleared her throat, the disapproving sound instantly transporting Lil back in time to her second grade teacher’s class, Mrs. Donkin. Students in Mrs. Donkin’s class were guests in her realm and were expected to act accordingly.
Lil hadn’t liked the sound coming from her teacher, and she certainly didn’t like it coming from a stranger in her own kitchen.
“I’m with the Bank of—”
Lil cut her off with a raised hand. “We all know you’re from the bank—” There were certain professions a person couldn’t hide, no matter how hard they tried—cops, bankers, lawyers, teachers, pastors, and cowboys—each one was obvious a mile away. “As modern bankers aren’t known for door-to-door recruitment, it then seems pretty safe to assume you’re from the bank we do business with, the Bank of Muskogee. Now, we don’t have much in our accounts, so we wouldn’t be the kind of clientele they’d send a representative out all this way to for a friendly check-in. That means you’re here about our larger investment, this ranch. I run the books here, so I can think of a whole host of reasons you might be interested in paying us a visit regarding the ranch. What I can’t think of, though, is a single damn reason you would be in my kitchen, in my home, lifting a hand to my grandmother. I find that so stupefying that it seems only natural to assume you’re capable of anything, moving me toward my only recourse—the use of force to protect myself from attempted injury.”
The woman huffed at Lil’s words but refrained from commenting until she’d risen to her feet, straightened her skirt, dusted off her suit jacket, and patted her hair.
Then she said, “I am with the Bank of Muskogee, and Miss Lilian—I assume you are the Miss Lilian described in my file—I would be happy to explain myself to the authorities, including how you assaulted me, so go ahead and call them.” She had patted her file when referencing it and now stood tapping her foot on the tile flooring. Lil and Granddad had spent weeks one achingly hot summer installing the incredible discontinued turquoise tile. Gran had gotten them for a steal, importing them direct from a Jamaica-based tile maker she’d met in an online forum about beading. The labor had been hard, the result worth it. No one else in Muscogee had a kitchen floor like Gran’s, which was just how she liked it.
The woman’s tapping was becoming irritating, so Lil smiled her mean smile and said, “Nobody said anything about calling anybody. I rather think I’d drive leisurely down to the station to let everyone know what happened after-the-fact if you understand what I’m saying.”
The woman’s mouth made a little O of outrage, and she clutched her file in front of her. “I assure you, I will make a note of this hostility in my file.”
Lil rolled her eyes before crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What’re you here for?”
The woman lifted her nose in the air. “As I was getting to before your grandmother verbally attacked me—”
Lil let out a low growling noise, and the woman stopped talking to take an audible gulp.
“As. I. Was. Saying. The Bank of Muscogee sent me to deliver the news that your bereavement grace period has ended. I am also to remind you that, as per the terms of the agreement, you, the heirs of Herman Island, may, without a down payment, begin making adjusted mortgage payments beginning November of this year. Alternatively, with a new down payment, an adjusted payment set at a rate equal to that of the average final six payments of the previous mortgage is available to you. If none of those options are feasible, you are free to leave the ranch and all of its associated troubles—my file indicates difficulties securing improvement permit approvals and equipment rentals, as well as challenges with making timely mortgage payments—to the bank.”
“Now, what nonsense are you talking about?” Lil asked, eyebrows and nose screwed up in genuine bewilderment. “That file of yours might paint a part of the picture true, but without a doubt, this ranch has one thing going for it, and that’s the fact that it’s paid for.”
The woman shook her head, the movement mechanical like a clock, her expression a blend of smug and pleased that Lil’s mind immediately coined smleased. “Not for the last six and a half years since your grandfather walked through the doors of the central street branch and applied for a reverse mortgage.”
“What?” Lil’s mouth dropped open this time. “You mean those things sleazy banks use to prey on lonely old folk without kin?”
The woman had the gall to look affronted. “Reverse mortgages are an important mode of financial freedom for seniors without traditional options!”
Lil shook her head, amazed. The woman moved like a clock and spoke with all the heart of a robot. “You’re telling me that the Bank of Muscogee somehow fooled my granddad into signing his land away?” Heat built in her chest, making its way upward toward her neck and face.
