Tag: #excerpt

Blog Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Comeback Cowboy by Maisey Yates, Caitlin Crews, Jackie Ashenden, Nicole Helm

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE COMEBACK COWBOY on this Spring 2023 HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.

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

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Book Summary

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

They may not have been friends when they were younger but now, they’ll work together to save the camp that saved them and, maybe, even find love in the process…

The alumni of Camp Phoenix, a summer program for at-risk youth, may have grown apart but, when they learn the camp has fallen into disrepair, they answer the call for help. Now successful adults, the four women pledge to restore the grounds to their former glory, if long-standing rivalries and old flames don’t get in the way first….

Attorney Ashlynn Cook owes her life to Camp Phoenix and is determined to save the camp…but who’s going to save her from the temptation of long-time crush US Marshal Oakley Traeger? The daughter of the camp’s founder, Cassidy McClain has always wanted to follow in her law-abiding father’s footsteps, but fellow alum Duke Cody might have her breaking all the rules. Bree White fought hard to break away from her criminal family and all of the reminders of her past until Officer Flint Decker brings all those feelings back and more. And Kinley Parker never left Camp Phoenix, dedicating her life to it, and has no time for pushy cowboys like Jackson Hart until butting heads leads to sparks.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61345656-the-comeback-cowboy?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=KhCmx4zKzP&rank=4

THE COMEBACK COWBOY

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

ISBN: 9781335508188

Publication Date: April 25, 2023

Publisher: Canary Street Press

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

THE COMEBACK COWBOY (Jasper Creek Anthology Book #4) by Maisey Yates, Caitlin Crew, Nicole Helm and Jackie Ashenden is the fourth fun and entertaining Jasper Creek anthology with four couples finding love in novellas tied together by a recurring theme. This book stands on its own and you do not need to read the previous books for content or context.

The prologue explains how fifteen years ago Sheriff Bill McClain started Camp Phoenix in the Oregon wilderness for at-risk children. Four of the camp counselors had gone through the program and were like sons to Sheriff McClain and they eventually all went into law enforcement in honor of the man who saved them.

Now they are back, bought the rundown camp and are rehabbing it to reopen with the help of four previous campers who have turned their lives around, also.

The first story is “The One with the Hat” by Jackie Ashenden featuring Bree White and Flint Decker. The second story is “The One with the Locket” by Caitlin Crews featuring Violet Cook and Lincoln Traeger. The third story is “The One with the Bullhorn” featuring Kinley Parker and Jackson Hart. The fourth story is “The One with the Trophy” by Maisey Yates featuring Clementine McClain and Duke Cody.

All the stories have the women forging friendships among themselves that they did not have while they were campers, and they were funny and heartwarming. Each romance has a different twist, but all the men and women had their own insecurities that being back at the camp seemed to exacerbate and they had to overcome for their HEAs. The characters are well developed for an anthology and the sexy heat is there.

Overall, while I had my favorites, the four novellas flow well together and the book is a delightful read.

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Excerpt

The One with the Hat by Jackie Ashenden

CHAPTER ONE 

Bree White walked quickly over the gravel of the parking area and she didn’t look back. Time was of the essence.

She’d arrived at Camp Phoenix, the summer camp for juvenile delinquents that had changed her life back when she’d been fourteen, a full thirty minutes before she was supposed to, mainly so she could claim the best cabin before everyone else arrived—and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

It was a little surprising that Jackson Hart, the former DEA agent who’d bought the run-down camp and sent out the call for volunteers to help get it ready for a new season of campers, wasn’t here to greet her. He was apparently living in the shabby house near the camp entrance, but she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him.

Then again, she was early. And she didn’t mind not seeing Jackson. He’d been his usual drill-sergeant self, harassing her relentlessly to volunteer to help, and while she was all about helping, she wasn’t a fan of being told what to do. Never had been.

Even ten years ago, when she’d been sent to Camp Phoenix by Sheriff Bill McClain, the man who’d started the camp, she’d hated all the rules and regulations, and had chafed against them. Yet those same rules and regulations had given her a structure and routine that her chaotic childhood never had. They’d changed her life.

Camp Phoenix had basically been the best thing to ever happen to her. That’s why she was here. And it wasn’t anything to do with Jackson Hart, so much as it was her, wanting to give back. Perhaps help change a few lives the way hers had been changed, and for the better. She was looking forward to it.

Bree paused in front of the small cluster of buildings surrounded by a green lawn and bordered by tall pines. Everything looked…smaller than she remembered, not to mention a lot more neglected. There were a few dilapidated cabins that were the bunk rooms, and the big dining hall where Mrs. Zee, the cook, used to reign supreme. The showers and bathrooms were in their own building, and then there was the administration cabin. And over there by the dining hall, the art hall that was once run by Gale Lawson.

And…ugh. There was Hollyhock Hill, which all the campers had to climb at 6:00 a.m. every morning to raise the flag, and where the day’s chores were handed out.

She’d never been much of a morning person, but that, in particular, had felt like torture. Well, they were all adults now, and presumably, there would be no 6:00 a.m. wake-up calls this time around.

The camp looked deserted, which was good, so Bree headed over to the least-run-down-looking of the cabins, where the counselors used to sleep. Jackson had said at least one of the cabins was better than the others, so she was assuming it was this one, and that she could claim it for herself.

She assumed no one would be sharing like they once had, when it was ten to a room. At least, she wouldn’t be sharing; not these days. She’d come a long way from her past and her family of low-level criminals who expected her to follow the same path they had. Now she had her own place in Jasper Creek and a great job as a real estate agent. She didn’t have to steal for a living like her folks had.

And all thanks to Camp Phoenix. Nothing at all to do with Flint Decker. Bree scowled as she headed toward the old counselors cabin, trying to shove off the irritating reminder that Flint Decker had been her arresting officer back when she’d been fourteen. He’d caught her shoplifting from the local 7-Eleven, which was something she did not like to remember, if she could help it.

A bit difficult not to be reminded, though, when Jasper Creek had been virtually wallpapered with his handsome, arrogant face thanks to the sheriff’s elections a couple of months back. She hadn’t been able to get away from it. Even more annoying that he’d won the election. By a depressing margin.

She had nothing to do with him these days, determinedly ignoring him whenever they passed each other on the street. And she definitely didn’t look behind her as he went by, noting the breadth of his shoulders, his narrow hips, long, powerful legs, and—

Bree nearly tripped over a piece of wood that seemed to be lying randomly in the grass, and only just stopped herself from an ignominious face-plant.

Damn new sneakers. Nothing to do with thinking about stupid Flint. She’d bought them especially for tramping about the camp and they were already giving her blisters.

She took a quick look around to see if anyone else had turned up to witness her embarrassing stumble, but the place was still deserted.

Just as well.

Bree examined her brand-new, spotless blue jeans for any suspicion of dirt, but they seemed to have escaped. She brushed them off just in case, since she wasn’t a fan of dirt. She wasn’t a fan of jeans either, but the little business skirts she usually wore weren’t very practical, so she’d gone on a bit of a shopping spree.

She wasn’t that sullen, angry teen who had turned up at camp with nothing, not even a sleeping bag. She’d come prepared this time. She approached the cabin and cautiously pushed open the door.

It was one room with a wooden floor and three sturdy wooden bunk beds pushed up against the unlined walls. The floor looked clean, at least, but one of the bunk beds had no mattresses, which left four beds to choose from. It smelled a bit musty but nothing an open window wouldn’t fix. Bree gave herself a moment to frown at the spiderwebs in the ceiling between the rafters, then directed her attention to which bunk to choose. One of the top bunks, of course, since those had always been the most prized. Back in the day, there used to be battles. There was one girl, Violet Cook, who Bree had taken an instant dislike to, and one day, she’d hung Violet’s sleeping bag from a tree before stealing her bunk. That had earned her toilet cleaning for a week, but it had been worth it.

Of course, she’d never do anything like that now. Now she loved her life and was no longer angry at the entire world.

Moving over to the bunk beside the window, she carefully examined the mattress on the top bed, since that seemed to be the least lumpy, and decided it would do.

She didn’t like being uncomfortable, but camp—as Sheriff McClain had always said—wasn’t about being comfortable, so she’d resigned herself to a bit of discomfort. Not that she had a choice, since her house was having its plumbing upgraded and she couldn’t be there anyway. Really, coming to camp was excellent timing in many ways.

Bree put her little suitcase onto the bottom bunk in preparation for unpacking.

Other people would be arriving, she assumed. Given Jackson’s insistence on the importance of getting the camp up and running before the end of June, and given how he was a bossy asshole, he’d probably called every single person who’d ever stayed here and guilt-tripped them into helping.

She hoped they would be nice people, not—

“Please don’t tell me we have to share. Goddamn Jackson.”

