The Esposito Series Box Set:

Now you can own the first three books in the sassy and suspenseful Vinnie Esposito Series by J.M. Griffin!

By day, Lavinia (Vinnie) Esposito is a criminal justice instructor at a college in Rhode Island. By night Vinnie is an amateur sleuth, solving murders while trying to avoid getting yelled at by her Italian father, her hunky protective boyfriend Marcus Richmond, and her sexy upstairs tenant, the mysterious Aaron Grant.

For Love of Livvy (Book 1)

Vinnie investigates the death of her beloved aunt, and a mysterious box is left on her doorstep.




Dirty Trouble (Book 2)

Someone is stalking Vinnie and that’s just the beginning of her troubles.

Dead Wrong (Book 3)

Vinnie is out to save her brother from being framed after a valuable painting is stolen.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:

The front door knocker rapped twice after the door bell rang. I hustled from the rear deck of the gargantuan house to answer the summons. Someone seemed impatient, and I was curious as to who it was. My watch read just after eight o’ clock. I swung the heavy door open to find my prospective visitor absent.

It was so quiet, the town ghostly in its seemingly deserted state. Sundays were always lazy days in Scituate, once church was over. With a glance up and down the street of the small historic Rhode Island village, neat colonial homes stretched along the sides of the road in both directions. No one came into view.

On the doorstep, a package addressed to my recently deceased Aunt Livvy sat wrapped in brown paper. Again, I gawked up and down the street, but only empty sidewalks and barren roadway appeared in the waning light. The idea of a jaunt along the main drag entered my mind. I figured it would be senseless since the street was visible for about two hundred yards in either direction. Whoever had left the package was gone, long gone.

An eternity passed, or so it seemed, while my gaze locked onto the square, little box. Reluctant to touch it, I decided to call the local fire company to come take a gander. Call me paranoid, but as a criminal justice instructor, a recent audit of a class on bomb components remained fresh in my mind.

I quickly stepped to the living room and grabbed the phone. I dialed the private number of the fire station up the street. A grunt came across the phone line that could only be Bill MacNert.

“Hey Nerd, its Vinnie,” I said. “A package was just left on my doorstep, could you come down and check it out for me?”

“Sure, you got a secret admirer or somethin’?” He cackled, as only senior men can.

“Not likely, but you never know. This package is addressed to Lavinia Ciano, not Lavinia Esposito and is wrapped in brown paper. Nobody’s here to accompany this little surprise either.”

“I’ll be right down, Vinnie, don’t touch it.” He warned.

“Okay.”

Anxious, I paced back and forth across gleaming hard wood floors in the spacious living room of my newly acquired colonial. My fingernails tapped the enamel on my teeth as I wandered to and fro. As irrational as it seemed, I finally leaned against the door jamb inside the entry to wait for MacNert to arrive.

It wasn’t long before the limber old guy came into view as he hot footed down the street with a stethoscope in his hand. This particular piece of equipment wasn’t quite what I’d expected, but then he wasn’t a bomb expert either.

When he arrived on the doorstep slightly out of breath, he glanced at the parcel, and then turned toward me.

“This was just delivered, you say?” MacNert squinted toward me with wizened brown eyes that twinkled all the time. It was as though there was a private joke going on inside his head.

“Yeah, someone knocked on the door, and when I got here to answer, there was nobody around. It didn’t seem prudent to mess with it, so I called you.”

“You just finished that bomb class, eh?” He chuckled and then sobered quickly. Since 9/11, everyone took stuff like this with a serious attitude. While he chuckled, I knew MacNert was no different.

The stethoscope ends plugged into his ears, Bill laid its diaphragm on top of the package. Removing it, he gingerly set it against the sides and listened again. I didn’t make a sound as he stood and glanced up.

“There’s no tickin’ but that doesn’t mean it’s not an explosive. You should probably call the state police barracks up the road. Have them send their bomb guys down for a lookie see, just to be on the safe side.”

“Geez, I hate to do that. I’ll feel stupid if it’s a joke,” I whined.

“It’s up to you, but if you were nervous enough to call me, then you should call them. It’s just my opinion, Vin.” He stepped over the box and wandered into the entryway. “Got anythin’ to eat? Wifey’s out of town visitin’ her sister and I’m starved.”

Bill didn’t seem over concerned, but then again, he hadn’t recently taken a bomb class either. My eyes never left the box as I answered him. “There’s food in the fridge, help yourself.”

I’d known the homely man and his family for years and respected his opinion. Tapping my fingers against my lips, I called after him, “You’re right. I’ll ring the state police now, but stick around okay?”

Unwilling to be nailed as over-dramatic by the staties, I reluctantly punched in the numbers. It was bad enough that the local cops had bugged the shit out of me for the first month after Aunt Livvy’s death. They still stopped by now and then, annoying me even more with stupid questions. Questions to which I had no answers.

After the trooper covering the desk answered, I explained what I’d found on the doorstep. He seemed unconcerned until I mentioned my name and address, and then he stated someone would be down momentarily. The swift change in his manner piqued my curiosity. I wondered why he’d suddenly capitulated when his initial response had been of disinterest.

In the living room, I paced while awaiting the arrival of the state police. Within minutes a sleek, grey Crown Victoria pulled up to the curb out front and a tall, lean trooper got out. Broad shouldered and well built, he walked with assurance and a certain amount of swagger. I stepped into the open door entry and watched him saunter through the front gate onto the walkway. He stared at the package and then at me.

“Did you call about this box, ma’am?” Keen hazel green eyes traveled over my face and down my body.

Craggy features, sculpted from granite, faced me and I felt my blood run hot as the breath caught in my throat. What was this about? I gazed at him admiring the neat package wrapped in the trim uniform.

“I did. Bill MacNert from the fire station thought it would be a good idea since it was mysteriously left on the doorstep. He checked to see if it was ticking, but it isn’t.”

“Are you Lavinia Ciano?” The trooper’s glance strayed from the name on the wrapper to me as his eyes showed a glint of humor and his mouth twitched.

Could that humor be over the name? I wondered, as I said, “No, my name is Esposito. Livvy was my aunt.” Our eyes held and my heart pounded. I licked my parched lips and then glanced away.

An oversized van idled up behind the patrol car and the trooper glanced back. Two men stepped from the vehicle dressed in heavy gear and acknowledged him. He turned to the lead man, mumbled a few words and then stared at me again. If this was an action film, I would have expected Bruce Willis to jump out of the truck announcing he was about to kick someone’s ass. This wasn’t an action film, but a real life situation instead.

The two guys angled through the front gate and hitched their gear as they hauled a peculiar looking lidded barrel toward the front door. By this time, a few neighbors had taken notice of the activities. Several people straggled along the sidewalk across the street to watch.

You’d think it was a freakin’ sideshow. I smiled and waved. Nobody responded, they just continued to gawk. A little excitement for them on an otherwise dull Sunday, I guessed. The trooper stood aside and watched the crowd, but said nothing.

The overdressed bomb guys corralled the box between them. With delicate finesse they lifted and stowed it into the metal container, loaded it into the truck and drove off. I stared in disbelief. Hell, I wanted to know what was in the package. I had a right to know, didn’t I?

The trooper turned to leave and I stepped forward.

“Uh, I’d like to know what’s in the box, if it’s not too much to ask.” My hand snuck up to my hip as my cocky Italian attitude slid into place.