“The Bank of Muscogee was merely the facilitator. Your grandfather walked in, submitted the appropriate paperwork, and walked out with 1.2 million dollars.”
Lil laughed. “$1.2 million? Lady, you had me going. You truly did. But you lost me at 1.2 million dollars. I spent nearly every day of the last two years of his life with my granddad. If he’d have had a million dollars, I would have known about it.”
Gran, having been quietly observing the exchange, chose the moment to reenter the conversation. “She’s telling the truth, Lil.”
Lil’s head whipped around to face her gran. “That’s crazy, Gran. Where’d the money go if he did it?”
“I found the money.”
All the heat building inside abandoned Lil as swiftly as it’d arrived, leaving her shivering in the morning warmth of the kitchen.
“He set up a separate account. Most of it’s gone. Spent on the ranch before you go worrying,” Gran said, looking severe and firm. “Your granddad was a good man. I haven’t worked it all out yet, but the secret was his only sin.”
Some of the tightness left Lil’s chest at her gran’s words, but she mumbled, “It’s a big enough sin.”
“Lilian Island, I’ll not have you speaking ill of the dead.”
“How could he have done this?”
For a moment, it was as if the bank representative had disappeared, and it was just the two of them, a bewildered granddaughter trying to understand the world from her weary widowed grandmother.
Gran shook her head, the motion small for all the volumes it spoke. “He must have had a good reason.”
The woman from the bank cleared her throat. “Yes. Well. Your grandfather’s motivations notwithstanding, it is my task to get your signature on this paper, which states I’ve informed you of the terms of the reverse mortgage.” She held up a multipage form, the top few pages folded back to reveal a signature line at the base of a long page, which she jabbed with a finger Lil knew had done more than its fair share of pointing.
Gran’s eyebrow ticked up, and Lil’s stomach tightened on reflex—years spent under the woman’s watchful eye had taught her to be wary of that look.
Gran was irritated and through with the woman’s presence in her kitchen.
Without speaking a word, with barely even a glance in the woman’s direction, Gran’s arm flashed out and signed the paper, the whole motion eerily like the one she had so often reached back and used to smack some sense into her old fool cowboy of a husband.
Lil wondered if the millions of tiny memories she stumbled into each day on the ranch would always hurt. This deep into them with no sign of abating, she’d nearly reconciled herself to the fact that chances were they would.
On a groan, Lil said, “Gran, you can’t just sign like that. You didn’t even look at the document.”
The bank woman virtually salivated. “Thank you, Mrs. Island. I’m sure the bank will be pleased with your response.”
Gran scoffed, still not looking at the woman. “I’m sure they will be SherriDawn Daniels, but, as I was saying before you so rudely lost your temper after I invited you into my home, it won’t get you any closer to knowing who your real daddy is.”
Lil grimaced, and SherriDawn—old enough to be Lil’s mother and, who had, according to Gran, been one of the wild girls Lil’s mother had palled around with as a teen—actually growled.
Lil’s hand tensed at her side, ready to repeat the scene from earlier if need be.
But this time SherriDawn held her temper, instead, plastering a broad smile on her face, saying through clenched teeth, “I’ll just be on my way, now, Mrs. Island. It was nice seeing you again.”
Gran cackled. “Don’t you lie to me, SherriDawn. I’ve seen right through you since you were fifteen years old, and don’t pretend like it isn’t true.”
The growling sound moved lower down into her throat, but this time SherriDawn took the wise course: she shut her mouth, clasped her briefcase, and swiveled narrowly to the door.
Watching her walk away, so prim and proper that it seemed anally uncomfortable, it was hard to imagine SherriDawn might have been wild enough to ride with her mother. In Lil’s mind, her mother represented all that was wild and dangerous, as well as what happened when you chased after it. She’d been wild enough to run around and have herself a baby by a mystery man she refused to name at sixteen. Wild enough to run off and never come back, leaving that baby to be raised by her grandparents.
SherriDawn didn’t seem like she had the balls for all of that.