Bree froze. She recognized that voice. No. Did it have to be? Not Violet Cook, whose sleeping bag she’d stolen. Not Violet Cook, who’d treated every day at camp like she was auditioning for Survivor and had basically lorded it over everyone, trying to prove she was the baddest.

Surely, she wasn’t here. Surely not.

Yet the door was already opening and in came a small, stunningly pretty woman with long, wavy black hair, black eyes, and wearing the most ridiculously feminine and flouncy maxidress Bree had ever seen. She tottered in on sky-high wedges, towing behind her a huge bright pink suitcase, and the moment she spotted Bree, she stopped dead.

The world’s most awkward silence fell as ten years vanished in the blink of an eye.

“Great,” Violet said, scowling. “Bree White. What the hell are you doing here?”

Bree had an urge to scowl back, but she forced it aside. She wasn’t fourteen and feral anymore. She was twenty-four and a professional, with a reputation for being the nicest Realtor at her agency. Violet might not have changed, but Bree certainly had.

“Hi, Violet,” she said, smiling determinedly. “Nice to see you. We should definitely catch up later, after you’ve found your own cabin. I think the one next door is still free—” “Unfortunately, we’re sharing,” Violet interrupted, obviously unimpressed. “None of the other cabins are habitable.”

Bree blinked. That was not what Jackson had said. “Sharing? What? But I thought…” She trailed off as Violet, ignoring her, eyed the bunk bed Bree was standing next to before moving over to the bunk pushed up against the opposite wall.

Bree opened her mouth to try to make the silence more pleasant, when the cabin door opened again, and two more women came in.

This time she barely stifled a groan. Kinley Parker and Clementine McClain? Seriously? She hadn’t known Kinley that well. She’d been so shy and quiet she’d virtually blended into the wallpaper, but apparently lived in Jasper Creek, not that Bree had ever seen her around. Clementine, on the other hand, was Sheriff McClain’s daughter, and Bree remembered her as being the biggest tattletale ever at camp, treating every rule like it was handed down by God himself. No wonder she’d ended up as the sheriff’s deputy, or so Bree had heard.

Anyway, this was great. Just great. So, what? She had to share her cabin with all three of them? Unacceptable. She was going to need a word with Jackson.

Keeping her smile pasted on, Bree directed it to Kinley and Clementine. “Oh, wow, you guys are here as well? How great is this?”

Kinley clearly did not think this was great. Her brown eyes were woeful behind her large glasses as she looked at the bunk situation, and Bree found herself putting a possessive hand on the top bed of the bunk she’d chosen. “Sorry, this one’s mine.”

“And don’t even think about the top bunk here,” Violet said without turning around. “It’ll have my pillow on it in approximately two seconds.” She’d opened her giant pink suitcase on the bottom bunk, and had pulled out a softlooking pillow in a pillowcase embroidered all over with wildflowers, and… Were those fairy lights? Kinley sighed, glanced at the third mattress-less bunk and sighed again. “I guess I’m here, then,” she said and shuffled over to the bunk where Bree stood. “Do you mind if I take the bottom?” Bree gave her the biggest smile she could manage. “No, not at all.”

“Uh, hi.” Clementine gave a nervous-looking wave, an equally nervous-looking smile on her face. Her hair was still as red as Bree remembered, and she still had as many freckles. She glanced with some trepidation at Violet’s bunk and the only other habitable bed. “Um, well, I suppose I’ll take this one.”

Violet had now put her pillow on the top bunk and was in the process of hauling out what appeared to be bed linens, along with what were definitely fairy lights.

“I don’t think we’re allowed those in here,” Clementine said as she stared at the bed currently taken up by Violet’s giant case. “The fairy lights, I mean. At least, I don’t think you can?”

“Too bad,” Violet said. “I’m not doing lights-out at nine. Especially not when I want to read. Plus—” she sent a challenging look to the room in general “—they’re pretty.” Her gaze settled on Bree. “This bed stays mine, okay?” Bree’s smile became fixed. Dammit. It appeared Violet hadn’t forgotten the whole sleeping bag/bunk stealing incident. “No problem,” she said brightly.

Kinley, meanwhile, had sat down on the bunk underneath Bree’s, squeezing herself awkwardly between Bree’s case and the end of the bed.

And suddenly, it was too much. The room felt tiny and there were too many people in it, people she didn’t like and didn’t know, and none of this was anything like what she’d expected.

There had to be somewhere else she could stay. In fact, she’d take it up with Jackson right now. Her smile felt fake and forced, but if she didn’t smile, she was going to end up growling, and she didn’t want to growl. She wasn’t a feral beast.

“I’m just going to…um…” She went over to the door and paused. “No one touch my stuff.”

It wasn’t until she’d gone through it that she realized what she’d said. As if she were fourteen again, hating the camp, and Sheriff McClain, and basically everyone who’d forced her here.

Ugh. She had to make sure she didn’t fall back into old patterns. That meant no growling or getting angry, or being generally unpleasant. She was Bree White, the friendliest, most professional, most successful Realtor in her agency, and sharing a cabin with three of her enemies from a particularly dark time in her life wasn’t that bad.

Still. It was worth checking other options, just to be sure. Bree stopped outside the cabin, looking around at the rest of the camp. Where the hell could Jackson be? Then, from around the corner of the dining hall, came a man wearing a very familiar hat. A battered black cowboy hat. And her heart sank all the way into her brand-new sneakers.

So. Not only was she bunking with her three sworn enemies, but he was here too? Please not him. Anyone but him.

But the man striding over the grass toward her didn’t miraculously turn into someone else. He was tall, but then, he always had been. Even at twenty, his shoulders had been broad and his chest wide. The black cotton of the T-shirt he wore was stretched lovingly over a chest and shoulders that seemed even wider and more muscular ten years later. On the T-shirt there was a picture of a cabin in gold with a phoenix above it, wings outswept, and the words Camp Phoenix above, while underneath the cabin was the camp motto. Rise Up. Her brain had barely registered the T-shirt before it got distracted by the way the worn denim of his jeans clung to his narrow hips and powerful thighs. Not that she was noticing his thighs. Not when eyes greener than the grass beneath her feet were focused on hers with magnetic intensity.

Flint Decker. Sheriff Flint Decker and his stupid hat. Okay, if Jackson wasn’t around, then she’d have a few words about sleeping arrangements with the sheriff himself. Bree lifted her chin and prepared to do battle.

Excerpted from The Comeback Cowboy by Jackie Ashenden, Caitlin Crews, Nicole Helm, Maisey Yates. Copyright © 2023 by Harlequin Enterprises ULC. The One with the Hat Copyright © 2023 by Jackie Ashenden. The One with the Locket Copyright © 2023 by Caitlin Crews. The One with the Bullhorn Copyright © 2023 by Nicole Helm. The One with the Trophy Copyright © 2023 by Maisey Yates. Copyright © 2023 by Jeff Johnson, interior illustrations.  Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Bio and Social Media Links

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

Facebook: @Maisey Yates

Instagram: @maiseyyates

Goodreads

Author Bios and Social Media Links

USA Today bestselling, RITA-nominated, and critically-acclaimed author Caitlin Crews 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

Facebook: @Megan Crane and Caitlin Crews

Instagram: @meganmcrane

Goodreads

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

Facebook: @Nicole Helm

Instagram: @nicole_t_helm

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Author Bio and Social Media Links

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

Facebook: @Jackie Ashenden

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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: A Noble Cunning: The Countess and the Tower by Patricia Bernstein

Hi, everyone!

Today is my turn to share my Feature Post and Book Review for A NOBLE CUNNING: The Countess and the Tower by Patricia Bernstein on this Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. This is an exciting debut historical fiction novel based on a true story. Enjoy!

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Book Summary

A thrilling tale, based on a true story, of one woman’s tremendous courage and incomparable wit in trying to rescue her husband from the Tower of London the night before he is to be executed.

The heroine of A Noble Cunning, Bethan Glentaggart, Countess of Clarencefield, a persecuted Catholic noblewoman, is determined to try every possible means of saving her husband’s life, with the help of a group of devoted women friends.

Amid the turbulence of the 1715 Rebellion against England’s first German king George I, Bethan faces down a mob attack on her home, travels alone from the Scottish Lowlands to London through one of the worst snowstorms in many years, and confronts a cruel king before his court to plead for mercy for her husband Gavin. As a last resort, Bethan and her friends must devise and put in motion a devilishly complex scheme featuring multiple disguises and even the judicious use of poison to try to free Gavin.

Though rich with historical gossip and pageantry, Bethan’s story also demonstrates the damage that politics and religious fanaticism can inflict on the lives of individuals.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62363360-a-noble-cunning

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My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

A NOBLE CUNNING: The Countess and the Tower by Patricia Bernstein is an engaging debut historical fiction novel based on a true story featuring a fictional noble Scottish Catholic couple at the time of the Jacobite Uprising and the rise of the Protestant House of Hanover. This is a debut standalone historical fiction novel that is immersive, easy to read and difficult to put down.

