Whimsical Publications

Interview with Linda Swift

2012-01-23T14:30:00.001-08:00

We have Linda Swift here to share about her writing and herself! Drop a comment to win a copy of her book, Single Status!

WP: What do you write?

L: I write a potpourri of genres – contemporary and historical fiction, short stories, poetry and articles.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

L: I write whatever story clamors loudest to get out of my head, and it is not always the same genre or even what I had planned to write next.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

L: Reading wonderful books as a child sowed the seeds of wanting to write stories myself. I was an only child and I've had imaginary characters in my head since very early in my life.

WP: What inspires you?

L: I'm inspired by people and their lives, either those I have observed or those I've read about. I find historical people and events attract me now more than current situations.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

L: I indulge in what a writer friend calls "creative procrastination." I do busywork on the computer, write letters, organize files, or read other authors.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

L: The one whose story I am currently working on. I relate to that character and suffer and rejoice with them and miss them when I finally let them go.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

L: I think I may try a Regency someday. I have read some recently that have more depth that those I previously read and that has inspired me to try my hand at it.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

L: I hope they will remember my characters as I remember some from books read long ago. I think this is the highest honor an author can achieve.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

L: I'm focusing on promoting the books I had released in 2011, especially Single Status which was a Whimsical publication. I am also getting some short stories ready for print.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

L: You can visit my website at www.lindaswift.net or my facebook page https://www.facebook.com/home.php?clk_loc=5 or my author page on Amazon where you will also find all of my available books.

Interview with Tara Manderino

2012-01-16T11:25:00.000-08:00

Tara Manderino is here to talk about herself and her writing! Drop a comment below and have the chance to win a tote bag and a free download of Heart Quest, the book that follows False Notes.

WP: What do you write?

T: I write all over the place, it seems. Paranormal / vampire, Christian, Regency, Historical U.S.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

T: I love each of the genres I write -- when I’m there. It’s not so much that I pick the genres as the characters tell me where they fit. I’ve had some pretty hairy moments. In my historical U.S., of which False Notes, the first in a series is with Whimsical Publications, there are two secret service agents. Their stories lead them to trouble and romance throughout the country. While I was finishing up False Notes, which I tend to think of as Simon’s story, I could hear Luke (the other agent), telling me to hurry it up. I needed to get to his story and while I was dithering, his romantic interest, Maj, was getting further away. The man would not shut up. And when he wasn’t talking, he was stomping around in his boots. Very annoying. He finally settled down when I was half way through his story.

These men are men of action, but very much of their time, 1874, U.S. The world was a fascinating place: constant discoveries, the transcontinental railroad, and overall faster moving than the decades before the Civil War. As secret service agents, they were among the first of their breed. Their role was primarily seeking out counterfeiting then later expanded to dealing with issues of national security.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

T: When I realized I couldn’t afford my reading habit -- somewhere around third grade, I thought there simply had to be a way to get more books. It finally dawned on me -- actually, I think my father told me -- someone had to write those books. After that, I kept a yellow pulp tablet and a BIC ballpoint pen under my bed for some time. This was heady stuff. In the parochial school I attended we didn’t get to use ink until the middle of third grade! I think my parents felt sorry for me, and by the next Christmas I had my very own (toy, but working) typewriter. It only typed in caps, but I was a happy person. I used that typewriter for about 3 years when I graduated to a real one.

WP: What inspires you?

T: Everything and nothing.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

T: I would like to say I never get writer’s block, but it’s simply not true. The best way for me to overcome it is to -- not write. I either totally immerse myself in some major house cleaning project or a different craft. When I get caught up in either, all these little people in my brain start yammering at me to finish and please get to the keyboard already.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

T: They’re all my favorites! I love each one of my heroes, although Simon from False Notes, is holding the place of honor at the moment. He’s very confident, always on the move, a bit brash, and yet is totally blown away by the heroine.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

T: While most of my books have an element of mystery to them, I haven’t written a straight cozy mystery. I think I should enjoy doing so but haven’t got around to it yet.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

T: I want readers to be entertained, to be taken away to a different time and place, at least for a short while. I want the reader to experience the adventure of the emerging frontier along with Simon, Luke, Kirsten and Maj in False Notes, or the ball rooms and country side of the English Regency and the gentle caring and loving that weaves its thread through all of my stories.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

T: Heart Quest, was released two weeks ago. This is the second book to President’s Orders, of which False Notes was first. I have another vampire / urban fantasy book coming out at the beginning of February.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

T: I love connecting with readers and other writers! You can find me on the web at:

Website: http://tjmanderino.webs.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/taramanderino

Twitter: http://twitter.com/TManderino

Manic Readers: http://www.manicreaders.com/TaraManderino/

Interview with Brieanna Robertson

2012-01-09T15:00:00.000-08:00

Author Brieanna Robertson is here to talk about herself and her writing. Drop a comment to win a free download of one of her titles!

WP: What do you write?

BR: I write contemporary and fantasy romance with humor in most everything, even the serious stuff.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

BR: I think they chose me actually. Lol. I’ve been writing love stories since I was in middle school. It’s just what I’ve always seemed to be good at, and I like to tell love stories that have more of a real world feel to them. Not always the fluffy fairy tale with a neat and tidy happily ever after, but characters with real world flaws and obstacles to overcome to be with one another. I think that love really can conquer all, but it’s work and it takes effort. I like to tell stories of characters who are dedicated enough to one another to put forth that kind of effort.

And I love fantasy because I’m a bit of a rebel. I don’t like following rules so fantasy is fun because I have the freedom to make up my own. I also love creating worlds and creatures straight from my imagination.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

BR: For as long as I can remember, I have never wanted to be anything else. Even before I could write coherent sentences, I was making up stories and adventures in my head and playing them out with my stuffed animals. For the longest time, I didn’t realize that not everyone thought like that, lol. As soon as I realized that writing was the outlet for those stories, it was the only thing I ever wanted to do.

WP: What inspires you?

BR: Everything. Life, my experiences, traveling, my friends, my relationships. I tell everyone close to me they should watch out because they never know when I might use something of theirs in a story.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

BR: Music mostly. Music and lyrics are my main source of inspiration to help me set a scene or get over a certain obstacle. If that doesn’t work and I have a really bad case of writer’s block, I usually badger a close friend and bounce ideas off of them until something gives.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

BR: Jaide from Amaranth of the Wild Things. He was a very complicated and difficult character. Since he began the story as the villain, it was a challenge to write him redeeming enough for the reader to like him, but dark and ruthless enough for him to be believable. Throughout the process, because he was such a challenge to write, I fell absolutely in love with him and all his problems lol.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

BR: Nope. I tried mystery once a very long time ago and that was a disaster. I’m really horrible at it, lol. I’m happy with the genres I write. Sci-fi would be fun, but I don’t have the technical mind for it, and given my dislike of following rules, that would probably be a disaster too.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

BR: The main message I try to convey in almost all of my stories is to be true to yourself. Follow your dreams and reach for the stars. Carpe Diem is an ongoing theme. I also hope that I can tell a story that evokes emotions from my readers and leaves them feeling fulfilled or inspired in some way.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

BR: My latest release from Whimsical Publications was Stage Presents, Book 5 in the Serendipity Series, a series of mostly lighthearted contemporaries. I also re-released my fantasy novel Warrior’s Rise through World Castle Publications. Currently, I am in between projects, but look for more soon!

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

BR: My main website is www.brieannarobertson.com and you can follow me on my facebook page as well http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Brieanna-Robertson-Fantasy-and-Serendipity/224740111698

Interview with Pat Dale

2012-01-02T11:52:00.001-08:00

We have author Pat Dale here to share about himself and his writing! Everyone say hello :) Drop a comment below and have a chance to win a copy of either his book A Girl's Best Friend or Crossed Lines.

WP: What do you write?

P:I write a variety of genres; romance, romantic suspense, sagas, psychological suspense, and YA, but there’s a hint of romance in almost everything I write.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

P: I’ve never figured that out. My first effort was a mainstream novel that went on and on. It involved a lonely man’s quest for a proper companion and spoke of romance, though larger themes such as life and death got in the way of the romantic side of the story. After that, I wrote a group of funny romances, a couple of romantic suspense novels, and a smattering of non-romance books. Now I’m concentrating on mysteries and they also have that hint of romance in them. Can’t get away from it! LOL

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

P: I started writing while in college, but my music got in the way and I didn’t heed my English Profs who told me I should be a fiction author. Forty years later, I slowed down a bit and smelled the coffee. I’d written the first fifty or sixty pages of half a dozen novels over the years but never finished any of them. Then fifteen years ago, I started writing seriously and haven’t stopped yet. Go figure…

WP: What inspires you?

P: A beautiful sunrise or sunset. A rainy day when the water drops spatter over the sidewalk. A girl’s smile. A boy’s absentminded shuffle down the street. You name it and I get inspiration from it.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

P: Writer’s block usually occurs when I’ve written myself into a corner and it doesn’t play forward. If I stop and wait, I’ll get back on track. Sometimes I have to go to something else and get my mind totally off what I’ve been working on. Often, it’s my dips in mood that I mistake for writer’s block. I have very high highs and very low lows, and that affects my work more than anything else. I hate the lows but it’s a part of my system and allows me to have those highs where everything comes together like some kind of magic.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

P: My favorite female character is Molly Dennison, from that first book, (COMPANIONS), yet to be published. She epitomizes my idea of an admirable heroine, brought to a sorry position by factors beyond her control, yet she lets nothing or nobody hold her down. Literally an unsinkable Molly Brown.

My favorite male character is Daniel Quinn, a detective I’m still polishing for the mysteries in my new St. Louis Blues series, the first of which (TOCCATA) will be released next April. He’s a lovable rogue with disparate talents for jazz and detecting, along with an uncanny ability to attract women who can’t resist his charm.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

P: Just one. I’ve always wanted to write western stories, ala Zane Grey. Maybe some day, but at my age it’ll have to be soon. LOL

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

P: A sense of enjoyment and satisfaction from a story well told.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

P: Good news; I’m still alive and kicking. On a more serious note, I have a family saga, set in the eastern Missouri Ozarks due out in January. THE EVIL WITHIN is definitely not a romance and contains vicious scenes not for the faint of heart, including violent rape. The story of a soldier back from the war zone to recuperate from PTSD, hoping to find peace and quiet in his little home town. Instead, he finds the same sort of evil in his town, his family, and in his own heart that he’d tried to escape in Iraq.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

P: My website is: http://www.patdale.net but it’s a bit long in the tooth, due for a makeover very soon.

I also have a new website: http://www.pat-dale.com that will be up and running by early in the new year. It will be dedicated to my mystery and non-romantic writing. I also have an ongoing blog at: www.patdalesblog.blogspot.com where I opine on various topics on a more or less regular basis.

I invite all of you to drop by any of the sites to see where my dysfunctional brain has taken me recently.

Ah, who knows the idiosyncrasies of the human mind?

Interview with Destiny Booze

2011-12-26T14:28:00.000-08:00

Hello to author Destiny Booze, who is sharing about her writing this week. Comment below and have a chance to win a free pdf of one of her books!

WP: What do you write?

D: Romantic suspense novels and thrillers.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

D: I write what I love to read! I'm a huge follower of the romantic suspense genre. Have any recommendations for me? Send them my way.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

D: I began writing stories in Elementary School. It was an escape for me, a cheap form of therapy even, and still is. I love, love, love to write!

WP: What inspires you?

D: Everything, anything, or nothing. Friends, family, acquaintances, strangers. I'm a people-watcher for sure. I have a very active imagination and it frequently roams to places that I cannot explain. :)

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

D: Reading! If I get stuck at a certain spot in my story, I will reread it from beginning to end, and most often, that will get me back into the plot where I need to be. Or, I will take a step back and read something relaxing and entertaining, then return to my story. The creative juices usually take off again.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

D: Garrett from The Curse of a Mind. He is the autistic brother of the heroine. Writing from his point-of-view was a definite challenge, but his character really came to life for me, and he is my favorite character thus far! I truly fell in love with him.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

D: I've played around with a little science fiction and fantasy storylines that may turn into something in the future. We shall see.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

D: Hope. I believe in people. I think they can overcome any trial life throws at them, and the characters in my stories often do have to overcome some serious hardships from their pasts.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

D: I have a release scheduled for November 28, 2011! I'm so excited! It's called Accelerating Circumstances, and here's a blurb.

Jenny is different. She can read people’s minds.

At age seventeen, Jenny Reid was arrested for killing her own mother. There was no evidence that an intruder entered the house. No one believed her as a teenager when she tried to tell them how she felt the killer’s rage saturated within the walls, that she knew the presence of evil had been there. The police thought she was crazy, not psychic.

A conviction was never made in the case due to lack of evidence. Jenny is still the sole suspect, but now, she is doing something about it. She’s on the right side of the law, an FBI agent determined to finally find justice for her mom.

Two men stay by her side—William, her partner, a darkly intense agent with a scary past and Nate, a bad boy with too much charisma to be a good thing. But, no man will keep her from finding out the truth about her mom. The time has come to set things right.

Nothing will stand in her way. She’ll come up close with evil again and face the ultimate choice—kill or be killed in these ACCELERATING CIRCUMSTANCES.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

D: I'm all over the place out there. If you see me, be sure to say hello! Here's a few specific links to catch me.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Destiny-Booze/152893818389

Twitter: https://twitter.com/destinybooze

You can also find out more about me, my books, and where to contact me through my website at http://www.destinybooze.com

Interview with Danielle Thorne

2011-12-16T10:31:00.000-08:00

We have author Danielle Thorne sharing with us today! Comment below to win a free copy of a book of your choice penned by this awesome author!

WP: What do you write?

D: I'm a sweet romance writer concentrating on the contemporary and historical genres. This next year will be the release of my first Young Adult paranormal.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

D: I love history. The romance and adventure of the past is very real, and I hope to bring it to life as I create characters that I would like to meet. Writing contemporary romance is fun because there is more freedom to write from my own experience of places and situations.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

D: As soon as I could write sentences down and string ideas together I understood that I had an outlet that allowed me to escape and create. My second grade teacher made early predictions.

WP: What inspires you?

D: Traveling and experiencing new things really jumpstarts my creative juices. Also, watching classic movies and reading good books can inspire ideas.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

D: I have to walk away and let things stew for a while. However, the only real solution to writer's block is discipline, pure and simple.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

D: My favorite character I've created is Captain Julius Bertrand from THE PRIVATEER. I suppose I'm drawn to mysterious personalities, so I enjoyed portraying a complex character that not everyone gets. On the other hand, I know now that I have more writing experience I was far too close to him, but that doesn't change the fact that I'll always be enamored of him.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

D: My first paranormal will be released in 2012. This is definitely new territory for me.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

D: My wish is that readers will fall for my characters and enjoy a little getaway and adventure. I also hope to provide them with clean fiction and sweet romances that they can share with their friends and family.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

D: This October I traveled to Kentucky for a four author book signing where I gave away copies of one of my ebooks and signed print copies of Whimsical Publications', JOSETTE, my first Regency Romance that has really made me proud.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

D: My official website is http://www.daniellethorne.com

Readers can follow my blog at: http://www.thebalancedwriter.blogspot.com

Chase away those cold winter nights...

2011-12-14T10:39:00.000-08:00

With this great anthology!

Buy me

When the cold of winter sets in and your body shivers, warm up with a cup of hot chocolate, a warm blanket, a comfy chair and a good book. Join the authors as they share stories that will scare you, thrill you, delight you, break your heart and entertain you, all set with a winter theme.

Hearts of Fire by Regina Puckett
Mantequero by Jenny Twist
Christmas Angel by Sharon Donovan
Till Death Do Us Part by S.M. Senden
Long Winter by Paul McDermott
Christmas Hope by Jane Wakely
Burgers and Hot Chocolate by Angela Adams
Saving Santa by Melissa Hosack
If Only by Janet Durbin

EXCERPTS:

Fiction-Winter Anthology 2011
Whimsical Publications,
LLC/paperback, 174 pages
December 2011
$11.95

ISBN-13: 978-1-936167-66-1

--Christmas Hope--

Another Thanksgiving alone. Karen sighed as she took the cookies out of the oven. She wondered briefly if she should sell the bakery and move to Florida to be closer to her parents. She immediately
discarded the idea. She loved her shop, Delightful, and she worked hard to make it a success in this town, which she loved just as much.

Karen had grown up in Woodland Springs and wanted to live the rest of her life here. She’d dreamt of opening a bakery in the small town and did everything she could to make that dream happen.

She had other dreams, too. She wanted to get married and start a family. She wanted to be surrounded by friends and relatives. Unfortunately, while she’d stayed close to home for school, most
of her friends had traveled to far away colleges and never came back except on holidays. Her parents got tired of the cold winters and moved to Florida. She had made new friends, of course, but
sometimes she longed for things to be the way they used to be.

The holiday season was the worst time of the year for Karen. Not for business, but for her personal life. Maybe she should take a vacation. She would, but she didn’t want to close the store during the
busiest time of the year. The day after Thanksgiving, everyone started to come home for Christmas. Woodland Springs bustled with all of her old friends coming home to spend a white Christmas with
their families and share the experience of the Christmas Carnival with their children.

--Christmas Angel--

“I want an abortion,” Eve hissed, glaring at her husband as he struggled to control his SUV during a complete white-out on the northbound lane of Lake Shore Drive. Gusts of bitter wind howled, sleet pummeled the windows, turning one of Chicago’s main arteries into a car graveyard. She cranked up the radio, fiddling until she stumbled upon a rock song to her liking. “And I want a divorce.”

“You’re drunk,” Oliver said, dark eyes flashing in the oncoming traffic. “We’ll talk about this when you’re sober.”

“I’m not drunk, and we’ll talk about it now,” Eve said, turning up the radio a notch. “I’m sick to death of your self-righteous attitudes. Your constant moralizing drives me mad. I only had a few drinks. It was a Christmas party, after all.”

“A few drinks?” Oliver snorted, skidding on the off-ramp from Stevenson Expressway. “Don’t make me laugh. You were tilting back that Sangria like it was cherry soda. You’re pregnant and shouldn’t be drinking at all. You shoulda seen yourself out there on the dance floor in that skin-tight red dress, rubbing up to all the male jockeys, shimmying and kicking up your stiletto heels like you were a
contestant in Dancing With the Stars. You looked ridiculous. Everyone was laughing and pointing. Honey, you made a royal ass of yourself.”

--Mantequero--

June stood at the edge of the precipice, the wind whipping at her clothes as she looked down into the crevasse. Far below, the river was a tiny silver snake. An eagle circled beneath her, its wings stained red with the light from the setting sun. What would it feel like, she wondered. What would it be like to just lean forward and launch yourself into the void? She imagined herself gliding on the warm air currents, floating, gradually going down, down... You would just have to flex your legs and arch your arms upwards into the air. Unconsciously, she flexed her legs.

“No!” Strong fingers gripped her shoulders and pulled her back from the edge.

She turned to look at her would-be saviour and smiled.

He was a young man, tall for a Spaniard, and pale, but with that arrogant beauty so many young Spaniards had. His eyes were so dark they were almost black below the sweeping lashes.

“Hello, Beautiful,” he said.

--Hearts on Fire--

“Look at those eyes! They’re absolutely gorgeous.”

Even with two heavy trays precariously balanced under each arm, Jordan managed a quick glance in the direction Katie was pointing, but didn’t get to see too much of the man her friend was gushing
over before one of the trays began slipping. She leaned sideways to compensate for the extra weight and when that didn’t help; she wrapped the ends of her fingertips around the edge of the tray to try to keep it from dropping onto the floor and splattering green beans everywhere. With one knee balancing the tottering tray and the other leg braced inwards to offset the awkward position, she gave
a snort of disbelief. “Really, you’re drooling over Santa Claus?”

Katie reached over and grabbed the tray Jordan was trying so desperately not to drop onto the floor. “Don’t be silly. That’s not the real Santa Claus.”

With thirty children under ten years of age milling around, Jordan didn’t want to begin a long, drawn-out conversation about whether or not Katie still believed in Santa Claus, so she set the remaining
tray onto the nearest table and nodded. “You might be right, but even if that is true, the guy is way too old for you.”

Katie set the green beans next to the Jordan’s tray and spun around again. She was quiet for a moment before declaring to everyone within listening distance. “I don’t think so. He appears to be
close to our age, but then it’s really hard to tell with that ugly beard covering up most of his face.”

--The December Bride--

Missy Dewing Jenkins believed she had finally achieved what she had worked so hard to get in her life. It had taken her over forty-eight years and two failed marriages to get it, but she was sure things would now be just as she had always dreamed they would be, because she believed that finally, at long last, she had arrived.

It was the first of December and her wedding day. She had always dreamt of a winter wedding, the world dressed in white and her own dress as pure white as snow. The night before Mother Nature had
obliged her by making the world a winter wonderland, six inches of new snow glistened in the sunlight like sugar spilled across the landscape.

She loved the snow, the winter and the cold. She had been called an Ice Maiden before and it had pleased her. It sounded so clean, so perfect, and so much like the woman she aspired to be. Now it
was all coming true like the Snow Maiden’s dream of her Prince of Winter who rescues her.

Missy knew she had found her prince. At last she had married Kevin Jenkins, the man of her frozen reveries; the man who was going to fulfill all her hopes and dreams.