After the door slammed shut, the old screen let to fall without care by SherriDawn on her way out, Gran gathered herself with a shuddering breath, which she then let out on a long theatrical sigh.
Lil’s Spidey senses tingled.
Given what Gran already seemed to know about things, the whole scene with SherriDawn now seemed put on. And Gran’s long sigh was telling. That meant that all of it—goading the bank woman, the dramatic reveal, perhaps even the sheep and the goats, now that Lil was thinking about it—was part of one of Gran’s plots then.
If she knew her gran, and she did like the back of her hand, this one would be related to the reverse mortgage but would be no less outrageous for being grounded in their real problems.
Gran put on a sober look before sighing. “Everyone ought to be here—I only want to say this once.” Then she opened her mouth and hollered at the top of her considerable lungs, “PIPER! TOMMY!”
Piper, their petite red-haired farmhand, came running in first, clearly having grabbed the closest thing at hand to use as a weapon if needed—a horseshoe.
Tommy, Lil’s live-in cousin from Granddad’s side, had a rifle.
Steady, dependable, Tommy.
“What’s going on?” they asked in unison.
“You’re all going to want to sit down for this,” Gran said with an arm toward the kitchen table and more weariness in her voice than the unveiling of a scheme usually allowed.
Following her grandmother’s gesture, Lil noticed for the first time the plaid thermos of coffee that sat in the center of the round table.
It wasn’t the new stainless steel one.
Gran had taken out the plaid one. She reserved the plaid thermos for tough conversations.
Four chairs sat around the table, each with an empty coffee mug in front of it.
Lil’s seat, where she sat now that she knew what was going on, was the east point of the compass of their table.
Gran sat in the north, Tommy the south, and Piper the west.
Granddad had always been in the northeast, a steady anchor between Gran and Lil.
Without him, they held each other as best they could, but both had become more prone to drifting.
Gran waited for everyone to pour a cup before she spoke. “I’ll start with the good news. We have each other. We have our stock, and, for the moment, we have the land.”
“Not a promising start, Gran,” Lil observed.
“It is when it might be all we’ve got,” Gran said simply. “Unbeknownst to me, Granddad took a reverse mortgage on the ranch in the years before he died. I received a letter informing me of this in the mail last week.”
Lil frowned. That Gran had sat on information this critical for a week settled about as well as lemon juice in cream.
Gran continued, “After some digging, what I can piece together is this: about five years ago, Granddad lost the Wilson drive contract.”
Lil shook her head. “That’s impossible. He went right up until he died. That’s half the reason he got sick in the first place.”
Gran placed a hand on Lil’s wrist, just below where the hand attached to it had clenched into a fist.
Gran, never one to pull her punches, said: “He didn’t go. He kept a separate bank account for the money, and he tracked his expenses. He spent the time in Tulsa at a hotel renting movies and ordering room service.” A half smile broke through the frustration. “Greedy old cuss.”
But it wasn’t an endearing foible to Lil’s frame of mind. He had lied to them, and, in his own words, like all lies, it had spiraled into an avalanche of deceit.
“In the agreement, he included a provision to give us extra time before we had to make a decision, but that time is up. We have sixty days to come up with a down payment for the ranch, following which the bank will establish monthly mortgage payments. Every way I’ve looked at it, it’s our only option. We would never be able to afford the payment the bank offered without the down payment. But nobody is going to evict us from land my husband’s family has held on to, hardscrabble as it’s been, through hell on earth.” The last she directed specifically to Lil and Tommy. Through their granddad’s line, Tommy and Lil were Muscogee Creek Freedmen, the descendants of enslaved people under the double burden of being property during the relocation and later forced removal of the Muscogee from their homelands in the southeast. And after the tribe disenrolled the freedmen in the seventies, their citizenship revoked in a blow her granddad had never quite recovered from, this land, this dry patch of Oklahoma allotted to their family after the Civil War—insignificant dust mote of a ranch that it was—was the only proof they had left, the only hint as to how their family had ended up in Oklahoma in the first place. Tearing folks from their history was one of the ways to break them, so Lil’s family had held on to theirs through their land—through cultural hostility, the dust bowl, outright deception, attempts to steal, and everything else that time and life had thrown their way.