Bethan Glentaggert, Countess of Clarencefield lives with her husband and children in the Scottish Lowlands. While prospering, they must always be vigilant as they are Catholics in a land that has made practicing their faith illegal. When Queen Anne dies and the throne is now by law only to be given to a Protestant, the next in line is the German born George of Hanover. This sparks the Jacobite Uprising and the march of Catholics and those who do not recognize the German as king against the throne including Bethan’s husband, Gavin.

Bethan’s husband ends up in the Tower of London waiting execution for treason. Bethan does everything she can to have him pardoned, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. She refuses to give up and she comes up with a cunning plan to save her husband from the executioner’s ax.

I loved Bethan, her strength, intelligence, and cunning plan. That she is based on a real historical character that I previously knew nothing about makes her story that much more enjoyable because I like finding new stories in history when they involve strong female characters. The plan to save her husband was ingenious for the period and gives the story plot the tension of a suspense novel. This story is written with historical detail, both descriptive and in dialogue, to the religious conflict present in England for many decades and I feel the author remains neutral in the telling of the story. I was pleased the author wrote the story in a linear timeline and used quotes and books from authors of the time to give a sense of time and place. This is a well-researched historical fiction novel with a strong female protagonist that I thoroughly enjoyed reading.

I highly recommend this debut historical fiction novel.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

No Safe Place

Heath Hall, Scottish Lowlands, 1710

“…we shall do our utmost endeavor to have the land purged of Popish idolatry … particularly the abomination of the mass We shall never, consent, for any reason whatsoever, that the Penal Statutes, made against Papists should be annulled; but shall, when opportunity offers, be ready to concur in putting them to a due and vigorous execution.”   
– The Auchensaugh Renovation of the National Covenant.

Reformed Presbytery, July 24, 1712.

I had gone to bed early and slept soundly until I was awakened by a wild noise of cries and shouts almost under my windows. I rose and peered out. As if one of my most troubled dreams had come to life, at least one hundred men were gathered below, waving smoky torches and brandishing pikes and hammers and other tools they had probably seized from our smithy.

One night in London many years earlier, when I was a child of nine, I had witnessed a raucous anti-Catholic parade made up of London rowdies disguised as grotesque parodies of priests and bishops and the pope. Ever since then, I have feared mobs at night, faces distorted by flickering torchlight.

I looked down from my window upon this motley crowd of bedraggled sowers and reapers, my senses assaulted by the sting of smoke and the writhing fingers of flame. For a moment I swayed and felt that I might fall. Gavin, my husband, was many leagues away politicking in the back-street coffeehouses of Edinburgh. How could I face this crowd without him?

But I could not fall. I am Bethan Carlisle Glentaggart, Countess of Clarencefield, a Catholic amid the heathen Protestants, I thought, and must show neither fear nor weakness. Unruly crowds of this kind feed on the terror they engender in their betters. I repressed an involuntary shiver and vowed to demonstrate that they were dealing with a woman of spirit, in full command of her household, not a mere drawing-room ornament. They would not smell my fear. My heart banged violently in my chest, but I would smooth my features as I had seen my mother do when our family was threatened.

The boldest of the leaders–a ragged bunch with tousled hair, mismatched garments and broken-down shoes–hallooed up at me.

“Mistress, you are hiding a Romanish priest, a servant of Satan, and we will have him! Bring him out or we will come in, as is our right by law!”

Oh yes, of course, I thought but did not say, your “legal rights” are meant to be exercised in the dark of night with a mob at your back, against unprotected women and children.

My brain, still a little sodden with sleep, churned and brought forth no response for a moment, but then clarity broke through.

“Hold there, sirrah. I will come down to you,” I cried.

I tossed an unlaced gown over my shift and wrapped a cloak over the whole. Leaving my hair loose, I ran down the stairs, as the storm of bangings and knockings on the front door grew louder and more insistent. Despite the noise, I paused for an instant at the foot of the stairs to run my hands over my face, trying to forcibly soften lines of worry and subdue the pinch of anxiety around my eyes and mouth.

My companion Lucy had also risen. Shocked and pale-faced, she came running to me barefooted. For once, she, also abruptly jerked from sleep, had no advice to give. But I was beginning to feel more confident that I could maintain at least the outward appearance of a woman who was unruffled by scares in the night, even though my legs were trembling.

“I have read this chapter before,” I told Lucy. “When I was only seven, soldiers came to our home in Wales for this self-same purpose, hunting an illegal priest. I believe I can manage these vermin as my mother once did. None of these men are fit to kiss the hem of Father Jerome’s shabbiest robe.”

Then Lucy and I looked at each other. She gasped. The fact was we had been hosting Father Jerome, a secret missionary priest from France, traveling disguised as an itinerant shepherd and sleeping in the shielings or shepherd’s huts used during summer grazing.

Somehow the priests who came to Scotland knew where the Catholics were and who would welcome them. Father Jerome, diminutive and elderly–but sinewy and strong enough to climb goat paths from glen to glen–once acknowledged to me that he knew his ultimate fate would be exile, prison or perhaps death at the hands of a mob.

“We all believe that at some point we will be caught, my lady, and we are resigned,” he had said with his gentle smile. “When that time comes, I will be grateful for my years spent comforting a scattered and persecuted flock.” I had knelt and asked for his blessing. The itinerant priests were the holiest men I ever knew.

Father Jerome was supposed to have left us at dusk, but neither Lucy nor I had actually seen him go. He had a way of slipping away into the dark without making a sound. But what if he had not yet left and was still somewhere in the house? I had to hope he would take heed of the commotion and make himself scarce.

I could hear the leader of the mob yelling, “We will not give you time to hide him. Open this door or we will break it to…” I managed to raise the iron latch and pulled open the heavy oak door, just in time for him to screech the end of his sentence in my face, “…splinters.”

The night was cold. It was close to Christmastide and, though there was no snow, the wind was sharp. I gathered my cloak more closely around me.

This spokesman was of medium height and spindly, his coat torn and half off his shoulder. His long, greasy, gray-brown hair crept back from his forehead as if it were running away from his face, embarrassed by his actions. His linen was soiled, and his jacket sleeves were too short for his knobby-boned wrists. Ah, but he carried a Bible and proceeded to wave it in my face.

“And you are…,” I asked quietly.

He hesitated, thinking perhaps to hide his identity, which was absurd. A shorter, even grimier man standing next to him–this one wearing a shapeless hat jammed almost down to his eyebrows–punched the leader’s arm.

“Minister Adam Goodnow,” the leader declared, and immediately tried to seize the offensive again by brandishing the Bible in my direction. “Bring us the priest and we will trouble you no further tonight: ‘For your priests have violated My law and have profaned My holy things; they have put no difference between the unclean and the clean and I am profaned among them.’”

“Ezekiel 22:26,” he concluded with an air of satisfaction.

“There is no priest here,” I said, forcing a calm tone into my voice that I did not feel. “We would bring no man into danger.”

“Your souls are in danger,” he spit at me, “if you follow the Whore of Babylon and pursue the Antichrist into darkness…”

I pushed my palm out towards him, intent on holding it steady. I had to find a way to keep a horde of wild men from rampaging through my home. I remembered that, when the soldiers came to Castle Banwy in Wales, when I was seven, my mother took control by telling them they could search for a priest if they left their muddy boots outside. Something about the foolishness of marching upstairs and down in their dirty stockings full of holes took the edge off their eagerness to find the priest. Perhaps I could keep most of these men outside if I gave way just a little.

“It is late,” I said. “My babies are asleep. I desire you not to wake them. Three of you–no more than three–may come in and search the house…if you do it quietly and do not wake the children.”

***

About the Author

Patricia Bernstein was born in El Paso and grew up in Dallas. She earned a Degree of Distinction in American Studies from Smith College and taught English at Smith for four years before returning to Texas. In Houston she founded a public relations agency and published dozens of articles in media venues as varied as Texas Monthly, Cosmopolitan and The Smithsonian.

Her first book was Having a Baby: Mothers Tell Their Stories, a collection of first-person childbirth accounts from the 1890s to the 1990s. The second was The First Waco Horror: The Lynching of Jesse Washington and the Rise of the NAACP about a horrifying “spectacle lynching” which took place in Waco in 1916, and the young women’s suffrage activist hired by the fledgling NAACP to investigate the lynching. The third was Ten Dollars to Hate: The Texas Man Who Fought the Klan about the millions-strong 1920s Ku Klux Klan in Texas and across the US. The book was a finalist for the Ramirez Family Award from the Texas Institute of Letters and was named one of the 53 best books ever written about Texas by the Austin American Statesman.