Tall and Curious stiffened at my tone and turned to stare at me. It seemed he wasn’t used to being spoken to in this manner, which wasn’t any big surprise. Women tend to respond differently to men in uniform, especially a man such as this luscious creature. Well, not this chick. I teach guys like him all year long and the “I’m so wonderful” thing gets old fast.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, Miss Esposito. If we have any questions, you’ll hear from us right away.”

I gawked a moment and my eyes narrowed. His opened wide in contrast and he waited, his body tense. Maybe he thought I’d pitch myself off the steps onto his perfectly toned frame and pummel the daylights out of him or something. It was a thought, but I really wanted to know what was in the package. Besides, his muscles were bigger than mine.

In an effort to change tactics rather than be handcuffed and dragged off to jail, I smiled and spoke in as nice a manner as I could muster.

“I’d appreciate any information you could give me officer, since the package was left in such an alarming way. Should I call headquarters tomorrow?”

His look narrowed. I suspected he was unsure of where this was headed. There was a moment’s hesitation before he answered the question.

“Sure, that would be a good idea.” He gave a nod of the stiff brimmed campaign hat that covered cropped brown hair.

“All right then. I’ll call the colonel first thing.” My voice remained light and sweet, and the smile was charming, at least I hoped it was.

The colonel runs a strict police force and is a tough disciplinarian with an intense dislike for any impropriety, implied or otherwise. I’d gleaned that much from the cops in my criminal justice classes.

A tight lipped smile crossed his face. I figured he couldn’t decide whether I really knew the colonel or if this was a ploy. To be truthful, I lied by omission. I hadn’t said I knew the colonel, I just said I’d give him a call.

“That won’t be necessary ma’am. As soon as there’s any information, I’ll get in touch with you.” With a nod of his head, he turned and left.

Don’t you hate that ma’am thing? It makes me feel old. I know I’m thirty-something, but really.

Bill MacNert stood near the doorway sucking down a sandwich filled with sausage and peppers. My mother had sent the food home with me the day before. The smell of rich tomato sauce and fragrant sausage tantalized my taste buds.

“Guess it wasn’t that serious then?” Slurp noises preceded a sauce blob that dripped down his uniform shirt.

 I glanced at Bill’s shirt, snagged a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at the drip.

“I won’t know until tomorrow, but if I’m the town laughing stock you’re in for it and don’t forget it. By the way, did you leave me any food?” I chuckled at his expression.

Bill’s guilt ridden grin assured me that he hadn’t, but he swore that he had. He handed me the empty plate before he headed toward the fire station. I watched the stethoscope bob up and down from the back pocket of his pants. He trotted up the street, and I felt sure the story would make the rounds since Bill was an avid gossip.

The crowd had dispersed, and I was alone again. Livvy would have had a fit over the whole affair had she been alive, but I figured there was no sense in being stupid. I act that way often enough, thank you.

Mystery still surrounded Livvy’s non-violent death. While the police weren’t forthcoming with information, the state troopers’ attitude on the phone caused me to reconsider the promise to my father to not investigate on my own. I wandered through the house deep in thought over the situation.

Darkness had descended as I headed toward the bedroom. Changing into a t-shirt and boxer briefs, I climbed into bed with a notebook. The troopers’ attitude niggled at me. I leaned back against the pillows scribbling notes about the package delivery. Words ran across the page as the scene and the trooper came to mind. The trooper’s name wasn’t on his badge, but I remembered the badge number.

The pad propped against my knees, my mind drifted over the parcel and the officer’s attitude. Warm hazel green eyes along with the trooper’s cool manner had drawn my interest. It wasn’t really just his bearing that caught my attention either and it was a struggle to stay focused.

Intense eyes sat above a strong, chiseled nose and firm jaw. I sketched the features onto the pad of paper. His lips weren’t thin, not too wide, but just right for kissing. Wondering what it would be like to taste those lips, I gave myself a mental head slap. A cop is the last thing you want or need, my inner voice echoed. This voice always echoed dire warnings through my head. It had a bad habit of doing so at the worst possible moment. Just stay focused on Livvy, I lectured myself.

Snuggled under the lightweight blanket, thoughts about Livvy and our life played in my mind. Muscles relaxed, and I realized I needed to talk to her tomorrow. The graveyard was about two blocks away from the house. I often went to her grave for a conversation when I’d become involved in one issue or another. That’s what my life consisted of, one issue or another. Most of the time the issues were huge, never mundane, not ever.

I sighed, sniffed the sweet summer scents that wafted through the open window and wondered how this summer in Rhode Island would be. The pillow slipped lower and so did I as my mind wandered over life, the package and my aunt.

.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

As a humorous, cozy mystery writer, J.M. adds a touch of romance to every story. She believes in fairies, doesn't believe in coincidence, and feels life is what you make it. Believe in yourself and look at the positive, not the negative, to bring about success. AND. . .never stop trying.

J.M. lives in rural New England with her husband and two very mysterious cats

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/JM-Griffin/246751368685078

Website: http://www.JMGriffin.net

Twitter: mycozymystery

Blog: http://mycozymysteries.blogspot.com

Buy Link:

http://www.lachesispublishing.com/proddetail.asp?prod=EspositoBoxSet1-3E

He didn’t commit suicide but who’s going to believe her...

Frustrated at being fired from her latest job and overwhelmed by her consolatory family, Sam decides to move to the family’s cabin at the lake. A place she hasn’t been since her dad committed suicide there twenty years before. Or did he? Snooping is something she’s good at but someone seems to be taking offense to her looking too closely at what has been happening at the lake. What she discovers is shocking. Now she must uncover what’s real and what’s not. All that she learned growing up, may be false.

Keegan, who has recently moved to the area to finish his latest book, is also trying to find out if his grandfather, who’d passed away ten years before, died of natural causes or was murdered.

The descendants of the four families who own the land around the lagoon are dying off. Since Sam and Keegan are the only ones questioning the deaths, they find themselves working together to seek the truth. Are people being murdered? Who would benefit from their deaths? Why would there be barricades and armed guards at the north end of the lake?

To stay alive, Sam and Keegan must find the answers and convince others, before more people are killed... including them.


Maggie will be awarding a $25 GC, winner's choice to Amazon, Barnes & Noble or Kobo, to a randomly drawn commenter, and an autographed ecopy of Captured Lies to another randomly drawn commenter during the tour.


Excerpt One:

. “You’re fired!”

Sam’s hands slammed down on the arms of the office chair as she jerked forward. “Because some dude stole a necklace from his wife, pawned it and got the insurance for it? And I had the nerve to tell the story?”

“You’re fired!”

There was so much more she wanted to say to him. To tell him. It wasn’t fair that she was getting kicked to the curb for other people’s lies and secrets. It wasn’t her fault that she felt truth should win out at all costs. Climbing to her feet, she stared hard at her boss, debating about telling him again why she’d written that story. The blue vein bulging from his forehead and the deep crimson color of his puffy cheeks told her it was pointless and might just cause a heart attack.

“The story didn’t run, so what’s the big deal?”

His mottled face started to shake with fury. Sam picked up her coffee which she was glad she’d set down when she came in and took a step back. The last man she’d seen that angry had thrown a punch.