They had refused to sell even when their neighbors, cousins, and relatives packed up and left, seeking the green of other pastures and the heat of other suns. The Islands had stuck it out, and the reward was being able to say they’d held on to the first and only thing they’d ever been given.
Until now.
Lil was glad she had taken Gran’s advice to sit down. The floor had become somewhat less substantial beneath her boots.
It occurred to her that they were nice boots. She could probably sell them for some quick cash. It wouldn’t be anywhere near enough if what she thought might be true was true.
Sixty days wasn’t enough time at all. Lil frowned. They had a cash reserve of five thousand to keep them and the stock fed through a pinch, and they had the value of their stock itself, which could bring in another eighty thousand in a quick sale at auction, but as far as she knew, they didn’t have any other assets.
Her 1980s Toyota was too beat up to be worth anything, and she didn’t own any personal items of value.
Finally, she found her voice. “But why would Granddad do something like that?”
Gran sighed. “I don’t think that he could admit he was too old to do it all himself anymore. Looking at his paperwork, in addition to withdrawing the amounts it took to look like he’d still been going on the drives, it looks like he’d been dipping in those funds rather liberally.”
“Rory…” Lil grimaced. She had wondered where he’d scrounged up the money for a papered Arabian filly.
Now she knew.
Gran nodded. “And Gorgeous,” she said, referring to the brand new Subaru station wagon that sat in her driveway, souped-up with every safety and luxury feature available.
Lil brought her fingers to her temples and rubbed. “So how much is left in his secret pot then?” she asked.
Gran shook her head. “Just ten thousand.”
“What?” Lil gasped.
Whining wasn’t her usual way, but, as the woman from the bank had gone, and there was no one left to throttle, it was the only option available.
“Don’t be theatrical.” Gran’s comment was automatic, so much so that Lil wasn’t even sure the woman noticed she’d made it, nor that, as far as statements went, it was the pot calling the kettle. “They want twenty percent for the down payment. We don’t have that.”
Lil groaned. “Nor enough for the mortgage payments after that. We’re barely making it by as is.” Lil couldn’t tell the truth: they weren’t making it. She had been contemplating selling equipment to stretch the final distance to make ends meet. Every month it was a struggle, but Lil had been somehow managing, just eking it out of the red. A mortgage payment, any mortgage payment, would break them.
Gran waited a beat after Lil’s interruption, punctuating the unspoken admonishment with a lifted eyebrow and communicating clearly without words: Are you done yet?
Lil blushed.
“But—” Gran continued. “We have each other. And we have Lil.”
The way her gran said her name made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, but when she opened her mouth to question, her grandmother lifted her palm to her, a signal to Lil to hold her tongue.
Out of respect, she did.
“Lil. You’re on temporary reassignment.”
“What are you talking about?” Lil asked.
“I’m the owner, aren’t I?” she asked.
“Yes, but we agreed that I was in charge of daily operations.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Gran.”
“I can do your job. Nobody but you can do what we need you for now.”
Here was the plot then. Lil’s skin crawled with a warning, but she asked anyway, “And what is that?”
Gran handed her a glossy quarter sheet flyer in response. Lil read the largest print and then set it facedown on the table and brought her fingers to her temples.
Gran’s voice was soft when she next spoke. “We need the money, Lil. I don’t see any other way.”
Lil groaned.
Gran added, “You’re the best there’s ever been.”
The old woman wasn’t pulling any punches.
Lil’s voice flirted with the edge of hysteria. “Says a nobody’s grandma with a stopwatch and pasture.”
“‘Nobody’s grandma?’ Excuse you.” She pointed to the third line of the flyer, “Did you see the prize? There are no points required, just a qualifier. It’s part of the whole thing. Like American Idol.”
Lil went ahead and dove fully into hysteria. When she spoke, her voice squeaked high to low like a pubertal boy. “American Idol?”
Gran’s next words had the same effect as being hit by a bucket of cold water: “You could ride a bull.”
Lil’s body froze and tingled at the same time.