Patricia lives in Houston with her husband Alan Bernstein where she sings with Opera in the Heights and other organizations, and admires the achievements of her three wonderful and very different daughters. A Noble Cunning is her debut novel, inspired by a story she heard during a visit to Scotland in 2014.

Social Media Links

Website: https://www.patriciabernstein.com/

Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100085697352594

Twitter: https://twitter.com/noble_cunning

Purchase Link

***

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Cold Light of Day by Elizabeth Goddard

Cold Light of Day

by Elizabeth Goddard

February 20 – March 17, 2023

Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for COLD LIGHT OF DAY (Missing in Alaska Book #1) by Elizabeth Goddard on this Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tour.

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

***

Book Synopsis

Police Chief Autumn Long is fighting to keep her job in the quiet Alaska town of Shadow Gap when an unexpected string of criminal activity leaves her with a wounded officer, unexplained murders, and even an attack on her own father. Despite her mistrust of outsiders, she turns to Grier Brenner, a newcomer who seems to have the skills and training Autumn needs to face this threat to her community.

Grier is in Alaska for the same reason so many others are–to disappear–when Chief Long enlists his help. He emerges from the shadows and proves his mettle, but his presence in her life could be a deadly trap for them both. If his secret is exposed, all will be lost. And he’s not sure even Autumn could save him.

As the stakes rise and the dangers increase, Autumn and Grier must rely on each other to extinguish the deadly threats.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61140802-cold-light-of-day?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=LZwgN1MnY2&rank=1

Cold Light Of Day

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Revell
Publication Date: February 2023
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9780800742041 (ISBN10: 0800742044)
Series: Missing in Alaska, 1

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

COLD LIGHT OF DAY (Missing in Alaska Book #1) by Elizabeth Goddard is a fast-paced Christian romantic suspense and the first in a new series set in small town Alaska. Shadow Gap’s police chief and a mysterious newcomer are enveloped in a crime spree that could cost them everything.

Police Chief Autumn Long is trying to prove herself and keep her job after taking over after her father’s disability retirement, but a crime wave is enveloping their small town. When she witnesses a newcomer to town rescuing a woman from drowning, she wonders why he rejects the attention gained by his rescue.

Grier Brennan is trying to stay under the radar and to himself, but his background will not allow him to let a person drown and he gets tangled up in all the activity happening around the attractive police chief. As bullets fly and the body count grows, Grier reluctantly joins forces with Autumn to find the killer.

Autumn and Grier investigate the murders and discover their pasts have entangled them with the same enemies in this crime wave and could be the death of them both.

The action and investigation plot lines that tie Autumn and Grier together were exciting and fast paced throughout. The stakes continue to rise and kept me turning the pages. The Alaskan wilderness itself is integral to the intensity of the story and provides both beauty and danger. Autumn and Grier are strong characters and believable in their situations, but I had a harder time connecting them as a romantic couple, especially since Grier does not reveal his secret until much to late in the plot for me to believe Autumn could trust him romantically. It is a Christian romantic suspense, but I really did not feel romantic elements pulling these two together. The balance of this story is much more slanted to the suspense and police investigation than a romance. There are mentions of faith and prayer which I did not feel interfered with the flow of the story. I enjoyed this start to the Missing in Alaska series and would be interested in reading more.

Overall, a good start to the series with an exciting suspense plot.

***

Excerpt

ONE 

Southeast Alaska  

August 

Autumn Long had no plans to give up without a fight,  

even though it might be killing her a little every day. As the bush plane sank lower, her view of the gla cier spilling into the valley behind a forest exploding with reds,  oranges, and browns fell away. Lofty mountains on each side  of the fjord filled her vision. 

“Hold on, Chief. We’re almost there.” Pilot Carrie James  flew her bush plane straight up the Lynn Canal—one of the  longest, deepest fjords in the world. The snowcapped Kaku han Mountains rose lofty on the right, the Chilkat Range near  Haines to the left. And across from Haines to the west—Glacier Bay National Park. 

Autumn ignored the mounting dread she felt and focused  her thoughts. She had better get her act together and earn back  the trust of the city council and the people she swore to protect  in the small town of Shadow Gap, one of many communities  dotting the Inside Passage of the Alaska Panhandle. 

She’d stayed overnight in Anchorage for a meeting that left  her drained to her bones. She’d taken an Alaska Airlines flight to and from Juneau, and now Carrie was delivering her up to  the northernmost part of the Panhandle. Wearing her brown  bomber jacket and a headset, sitting in the cockpit of her Helio  Courier—the ultimate bush plane—Carrie was a bush pilot  poster child. 

The plane flew lower, following the Chilkoot Inlet until Carrie  banked east, flying over the Lewis Inlet that branched off. “That’s  why I’d better say this before I lose the chance.” Autumn wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. 

Carrie angled her head toward Autumn and arched a brow.  “I know you didn’t ask for my opinion.” Carrie looked forward  again. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. Out here we take  care of our own. The land is harsh. Brutal in ways the lower  forty-eight can’t imagine. We have to watch out for each other,  and that’s all you’ve ever done for the people of Shadow Gap.” 

“Yeah, well . . . thanks, Carrie.” Tell that to Wally. He’d had  it out for her from the first day she took her position as police  chief. 

Carrie waved a hand in mock incredulity. “Shadow Gap isn’t  even classified as a town, much less an organized borough, so  who needs a city council anyway?” 

Or a police department, some might say. 

Autumn cracked a smile. “Glad to know at least some people  still want me around.” 

Despite the many limitations of a small-town budget, they’d  at least equipped their chief and three officers with loaded Ford  Police Interceptor SUVs. After all, her officers were trained to  carefully collect and preserve evidence as well as to tend a  wounded moose in the road. They had to know how to do it  all in small-town Alaska. Because, yeah, she thought of Shadow  Gap’s community of 1,252 people as a town. Shadow Gap was  just outside of the Haines and Skagway Boroughs. Alaska didn’t  have counties, so there were no sheriffs. 

Best of all—or worst of all, depending on which side of the law you were on—Shadow Gap had lost their Alaska State  Trooper. Not enough crime to support one or budget to afford  one if there was enough crime. 

Autumn had nothing to complain about, except the results  of her trip to Anchorage left a— 

“What’s that?” Carrie drew Autumn’s attention to the water.  “Someone’s out there, floating in Lewis Inlet. I saw hands wav ing, signaling.” 

“Have you got—” 

“Here.” Carrie handed off binoculars. 

“Fly in close, Carrie. I want to get a better look. We have to  help if we can.” Autumn peered through the binoculars and  struggled to find what she was looking for, instead only captur ing the deep, dark waters. Then . . . “I see the hands. But, oh no, whoever is out there is going under.” 

“But look! Someone’s swimming out to them. So maybe  there’s a chance.” 

“They won’t last long. Those waters are cold.” Autumn  adjusted the binoculars, searching, searching . . . there. “I see  what looks like the rescue swimmer.” Was that . . . Grier? “How  close can you land?” 

“Close enough. Once on the water, I can angle in closer.” “If he can get to the woman, we’ll take them both the rest  of the way to get help.” 

Because there was no way the woman wasn’t going to suffer  from hypothermia in these temps, unless she had on the ap propriate attire. Same for Grier. 

Come on, Grier . . . save the girl. 

Shadow Gap needed a hero. A ray of hope shot through her,  and though maybe she shouldn’t have the thought, it popped  into her head all the same. She didn’t mind that a town hero  would take the attention away from the police chief’s long list  of transgressions. 

Though, if she were choosing heroes, she would have chosen a longtime resident over an outsider—or as the locals liked  to call them, cheechakos, and meant in a negative way. She  wouldn’t go so far as to use that term for this particular man.  Grier had shown up in Shadow Gap a few months ago to fish  in the Shadow Gap Salmon Derby. A tourist who decided to  stay. Wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last. 

Autumn dropped the binoculars as Carrie skillfully landed  the plane on the water. The pontoons smoothly connected, and  Carrie guided the plane, heading toward where they’d last seen  the woman in need of a rescue. 

Her struggle could well be over. 

Please don’t drown . . . don’t die. But Autumn didn’t see her anywhere. A fist squeezed her  heart.

***

Author Bio

Elizabeth Goddard is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of more than 50 novels, including Cold Light of Day and the Rocky Mountain Courage and Uncommon Justice series. Her books have sold nearly 1.5 million copies. She is a Carol Award and Reader’s Choice Award winner and a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist. When she’s not writing, she loves spending time with her family, traveling to find inspiration for her next book, and serving with her husband in ministry. For more information about her books, visit her website at www.ElizabethGoddard.com.