“Only because I caught it. Nothing and I mean nothing, gets printed in this paper without my say so. Very sneaky Samantha. Not acceptable. You’re done here. And don’t worry you won’t ever work in this industry again.”

She shook her head hoping something would fall into place and this would all make sense. It wasn’t like it was any different than any of the other stories the newspaper wrote – they got details, or as many as they could and then skewed them sideways if that’s what made the tale sensational. Only she hadn’t needed to do that. The facts themselves had been enough to make the story astounding. For once the paper might have been able to print the truth and nothing but the truth. The informant who’d put her on to this situation had been right, it had been unbelievable. She wished she’d been able to thank him but that was part of the agreement – no names, no thank yous, no mention of where the story started. And she couldn’t tell anyone because it wasn’t actually supposed to have been hers to tell.

“I’m fired.” It didn’t compute.

“Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Now get out.”

She eyed Mr. Donner, the man that she’d thought she was going to have a lot of respect for, the man she’d envisioned thanking in the future for all he’d taught her. For taking her under his wing and making her the exceptional journalist that she was. Okay she knew that was crap but she had hoped that her initial ‘feeling’ about him had been wrong. Besides she figured that even if he wasn’t more than a pompous figurehead, there had to be some people at the paper that she could learn from. To date, unfortunately, she’d only been patted on the head and given the lame jobs. Still, she’d actually started to believe that this work might be her calling. Well, until she’d taken it into her head to run with a tip she’d been given. It hadn’t really been meant for her but since Tom hadn’t been at his desk when his phone kept ringing and ringing, she’d figured it had been hers to run with since she’d been the one to answer it. She had planned to show them what she could do and that would have been the start to her amazing career.

Another damn dream dashed.


REVIEW 4/5
Tainted Waters by Maggi Thom is both a mystery and suspense. Sam, the heroine of the story, has a checkered past of jobs that never last long. The most recent one was she half way liked as a newspaper reporter, except there was no real news just fluffy tales of local events. Maybe she needed to sort her life out and the best place to do it is the isolated cabin bordering the lagoon. Last time she visited the place was twenty years before her father committed suicide at the very same place.

Keegan Wesley is a writer who needs a quiet place to write and finds himself at the lagoon too. He has some questions regarding his grandfather's death that seems a bit unclear. He teams up with Sam who starts to question her own father's suicide and the number of deaths from the four original landholder families. It would appear as if someone wants the land bad enough to kill for it.

Tainted Waters moves fast, turning over stones, and finding more questions than answers. Sam shines as an investigative reporter, but is unsure who to trust. It is not clear to the very end whom the culprit is. I always consider that a sign of a good mystery. Spelling alert: it is a Canadian author so some of the words are spelled differently, not wrong, different. They probably say the same thing about American authors in Canada.

Tainted Waters includes danger, dead bodies, questions and a bevy of bad guys. The real question is was Sam's father murdered. How will her life change if she knows he didn't willing leave her? I think this book will appeal to both mystery and suspense fans.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Maggie Thom took the challenge and leapt off, leaving a fulltime twenty year career in management, to write full time. After her initial panic that she might need a straight jacket, she published her first book Captured Lies, October 2012. And now is excited to release her second novel, Tainted Waters, April, 2013. Her third book, Deceitful Truths (sequel to Captured Lies), available fall of 2013. An avid reader and writer her whole life, she decided to break the monotony of wishing to be an author by making it happen. Married to her best friend, she is learning that humor, love and patience help her navigate her way through her twins’ teen years. Her motto: Escape to read and Read to escape. 

She can be found at:

www.maggiethom.com

www.facebook.com/authormaggiethom

www.twitter.com/maggiethom2

www.goodreads.com.maggiethom

google +:  https://plus.google.com/102887579832939598896/posts

https://pinterest.com/maggiethom2/

BLURB:   
He likes it. Now get him to put a ring on it!

Learn from these 50 stories of women who have been there!

Sandy's boyfriend Jack wouldn't even bring up the 'm word'. She started leaving her things in his apartment, including some tampons in his bathroom. It worked! Too off guard to make excuses like "Living together is just as good as being married," Jack said, "People will start to think you're my wife!" "Well, how about it?" Sandy asked Jack.

Crystal got Paul to skip just living together by refusing to move across the country until she had a marriage license, signed and dated.

Read these full stories plus 48 more, ranging from the heartwarming to the hilarious!

You don't have to interview 50 married women to find out how they managed to get that ring on their finger. The author has done that for you. All 50 were married after 1990, so this is modern information for our changing times. Read and find out how you can get him to marry you and not just live together!

Cherise will be awarding a $25 Amazon or BN.com gift card to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

EXCERPT

"I got tired of waiting for my boyfriend Jack to propose to me. We had been together for two years, and he hadn't even mentioned the 'm' word to me. If things had been left up to Jack, we would have been boyfriend and girlfriend for the rest of our lives. I had just turned thirty and could not wait much longer to be married. I knew I had to do something to push him along.

First, I tried giving him a taste of the good side of married life.

Jack was raised in a family where two people should not be together if they were not married. I could not just move myself in and wait for him to do the rest, as many of my girlfriends were doing with their boyfriends, in hopes of getting that 'm' word mentioned. I figured I had to slowly make myself a fixture in his apartment. When he got home from work, I would suggest going to his place instead of going out. I started to do some housework for him. I would tell him how messy his place was and offered to help him clean it up. I would wash the dishes and vacuum. After about two weeks of "giving him a taste of the good side of married life," nothing changed.

I even did the unthinkable and cleaned his bathroom. All I got for that was a "Thanks, I owe you one." I had to come up with another idea that was more intensive."

REVIEW *** 1/2

How I Got Him to Marry Me by Cherise Kelley is a collection of fifty true stories from fifty different women who finally got their hesitating boyfriends in gear. Ms. Kelley points out at the beginning of the book that the rate of actual marriages and married folks are going down according to the census. Men are reluctant to marry due to the high rate of divorce, fear of alimony and child support, and being monogamous.

Each story is individual to that couple. What worked for one person may not work for another. One earnest college student found jealousy worked fine to motivate her shy engineer boyfriend. Another woman paid off her guy’s hefty back child support so he could concentrate on them.  A few played the child card while others refused to have children without marriage. The one I respected the most was the woman who prayed for strength not to get married just because her friends were.

A few stories were humorous, while others were pleasing romantic. Some of the men seemed so worthless from the tales their wives told it made me wonder why they wanted to get married. Some women connived, a few lied, but most set down the law.

One woman commented she was the prize the man should be glad to catch her. I really wished more women had her attitude. People see things differently and these are fifty different women’s stories. Some will make you laugh aloud, a few cry and others will make you wonder if those two are still married.

How I Got Him to Marry Me is an anecdotal feel good book. It is not a guide to get a reluctant man to marry you. Do you really want to be married to someone who doesn’t want to be married to you? I hope not.

When Scott asked me to be his girlfriend, I surprised him by saying, "No." We were on the phone, as we were every night. I could tell he was hurt, but since we were on the phone and not together in person, we had to talk, and that was a good thing.

I explained, "I'm 30 years old. I've already had the last boyfriend I am ever going to have. In the future, I am going to have a husband, not a boyfriend."

He surprised me by taking this in stride. "I understand," he said. "You do realize I am in the Navy and all that entails?"