She hadn’t stepped foot in an arena in years and never competed in a PBRA-sponsored rodeo.
She had walked away a junior champion and ridden pro a few times in the Indian National Rodeo rodeos. Still, the world of rodeo mostly had forgotten about her—except for the few administrators who would always remember her as the girl who had tried and failed, over and over, to get women into the PBRA’s, the Professional Bull Riders Association, rough stock events. Because in Lil’s mind, what did it matter if she won every other event if she couldn’t win on the back of a bull?
She was skilled enough to have made a good living between women’s events in the PBRA and the Indian rodeos, but if she couldn’t ride a bull under the banner of PBRA, she didn’t want any of it.
So she rode for a college scholarship and then quit when she graduated instead. And then she’d come back to the ranch. End of story. And that was good enough for her.
Since her retirement, rodeo had opened up a lot, and she was happy for the younger generation. A handful of girls had even been allowed on top of bulls. None had made it far, but Lil knew it was only a matter of time.
She shook her head with a sigh. “I can’t, Gran. I’m rusty as an old nail, and there’s just too much to do around here. Besides, the ranch is too much for Tommy and Piper to run on their own.”
Gran snorted. “You work in the office most of the day, anyway.”
“Gran, you don’t have the energy for it,” Lil insisted.
“Energy? Hell, after more years of doing it than you’ve been alive, I could do the ranch’s books half asleep—and have! I just let you take over because it’s a snoozefest.”
“Snoozefest? Gran, do you hear yourself?” Lil turned to Piper and Tommy for help, “You don’t support this, do you?”
Both shrugged.
Piper said, “We trust Gran.”
Gran crossed her arms in front of her chest and lifted a brow. “They trust me.”
“It’s a lot more work,” Lil tried.
Tommy said, “We’ve been doing more and more of it while you’ve been up there pinching pennies.”
Lil’s cheeks heated, but she didn’t contradict him. He and Piper had been pulling more and more of her weight as she tried to do the impossible.
The impossible that she wasn’t very good at. The impossible that Gran could do in her sleep—which was true. Gran ran a tight ship, whatever ship she came to, and she had been far more organized in running Swallowtail Ranch than Lil could ever hope to be.
They had supported her through the last sad and stumbling years. Participating in this crazy scheme was what they were asking of her in return.
Mentally sweating, Lil pushed her chair back, its legs screeching across the floor, and stood up. Turning around, she headed to the door without saying another word.
“Where are you going, Lilian?” Gran only used her full name when she got stern.
Lil stopped mid-step. “I’m going to clear out my desk,” she said.
Behind her back, Gran smiled. Lil didn’t have to see it to know it was true. Gran always smiled when she got what she wanted, and she always got what she wanted.
“Don’t worry about that now. You’ve got training to do. Gotten a bit out of shape, if you ask me.”
Piper erupted in a fit of witchy cackles as Lil stormed out of the kitchen. Ignoring them all, Lil went to her office.
On the second floor of the farmhouse, the room used to be her gran and granddad’s bedroom, but she and Gran had turned it into the office after he passed. Gran said she couldn’t bear to sleep in there alone.
It made a lovely office—wide and bright, with delicately framed French doors that led to a weight-bearing balcony. Weight-bearing because Lil’s summer project last year had been to reinforce the support beams, replace the decking, and weather coat the whole thing.
She figured that should get her five years’ worth of good use of Muskogee’s extreme annual mood swings before she’d need to do any repairs. That is if she kept up on refinishing it every year, which she had planned to, since walking out on the balcony had preserved her sanity after a long stint of pushing paper many a time.
She walked through the doors and stood there now, enjoying it while she could still call it hers. There were bills to pay, orders to fulfill, and emails to respond to, but that wasn’t her job now. Now her job was to enter a rodeo contest and try to win some money to save the ranch.
Marcella Bell was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. She is a registered yoga teacher, an avid reader, a honeybee enthusiast, and a lover of travel, corvids, and karaoke. A wife, mother, and child of a multicultural household, Marcella is especially interested in writing novels that reflect her family history, as well as the people and places she’s known throughout her life.