Social Media Links

ElizabethGoddard.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @ElizabethGoddard
Instagram – @elizabethgoddardauthor
Twitter – @bethgoddard
Facebook – @ElizabethGoddardAuthor

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Baker Book House

###

KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/7dgvg8/cold-light-of-day-by-elizabeth-goddard

Book Blast/Feature Post and Book Review: Cowboys and Chaos by Elizabeth Pantley

Cowboys and Chaos

Magical Mystery Book Club #3

by Elizabeth Pantley

February 21, 2023 Book Blast

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for COWBOYS AND CHAOS (Magical Mystery Book Club Book #3) by Elizabeth Pantley on this Partners In Crime Book Blast.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt form the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

This is no ordinary book club! When the group chooses a book, they are whisked away from reality to find themselves totally immersed in the story. The characters, the setting, and the murder all come to life. In order to exit the book, they’ll need to solve the mystery and reach The End.

This time, the club chooses a mystery that takes place in a quaint western town – in the old Wild West. That sounds like great fun, until they arrive in the dusty old town in the Arizona desert, among cowboys and saloons. They discover that the outhouse isn’t the worse thing about this trip.

The good news is that Paige, Glo, Zell, Frank, and the other members of the club discover plenty of surprises here, and they have a great time visiting a piece of history. They’ll get to live through many exciting moments as they unravel this cozy mystery story.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62012601-cowboys-and-chaos?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=c3EYESXRMU&rank=1

Cowboys and Chaos

Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Published by: Better Beginnings, Inc.
Publication Date: November 2022
Number of Pages: 250
ASIN: B0BB1HS7XL
Series: Magical Mystery Book Club #3

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

COWBOYS AND CHAOS (Magical Mystery Book Club Book #3) by Elizabeth Pantley is another entertaining adventure in this cozy paranormal mystery book club series. Each book can easily be read as a standalone because every mystery book the club is pulled into is unique, but I enjoy reading them in order to follow all the book club members’ evolving interactions.

The book club has a new member, Dr. Atticus Papadopoulos to bring their total number of members to eight once again and they are ready to have a book club meeting to decide on their next adventure. Zelda’s choice is picked this time around and it is the second book in a cozy mystery series set in the Old West. What the others don’t know is that Zelda has picked this second book for a specific reason.

There are many surprises awaiting the book club in Bandana, AZ and not just the murder mystery to solve.

I just love this series and all the book club members. It is a fast, fun read with a mystery setting that always changes. I solved this Wild West mystery before the resolution, but it still has many red herrings and plot twists that could easily have taken me in the wrong direction. Each book club member is unique in what they bring to the group, including Frank, the talking cat which leads to lively discussions while trying to solve the mystery and humorous dialogue. Ms. Pantley does a wonderful job of pulling the reader into each setting and making them feel immersed and yet also always reminds the reader they are in a fictional setting. The surprise character the group discovers in this book is wonderful.

I highly recommend this cozy mystery book and encourage you to try the entire series. They are charming and just so much fun!

***

Excerpt

Excerpt – Chapter 2

“Hey,” said Forrest. “Who’s that guy in the backyard?”

Everyone shuffled over to the window. A man was roaming around the property with what appeared to be a metal detector in his hands.

He removed his brown fedora, and his wild brown hair joined his golden scarf to blow wildly in the wind. He methodically ran the device back and forth over the lawn. Every few minutes he would stop and kneel on the grass, leaving wet spots on the knees of his khaki cargo pants. He’d put his ear to the ground, then pop up with a gleeful look on his face and continue scanning the lawn. He reached into one of the pockets of his brown safari jacket and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He aimed them around the yard and then up into the sky.

I opened the back door and stepped outside.

“Hello? Excuse me?” I called. “Can I help you?”

The man walked briskly over to us. He thrust out his hand toward me. “Dr. Atticus Papadopoulos. A pleasure.”

“Paige Erickson. Nice to meet you.” Even in shock, my manners prevailed.

The group had followed me outside and were standing in a circle gawking at him. The man put down his device and efficiently went from person to person. He reached out and shook each person’s hand. He looked each one in the eye and listened intently to their name as if he were memorizing it. He even reached down and shook Frank’s paw.

Frank looked him up and down and examined his archaeological professor-like outfit. “Hello Dr. Jones. Welcome to the Snapdragon Inn.”

“Ah! Wonderful, wonderful. The cat speaks! Marvelous!” He clapped his hands. “Actually, it’s Dr. Papadopoulos, but you can call me Atticus,” he said, totally missing Frank’s reference to Dr. Indiana Jones from Raiders of the Lost Ark. “Your ability to communicate is one more sign that the crossover exists at this point! Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”

When he completed the circle, he verified my suspicion that he’d been memorizing our names by pointing at each person in turn. “Paige. Glo. Zell, Sebastian, Vee, Moonbeam, Forrest. And of course, the fascinating, remarkable Frank.”

The cat stood taller, and I could just about see his head growing in size. Exactly what we needed, a person to boost Frank’s already bursting ego.

“Sooo, Atticus. What are you doing here?” Glo asked as she came to stand beside me, hands on her hips, looking the stranger in the eye.

“Yeah,” said Zell, charging to the front of the group and standing nearly toe to toe with him. She looked up into his face, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. With her diminutive size and cotton ball-like hair she looked anything but intimidating. “And what’s with the metal detector? Looking for buried treasure?”

“Ah, good question, Zell. This is not a meager metal detector. It alerts me to points of extraterrestrial energy.”

“Are you a kook, then?”

Atticus threw back his head and laughed, his wild hair flopping back and forth with the movement. “No, madam, not a kook. I am a doctor of astrobiology; my major area of interest is extraterrestrial technology and travel.”

“What the heck is astrobiology?” Zell squinted her eyes at him.

“A woman with a curious mind. I like it.” He nodded in approval.

I glanced at Glo and rolled my eyes. Great. Now another ego being stroked. Zell and Frank were already impossible to live with, this would boost their annoy-ability level.

“Astrobiology is the academic field that studies the origins of life on our Earth and the existence of life elsewhere in our universe. The study of extraterrestrial visits is my main area of interest. Your inn happens to be at a key crossover point for a confluence of energy.” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels looking pleased with his discovery.

Zell had an abnormally studious look on her face. “What do you mean by a confluence of energy, Doctor?”

Glo and I chuckled, since Zell’s normal response to him would have been, “Huh? Whatcha talking about?”

“Excellent question, again.” He pointed at Zell with a snappy movement. “Energy encircles our planet both horizontally and vertically.” His arms flailed about as he demonstrated the circles, then he crossed his arms, one atop the other. “At certain points the lines join and there is a high level of intra-space energy. These locations are an ideal landing spot for extraterrestrials, or for the creation of a time/space portal. This inn sits directly atop a high energy confluence crossover point.”

“Well, that’s not a surprise,” said Zell. “We do have an enchanted library with magical books that take us inside them for adventures.”

“Zell!” We all yelled as one.

“Yes! I knew it!” Atticus pumped his arm. “I want in. Can you take me on one of your adventures?”

***

Author Bio

Elizabeth Pantley says that writing her Mystery and Magic book series is the most fun she’s ever had at work. Fans of the series say her joy is evident through the engaging stories she tells. Elizabeth is also the international bestselling author of The No-Cry Sleep Solution and twelve other books for parents. Her books have been published in over twenty languages. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, a beautiful inspiration for her enchanted worlds.

Social Media Links

www.NoCrySolution.com/books/
Goodreads
BookBub – @DestinyFalls
Instagram – @destinyfallsmystery
Facebook – @DestinyFallsMysteryandMagic

Purchase Links

Amazon  

Goodreads

###

KINSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://kingsumo.com/g/cpfqpp/cowboys-and-chaos-by-elizabeth-pantley

Blog Tour and Feature Post: End of Story by Kylie Scott

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post for END OF STORY (End of Story Book #1) by Kylie Scott on this HTP Books Winter 2023 Rom-Com Blog Tour.

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

***

Book Summary

Fans of bestsellers like In Five Years will fall for this unexpected love story about a woman and her contractor who discover a divorce decree with their names on it … dated ten years in the future.

When Susie inherits a charming fixer-upper from her aunt, she’s excited to start living her best HGTV-life. But when she opens the door to find that her contractor is none other than her ex’s (very good looking) best friend Lars—the same man who witnessed their humiliating public break-up 6 months ago—she isn’t exactly eager to have him around. But, beggars can’t be choosers and the sooner the repairs are done, the sooner she can get back to grudgingly accepting the single life.

Things go from awkward to unbelievable when Lars knocks down a bedroom wall and finds a divorce certificate dated ten years from now…with both their names on it. It couldn’t possibly be real…could it? As Susie and Lars try to unravel the document’s origins, the impossibility of a spark between them suddenly doesn’t seem so far-fetched. But is any kind of relationship between them doomed before it’s ever begun?

