Monday 29 November 2021

Hit (Mafia Born Book 1) by Mallory Hart

I am so excited that HIT by Mallory Hart is available now and that I get to share the news!

If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below.

This blitz also includes an awesome giveaway courtesy of Ivy, & Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.

 

About the Book:

Title: HIT (Mafia Born Book 1)

Author: Mallory Hart

Pub. Date: November 30, 2021

Publisher: Mallory Hart Romance

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Find it: GoodreadsAmazon

Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited Membership!

GIUSEPPINA

I was never supposed to meet him, but one fateful night had him saving my life.

Now he thinks he owns me. I’m his to keep.

He’s ruthless, cold, and a killer, but something draws me to him anyway.

I know what he’s capable of. I know he was meant to kill me. And I know one wrong slip may make him change his mind about sparing my life.

But I want to test him, push him, be a part of his world.

I know I should be afraid. I know I should run. But something about Darragh has taken me over, and I don’t know how long I can resist . . .

______

A hitman.
A princess.
A forbidden romance.

All her life, Giuseppina Delarosa knew two things: what her father and brother did after dark was a secret, and her life was never her own. As the sole daughter of Don Delarosa’s clan, it was well known a marriage would secure the future of the family. But when she learns she’s to be wed to an infamous ally, Giuseppina has other plans.

Darragh O’Callaghan is good at exactly two things: not caring about anyone, and killing his enemies. The only Irish mafia in the city needs good enforcers to keep their borders, and Darragh does his job well. So he can’t understand why he screws it all up when a hit is placed on the Delarosa gang’s prime jewel: Giuseppina Delarosa.

One rainy night.
One decision not to kill.
One moment that changes everything.

Hit is a slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, dark mafia romance. It is book one in the Mafia Born Duet.

 

Excerpt:

I opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The heat hit like a brick wall, drying up the very moisture from my lungs. My bare feet burned on the cement as a hellish breeze swirled the edge of Darragh’s dress shirt around my hips. 

He didn’t turn around. His low voice carried on the wind like a death knell. The bible described the Angel of Death as an unseen force. A spirit drifting from door to door to collect those it claimed. But the book was wrong. The Angel of Death was not an omniscient spirit of the night.

He was a violent man with blue eyes and a thick, Irish accent. 

I steadied my breath. The burning soles of my feet planted into the ground. Hot wind caressed my legs as I stared into the thick, dark locks over the back of Darragh’s head. Rust-colored dust blew around me, scraping the corners of my eyes and springing hot tears to my irises. But I never took my gaze off the Angel. 

My arms lifted to eye-level.

The gun went steady in my palms.

My finger wrapped around the trigger.

 

About Mallory Hart:

Mallory Hart is the writer of steamy stories to make you swoon. When not writing, she can be found with a glass of red wine, blasting music and dancing in her underwear or reading books that make you blush. For updates on new releases, visit her website and subscribe to the newsletter.

Her first full-length work, Hit, releases 11/30/2021 and can be pre-ordered on Amazon.


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Giveaway Details:

2 winners will receive a signed finished copy of HIT, US Only.


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Sunday 28 November 2021

Pemberly's Christmas Governess by Regina Jeffers

 

A Pride and Prejudice Holiday Vagary

Regency Romance, Clean Romance, Classic Romance, Jane Austen Fan Fiction

Release Date: November 29, 2021

Publisher: Regency Solutions



Two hearts. One kiss.

Following his wife’s death in childbirth, Fitzwilliam Darcy hopes to ease his way back into society by hosting a house party during Christmastide. He is thrilled when his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam sends a message saying not only will he attend, but the colonel is bringing a young woman with him of whom he hopes both Darcy and the colonel’s mother, Lady Matlock, will approve. Unfortunately, upon first sight, Darcy falls for the woman: He suspects beneath Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s conservative veneer lies a soul which will match his in every way; yet, she is soon to be the colonel’s wife.

Elizabeth Bennet lost her position as a governess when Lady Newland accuses Elizabeth of leading her son on. It is Christmastide, and she has no place to go and little money to hold her over until after Twelfth Night; therefore, when Lieutenant Newland’s commanding officer offers her a place at his cousin’s household for the holy days, she accepts in hopes someone at the house party can provide her a lead on a new position. Having endured personal challenges which could easily have embittered a lesser woman, Elizabeth proves herself brave, intelligent, educated in the fine arts of society, and deeply honorable. Unfortunately, she is also vulnerable to the Master of Pemberley, who kindness renews her spirits and whose young daughter steals her heart. The problem is she must leave Pemberley after the holidays, and she does not know if a “memory” of Fitzwilliam Darcy will be enough to sustain her.