--Burgers and Hot Chocolate--

All of Main Street heard Bing Crosby crooning “White Christmas” from Sparks Café. Huge silver bells and glittery red garland decorated the streetlamps. Bright, colorful Christmas lights hung in store windows. As a dry, brash cold nipped the air, a soft dusting of snow sprinkled the cars and sidewalks. The white flakes added to the festive mood that spread through the quaint, coastal village of Magic
Lake Island. More snow was being forecasted for later in the week. It appeared Bing’s dream of a white Christmas had a good chance of coming true.

As I strolled along the brick path, I mingled and exchanged friendly greetings with the holiday shoppers. This was the aspect of small town living I enjoyed the most. Practically everyone knew each
other, and often for those who didn’t, tossing a smile or a pleasant nod was still the norm. Even if they had just passed each other in the supermarket no more than thirty minutes beforehand, folks always
greeted one another as if they hadn’t been together for years. It was the Friday before Christmas and the town folks celebrated the merriment of the season.

I turned the corner and trotted up the freshly swept steps of a red brick building. Easing open the door, I stepped inside and felt the immediate hot rush of radiator heat. The room was nearly filled to
capacity. Parents, grandparents and anyone with an attachment to a school-age child ambled through, searching for available seats. In typical Magic Lake fashion smiles, hellos, and handshakes
were being exchanged.

This afternoon was the Magic Lake Elementary School Holiday Concert. Framed by evergreens with strings of holly and twinkling lights suspended from the ceiling, the auditorium looked cheerful, warm and inviting. I stood by a pair of double doors in the back which had a pine wreath hanging on each wooden panel. Pulling off my wool gloves, I scanned the massive hall for a vacant seat. While I
wanted to be able to see and enjoy the show, I felt the choice seats upfront belonged to family. I was just a volunteer in the After School Program. I helped by serving snacks, assisting with playground
activities, aiding children with homework, and playing board games with them while they waited for parents to pick them up after finishing work.

"Miss Theresa, Miss Theresa, you’re here!”

--Long Winter--

“And for tonight's weather… There’s no end in sight for the current freezing conditions, I'm afraid…“

Tom sighed, and turned the radio off. “So true…“ The words, although he'd spoken them sotto voce, without conscious thought, ricocheted accusingly around the spartan tiled kitchen. There were no drapes, curtains or other softer surfaces to restrict the madcap mocking cacophony in the crockery.

'Talking to yourself again; it'll get you locked up if someone ever hears you,' he thought to himself and shrugged. What were the chances of anyone intruding on his late night loneliness? All but zero, he told himself as he debated whether he could really be bothered to brew another pot of coffee. Besides, it was a bad habit, and one he had to lose before it became a problem.

In a fortnight he'd be writing May on his correspondence, and Britain had been Iceland.com since…he paused and thought back. There was no doubt about it: mid-October. Six months, already, and no end in sight. Who'd have thought winter in the UK could ever last this long?

For no reason, a melody threaded its way through his brain, and he knew immediately it would haunt him for hours on end. Such melodies and their associated lyrics invariably did. He'd discovered a long time ago that this was one of the drawbacks of being a writer. For no apparent reason, he recalled that he’d first heard it as a child, on a pre-recorded BBC Music program designed to help non-
specialists to teach young children to sing.

--If Only--

Her father normally ran the business, but he was home sick. Mother felt obliged to stay with him, as usual, hence the reason she was here instead of home studying. She didn’t mind, though. It made her
feel good to be able to help her parents.

Sitting on the tall stool, Jenny looked down at the book lying open on the counter before her again. It was math, one of her worst subjects. She hated this class, but knew it was necessary if she was going to graduate in the spring.

Several hours passed and darkness blanketed everything outside before she knew it. The lights inside the store were bright enough to allow her to see the math problems easily, though, so she
returned her attention to the pages. She was intent on having her homework finished as soon as possible so she could enjoy the rest of the weekend.

It startled her when the door chimed, because she never saw lights from a car indicating anyone had arrived at the store. She looked up at the person or persons entering the building with a sigh of relief.
Customers allowed her to get away from the torture of school work for a little while. There were three people, all of them young men. Jenny didn’t recognize any of them which was unusual because her father’s store was the central hub for the residents in this part of town. There was no other place to get gas and small groceries. Two of the men were shorter and had blond hair. The third was tall. His long, dark flowing hair mesmerized her. All three were very handsome, but he stood out to her the most.

“We need beer. I bet its back here,” one of the blonds said as he hopped toward the back of the store.

“Mercedes, you stupid nut, what do we need beer for?” the other blond asked as he followed.

“Because I want it…that’s why.”

The dark haired man remained close to the counter, staring at Jenny. His eyes were as black as the night. They were captivating.

She felt uncomfortable, her heart racing. She wasn’t sure what his intentions were. Was he going to rob the store? Were he and his friends going to attack her? Or were they just there for beer?

“Raymond, you want any?”

The man wearing a white t-shirt, black leather pants and a long black coat never took his eyes off her as he spoke, “No, not this time, Ben.”

“Suit yourself, man. Your loss.”

--Saving Santa--

I’ve always been a big fan of the Christmas season. As a child, I would stomp through the snow-covered woods near our home to pick out the perfect tree with my father. The two of us would then
drag it home where my mother and sister were waiting with warm eggnog, another holiday favorite. Every year, I wrote a letter to Santa, believing in my heart that he would read it with care.

As an adult, my love of the holiday hasn’t diminished. I now live in a big city, so I’ve traded in the fresh pine for a fake tree equipped with built-in twinkly lights. Nowadays, I spike my eggnog, too. I still write
that letter to Santa, but I no longer mail it to the North Pole.

With all my gusto for the holidays, nothing prepared me for the couple that stood expectantly outside my apartment door. I’d just finished lugging my tree up from storage when I heard the persistent
knock. Dropping the awkward box, I threw open the door with a cheery smile. “Hell…o…” I trailed off in
surprise.

In the hallway were a man and woman, both no taller than four feet. They were dressed in attire that would have fit right in with the Christmas setup at the mall. They wore green and red elf costumes
made of a fine looking velvet, their outfits completed by little bells on the tips of their shoes and hats.

“Cara Faulk?” the woman inquired in a squeaky yet angelic voice. On my stunned nod, she continued, “I’m Emma. This is Bernie.” When the man didn’t respond, Emma elbowed him in the ribs,
finally producing a cordial nod. “We’re…” She glanced at Bernie before turning back to me with a winning smile. “We’re here to congratulate you on your sweepstakes winning! You’re in for a real
treat. You’ve won an all-expense paid vacation for the weeks leading up to Christmas.”

Interview with Regina Puckett

2011-12-09T11:45:00.000-08:00

Whimsical author Regina Puckett is here to share with us today. Comment below and get a chance to win a free copy of her novel Waiting for Mary Elizabeth!

WP: What do you write?

R: All of my stories are sweet romances.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

R: I love writing about falling in love. I began swapping short stories with a good friend in the eighth grade. Things were going well until my mother found out. She was quick to put a stop to my new writing interest, but even a mother can’t stop what is meant to be. Even at that young age my stories were more about the beginning stages of falling in love than what happens after the wedding.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

R: I can’t think of a better career to have. Words are powerful things. Writers create worlds that millions of other people can go visit for a short time. Writers can make people laugh or cry. There are people out there that actually create brand new worlds from nothing more than their imaginations.

There’s no other job out there that let’s me create the perfect man or a love that lasts forever.

WP: What inspires you?

R: Little things catch my attention and they slowly worm their way into my thoughts and daydreams. I find myself wondering, what if… Of course then I have to pull all of those what ifs together and make a complete story out of them. My biggest what if came from a dream I had several years ago. I dreamed I had to raise another woman’s child. The real journey came the next day when I couldn’t get the dream out of my mind. I slowly built on the dream for about three years until I decided I had to write all of my daydreams down and before I knew it I had the first book in my Warren family series.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

R: I hate writer’s block. It really stopped me in my tracks on book four of my Warren family series. It kept me blocked for about three years. I would write four chapters and then come to a complete roadblock about where the story was going. I would hate everything about the book so I would tear it all up and completely start all over again. I went back to the beginning five times on Love’s Great Plan. I actually wrote book five and had it completely edited before I understood my two main characters in book four. Once I understood my main characters the book was easy to write. I really believe the only way to get over writer’s block is to keep writing.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

R: Gregory Blackwell is the man I wish every man could really be. He is my main character in my newest novel, Waiting for Mary Elizabeth. He is not only gorgeous and sensitive but also has so much integrity. He’s the man every woman wants for a partner.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

R: I envy writers who write good mysteries. It would be great to be able to create such a good puzzle that the readers can’t wait to find out what the answer to it is.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

R: I hope to able to keep my readers entertained for a few hours. I know when I read, I like to escape my day to day life and slip into someone else’s shoes for a short time. When it’s a love story, I want to fall in love, and if it’s a mystery, I want to able to solve it before the end of the book. I want to create characters the readers can relate to. I want everyone to care enough to fall in love right along with my couple. When someone tells me that I made them cry or laugh, I know then that my characters were people the readers were able to really care about.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

R: I have a book signing on January 7, between the hours of 2 and 4 for my latest sweet romance, Waiting for Mary Elizabeth. The signing will be at Hasting Bookstore at 1660 Memorial Boulevard, Murfreesboro, Tennessee 37130.

My short story, Hearts on Fire, will be released in a Winter Anthology at the end of 2011 by Whimsical Publications.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

R: http://reginapuckettsbooks.weebly.com

https://twitter.com/#!/ReginaPucket

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12377576-waiting-for-mary-elizabeth

Interview with Diane Craver

2011-12-02T10:21:00.000-08:00

Today we have Whimsical Author Diane Craver here to share about her work and herself. Comment and be entered to win a $10 Amazon gift card!

WP: What do you write?

D: I write a variety of genres. I write historical fiction, inspirational romance, contemporary sweet romance, chick-lit mystery, and women’s fiction.

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?

D: I first published in non-fiction but realized it was more fun and a wonderful escape to write fiction. I enjoy giving interesting careers to my heroines and heroes. I especially love writing dialogue.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?

D: I’ve always enjoyed writing but when our oldest daughter Sara was a toddler, I started writing non-fiction. I wrote a partial manuscript, Born to Love, about her and how my faith became stronger as a result of having Sara. It was very therapeutic for me to examine my faith and to learn to give thanks to God for our situation of having a child with special needs. I never finished the book, but several articles about my faith journey were published in various Christian magazines. I also have had articles published in Woman’s Weekly and other publications.

WP: What inspires you?

D: Different things inspire me. It might be something I hear from a television newscast and it makes me think of a story I want to write. Sometimes it might be a personal experience of mine but I will fictionalize it. My historical fiction, A Christmas Gift, was inspired by my father. I had thought of writing a story about him for a long time. His life was hard with his mother’s rejection at a young age so he was raised by various relatives. Some homes were better than others, because he stayed at times with an alcoholic uncle. Even though both parents deserted him, he had a deep faith and was able to be a good father to me and my siblings.

Also I wanted the young daughter to be the one to help her dad with his disability. I thought it fitting that she could make him believe that his obstacle could still be overcome at his age. In turn, he gives her a beautiful gift that comes from his heart.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?

D: I take a break and do something else. Usually ideas will come to me while I’m away from writing so I can return with a refreshed mind and realize what needs to be written next.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?

D: That’s a tough question. There are two characters I probably enjoyed writing the most. They are Whitney Benson and Debby Reeves. Whitney is a former New York producer and moves back home to take care of her ill mother. I can relate to Whitney because she’s the youngest sister and has two older sisters. I happen to have three older sisters so it was fun to write Whitney in Charge with older sisters playing matchmaker to their little sis. And, of course, I have to say Debby is one of my favorites because she’s so like I was at a young age…a brat but lovable. LOL Debby is a character in A Christmas Gift.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?

D: I don’t have any genre I’d like to try.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

D: I hope my stories will be a wonderful and fun escape for readers. I enjoy writing scenes with humorous dialogue. Before I’m completely satisfied with my work in progress, I must do tons of rewrites. I always try to write the best book possible. I hope my readers will be inspired and come away with a feeling of satisfaction and hope.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?

D: My latest release is The Proposal and it sells now for 99 cents by itself. It was published in a Christmas anthology a year ago with 3 other authors. I’m thrilled to have my sweet contemporary romance available this season on Amazon and Smashwords. Another Christmas book to enjoy is A Christmas Gift and I’m happy to say it’s available in both paperback and ebook. To purchase a copy, visit these sites: Whimsical Publications, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and Smashwords.

I’m a contributor to a brand new cookbook! The title is Sweet Sunshine: Baking Sweet Memories and it’s in ebook format and paperback. The authors will not receive any royalty money and all the profits go to a worthy charity. Within these pages, several featured authors have shared a childhood memory, some pictures of us as little kids, recipes, and a few have written a story, complete with artwork and coloring pages. Recipes include; Cookies, Cakes, Pies, Desserts, Fudge & Smoothies! It’s available on Amazon.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?

D: My blog is http://www.dianecraver.com/blog and my website is http://www.dianecraver.com. To read book excerpts and other writing information, please visit my website and blog. If you leave comments on my blog, you’ll be entered to win my frequent giveaways.

Interview with Anne Patrick

2011-11-25T08:05:00.000-08:00

We have Whimsical author Anne Patrick here to tell us a little bit more about herself and her books today. Let's all give her a warm hello! Comment below and have a chance to win a free copy of her book Journey to Redemption!

WP: What do you write?
A: Inspirational romantic suspense & inspirational romance

WP: Why do you choose the genres you do?
A: I'm a suspense junkie. It's in my blood. And everyone needs romance in their life.

WP: What made you first want to be a writer?
A: I can't remember a time when I wasn't making up stories in my head. Writing them down just came naturally.

WP: What inspires you?
A: Life. There are stories all around us.

WP: What kicks the brain into gear when you have writer’s block?
A: Reading and long walks.

WP: Who is your favorite character you have created?
A: I have two. Sadie in Fire and Ash, and Maggie in Reservations for Two.

WP: Is there any genre you want to try, but haven’t yet?
A: No. I'm comfortable where I am. Maybe in the future. I write what's on my heart.

WP: What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?
A: I not only want them to enjoy the adventure, my hope is that it touched them in some way...inspired them.

WP: What’s your latest news and do you have anything releasing soon?
A: I have a new inspirational, Renegade Hearts, and a new suspense, Kill Shot: Wounded Heroes Book One.

WP: Where can we find you on the web?
A: My website: http:www.annepatrick.weebly.com and my blog: http://www.suspensebyanne.blogspot.com

Put this one on your list!

2011-11-22T18:07:00.000-08:00

Buy me

Justin Reeves is a man who has it all: a good job, a loving wife and children who are the center of his
universe. Justin also has a secret he's hidden from everyone his entire life—or so he thought. Quite
innocently his small daughter, Debby, stumbles upon his secret and is shocked by what she finds. She
confronts her father with the awful truth, and together they embark upon a journey which takes her father
from the darkness of shame into the light of victory.

Drawing from true events in her own childhood, author Diane Craver captivates the reader from page
one to a stunning climax which will touch your heart and impact your life forever in this must-read story of
love's triumph over adversity.

EXCERPT:

PROLOGUE

It was 1957 when I saw something that I wasn’t meant to see. I have never forgotten this night because it
had such an impact on me. I was only seven years old, and what I saw my father doing confused me.
Finally, I had enough courage to ask my mother about it. After she explained everything to me, I was
shocked and saddened.

What happened after I learned my father’s greatest secret was extraordinary to our family. When my
father, Justin L. Reeves, decided to conquer an overwhelming disability in life, he was fifty-four years
old. He gave our family an incredible gift to last a lifetime because of what he accomplished at this age.
His triumph made me into the woman I am today. My three older siblings were able to make the best
decisions of their adult lives because of our father's influence.

This is a story of determination and hope. My father's journey was not easy. But if it had been easy, I
wouldn't be telling his story now. After you finish reading this book, I pray that the true meaning will linger
in your heart and mind; just as the outcome of my long ago memory has remained in my soul for fifty-
three years.

My name is Debra Reeves Cunningham, and I am sixty years old. It’s not hard to take you back to the
beginning in 1957 when I was seven. My life was good and simple. My memories of this wonderful year
are crystal clear. We lived on a farm with eighty acres outside of Findlay, Ohio. My petite mother, Lucille,
worked hard doing whatever needed to be done on the farm. She was a big help to my dad when it came
to dairy chores. With no milking machines, they milked seven cows by hand in the morning and again in
the evening.

My siblings didn't help with this time-consuming job. My oldest sister, Gail, was twenty-five and lived at
home, but not by her choice. Whenever she mentioned moving to an apartment, our mother insisted that
wouldn’t be proper for a single woman. Gail worked as a secretary at the impressive Ohio Oil Company
in Findlay. She always dressed in pretty clothes and went out on dates all the time.

My brother, Carl, at the age of twenty-one was in the Army, and he hated it. He wrote me the best letters.
The past summer, we all traveled in our blue Mercury car to visit him in North Carolina.

Next in the family was my fourteen-year-old sister, Kathy. We shared a bedroom, and she never
complained about sharing a room with a younger sister. She only worried about not being able to dance.
From the time she was a small child, she wanted to be a dancer. She watched all the Shirley Temple
movies and practiced on the kitchen linoleum floor. I was told how her dancing entertained me when I
was a fussy baby with teething pain.

A short time after Kathy celebrated her seventh birthday, she was stricken with polio. She wore a brace
on her left leg because the polio had weakened these muscles. Dancing was no longer a realistic dream
for Kathy.

It's time to take you back to the night when what I saw made me question everything. From my siblings, I
learned that sometimes we see only what we want to see, and only face the truth when we can no longer
deny it. I remember everything about that night so well. In my mind I see my bare feet softly walking down
twenty-two steps. I enjoyed counting the steps and jumping off the last one.

It drove Gail crazy whenever she was in a hurry and be-hind me. “Why do you have to count these
stupid steps all the time?”

“I like to count them. I always get twenty-two.”

And so on this particular night I counted them again. With no light on to guide my footsteps, I didn't want
to fall in the dark. I didn't switch the hallway light on because it would shine through the register. My
parents might wake up and see the light from their bedroom. Mommy liked to keep a door open for air
circulation in their small room. I knew that I had to be very quiet since I wasn't supposed to be up at this
late hour. I skipped the jump off the last step so my parents wouldn't hear me. With a racing heart, I
slowly opened the old stairway door, hoping it wouldn't make a sound.

Have you missed this one?

2011-10-24T16:39:00.000-07:00

Don't miss out!

Buy here

Retired from the Marine Corps and the California Department of Corrections, Major Matt Rommel's life has been one long exercise in applied violence. The gold rush in internet stocks made him a wealthy man. Now, he is a docent at San Francisco's Palace of the Legion of Honor. He spends his days surrounded by art treasures and his nights in the Mission District at Vince's bar. Matt Rommel is a grizzled combat veteran who is afraid of women.

The roller-coaster years of the internet boom and bust have also changed the life of Carolyn Kast, leaving her with a failed marriage to a man committed only to his forlorn hope of a technology company. Now, Carolyn is a single mother in her middle forties with a troubled six-year-old daughter who is obsessed with the scarred, giant of a man she saw on a visit to the museum.

As Carolyn struggles to make a living at her fledgling ad agency, Brand Loyalty, and keep her two new partners from each other's throats, it is becoming clear that someone is trying to kill her. Carolyn is at a loss for either a motive or a suspect.

But her daughter Aubrey knows what to do. Go to the man she has decided is an enforcer for Santa Claus: The Scary Man!

EXCERPT:

Matt Rommel stood at the door, a thoroughly surprised man. That, in itself, gave Carolyn Kast some satisfaction. She was still uncomfortable. How was she going to explain herself?

“Madam, what are you doing here? How else have I transgressed? What new injury have I perpetrated?”

Carolyn looked at Matt Rommel. “You could invite me in.”

“Yes, of course. Won't you please come in?”

Carolyn stepped into the foyer, making a deliberate effort not to be seen looking around, surveying the home, any gesture that could be interpreted as mercantile. She had to know. What was this man doing? Was he living in one place and pretending to live somewhere else? Why? Of course, she knew that before she could reasonably ask, she was going to explain why she was here at all. How was she going to explain her own actions first?

“You're probably wondering why I am here,” she began.

Matt Rommel motioned toward the spacious living room, its carpets and furniture a careful study in tans, browns and gold. The ceilings were high, but it still seemed warm. “Would you like to sit down?”

This reception was much different from the one above Vince's bar. Carolyn had an insight. This was his home and, being his home, the demands of hospitality were greater. “No thank you,” she said. “When I left the bar, I got turned around in traffic. When I finally got things straightened out, I noticed your Cadillac. You were driving so slowly that I thought you might be having car trouble so I followed you in case you had to pull over. When you pulled into the garage, it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't car trouble. I thought maybe you were ill, so I…”

“Knocked on the door to see if I was all right?” Rommel ventured.

“Exactly. I gather you are. All right, I mean,” Carolyn continued.

“Yes, thank you. I'm fine.”

“I'm glad,” she said. “Well, I have to be going. You just remember that little talk we had.”

“About respecting your privacy?”

“Yes.” Carolyn flushed scarlet. However lame it seemed, it was apparent that Mr. Rommel was prepared to accept the pretense so she would just have to bluff her way through. As she stood, a chirpy tune blared from her purse. “I'm sorry. I have to get this,” she said, answering the cell phone.

“Carolyn Kast.”

“It's me, Denni. Are you still in the City?”

“Yes, but I'm just leaving, and I should be there to pick up Aubrey in less than an hour.”

“I don't think so,” Denni responded. Her tone seemed strained.

“Why? Is something wrong?” Without knowing why, she braced herself. She could see, both Mr. Rommel and the dog were responding to her tension, studying her.

“The San Francisco Police called. They need you to meet them back at the office” Denni spoke slowly, choosing her few words with care. “Sarah has been murdered.”

Need some suspense in your off time?

2011-10-11T14:17:00.001-07:00

Then this book is for you!

Buy me

Angelica Chappell’s story made huge headlines. Only a few months ago, she released a new
pharmaceutical drug called Krytonix that effectively slows the spread of cancer cells. She had no idea her story would attract the attention of a serial killer. Suddenly, she is a target whether she realizes it or not. This killer is interested in more than her life. He wants her reputation, too. His first mission is to sabotage Krytonix.

William Pierce worked undercover for the FBI for five years to bring down a ruthless mobster that he ultimately is forced to kill. Two months have passed by since that assignment. Still, William saw things he can’t talk about. He did things he can’t talk about. He believes his soul is damned. Returning to “normal” everyday life isn’t an option. He isn’t the same man he used to be. He refuses to return to FBI headquarters, and instead, becomes a rogue agent with an agenda.

When Pierce's agenda leads him to Chappell, it will take both of them to keep Angelica alive and figure out who is after her. William soon finds himself developing feelings for Angelica. Too bad for her killer, William worked as a trained hit-man for the mob. Will he find her killer and hand him over to the legal system to see that justice is served, or will he search and destroy?

EXCERPT:

She wished he would leave her alone. She even considered putting up the optional privacy window between the front and back of the car. Of course she wasn’t okay. Didn’t he understand just how serious this situation was?

“Want me to turn the radio to that funky station you like?”

The “funky” music he referred to was a hip-hop channel that played a combination of some rock, some rhythm and blues, and a bit of rap. It was actually the most listened to station of the area. It was also Patrick’s favorite. The old man had odd tastes. One of her grandfather’s rules was that the station had to be turned off, or tuned into a classical station unless otherwise requested by the passenger. That rule applied to Chappell family or guests. Patrick was asking if she wanted that music so he could listen to what he really wanted to. She wondered if he knew she was onto his little deception.

“Sure,” she said.

“Here you go.”

A new Justin Timberlake song filled the car. It didn’t help Angelica to relax. Her chest burned with stress and fear. The air she breathed actually hurt. Her life as she knew it could be over.

After another couple of minutes, Patrick tried again to start a conversation. “This will blow over, honey. Trust me. Everything does. People aren’t going to blame you. Everybody loves you.”

He was so wrong on so many levels. The public would want someone to blame and she would get that honor. She would be crucified. She expected that reaction and it was justifiable. She knew the burden was hers. Truth be told, she didn’t care what people thought and never had. Why should she? She never saw anyone outside of the lab anyway. She didn’t care if people hated her because of Krytonix. She did care that people were going to die because of her drug. It was her failure. It was her responsibility to figure out what was wrong. People’s lives were on the line. She accepted that accountability.

“Oh shit. Hang on.”

The hair on Angelica’s neck stood up when she heard the panic in Patrick’s statement. Her stomach nosedived to her feet and returned in utter turmoil. Her eyes darted to the road to find the source of the problem. They were close to home, a quiet part of town where tourists didn’t venture and traffic was far less dense. The road was curvy, leading to a steep grade to the top of a deserted hillside that held the Chappell Mansion.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Patrick said again.

They were traveling much too fast for the winding road, even heading uphill. Patrick was wildly stomping on the brake, but nothing was happening. The car continued to accelerate as if he held the gas to the floor. He fought for control of the steering wheel, but it looked as if it simply rotated round and round with the ease of an arcade game. Patrick’s face was flushed bright crimson and sweating, his eyes wide and glazed.

“Do something!” Angelica cried in desperation, torn between shock and fear.

It was obvious Patrick was doing his best. The sharp curve before them would be upon them in seconds, and unless some kind of miracle intervened, they were going straight ahead—over a sand dune and into the ocean.

Angelica grabbed onto the seat and held as tightly as she could. The car continued to accelerate. Everything seemed loud. Patrick was groaning. The radio was blasting. The roar of the tires was like drums beating a tune of anticipation.

In the last second, when all possible hope of rescue was gone, Patrick screamed. Angelica dipped her head in her lap and closed her eyes. The Lord’s Prayer was on her lips when she felt the car lurch into the air and plummet into empty space.

NEW! Don't miss this great mystery

2011-10-03T10:42:00.001-07:00

Buy me

When the case of an alleged suicide of a local poet is handed to her detective boyfriend, and things just don't add up, Police department counselor Alayne Vaughan pursues the case, almost losing her love,
career

-and life-

in the process.

EXCERPT:

“Yes, I mean, in the middle of a protective order, you don’t sleep with your ex. How can you do this kind of work?”

“Lance, we slept together in the middle of my restraining order.”

“Those restraining orders don’t mean anything.” Lance moved his chair back from the table so he could sit with his legs spread wide.

“My boss took it pretty seriously.” Alayne was in the last month of her six months’ probationary period at her job, so she could still get fired.

He flapped his hand. “The only reason Norma Jean got one—she knew the judge. What Norma Jean wants, she gets.” He frowned. “And now she wants me.”

“She has you.”

“No—marriage.”

“Well, you knew there’d be a price to pay.”

“I would rather marry you than her.”

Another country music song yodeled to a close. “Can you see what you’re playing at?” When she was mad, Alayne occasionally slipped into her mother’s phrasings. “When it’s safe, you come forward. If I
moved one step toward you, you’d run a mile. Angel does the same thing.”

“If he was here, he probably wouldn‘t even let me talk to you, right? You know I never stopped you from talking to whoever you wanted to.”

“At least I know he cares.”

“Then why are you here all alone?”

“He’s mad because I keep wanting to find out what’s happening in his case. Remember that night we went to the poetry reading—Kaitlin Sommers?”

“That girl who killed herself?”

She nodded. “Did you think she was beautiful?” She had been jealous of Kaitlin that night at the reading. She had accused Lance of staring at her, but he pointed out that as Kaitlin was the only person on stage, who was he supposed to look at?

“Sure…what a waste.” At his words, she realized she experienced no jealousy. She was over him!

“It might not have been suicide.” Alayne pitched her voice lower. Not that anyone had returned from the dance floor. “Supposedly, she had coke residue in her nasal passages, and there was a dirty condom under the bed, freshly used.”

“Why would you kill yourself after having sex?”

“I can think of all sorts of reasons,” she said. “But Angel won’t even try to find out who it was.”

“He’s the investigator?”

“Yeah, but he’s convinced it’s suicide—the gun shot wound, the suicidal tendencies.”

“And you don’t think so?”

“I’m going to look into her death, find out what happened.”

Alayne was about to tell him more when, suddenly, a flash of white descended on them—Mary Beth in her wedding dress. “You can’t spend the whole night talking to people you already know. Circulate!”

After Lance left, Alayne pretended to be absorbed in her wedding cake, but the granules of sugar coagulated in her throat. As she convulsively tried to swallow, she told herself she had done the right
thing by leaving Lance. He had cheated on her with Norma Jean.

Then why was she sitting at a wedding reception alone while he danced with a rich, blond lawyer? And why, on the nights she had been unable to sleep, had she driven out to West Lake Hills to see where they now lived together? That last night—she still couldn’t think of it as stalking even though that’s what Norma Jean had called it in the police report—the sleek black BMW in Norma Jean’s slanting driveway had invited Alayne to stop her own little Toyota, grab the jack from the back, and smash in the head and tail lights of
the BMW. Alayne would have broken the windshield, but hadn’t known until she took a big thwack, that it was basically impenetrable. She had scuttled away, horrified at how far she had gone. Norma Jean’s house had been dark, but at the sound of glass breaking and neighboring dogs barking, lights flickered on before Alayne drove off, her foot shaking on the accelerator.

Go on a Journey...

2011-09-21T10:59:00.001-07:00

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Author Mark McGrath discovers that to raise four children as a single parent, along with continuing a career in nursing, he needs more than a pair of ruby red slippers. He needs the help of family and friends. Tears and laughter flourish throughout his many adventures, trials and unforgettable moments as a nurse and as a father. Join him as he makes...

the journey home.

EXCERPT:

And we all continued to watch Rico.

Still he struggled, and his breathing remained in the high forties. His daughters were each holding an arm and his wife was stroking his face telling him it was all okay now, that they would be fine and to please go to wherever he needed to go. They all told him to let go, that the family loved him and would miss him, but that his suffering needed to end. His breathing came in short pants, much as a winded athlete breathes after a long race or shift of ice time on a hockey rink (something yours truly can personally relate to).

I listened silently and struggled with the scene myself as it was heart rendering and touching to
witness. I thought to myself how lucky he was to have a family who loved him so much that they wanted him to die so that the pain and illness he was suffering would finally come to an end. The girls were begging Daddy to please let go and stop suffering. The sobs coming from them were unbearable for me to hear.

I watched intensely as another half hour rolled past and Rico continued to writhe and moan. As soon as I was able, I increased the drop rate to eight mg an hour and went about monitoring his progress. His respiration rate dropped from the mid fifties to around forty. But even though the rate had dropped, he still was uncomfortable and was extremely rest-less.

I called Barbara when I increased the rate and asked her to please come speak with me on my dinner break. She told me she would be there shortly and to meet her in the conference room. I told her I would and got myself ready to leave for a well deserved half hour break.

I quickly gave my relief nurse an overview of what was going on and told her that I would change the drip rate if needed when I came back. Both of Rico’s daughters had left to get something to eat themselves and his wife had her head on his hand in what seemed to be a prayer vigil.

I met Barbara in the conference room and gave her the latest news on how he was doing. She knew I was still struggling with things and she sat listening again about how I felt. I told her that I felt I was contributing to his death and that I was having an issue increasing the drip to 16 mg.

What she said to me made a profound difference in how I have approached life and death since that day in the ICU. She told me to put myself in Rico’s place, and asked what would I want?

“Not to be in pain, that’s for sure,” was the first thing I said.

“Mark, he is terminal. You are smart enough to under-stand what’s happening and know that nothing more can be done. The family wants his suffering to stop. Whether he dies now, five minutes from now or five hours from now, don’t you think that the best thing is be humane and make him as comfortable as you can? You can’t kill someone with humanity, Mark. What you can do is treat him as best as you can given what you know, and make the last hours as pain free and comfortable as humanly possible. You need to increase the drip and not worry about how things look. Remember that you are the nurse in charge of making sure he is getting what he needs to be comfortable and pain free. If that was you there, what would you want your family to tell me to do?”

As I listened to her words, I realized that she was right. Both rules applied here: he was one of those patients who got sicker and was going to die, and nothing I knew or did would ever change the fact that he was going to die. So, I did what I would want someone to do for me in my time of dying, in pain, and suffering unbearably.

I went back into the ICU and turned the drip rate to 16 mg.

Outline of Murder- Now available!

2011-09-13T14:34:00.000-07:00

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Tired of the politics as well as the bureaucracy of his job, Lieutenant Brad Schrader is contemplating early retirement and pursuit of another career, that of a mystery writer. His endeavors prove useless when he’s called upon to investigate the murder of Melody Anselmo, a Radio City Music Hall Rockette. While searching for the killer, Brad becomes personally involved with the twin sister of the victim.

The story is based on Lieutenant Brad Schrader’s notes while working the case with his partner, Sergeant Detective Phil Barrecca. During the investigation, the pair discover something neither ever expected, something best left unsaid. They agree to let matters rest and not expose the killer even though they know the consequences of their actions could be disastrous.

To this date, the murder of Melody Anselmo is still on the books as a cold case in New York City.

EXCERPT:

It was the worst case of bad timing that I had ever seen. Everything seemed to be happening at once. The girl, carrying two mugs of coffee, entered, while at the other end of the room, with hat in hand, Phil came strolling in from the foyer.

"Lieutenant, I…" Barrecca's words died in his throat. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the girl. He made a feeble attempt to recover his shock, but failed.

I slowly rose to my feet, taking the whole situation in hand. "Melissa," I said, "this is Sergeant Barrecca. We work together."

"Sergeant," she nodded.

"Phil, this is Melissa Anselmo, Melody's sister."

"Miss Anselmo," he said, and managed to smile.

The moment was awkward and as the girl leaned over to set the mugs down, I gave Phil a high-sign not to say anything.

"Will one of you kindly tell me what is going on around here?" she asked while straightening up. "I'm sure you didn't come here to feed Mr. Tibbetts, Sergeant. Or did you?"

"Who's Mr. Tibbetts?" Barrecca said in complete bewilderment.

"Thank you, Sergeant," she said. "Thank you for your honesty." With unbridled contempt, she looked at me. "I believe he called you Lieutenant. Exactly what division are you in, Lieutenant?"

"Homicide."

Her shock was genuine. I could tell by her lower lip; it trembled. Fear flashed into her eyes. "It's about Melody, isn't it?" Her voice cracked with emotion. "Something dreadful has happened to her."

There was no easy way of putting it. "She's dead, Melissa."

"Dead!" Unbelieving, she shook her head from side to side. "It was minor surgery…one doesn't die…"

"The surgery had nothing to do with her death," I said.

"How? How then!" She lashed out at me.

"Melody was murdered."

"Murdered," she gasped. "I…I don't believe you. Why? Why would anyone…?" She started to back away from me as if I were an escapee from a loony bin. "You're wrong," she cried, eyes frantically searching the room. She spotted the fancy white phone on the end table and headed directly toward it.

I followed.

"You're wrong. You'll see," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "There's been a mistake. I'm going to call the hospital right now. How could you make such a horrendous mistake?"

Time and time again, I had witnessed the same reaction. The truth was tearing at her guts while her mind was clinging to the hope that a mistake had been made.

I roughly pulled her hand away from the phone. "Stop it, Melissa," I said, "there's no mistake."

My words struck her like a blow.

"Oh, God," she groaned. Her knees buckled beneath her and I caught her about the waist, backing her into the couch.

"Phil, see if there's some brandy in that cabinet over there."

"Sure thing."

Phil managed to get some brandy into her and then we waited. With a terrible feeling of helplessness, we waited. We waited until she was all cried out.

"Is there someone you would like us to call?" I said.

She shook her head in answer.

Finally, through red, swollen eyes, she looked over at Phil and me sitting in the occasional chairs opposite her. "Who…" she sobbed, "who would do…such a thing?"

"We don't know," I said.

"You never knew my sister, did you? All—all this time you knew she was de—dead, and yet…and yet you led me to believe—" she stopped, fresh tears clouding her eyes.

I swallowed hard. "No, I never met her. I'm sorry, but I had good reason for not telling you sooner."

She glared at me. "What reason could you possibly have?"

I didn't answer. If she despised me, I couldn't blame her. For that matter, I wasn't too pleased with myself. "What you might think of me isn't important," I said. "The important thing is to catch the person responsible for Melody's death. You can be of great help to us by answering questions that concern your sister."

"I can't," she whispered, voice filled with despair. "I haven't seen her in over two years." With the handkerchief that I had given her earlier, she brushed at the wetness of her face. "There's something I have to know," she said, making a strong effort to pull herself together. "How did my sister…"

I drew in a sharp breath. "Suffocation. A bed pillow was used."

Even from where I was sitting, I could see the sudden quiver of chills that ran through her body. In an attempt to control the trembling, she folded her arms across her chest. "I knew it," she said, "even before you told me, I knew it."

Phil and I exchanged a puzzled glance.

"How?" I carefully asked. "How did you know?"

She vaguely looked over at Phil and me. "I don't think you would understand," she said.

What's Better Than Chocolate? Find out!

2011-09-07T15:41:00.001-07:00

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Years ago Van Marshall, lead singer and guitarist of the metal band Bleeding Passion, let the love of his life get away because he lacked the courage to tell her how he felt about her. He has been plagued by the memory of her ever since then, unable to fully commit to another because of the love he still held for her in his heart. Now, she is thrown unexpectedly back into his life, bringing with her all of the feelings he has hidden inside for so long.

Because of a brutal assault, Kat Vauss hates men and trusts no one. She is a martial arts expert and devotes all of her time to her work and her training. The only person to ever come close to her heart was a shy, awkward boy she knew in high school who she thinks is gone forever.

When Kat is given an assignment to shoot a DVD for Bleeding Passion, she is not prepared for the way her body and heart react to the sensual singer, who coincidentally helped her out of a sticky situation some years before. His presence stirs to life dormant feelings inside of her, but will he show her that not all men are evil and life can still be beautiful and worth living?

EXCERPT:

He reached over to a bowl that was on the floor next to the couch and he offered it to her. “Chocolate?”

Kat looked at the chocolates and picked one out, smiling to herself. “I have very good memories of these,” she murmured.

She frowned. “My chocolate?”

He grinned. “No. Your memory.”

She looked away sadly and the deepest kind of sorrow welled up inside of her. She felt tears sting her eyes and she swallowed. “It was a long time ago,” she whispered.

He gave her a look of concern, as if wondering why the memory should cause her such sadness. “Are you all right?”

She tried to mask her grief with a fake smile and nodded. “There’s nothing better than chocolate,” she said, trying to change the subject.

He regarded her with an expression that was solemn, but exuded warmth. It was one of those unnerving looks that made it seem like he was looking straight into her soul. It made her squirm and her pulse accelerate in a way that was extremely abnormal for her.

“Some things are,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

Kat’s heart lurched and she felt sick to her stomach. She looked away and pretended to be interested in a thread on the couch.

“Van!” Lance cried. “Dude! This girl’s whipping us all! I’m gonna be naked soon!”

Kat and Van both looked over to see Lance sitting only in his boxers and one sock. Van laughed and Kat took the opportunity. She snapped her book open again and pretended to read, sticking her nose further into it than she needed to, trying to escape. She glanced at Van out of the corner of her eye. He looked at her and smiled knowingly, then stood and went over to Lance. She let out a relieved sigh and didn’t move for the rest of the trip. She had never been so happy to see a hotel in all her life.

Hank helped Rochelle and Kat with their luggage and got them checked in. Kat listened to Rochelle go on and on and on about Lance’s chest, Lance’s torso, Lance’s tattooed arms and rippling biceps, etc., etc., etc. as she put her pajamas on, glad to be in her own room and away from Van. Though she had refused to show any sign of life for the last leg of the journey, she noticed his continued quiet watching of her. He kept to himself, but she could feel his eyes burning into her. It had been the longest ride of her life.

“So I saw you talking to Van,” Rochelle said.

Kat sighed as she set her suitcase inside the closet. “Yeah.”

“What did you talk about? Did he hit on you?”

Kat rolled her eyes. “No, we talked about work and he gave me a chocolate. Big whoop. I’m gonna go find the ice machine.” She left the room and wandered through the halls for awhile, trying to regain her usual composure. Van had rattled her much more than she would have liked. She was always in control, always cool and collected and reserved, but he had made her feel completely neurotic. The things he had said…. The way he had looked at her…. It was freaky. He made her remember things she had tried to forget a long time ago. Things that still hurt like they had happened yesterday.

She paced restlessly for a while longer, until she felt like she had control over herself again, then meandered back to the room, never actually having located the ice machine. She stopped in the doorway and frowned when she saw a folded piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment. Her name was written on the outside of it. She felt instant dread. This was something else that was going to freak her out. She could feel it. She opened it reluctantly.

Waiting for Mary Elizabeth: Now available and 1/2 off in ebook!

2011-08-23T12:09:00.000-07:00

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Gregory is a world renown artist, drop-dead gorgeous and sincerely believes a promise should never be broken. At the age of twelve he promises to wait for four year old Mary Elizabeth to grow up. Every day of his life since then has revolved around keeping that promise. Now the time has finally arrived to discover if she still wants to marry him.

While Mary Elizabeth doesn't believe in fairy tales, she believes in Gregory. Her parents keep insisting he won't come for her, but she knows he will. At four years of age her young heart recognized the person it belonged to. But just when she believes her perfect future is coming true, a spiteful adversary causes her to doubt Gregory's sincerity. Now the future doesn't seem quite so bright or certain. Gregory and Mary Elizabeth will have to overcome many obstacles in order to stop waiting and to finally begin living and loving.

EXCERPT:

After a moment of silence, Gregory grinned through the railing. "Well, here we are. It isn't exactly how I
thought our first meeting would go."

A fluttering in her chest made it hard to breathe, but she somehow managed to smile in return. "How did you think it would go?"

He leaned backward until both elbows rested on the cold, concrete flooring. "I thought I would ask about your life and then I would tell you about mine." He shifted his weight. "I wanted to ask about your future plans." He leaned over slightly and grinned. "What are your plans for after graduation?"

The way he studied her mouth made it difficult to concentrate. "I want to open my own floral shop, but my parents want me go to the university to study business. They think I should understand business first before I rush into ownership of a shop."

He gave the tips of his shoes some serious consideration before finally nodding. "That sounds like wise advice."

A comfortable silence surrounded them. Mary Elizabeth leaned on the railing and finally broke the silence. "Why are you really here?"

He sat up, leaned forward, and wrapped both arms around his knees. "I needed to know you still wanted me to wait for you." He glanced over for a brief moment before looking back down at the steps. "You were very young when you asked."

She wanted to reach and touch his hair. Just to see if it was as soft as it looked, but she resisted the urge. "Why have you kept your promise? Even my parents said you wouldn't."

He looked up and locked eyes with her. "But someone did expect me to. You did and I did. Did anyone else matter?"

She did reach over then and touched the sleeve of his shirt. "There's more. Isn't there?"

He completely covered her hand with his. "I wanted you to know that I believed you that day. It never mattered to me that no one else did. I did." He gave a shy grin. "I want you to enjoy this time in high school and at the university. Don't give up living just because you know where our journey ends." He increased the pressure on her hand for a moment. "Promise me to do this, okay?"

She nodded.

He released her hand and stood. She stood as well.

"When I return, I don't want you to have any doubts about if we belong together or not."

Before any more could be said, the cab arrived behind her father's car.

Gregory passed Mary Elizabeth at the bottom of the steps. She slipped his jacket off and handed it to him. When he reached over for it, his fingers lingered on the top of her hand in a final caress. The touch was so brief Mary Elizabeth would have thought she had imagined it, but he paused in mid step and smiled before continuing toward the cab.

They both stopped and looked at each other before opening their respective car doors.

I'll wait for you if you'll wait for me.

"I made you a promise. It is still just as good today as it was the day it was made. Enjoy your time here at school. Go study your business classes and then open your floral shop. I'll be back soon."

There were a million things she wanted to say.

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, but this time, you have to give me a promise. You have to promise me to live and enjoy this time of your life."

"How do I do that?"

"You take each day as it comes. You live each day as if it were your last day on earth."

She could feel her father staring from inside the car, but the only person who mattered at that moment was Gregory. "I'll try."

He laughed. "You have to promise."

His smile made her laugh as well.

"I will. I promise."

If you missed this book, you're missing out!

2011-08-15T15:25:00.000-07:00

And get it now in ebook for 1/2 off!

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What’s the world to do when gold starts disappearing and the agents assigned to the case are turned into life-size lawn ornaments?

Send in Double O Fang Agent Pierce De Vein, and Shifter Intelligence Agent (SIA) Kitty Katt to
investigate. Unhappy with their forced alliance, each loner must learn to work with a partner and stop trying to outdo one another long enough to solve the case. When the evidence points to an evil gnome and his army of rogue leprechauns, the agents infiltrate the organization in the forms of a bat and a cat.

Will their plan work, or will they end up sleeping with the daisies as a pair of garden decorations?

EXCERPT:

“You and your partner are to start by reviewing all the security fo—”

“Whoa. Wait a minute. Back the fourteen karat cart up, Sir.” Pierce leaned forward, mouth opened with something between a frown and a smile claiming his lips. “I think you’ve mistaken me with one of the other agents. I don’t have a partner. I work alone.”

Well aware of the fact, and that none of Pierce’s partner problems had been his fault, Methos ignored the young operative’s interruption and continued. “All three branches of P.L.A.S.M.A, Vampire, Shifter and Witch, are in agreement. This is very serious. If the gold is not returned to the Federal Reserve soon, we’ll have a worldwide economic disaster. So far, they’ve kept it under wraps, but it’s only a matter of time before the news gets out. And you know the type of panic it can cause.”

“Yes, Sir, but—”

“No buts.” Methos leaned forward and stared hard at the vampire. “Due to the severity of the situation, and the unknown supernatural cause to those agents’ afflictions, we’ve agreed to send in two of our top agents, with several more standing by if needed.”

Pierce slipped the file into a soft, leather case, then sat back. “I can handle this mission on my own.”

Of that, Methos had no doubt. But he wouldn’t be given the chance.

One of four remaining Ancients, Methos had the ability to track and assess every single Vampire. He’d hand picked his agents, and if he hadn’t deemed Pierce worthy, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. DeVein brought to the table an unusual intellect and wit, and had the uncanny ability to talk just about anybody or anything into doing his bidding. Charm was the boy’s deadliest weapon, but charm alone would not solve this case.

That’s where the shifter came in. Methos had had his eye on her for some time now. Although he couldn’t track her, he could read the woman and had observed her work closely over the past year. She was cunning, swift and strong, but just a little too impulsive. His hope, and the shared hope of her boss, was for this pairing to teach her the merits of Pierce’s slower, more thoughtful approach and for Pierce, in turn, to experience the advantage of having a strong partner he could trust.

Methos sat back and stared at his agent through narrowed eyes. “Need I remind you who’s running things around here, DeVein?”

“No, Sir.” The young vampire wisely dropped his gaze. “Of course not.”

Methos continued with a wave of his hand. “I know you’ve had trouble in the past, but maybe you just haven’t found the right…partner.”

Pierce stiffened, his narrowed gaze lifting bright with alarm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A knock on the door saved Methos from answering. Far better for the agent to see rather than hear. “Come in,” he called to the door. This was sure to be memorable. Methos rose to his feet, more than a little curious to see DeVein’s reaction. “Meet your new partner.”

His agent didn’t bother to get up. He just sat there with a disgusted look on his face and gazed at the opening door. A wave of air rolled in, carrying a mixture of three scents. Confidence, curiosity and—cat.

DeVein didn’t utter a word, but his white-knuckled grip on the chair spoke volumes to Methos. The boy recognized the scent.

“Is this a private party or can anybody join?” Clothed in black leather, the beautiful shifter trotted in, long black hair swaying past her waist while her green eyes sparkled with pride above an ear to ear grin.

“Oh, hell no,” Pierce blurted before he vaulted to his feet and glared.

The cat’s full presence appeared to light a fire under his agent. Interesting. Most uncharacteristic of him. Methos could understand the reaction, though. She was potent. The combination of exquisite beauty, coupled with her effervescence, made the shifter intoxicating. A trait he’d watched her use to her advantage on many missions. One which helped shape the shifter into an excellent agent. Now, if she could just quell her impulsiveness.

“No way,” Pierce repeated, thrusting a finger at his new partner. “I’m not working with that animal!”

Great new release with a slash in price!

2011-08-01T15:49:00.001-07:00

Check out Journey to Redemption by Anne Patrick

And don't forget, all ebooks at Whimsical Publications for the month of August are half off! Check out this and other awesome titles without breaking the bank!

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Detective Morgan Reynolds thought her nightmare was over when serial killer Gerald `The Slasher' Tate was sent to prison for her husband's murder. But she was wrong. The Slasher has escaped and he's making it even more personal this time. Tate has kidnapped her son and is giving her 72 hours to find the answers he wants or Jared dies.

EXCERPT:

The amusing smirk she'd worn all morning was gone, her face now void of expression.

She jerked open the passenger side door. "Will you drive please?" she asked, handing him the keys. "I'm sorry, go ahead," she spoke into her cell phone.

Chase scooted across the seat and she climbed in.

"Hang on a minute…I need you to drop me off at my house, forty-six eleven Crestview."

Realizing she was speaking to him, he turned to her. "Everything okay?"

"Just hurry please," she said. He watched as she dumped out the contents of her purse in the seat beside her. She picked up a small leather address book, and fingered through it while steadying the phone between her shoulder and chin. "We aren't moving, yet," she said, her voice much sharper.

He put the unmarked police cruiser in reverse and took out of the parking lot. Keeping his eyes on the road, he listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Jeremy Metzer, Tommy Stewart and Melissa Davidson. Davidson's mother is a dispatcher, nights, I think. The Metzers live a couple of doors down from us. Stay at home mom and a dad who are in realty. Tommy Stewart lives with his grandmother over on Elm. He and Tommy spend quite a lot of time together. He slept over Saturday night. Okay, let me know as soon as you hear something. I will."

Chase glanced over to see her rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her cell phone lay in her lap. He
sensed something was terribly wrong. "How long are you going to keep me in the dark here?"

She glanced up at him briefly, just long enough for him to see tears forming in her eyes. She then turned to stare out the windshield. "Jared didn't make it home from school," she said stiffly. "He usually walks home with his friend, Jeremy, and stays at his house till I get home. They had an argument, though, and he walked home alone."

"It's not even two yet."

"School got out at one today because of a parent teacher conference. I phoned to make sure he'd made it to the Metzers, but they hadn't seen him. When I called home and didn't get an answer, I had my neighbor go over to check on him. He wasn't there."

"Maybe he stopped for a snack or something along the way."

She shook her head. "The school is only a block and a half from the house and there aren't any
stores along the way."

"I'm sure he's fine. He probably dropped by a friend's and forgot the time."

She glared at him. "I don't let my child wander the streets, Lieutenant."

"You said he was rebellious."

"Yes, but he's not suicidal. He knows how I get when I don't know where he is."

He wouldn't have taken her for an overprotective mother. "Well, I'm sure he'll be fine," he said, and offered her a supportive smile before saying a prayer. Lord, please let the boy be all right. With all that's going on, I hate the thought of him being out on the streets alone. Keep watch over him.

Chase stopped the car. Morgan leaped from the passenger side and ran up the small slope to her front door.

"Jared," she called out as she entered the foyer. After dropping her purse on the bottom step, she ran up the stairs to his room.

He wasn't there.

She crossed the room to the unmade bed and searched for any sign that he'd been there since that morning, but his backpack was nowhere in sight. Glancing out the window, she spotted Cosmo lounging next to his doghouse.

Please, God…please let him be at one of his friends'. Please let him be safe!

Morgan fought off the threatening tears as she searched her bedroom, the guest bedroom, and the bathrooms before heading back downstairs.

"Afternoon, Sergeant." Morgan froze at the familiar voice coming from her answering machine. She stepped into the living room and stared at the black box next to the phone. "Not to worry, you're little boy is safe and sound. He'll stay that way as long as you don't contact your buddies down at the police station. I'll be in touch soon." She looked at Chase.

"Sorry. I thought maybe he'd left you a message," he said.

"Oh no." Her worst fear confirmed, Morgan sank onto the couch and wrapped her arms around her midsection. She struggled to fight off the nausea that threatened to consume her.

Spytastic... Check out A Girl's Best Friend

2011-07-18T17:05:00.001-07:00

A Girl's Best Friend
By Pat Dale

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When Laura Margolin, TV jewelry shopping's latest diva, crosses paths with super spy Hayward Lazarus, she has no idea that before their saga is done, her career will be toast, her hero will have died heroically—and they'll live happily ever after.

The copper-haired beauty, up to her azure eyeballs in the world of jewelry marketing, meets Lazarus on her flight to Amsterdam to introduce herself to the Dutch magnate who's just purchased Sparkles Inc. As a spy, Laz's task is to cut off insurgent funding, but his covert mission is aborted before it begins and he runs for his life. While he hides, determined to come out of this alive, Laura goes happily about her business in the sunny Dutch city until her new boss puts a move on her that has her running too.

Glamour gal and slippery spy ratchet between ecstasy and despair as they try to unravel separate webs of deception; webs that weave into a wild and crazy patchwork. They want to be together but the fates seem to have other plans.

EXCERPT:

She wondered how she'd learn anything meaningful when the plane lurched twice, settled momentarily and then swayed a third time. In reaction to the roller-coaster motion, her stomach convulsed. Fortunately, there were no other passengers in her row so if she lost it, she wouldn't make a total fool of herself.

Breathe deep, Laura. Relax.

The aircraft had already leveled its climb somewhat and would soon be at an altitude where she could head for the lavatory. She looked back to try to find the flight attendant to get her attention. Instead, her focus locked on a dapper-looking man approaching her up the aisle. She sank back into her seat as he spoke.

"Hallo. Having a nice flight?"

She'd used her reserve to stay calm but the continued swaying motion of the plane had scraped that calm bare. She muttered, "I suppose."

"That doesn't sound very convincing. What could be the problem?"

"I'm afraid it's just me. Flying usually makes me sick."

"I see. Well, the plane is in no trouble. We're just in a buffer layer of heavy air. A few moments more and we'll be at an altitude where it's much smoother. But if you're feeling nauseous, I have a sure cure for that."

"Oh, really?" She was ready to send him on his way when her eyes focused on his; jade green—
polished jade. His handsome rugged face was framed with dark blond hair, no doubt professionally groomed, but with a wealth of curls that gave him a bad-boy look. Her heart did a double pump and she swallowed hard.

"Yes, beautiful lady, I do. Might you be interested?"

Her attention ratcheted from his devastating masculinity to his words. Normally on guard against overly friendly men, she was intrigued by his offer to help. His go-light eyes lasered hers, levering a slightly flushed feeling.

She said, "I'd be interested in about anything that helps me relax in flight."

"Wonderful." He held out his hand. "May I introduce myself? Hayward Lazarus, at your service. I'm deputy director of Hands Round the Globe. Perhaps you've heard of us?"

"No, I don't think so."

He chuckled. "Well to tell you the truth, I'm not surprised. We're a philanthropic foundation. What you might call international do-gooders."

She laughed despite her discomfort. "So is calming finicky little girls a regular part of your do-gooding?"

"Definitely, my dear. One of my specialities."

"Well, Mr. Lazarus, I'd appreciate any secret you have on that subject."

He dropped into the empty seat next to her. "My pleasure. And your name is"—he hesitated, his eyes flashing recognition—"Laura Margolin, is it not?"

"How did you know who I am?"

"I've seen your work on the telly from time to time. You do a marvelous job displaying all those jewelry baubles to your audience."

"Well, thank you. Do you ever buy our products?"

"I haven't so far, but I could be tempted. The fact I haven't is certainly no reflection of your sales ability."

She could hardly believe this suave gentleman in his thousand dollar suit could have any idea who she was. She relaxed ever so slightly, enjoying the glow of his smile. Generally, she didn't let men—any men—get this close to her. Didn't want them; didn't need them. But somehow, this man was different. While friendly and complimentary, he was certainly not a man who'd be after anything from her.

"I have to tell you, I never expected to meet anyone who knew my name. This has never happened to me before."

"I can't imagine that, Ms. Margolin."

"You can't?"

"Surely there must be hordes of men at your doorstep, just waiting for an opportunity to impress you."

She laughed, the musicality of her voice triggering him to grin again as she offered, "I hate to admit it, Mr. Lazarus, but there hasn't been a single man at my doorstep for a long time."

He beamed. "No single man, eh? How about a married one?"

"Not one of those, either."

"Well, Ms. Margolin, I am disappointed."

"Laura, Mr. Lazarus. Please call me Laura."

"Gladly, if you'll call me Ward."

"Ward. That's a nice name. Rather unusual."

"The last in a long line." Fleeting hardness melted from his expression as he added,
"Enough about me. I'd like to know what has you seven miles above the Atlantic in spite of your fear of flying."

"I'm on my way to Amsterdam to represent my company. Sparkles Inc. has recently been purchased by VerMeer."

"The world-famous jewelers. I remember reading about that in the Journal. Quite a transaction if one believes the report."

"It was, for sure. Lots of money changed hands. And now I've been chosen to become liaison between the companies during the merger."

"I'm impressed. That is quite a responsibility. No wonder you're worried about discomfort. You no doubt will be making lots of these trips back and forth."

"Yes." She released a sigh. "Lots."

When the man continued to delve into her background and recent history, she relaxed even more, satisfied that he was merely curious. She had to admit, her own curiosity had been piqued regarding this intriguing and dangerously handsome man.

Over six feet with long legs and arms, he gave the impression of being quite fit, though there was no way to tell in his shimmering charcoal suit. If she had to guess, she'd bet he'd been a runner. His face bore a couple of long-healed scars but otherwise seemed very handsome with his straight nose and strong pointed chin.

The most exciting element about him was the aura of trust he exuded. She hadn't been exposed to anything like this since she'd been a child. What was it, this feeling that enveloped her? The pleasant baritone of his voice levered her memory to the distant past where, finally, it came to her. Her father had always left her with this same sense of well being. But, she recalled, that had been only an illusion.

Could this be the same? She shook free of her doldrums. This man was not her father. He had to be no more than in his late thirties. Why did she feel so safe in his presence? She wanted to know more about him.

Great new release! Heart of a Hero

2011-07-07T13:41:00.000-07:00

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Matt Carrington escapes a terrorists’ prison while in the Army, but he has difficulty escaping the trappings of a demanding fiancé and his own parents. To get away to think, he meets pretty,girl-next-door Lauren Delaney, the kind of woman he desires. But his fiancé and his parents have other plans. They determine to have their way—no matter what Matt wants.

Lauren Delaney is an independent young woman who quickly befriends the soldier hero who comes to town. Knowing he has another life in Dallas, she holds a secret, too. But she pretends neither have a problem in order to have the summer with him.

During the long hot months, a hurricane almost destroys the town. Matt and Lauren work with a team to save as many residents as they can, and in the process fall deeply in love. When the danger is past, the two lovers suffer from their own lies and misunderstandings. Can they find peace and happiness without hurting others?

EXCERPT:

By eleven-thirty, Matt entered the River Café. He smiled when he saw his table with a reserved sign on it. He chuckled to himself, thinking she was going a little over-board, but it made him happy.

Lauren spotted him immediately and walked quickly to him, as though she had been waiting and feared another waitress would get to him first.

“Hello. Would a small table by the window be all right, sir?” she asked formally with the menu clutched to her chest.

Matt grinned. “I see it’s reserved for someone. Maybe I could just sit at the bar.”

“Oh, I think I can pull some strings and let you have it. The person who reserved it is so good-looking he’s probably out beating off the girls. May I seat you?”

Now, he laughed. “Yes, ma’am, pretty lady, you may,” he said in a whisper as he leaned toward her.He heard her suck in her breath a tiny bit. Maybe his nearness made her nervous, because she stumbled slightly as she turned toward the table.

“Would you like tea with lemon?” she asked with mock politeness.

He only nodded slowly at her, while he gazed into her eyes.

Lauren stared back and didn’t move for a moment.

“Be right back,” she said, but paused a beat before she walked away.

As soon as she left, a paunchy middle-aged man approached his table. “Hello, there, son. Name’s Leonard Elkins. You are Matthew Carrington, are you not?” He rocked back on the heels of his highly
polished dress shoes.

Warily, Matt studied the man in the striped dress shirt and blue pants held up by bright red suspenders. Without standing, he replied, “Yes, sir, I am.”

“May I sit for a moment while you wait for your drink?”

“Be my guest.” He didn’t want to be impolite, but he thought the man acted a little too impertinent.

“I’ll get right to the point, seeing as how I have a short lunch time today. Bonner has an Old Settler’s Day every year at the end of August. You know. Carnival, food booths, bands, and speeches. The Chamber of Commerce would like it if you would be part of our celebration and allow us to introduce you as a gen-u-ine hero. The introduction would come between...”

“Hold on, sir. I must decline. I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t do speeches, or...”

“You needn’t speak,” he interrupted, “if you don’t want to. Just let ’em see you. But we’d really like a speech. It would...”

“Here’s your tea.” Lauren stood so that her back turned slightly to Mr. Elkins. She gave Matt a regretful look and walked away.

“No,” Matt said firmly but politely. “I cannot. I will not. Please understand.”

“Well, I’m just not going to take ‘no’ for an answer,” he said, as he snapped his suspenders with his thumbs. “Consider this. As I see it, you’re somewhat obligated to help us out here. We paid your salary,
you know, when you were in the U.S. Army. Look at it that way. Taxpayers pick up the tab, so we’d appreciate it if you would give us a little in re-turn. We’re not asking much, mind you, only about fifteen minutes or so of your time. I’ll give you a couple of days to think it over. You’re staying out at Eleanor Carrington’s place, aren’t you?”

Matt stood and placed a twenty on the table, retrieved his ball cap, placed it on his head, and began to walk out.

“Now, see here, young man,” Leonard called after him. “I was only being neighborly, welcoming you to town. No need to get all riled up.”

Hearing this statement, Matt turned back around and towered over the short, stocky man.

“Sir, good day,” he said in a low voice. “And don’t ask me again. The answer is ‘no.’ It will remain no until hell freezes over.”

In an attempt to keep his emotions under control, he walked as sedately as he could out the door. “Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered as he moved down the sidewalk a few feet. His lunch with Lauren as his waitress was ruined. Not only did he not get to eat, the man prevented him from speaking with her. No way could he stay in there. “Damn!” he said once more for good measure.

After- A Journey of the Twins novel

2011-06-30T18:21:00.001-07:00

After- A Journey of the Twins novel
By Janet Durbin

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Have you ever wondered what the world would be like if something created by the government escaped? What if it was a virus, a virus so deadly it killed incredibly fast? So fast that a cure was out of the question. What would you do?

Journey with me to find out how the twins, Shyanne and Drayco, handle the outcome of just such a virus, and how the world around them seems to have fallen back in time to an era before technology, an era where the sword rules.

The twins become separated shortly after the deaths stop. Over time, they begin looking for one another when the longing for family fills them. After they find each other, they learn that someone else is looking for them, as well. The Boss wants Shyanne badly. Why—they don't know—but they're going to find out.

With their animal companion, a genetically altered mountain lion named Drizzle, the twins embark on a cross-country journey. They encounter many obstacles along the way, but the worst is a mercenary named Ruben. He will stop at nothing to accomplish what he is paid to do, even if it involves killing his own men. Unfortunately, he succeeds in getting Shyanne.

Now Drayco must survive his biggest challenge, a challenge filled with pain and suffering, if he is to help his sister survive the Boss.

EXCERPT:

It took the trio six long days to cross the vast open plains. In that time, they saw no other living being except for some birds flying high in the sky. A few glided lazily on the air currents while others accompanied the riders in shifts, as if giving them an escort. None flew close enough to replenish the dwindling food supplies.
The big animals seen at the beginning of the journey had long since gone. It appeared as if the trio and the flying escorts above were the only living things left on the planet.

Very little conversation transpired throughout most of the travel. Drayco tried on several occasions to get his sister to talk. She refused to say more than a few words, which was just as well since he wasn't in the mood to talk either. Joseph chatted on those occasions he was spoken to, but he also remained silent.

Shyanne avoided the fair-haired man for most of the journey, keeping Drayco between them, or riding ahead. On those occasions where they were forced together, like when they camped for the night, she kept mostly to herself. Drayco felt the steadily worsening effects of needing blood increase when the plains finally surrendered its hold on the world to the trees growing visible on the horizon. He had been feeling the weakness and ache for the last two days, but said nothing to the pair riding with him. They could not resolve the issue. Moreover, he had not wanted to weigh them down with any more worries than they already had.

"Finally!" Shyanne yelled when she sighted the trees. Her mood picked up substantially, as did Joseph's. Drayco wanted to share in their excitement. His body hurt too much to let him.

The waterskins hung limp from the saddles with only a few drops remaining. Because of the shortage, the horses had been rationed along with the people on them. Some kind of water must have been close because they picked up speed as the scent of the badly needed moisture reached their nostrils.

Joseph and Shyanne could barely keep their animals from breaking away. They grinned, winked at each other, and finally gave in, letting the animals run.

Drayco smiled as he watched the others bridge the gap between the open field and the trees ahead. With a slight prod, Bravaro leapt to follow. A few feet into the run, however, Drayco was hit with an intense pain in his abdominal region. It forced him to double over and grasp a handful of mane to stay in the saddle. Sweat broke out on his forehead; it ran into his eyes, causing them to sting, adding more insult to an already abused body. He grimaced as another wave more intense than the first hit him. This time, he wasn't able to stay in the saddle.

Bravaro was running at a brisk pace when Drayco's grip finally gave way. He fell sideways off the horse and hit the ground, hard. His right shoulder dislocated with the impact, and the back of his head bounced a couple of times while he rolled like a broken rag doll on the grassy plain. He vaguely noticed the new pains due to the other pain still holding him in a vice grip, refusing to give up its hold. When he finally stopped rolling, he was face down on the ground. His right shoulder was at an awkward angle and he couldn't catch
his breath.

* * * *

Shyanne made it to the edge of the woods and pulled Jack around, halting his mad dash across the open area. A wide smile covered her face; it was the first one in many days. Joseph pulled his horse up beside her, laughing. "You should see yourself. It's hilarious the way your hair is sticking out. It makes you look like a giant sunflower."

Shyanne laughed. "You should see yourself, mister." Pushing her hair down, she glanced back to see how her brother fared. Her face changed in an instant. Where joy and pleasure had glowed over every inch of her, fear and dread replaced it.

"Drayco!"

She was looking over Joseph's shoulder in the direction they had just come. He turned in the saddle and saw Bravaro running their way, riderless. A dark patch lay sprawled on the ground in the distance, half buried by the waving sea of greens and yellows. His smile faded as quickly as hers had. Shyanne spurred Jack toward her brother's still form. Joseph jerked his horse around and kicked it in the sides. At first, the animal fought, its thirst strong, but the will of the man on its back was stronger.

In seconds, they raced back to where Drayco lay.

New Release: Stage Presents

2011-06-21T14:24:00.000-07:00

Serendipity Book 5: Stage Presents
By Brieanna Robertson

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Maxim is suffering from horrendous writer's block and has a deadline for a new novel looming ominously on the horizon. When a friend tells him she is planning on writing she and her husband's love story in script form, and then performing it as a play for his anniversary gift, he is intrigued. When she asks him to write the script, he is elated.

Nasarra takes Maxim back to the world of theatre in 1997-1998 as she tells him the detailed story of how she and her husband met and fell in love, and about what it really means to have your dreams come true. Along the way, she teaches him a little something about his own life, dreams, and falling in love all over again.

EXCERPT:

She frowned. He looked slightly familiar… Yes! Holy cow! It was the hottie who had run into her on the street earlier that week! But, that wasn't all. Something else called to Nasarra. Something deeper. Where else had she seen him before? He mesmerized her. She couldn't tear her gaze from him. It was like he was hypnotizing her with his unusual green-gold eyes and his wonderful voice. Suddenly, he stopped singing and Nasarra blinked. Two other people replaced him on the stage and she shook her head. Okay, that had been bizarre. She shook her head again and resumed her search for her purse.

For the rest of the night, Nasarra waited in anticipation for any scene that man was in. She had given up searching for her purse and had finally managed to find it at intermission lodged in the next person's seat. After making the mad race to the bathroom, she looked in her program to see who that magnificent actor was. He stared up at her in beautiful black and white, beside his character's name, Raoul Vicomte deChagny. He wore a mischievous smile and the lighting used in the photo highlighted his finely sculpted facial features. She glanced down at the name. Caleb Makepeace. She frowned. Even his name sounded familiar!

Act II seemed to fly by, and when the last song was sung, Nasarra was extremely disappointed. She had waited to see this musical for so long, and now, all too soon, it was over like some fantastic fantasy. When the performers came out to take their bows, she stood up and was quite certain that she clapped the loudest. Especially for that magnificent performer, Caleb Makepeace.

When the curtain closed and people started to file out of the theatre, Nasarra walked as slow as possible, trying to take in all of the sights and lock them away in her memory. There was no telling when she would be in a theatre like The Curran again.

It was pelting rain when she finally managed to wander her way to the door. It cloaked everything in mist and the steam from the manhole coverings on the street wisped and weaved in a slow, beguiling dance of mystery. She smiled. She had found the rain annoying the other day, but now she found it magical. It seemed to make the night complete.

She stepped outside and turned the collar of her jacket up to protect her neck from the dampness. Pivoting on her heel, she started up the street, but rammed into a person who was walking in the opposite direction with such a force that it knocked the air from her. She staggered back, trying to regain her senses, and looked up at the poor person she had just run over. Her eyes nearly bulged clear out of her skull. She had just mowed over the handsome actor with the beautiful voice! She squeezed her eyes shut in humiliation. This was great. Just great.

"Excuse me," she whispered. She stepped aside to let him by and averted her eyes to the pavement. He did the same, in the same direction, and they were right back to where they had started. She swallowed, feeling really dumb. Things just kept getting better and better. She stepped to her left; he stepped to his right. She stifled a groan. She stepped to her right; he stepped to his left.

A beautifully rich and masculine chuckle escaped the man's throat and he stepped back. "Did you want to dance?" he teased. "Is that what you're going for? You want to dance a minuet?"

Nasarra blushed. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He flashed her a dazzling smile. "That's all right," he assured. He frowned slightly, looking her over, and some small bit of recognition came to life in his eyes. He pointed to the program she clutched to her chest. "You were at the show tonight?"

Nasarra nodded, attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

"You were in the front row, weren't you?"

She stole a glance at him and nodded again.

He grinned. "I thought so. I always look out into the audience when I'm on stage, and I happened to glance over at you. I saw your fiery red hair and thought to myself, `that can't be the woman I ran down in the street the other day.'"

She gave a nervous laugh. "Yeah, that was a crazy day."

His grin broadened. "My name's Caleb," he said, extending his hand.

Nasarra stared at him. This was incredible. She held her hand out numbly and shook his, amazed by the power of his grip. "Nasarra." Her voice came out like the croak of a dying frog and she cleared her throat. "Nasarra," she stated.

His eyes swept over her again. "Nasarra. That's a very pretty name."

She smiled shyly. "Thank you." She braved a glance up at him and couldn't help but feel heat course through her body at his stunning smile. It was mischievous, playful, and the small dimple it created in his cheek made her heart falter.

"So, I guess we're even," he said.

She frowned.

"I ran you over. You repaid me in like kind." He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Where should we go from here?"

New Release: Single Status

2011-06-01T09:15:00.000-07:00

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B.J. and Dana, through a stateside headquarters error, find themselves sharing a villa when they come to start up a St. Croix power plant. The job is single status, which suits them in every way.

B.J. is still smarting from the end of her ten year marriage and Dana carries hurt and guilt for the death of his wife and young son in a plane crash. When B.J. becomes the scapegoat for everything that goes wrong on the job, Dana attempts to defend her, when he is not defending himself from her mistrust. Despite their denial, the attraction between them grows.

Can the torrid Caribbean nights melt their firm resolve and the power of love overcome their fear of
commitment?

EXCERPT:

A deeply tanned man of indeterminate origin rushed in and seeing the group, came to stand in their midst. "Are you guys here with IPPS?" he inquired, and when they nodded, he went on. "Good. I'm Albert Zurow, your operations supervisor." He glanced at each of them in turn, then reached into his shirt pocket for a crumpled piece of paper. "We'll get started and hope the other plane arrives be-fore long." He nodded toward the first person to his left. "And you are?"

"Carl Evans." The man was short, had a protruding paunch and a receding hairline. B.J. guessed him to be over forty.

"Pete Marshall here." This one looked younger and in health club workout condition.

The introductions continued around the circle. "I'm Frank Kelly." Only three words but said in a tone of self-importance that was irksome.

"Yancy Webb." Adjusting his glasses, he straightened his lanky frame.

"Next, please." Albert Zurow looked impatiently at the man to his immediate right.

"Oh, sorry. Dana Thomas." Tall, dark and handsome, and he was probably well aware of it, B.J. observed
silently.

Zurow consulted his list. "Sutherland's plane must be late. I'll just—"

"I'm here." B.J. took a reluctant step toward the group. Six heads turned at the sound of B.J.'s voice. Six pairs of eyes stared in silence. Then Zurow recovered enough to speak.

"You're a woman," he said accusingly.

"Well, so I am." She gave the astonished man a wry smile and waited expectantly.

"There must have been some mix-up at the stateside headquarters. Nobody mentioned this, and the resumes haven't been received yet so—"

"Is there some restriction against female employees here?" B.J. asked with a delicate lift of one eyebrow.

Zurow blanched as though he envisioned an army of feminists already marching in picket lines around the plant site. "No. No, of course not. ChemCorp is an equal opportunity employer. It's just that we have arranged for the men, uh, employees to share housing and transportation in pairs. We've already leased every available villa in the area and now…" He looked at B.J. and shrugged.

"I have no problem with this," she told him calmly.

"I don't have a problem with it either," Carl Evans commented with a worried frown, "but I think my wife would."

"Anyone else here married?" Zurow asked.

"Guilty." Yancy Webb shook his head regretfully.

Zurow cleared his throat and looked back toward the circle of men surrounding him. "Each villa has two bedrooms," he said in a placating tone, "so only the bath would be jointly shared."

"We could draw straws." Frank Kelly smirked as he looked at the other two men.

"Or somebody could volunteer," Pete Marshall said with a meaningful look at Kelly.

"We're assigning pairs to alternate shifts," Zurow continued after an awkward silence, "so there would be plenty of privacy." He looked from one man to the other, his patience clearly wearing thin.

"Come on, fellas," B.J. chided, "this is the twenty-first century. I don't have anything contagious. I won't hang pantyhose in the shower. Actually, I don't even wear pantyhose. And I promise not to make a pass at whoever is brave enough to share quarters with me."

Kelly rolled his eyes, and Marshall nudged him. "Want to flip for it?"

Dana looked from the two men to the woman who stood waiting in her neatly creased tan slacks and white tailored shirt. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat, and she wore it in a short, boyish cut which made it hard to miss the bright splotches of color on her high cheek bones. She was obviously embarrassed by the situation but determinedly holding her ground and keeping it light. At the rate things were going they'd still be here tonight arguing about who had to make the supreme sacrifice of bunking with a good-looking
woman. If he solved the problem, they could move on to the business of settling in.

"I'll do it."

Six pairs of eyes turned toward him, four registering surprise and the other two gratitude. Dana felt himself turn red as he reached down and picked up his briefcase. "So let's get on with it."

She could be his greatest downfall...or his greatest treasure

2011-05-23T15:37:00.000-07:00

Amaranth of the Wild Things
by Brieanna Robertson

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He was hewn from cruelty and violence.

He felt nothing, he was nothing. He was wild, untamed, a shadow, a hand of death, a law unto himself. He had never known love. He had never felt love.

Except…

For the amaranth flower. Perfect, undying, beautiful. The only soft thing in his hardened world. The only thing he had ever held in reverence, and the only thing to ever offer him solace.

He had never faltered in his assignments. His hand had never wavered. But that was before he'd been ordered to kidnap her. A woman of unique disposition, undaunted in the face of her adversity. A woman bearing the same name as the immortal flower he so cherished.

She could be his greatest downfall…or his greatest treasure.

EXCERPT:

An owl hooted outside, it's call low and mournful. For some reason, that made her shiver also.She frowned, wondering where her jitters were coming from. She hadn't been scared of the dark since she'd
been five, and she usually found the sounds of the night calming and peaceful. She shook her head. She was probably just on edge because of her worrisome thoughts. It would do her well to get a good night's
rest.

Turning away from her vanity mirror, she moved toward her bed, but stopped with a gasp when she saw a shadow pass across her window. Her heart stuttered in her chest, then thumped hard against her rib cage. She blinked and kept her eyes on the window for several seconds. No other movement came.

She debated on her course of action and knew she should leave her room to go find a servant or a guard, but she was no cowering child. Besides, she didn't even know if she had actually seen anything at
all. She was exhausted and there was a very good possibility that that, coupled with all the worrying she had been doing all day, had made her eyes play tricks on her.

Taking a quick glance around her room, she snatched up a heavy, silver candlestick. It wasn't the best weapon, but it was better than nothing. Clutching it tightly in her hand, she approached her window, which lead out onto a balcony.

Tentatively, she poked her head out and scanned the area. Nothing.

She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out onto the balcony,letting her eyes gaze across the moonlit gardens of the castle. She smiled and turned to go back inside, but in-stead of finding the open window
granting her access into her chambers, she bumped into a solid object that caused her to gasp and stagger backwards.

She grasped the candlestick tight and raised it, ready to swing away, but her hand stopped in mid-air as
her eyes fell upon the face of the stranger before her.

He was very tall and dressed all in black, almost as if the night itself was cloaking him, and his face… It was wicked. Demonic almost in its darkness with green eyes that seared her…like jade fire. His black hair framed a face harshly and cruelly beautiful and shivers broke out all over her body. Shivers of fear.

The menace that radiated off of him was almost nauseating in its intensity and her shock abated into horror. Something clicked back into place in her mind and she swung her arm at him in an attempt to hit him with her weapon.

He shackled her wrist easily with his own large, gloved hand, and he squeezed until she was forced to drop the candlestick. It fell to the ground with an echoing thump. His burning eyes never left her face,
causing her heart to hammer in fear as his sculpted lips broke into a malevolent sneer. He stepped up close to her, trapping her with his presence alone, and she felt a scream boil up her throat. She opened
her mouth to release it, but no sound emerged.

He grasped the back of her head and pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth, restricting her air supply and replacing it with something noxious, something that made her stomach turn and her vision go blurry.

She squeezed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of the fact that she was fighting against him, not that it did any amount of good. The stranger was as solid and unmovable as an oak tree. Slowly, her consciousness slipped into dim confusion. Then…darkness…

Who would hurt the good doctor?

2011-05-15T10:29:00.000-07:00

Find out in Lethal Dreams by Anne Patrick

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Dr. Erin Jacobs is making a name for herself in the sports world. Drawing on her own life
experiences, she encourages and inspires athletes to recover from career ending injuries. So why would someone want to hurt the good doctor?

Detective Logan Sinclair is determined to find that answer. He's been mesmerized by Erin from the moment she found him and his partner shot in an alleyway. Since that night their lives have never been the same. Will Logan be able to solve the puzzle of who wants Erin out of the way before it's too late? And if so, what impact will those answers have on their lives?

EXCERPT:

Erin was within a few blocks of Safe Harbor Homeless Shelter when the first drops of rain began to fall. She inhaled the delicious scent and blinked as droplets peppered her face. She loved thunderstorms. Shifting gears, she started down the hill, figuring to take the alley as a shortcut.

Two loud pops echoed from the surrounding buildings.

Gunshots!

They sounded close, but in the maze of tall buildings, she couldn't tell what direction they'd come from. She slowed down in order to make the left turn into the alleyway and heard the squeal of tires coming from the alley to her right.

A pair of headlights sped toward her.

She hit the brakes hard, hoping to avoid a collision. Aw man, this is going to hurt.
The bike skidded on the wet pavement and she leaned sideways to lay it down. She winced as her left side made contact with the concrete, gravel and dirt penetrating the tender skin of her thigh and forearm.

The black SUV crossed underneath the streetlight. The driver looked down at her and his dark eyes widened. Both irritated and angry, she stared at the guy. "Jerk," she hollered as the SUV sped away.

A second pair of headlights in the alley caught her attention. The car was just sitting there. Its
passenger door opened. She immediately recalled the gunshots just prior to the SUV exiting the alley.

Oh no!

Erin jerked her backpack off and ran to the car. She spotted the passenger on the ground, saw a leg move, then looked at the driver who was completely still. Going for the driver, she jerked open the door and froze at the sight of the gun and badge pinned to his belt.

Cops.

Erin stared at the crimson stain spreading across his chest. A wave of nausea washed over her. She shook off the reaction and checked for a pulse with one hand while unbuttoning his shirt with the other. He had a chest wound, but his pulse was strong.
She got on the car radio, gave their location, and reported officers down and in need of immediate medical attention. She then gave a description of the SUV and driver.

"Can you repeat the description, ma'am?" the female dispatcher asked.

"Early to mid-twenties, tall, stocky build…athletic, black hair, mustache, black t-shirt, diamond stud in his left ear. There was a passenger, but I couldn't see them. I don't know if it was a male or female."

"Can I get your name, please?"

"Addison," a male voice spoke from the other side of the car.

Erin hung up. The voice sounded weak. She ran around to the passenger side of the car. He'd
managed to sit up and was leaning against the front wheel. She opened his shirt. He had a bad
shoulder wound, but would live. "Sir, I need you to lie back down."

"My partner, is he…"

"He's going to be fine. So are you." She looked around for something she could use to elevate his feet. She spotted a wooden crate near a dumpster and dragged it over. With her arms wrapped around him, she eased him back down, then lifted his legs onto the crate. He started to stir again. "Please, you must lay still." Grabbing the keys from the ignition, she went to search the trunk for a first aid kit and blanket.

***

Logan drifted in and out of consciousness. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. He never imagined getting shot would hurt this bad.

"It's not a serious wound. You…you're going to be fine."

He looked up at his rescuer. Moments ago, she'd sounded so calm and collected as she'd given a
detailed description of the driver over his police radio. She was far from that now. Even her hands shook as she applied pressure to his wound. Though she avoided looking at him, he had seen the tears glistening in her eyes.

She had a gentle touch, soothing even. And she was beautiful. The rain had drenched her green
scrubs, and her dark, shoulder-length hair was matted to the sides of her face and neck. She was wearing credentials. The photo ID turned so that only Mercy General Hospital could be seen. "Are you a nurse?"

"No."

He heard sirens drawing near. "A doctor?"

She started to stand, but he tightened his grip on her hand. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry. I've gotta go." The words seemed ripped from her lips. As if she had no choice.

Logan watched her run awkwardly the length of the alley. She was hurt. Had she been shot too? She stooped over, picked up a backpack, then slipped it over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed. He saw a bike lying on its side. Relief swept over him. She hadn't been shot, only wrecked her bike. He recalled the description she'd given of the shooter—so much detail. If she'd gotten that good a look at the shooters, then they had gotten an even better look at her. As he watched her disappear into the darkness, he prayed the Lord would watch over her until he was back on his feet and could find out who she was.

New Release: Crossed Lines

2011-05-02T15:36:00.000-07:00

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*Warnings: Graphic violence and sexual content*

Baby Jane should have been just another statistic in the annals of New Orleans history, but the infant survived abandonment. A few years later she should have been a basket case after years of sexual abuse at the hands of a foster father, but she found a way to get free of him without losing her sanity.

Or did she?

Set in the charming hospitality of northern Mississippi, CROSSED LINES is a most inhospitable story of seduction, mystery, and revenge.

EXCERPT:

Jane had paced the floor for almost an hour waiting for her husband to return. When he finally arrived, she said nothing at all, but stomped into the kitchen and dished out his food. He avoided looking her in the eye as they ate in silence.

He attempted small talk several times, but each effort sputtered into nothingness when she glared silently at him. Finally, after dessert, he got up his courage and asked, “Janie, why are you being so hostile?”

“Hostile? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Little ol’ me, hostile? I think not.” She cleared her throat. “Why should I be hostile? Just because you were an hour late for dinner and came home with the overpowering smell of some female on your clothes? Why, indeed?” Her dark eyes were smoldering embers.

He blushed, avoiding her cold stare. “Smell of some female?” He sniffed his shirtsleeve. “Oh, that. That’s no female; that’s, uh, Samantha.”

“No female? Samantha’s about as female as any female ever I saw.”

“Uh—I mean, well, I got me some help with my homework, Janie. Sam was still at school and offered to help me grade papers. She always wears a lot of perfume. I guess I didn’t notice it on me.”

“I guess not. Dogs usually don’t sense the smell of the bitch they’re laying with.”

He stiffened. “Hold on there, darling. Don’t you go accusing me of improprieties with Sam.”

“I didn’t accuse you of anything, sugar. I was simply using a metaphor, one that you use regularly, if my memory serves me correctly.”

When he didn’t rise to the bait, she smiled coldly, adding, “So now you’re calling her Sam?”

“Sam’s her pen name. Sam Lowes.”

As he turned to go to the drawing room, she remarked, “Oh, I almost forgot. I have a new student writer. Remember the inquiry I received last spring? That Martin Spieller fellow from Memphis? I got his bio sheet and cover letter today. Nice-looking young man from his picture, maybe twenty-five. Do you suppose maybe he’d like to come down and visit, maybe help take care of my personal needs around the house while you’re busy grading papers with Miss America?”

“Now I know you’re teasing me.” He smiled, but looked down as his expression wavered.

“Surely I am, sure as the world. Don’t need any help around here. Lord knows it’d be too bad if I did.”

Like a switch being flipped, he turned on the charm. “Janie, speaking of help, don’t suppose you’d reconsider sending my new manuscript to your editor? I wish you’d help me even half as much as those so-called students of yours.”

“Sorry, John. You know my feelings on that subject. If you’d listen to me and do some rewriting, maybe a little editing, I might be inclined to help. But your epoch, what’s it called, ‘Tale of Two Tarts’, needs way too much work. I can’t risk turning my editor off just because you won’t pay attention to my advice.”

He slammed his fist on the table. “That’s just fine! Help a damn stranger, some kid who needs a mama to clean his nose. But don’t help me. That sure is a hell of a way to treat your loving husband.”

“John Rivers! Don’t you dare go shoutin’ and swearin’ at me!”

“I need some fresh air!” He turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the station wagon as he spun out of the drive and onto the road.

~~~

Sam heard the knock on her door as she was headed for a glass of wine. John was standing there when she looked out the tiny peephole. She swung the door wide open.

“John, what a pleasant surprise. Did you leave something behind?”

“No.” He hesitated, then uttered in a hoarse voice, “Well, in a way, I did. Yes, darling, I surely did!”

Without another word, he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely on the lips. She accepted his kiss passively for a moment, letting him set the pace. Then, she melted into his passion with her own as her arms folded around his shoulders. She opened her lips to accept his exploring tongue, meeting and dominating it with hers.

After several seconds, she pushed him away and he watched her emerald eyes sparkle. “John Rivers! My goodness, you surely do have a way of sweeping a girl off her feet! What in the world’s got into you?” She stepped back to let him into the room.

“I think you know, Samantha, but I need you to tell me one thing. If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize and leave. This evening, when you were in the bedroom changing clothes, did you leave that door open on purpose so I’d see you naked?”

She feigned a surprised look. “John? Indeed! Why would a lady do something like that? With a married man, of all things.”

Her eyes teased him as she spoke, confirming that he was right. “Sam, damn it! Don’t toy with me. Tell me the truth. Did you want me to come back here tonight?”

“Yes, John. I truly hoped you’d come back.”

As she spoke, she opened her arms for him again. Beyond words, he pulled her close and kissed her. His lower body responded instantly, pressing the growing intensity of his passion against her body. As their hands began mutual exploration, she unzipped his trousers and reached in to expose the part of him she was most interested in.

“Oh goody! You really are long, John! I just love a long, tall man, don’t you know? Are you going to be my Long John lover?”

He only grunted, releasing her long enough to pull her sweatshirt over her head and toss it aside. Like a kid in a candy store, he sampled her charms, treat after treat. Time slipped by as they advanced, retreated, parried and thrust into a soaring cataclysmic cadence of lust. On the floor, on the sofa—on the kitchen table.

Next verse, same as the first.

He went home late, well sated and unabashed, resplendent in the smell of his female. But he was no fool. John slept on the sofa—the one Jane had made up for him after his hateful exit.

A practice that would soon become a daily habit.

Don't miss Struck By Conscience!

2011-04-27T15:51:00.000-07:00

Struck By Conscience
by CK Green

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I, Charisma Mansfield, do solemnly swear that... I never asked to be popular. I never asked to be voted Prom Queen. I definitely never asked to have an invisible pixie perched on my shoulder whispering her opinions into my ear 24/7. But of all the things I never asked for, this is the worst one yet—when brooding but gorgeous Heath Ruvelas (my next door neighbor and the guy I used to be best friends with before jr. high) rescued me from drowning in the school pool. My already bizarre life would never be the same.

EXCERPT:

My head had been in a fog since the near drowning episode. It now hit me how very quiet it was—in my head that is. It was never quiet there. Dahlia constantly lambasted me with her fairy-like speech. Oh dear God! Had she drowned in the pool? I couldn’t feel her anymore. She wasn’t perched on my shoulder like usual. She was gone!

₪₪₪

My mom came to get me a half an hour later. She’d brought me some dry clothes and sported an
overanxious expression. “Charisma, oh good Lord, are you okay?”

Yes, my mother had named me Charisma. Charisma Elaine Mansfield. Was it any wonder that I’d been included as one of the popular trend-setters at school? It’s like I didn’t even have a choice with a name like that. But really, Charisma? Other than the actress who’d starred on that TV show, Angel, have you ever heard of anyone with this unfortunate designation? Perhaps an exotic dancer?

The nurse calmed down my mother and then released me into her care. Ironic, right? I convinced Mom to walk down to the pool with me, having made the excuse that I’d left something behind. It was true. I had lost something: Dahlia. She could be a great nuisance at times, but she’d been with me as far back as I could remember.

Dahlia is what my mother called my conscience when I was little. At seven years old, I tried to convince her that Dahlia really existed. She didn’t believe me, and I’d never mentioned her since. Over time, I’ve discovered that she’s more of a pixie than a conscience. I’ve never seen her only felt her and heard her. She’s invisible and not able to show herself to mere mortals.

The thing about having a pixie with me 24/7 is that I’ve never been able to verbalize all the things I’m thinking and feeling even when I’m alone because, of course, Dahlia will hear. Even then she always seems to know what I’m thinking and at times her thoughts come out of my mouth as if I had no control. After nearly eighteen years, I wish I could get rid of her. But not like this. Not drowned because of my stupidity.

We made it to the gate of the pool, and I cautiously walked beside my mother toward the water, my legs still feeling a bit shaky. It’s not like I wanted to land in the drink again. “Over beside that bench, Mom. That’s where I left my book.”

It was a lie. I hadn’t left a book. It was Dahlia. I had to find her. Please, please, I prayed silently. Please let her be okay.

“Dahlia,” I whispered close to the water. “Please, don’t be dead. I’d give anything if…”

“If what?”

For a split second, I felt that odd but familiar sensation near my shoulder. She wasn’t dead!

“Dahlia, you’re okay.”

“Of course, I am. You didn’t think a little water could take me out, did you?”

“No, well, yes, I did. I was worried.”

“I told you to stay away from the pool, but you didn’t listen.”

“I know. You were right…again.”

“Yes, but at least Heath came to your rescue. I should have known that gimlet of a boyfriend of yours would be useless in an emergency situation.”

“Dahlia…”

“Shh! Here comes your mother.”

When we couldn’t find my fictitious book, Mom took me to the car and drove me home. On the ride, I wondered what had happened to Brett. Okay, if the truth be told, it was more than likely Dahlia who had whispered the idea into my ear.

I didn’t respond to her because Mom would find it entirely suspect if I started talking to myself. I gave that up in second grade. Still, the thought remained. What had happened to Brett? He hadn’t followed me to the nurse’s office as far as I knew. Did he care that I’d nearly died? I did! I nearly died and I would have if it hadn’t been for Heath.

New Release: Paladin

2011-04-12T16:55:00.000-07:00

Serendipity Book 4: Paladin
By Brieanna Robertson

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What could be weirder than a tattoo artist who spends his summers pretending to be a medieval knight? How about a tattoo artist who spends his summers pretending to be a medieval knight handing out ultimatums in a bathroom stall? That’s the situation Cadence finds herself in after fleeing from her overprotective brother in an attempt to make him see that she is an adult and capable of living her own life. Too bad he tracked her down like a stalker… And too bad she’d laughed at sexy Talis when he told her what he did for a living… And too bad she’d run into the men’s room to hide when she’d seen her brother coming after her.

Now, in order to stay hidden, she has to agree to travel with a roguish band of bizarre men as Talis’s squire for the summer. Not only does she think it’s absolutely ridiculous, but the way her blood burns around Talis sends off all of her warning signals. What is it about the calm, composed, devilish man that makes her want to tame her reckless existence and find out what stability is like? More importantly, can Cadence stop her pattern of self destruction, or will she miss out on the chance to win the heart of her very own paladin knight?

EXCERPT:

She turned to seek refuge in the women‘s room, but Lance would probably just send Rochelle in to look for her. She was pretty sure that the only reason Lance was searching for her in this area anyway was because Rochelle hadn’t been able to keep the secret from him. She didn’t blame her. Rochelle was Lance’s wife. Her first loyalty was to him.

As the Hummer neared and she ran out of options, she flung open the door to the men’s room and ran for the nearest stall, which happened to be the large, handicapped one. It wouldn’t be as easy to find her in there. She didn’t think Lance was bold enough to go peeking under stalls.

She yanked the stall door open and closed it quickly behind her, peering out of the crack to watch the door.

“May I help you?” a deep voice drawled.

Cadence screamed. She spun and found herself staring straight at the tattooed chest of that man she had been watching all day. She blinked in bewilderment. Not only was he tattooed, but he was…well, ripped was a good word. She forced her eyes away from his six pack and all of his ink and looked up at his face. “Silly medieval tattoo artist?” she questioned, recognizing him from the Bleeding Passion concert.

The man winced and rubbed at his ear as if her shrill scream had pierced his brain. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the rude roadie,” he grumbled. “What a pleasant surprise.” His blue-eyed gaze raked over her body for a second before returning to her face.

Cadence crossed her arms over the green top of her two-piece swimsuit and scowled. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was going to the bathroom,” he replied. “That’s generally what one tends to do when they’re in a stall. Guess I’m just lucky to get the stall with the busted lock.” He folded his arms, mirroring her posture, and gave her a questioning look. “So, do you make it a practice to just chill in the men’s room, or—”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to peer out the crack in the door. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not chilling. I’m hiding.”

“Oh, so you make it a practice to hide in the men’s room?” He snickered. “At least I was fortunate enough to have zipped my pants up before you came barreling in.”

“Would you shut up?” she spat over her shoulder. “I’m trying to pay attention.”

“Who are we hiding from?” he whispered against her ear.

“My brother.” She tried to ignore the involuntary shiver that went through her as his breath tickled her neck.

“Ah…okay. And why are we hiding from your brother?”

“Because he’s looking for me and I don’t want him to know where I am. That good enough for you?” She shot him an irritated scowl. “And how dare you call me rude. I wasn’t rude to you.”

He snorted. “So, laughing in my face doesn’t count as being rude?”

“When did I laugh in your face?”

He turned away from her to lean nonchalantly back against the wall of the stall. “Well, you asked me about renaissance faires, and when I told you about what I did in them, you laughed at me. Not to mention you just called me the ‘silly medieval tattoo artist.’”

She waved it away. “Oh, come on. It’s not every day I meet someone who says they pretend to be a knight for a living. It was funny.”

“Yeah, well, I think it would be pretty funny if I hauled you out of this stall right now and threw you outside.” He stood up straight and grasped her arm.

She gasped. “No, don’t!” She looked up into his eyes. “Please! I’m sorry I laughed at you, okay?”

He studied her for a second with a frown. “Why are you so afraid of your brother?” he questioned.

“I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t want him to find me. He treats me like I’m a little kid and tries to run my life.”

“Why?”

She sighed in exasperation. “Because I was arrested last year.”

“For what?”

“I beat up a security guard.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You what?”

“It was self defense! He was sexually harassing me. I was let off, but Lance freaked out. Of course it was him who I called to bail me out of jail. I don’t know why. He’s been attached like a barnacle to me ever since.”

He looked as if he was considering something for a moment. “Wait, what? Lance? Who’s Lance?”

“Lance Lawson. My brother.”

“Lance Lawson!” His eyes bulged. “Lance Lawson is your brother?”

“Yes, and the fact that he’s a mega star doesn’t change the fact that he’s an overprotective pain so just be quiet and let me hide, okay?”

* * * *

Talis looked down at her and contemplated his choices. She was rude, had mocked him, and didn’t seem necessarily sorry about it. It would be what she deserved to have him turn her over to her brother. On the other hand, it wasn’t his place to interfere. He didn’t know the situation and it would be wrong of him to just stick his nose in and act like he knew what was best. Or… He grinned devilishly and let his eyes study the beautiful tattoo across her shoulders while she continued to peer through the stall door like a spy.It was a dragon. An amazing green and yellow dragon breathing fire. So, she must have some appreciation for medieval mythology. “Why should I hide you?” he asked her. “You were rude to me. Give
me one good reason why I shouldn’t squeal on you.”

She turned and looked at him again, as if she couldn‘t believe he was actually thinking about giving her away. She rolled her eyes. “Man, I am never going to laugh at anyone ever again,” she grumbled. She heaved a defeated sigh. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t right for me to laugh at you. I’m an idiot sometimes. I don’t think before I speak.”

His lips quirked at the corners in amusement. She seemed sincere, but he was going to milk this for all it was worth. “Apology accepted, but not good enough.”

She gave him a genuinely pained expression. “What is your name?”

“Talis.”

“Please, Talis, you don’t even understand. He’s driving me crazy. I can’t do anything without him asking me about it. He keeps tabs on me all the time like I’m his kid. I can’t keep living my life like this. I’ll go insane.”

An idea was whirling around inside of Talis’ mind. An absolutely absurd and reckless idea. He grinned. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll keep you hidden, but you have to be my squire for the rest of the summer.”

She frowned. “Your squire? Isn’t that like a servant?”

“Assistant. At the renaissance faires.”

She raised both of her eyebrows and laughed. “Oh, that’s funny.”

He shrugged. “You would travel with me, go to the faires as my squire. I’d pay your way, your food, your lodging. Think about it. Your brother would never think to look for you there.”

She met his eyes, which he knew twinkled with devilish mirth. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to just go off with a stranger and play warrior like some kind of—” She paled as she heard the door open, and she whirled to look out the crack of the stall again.

“Cadence!” Lance’s voice shouted. “Are you in here?”

Brieanna Robertson Interviews Traevyn Whitelaw of Dark Masterpiece

2011-04-01T16:21:00.001-07:00

Getting Traveyn Whitelaw to agree to do an interview with me was only slightly easier than getting Jaide to agree. Next to Jaide, Traevyn is probably the most private man I have written, and he dislikes giving interviews or releasing personal information. However, because of the fact that he is a famous artist and takes care of his own PR, and because his disposition is less caustic than Jaide’s, I didn’t have to guilt trip him. But even so, his agreement to do this was not without its fair share of grumbling.

When I sit down with Traveyn, he is looking elegant and old-world, as always. He carries himself with an air of aristocratic grace that I rarely see in the modern world. He wears a gray button-down shirt and black slacks, and his long, shining ebony hair is free-flowing around his broad shoulders. I have never seen anyone as beautiful as Traveyn, and I take a moment to admire him, as I always have.

After a silent several seconds, he looks up at me expectantly. I smile and get down to the business at hand.

B: Hello, Traevyn. It’s good to see you again.

T: (He gives me a polite smile, but it reaches his eyes and warms up his fierce features.) Likewise.

B: It has been awhile since I’ve spoken with you. How are things with you and your family?

T: Things are well. Evie and I are busy with Julia and Brandon (his daughter and son) and Julia has discovered a love for painting, much like her parents, so we really spend most of our time cleaning up messes. (This brings a grin to his lips) Seth is living in San Francisco now with my brother’s friend, but he visits often.

B: For those who do not know of how you met your wife, give us a brief recap.

T: She was a Junior art student sent to be my apprentice for the summer. I was an ogre and she was a firecracker determined to whip me into shape. That about covers it.

B: (It is impossible for me to stifle my chuckle) I know you had been through some personal hardship in your life before meeting Evie. What was it about her that got past your defenses?

T: Her acceptance and understanding about my past and myself. Her compassion, empathy and nurturing personality. That and her spunk. That was so very sexy. (He grins) Still is.

B: I know you are a very private person. And at the time Evie came to stay with you, you were, more or less, a recluse. What made you decide to take on an apprentice?

T: I went to college at SOU and my Art professor guilted me into it, basically. I never would have agreed to it otherwise.

B: Was it strange having someone who admired you so much live in your home?”

T: Of course. It was completely awkward at first. I didn’t want anyone intruding on my solitude and Evie had this eye for symbolism. She could see straight through my art and straight through me. It was extremely disconcerting.

B: What was it like having a seventeen-year-old boy thrown in the mix?

T: (He chuckles) Annoying. But Seth grew on me. I love him like my own brother.

B: I know you designed the home you live in now. What made you design it the way you did? And why did you choose the location you did?

T: I have always been a fan of Gothic literature and art. I incorporated that in the décor and style of my home. As for the ocean, I have always felt like it’s the best representation of me. Unpredictable, strong, turbulent, boundless, dangerous, but beautiful and peaceful as well. It gives me more serenity than anything else. I create better with the waves crashing in the distance, and my soul feels at ease.

B: When did you first realize you had feelings for Evie?

T: The pine-needle boarding episode and having my brother’s roommate chase after her was what finally made me get a clue. That and Seth, who could see we cared for one another romantically before either one of us actually knew it. But falling in love with Evie was a gradual process. The more she showed me of herself, and the more she dug into my soul, the more lost I became.

B: Ok, finally, are there any other dreams you have left to accomplish in your life?

T: (The smile that graces his features is soft) I have already been granted my two greatest dreams. I make a living off of my greatest passion, and I have a family. A woman who understands every aspect of me, and two beautiful children. I would be selfish to ask for more. Anything else that comes my way is a gift.

I thank Traevyn for his time, and we spend a few moments catching up. When he leaves, he hugs me. No hand-shaking for us. He wishes me the best. I do the same. Then, I watch his tall, lean, magnificent figure stride out the door.

Wanna know more about a dark artist in a Gothic mansion?

2011-03-30T17:15:00.000-07:00

Read all about him in Dark Masterpiece.

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Art student Evie Austin has spent the last several years idolizing the famous and elusive painter, Traevyn Whitelaw. After an agonizing final report on the man, who also happens to be the most private and secretive person Evie has ever tried to do research on, her professor picks her for the once in a lifetime opportunity to be Traevyn Whitelaw's apprentice for the summer.

Ecstatic, Evie knows that her summer is going to be amazing, filled with lengthy discussions on art and beautiful things with the man she admires above all others. What she doesn't expect is to get stuck taking her sullen, sarcastic, seventeen-year-old brother with her at the last minute, and she definitely doesn't expect Traevyn Whitelaw to live in an isolated Gothic mansion by the ocean. What's worse is that the man she imagined to be so cultured and refined is no more than a sinister, snarling ogre who acts like having Evie and her brother in his home is the worst intrusion imaginable... He's also the most gorgeous man Evie has ever laid eyes on.

There is more than meets the eye to the dark, brooding artist with the painful past, and spunky, outspoken Evie plans on finding out just exactly what the man is made of…if she can only figure out how.

EXCERPT

The road took her down toward the cliffs overlooking the ocean, and the trees began to get denser and more foreboding-looking, their thick branches jutting out in awkward positions
that looked like gnarled fingers. Wisps of fog slithered through the branches like serpents and Evie suddenly felt like she had ventured into a horror movie. She continued to
drive, the fog getting thicker as she went along.

“Dude, Evie, this is kind of creeping me out,” Seth muttered.

Evie rolled her eyes. “It’s just fog.” But she did have to admit, everything felt dark and foreboding, and that was an ominous feeling.

Without warning the road widened out and an enormous, Gothic-looking house came into view. Evie gasped in surprise and slowed the car to a stop as she stared at the structure. It
was dark, nestled in a grove of eucalyptus trees, sitting like a lonely sentinel. The architecture much resembled that of a sixteenth-century manor and she briefly felt like she’d traveled
through time.

“Holy crap,” Seth said. “What kind of guy is this? A friggin’ warlock or something?”

Evie shook her head to regain her senses and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Come on, he’s an artist. It makes sense that his home would be artistic.” But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something horribly lonely and tormented emanating from the dark edifice.

She got out of the car and started toward the front door, shivering as the eerie ocean breeze blew gently across her skin. She heard the forlorn cry of a seagull as she approached
and, behind it, the rhythmic pounding of the ocean waves. The breeze rustled through the leaves of the eucalyptus grove. Evie had to take a deep breath to calm her nerves
before she knocked on the heavy, oak door.

“Seriously, Evie, let me go home,” Seth whispered, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “I can hitchhike, or take a bus, or something. If you want to stay here in Edgar Alan Poe land, that’s cool, but I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”

Evie scowled and shushed him just as the door swung open. She raised herself taller and prepared a smile, but it promptly faded upon seeing the man in front of her. He was very tall and had thick, black hair that fell in shining strands all the way past his waist. His hair alone made her stop and marvel. She had never seen such long hair on a man. At least not on a man who wasn’t a sleazy, old biker, or a Native American. Then again, maybe he was Native American… She wouldn’t know… And his hair wasn’t frizzy and scary like those eighties rockers. It was shining ebony that looked like it would feel like silk.

“Can I help you?” he queried.

Evie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He was absolutely, breathtakingly…beautiful. Beautiful like art, like the covers of fantasy books with the rugged, manly, yet gorgeous hero. His features were harsh, all hard lines and sharp angles, undeniably masculine, but there was a strange, elegant beauty around his sensual lips and light green eyes that made Evie feel like she was looking at a living masterpiece.

Seth cleared his throat discreetly, which brought Evie out of her stupor, and she gave a nervous cough. “Excuse me, I am looking for Traevyn Whitelaw,” she murmured.

His facial expression remained impassive, and he merely shifted his weight in a lazy manner. It was a languid movement, like a jungle cat stretching. He sighed. “And you are?”

“Um…I—I’m Evelina Austin,” she stammered. “I’m—uh— supposed to be studying with Mr. Whitelaw for the summer… As his apprentice.”

His pale eyes seemed to look her over for a moment before they fixed on her own. “I am Traevyn Whitelaw,” he stated.

She swallowed.

“Who is your companion?”

“Oh, this is my brother, Seth.” She flashed a nervous smile. “My parents dumped him on me last minute. There was no one else to watch him all summer. I called Professor Roth and he told me it should be okay if I brought him with me.”

His dark eyebrows drew together in a frown and he stood up straight. “Oh he did, did he?”

It was almost a snarl. Evie retreated a step as his presence seemed to suddenly fill the entire world.

“It is most certainly not okay,” he spat, his voice a menacing growl. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Miss Austin. This apprenticeship program was not my idea, or my doing. Professor Roth approached me with it, and it was out of respect and gratitude for him that I reluctantly accepted. If not for him I would never have made it to where I am now. So, yes, you will be my apprentice. I will teach; you will learn what you will. What you do with that knowledge is entirely up to you. It is not any fault of mine if you fall flat on your face in your desired career. Professor Roth recommended you, so you must have some talent, but I want to
get one thing straight, Miss Austin. I have better things to do than entertain a starry-eyed college student and her delinquent brother.”

Seth frowned. “Hey,” he protested.

“I am doing this out of obligation,” Traevyn finished, “not by choice.”

Evie stared at him, dumbfounded. He moved quickly, making her jump, and motioned her inside. She hurried to obey, grasping Seth’s wrist and hauling him in after her.

“Follow,” Traevyn commanded, shutting the door.

Sharon Donovan: Music Sets the Scene for the Unworldy

2011-03-24T17:43:00.000-07:00

Good Evening!

Those chilling words still send shivers racing down my spine from the old television show.

ALFRED HITCHCOCK PRESENTS

Nothing could come close to the images the master story teller conjured in my mind. Just the sound of those words in barely more than a whisper made my skin crawl. The anticipation of the story he was about to tell sent chills racing down my spine. I remember glancing around the room to make sure all the curtains were drawn, all the doors locked. My family and I would gather around the television on a Friday evening, lights out with a big bowl of buttered popcorn. And the second the master of suspense’s face would appear on screen, my brother, sister and I would scream loud enough to wake the dead.

Alfred Hitchcock packed it all in his books and movies—chance meetings on a train, murder and mayhem, voyeurism, ice-blondes, debonair actors with a touch of quirky humor and rakish charm, espionage, romance and lost love. And who better befitting to portray the femme fatale of that era than Grace Kelly, Ingrid Bergman, Kim Novak and Janet Leigh? They were a perfect fit with Hollywood legends as Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, two of Hitchcock’s favorites.

Thinking of some of these old plots that linger in my mind, I write stories of romance and suspense to hopefully give readers just a hint of that old Hitchcock magic. Second to imagery, the first thing I focus on is music. Think about a scary movie. Right before a murder or something dangerous, the chilling music clues us in and has our hearts racing. This being said, with a fetish for peeking on guests as they shower, Janet Leigh is about to find out just how twisted Norman Bates is. Voyeurism at its peak. Just the sound of that screeching violin gets my blood pumping!

In my latest suspense Her Biggest Fan, I chose Moonlight Sonata to haunt the reader. As you read, you’ll swear you can hear the eerie spiking of piano keys because I have planted them in your head. Recalling the old thriller The Wax Museum, I used wax gargoyles with wings as props in the ballroom. To please my many muses, I combined my love of a psychological thriller with Classic Gothic and old Hollywood glamour.

In Mask of the Betrayer, the childhood nursery song Heigh Ho the Dairy-o sets the scene. I promise, these chilling lyrics will haunt your nightmares, the lyrics that have been programmed in Michael DeVeccio’s head, prompting him to kill.

"a hunting we will go, a hunting we will go. Heigh ho the dairy-o, a hunting we will go. We’ll catch a fox and put him in a box. Heigh ho the dairy-o, a hunting we will go."

You can hear the chilling music here

MASK OF THE BETRAYER VIDEO TRIAD PRODUCTIONS

Second place winner YOU GOTTA READ CONTEST IN JUNE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KzpiRni7R0

And find Mask of the Betrayer at Whimsical Publications

Get Your Blood Pumping With Mask Of The Betrayer

2011-03-22T18:11:00.000-07:00

Haven't checked it out yet? You won't want to miss this highly praised piece of literature!

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When the whispers in the night, the whispers of her lover, are the whispers of a killer, will Margot escape before she becomes the next victim?

Deep in the foothills of Red Rock Canyon, a serial killer stalks. He leaves his signature—a skull mask on the corpse. But when the homicide cop realizes the crimes are the reenactment of a case never solved ten years ago--all fingers point to Michael DeVeccio. And when Margot realizes she is married to the killer, her life becomes a living nightmare.

EXCERPT:

Suspecting her affair with Carlos, he had surveillance equipment installed all over the mansion. Once he showed her the very graphic video of her and his uncle going at it in the satin-lined coffin, he'd used it to his advantage.

Michael suspected his uncle knew more about his parents' accident than he'd let on, but couldn't prove a thing. Desperate to uncover the truth, Michael blackmailed Candace into getting Carlos to confess on tape. If she failed, she'd be killed. Stuck between a rock and a hard spot, Candace had done things to the old coot that disgusted even her. But those things had made the old man sing like a canary and the taped confession had saved her life. After her mission was a done deal, Michael kicked her out of Vegas and told her if she ever returned, he would rip her lungs out.

Reaching Carlos DeVeccio's bedroom, she got a little thrill as old memories surfaced. Just a few more seconds and she'd fall into the arms of her lover. She smiled to herself. She had returned to Vegas for a reason. She was flat broke. But after tonight, Michael would be her ticket back into the world of luxury. Then she'd be mistress of the manor once more. And more to the point, she'd have access to his billion dollar bank roll.

With a devious smile, she pushed her way through the heavy mahogany door. Crossing the threshold, she entered the house of horrors. Carlos DeVeccio had been a real nut, one straight out of the books. But with her fetish for face masks, she loved his collection and had often come into his wing just to admire them. What a thrill it had been to have sex in the coffin, howling along with the werewolf. Some might think it a bit kinky, but they didn't know what they were missing. Calling out to her lover, her pulse quickened a beat. "Michael? Are you here yet, darling?"

That's when she heard it, manic laughter from the final circle of hell. A slither of fear trickled down her spine, releasing a wild rush of adrenaline. Carlos?

She thought about the death of Lacy Diamond. Two Ninja assassinations were no coincidence.
Sensing danger, she felt for her sword. It was gone. Panic soared through her. Where the hell was it?

The laughter got louder and louder, moving in closer and closer. It seemed to be bouncing off the walls. She couldn't tell from which direction it was coming. Just then, the bell in the tower gonged, thundering off the walls like canon balls. Instinctively, she covered her ears with her hands. Where the hell was Michael?

Evil eyes from the face masks followed her every move. She had to escape this hell before it was too late. She couldn't think over the gonging of the bell. Every few seconds, the werewolf howled at the moon. She screamed, even though she knew no one would ever hear her. Floundering in wild disarray, disoriented by the darkness and relentless gonging, she searched in vain for the door. Her arms swam in mid-air, like a person drowning, desperate for an anchor, something to hold onto. She reached out and grabbed at nothing. She had to find a way out of this mausoleum of the living dead before it was too late. Where the hell was Michael?

The laughter got closer. Perspiration drenched her skin. The chilling laughter echoed in her ears, louder and louder, closer and closer. The bell in the bell tower broke through the thin filament of sanity she had left. The werewolf open his mouth and howled at the moon. Where was Michael? He'd know what to do. He was a master swordsman. His fencing skills were extraordinary. He could wield a Ninja star with his eyes closed and hit the mark. Where was he?

Blood thundered in her ears, but not loud enough to block out the manic laughter. It was close but she couldn't see a thing. She wished she had her sword. She turned to run; it was too late. She heard a distinct click. The killer had just depressed the button on her Zorro sword, releasing the thirty-seven inch blade. His psychotic laughter reached an ear-splitting crescendo just as the bell in the tower gonged out its last chime. From the dark shadows, Valentino pounced, her Zorro sword gleaming in the moonlight.

"Surprise!" he thrust the sword into her heart. "I promised to make you scream, darling Candace. Let me hear you scream."

Have You Checked Out Altered Beginnings?

2011-03-11T09:47:00.000-08:00

"The book keep me wanting to come back for more. It was very hard to put down.Very exciting and excellent to read. The author is great." -Barnes and Noble Reader

Buy directly here: Whimsical Publications
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The headline in the small town newspaper read Girl Missing, Presumed Dead or Worse.

Leigh Lawson returned to Nags Head, North Carolina after four years with a huge shock. That big and bold headline was about her! Everyone thought she was dead!

The truth was that she was doing well. While gone, she had gotten clean from drugs and worked hard to get her bachelor’s degree in engineering. With her life back on track, she returns home in hope that she will receive a warm welcome. Instead, she gets the townsfolks' disdain.

Everyone hates her, everyone except Jason Altarez, an ambitious and resilient reporter with his sights locked on Leigh. He chases her with oozing charm and romance, but does he really want her or is he after his next story?

Leigh’s life soon spirals out of control when the police recruit her for an undercover assignment. They want her to go back to the life of her troubled teenage years, back into the drugs, and help them to bring the local drug supplier to conviction. It may be Leigh’s only chance to redeem herself with her family and friends. If she can complete this one assignment, the town will forgive her. The only problem is that she needs to figure out how to stay alive in the process…

Jason is her continuous partner through it all, proving his dedication to her as he struggles to keep her safe. Leigh wants to believe he is a man of his word. She wants to believe that her heart isn’t completely foolish for falling for him, especially when she discovers evidence that Jason may be working for the very drug dealer that Leigh is trying to have arrested. Will he betray her in the end or will he demonstrate the most romantic notion of all – that love at first sight truly exists?

EXCERPT:

“I’ve got to find her. She could be in danger,” Emma mumbled and turned to leave.

“No, Emma, listen to me. You have to stay out of the middle of this!”

She glared at him. “She doesn’t have anyone, Shawn.”

He groaned loudly, and cursed again. Emma needed to stay away! Why was he always unable to say no to this woman?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”

He had to convince her to try Jason’s house before going after Freddie Garrett like the crazy woman had a mind to do. He thought she was unreasonable and overemotional and impossible to please, but he also knew he was madly in love with her. “I’m pretty sure she’s with Ice. She took off the earrings earlier, but the team said they were sure she was with a guy.”

It didn’t take them long to make the trip. A Lexus pulled up behind them in the driveway. It was Jason. “What are you guys doing here? What’s wrong?”

Emma answered. “We’re looking for Leigh.”

Jason swallowed back the panic that those words immediately caused. Leigh was probably just inside. Why the hell hadn’t he come straight home like he’d wanted to? Because Nate said he needed your help and you couldn’t say no, and you convinced yourself that she was smart enough to wait for you. “I just got home. Let’s see if she’s here,” he said calmly.

No one expected to see the house in shambles or Leigh on her knees in Jason’s living room when they walked in. Slick stood in front of her where it looked as if he’d just pushed her there. The air of the house grew thick with expectation as Slick pointed a gun at the three in the doorway. “Come in and shut the door,” he said.

They did as they were told. Instinct directed everyone’s hands up in the air. Leigh was staring at the floor, her face hidden behind her thick, black hair.

Shawn took a step closer, but made no move to draw his own weapon. No one spoke at first, afraid to disrupt the scene or upset the man with the gun.

Slick directed his attention to Jason. “I did a little redecorating. Hope you don’t mind, Ice.” Then, he looked to Shawn. “Just the man I’m looking for. My boss would like to see you, Shawn.”

Emma gasped. Jason’s eyes remained glued to Leigh. Shawn said, “Let my sister go.”

The look in Slick’s eyes never wavered. He continued to look Shawn in the eye when he suddenly backhanded Leigh across the face so hard that a noise echoed in the room as if he’d hit a wall.

Leigh moaned softly. She still did not look at anyone, eyes shut and head bent to the floor.

Jason reacted without thinking when he charged Slick. He was brought up short when the gun redirected to point between his eyes. “Don’t be a hero,” Slick’s velvety voice murmured.

The emotion could be seen surging through Jason as veins popped from his neck. “Stop this!” he roared.

Slick kicked Leigh in the side and repeated, “My boss would like to offer you a job, Shawn.”

Emma began to cry.

Shawn only stared.

Leigh took another kick that made her scream in pain.

Shawn broke his silence. “What do you want from me?”

“You’re a pretty smart guy. I’m sure you can figure out what it means to be on Freddie’s payroll.”

Slick jerked Leigh back to her knees and punched her. “I need an answer, Shawn.”

Emma cried out, “Please, stop this!”

Shawn stepped forward. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it.”

Slick withdrew a wad of cash from his right pocket and threw it on the floor. “That will get you started. Freddie will expect to see you at the club to confirm that answer. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I’ll be back to finish this if you don’t cooperate, and I mean soon.”

As soon as the man was gone, Jason was by Leigh’s side. “Leigh, talk to me, sweetheart.”

She was unconscious.

“Call 9-1-1!”

New Release: Merry Acres Widows Waltz

2011-03-07T11:47:00.000-08:00

Merry Acres Widows Waltz
By Nan D. Arnold

Buy directly here: Whimsical Publications
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Are the wives in Merry Acres so very merry?

When Husbands start dying, seemingly by accident, and the secrets
behind these deaths have so marred the gloss of happily-ever-after,
can murder be only a gold wedding band away? Or is there something
else causing Merry Acres to be anything but merry.

EXCERPT:

Everyone, regardless of their feelings for Augusta, stood and clapped. The dancers bowed. Augusta disappeared, but not before glancing my way with what looked to me like a cruel smile. The music changed to "Orchids in the Moonlight." Daniel held out his gloved hand for me.

I strode to him, seeing nothing but Daniel. Old wounds re-opened. My pulse raced as I recalled his affair with Rhonda. I took my position in his arms and muttered, "So, how often were you…uh…waltzing with Augusta behind my back?"

He looked aghast, then quickly readjusted his expression for the onlookers with a fake smile. He said, "Exactly the mood for a tango."

"You think?"

"This wasn't exactly planned, Georgiana. Dixie couldn't come to half the practice sessions. I'm happy, however, despite your mood, if it goaded you into dancing in public."

Hyper-aware, I felt the beat of his heart as we performed what was essentially a rough sex act to music, in public. "You didn't answer me about how much time you spent with Augusta."

He twirled me out, then reeled me in. I sneered at him, digging my index fingernail along his cheek but not deep enough to draw blood. I heard every musical note over the voice in my head screaming, bastard, bastard, bastard.

He entreated, "Augusta was kind enough to fill in for Dixie Metcalf. It was the only way I knew to make you show these gals what you could do on the dance floor. We practiced waltz steps a couple of times. Nothing else."

The music ended. "Liar." My eyes raked his face more sharply than my nail had.

His eyes pleaded, but I gave no mercy. The ovation brought me to the present. I tried to remove my hand enclosed in Daniel's, but he would not relinquish it. Stuck together, we bowed as I bestowed upon the BILL members a stare ten times colder than Augusta's had been.

Ripping my hand from Daniel's, I stalked to my chair, grabbed my purse, and started to leave the room. I was too hurt and angry to cry. Humiliated in public, again.

Alarmed at the turn of events, Lourdes looked over at Janet and signed a slicing move against her neck. She mouthed, "End it."

Janet dashed behind the screen and turned off the music.

I tracked toward the double-door entryway like a train, but Lourdes ran after me. "Don't be angry. Please, Georgiana, listen. Dixie couldn't come today. There's nothing between Daniel and Augusta." She blurted, "It's not like her and Mendez." Lourdes' hands flew to her mouth. "God, forget I said that."

I stopped and took a much-needed breath. "Interesting. Homicide just crossed my own mind. Maybe Mrs. Mendez once felt the same way."

Lourdes went pale.

Another BILL member meowed. "Watch out. Rumor has it Augusta's affairs start in the men's card room then move to the bedroom. Maybe this time, she stopped off on the dance floor."

"Shut up," Lourdes snapped. "Drink your wine and keep those comments to yourself. Besides, the men's card room is off limits to women, just as ours is to men."

I searched Lourdes' face. "Yes, that's true, isn't it?" I grabbed the lifeline of a shaky truth.

"Sure it is. Now, you go over there and make up with your husband who only did us a favor."

Before I acted on Lourdes' suggestion, the social director rushed in, practically knocking us aside. A uniformed police officer followed.

Sharon scanned the room and zoomed toward Becca Bernstein, indicating Mrs. Bernstein should follow her behind the screen. Standing just outside the screen, the officer said something.

Becca came out from the screened area, went white, and swayed.

Daniel, the only other man present, rushed over in their direction. "What's wrong?" He brought over a chair and the officer helped Becca into it.

Sharon wrung her hands.

"No, you're wrong. It's a mistake." Becca wailed in decibels that would put a commercial airliner's jet engine to shame. "Benny would have called me if anything was wrong. He always carries his cell phone when he jogs. My Benny's not dead, I tell you. He can't be. Certainly not from any god-damned heart attack."

Don't Miss Dayling!

2011-02-25T11:00:00.000-08:00

"The storyline is unlike anything in the genre...Dayling rocked!" -The Book Faery.

Buy Directly: Whimsical Publications

Turning eighteen is an exciting time for most girls. It means finally being considered a legal adult, having more freedom and a wild birthday party. For Haven Vigano, it means no longer being able to move around in the daytime, immortality and a craving for human blood. Haven is a Dayling, but in three weeks she will ‘Cross Over’ into the world of Nightlings.

Most Daylings live their lives as humans for as long as they can, which means they attend school, make normal friends and indulge in all the pleasures of being mortal… most Daylings except for Haven. She’s as antisocial as they come, even in the Dayling world. Haven cruises through life with cynicism and smart-alecky comments. She would rather stay at home and read a book then hang out with the locals, which is why she had to be dragged to a teenage party with her cousins. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Haven escapes the party.

On the way home, Haven comes across a teenage boy being beaten by four other guys. Haven saves the boy, Philip, and takes him to the hospital. This single event changes Haven’s life and her perspective of the human world forever. This event also creates a new problem for her: she’s waited too long to live in the human world, and dating a mortal so close to Crossing Over would be a big no-no for the head of her Nightling family… her father.

To make matters worst, a friend from her past, another Dayling named Sébastien, arrives in Tallahassee with the news that an ancient group of Nightling hunters called The Holy Sect of Mântuitors are hunting down and killing her kind. Haven’s father fears a Nightling is helping the Mântuitors in their quest to rid the world of immortals.

Now Haven must deal with her growing attraction to Philip, plus understand Sébastien’s jealousy towards her human crush, and oh yeah, help deal with the threat of the Mântuitors. Times were a lot simpler for Haven when she felt indifferent towards everything and everyone.

EXCERPT:

“Yo, haven’t seen you around here before.” He slurred out as he gazed at Sophia. Her black eyes gleamed as she stared at the inebriated jock. A playful half smile slowly crept across her smooth, innocent-l-looking face. I’d seen that look before. It had gotten us into as much trouble as it had gotten us out of. But, it never failed in achieving whatever task Sophia conjured it up for.

“We’ve lived up the block for a little over two years. Never made the time to make the rounds. Making the time now.” Sophia moved her long black hair behind her ears. She allowed her seductive gaze to fully light up her beautiful Spanish face. “You’re Eliot right? The man of the house?” She spoke with a slow rhythm.

Eliot almost fell over with excitement. His eyes became glazed with longing. His entire body stiffened. He had no idea the game being played on him. Nigel knew, which is why he quietly laughed at the enthralled football jock. Personally, I just wanted to get this over with so I could go home.

Stumbling again, Eliot quickly re-gathered himself. “Yeah I’m the man of the house. And you and your friends are invited to my party.” He moved out of the way for us to enter; never once taking his eyes from Sophia’s as he closed the door behind us.

Teenage kids grinding against each other filled the first floor of the house. I’d never gone to a teenage party before. I’d only read about them and seen them on TV or in movies. I thought Hollywood exaggerated what went on at these events, I had no idea how tamed the Hollywood versions were compared to the real thing.

A few kids were scattered around making out. I saw an area where belly shots were taking place. And of course, no party would be complete without the triple-kiss being performed in front of a crowd of cheering onlookers. I’d learned about the triple-kiss from Angela, who swore she’d never participated in one, but saw them on MTV Spring Break.

“Okay, I’m ready to leave now. I came, I saw,” I quickly shook my body, “I danced. See you guys back home.”

Sophia stepped in front of me. The flashing lights bounced off her face, giving her skin a slightly unnatural porcelain glow. She locked her shimmering black eyes onto mine. Unlike Eliot, she wasn’t trying to seduce me. Instead she tried to intimidate me. And as much as I hated to admit it, it worked. “You’re going to stay here with us, mingle, and have some fun. In a few weeks Haven you’ll be like me. But for now, you’re more like them. So enjoy it while you can chica”

I stared back into Sophia’s eyes, trying not to show the fear building inside me. “I’m nothing like them. And I’m never going to be like you Sophia.”

“Three weeks until your eighteenth b-day. Looks like someone has already started Crossing Over. Are we getting a little feisty there Haven?” Nigel said with a lopsided smile.

I turned from Sophia to face him. His skin also had a slightly porcelain glow to it. His frosty blond hair sat perfectly on top of his head. His light blue eyes gleamed with playfulness. He seemed as relaxed as always. I gave him a frown before I turned back to Sophia.

“Why am I here anyway? I thought this was supposed to be about Angela?”

She placed her left arm around her kid sister’s shoulder, pulling her in closer to her body. If I I hadn’t known any better, the embrace would have seemed comforting, almost loving. However, the malice in Sophia’s eyes always gave her true nature away. “It is about me mamacita. And she wants you to stay. Isn’t that right Angela?”

I looked at Angela hoping for her to say the words to excuse me from this torment. Instead, I got the top of her head as she stared at the floor; her telltale sign when she’s about to say something you don’t want to hear.

“It’s true. I’d feel better if you were here with me Haven.” Angela mumbled. Sophia kissed Angela on the jaw before she released her.

Sophia stalked up to me, only stopping inches from my face. I could feel her slightly cool breath, and taste her unnatural sscent as a chill gradually entered my body, leaving me frozen in place. “While Nigel and I check out this place for some after party fun, I want you to take Angela around for some introductions.” As she spoke, Sophia slowly leaned towards me, bearing her perfect white teeth while gazing longingly at my exposed neck. I tried to move. The fear flooding inside of me left me petrified in place. Sophia giggled before kissing me on the jaw, and then disappearing into the swarm of dancing teenagers with Nigel.

Sink Your Fangs into Deadly Encounters of the Supernatural Kind

2011-02-21T17:11:00.000-08:00

Deadly Encounters of the Supernatural Kind
by Melissa Hosack

You won't want to miss this one!

“My grandmother was not a witch!” Bradley cried with a stamp of her foot.

“I bet she was, just like I’m betting you are. Witchcraft is also the only explanation as to why I haven’t
killed you yet. You’ve put some kind of charm on me to make me desire you.”

“Oh, I have not!” Bradley griped, resuming her trek through the downpour. “Besides, witches don’t exist.”

“Just like vampires don’t exist?” he came back almost smugly with a wave at his chest, as if he were the
living proof of a contradiction.

“You are not a vampire,” she informed him, sounding exasperated.

He sent her a sideways glance. “You have no idea how tempting it is to tear your throat out with my fangs
to prove my point.”

She narrowed her eyes, but suggested, “Why don’t you turn into a bat? That oughtta prove it.”

“We don’t turn into bats,” he came back in disgust.

“So, you don’t turn into bats and you eat burgers. Sounds like the real deal to me,” she taunted
sarcastically.

“I am the real deal,” Beau growled in agitation.

“Prove it,” she challenged. “Show me some fang.”

With an aggravated sigh, he stopped, pulling her to a halt next to him. “Fine.” He bared his teeth and his
face screwed up in concentration. “I don’t really do this unless I’m feeding,” he said in obvious annoyance
at the inconvenience of her request.

Bradley braced her hands on his forearms and stood on tiptoes so she could peer into his mouth. “I don’t
see anything.”

Confusion flitted across his features. “I don’t understand…” He concentrated with all his might, but
couldn’t seem to get his fangs to spring forward.

“They shy?” Bradley teased. Slapping him on the chest, she stepped back. “See? No proof. Not a
vampire.” With a little sigh, she started walking again. “Why do all the really sexy ones have to be crazy?”

Beau followed her, rubbing a finger along his teeth and gums, perplexed. “I just don’t get it. This never…”
He trailed off with a grin. “You said I was sexy.”

“I also said you were crazy,” she pointed out as they reached her building. Glancing over her shoulder at
the door, she said, “Well, this is me.”

When she spun back around, Beau stood with his hands in his pockets, his thumbs sticking out in a very
rugged and manly way. She had to mentally count to ten to keep herself from ogling him. “Goodnight,”
she said through clenched teeth.

“I suppose I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said. “We’ve still got unfinished business to discuss.”

“Not really. I’m not giving your vampire wannabe butt my necklace, so that pretty much deters me from
having any further interaction with you.”

“Oh, there will be plenty more interaction.”

Bradley couldn’t help but notice that the low, husky sound of his voice sent tingles along her skin,
affecting her like no one ever had before.

She studied the way little water droplets glistened on the ends of his shoulder length, jet-black hair. Her
eyes skimmed over his broad chest, hungrily taking in the way his shirt clung to every muscle.

She was so busy admiring his physique that she didn’t notice he was going to kiss her until it was too
late. Before she could even think about stopping him, Beau’s lips were on hers.

They caressed across hers, soft and tentative as his arm snaked around her waist. He pulled her gently
toward him until her body melded against his.

As if they had a mind of their own, Bradley’s arms wrapped around his waist, clutching the back of his
shirt in her fists.

His mouth became more persistent against hers, nudging her lips apart.

Pressing her body to his, she mumbled into his mouth, “This means nothing.”

He nibbled at her bottom lip, drawing a gasp from her.

“This is just…” She tightened her fists, nails raking briefly against his skin. “This is just that freebie. You
know that, right?”

Beau hissed at the sensation of her nails, his free hand rising to bury itself in her hair, gently gripping it
at the scalp. “Then I’ll use it wisely,” he growled into her mouth.

“I still think,” she said between kisses, “that you are arrogant, delusional, and should really see a
psychologist about this vampire-” She broke off with a surprised yip as he pulled her more forcefully
against his chest.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, pausing only briefly before crushing his lips to hers again.

Bradley relaxed against him, making a happy mewing noise when he caressed her cheek with the back of
his hand. She was just starting to fully enjoy herself when a sharp pain invaded her lower lip. An instant
later, she tasted blood.

Beau moaned, drawing her lip into his mouth, sucking at her bleeding flesh.

She let out a squeak of protest and pushed her hands against his chest, shoving roughly as she tore her
mouth from his.

His eyes were dilated, the irises darker than usual. He had a set of sharp fangs protruding from his
mouth with her blood clinging to them, and his breathing was coming in shallow gasps.

She could see blood lust in his eyes almost as plain as his desire. She backed up a step in horror as his
tongue flicked over his bloody teeth.

“Bradley,” he practically begged as she took another step back, “I tried to warn you.”

When he reached a hand out to her, she gave a cry of terror. “Stay away from me!” she shrieked before
turning and racing into the building. As she shut the door behind her, she prayed that she was shutting
Beauregard Channing out of her life indefinitely.
***
Get yours here: Whimsical Publications

Not Your Average Vampire Story...

2011-02-17T20:29:00.001-08:00

"Unlike any other Vampire story I've read, this one caught me in chapter one. I just couldn't put it down!" -LASR

Find out what makes this book so special! Check it out here:
Whimsical Publications

Deadly Encounters of the Supernatural Kind
by Melissa Hosack

Beauregard Channing has devoted the past four hundred years to tracking down items that, if put in the wrong hands, have the ability to cause destruction and damage to innocent lives. Though sworn to defend mortals, Beau feels removed and detached from humankind. He loses all desire for personal interaction with mortals until his next target, Bradley Hildebrand, turns out to be the one woman he cannot seem to get off his mind.

Against his better judgment, Beau attempts to charm his way into Bradley's heart while simultaneously trying to coax her into giving him the relic he seeks before the wrong people discover its location. Bradley immediately annihilates Beau's plan of a peaceful compromise by refusing to believe that a world of vampires and supernatural creatures could exist without her knowledge.

While he is attempting to make Bradley see reason, Beau's worst fear comes true. A group that intends nothing but devastation to those around them discovers the location of Bradley and her artifact. After an attack that leaves Bradley lucky to be alive, the men take off with the widely sought after historical object.

Now it is up to Bradley, Beau, and Bradley's slightly unorthodox and eccentric best friend Camden to track down the artifact and save innocent lives from falling victim to its powers. If the three of them don't end up killing each other, Beau just might be able to persuade Bradley to fall in love with him.

EXCERPT:

The vampire holding Bradley began dragging her toward a car.

Bradley kicked and struggled against him. Somehow, she knew that if he got her into that car, she was dead. They would torture her to find out what they wanted and then they would kill her. She wasn't stopping him with her resistance though. He was too big, too strong.

"Beau!" she screamed in horror. She twisted violently in her assailant's arms, trying to loosen his grip on her. "Beau!" She pushed her feet off the ground, kicking them wildly in the air and forcing all of her weight onto the vampire. She knocked him off balance, nearly dragging him to the ground with the sudden movement.

"Quit struggling!" he snarled.

He had her nearly to the car when in a last ditch effort, Bradley threw her head back, hitting him in the face. She felt fangs sink into the back of her head, stinging her flesh, but at least he dropped her. Breathing raggedly from the effort used to get free, Bradley started crawling in Beau's direction.

She didn't even make it a few feet before the vampire grabbed a fistful of her hair. She was pulled backwards, her butt hitting the pavement.

Still clutching her hair, the vampire began dragging her backwards toward the car behind him.

Bradley grabbed his wrist, trying to pull herself free while her feet scrambled and kicked at the pavement. To her horror, she saw Beau take a two-by-four to the gut and double over.

The vampire fighting Beau loomed over him, his weapon raised for another blow.

That was the last thing Bradley saw before she was hauled from the ground and tossed into a trunk.

***

Find out more about Melissa here: Melissa's Site

What do you see...

2010-08-13T13:13:00.000-07:00

As a publisher, I see the beauty of a story, or not. I see how the idea can be shaped into a masterpiece and how the cover can be made into a work of art. I see the joy of laying out a story into book format and sending it to the printer, only to return as a wad of paper glued together with a colorful outer shell. I see, or rather can imagine, the smile on the author's face as he/she opens the package with their copies inside.

This thrills me to no end.

But what do I see as a person?

The other day I was working at another facility instead of my usual hospital. I had the day from heck but I was in heaven. I saw new ways of doing things; I expanded my knowledge; I smiled; I laughed; I made mistakes. But then again, who doesn't.

I marveled at the way canisters from different departments shot through a tube system into a holding bay. Way cool! I met some really nice people. I marveled at how different the two facilities were, even though they're under the same company.

When I walked outside, I was met with a loud whooping noise. It was a helicopter landing on the roof of the building I had just left. I grinned just like a kid let loose in a candy store, craning my neck to look up and watch it disappear.

Today, I had the pleasure of staying home instead of having to go to work, on call. I was able to converse with people on the computer and marvel over my house. Even though I've lived here for a long time, and the place needs some minor maintenance, it still thrills me to think it will be paid for in a few short years.

The oak tree I planted as a sapling has grow so large grass won't grow under it due to the folage. I watched a squirrel rummage through the dirt, looking for a seed or two. Once it found one, it scampered up the tree to sit on a branch and nibble on its find. Afterwards, I watched the squirrel sprawl out on the same branch and fall asleep. It was so cute!

Now, I'm looking out my window, watching the clouds form, becoming dark and heavy. Rain will soon be here, and I plan on watching that, too.

Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Whether it be a book, a car, a house, a pet, or even a squirrel, take a moment to stop and look. You might be pleasantly suprised at what you see. Or want to write about.

Leave a comment, if you so wish, and let everyone know what you find beautiful. It will bring a smile to your face.

:)

ebooks

2010-06-03T06:25:00.000-07:00

For those of you who read ebooks, what is it that causes you to purchase a book? Is it price, content, the author? Do you see a cover that catches you eye and want to take a peek?

I was on a site recently where a book by former President Clinton was offered. I saw the price and thought, I hope for that price it is an actual book. Out of curiosity, I clicked on the link. To my suprise, it was an ebook. For $45. An ebook...$45. Wow.

I'm not sure I would pay that much for a print book, no matter who the author.
I prowled around some more and saw other big name authors with their books priced in the $15 to $20's range, or more. All of these were ebooks. Is it me or does those prices seem a bit high?

I know I posted a note about ebook readers. Now I'm posting about ebooks.

A war is raging between the large publishers and Amazon. Amazon wants to keep all ebook prices at the $9.99 or under range. The publishers don't. Just to make things more complicated, Apple joined in. They are allowing the publishers to price the books higher. I don't agree with either business model; it's their way of operating, not mine. Just stating what is going on.

I understand an unknown author makes one hesitate. What if it sucks; what if I get partway through and absolutely can't read any more? (I did this with a Stephen King book once. Forced myself to finish it.) Is $4.99 and $5.99 too much for an unknown?

If you've read an ebook, post a comment about what helped you to get that book. What features did you like? What infomation swayed your decision? Now is the time to post so those who are riding the fence on ebooks can decide if it is worth it to them, and how they can benefit from your knowledge. I still love a good book that I can hold in my hand, but I'm open to other methods of reading, too.

Leave a comment. Help readers to understand. :)

WP

Do you ever wonder...

2010-05-25T21:26:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder what the reader thinks of your book? Do you ever worry they will catch every little thing that is wrong? Like a period out of place, a semicolon instead of a colon?

Before I get into the "business", I simply read a book. I never noticed whether it had the right grammar; I just wanted a story I could sink my teeth into, a story where I could get to know the characters and live their lives through their words and actions.

I can't tell you how many times I wanted a dragon, like the ones in Anne McCaffrey's Dragonrider series. Or even a firelizard after they were introduced into the stories. I didn't care if the sentences were off a little, or they were too long or too short, or even if an extra comma or two was thrown in. I just wanted to sink into the book and "feel" how it was to soar into the sky and flame thread. When Moreta died after going between (those who read the dragorider books know what I'm talking about), I cried. Not because I felt the grammar was awful, but because I felt the story was real, like I was living with the characters.

The same goes for a lot of the books I read. I love a good sci-fi book that takes me to other worlds, worlds where the imagination can run rampid. I don't know if anyone remembers the Fuzzies books. I have all three of them. I'll never part with them. The writer created a world so real I had a hard time not seeing a little fuzzie standing close by. Again, I cried when one of the little guys was killed by a cruel, nasty man.

I love a good mystery that makes my heart race, a good horror book that scares the snot out of me. Darkfall by Dean Koontz absolutely scared me when I first read it. I still have a hard time reading it unless I'm in broad daylight, in a crowded room. LOVE that book. Did I worry about it having all the grammar correct, or the story lines in alignment? Nope. Just worried about hearing scratching noises in the walls and loving the fact that my bed frame sits on the floor so nothing can hide under it (it's an old waterbed frame).

Yes, I do look at the grammar now a bit more than I used to. But I still strive to get into the story, to "live" with the characters, to yell at them to not go in that room, you idiot! If there are too many errors, it can make a book distracting. A little amount...not so.

So, if you are a writer, don't let comments from reviewers get you down. Listen to the readers. If you are a reader, let the author know what you think. Tell them if they achieved their goal: to write a believeable story. Tell them if they helped you to soar, to discover new worlds, to cringe when the victim walks into the wrong room. I know for a fact they will appreciate it. I do. If the author falls short, tell them. How can they grow and improve unless told. Make sure to be nice, though. The world is already full of inconsiderate dweebs. Let's not add another. Manners, people. They go a long way.

Through my own books, it was a thrill to create a new species: a humecat. Even though I know it's not real, I "feel" as though the creature is. (I have four examples of a humecat living with me. They are called "cats." lol) I hope I conveyed that to my readers. Even with the grammar errors.

Thanks for reading this posting. Feel free to comment. Oh, and by the way, pick up a book and enjoy it, regardless of whether the author is famous or not.

What it takes to write a good story.

2010-05-11T11:46:00.000-07:00

Many an author has asked this very question. Many an author remains unsure as to how to do this question.

Submissions come in and I look at them to see if the manuscript will be a good fit with Whimsical Publications (WP). A few are, but many are not. Here are some of the reasons why the book fails to grab me:

1-too many grammatical errors.
2-too much narrative, not enough description.
3-telling the story rather than showing the story.
4-poor sentence structure.
5-boring.

There are others but these are the worst offenders.

Here are my replies to each of the above. Of course the answers are subjective, but that is the beauty of being human: we all have a choice.

1-too many grammarical errors.

When a writer is in the grove, the muse, whatever you want to call it, grammar is something not to be worried about until after the story is complete. You do not want to edit at the same time you write. Editing is for the second or even third go-round. Before you submit to a publisher or an agent, the manuscript should be "clean".

What I mean by "clean" is the has to be a period where one belongs and a comma where it belongs. The words need to be the correct version. An example: whose vs who's. Or write vs right vs wright. There vs their. Each is correct depending on its use. If the writer is using MS Word for their story, the spell checker may not catch the wrong word due to the fact the word is not misspelled. Having a dictionary close at hand helps.

Make sure to give the manuscript a good once-over to make sure everything is correct. Minor errors are nothing and can be fixed. Too many will drive an editor nuts and cause the publisher to turn your work away.

2-too much narrative, not enough description.
3-telling the story rather than showing the story.
5-boring.

These three can go hand in hand.

Picture yourself sitting in a lecture hall. Picture two people standing up on the stage, sitting on stools, reading to each other. After a while you, the audience, get rather bored and tune out. You start thinking of chores you have to do, errands needing to be done, meals to be cooked, and all kinds of others activities in your busy life.

Jane went to the curtain and looked out. She said, "A car is sitting near the end of the driveway. The man inside is watching the house."

"Why would someone do that?" Rick asked.

"I have no idea."

"Well, neither do I."

"Maybe we should go outside and ask."

"Whatever for. If the man wants something, he'll come to the door and knock."

You get the idea. This is telling and is rather dull. It involves a lot of narrative and not a lot of showing. A good way to understand how to show a scene is to close your eyes and "see" with your minds eye what is going on. If you can't actually see it, you have to describe it so another understands what you are seeing. Example:

With a huff of frustration, Jane walked over to the window and shifted the curtain. The view of the lilac bushes outside the window always calmed her after an argument. She watched as a small flame flashed to life in the car near the end of the driveway. Just as quickly, it was gone.

"Rick, there's a sedan with tinted windows sitting across the street from the driveway. I just saw a man with dark hair light a cigarette. I get the feeling he is watching the house."

Rick turned away from the source of the argument, the TV. "What? Why would someone be doing that?"

"I don't know, but it frightens me." Jane's voice crept up in tempo and she crossed her arms before her, rubbed her upper arms. (Notice I did not make a comment about her facial expression. She can't see her own face unless she is looking in a mirror.)

Rick crossed the room in a couple of strides and peered over her shoulder. "I don't know why someone is out there, but I'm going to go find out."

Jane saw the firm set of his jaw and knew nothing but trouble would come of Rick going outside to confront the observer. She spun around and grabbed his arms, halting his progress to what she knew was certain harm. "No! Wait! I don't want you to go out there!" Her heart raced and her breath picked up speed.
-------
Okay, you get the idea. As you read, you wonder what is going on and why the person sitting in the car is there. It keeps you interested and wanting to read more to find out why Jane is so frightened. You "see" her fear and emotions rather than merely reading them. The description helps builds the story. If the story is boring, the reader goes away. If the story grabs the reader right away, he/she stays for more.

And finally, 4-poor sentence structure.

If the sentence structure is awkward when reading it, it tends to make the reader upset and they quit, likely to never read another of your works again. A way to prevent this is to read your story out loud. If you stumble on a particular section, so will the reader. Smooth that part out and reread it. Once it is fixed, move on to the next until the manuscript is finished. It will be well worth the time.

If the sentence goes on and on and on and on and...well, you get the picture, break it up into a couple of sentences, or more if warranted. I remember being taught that if you have to stop for a breath, toss in a comma. Or start a new sentence.

Okay. Now that I've typed your eyes off, I hope I've helped in some way. Remember, these are my opinions and are what I use when reading a submission. Others may have different ways of methodology.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog. Happy writing!

More to come.

2009-12-31T05:36:00.001-08:00

Since this is a new site, I will post more on a future date. Thanks for visiting.