"I was born in the Navy!" This was true. My dad was in the Navy.

Four months later, he took me on a date to the top of the Space Needle in Seattle.

He passed me a little black velvet box under the table, and whispered:

"Babe, will you marry me?"

"Do you mean it?"

Yes, that's what I said. Not very romantic, was I?

 
LINKS:

Kobo

http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/How-Got-Him-To-Marry/book-VH3jNeXrVkOy3IzeWkxqFw/page1.html?s=pAWwqUmdoE6cAh27aLXwOQ&r=2

Cherise Kelley's Goodreads Profile

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6550175.Cherise_Kelley

 Ryan Malloy has lost it all. After his fiancée dies in a tragic accident, he enlists in the army, only to lose his best friend in a roadside bombing. Wracked with guilt and grief, Ryan finds life unbearable—until a job offer from his former commander gives him a glimmer of
hope. And in the tiny town of Perfect, Indiana, the man who thought he had nothing left to live for meets the only woman who can tempt him into risking his battered heart one last time...
 
Paige Langford has it all: wealth, beauty, and ambition. But when her boyfriend’s betrayal leads to the loss of her job and her reputation, she retreats to her brother’s rural Indiana home to regroup. There she meets Ryan Malloy, a gruff, hard-drinking loner whose surly temper can’t hide the haunted misery in his eyes. He is everything Paige never wanted, yet he may be exactly what she needs—if only they can overcome their personal demons to forge a love strong enough to save them both.


EXCERPT
She parked next to an old Chevy pickup—could it belong to Ceejay’s cousin?—grabbed her stuff and headed out back toward the carriage house. Praying their dog Sweet Pea wouldn’t sense her presence and
start barking, she tiptoed along the path from the gate to the door. All she had to go by was the scant light of the new moon. 
 
So far, so good. Sweet Pea remained blissfully quiet. She dropped her bag on the concrete and rifled through the pockets of her purse for the key she’d stashed there. “Ah-hah. Got you.” She fumbled a few times in the darkness, trying to insert it into the lock. Finally she got the key in the right way, turned it, reached for the knob and pushed, just as light flooded the interior. The door was yanked from her grasp so suddenly she fell
inside, right into a naked man—a naked man wielding a gun.

 “Aaah!”She squealed and scrambled back to regain her footing, staring in shock at the wild man before her. Shaggy blond hair hung down to his shoulders, and an untrimmed, tangled mess of a beard hid most of his
face. Panic-filled brilliant blue eyes were riveted on her with a haunted look
that stole her breath.

REVIEW
**** for The Difference a Day Makes


  The Difference a Day Makes by Barbara Longley is the second book in the Perfect, Indiana series published by Montlake Romance. Book two follows Longley’s heartwarming tale Far From Perfect, which was universally well received. Perfect, Indiana is where you go when everything falls apart to regroup; at least that is what Paige and Ryan do.

Ryan is a traumatized veteran battling with survivor guilt after a suicide bombing attack. Life as he knows is gone and there seems nothing to live for until his former commander Noah Langford calls and ask for help with his furniture store. Not exactly, what he planned for his life, but better than a fifth and a bullet to the head. He decides to take the hand up, even if it lands him into a cozy town called Perfect, Indiana.

Where do you go with everything goes south? Paige figures home is the best place to lick her wounds. Only a month ago everything was grand, or so she thought. That was before her boyfriend dumped her and managed to destroy her credibility at work It would be enough for most guys to break up, but oh no, he had to make sure she was jobless too. All she really wants is to disappear from the face of the earth. Perfect, Indiana suits the bill.

Paige and Ryan both embittered individuals with similar jaded outlooks have to work side by side in Noah Langford’s furniture store. While sparks fly between the two, they keep their distance realizing they both are walking wounded. A cautious friendship unfolds between the two as they share their pain and rebuild their confidence.

The Difference a Day Makes illustrates how much one day can change everything. This heartwarming tale shows that people can rebuild even when they have reached rock bottom. Most romance fans will enjoy this book. As a Hoosier, I applaud Ms. Longley’s use of Perfect, Indiana as a setting.

As a child, Barbara Longley moved frequently, learning early on how to
entertain herself with stories. Adulthood didn’t tame her peripatetic ways: she has lived on an Appalachian commune, taught on an Indian reservation, and
traveled the country from coast to coast. After having children of her own, she
decided to try stayinAuthor Barbarag put, choosing Minnesota as her home. By day, she puts her master’s degree in special education to use teaching elementary school. By night, she explores all things mythical, paranormal, and newsworthy, channeling what she learns into her writing.

 LINKS:
http://www.barbaralongley.com

BLURB:

Another day. Another disaster.

After surviving a kidnapping and battling with spriggans, Matilda Whipplethorn finds her life in a suburban human house pretty boring. She’s been excluded from school because of her fire-making abilities and her former friends are afraid of her. Salvation comes in the form of a life-threatening illness. Her tutor, Miss Penrose, needs a medication and there’s only one place to get it, the spriggans. Matilda heads back to the antique mall to save Miss Penrose even though it just might cost her everything.


The author will award  an ebook copy of either A Fairy's Guide to Disaster or It Started with a Whisper to a commenter at each tour stop, and a grand prize of $25 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter.




Excerpt
Fire was a friend of mine. I loved how it formed in my palms, pooled, and overflowed, oozing through my fingers to drop down in tiny orange spirals into the basin my father had fashioned out of a metal button. I lay on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, watching my fire, an endlessly fascinating endeavor and a good thing, too. My father was hammering on a needle, trying to make it into hooks for my mother’s pots and pans. It wasn’t going well and I expected to be there for a long time, providing Dad with fire for his forge.

Dad tapped me on the head, and I looked up. “What?”

“I need more,” he said, frowning at me from behind the safety mask he’d fashioned out of an acorn shell and some stuff the humans called Plexiglas.

I formed a fireball the size of my head and dropped it in the basin. Sparks flew out in curlicues and menaced Dad. He jumped back and slipped on his pile of metal shavings.

“Matilda, you did that on purpose,” he said, narrowing his brown eyes at me.

“It was an accident.”

“When it comes to fire, you don’t have accidents.”

A human face came down beside my dad and grinned at me. Judd was one of the few humans that could see us. It was very unusual for a human to see fairies, but Judd had turned out to be remarkable in many ways. As was his sister, Tess, who’d been the first to see me. The two of them surprised me on a daily basis. 

REVIEW for Fierce Creatures
FIVE STARS *****

Fierce Creatures by A. W. Hartoin is book two in Away From Whipplethorn Series. The series deals with young Matilda. Our heroine is a traditional fairy, which means she isn’t tall, blond and looks good atop a horse. No, she’s tiny, overlooked by most people, although a few can see her if they try. As a fairy, Matilda has magical powers. Hers happens to be fire.

What sounds like a good thing gets her in trouble. Imagine a middle school student who could create fire at will. I think you can see the problem. Yep, not much different for fairies, either. Due to her aptitude for starting  fires with a mere thought, she’s forced to finish up the school year at home, which in itself wouldn’t be all that bad, except for the Spriggans.

Those of you unfamiliar with Fairy Folk, the Spriggans are the worse kind. They’re listed as the most malevolent in the fairy book, which Matilda will bear witness. Still, all the same, she finds herself willing to go back into danger to find a cure for her beloved ailing tutor.

Matilda is a courageous character, but for some reason I found myself thinking of Pippi Longstocking while reading this. Keep in mind, they both are magical, unusual and kind-hearted. Although, Pippi is much bigger than Matilda.  

Fierce Creatures is a fun fantasy adventure that should please and entertain a wide range of ages. Matilda shows strength while maintaining a mischievous streak that I’d expect all fairies to have. I like the idea of a very tiny world right under our noses. Hartoin uses intricate details to make this miniature world come alive.

Fierce Creatures is a well thought out fantasy tale that deserves reading. I would highly recommend it to anyone including those who think they know everything there is to know about fairies. A.W. Hartoin possibly knows more.

 

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A.W. Hartoin is the author of the Mercy Watts mystery series and the Away From Whipplethorn fantasy series. She lives in Colorado with her husband, two children, and six bad chickens.

https://www.facebook.com/anne.hartoin

Four years after a near fatal blunder uproots her from her home and inheritance, Anne Darvey, daughter of the Marquess of Esterleigh, finds herself an indentured servant on a farm near Fort Edward in New York, as the British army advances toward Albany. Driven by guilt over the pain she has caused her father and grief over her lover’s death, she sets out to deliver a message. The consequences lead to the discovery that all is not as it seems, and sets in motion events that lead to love and danger.

Set against the backdrop of the American Revolution, Courting the Devil is the second book in “The Serpent’s Tooth” trilogy, which follows Anne from her childhood in the rural English countryside, to London society, and into the center of the American Revolution.

Kathy will be awarding $20 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

Excerpt from COURTING THE DEVIL:

Fatigue overtook him. The long day had left him worn and aching. Yet he could not sleep. The feather bed was soft, the linen clean and freshly pressed. But he could not keep his mind from dwelling on that woman. Annie…. When he closed his eyes, his mind conjured images of her as she stirred a thick, bubbling kettle of grease and lye on the open fire in the yard, until her lithe arms rippled, and sweat poured over her face, shining on her skin in the last light of the setting sun. In the close and sultry night, if he fell for a moment from consciousness he saw those exquisite violet eyes—so filled with resignation—and heard her soft voice carefully controlled against even the slightest hint of inner turmoil, her manner restrained. He recognized it all for a telltale sign of guilt, for he too lived under its dark cloud, though his eyes and voice would never betray him as hers did. Yet it festered inside him.

Because of his dedication to the cause, his father was dead.

“Proceed with vigilance.” The cryptic reminder of the note had been all but forgotten. “Uncle is aware of our devotion.” Damn, why has it come to this?

****

“Devil take the ripplin’! They’s a storm comin’! A big, angry storm! Feel that wind! They’ll be a storm awright.”

“Go on then, before you’re caught in the midst of it.”

“Ain’t you afraid, Miss Annie?” Eyebrows raised, Reba set down the bates she had gathered, and waited for the reply that never came. She laughed, deep and hearty. “’Course you ain’t! You ain’t afraid o’ nuthin’, are you? Why jes’ this mornin’ Mr. Lucius, he say if’n Gen’l Johnny Burgine and his army o’ red-coated devils come marchin’ down the crick on wash day, you’d say, ‘Hurry on by, Gen’l! Hurry on by! They’s work to be done. And it won’t wait for you and your ole army neither! Jes’ hurry on by!’”

“He said that, did he?” Anne feigned indifference. Why should she concern herself over anything that Lucius Harris had to say? She tossed a double handful of flax onto the pile at Reba’s feet and started on another. “Seems all he ever does is talk!”

Reba continued to laugh as she gathered up the stalks and bound them. “Mighty fine with words is Mr. Lucius. Always was, even as a boy. Said you’s about all Gen’l Schuyler would ever need to drive old Johnny Burgine back up to Canada and ’cross the sea where he come from. Jes’ you and a empty fowlin’ piece ’gainst the whole British army. ’Magine that!”

Like a far-off echo, the sounds from the camp could hardly be distinguished from the breeze rustling through the treetops, the creaking of the branches, the falling of a leaf. So calm, so still. Even her agitation eased under the tranquility of the place.

When she looked up, she was struck with awe by the towering height of the trees all around her. How tall they stood in contrast with their slender girth. How closely they competed for the sky, forsaking the security and stability of the earth in their pursuit of the sun. It was as if she had been jolted from a long stupor to find herself in the midst of that same deluded struggle. She, too, had placed an ever-increasing distance between herself and the wellspring of her existence. She, too, had forsaken her roots for an uncertain reality that would topple in an instant, the moment the lies were laid bare.

She had always been aware of the precariousness of her situation. She could never forget who she was. Yet she clung to the lies in the way a drowning man clutches at illusions. Lies protected her against the false hope of ever finding forgiveness.

Yet, in spite of the lies, hope remained an ever-present thread tying her, even tenuously, to a past filled with innocence. The unexpected appearance of Major Ellerdine had been her long-awaited invitation to nurture that hope. The hope so long denied. And it frightened her.

“It is I who am unnatural!” she cried out to the trees. Tears flooded her eyes, blinding her. “I need to accept it! It can’t be wrong to hope!”


MY REVIEW ON COURTING THE DEVIL **** 4/5 Stars
Courting the Devil by Kathy Fischer-Brown is book two in the historical series, The Serpent’s Tooth. In Lord Esterleigh’s Daughter, book one, we meet the plucky Anne Fairfield. Fate and mistakes take a hand in her life and land her in colonial America as an indentured servant. Book two picks up during the American Revolutionary War.

Anne in an act of contrition involves herself in the machinations of war and some unsavory sorts. She is also on the hunt for the best friend of her deceased sweetheart. Word is he is close by, Anne is determined to find him.

Courting The Devil has such accurate details you feel like you are in the story. The characters, even the secondary ones come to vivid life. The story is tight and well written, but it is a three-act play. What this means is you really NEED to read book one first. You will definitely want to read book three or you will never get your happy ending.

Courting the Devil is a high caliber historical drama. I commend Ms. Fischer-Brown on her research and attention to detail. It moves well with interesting characters and story lines. Ms. Fischer-Brown was a Golden Heart winner and it shows. Two thumbs up for Courting the Devil.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Authors get their ideas in a variety of ways. For me, it’s mainly from dreams—very cinematic dreams—that stay in my head long after I’ve awakened. Mostly these night flicks are nothing more than a collection of cryptic and often unrelated scenes that need to simmer on the back burner while my muse helps to add seasoning and substance to the mix.

I’ve always loved history. Way back in junior high, my mind would wander from dates, battles and treaties to musings on what it might have been like to live in another time. Family vacations always included visits to Civil War or Revolutionary War battle sites, tours of colonial houses and restored villages, which, even these many years later, serve as inspiration.

Born in New York City, I live in central Connecticut with my long-time husband, a grown-up daughter and two dogs. 2012 was a big year for the family as we welcomed our first grandson into the world.

Links:

Website: http://www.kfischer-brown.com/

Blog: http:// http://illsay.wordpress.com/

Twitter: @KFischerBrown

Facebook: www.facebook.com/KathyFischerBrownAuthor

It's 1927 and Lord Zoltan Kristos, Hungary's Minister of the Interior, takes great pains to hide the fact he's a werewolf from the world. Despite his efforts, he's recognized when he goes to the Austrian-Hungarian border to inspect the area for damage from a recent rare earthquake.

Zoltan is accused of stealing Kurt Meklau's witch, Inna, and is recklessly pursed to Volturn Manor, a residence belonging to another werewolf family, the Vargas. After a fight with Meklau, Zoltan barely escapes and his adversary is found dead.

Sophia Varga and Tomas Martin find Zoltan. Sophia is determine to attend to Zoltan's injuries and protect her home, but when Kurt's father, Marcus, comes seeking revenege, Sophia is tested like never before. As Zoltan and Sophia work together, attraction and desire flame between them.

Will the secrets Volturn Manor harbors offer Zoltan and Sophia the clues they need to defeat Marcus and give them the opportunity to explore their feelings for one another?

 

Stephanie will be awarding a back list print book, either The Hungarian or The Count's Lair, from the Budapest Moon Series to a randomly drawn commenter at each stop, and a Grand Prize of a coffee and chocolate gift basket: $10.00 GC to Starbucks, A Coffee Mug, Andes Chocolates, Magnets, and a Lori Powell Original Book Bag to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour (US ONLY).

MY TAKE  ON THE SECRET DOOR ( Two  thumbs up and **** Stars)

The Secret Door by Stephanie Burkhart is book four in the Budapest Moon series. At first, I was afraid I would not understand what was going on, but the book works well as a stand alone book. Our protagonist, Zoltan, is a werewolf, but he’s trying to hide that fact.

Already you might think this is a paranormal book. It is and it isn’t. Too many authors love to throw in a ghost or two, a magic trinket and the occasional witch or vampire and suddenly their book is a paranormal. This is a drama with paranormal characters with a mystery wrapped around it hiding the love story inside. Simply put, it is a convoluted tale with interesting characters forced to make hard choices.

Zoltan is a werewolf on a mission, but this same mission almost gets him killed. Sophie, the daughter of the Vargas werewolf family, tends to his wounds while an attraction develops between them. It is Romeo & Juliet with more hair and extra-long canines.

This is a thoughtful presentation of common themes. I like the fact it is set in 1927 in old Europe, which gives it the feel of a black and white horror film. The only thing that detracted from the story was overuse of particular words.  

The Secret Door starts with action and roars through the entire story. I would imagine a werewolf would never go quietly into anything, which makes the tone and pace of the book fitting. I believe this book should find a following with both paranormal and historic fiction. (I do realize that werewolves aren’t real, but there is some nice historic touches throughout the book.)

What you've really been waiting for....the EXCERPT

Sophia paused, scooped out a new handful of lotion and rubbed it into the scratches on his muscled thighs. Again, a low, uneasy breath escaped from his throat. Her touch drove his body wild. Glancing down, there was no mistaking the bulge of his manhood through his boxers.

Sophia paused, her gaze settling upon his groin, then looked up at him. His jaw tensed, and he drew in a breath.

She nipped at her lower lip, uncertainty in her eyes. "You're hard," she whispered.

"See what you've done to me."

She raised an eyebrow, her question unspoken.

"I assure you this has not happened before," he said.

For a moment she studied him intently, her eyes darkening to the color of sapphires before she continued.

He looked her over seductively. His heart skipped a beat with desire. She rubbed the lotion into her hands and placed them on his stomach. He groaned, reaching out with his left hand and threading his fingers into her hair, jerking her head back so they were eye-to-eye. She set her jaw. His pulse pounded. Something intense flared between them, yet she kept her hands on his abdomen. Encouraged, Zoltan tugged her toward him, pressing her chest against his. Her nostrils flared and her brow furrowed in confusion.

He stopped, reminding himself he needed to offer a choice. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"No." The sound of her denial was weak. He held her close.

"Do you want me to release you?"

"No."

"How should I solve my predicament?"

"I don't know."

I'm a member of Generation X, and was born in Manchester, New Hampshire. After graduating from Central High, the U.S. Army gave me a job. I  spent 11 years in the military, 7 stationed in Germany. While in the military I earned my B.S. in Political Science from California Baptist University in Riverside, CA in 1995. After leaving the Army in 1997, I settled in California. The New England Patriots are still My favorite football team. I've been married for 20 years.

 Currently, I work for LAPD as a 911 Dispatcher. I'm a member of  EPIC (Electronically Published Internet Connection). I'm published with Desert BreezePublishing and 4RV Publishing.

 Follow me onTwitter at:

http://twitter.com/

StephBurkhart

Like my Facebook Author Page:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/

Stephanie-Burkhart-Author/149938795021166

FIND ME ON GOOD READS:

http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4031660.Stephanie_Burkhart

http://www.stephanieburkhart.com

http://sgcardin.blogspot.com

http://www.writing.com/authors/sgcardin

BLURB:
The year is 1863. After two years of battles, the Civil War has evolved into a bloody slaughter with scarcely a town or home on both sides untouched by the tragic loss of its young men. President Abraham Lincoln has just announced the first order of "Draft" in the history of the American Republic.

After Jeptha enlists, Fiona Dawes finds herself working their farm with her five-year-old daughter Bridget on a thin spit of sandy peninsula stretching out into the Atlantic from the rocky coast of Massachusetts.

Like so many women of her time, she struggles to keep the farm running. When her husband is reported missing--presumed dead, Fiona knows in her heart he is still alive. She decides to take her daughter and leave the farm to look for her beloved husband, but something sinister is brewing. Someone means to not only take their land, but see them dead.

From Massachusetts to New York to Gettysburg and through the war torn South, Fiona searches for her husband, making friends and enemies along the way.

Fans of history, mystery and romance are certain to enjoy, "Candle in the Wind."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ric will be awarding A $10 Gift Certificate to Wild Child Publishing to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour, and one digital copy of "The Scrimshaw" to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.


Excerpt One:
Richmond, Virginia

Fiona froze for an instant and then ran towards Bridget, but the man holding her pressed the knife more firmly to her throat and said mildly, “I wouldn’t advise that, ma’am, unless you want your daughter to end up like that stubborn old lady in the other room.”

Fiona stopped, staring at her child’s pale, tear-stained face. She shook her head with disbelief. “You—you killed that dear old woman for—what? Why?”

“’Cause she wouldn’t oblige us by telling us where you was.” He made a sour face and spat into the corner. “In the end, she finally made us kill her ’cause she wouldn’t talk, andya know what?”

Fiona could only stare in mute horror.

“I don’t believe she really knew. Don’t that beat all? She give up her life by making us think she know’d but wouldn’t talk. And that old darkie wasn’t much better. I didn’t think

she knew anything, but she kept babbling about how we was gonna hang fer what we done so we finally had to kill her too. Her body’s in the kitchen,” he said matter-of-factly.

He looked around the bedroom. “Lucky fer us, we found this little brat hiding under the bed up here.” He pulled at Bridget’s hair until she began to whimper. “So now if’n you don’t want see her pretty little neck spoutin’ blood all over this floor, you’re gonna tell me what I wanna know.”

“Tell you what? Fiona cried. “I’ll tell you anything—just don’t hurt my daughter!”

He grinned at his companion. “See, didn’t I tell you she wasn’t gonna give us no trouble?”

He turned back to her.

“All right missy, it’s like this. My employer—”

Fiona put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God! I remember you now. In New York. You were the man on the dock—the man who pulled a knife on us!”

“Yup, and now I’ve got a bigger one. And it’s pointed right at your daughter’s throat.” He smirked. “Remember? I told you you’d be seeing me again.”

His face became serious, and he snarled. “So now you tell me what my employer wants to know. Where is the—”

“Drop that Arkansas Toothpick and move away from the girl.”

Fiona spun around and saw a man standing in thedoorway holding a small pocket pistol.

“Mr. Singletary!” she cried in relief.

“Miss Fiona.” He nodded back.

The man holding the knife hadn’t moved. Never taking his eyes off Singletary, he said to his companion, “Go circle around him, Zeke, he ain’t got but one shot in that pistol so he can’t get us both.”

“That’s quite true,” Singletary answered nonchalantly.

“So step right up, boys. Who would like to be the one to receive another hole in his thick Cranium?”

The one called Zeke stopped. “Why don’t you go get ’em, and I’ll hold the girl?”

The man with the knife jaw hardened. “’Cause I told you to do it!” And with the last syllable, he shoved the Zeke towards Singletary.

Instinctively the older man fired, and Zeke screamed and pitched forwards. The man with the knife drew back his arm to throw it at Singletary, but before he could, he found himself battling with a ninety-pound bobcat in the form of a formerly sweet young Irish mother who had just seen a kindly old woman murdered and her only child threatened. He tried to throw her off of him, but she clung like a nettle, biting, scratching, and gouging every bit of exposed flesh she could find, all the while screaming a string of every curse that had been handed down in Ireland for the past thousand years.

“Damn you!” he yelled, and reversed the knife to bring it down on her head.

Suddenly, he squealed and clutched his arm. He snarled and heaved Fiona onto the bed and then took two steps backwards, kicked out the window glass with his boot, and crashed out through the shattered window.

Fiona shook her head to clear, and a tiny speeding form in a calico dress launched onto the bed and threw her arms around her.

“Hush, Bridget,” Fiona cried as her daughter sobbed into her chest. “Hush, little one, it’s all over. We’re safe now.”

But, she thought, clutching her daughter, were they?

Chapter Twenty

Blue Ridge Mountains

Mosby’s Camp

Jeptha finished the last of his coffee and placed the dented tin mug on the ground next to the dying fire. He stole a glance at Major Mosby, watching them with an amused smile as if trying to decide how much of Jeptha’s explanation to believe.

In the end, Jeptha decided that their best chance for survival actually lay in telling the truth. If Mosby pegged them as deserters, it would be a drumhead court-martial and a quick trip to the nearest tree with a rope around their neck; and if he thought they were

spies it would be an equally final one-way trip before a firing squad. Therefore their best, and probably only, hope was in convincing the cavalier major that they were escaped prisoners of war and entitled to at least the nominal protection that offered.


Thus they found themselves in the ironic circumstances of trying to convince their captors that they were exactly who they said they were.

“Look, major,” Jeptha said for the dozenth time, “it’s true—all of it. My name is Jeptha Dawes and I’m a sergeant in the 5th Massachusetts. My companion, Corporal Josh Eldritch, and I were taken prisoner at the Battle of Gettysburg. We escaped from Belle Isle prison camp in Richmond four days ago. We’ve been on the run ever sinceand when you came upon us, we were hiding from a patrol of Home Guard troops. We’re not spies and we’re not deserters from the Reb army.”

“That’s the forces of the glorious Confederacy to you, sergeant.” Mosby said in a deceptively mild voice.

“Yes, sir—sorry, sir.” Jeptha replied, swallowing hard.

 “And if you are who you say you are, where are your uniforms and where were you headed?”

“Like I said, sir, we were just trying to get to our lines and our uniforms were—lost, during our escape.”

“Hummm.” Mosby stretched out his booted feet towards the smoldering fire and stroked the ends of his silky moustache. “But if you really were heading for your lines, you should have been a hundred miles northeast of here.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes were hard chips of granite. “Poor sense of direction, sergeant?”

Jeptha felt the sweat beginning to soak through thin cotton of his shirt. “No, sir, major, but we figured that it would be easier to make our way across the mountains to Grant’s forces in Tennessee.”

“Guess you figured wrong, eh, sergeant?”

“Sure as hell got that right, major,” Josh muttered glumly from the other side of Jeptha. Mosby smiled but didn’t speak. A minute went by, and then two. The only sound around the campfire was the pop and hiss of pine branches burning down to embers and the occasional whinny from the hobbled horses. Jeptha knew that the major was trying to decide what to do with them. Shoot them as spies, hang them for deserters, or—what? Mosby couldn’t just let them go and say, “Nice to see you, boys. Here are your hats and give my regards to General Grant.” Sure.

Jeptha closed his eyes. He didn’t even know what to beg for: mercy, freedom, a quick death?

At last the major stood up and stretched. “I gotta admit that you boys present me with a pretty problem right enough. I’m inclined to believe you ’cause with those constipated accents of yours, you sure ain’t no Southern boys and I can’t imagine any Yankee spies getting caught so easy with so ludicrous a story.”

Jeptha began to breathe a little easier, but Mosby’s next words sent his heart plunging again.

 “That’s on the plus side of the ledger for you, but on the debit side, there still remains the thorny problem of what in blue blazes am I gonna do with you? When we move, we

move hard and fast. We got no baggage trains or super cargo. We live on our horses and out of our saddlebags, so despite the fact that I’m inclined to believe you, I’ve got no facilities for prisoners nor am I inclined to bid you a good day and send the pair of you on your merry way.”

He was still smiling, but the edges of the smile were beginning to fade.

“So I hope you’ll forgive me when I say with all candor that the only solution that seems viable at this juncture is to ask you to finish your coffee and—shoot you.”

Oh, Jesus! Jeptha felt as though he was drowning. He couldn’t seem to draw a breath. He wanted to speak, say something to change the major’s mind. Some other way, but he couldn’t think—his thoughts kept scrambling around his brain like a caged rat. They were going to die. After all of this—the war, the battle, prison camp, escape, running, hiding—they were about to be executed as excess baggage. He would never hold his wife or daughter again.

No!

He moved the toe of his shoe an inch and gave Josh’s foot a quick tap. Don’t look up, Jeptha screamed in his mind, but be ready to run when I do!

He dropped his hand to his side and clutched it around a handful of dirt. If he whipped it across the smoldering fire and caught a few of them in the eyes, maybe they could make it to the tree line before the rest of the Rebs could bring their pistols and muskets to bear. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than going like lambs to the slaughter. He tensed his muscles and prepared to spring.

At that moment, Mosby fixed him with an amused stare as if he knew exactly what they were planning.

“Drop that handful of dirt, sergeant. Perhaps there’s another way.”

Jeptha swallowed and opened his hand, letting the dirt trickle through his fingers.

The major stirred the dying embers with a stick and asked, “If I was to put you two on parole, as it were—would give me your word, sergeant, not to try to escape?”

Yes! Jeptha wanted to scream. But didn’t he have a duty to the Union army to try to return and help end this terrible war in the only way that it could end to preserve the United States?

“Jep?” Josh said with.

Jeptha glanced at Josh. Could he ask Josh to pay for his sense of honor and crisis of conscience? And then there were Fiona and his daughter. He drew a deep breath and nodded.

“Very well, major, you have my word.”

MY TAKE  on A CANDLE IN THE WIND  ***

Candle in the Wind is more historic than romance. Mr, Wasley does a great job with the battles and details, worthy of the History Channel. Fiona is a plucky, endearing heroine who will charm most readers. Some wrong words caused a few stumbles in the read. As an eBook, it can be easily corrected. It doesn't ruin the story, however.

Candle in the Wind is an enjoyable read. Because of the gory battle scenes, it would not be advisable for the preteen set  or those with queasy stomachs. This book should please those who enjoy history and finding our how people lived in the past.

 

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Ric Wasley is a writer and lecturer as well as the author of the popular McCarthy Mystery Series set in Boston in 1968

Ric has a 40 year professional career history in advertising, publishing and marketing in Boston, New York and San Francisco. He has degrees in history and psychology and has been trained in debating, public speaking and stage acting. A large part of his 40 year career was spent in numerous professional and business settings as a presenter and featured speaker at seminars and professional meetings.

Ric has been a visiting professor at Worcester Polytech Institute. He also teaches a popular course on marketing for authors at prominent venues such as the venerable “Cape Cod Writers Conference”.

Of the five books in the McCarthy series which include the first two, Shadow of Innocence and Acid Test the most recent is, The Scrimshaw, the third in the McCarthy Mystery Series, which was released in late 2009. That will be followed by “Black Velvet Band, scheduled for 2014.  In addition to the first two McCarthy Mysteries, Ric has also authored Midnight Blue, a quirky vampire tale that combines spectral creatures and nightwalkers with sex, drugs and Rock & Roll! Followed by Echoes Down a Dark Well, a paranormal thriller about reincarnation.

Ric has also authored the semi-autobiographical novella; At my Window with a Broken Wing, and two short stories; Embers and The Night.  Plus a brand new story, Long Black Veil, that appears in the anthology, Weirdly Vol. 3, released in 2010. 

Ric’s newest novel is Candle in the Wind, a Historical/Mystery from Wild Child Publishing and it will be available in April in both print and eBooks wherever they are sold. 

Just like Mick in his McCarthy Mysteries Series, Ric thrived on music in the sixties and performed as a folksinger and in several rock bands all over New England. He played regularly in the Harvard Sq. folk music clubs in the late 60’s where he met music legends such as Bob Dylan and Joan Baez.

Wasley has been involved in both print and broadcast media as well as writing for business and commercial markets for over 30 years and continues to consult for a major media company. In addition to his novels and short stories, he has been published in several literary magazines in L.A. and San Francisco while living in California. Wasley currently divides his time between the Boston Metro-West and his home on Cape Cod where he continues to write, lecture and create worlds where the unexpected thrives.

Ric Wasley – Author – Speaker

Mystery Writers of America and the Cape Cod Writers Group 

http://www.ricwasley.com/

  

Author of The McCarthy Mystery Series:

     

The Scrimshaw – A McCarthy Mystery - 2008

     

 Shadow of Innocence - A McCarthy Mystery - 2007

    

 Acid Test – A McCarthy Mystery – 2004

Midnight Blue - A Mystery/Vampire/Romance - 2010

Echoes down a Dark Well –  Tell-Tale Publishing - 2012

And New! …  Candle in the Wind – Released in April 2013 from Wild Child Publishing

Novellas

      

 At my Window with a Broken Wing – Contemporary/Romance – 2009

 

Short Stories:

Embers – Historical - 2008

The Night – Vampire - 2008

 Long Black Veil – (Weirdly 3 – Anthology) Historical/Paranormal – 2010

Links

Publisher: http://www.wildchildpublishing.com/historicals-c-79/candle-in-the-wind-p-415.html

Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_10?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=candle+in+the+wind&sprefix=candle+in+%2Cstripbooks%2C242#/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=candle+in+the+wind+-+ric+wasley&rh=n%3A283155%2Ck%3Acandle+in+the+wind+-+ric+wasley

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/candle-in-the-wind-ric-wasley/1114841377?ean=9781617980824

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ric.wasley

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ricmrp

 Blog: http://ricwasley-blog.blogspot.com/

BLURB:

Stuck in ghostly limbo for 238 years, James Addison can't move on to an afterlife.  After being falsely accused of treason and executed, fate's cursed him to remain an earth-bound specter until he meets a historian sent to research his past.

Distrustful of fate, Dr. April Branford wants to be taken seriously, but her unique ability to divine history by touching objects seriously compromises her credibility. Her latest assignment?  James Addison, a legendary colonial ladies' man with a shadowy past.  Without much to go on, she doesn't hold out much hope to discover the man behind the legend until the day she accidentally touches him and brings him back to life.

With the help of family and ghosts from James’s past, they unravel the truth. But after falling in love and with time running out, it’s hard for April to believe in fate and a future where forever is now.

EXCERPT

April’s digital camera came to life and she switched the setting to playback, scrolling through the photos. She’d taken a bevy of pictures, ones of the hanging tree, the colonial storefronts and historical houses, the front and back of the courthouse. She came across the last picture, the one she’d taken right outside, and then it went back to her older photos. Everything was there but the picture of her guide. She gasped and thumbed frantically through the pictures again.

“What’s wrong, April dear?” Her aunt got up from the chair and came over to her, bringing her cup of tea with her.

“It was here…I mean, the picture is here but he isn’t.” The photo showed part of the lamp post she’d had her guide stand in front of. There was a bright, fuzzy ball of light obscuring part of the gaslight. Could it be a possible reflection off the light and her flash? She’d captured him in the frame, she was positive!

Her aunt looked over her arm at the frame revealing the street along with the courthouse. April didn’t like the knowing smile and twinkle to her aunt’s eye. “Oh, he’s there,” she said, peering up from over her tea cup.

“What do you mean?” She was almost afraid to ask.

“You’ve managed to capture what we call residual paranormal energy. See the spot of fuzzy light in the middle of the picture? You’ve captured an image of a paranormal orb. Welcome to the family, April. You’ve seen your first ghost.”

***Loni will be awarding a $50 Amazon or BN gift card (winners choice) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.****

Loni Lynne is a stay at home mom, domestic goddess, U.S. Navy Veteran and lover of all things vintage/shabby-chic/Victorian and antique. From china cups and tea sets to lace doilies crocheted by hand (her grandmother made the best) she believes a touch of femininity never goes out of style.

Growing up all over the country she's been blessed with experiencing a good
deal of culture and lifestyles. Much like her personality, she has eclectic
tastes in what she likes to read and write. There is no 'one' genre in which
she settles for.


God and fate have been big influences in her life. Both have taken her to
places she never thought she'd be, both in the physical sense and in the
spiritual. She wrote brief stories and snippets of life as it happened to her
in her youth, and encouraged by her teachers, continued to write. Blessed with
a loving supportive family growing up, she was able to explore her options
which at times have been put into use in her stories. The Navy--and fate,
afforded her the opportunity to meet her Army, "Annapolis-native" husband and
team up with him to parent two beautiful daughters.

Years later, her husband gave her the best birthday present ever--a laptop, a
membership to Romance Writers of America and a goal to complete a
manuscript for submission by her next birthday. She did it. A few years later
she was blessed with one of those novels, Wanted: One Ghost, as her
debut novel.

Believe in Fate

Links:
http://www.lonilynne.com

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