END OF STORY

Author: Kylie Scott

ISBN: 9781525804793

Publication Date: February 14, 2023

Publisher: Graydon House

***

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

“This is awkward.”

The big blond man standing on my doorstep blinked.

“How are you, Lars?” I gave him my very best fake smile. “Nice to see you.”

“Susie. It’s been what…five, six months?” Setting down his toolbox, he gave me an uneasy smile. It was more of a wince, really. Because the last time we saw each other was not a good night. Not for me, at least. 

“Something like that,” I said.

“This your new place?” He nodded at the battered arts and crafts cottage. “The office said you had some water damage you wanted to start with?”

“Yeah, about that. I was told Mateo would be doing the work.”

“Family emergency.”

“Oh.”

He gazed down at me with dismay. The man was your basic urban Viking marauder, as his name suggested. Longish blonde hair, white skin, blue eyes, short beard, tall and built. I was average height and he managed to loom over me just fine. In his mid-thirties and more than a little rough around the edges. Nothing like his sleek and slick bestie. An asshole whose continued existence I’d prefer to be reminded of never. But we don’t always get what we want.

I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll show you…”

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry about taking your boots off. The shag carpet isn’t staying.”

Heavy footsteps followed me through the living room and into the dining room where we turned left to enter the small hallway. From this point we had two options, the bathroom or the back bedroom. We headed for the latter.

“The water was getting in through a crack in the window for who knows how long,” I explained. “I only inherited the place recently. There were all these boxes piled up in here. No one could even see it was an issue.”

He grunted.

“I spent the first month just sorting through things and clearing the place out.”

Beneath the window frame, a large stain spread across the golden-flecked wallpaper. As if it weren’t ugly enough to begin with. That was the thing about my aunt Susan; she wasn’t a big fan of change. The two-bedroom cottage had belonged to her parents and everything had pretty much been left untouched after they passed. Apart from the addition of Susan’s junk. Which meant that while the wallpaper and carpet were from the 1970’s, the bathroom was from the 1940’s, and the kitchen cabinets from the 1930’s. At least, that’s what I’d been told. The place was like an ode to 20th century interior design. The good, and the bad.

He got down on one knee, inspecting the damage. “The bottom of this window frame is warped and needs replacing.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I need to have a look behind here. You attached to the wallpaper?”

“Heck no.”

He almost smiled.

“The sooner I can repaint and get new flooring down, the better.”

Nothing from him. A knife appeared from the tool box, sharp-pointed with jagged teeth. He punched the blade through the drywall with ease and started cutting into the wall.

“How is he?” I asked the dreaded question. Curiosity was the worst. “Enjoying London?”

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“And how’s Jane?”

“We’re not together anymore.”

Not a surprise. Lars went through various girlfriends during the year I’d been with what’s-his-face. Neither he nor his friend were down with commitment. Which was fine if you just wanted to have fun. But Jane was a keeper, smart with a wicked sense of humor. Lars definitely had a type. All of his girlfriends were petite, perfect dolls who behaved in a ladylike manner. The opposite of buxom, loudmouthed me.

He pried a square of drywall loose. “You thinking of living here permanently or flipping and selling the place, or what?”

“Haven’t decided.”

“Great location. A bit of work and it’d probably be worth a lot of money,” he said, keeping the conversation on the business at hand. As was good and right.

Using the flashlight on his phone, he inspected the cavity. The man was all handyman chic. Big ass boots, jeans, and a faded black tee. All of it well-worn. And the way his blue jeans conformed to his thick thighs and the curves of his ass was something. Something I hadn’t meant to notice, but oh well, these things happened. Maybe it was the way his tool belt framed that particular part of his anatomy. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. I was butt struck. Which was both wrong and bad. It would not be smart for me to notice this man in the sexual sense. Though it was nice to know my thirst meter wasn’t broken.

I don’t know if Lars and I were ever really friends. We had, however, been friendly. Though that was romantic relationships for you. One moment you had all of these awesome extra people in your life and the next moment they’re gone.

I tugged on the end of my dark ponytail. An old nervous habit.

“At this stage, it looks like the damage is only superficial,” Lars said. “These two sections of drywall have to go. Once I’ve done that, I’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“Okay.”

“But it wouldn’t surprise me if some or all of that one needs replacing too.” He pointed to the wall the bedroom shared with the bathroom. “See how there’s bubbling along the joins of the wallpaper there?”

“Right.”

“Do I have your approval to get started?”

I nodded.

None of this was exactly unexpected. Old buildings might have soul, but they could also have heavy upkeep. Renovations cost big bucks. While my savings were meagre, lucky for this hundred year old house, my aunt left me some money. Which was a point of contention for a few of my family members. Like any of them had time for Aunt Susan when she was alive. Besides being my namesake, she was also the black sheep of the family. A little too weird for some, I guess. But weird has always been a trait that I admired.

“I’m going to make myself coffee,” I said. “Would you like some?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“How do you take it?”

“White. No sugar.”

“You’re sweet enough, huh?” And the moment those words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Talk about awkward.

He snorted, then said, “Something like that.”

*

Lars didn’t mess around. By the time I returned, he’d removed the first two panels of drywall. Hands on hips, he stood staring at the interior of the wall with the problematic window. Mostly it looked like a lot of dust and a couple of cobwebs. But then, I’m not a builder. When I handed over his mug, he gave me a brief smile before taking a sip.

“How is it looking?” I asked.

“Your house has good bones.”

“Great.”

“As long as the damage on that wall is due to the moisture spreading from the window and not a leaky bathroom pipe, this should be pretty straightforward,” he said.

I’d taken over the main bedroom, but this room still held a lot of sentimental value for me. Whenever Mom and Dad were busy or needed a break from us kids, my brother would stay at a friend’s house and I’d be packed off to Aunt Susan’s—to this bedroom in particular. Which was fine with me. Andrew was an outgoing jock while I’d been kind of awkward. In this house, I was accepted for who I was. A nice change. With my parents divorced, growing up between three households and living mostly out of a school bag sucked. But Aunt Susan gave me the security that was lacking elsewhere.

“Is the floor okay?”

“Let’s pull up some carpet and see.” He set his coffee on the windowsill. Then, knife back in hand, he got busy with the shag. It was impressive how the tool became a part of him. An extension of his body. “You’ve got good solid hardwood under here.”

“Ooh, let me see.”

He tugged the tattered underlay back further. “Oak, by the look of it.”

“Wow. Imagine covering that beauty up with butt ugly brown carpet.”

“No sign of water damage. You were lucky.”

I smiled. “That is excellent news.”

“Now let’s see what’s behind this.”

I took a step back so he could start removing the next section of drywall. He had such big capable hands. Watching him work was pure competence porn. . As a mature and well-adjusted thirty year old woman, I definitely knew better than to have sexy times thoughts again. The best friend of my ex is not my friend. Confucius probably said that.

“Looks like there’s something back here,” he said, setting a panel of drywall aside.

“Something good or something bad?” I winced as a big hairy spider scurried out of the cavity. “Ew.”

“It’s just a wolf spider. Nothing dangerous.”

“But there might be more.”

Without further comment, he reached down and picked up a piece of paper. It looked old. Which made sense. Lord only knew how long it had been in the wall. It was kind of like opening a time capsule.

“What is it?” I asked, more than a little curious.

His gaze narrowed as he read, his forehead furrowing. Next his brows rose and his lips thinned. His expression quickly changed from disbelief to fury as he shoved the piece of paper at me. The open hostility in his eyes was a lot coming from a man of his size. “Susie, what the fuck?”

“Huh?”

“Is this your idea of a joke?”

“No. I…” The paper was soft with age and the writing was faded but legible. Mostly. Superior Court of Washington, County of King was written at the top. There was also a date stamp. This was followed by a bunch of numbers and the words Final Divorce Order. “Wait. Is this a divorce certificate?”

“Yeah,” he said. “For you and me. Dated a decade from now.”

I scrunched up my nose and ever so slightly shrieked, “What? Hold on. You think I put this in there?”

“No,” he said, getting all up in my face. “I know you put it in there, Susie.”

“Take a step back, please,” I said, pushing a hand against his hard chest.

He did as I asked, some of the anger leaching from his face. Then he grumbled, “Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Why would you do that? Actually, it doesn’t matter. Find someone else for the job,” he said, gathering up his tools. “I’m out of here.”

“Can you just wait a second?”

Apparently the answer was no. Because the man started moving even faster. “I don’t know what game you’re playing. But I’m not interested in finding out.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I did not put this in the wall, Lars. Think about it. You’re a builder. Had any of the wallpaper or drywall been disturbed in the last forty or fifty years?”

“You could have accessed it from the other side. I don’t know.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming here today.”

He grunted. “Only got your word for that.”