Excerpt

Driving regret from his features, Darcy turned to greet Captain Stewart. “We are pleased you have decided to join us, sir.” He extended his hand in greeting. Outside, he caught a glimpse of a petite woman providing directions to what must be her maid and assisting Darcy’s footmen to separate the gentlemen’s trunks. A frown formed on his forehead. The lady should not be left to sort these things out.

Welcome, Captain Stewart,” Lady Matlock called as she descended the stairs on her son’s arm.

The captain bowed properly and said, “Thank you and Darcy for accepting my presence along with the colonel.”

Always glad for more company,” Darcy repeated, while searching the drive once again with his eyes for the woman, who, evidently, had disappeared.

Bingley and his youngest sister appeared to greet the new guests, and, so, Darcy slipped outside to ask Mr. Nathan what had transpired. “Where is the young lady, Nathan?”

The lady insisted on following her abigail around the house to a ‘less than obtrusive entrance.’ She said she would speak to Mrs. Reynolds at the kitchen entrance.”

Ridiculous!” Darcy growled as he went after the woman. “Miss! Miss!” he called, using his long legs to overtake her. “Miss, there must be—”

The lady turned to look upon him, and Darcy forgot to breathe. An odd sizzle of recognition swept through him—an emotion he had never felt previously, but one which felt natural, nonetheless, despite it placing his normal complacency on high alert.

The lady was a good head shorter than he, but not quite as petite as he had first thought. Delicate, very feminine features and a fragile bone structure could not disguise the firmness of character he discovered in her expression. Moreover, the lady possessed the type of eyes in which a man could easily become lost. Intelligent eyes. They glistened from the cold, but when they looked at him, Darcy thought he could see a future that had long evaded his multiple attempts at consideration. Her eyes were green with a touch of woodsy brown. Whether he liked it or not, he suspected they would haunt his dreams tonight, but he took quick note they were equally “haunted,” providing the woman a hint of vulnerability—a look which made him want to reach out and tug her into his embrace and offer her his protection.

Holding his hands tightly in fists at his side to keep the tug of possession from claiming his good sense, he said stiffly, “There is some mistake, miss. You are to join us in the family part of the house. The colonel wrote specifically to ask us to welcome you into our home. Please permit me to escort you inside.”

She stared at him with curious interest marking her features. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and Darcy had the distinct feeling a smile on her lips might be his undoing. “I did not wish to interrupt the colonel’s homecoming. He has spoken often of the wonderful times he has spent at Pemberley.” She glanced around. “It is truly a magnificent estate, sir.”

I am pleased you find it so,” Darcy said, as a smile also claimed his lips. “You should view it in the spring and summer when it is green and full of color.”

She sighed deeply. “I would enjoy doing so very much. When I was—” The lady paused, giving her head a good shake. “My memories are not significant or of interest to you, sir.”

Darcy was not best pleased with her response. He would have liked to hear more of her opinion of his estate and her memories, but, instead, he presented her a slight bow. “Permit your maid to take your bags—” He looked to the girl, who appeared familiar. “I have seen you before, have I not?”

The maid dipped an awkward curtsey. “Yes, sir. I be Mr. Crownley’s daughter, Hannah, sir.”

Of course,” he said. “I thought you away from home.”

I was, sir. In Gloucestershire.”

Darcy nodded his acceptance. “I hope your mistress means to allow you to spend time with your family. Crownley will wish to see you for Christmas.”

I have already told Hannah she may spend as much time as she likes with her family,” the lady explained.

Good,” Darcy stated. “Then permit Hannah and my men to secure your bags in your quarters, and come away with me.” He offered the woman his arm. “The colonel’s mother is eager to take your acquaintance.”

She hesitated. “But I do not know your name, sir,” she said with a pert lift of her chin and with what sounded of a tease in her tone.

He smiled easily, realizing it had been forever since he had felt this light-hearted. “There is no one about to introduce us. The colonel is in the house,” he reminded her.

The lady glanced over her shoulder to the maid. “Hannah holds both of our acquaintances. Could not she perform the deed?”

Darcy could not look away from the lady’s countenance. He said with another grin of satisfaction for the privilege of speaking to such an enchanting woman, “Miss Crownley, might you provide me the acquaintance of your mistress?”

The maid giggled, but she managed a proper curtsey. “Lard, I never thought—” The girl sobered immediately. “Mr. Darcy, may I give you the acquaintance of Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet, the master of Pemberley, Mr. Darcy.”

Charmed, Miss Bennet.” He repeated with a bow. “If you have no objections, miss, I would see you inside the house. You must be quite chilled through standing outside for so long. Derbyshire winters are deceptively cold.”

The lady curtseyed. “Charmed indeed, Mr. Darcy,” she said softly, before placing her gloved hand upon his arm.

As he turned her steps toward the main entrance, in Darcy’s mind, time slowed. Desire as he had never known found a place in his chest. Instead of the main door, he was half-tempted to lead the woman to a nearby folly and enjoy more of the lady’s smiles. An insidious whisper pronounced her as his. Yet, when he reached the still open door, reality slapped him in the face.

There you are, Miss Bennet,” his cousin said as the lady left Darcy’s arm to stand beside his cousin. Edward said, very precisely, “My lady, with your permission, I would give you the acquaintance of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet, my mother, the Countess of Matlock.”

Darcy looked on as the woman, who had just bewitched him with a simple smile, executed a perfect curtsey. “I am humbled, my lady, by your kind recognition.” She glanced to the colonel and smiled largely. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has told me numerous tales of his family.”

The countess arched an eyebrow which said she thought Edward’s actions odd, as did Darcy, for his cousin had shared nothing of the lady with any of his dear family, but Miss Bennet had said something similar to him only moments earlier. Darcy’s aunt smiled her “social” smile. “I believe I speak for all of the colonel’s family in saying we will be most happy to learn more of you, Miss Bennet. For now, welcome to Pemberley.”

From a place on the staircase, Hurst called out, “Now, now, boys. No way for children to act. Louisa, I say do, something!”

Mrs. Hurst caught one of the boys just as Mrs. Anderson came rushing upon the scene. The nurse presented the gathering in the foyer a quick curtsey. “I apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she said, wringing her hands in obvious distress. “I be puttin’ Miss Cassandra down for a nap, and the boys slipped out when Megs was called away to assist Cook. They followed their parents after Mr. and Mrs. Hurst left the nursery.”

Mrs. Anderson’s whole demeanor said she was fearful of Darcy’s disfavor. He did not like the look on the woman, who had been very loyal to his family over the years.

He said, “No harm, Mrs. Anderson. I will ask Mrs. Reynolds to have Megs and another maid take turns in assisting you. I am grieved to have added to your duties. I will see you are readily compensated.”

I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy. Might I be of assistance, sir? I would be happy to return the boys to the nursery and entertain them until the maid can return to her duties there.” Miss Bennet’s earnest expression said she spoke honestly. “Surely there are some items in the house which can be used to entertain the boys. Toy soldiers, perhaps, from when you and the colonel were younger. Most large households store such items away as the children age.”

His cousin suggested, “The grey trunk. Hey, Darcy. We kept all our best cavalry in it.”

Darcy nodded his understanding and looked to his butler.

I believe it was placed in the attic some years back, sir. I can have someone bring it down immediately, Mr. Darcy.”

We should have done so before now,” Mr. Darcy admitted, although, in reality, it should be the Hursts’ responsibility to see their children were entertained.

Miss Bennet immediately handed her cloak, bonnet, and gloves to Mr. Nathan and then climbed a few steps to claim the hand of first one of the Hurst boys and then the other. “Why do you not come with me? Mr. Darcy has promised us a treasure chest full of toys to explore together. Will that not be grand?”

The youngest of the two said, “Yes, ma’am.”

The lady turned to Darcy. “With your permission, sir,” she murmured.

Darcy attempted to keep the frown from his features, but he knew he failed. “I must object, Miss Bennet. It would be the worst of society to accept a young lady into my home as a guest and then expect her to perform the work of a governess. Neither I nor my household can impose upon your good nature in such a manner.”

I assure you, sir, I would not feel put upon in any such way. I prefer to make myself useful, and, as my position in society is one of governess, please permit me to assist you.”

Without waiting for his permission, she turned the boys’ steps toward the above storey and gracefully climbed the stairs to where Mrs. Anderson waited to show her the way. As her little party turned toward the nursery, he heard her say, “You must tell me your names. I am Miss Bennet.”

Governess?” the countess asked her son. “Did Miss Bennet say she was a governess?”

Yes, she did,” the colonel declared. A look of admiration marked the colonel’s features. “Was it not wonderful how she quite readily took the matter in hand? I am very proud of how quickly Miss Bennet proved herself useful to Darcy.”

But—” the countess thought to lodge her objection, likely the same objection rushing to Darcy’s lips.

However, Edward claimed his mother’s hand and brought the back of it to his lips. “I will explain later, Countess. For now, I want to freshen my clothes, and, then, I wish to hear all there is to learn of both Roland and father. How is the esteemed Miss Ashley? Is a wedding date set?” He turned to the rest of Darcy’s guests. “I will look forward to hearing something from each of you at supper.” He looked to Darcy. “My customary quarters, I assume.”

Yes, and the captain is in the blue suite across from you.”

Edward motioned the captain to follow him. “Come, Stewart. Darcy and my mother keep the gentlemen and the ladies in different wings of the house. I will show you the way. If one does not have a guide, he may become lost in a maze of rooms.”

As they all disappeared to different reaches of the house, including the countess and Georgiana, Darcy remained staring off at the point where the lady, who had quite literally sent his heart pounding in a manner he had never experienced previously, had disappeared. Growing up together, Darcy had, most assuredly, idolized his older cousin, for Edward had always appeared stronger and wiser than he, but, until a few moments prior, he thought he had finally caught up to the man; perhaps, even, had outdistanced him in many of the essentials required of an English gentleman. Yet, with absolute certainty, his cousin had once again left Darcy wishing for some “unknown,” which Fitzwilliam possessed.


About the Author

Regina Jeffers, an award-winning author of historical cozy mysteries, Austenesque sequels and retellings, as well as Regency era romances, has worn many hats over her lifetime: daughter, student, military brat, wife, mother, grandmother, teacher, tax preparer, journalist, choreographer, Broadway dancer, theatre director, history buff, grant writer, media literacy consultant, and author. Living outside of Charlotte, NC, Jeffers writes novels that take the ordinary and adds a bit of mayhem, while mastering tension in her own life with a bit of gardening and the exuberance of her “grand joys.”


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Monday 22 November 2021

Singapore Unveiled by Laura Kennedy

 

A Coral Cove Novel

YA Mystery

Date Published: November 23, 2021

Publisher: Fire and Ice Young Adult Books



Can the secretive mah-jongg tiles help solve the mystery of a missing girl?

When Brooke Bentley's father is transferred to Singapore for a year and he drags their family along, she's more than mad. But what choice do you have when you're only seventeen? So obviously it seems more than unfair after months of chaos involving the Cammies, the infamous members of the most exclusive club at Marlborough Academy, that Brooke is now being held responsible for the disappearance of a girl she barely knows.


More from author Laura Kennedy


Suddenly Singapore

I should have known the night we landed at Singapore’s Changi Airport things would turn out badly.

That something was already steeping in the thick, black Malaysian air like a tea ball of Darjeeling in a teapot.

A something that would totally change my life forever.

Torn from her old existence in Florida, seventeen-year-old Brooke Bentley is forced to find new friends against a backdrop of intrigue, violence and revenge.

Amazon



Excerpt

Prologue

The ancient game of mah-jongg is sort of like life, each ivory tile a clue, a direction to take, a season of the year or even danger ahead. I realize now I should have paid more attention during the months I was in Singapore. I should have sensed something ominous from those exotic designs warning me about Summer and her little sister Plum. But being me, I had to find out the hard way.

I can always blame what happened on my parents for dragging me to Malaysia. I mean, how many other seventeen-year-olds in the universe are forced to give up their entire lives to move halfway around the world?

I remember the whispers around Coral Cove High before I left Florida. There’s Brooke Bentley. Her father got transferred to Asia and she has to go, too. God! And it’s her senior year!

It was obvious they felt sorry for me. I felt sorry for me. I mean, the whole thing sucked. And even though deep down I was still totally mad, I guess I adjusted pretty fast. New school, new friends, new stuff to do. But it wasn’t long before the illusion of tranquility in the safest city in the world was shattered. How you wonder? Well, it all happened like this.


Chapter One

It was near the end of January and my mother had just dropped my brother Benji and me off at Marlborough Academy, our stuffy, terribly respectable private school. Thoughts of my new boyfriend Raffie were skipping through my mind when I noticed the sad state of Benji’s necktie.

Here. Let me straighten your tie or you’ll get a demerit.”

He groaned. “I don’t know why they make us wear these stupid uniforms.”

Because Marlborough is terribly British and into Stamford Raffles and all of that. So, you’re just going to have to live with it. