Today I am very excited to be included on this new Buoni Amici Press Release Blitz for one of my favorite romance authors! I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for BONUS KISSES by Freya Barker.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
Free-spirited black sheep, Taz Boran, has worked tirelessly as a nurse bringing efficient medical care to Africa for the past eight years. But when her sister Nicky is told she doesn’t have long to live, she immediately flies home to small-town Eminence, Missouri.
Unfortunately, taking care of Nicky means being around her husband, Rafe; the one man Taz could never forget. Rafe is not only her brother-in-law but also took over the family veterinary clinic from her dad.
As Taz becomes Nicky’s home health care nurse—working closely with Rafe to make her sister comfortable—their latent attraction comes sizzling back to the surface. They won’t betray Nicky, but if her dying wish is to see them get the happy ending they always deserved, can they really keep fighting what’s meant to be?
BONUS KISSES by Freya Barker is a contemporary romance/Women’s fiction by an author I have come to always look forward to reading. Not only is the reader emotionally involved in this small town second chance love story, but the entire family dynamic is rocked to its core as secrets are revealed.
Natasha “Taz” Boran has been working as a nurse for nine years in Africa with Doctors Without Borders. Taz is the adventurous younger sister, but there are also personal reasons for her running across the world to work away from her small-town upbringing. Veronica “Nicky” Boran was always the perfect older sister, but now she does not have long to live and all she wants is Taz to come home.
Taz agrees to take care of her sister and her two children. With that comes the problem of being around Rafe, Nicky’s husband and the reason for her leaving. As Taz cares for Nicky, secrets are revealed and Taz learns that Nicky knows and wants Taz to get what she gave up nine years ago.
When Nicky dies, Taz not only has to deal with her grief, but two young children who have lost their mother, her own mother who believes the worst of her, a father with Parkinson’s disease and the ever-increasing return attraction to the one man she ever truly loved.
Freya Barker is masterful at taking this story plotline, which could have been a disaster and written a beautiful, emotional, heartbreaking, healing and redemptive love story not only between the hero and heroine, but the entire extended family. My emotions were all over the place while reading this book. Each character, big and small is written realistically and takes the story into small subplots that give you the small town feel. Small town gossip, strained family dynamics and a love story delayed all make for a story I could not put down. (Make sure you have tissues close by.)
I highly recommend this beautiful love story!
***
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Freya Barker loves writing about ordinary people with extraordinary stories.
Driven to make her books about ‘real’ people; she creates characters who are perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy, but just as deserving of romance, thrills and chills in their lives.
Recipient of the ReadFREE.ly 2019 Best Book We’ve Read All Year Award for “Covering Ollie, the 2015 RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for Best First Book, “Slim To None”, and Finalist for the 2017 Kindle Book Award with “From Dust”, Freya continues to add to her rapidly growing collection of published novels as she spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!
Today I am on the Harlequin Trade Publishing 2020 Fall Reads Blog Tour for Women’s Fiction and Romance. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for RESCUE YOU (Dogwood County Book #1) 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.
***
Author Q&A
Q: What themes can readers find in your book, Rescue You?
A: One big theme was nailed on the front cover: “Everyone needs saving sometimes.” In this book, all the characters, human or canine, are saving each other in different ways and at different times. I enjoyed playing with some of the ways in which a character could be either a hero or someone who needed saving. I liked taking a pair of sisters, a big, strong Alpha male and a handful of rescued dogs and showing how any one of them could be either the hero or the saved, despite gender, birth order or human status, depending on the situation.Which brings us to, “love wins.” There’s some ugliness in this book, for sure, just like there is in life. But I always want to believe that love can win the day.
Q: With the sisters working with rescue dogs in the story and the hero working with veterans at his gym, are either of these elements something near and dear to your heart in real life?
A: Yes, both! Though I’ve never run a dog rescue like the sisters in the book, I’ve adopted rescue dogs and cats all my life. Military vets are definitely near and dear to my heart. My father served over thirty years in the military, my grandfather fought in WWII, and I grew up steeped in military life and culture. As a massage therapist, my most rewarding work comes from massaging for CAUSE (Comfort for America’s Uniformed Servicemembers). CAUSE is a non-profit program that provides wounded service members free massages twice a month. I love being able to give back to the men and women who have served us.
Q: What is something you can share about this pair of sisters and their relationship that might not have made it into the book?
A: Constance and Sunny always watch The Matrix together on Sunny’s birthday. They share popcorn and quote lines. It’s a ritual they started when the movie came out in their youth.
Q: Do you own any pets? If so what kind? If not, what kind would you adopt if you could?
A: I currently share a home with four dogs, four cats and a rabbit named Lieutenant Dan. Recently deceased are two guinea pigs. All rescues.
Q: Is this your first book that you have written? If not, what was your first book?
A: I’ve been writing books since I was about eight. They started out as short, handwritten books, but I was writing full length novels by the time I was a young teen. I had a word processor (like a typewriter but with editing capabilities) that I’d begged my parents for as a birthday present. I wrote a historical romance, a contemporary romance and a western (with a woman hero!) “Rescue You” is actually a combination of two novels I wrote and then wove together.
Q: Did you always want to become an author?
A: Yes. Always. When I was young I mailed a handwritten book to a publisher’s address I found on the copyright page of one of the many books on my shelf. Just put this handwritten book I wrote in a big envelope, slapped stamps on it and mailed it to them. They were actually kind enough to mail it back. They included a note saying that all submissions had to be typewritten. I look back on that and laugh at my young, naive self but also with surprise at the kindness of that publishing company. They paid out of pocket to return that book to me when most would dump it in the trash.
Q: What was the process of becoming a published writer like for you?
A: I won a writing award in high school. When I was in college, I wrote a lot of short stories and placed in competitions like the F. Scott Fitzgerald and The Sandy. Once I started writing novels, I entered those in contests, too, and won or placed quite a few times. After gaining that confidence, I started querying agents. This was back when almost nobody accepted email queries, so that was a long waiting game. I wrote several books and queried them at different times before getting an offer of representation.The road to publication after that was long. I told my agent, the fabulous Sara Megibow, that we were ahead of our time when I started out. My stories never fit neatly into genre, were kind of quirky and always had really strong, bold heroines, which weren’t necessarily popular like they are today. Everyone wants strong women now, and genre bending is more acceptable, so I’ve finally come into my own.
Q: Describe your hero using only 3 words.
A: Gritty-sweet Alpha.
Q: What is your advice for aspiring writers?
A: If you’re writing, you’re already a writer. You don’t need anyone’s approval to make it so. Publishing may be an end goal to that, and if so, know that the game changes and you have to meld art into business. Put in the work, get feedback, hone your craft, listen to your editors. It’s a tough industry for sure, but in the immortal words of Tom Petty, “In a world that keeps on pushing me around … I won’t back down.”
Q: Do you create outlines for your book or do you just start starting one scene at a time?
A: It’s weird–I’m a super organized person but I barely outline at all. I always tell myself I’m going to try to outline more, but my process goes more like this: I get inspired by an idea, a scene, a moment, a person, a song. I expand that into a possible cast, have a vague starting point and probably a big scene in the middle that doesn’t know where it’s going to end up, just that it WILL be in there, and then most likely an ending (but not always). I’ll jot those down. When I actually start writing, it’s important to me to nail the opening before I move on to any other part of the story, even though the opening might change. After that, the process gets even messier: I think, re-read, jot a couple sentences in the outline, write in my head, write for real, edit, maybe go for a long walk and listen to music and decide where the story goes next. I edit a lot as I go. I’m not a “vomit on the page” writer. I’m more of a two steps up, one step back kind of person.
Q: What is your next writing project?
A: The next book in the series is called “Forever Home” and is currently with my editor! This story is about a kick ass, motorcycle riding, Marine Corps Veteran heroine who catches the eye of Detective Sean Callahan. There’ll be fitness, sleuthing, romance, an abandoned dog who loves the motorcycle shop, and, of course, some face-time from Constance, Sunny and Rhett.
Q: Where can readers find you and your work online?
A: Visit me at my Web site: www.elysiawhisler.com. There’s a bio, information on events, upcoming books and press. There are links to order Rescue You, links to follow me on Twitter, Instagram, Goodreads and Facebook and a place to sign up for my newsletter!
***
Book Summary
She needs a fresh start. He’s got scars that haven’t healed. With the help of some rescue dogs, they’ll discover that everyone deserves a chance at happiness.
After a year of heartbreak and loss, the only thing keeping Constance afloat is the dog rescue she works at with her sister, Sunny. Desperate for a change, Constance impulsively joins a new gym, even though it seems impossibly hard, and despite the gym’s prickly owner.
Rhett Santos keeps his gym as a refuge for his former-military brothers and to sweat out his own issues. He’s ready to let the funny redhead join, but unprepared for the way she wiggles past his hard-won defenses.
When their dog rescue is threatened, the sisters fight to protect it. And they need all the help they can get. As Rhett and Constance slowly open up to each other, they’ll find that no one is past rescuing; what they need is the right person—or dog—to save them.
RESCUE YOU (Dogwood County Book #1) by Elysia Whisler is the first book in a new Women’s fiction series that had me hooked from the very first chapter. This is a new author that I will definitely be following into the future.
Constance and Rhett are such wonderful characters. Both broken and yet when they meet, they know just what the other needs even as they work through obstacles of their own. It is not a relationship that comes easily, but I believe the author handled the speed and interactions realistically. The use of Rhett’s extreme fitness center, Semper Fit, as a place for physical as well as emotional change had me as intrigued as the dog rescue, Pittie Place which had all of the sisters’ dynamics playing out around it.
Constance and Sunny’s relationship as sisters, who love each other dearly, but have had certain roles forced on them evolves as both sisters change throughout this story. The relationships with the men in their lives adds to the dynamic, but does not stop their growth and love for each other. Every character in this book is fully fleshed and play a pivotal role in the overall story.
While emotionally dense with several real-life serious situations and problems, the author was still able to make this story easy to read with touches of humor. This book covers rescue dogs and puppy mills, sister relationships, depression after death of a loved one, divorce and PTSD all with an authority that never had me doubting the research and knowledge of any one topic.
I highly recommend this book and new author! I am anxiously waiting for the next book in this series!
***
Excerpt
One
Constance slammed on her brakes. Steam rose from the street as rain gurgled through the ditches. She killed the engine, stepped into the pattering droplets and scanned the shoulder of the road. Nothing there but the remains of a goose carcass. “Where are you, boy?” Constance gave a low whistle.
It hadn’t been her imagination. The picked-over goose only made her more certain she’d seen a dog, weaving through the foggy afternoon air like a phantom. A lost dog, with his head bent against the rain as he loped along the muddy ditch.
Constance whistled again. Silence, but for the sound of rain hitting the trees that lined the road. “Maybe I’m just tired.” She’d done a lot of massages today, which made her feel wrung out. Constance almost ducked back into the van, but halted.
There he was: a white face with brown patches, peeking at her from behind a bush. “Hey, boy.” Constance squatted down, making herself smaller, less threatening. The dog watched, motionless. Constance drew a biscuit from her coat, briefly recalling the cashier’s amusement at the grocery store today when she’d emptied her pockets on the counter, searching for her keys. Five dog biscuits had been in the pile with her phone, a used tissue and the grocery list.
“Dog mom, huh?” the elderly cashier had said.
“Something like that.” More like dog aunt, to all of the rescues at Pittie Place. Her sister, Sunny, had quite the brood.
Constance laid the biscuit near her foot and waited. A moment later, the bush rustled and the dog approached. He had short hair and big shoulders. He got only as close as he needed to, then stretched his neck out for the prize. As he gingerly took the biscuit, Constance noted a droopy abdomen and swollen nipples, like a miniature cow.
So. He was a she. Constance inched toward her. The dog held on to the biscuit, but reared back. Constance extended her fist, slowly, so the mom could smell her. “You got puppies somewhere?”
The dog whimpered, but crunched up the biscuit.
“Where are your puppies?”
The dog whimpered again. Her legs shook. Her fur was muddy, feet caked with dirt. She had blood on her muzzle— probably from the dead goose. By her size and coloring, Constance decided she was a pit bull.
Constance rose up, patted her thigh and headed toward her van. She slid open the side door, grabbed a blanket and spread it out, but when she turned around, the dog was several yards away. Her brown-and-white head was low as she wandered beneath a streetlamp, the embodiment of despair in the drizzle that danced through the light.
Constance followed, slipping on the leaves that clogged the drainage ditch. The dog glanced once over her shoulder, but her pace didn’t quicken. Constance decided her calm demeanor was working, keeping the dog from fleeing. And let’s be honest: the biscuit hadn’t hurt. Chances were, the dog would be happy to have more as soon as she got wherever she was going. “Let’s see where you’re headed, then. Show me if you’ve got a home.”
Constance followed her across the road, around the curve and down the narrow lane. Frogs popped like happy corn all over the slick street, but the chill of the oncoming winter slithered through Constance’s blood.
She followed the dog for a good quarter mile. Even before she hooked a left down the unpaved road hidden behind the trees, Constance had figured out that the mama was headed to one of the handful of empty places that sat decomposing on the hundred or so acres the Matteri family owned. Constance paused only long enough to squelch the sizzle of anger that bubbled up inside before she pressed on, determined to know if the dog was a stray or a neglected mother from Janice Matteri’s puppy mill.
Constance took the same turn and watched as the dog neared the abandoned house up ahead. Nobody had lived there in years. It was only a matter of time before it became condemned. The dog bypassed the crumbling porch of the old colonial and went around back. Constance knew little daylight was left, and she hadn’t brought a flashlight. She broke into a trot, clutched her coat tighter around her and didn’t slow until the dog came back into view. Constance followed her, her heart thumping harder with each step.
The dog passed the rusted chain-link fence and disappeared over a rise in the property, near an old shed so overgrown with trees it was only recognizable by a pale red door. Just as she reached the hill, Constance heard a squeak. The sort of high-pitched noise that echoes from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Another squeak came. And another. She crested the hill and saw the dog slink inside the shed door. Constance got to the shed and pushed inside. The dog had reached her destination: a battered old mattress, three shades of brown, lying a few feet inside. The mewls, now loud and hungry, came from a shredded section of the mattress.
Constance narrowed her eyes. At first, she counted only two bobbing, brown heads, but as she drew closer there was a third. Then a fourth. The last one didn’t move nearly as much, just sort of waded on his stomach. The puppies had cocoa-colored fur and black muzzles. Eyes open. The ones that moved didn’t really walk, just stumbled into each other, like drunks. Mama dog curled around them and they all wiggled toward her abdomen.
Constance knelt down next to the mattress and watched the suckling puppies. She decided they were about two weeks old. The air in the shed smelled of sour milk, poop and urine. She dug out another biscuit and reached, slowly, her hand in a fist to protect her fingers, her gaze on the mama for any sign she was upset, such as pinned ears, bared teeth or a raised ridge of fur down the back. The energy around the mom and her pups was calm, to the point of exhausted. Constance had certainly helped with enough of Sunny’s dogs over the years to know. She offered the biscuit and the mom took it. With her mouth busy, Constance carefully touched the smallest puppy, who shook so hard the tremble came from deep inside, beneath his skin and fur, straight from his bones.
Constance rose slowly and did a quick search of the vicinity for more puppies, which turned up nothing but trash, vermin and an old orange crate, which she brought over to the mattress.
Now to see if Mom was going to accept help.
Though daylight was precious, Constance waited until the pups were done suckling before she offered a third treat. “Let’s go back to my place,” Constance said as Mom accepted the biscuit. “My sister has a rescue for critters, just like you. And I help her all the time. You’ll be safe there. Does that sound okay?”
While Mama crunched, Constance reached for the two pups closest to her and, keeping an eye on Mom the whole time, she lifted them and settled them in the crate. Mom’s chewing quickened, so Constance acted fast, lifting the last two pups swiftly but carefully. She rose to her feet, crate in her arms. The mother dog was on her feet almost ahead of her, pointing her muzzle at the crate and whining.
Constance knew the mom would follow her anywhere she took those pups, but she also lacked any signs of aggression, almost as though she knew that this was their only chance. Or as Pete, owner of Canine Warriors and Constance’s longtime childhood friend, would put it, “You just got something about you, Cici. Everybody trusts you. People. Dogs. The damn Devil himself.”
Constance headed back to her van, chasing the sunset. As expected, the mother followed. Once to the vehicle, Constance opened the van and set the crate full of pups next to the blanket she’d spread out earlier. The mama dog leaped in after them.
Constance slid the door closed, settled behind the steering wheel and let out a great sigh. Mission accomplished. She edged down the long, lonely road. The rain pattered on the windshield and the scent of dirty puppies hit her nose. She’d take them home tonight and get them settled in, see how they reacted to a new environment, then text Sunny in the morning. Constance had worked with enough dogs, and people, to know that introducing another new person this evening was bad news. Let Mama get used to Constance first, and get some good food and rest, before she was moved to Pittie Place.
Tonight, at least, this girl and her babies belonged with Constance.
Elysia Whisler was raised in Texas, Italy, Alaska, Mississippi, Nebraska, Hawai’i and Virginia, in true military fashion. Her nomadic life has made storytelling a compulsion from a young age.
She doubles as a mother, a massage therapist and a CrossFit trainer and is dedicated to portraying strong women, both in life and in her works. She lives in Virginia with her family, including her large brood of cat and dog rescues, who vastly outnumber the humans.
I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Ciara Geraghty’s new book – RULES OF THE ROAD. I absolutely loved this thought provoking book of friendship, family and love! (Please Be Advised: The story does contain an assisted suicide.)
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an about the author section and the author’s social media links.
***
Book Description
The simple fact of the matter is that Iris loves life. Maybe she’s forgotten that. Sometimes that happens, doesn’t it? To the best of us? All I have to do is remind her of that one simple fact.
When Iris Armstrong goes missing, her best friend Terry, wife, mother and all-round worrier, is convinced something bad has happened.
And when she finds her glamorous, feisty friend, she’s right: Iris is setting out on a journey that she plans to make her last.
The only way for Terry to stop Iris is to join her, on a road trip that will take her, Iris and Terry’s confused father Eugene onto a ferry, across the Irish sea and into an adventure that will change all of their lives.
Somehow what should be the worst six days of Terry’s life turn into the best.
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
RULES OF THE ROAD by Ciara Geraghty is a beautifully written and poignant women’s fiction story of friendship, family, and love. It is an emotional journey from start to finish and I was in a complete book hangover/coma when I hit the end. (Have some tissues handy for not only the sad tears, but the happy.)
Terry is a wife, a mother of two grown daughters, the rock of her family and an all-around worrier. Everything must be in its place and every precaution must be taken. The girls are gone now, but she has found out she needs to pick up her father, who has Alzheimer’s from his care home for the week.
When they return home, Terry realizes she has not seen her best and basically only friend and neighbor, Iris recently. Iris loves life. She is bold, says anything and is willing to try anything. But since Iris was diagnosed with primary progressive MS, Terry worries. Iris has been dealing with her disease, but it is and will get progressively worse. When she checks out Iris’ home, she finds her friend has made plans for a journey that will be her last.
Terry knows the only way to stop Iris is to join her. Terry, her father, Eugene and Iris take off on a six-day road trip from Ireland to Switzerland that will change all of their lives.
For me, this book is written with some of the most realistic and memorable characters of any women’s fiction book I have read so far this year. A friendship that at first glance seems strange, but then you realize their friendship is based on a deep love and caring that may not always be spoken, but it is heartfelt and strong. Iris had decided on her path and she enjoys the trip to its fullest, but in the end, she discovers she needs her friend to be with her and she does not want to be alone. Terry is the character that grows and blooms the most along every hour of their trip. Her interactions with her father, her wanting to change her best friend’s mind, the discovery of her own freedom and strengths, all converge in an emotional awakening that this author was able to capture beautifully with the written word. All the secondary characters were also fully fleshed and add an additional depth and realism to the story.
I cannot say enough about this beautiful story!
I highly recommend Rules of the Road!
***
About the Author
I was born and reared in Dublin. My mother took one look at me and decided to call me Ciara (pronounced Keira as in Keira Knightly but with lower cheek bones…). When pressed, she said it was because she ‘liked’ the name. From that moment, until I turned thirty-four, I wrote not one word, discounting the diary I kept as a teenager, full of angst and regret and heartache and bitterness; the usual.
Then, when I was 34, I signed up for a creative writing nightclass in Plunkett’s College in Whitehall where I started writing stories. I haven’t stopped since.
I love writing and I hate writing. I love having written. I hate looking at the blank page or the blank screen and knowing that I have to fill it up with words that mightn’t be any good. It’s a bit like going to the gym. You hate going. But you feel great on your way home. Sweaty, with a face like a beef tomato. But great all the same.
I have three children and one husband and have recently adopted a dog who is the same age as my youngest daughter. Together, they are in charge of pretty much everything.
When I was growing up, you could tell the days of the week by the dinners we had. The worst day was Thursday when my mother made us eat liver. She made it worse by serving the liver with lovely homemade chips and sausages and rashers and egg; she called it a ‘mixed grill’. The blood from the liver ran across the plate and tainted everything. One of the best things about being an adult is that I don’t have to eat liver. Or peas. Or semolina.
My favourite time of the day is the night. Or very early in the morning. I wrote my first book, Saving Grace, mostly at night and in the early morning. Now, I write at nine o’clock in the morning and knock off when the children come home from school. I miss the night. And the early morning. But I’ve learned that writing is work and you have to be able to do it during the allocated hours and I suppose I’ve gotten used to it. The best bit about writing a book is the two words ‘The’ and ‘End’. It’s a bit like finding a pub in Ireland where you can smoke after hours – it’s that good.
Writing is addictive, probably because you feel a bit better about things when it’s done. It’s like drink that way, except it won’t give you a hangover or cirrhosis of the liver or anything nasty like that. You might get a stiff arse (that’s bottom in Irish) from sitting in the one place for too long but that’s about it. And even though stiff arses can be uncomfortable, they’re completely worth it when a reader tells me that they’ve read my book and that they liked it. That makes me feel like one of the Whos in Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who when they shout I am here. I am here. I am here. I am here.
Today I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Jamie Beck’s new novel – IF YOU MUST KNOW (Potomac Point Book #1).
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
***
Author Q&A
How do you describe your newest novel If You Must Know?
This book is a “beach book” in the best sense. It’s not angsty, yet it has a page-turning plot and a bunch of interesting, relatable characters. I think it’s entertaining and heartfelt at the same time, which is exactly what many enjoy reading while on vacation.
What inspired the novel?
The external plot came to me as a result of the influence of two people in my life. My dear friend’s husband is a forensic accountant, so some of his stories about how people hide money and flee their families provided one point of inspiration. The second is my mother’s best friend who, in her seventies, sold her house and bought a boat, which she and her husband live on full-time. The impetus for the oil-and-water sisters was to provide myself an opportunity to explore the sibling-rivalry dynamic.
Tell us about the two main characters in the story—sisters Amanda and Erin.
Amanda is the middle child. She’s diligent, earnest, hard-working, and generous. She wants the people she loves to be happy and feel her love. Her weakness is a deep-seated insecurity—a sense that she is not interesting enough to be lovable. This leads her to overlook when she is being taken for granted because her need to be pleasing is omnipresent.
Erin is the baby of the family and her late-father’s pet. She is outgoing, fun-loving, and views her average intelligence as a blessing (rather than lamenting that her siblings are smarter). She is willful and has her own way of moving through the world. The big weakness she has is her impulsiveness, whether with jobs or relationships. As she approaches her 30th birthday, she’s looking to mature and create a more stable life for herself.
What kind of relationship do the sisters have?
I think they share a typical relationship insofar as their differences cause many misunderstandings and instill in each a sense of being judged by the other, and yet they do care about and love each other, too. They simply do not know how to be true friends and trust the other—at least not at the outset of this tale.
This book focused on the main female characters growing and learning about themselves. What prompted this ‘women’s fiction’ approach to the story?
Partly market forces and partly my own need to stretch. At 53, it was becoming more difficult to write a 20-something woman facing the challenges of dating. The shift to women’s fiction allows me to write late-30 and early 40-something characters, which comes more naturally to me. I also enjoy exploring family and friendship dynamics, and absolutely love having endless options for story arcs (as opposed to having to follow a traditional romance arc).
What does your new Potomac Point series have in common with your previous books?
All my books to date have focused on critical relationships and some type of redemption theme. I find damaged people to be very interesting and believe that there is good in most everyone, so I prefer to populate my stories with flawed people who must confront their inner demons in order to be happy. My new books will also focus on relationships and redemption, but the non-romantic relationships (or even the relationship with one’s self) will be more central.
***
Book Summary
Sisters Amanda Foster and Erin Turner have little in common except the childhood bedroom they once shared and the certainty each feels that her way of life is best. Amanda follows the rules—at the school where she works; in her community; and as a picture-perfect daughter, wife, and mother-to-be. Erin follows her heart—in love and otherwise—living a bohemian lifestyle on a shoestring budget and honoring her late father’s memory with a passion for music and her fledgling bath-products business.
The sisters are content leading separate but happy lives in their hometown of Potomac Point until everything is upended by lies that force them to confront unsettling truths about their family, themselves, and each other. For sisters as different as these two, building trust doesn’t come easily—especially with one secret still between them—but it may be the only way to save their family.
IF YOU MUST KNOW (Potomac Point Book #1) by Jamie Beck is her latest contemporary Women’s fiction and the start of a new series. Ms. Beck has written an emotional and realistic story with dysfunctional family members in upheaval that I found difficult to put down.
Amanda and Erin Turner are sisters that have gone about life differently and have never felt close. They lead separate lives as adults. Amanda was the middle child and always wanted to please by being perfect and was closest with her mother. Amanda followed her plan and went to college, got married and is now expecting her first child. While Erin was the baby of the family and always felt different and was closest to her father. Erin has always led a bohemian life and while she teaches yoga and makes her own soaps and scrubs has never really worried beyond the current day.
Suddenly everything changes.
Amanda finds out her marriage is not as perfect as she believed. Amanda’s mother loaned her husband the majority of her dad’s death benefits for a business deal and he has taken off. As these secrets are being kept, Erin moves home to help with her mother’s inability to take care of herself. Erin does not know if it is because of her mother’s continued grief over losing her husband a year ago or the stress of the missing money. Suddenly all three women are together again and must deal with unsettling truths about themselves and their family.
I loved the different and difficult family relationships. The characters and emotions were to me believable because having grown up in a large family I could relate to all their character traits. Ms. Beck has written a complex and fully fleshed sister-to-sister relationship that had to evolve from childhood hurts and misunderstandings to grow and help each other in the present. Amanda and Erin’s mother’s past also played a large role in the present family dynamics.
I enjoyed this first book in the series and I will be looking forward to more.
***
Excerpt
I rolled onto my side with a groan, coming face-to-face with one of my favorite family photos. We’d taken our annual family summer trip to Hilton Head—the one real splurge my dad had made sure we enjoyed every year. We had a tradition of having lunch at a little open-air cabana bar and restaurant called Coco’s on the Beach.
Between the deck and the volleyball court in the sand stood a tall pole with colorful arrow-shaped signs pointing in different directions. Each one was painted with the name of a different city somewhere on the globe, along with the mileage to get there. We’d dream about all the places we might go, and after high school I’d had the chance to see many. In this picture, our whole family is standing around that sign, smiling at the camera. My dad has his hand on my shoulder, and if you look closely, you can see Amanda holding my hand. I must’ve been only five or six—young enough that she hadn’t given up trying to be my second mother. At the time, I’d felt smothered by her attention, but looking back, I’d also felt loved.
I grabbed my phone and called my sister, but it went to voice mail. A heaviness pressed on me, but I couldn’t tell if it was from looking at that picture of our family that would never again be whole or from the fact that I’d disappointed my mom and sister today.
They loved me in their way even if they couldn’t love and accept me as I am. My dad had, though, and to honor his memory and wishes for our family, I couldn’t continue to drift out of their lives as I’d been doing.
After the beep, I said, “Hey, it’s moi. Surprise! My plans have changed and I’ve got a little time. If you get this message, let me know where you are and I’ll try to catch up.”
I hit “End,” my feet restlessly kicking the foot of my bed. The small bedroom seemed claustrophobic, but I didn’t want to talk to Max. Not that I could avoid him in here, either, where his dirty laundry, sandals, and other items lay about. Rather than take a match to it all, I decided to organize some of his things to help with his packing. Hauling myself off the bed, I then went to the armoire to get to the vintage albums my dad had left me in his will.
Some were fairly valuable, like the Beatles collection box set from 1982, valued at roughly a thousand bucks. Or the Led Zeppelin first pressing with the turquoise label, which should net around eight hundred or so dollars. U2’s Joshua Tree collection box set from 1987—maybe worth six or seven hundred. Then there were others worth less than one hundred dollars. But each one had infinite sentimental value.
Every song resurrected a specific memory of time spent with my father playing cards, washing cars, grilling hot dogs … anything. Whatever he’d wanted to do, I’d done with him, and he’d always chosen the perfect background soundtrack for every activity. Those stolen moments had also been a great way to escape my mom’s endless lectures and demands. She’d never yelled at me for skipping out on chores or being messy when I’d been spending that time with him. Probably because he wouldn’t let her.
At present, my restlessness matched the mood of a typical Bob Seger song, so I grabbed Beautiful Loser and slipped the record from its sleeve, resisting the urge to hug it as if it were my dad. I set it on the old turntable he’d also left me. As the few first drumbeats clangored, my heart kicked an extra beat or two—partly happy, partly sad. I glanced toward the bedroom door, picturing Max on the sofa, and then got to work.
It didn’t matter where life led me next. I had faith because my own personal angel was looking out for me now.
Que será, será.
***
Author Bio
Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than two million copies. She is a two-time Booksellers’ Best Award finalist and a National Readers’ Choice Award winner, and critics at Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, and Booklist have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing novels, she enjoys hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah and dancing around the kitchen while cooking. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family. Fans can get exclusive excerpts, inside scoops, and be eligible for birthday gift drawings by subscribing to her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/b7k7G5. She also loves interacting with everyone on Facebook at www.facebook.com/JamieBeckBooks.
THE BANTY HOUSE by Carolyn Brown is a sweet, feel-good, poignant story that drops you into the lives of three elderly sisters in small town Texas who are about to have their lives changed forever.
Ginger Andrews has aged out of the system, has a baby on the way and no where to go. She dreams of seeing the ocean in California, but her bus ticket only goes as far as Hondo, Texas. As she is sitting on the bench outside of the hair salon, an elderly woman sits beside her. She is offered room and board for the weekend, but she is soon to find herself wrapped in the love and lives of the Carson sisters of the Banty house.
The Banty House was a long-ago brothel run by the sister’s mother, Belle. For more than seventy-five years, Kate, Betsy and Connie Carson have lived in and cared for their mama’s home. They have big hearts and each has her own passion.
Ginger is not only a breath of fresh air to the sisters, but she also intrigues their handyman, Sloan Baker. Sloan came home from the Army broken and swore to never get close to anyone ever again. Ginger’s past may not be the same, but it is just as broken. Slowly, the two discover they may just be what the other needs to heal.
The Banty House is once again to be the safe place where healing happens and hopes and dreams never fade.
I felt like I was wrapped in the love and acceptance of the three sisters as I read this story. They are wonderful characters who always lived their lives on their own terms, but also followed the moral upbringing of their mama. They are just what Ginger needed, even as it took awhile for her to accept that. Ginger was just what Sloan needed, but I was disappointed by how often she kept thinking about leaving. The romance that grew between Ginger and Sloan was a cozy romance, but never overshadowed the main themes of love, healing and acceptance overall. I enjoyed this book and would recommend it, but it was not my favorite by this author.
You are going to love the Carson sisters of Banty House.
***
Author Biography
Carolyn
Brown is a New York Times, USA Today, Publisher’s
Weekly, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author and a
RITA finalist with more than ninety published books. Her genres include
romance, history, cowboys and country music, and contemporary mass-market
paperbacks. She and her husband live in the small town of Davis, Oklahoma,
where everyone knows everyone else, knows what they are doing and when . . .
and reads the local newspaper every Wednesday to see who got caught. They have
three grown children and enough grandchildren to keep them young. Visit Carolyn
at www.carolynbrownbooks.com.
Today I am excited to once again be featuring a book on the Harlequin Trade Publishing Spring 2020 Blog Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Viola Shipman’s new book – THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. This will definitely be one of my favorite books this year. Enjoy!
***
Book Summary
In this heartwarming and feel-good novel filled with echoes of Dorothea Benton Frank, Debbie Macomber and Elizabeth Berg, two women separated by a generation but equally scarred by war find hope, meaning – and each other – through a garden of heirloom flowers.
Iris Maynard lost her husband in World War II, her daughter to loneliness and, finally, her reason to live. Walled off from the world for decades behind a towering fence surrounding her home and gardens, the former botanist has built a new family…of flowers. Iris propagates her own daylilies and roses while tending to an heirloom garden filled with starts – and memories – of her own mother, grandmother, husband and daughter.
When Abby Peterson moves to Grand Haven, Michigan, with her family – a husband traumatized during his service in the Iraq War and a young daughter searching for stability – they find themselves next door to Iris, and are slowly drawn into her reclusive neighbour’s life where, united by loss and a love of flowers, Iris and Abby slowly unearth their secrets to each other. Eventually, the two teach one another that the earth grounds us all, gardens are a grand healer, and as flowers bloom so do our hopes and dreams.
THE HEIRLOOM GARDEN: A NOVEL by Viola Shipman is a Women’s fiction novel that is one of the most beautifully written and emotional books that I have had the pleasure to read. This book and characters will be in my mind for a long time to come and it will definitely be one of my favorites this year!
Iris Maynard lives for her beautiful heirloom garden hidden behind a towering fence that keeps everyone out. Having lost her husband in WWII and her daughter to illness, Iris continues on with her heirloom flowers who have always been there for her. She is a talented botanist who shared her gift with the world, until that world turned on her.
Abby Peterson finds the perfect home to rent to be close to her new job. She is hoping this fresh start will be the change her struggling family needs. Traumatized by his service in Iraq, Abby’s husband, Cory is not the man she married and her small daughter is paying the price. She is curious about the high fence separating her property from the house next door and her reclusive landlady.
Iris is drawn to the family next door. Lily, Abby’s daughter is intrigued by the beautiful flowers next door behind the fence and begins to pull Iris into their lives. Iris and Abby realize how much they have in common and slowly each reveals their secrets as they work together in the garden. Iris and Abby both have a lot of life yet to live.
This book follows the growing season in Iris’ garden as the timeline of the story. I have to admit that I have a black thumb and could kill a silk plant in my home and yet this book with all its flower and garden facts and allegories pulled me in and I could not put it down. I had watery eyes more times than I care to admit and the tissue box was by my side and yet it is more about the power of family, love and resilience even through the sadness and tragedy than just being a sad book. The author brings not only the characters to vivid life, but also all the beautiful heirloom flowers.
I HIGHLY recommend this beautiful book! I have already downloaded more books by this author and will be looking for every single one in the future.
***
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Iris
LATE SUMMER 1944
We are an army, too.
I stop, lean against my hoe and watch the other women working the earth. We are all dressed in the same outfits—overalls and sunhats—all in uniforms just like our husbands and sons overseas.
Fighting for the same cause, just in different ways.
A soft summer breeze wafts down Lake Avenue in Grand Haven, Michigan, gently rustling rows of tomatoes, carrots, lettuce, beets and peas. I analyze my tiny plot of earth at the end of my boots in our neighborhood’s little Victory Garden, admiring the simple beauty of the red arteries running through the Swiss chard’s bright green leaves and the kale-like leaves sprouting from the bulbs of kohlrabi. I smile with satisfaction at their bounty and my own ingenuity. I had suggested our little Victory Garden utilize these vegetables, since they are easy-to-grow staples.
“Easier to grow without weeds.”
I look up, and Betty Wiggins is standing before me.
If you put a gray wig on Winston Churchill, I think, you’d have Betty Wiggins, the self-appointed commander of our Victory Garden.
“Just thinking,” I say.
“You can do that at home,” she says with a frown.
I pick up my hoe and dig at a weed. “Yes, Betty.”
She stares at me, before eyeing the front of my overalls. “Nice rose,” Betty says, her frown drooping even farther. “Do we think we’re Vivien Leigh today?”
“No, ma’am,” I say. “Just wanted to lift my spirits.”
“Lift them at home,” she says, a glower on her face. Her eyes stop on the hyacinth brooch I have pinned on my overalls and then move ever so slowly to the Bakelite daisy earrings on my earlobes.
I look at Betty, hoping she might understand I need to be enveloped by things that make me feel safe, happy and warm, but she walks away with a “Hrumph!”
I hear stifled laughter. I look over to see my friend Shirley mimicking Betty’s ample behind and lumbering gait. The women around her titter.
“Do we think we’re Vivien Leigh today?” Shirley mimics in Betty’s baritone. “She wishes.”
“Stop it,” I say.
“It’s true, Iris,” Shirley continues in a Shakespearian whisper. “The back ends of the horses in Gone with the Wind are prettier than Betty.”
“She’s right,” I say. “I’m not paying enough attention today.”
I suddenly grab the rose I had plucked from my garden this morning and tucked into the front pocket of my overalls, and I toss it into the air. Shirley leaps, stomping a tomato plant in front of her, and grabs the rose midair.
“Stop it,” she says. “Don’t you listen to her.”
She sniffs the rose before tucking the peach-colored petals into my pocket again.
“Nice catch,” I say.
“Remember?” Shirley asks with a wink.
The sunlight glints through leaves and limbs of the thick oaks and pretty sugar maples that line the small plot that once served as our cottage association’s baseball diamond in our beachfront park. I am standing roughly where third base used to be, the place I first locked eyes with my husband, Jonathan. He had caught a towering pop fly right in front of the makeshift bleachers and tossed it to me after making the catch.
“Wasn’t the sunlight that blinded me,” he had said with a wink. “It was your beauty.”
I thought he was full of beans, but Shirley gave him my number. I was home from college at Michigan State for the summer, he was still in high school, and the last thing I needed was a boyfriend, much less one younger than I was. But I can still remember his face in the sunlight, his perfect skin and a light fuzz on his cheeks that were the color of a summer peach.
In the light, soft white floaties dance in the air like miniature clouds. I follow their flight. My daughter, Mary, is holding a handful of dandelions and blowing their seeds into the air.
For one brief moment, my mind is as clear as the sky. There is no war, only summer, and a little girl playing.
“You know more about plants than anybody here,” Shirley continues, knocking me from my thoughts. “You should be in charge here, not Betty. You’re the one that had us grow all these strange plants.”
“Flowers,” I say. “Not plants. My specialty is really flowers.”
“Oh, don’t be such a fuddy-duddy, Iris,” Shirley says. “You’re the only woman I know who went to college. You should be using that flower degree.”
“It’s botany. Actually, plant biology with a specialty in botanical gardens and nurseries,” I say. I stop, feeling guilty. “I need to be at home,” I say, changing course. “I need to be here.”
Shirley stops hoeing and looks at me, her eyes blazing. She
glances around to ensure the coast is clear and then whispers, “Snap your cap, Iris. I know you think that’s what you should be saying and doing, but we all know better.” She stares at me for a long time. “The war will be over soon. These war gardens will go away, too. What are you going to do with the rest of your life? Use your brain. That’s why God gave it to you.” She grins. “I mean, your own garden looks like a lab experiment.” She stops and laughs. “You’re not only wearing one of your own flowers, you’re even named after one! It’s in your genes.”
I smile. Shirley is right. I have been obsessed with flowers for as long as I can remember. My Grandma Myrtle was a gifted gardener as was my mom, Violet. I had wanted to name my own daughter after a flower to keep that legacy, but that seemed downright crazy to most folks. We lived next door to Grandma in cottages with adjoining gardens for years, houses my grandfather and father worked themselves to an early grave to pay off, and now they were all gone, and I rented my grandma’s house to a family whose son was in the coast guard.
But my garden was now filled with their legacy. Nearly every perennial I possessed originally began in my mom and grandma’s gardens. My grandma taught me to garden on her little piece of heaven in Highland Park overlooking Lake Michigan. And much of my childhood was spent with my mom and grandma in their cottage gardens, the daylilies and bee balm towering over my head. When it got too hot, I would lie on the cool ground in the middle of my grandma’s woodland hydrangeas, my back pressed against her old black mutt, Midnight, and we’d listen to the bees and hummingbirds buzzing overhead. My grandma would grab my leg when I was fast asleep and pretend that I was a weed she was plucking. “That’s why you have to weed,” she’d say with a laugh, tugging on my ankle as I giggled. “They’ll pop up anywhere.”
My mom and I would walk her gardens, and she’d always say the same thing as she watered and weeded, deadheaded and cut
flowers for arrangements. “The world is filled with too much ugliness—death, war, poverty, people just being plain mean to one another. But these flowers remind us there’s beauty all around us, if we just slow down to nurture and appreciate it.”
Grandma Myrtle would take her pruners and point around her gardens. “Just look around, Iris. The daisies remind you to be happy. The hydrangeas inspire us to be colorful. The lilacs urge us to breathe deeply. The pansies reflect our own images back at us. The hollyhocks show us how to stand tall in this world. And the roses—oh, the roses!—they prove that beauty is always present even amongst the thorns.”
The perfumed scent of the rose in my pocket lingers in front of my nose, and I pluck it free and raise it to my eyes.
My beautiful Jonathan rose.