“And I’ve only got your word that you didn’t put this in in the wall for some stupid reason,” I said, thinking it over. How did that not occur to me? “Of course you put it there. I wasn’t the first one to have access to that space. You were. A quick sleight of hand is all it would have taken. This is so unprofessional.”

“Very nice. I’m sure you prepared that speech at the same time you planted it, knowing I’d inevitably be the one who first touched it.”

“And I’m sure you prepared that speech at the same time you planted it, knowing I’d suspect you.”

He glared at me. “Why the hell would I, Susie?”

“Why the hell would I, Lars?” I bellowed. “This is ridiculous. I just want my house fixed. That’s all. And I specifically asked who would be doing the job because I didn’t feel the need to see you again.”

With his back to me, he paused.

“No offense. But I knew it would be wildly uncomfortable.”

“Why’d you use the company I work for then?”

“Because I know they’re reputable and do good work. You yourself said that’s one of the main reasons why you’ve stuck with them. Because they don’t encourage you to cut corners or use shoddy materials and they treat their staff well. Also, they pretty much do everything. These things matter.” I raised a finger. (No. Not that one.) “Take car repairs for instance. Because I know little to nothing about cars, I get ripped off by repair shops—I’m sure of it. I didn’t want that to happen here.”

Another grunt. What an animal.

“I wish neither to marry nor divorce you, Lars. And I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual. So this piece of paper I’m holding in no way benefits me. Look at me. Am I laughing? No, I’m not. Nor am I enjoying all this drama. Confrontation stresses me the fuck out,” I said, my shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what else to say. This is ridiculous.”

“You already said that.”

“It’s worth repeating.”

He gave me a look over his shoulder. “If you’re messing with me…”

“I’m not. Are you messing with me?”

“No.”

“Then what the hell is going on?” I asked the universe.

Without another word, he got to his feet and strode out of the room, heading straight into the bathroom next door. There he made quick work of checking everything. The tiling and paintwork, around the white pedestal basin, inside the mirrored cabinet set into the wall, and the end of the claw foot bath tub. Then he turned around, face set to cranky. “Access point for the attic?”

“Hallway.”

In no time flat, he had the ceiling hatch open and the ladder down. Then up into the darkness he went. His cell phone doubled as a flash light again.

“Lot of stuff up here,” he commented.

“That does not surprise me. My aunt was kind of a hoarder. Not as bad as the people on those TV shows, but…yeah.”

He sneezed. “A lot of dust, too.”

“Bless you. I haven’t even been up there yet,” I said. “Cleaning and clearing space out down here has taken all of my time.”

His big boots disappeared up the last rungs of the ladder while I waited below. After all, I’d only be in the way. It had absolutely nothing to do with my fear of creepy crawlies. Someone had to wait below with the weird ass document. The sounds of him stomping about and things being shifted came next. Something heavy was pushed aside. Something else fell and glass broke.

“Sorry,” Lars called.

“I’m sure it was nothing valuable. Hopefully.”

Then his face appeared in the dark hole overhead. “Looks like they built the attic to use as another bedroom or office at some stage. The floorboards and everything are tight. No real access into the walls below.”

“Mm.”

“Plus there’s about an inch of dust on the ground and no sign of any footprints other than mine.”

“Good work, Nancy Drew,” I said. “Is the basement next?”

He gave me a flat, unfriendly look. “Yes.”

Maybe I’d be better off finding another builder. In fact, I knew I would be. Though it would only be trading one peace of mind for another. While Lars would no longer be in my face, I wouldn’t be able to trust the new builder’s work to the same degree. Which would be anxiety-inducing and possibly costly. Talk about a no-win situation.

Back into the dining room then through to the kitchen at the back of the house, we went on our not-so-merry adventure. I opened the door to the dingy staircase. “I like to call this the murder room. Dark, dank, dangerous. It’s got it all.”

No response from him as we made our way down. Tough crowd. It was just a basic concrete room with a boiler, laundry area, and more assorted crap. But the old boiler, the one before this one, used to make creepy noises. Hence my childhood fears of the basement. Helping with the laundry was always an ordeal. I usually avoided it by offering to do the dishes instead.

Lars began examining the ceiling.

“When did you find out you had this job?”

“Around eight this morning. The office called,” he said. “Mateo’s boyfriend got hit by a car riding to work.”

“Is he okay?”

“A few bumps and bruises and a sprained wrist.”

“Phew.”

“Yeah,” he said. “The job I was on was close to finishing and they could spare me, so they asked me to come here.”

“What gets me is that the paper looks old. I mean, the way the text is faded and everything.” I carefully turned the certificate over in my hands. “I wonder if we could get it tested, somehow.”

He scoffed. “You don’t actually think it’s real?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “What I do know is, if you didn’t put the certificate there to mess with me—and I guess I believe you when you say you didn’t—then I can think of no rational explanation for how it got there.”

He frowned harder and kept right on inspecting the ceiling. Even he had to admit that it was highly unlikely I’d put the decree of dissolution in the wall. Surely.

“Does your middle name start with A?”

“Alexander. Yes.”

“So the details are right, at least. No money judgement ordered. No real property judgement ordered. This marriage is dissolved. The petitioner and respondent are divorced. Not much information there to go on.” I chose my next words with care. “You know, my aunt, she was kind of eccentric. She was always burning candles and buying crystals.”

Looking back over his shoulder at me, he raised a questioning brow.

“The thing is, she used to talk to the house sometimes,” I finally said. “Like it was an actual living breathing entity. And yes, maybe she was lonely or a little strange. Please don’t say anything mean or dismissive about her.”

“I’m not going to say anything about your aunt.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t even blink. “But it’s not supernatural, Susie. This was no ghost or spirit or whatever you’re suggesting.”

“Okay. Fine. I just thought I’d put that out there,” I said. “Did you find anything down here?”

“No.”

“So now what?”

Face set, he walked over, staring into my eyes as if he could read my soul.

“Susie.”

“Lars.”

“I want to believe you when you say you had nothing to do with it. You always seemed like a pretty honest person to me,” he said. “A bit too honest, sometimes.”

“How so?” I asked, only mildly annoyed—although I was exercising great restraint.

“Some of the stuff you come out with sometimes is…unnecessary.”

“Let’s agree to disagree,” I said.

He shook his head.

“I would point out, however, that I’m not brutal. Ever notice how people who say they’re just being honest usually are?”

His nostrils flared on a deep breath. How that was in any way attractive I had no idea. Something must be wrong with me. Guess my vibrator was getting a little boring. Maybe it was time for me to get out there and meet some men. Then again, not dating for the rest of my life would also be great.

“For the last time,” he said, speaking nice and slow, “did you put that piece of paper in the wall?”

“No. I swear.”

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Fuck,” I agreed.

He sighed. “Someone’s messing with us.”

***

Author Bio

Kylie Scott is the New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal and international bestselling author of 19 novels including the Stage Dive series, the Dive Bar series, the Larsen Brothers series, and West Hollywood series. Her most recent release, Pause, debuted on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into fourteen languages, and she has sold over 2 million copies worldwide.

Social Media Links

Author Website

Twitter

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Instagram

Goodreads

Purchase Links

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

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Books A Million

Amazon

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: The Bone Records by Rich Zahradnik

The Bone Records

by Rich Zahradnik

January 30 – February 10, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE BONE RECORDS by Rich Zahradnik on this Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!

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Book Description

NY Police Academy washout Grigg Orlov discovers an eerie piece of evidence at the scene of his father’s brutal murder: a disc-shaped X-ray of a skull. It’s a bone record–what Soviet citizens called banned American songs recorded on used X-rays. But the black-market singles haven’t been produced since the sixties. What’s one doing in Coney Island in 2016?

Grigg uncovers a connection between his father and three others who collected bone records when they were teenage friends growing up in Leningrad. Are past and present linked? Or is the murder tied to the local mob? Grigg’s got too many suspects and too little time. He must get to the truth before a remorseless killer takes everything he has.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/62689659-the-bone-records?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=cXk8UXEYqs&rank=1

The Bone Records

Genre: Mystery
Published by: 1000 Words A Day Press
Publication Date: November 2022
Number of Pages: 338
ISBN: 9798985905649

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My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

THE BONE RECORDS by Rich Zahradnik is a non-stop fast paced thriller filled with Russian mobsters and government agents, corrupt NYPD police, and FBI agents, good and bad, all after a young protagonist caught up for unknown reasons in international intrigue.

Grigg Orlov has never felt he belonged in his neighborhood of Little Odessa. Born of a Russian immigrant father and a Jamaican mother, he is plagued with prejudice his entire life. His father reappears after a six-month absence only to have both chased and his father killed. Grigg finds a disc shaped x-ray of a skull on his father’s body. It has an individual old song recording on the opposite side. He learns the discs were called bone records which in the old Soviet Union were sold on the black market with banned American music, but what does this have to do with his father?

Grigg and his ex-girlfriend, Katia, discover an old connection his father had to a group of friends in Russia and bone records, but what does that have to do with the present day run for his life from Russian mobsters and government spies? With no help from law enforcement, Grigg must find the truth before he and Katia end up dead.

This is a thriller with a stubborn and flawed young protagonist that the author is able to make me still care about and follow on this harrowing investigation and run for his life. The history of the bone records was interesting and new to me. The vivid descriptions of the neighborhood of Little Odessa and Coney Island made both feel real and integral to the story. I felt at times the number of mobsters, spies and corrupt law enforcement officials was over the top, but it certainly kept the action and Grigg moving. Every plot thread is tied up at the climatic ending, I just wish a few were answered sooner in the story because for me, all the solutions were rushed into the last chapters with much of the story being threat and chase.

I recommend this entertaining thriller with its unique protagonist and plenty of action and suspects.

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

Friday, August 19, 2016

Grigg’s reunion with his father was brief—eight minutes to be exact—and ended when a man with a nickel-plated revolver shot Dad twice.

Three hours before the violence began, Grigg struggled through the crowd on the Coney Island subway platform. He was the last to reach the stairway to the station’s exit. Again. Even the old folks were gone. His wrecked knee held him back.

Outside the station, Deno’s Wonder Wheel turned slowly, towering over the amusement park that took its name from the ancient fifteen-story ride. The wheel’s spokes glowed a hot neon white. Hazy coronas surrounded all the lights.  

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

Grigg had started wearing his father’s Timex soon after he had gone missing. He put the watch up to his ear, as he’d done too many times before. It wasn’t loud enough to be heard. The clockwork noise was in his head. Maybe a reminder to keep looking. Maybe a reminder that six months was already too long in missing persons cases.

His father’s watch read 8:18 p.m.

He limped away from Coney Island’s amusement parks toward his house on West 28th off Mermaid Avenue. As he did, the street darkened. He checked behind him more than once. The neighborhood became far less amusing as night came on—and the farther you went from the fun parks. Mugging wasn’t the thrill ride Grigg needed. He didn’t want any more trouble. He had a lifetime’s supply. His long days pinballed him between two jobs and the search for his father. 

But despite Grigg’s best efforts, the minutes and hours and days kept spinning off the Timex, found by the police in a Howard Beach motel room, the last place his father was seen before he vanished into the thin March air. Their empty house waited to reflect Grigg’s loneliness back at him. His mother had died when he was eighteen months old. His boss at the city’s claims adjustment office rarely talked to him outside of giving orders. All of his connections—he couldn’t really call them friends—in the neighborhood he owed to his father. Dad, like the rest of them, had immigrated from Russia. Unlike the rest of them, he’d married a woman from Jamaica, a union that guaranteed Grigg would always be on the outside in Little Odessa.

The rubber soles of his cheap dress shoes slapped the wet pavement. A thunderstorm had blown through while he was on the subway, leaving behind the sticky-thick humidity. His messenger bag tugged on his shoulder.

He went over the lead he’d uncovered tonight. Going door-to-door in a Midwood apartment building full of Russians, he’d talked briefly to a tenant named Freddy Popov, who recognized Grigg’s father when shown a photo. Popov said a man—maybe a cop—had been canvassing the building with a picture of Grigg’s dad four weeks earlier. Inside the man’s apartment and shielded by Popov, someone said something in Russian. Popov got hinky, then said he didn’t know anything more and slammed the door. Grigg banged on it until a woman across the hall threatened to call the cops. He left with only the knowledge that someone else—maybe a cop?—was also searching for Dad. Still, that bit of info was his biggest lead to date.

Grigg limped up to the small, two-story brick house—kitchen, living room, two bedrooms over a garage—a duplicate of the other attached homes on the street. He unlocked the steel gate, then the front door, and stepped inside.

The thunk of the door closing echoed through the house. Two days ago, Grigg had moved everything out except for the sleeping bag in his bedroom of twenty-seven years and a blue duffel, readying the old house for its new owners. He turned the deadbolt.

He shouldn’t be staying here tonight. He’d spent all his free time on the search for Dad, right up until the closing on the sale of the house. Even at the end, he’d hoped for a breakthrough that would save him from selling. He’d signed the papers yesterday, writing a check for $1,650—most of his savings—because the house was underwater on a second mortgage his father had taken out. Grigg knew the out-of-state buyers wouldn’t be moving in for three weeks, so he’d kept a copy of the key. 

Trespassing in my own house. Inviting trouble when I already have too much.

The plan was to use the next three weeks to find an apartment share, but the lead from Popov tugged at his thoughts. Would it pull so hard that he’d spend his free time searching for Dad and end up homeless? He ducked his own question and instead pictured going back to demand Popov tell him more. He shook his head. He could barely keep his mind on his housing problem for the space of a single thought. He took a beer out of the refrigerator, went up to his room, and rolled his sleeping bag into a fat pillow to lean against.

Grigg popped open the 90 Years Young Double IPA. Nine percent alcohol. The strong stuff he’d dubbed “floor softener.” He downed two sixteen-ounce cans, and the ache faded from the muscles in his damaged leg.

He took out his phone. He’d run through his data allowance last week. Three days until the new billing cycle. At least he had his music. He played the Decembrists, their songs about revenge and ships at sea set to jangly indie rock. He followed with the Killers, then Vampire Weekend.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

His father’s watch read 11:20 p.m.

He opened his notebook and wrote down “Day 191” along with what he’d learned. It was longer than any previous entry—yet not long at all. So many days. The silence in the house chilled him, sending goosebumps in waves over his arms and thighs. He got up and turned down the air conditioner. It wouldn’t help. He missed his father’s voice, the way it had warmed their home. They could talk about everything and anything, a lot of anything, but such interesting anything. Dad was always there with his questions, his curiosity, and his deep interest in whatever Grigg was up to. There were days his father was more intrigued by Grigg’s job than Grigg was. Even that helped.

A fourth beer. He floated on the wood floor of his empty bedroom. Slept.

A thump. The floor hardened underneath him. Another thump. Half buzzed, halfway to a headache, Grigg opened his eyes. He heard it again. Not a dream. On the roof. He followed the steps above him to his father’s empty bedroom. He was about to switch on his phone’s flashlight when legs—silhouetted by the glow from the street across the way—dangled over the room’s tiny balcony. They descended slowly, inching, hesitating, as if the intruder were no expert at this sort of move. The toes stretched to touch, and finally, the person dropped, stumbled, and landed on their knees.

Grigg didn’t know whether to laugh or arm himself. If this was a robbery, then the joke was going to be on a thief who’d picked a house with nothing in it. Grigg decided discretion was the better part of whatever, returned to his bedroom, and pulled the stun gun from his messenger bag. Ever since he’d been attacked when he was in the police academy—suffering the knee injury that forced him to drop out—he hadn’t felt safe unless he carried the weapon.

He placed the messenger bag next to his duffel in the hallway in case he needed to get out fast. In the kitchen, he grabbed his second six pack as a backup weapon.

Of course, he could escape by the front and leave the intruder for the police to deal with. But if he did, then the buyers would be notified, and he’d lose the three weeks of temporary housing he’d been counting on. 

He crept through the doorway into the main bedroom.

The figure, whose face remained in deep shadow because of the streetlight glow from behind, rattled the handle to the single balcony door, used his elbow to smash in the square pane nearest the knob, reached in, and turned the simple metal lock. As he pushed the door open, Grigg stepped forward, hit his phone’s light, and thrust forward the stun gun.

“Get the fuck out of my house!”

The figure froze. “I’m not going to hurt you, Grigg.”

Grigg moved closer.

“Dad? Dad!”

Full beard and longer hair, but it was him. 

Grigg didn’t know whether to hug his father or scream at him.

“I came to say goodbye,” Dad said.

“Goodbye?”

“I’m leaving. For Russia. I don’t know when I’ll be able to return. It’s the only way.”

“I don’t understand.” Any of it. “You said you’d never go back.”

“It’s the only way to fix things.”

***

Mystery writer Rich Zahradnik

Author Bio

Rich Zahradnik is the author of the thriller The Bone Records and four critically acclaimed mysteries, including Lights Out Summer, winner of the Shamus Award. He was a journalist for twenty-seven years and now lives in Pelham, New York, where he is the mentor to the staff of the Pelham Examiner, an award-winning community newspaper run, edited, reported, and written by people under the age of eighteen.

Social Media Links

www.RichZahradnik.com
Goodreads
Instagram – @rzahradnik
Twitter – @rzahradnik
Facebook – @RichZahradnik

Purchase Links

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

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Kingsumo Giveaway

https://kingsumo.com/g/woiqxy/the-bone-records-by-rich-zahradnik