I’d been unable to sleep the past few years or so, and—to keep my mind occupied—I’d been hybridizing roses and daylilies, cross-pollinating different varieties, experimenting to get new colors or lusher foliage. I had read about a peace rose that was to be introduced in America—a rose to celebrate the Nazis leaving France, which was just occurring—and I sought to re-create my own version to celebrate my husband’s return home. It was a beautiful mix of white, pink, yellow and red roses, which had resulted in a perfect peach.
I remember Jon again, as a young man, before war, and I try to refocus my mind on the little patch of Victory Garden before me, willing myself not to cry. My mind wanders yet again to my own.
My home garden is marked by stakes of my experiments, flags denoting what flowers I have mixed with others. And Shirley says my dining room looks like the hosiery aisle at Woolworths. Since the war, no one throws anything away, so I use my old nylons to capture my flowers’ seeds. I tie them around my daylily stalks and after they bloom, I break off the stem, capture and count the seeds, which I plant in my little greenhouse. I track how many grow. If I’m pleased with a result, I continue. If I’m not, I give them away to my neighbors.
I fill my Big Chief tablets like a banker fills his ledger:
1943-Yellow Crosses
Little Bo Beep = June Bug x Beautiful Morning
(12 seeds/5 planted)
Purple Plum = Magnifique x Moon over Zanadu
(8 seeds/4 planted)
I shut my eyes and can see my daylilies and roses in bloom. Shirley once asked me how I had the patience to wait three years to see how many of my lilies actually bloomed. I looked at her and said, “Hope.”
And it’s true: we have no idea how things are going to turn out. All we can do is hope that something beautiful will spring to life at any time.
I open my eyes and look at Shirley. She is right about the war. She is right about my life. But that life seems like a world away, just like my husband.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
Mary races up, holding her handful of dandelions with white tops.
“What do you have?” I ask.
“Just a bunch of weeds.”
I stop, lean against my hoe and look at my daughter. In the summer sunlight, her eyes are the same violet color as Elizabeth Taylor’s in National Velvet.
“Those aren’t weeds,” I say.
“Yes, they are!” Mary says. She puts her hands on her hips. With her father gone, she has become a different person. She is openly defiant and much too independent for a girl of six. “Teacher said so.”
I lean down until I’m in front of her face. “Technically, yes,
but we can’t just label something that easily.” I take a dandelion from her hand. “What color are these when they bloom?”
“Yellow,” she says.
“And what do you do with them?” I ask.
“I make chains out of them, I put them in my hair, I tuck them behind my ears…” she says, her excitement making her sound out of breath.
“Exactly,” I say. “And what do we do with them now, after they’ve bloomed?”
“Make wishes,” she says. Mary holds up her bouquet of dandelions and blows as hard as she can, sending white floaties into the air.
“What did you wish for?” I ask.
“That Daddy would come home today,” she says.
“Good wish,” I say. “Want to help me garden?”
“I don’t want to get my hands dirty!”
“But you were just on the ground playing with your friends,” I say. “Ring-around-the-rosy.”
Mary puts her hands on her hips.
“Mrs. Roosevelt has a Victory Garden,” I say.
She looks at me and stands even taller, hooking her thumbs behind the straps of her overalls, which are just like mine.
“I don’t want to get dirty,” she says again.
“Don’t you want to do it for your father?” I ask. “He’s at war, keeping us safe. This Victory Garden is helping to feed our neighbors.”
Mary leans toward me, her eyes blazing. “War is dumb.” She stops. “Gardens are dumb.” She stops. I know she wants to say something she will regret, but she is considering her options. Then she glares at me and yells, “Fathead!”
Before I can react, Mary takes off, sprinting across the lot, jumping over plants as if she’s a hurdler. “Mary!” I yell. “Come back here!”
“She’s a handful,” Shirley clucks. “Reminds me of someone.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say.
Mary rejoins her friends, jumping back into the circle to play ring-around-the-rosy, turning around to look at me on occasion, her violet eyes already filled with remorse.
Ring-around-the-rosy,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.
“I hate that game,” I say to Shirley. “It’s about the plague.”
I return to hoeing, lost in the dirt, moving in sync with my army of gardeners, when I hear, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
I look up, and Mary is before me, her chin quivering, lashes wet, fat tears vibrating in the rims of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to call you a fathead. I didn’t mean to get into a rhubarb with you.”
Fathead. Rhubarb. Where is she picking up this language already?
From behind her back, she produces another bouquet of dandelions that have gone to seed.
“I accept your apology,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Make a wish,” she says.
I shut my eyes and blow. As I inhale, the scent of my Jonathan rose fills my senses. The rumble of a car engine shatters the silence. A door slams, followed by another, and I open my eyes. The silhouettes of two men appear on the perimeter of the field, as foreboding as the old oaks. I notice the wind suddenly calm and the plants stop rustling at the exact same moment all of the women stop working. A curious hum begins to build as the men walk with a purpose between the rows of plants. The women lean away from the men as they approach, almost as if the wind had regained momentum. Row by row, each woman drops her hoe and shuts her eyes, mouthing a silent prayer.
Please not me. Please not me.
The footsteps grow closer. I shut my eyes.
Please not me. Please not me.
When I open them, our minister is standing before me, a man beside him, both of their faces solemn.
“Iris,” Rev. Doolan says softly.
“Ma’am,” the other man says, holding out a Western Union telegram.
The world begins to spin. Shirley appears at my side, and she wraps her arms around me.
Mrs. Maynard,
The Secretary of War desires me to express his deepest regrets that your husband, First Lieutenant Jonathan Maynard, has been killed…
“No!” Shirley shouts. “Iris! Somebody help!”
The last thing I see before I fall to the ground are a million white puffs of dandelion floating in the air, the wind carrying them toward heaven.
Viola Shipman is the pen name for Wade Rouse, a popular, award-winning memoirist. Rouse chose his grandmother’s name, Viola Shipman, to honor the woman whose heirlooms and family stories inspire his writing. Rouse is the author of The Summer Cottage, as well as The Charm Bracelet and The Hope Chest which have been translated into more than a dozen languages and become international bestsellers. He lives in Saugatuck, Michigan and Palm Springs, California, and has written for People, Coastal Living, Good Housekeeping, and Taste of Home, along with other publications, and is a contributor to All Things Considered.
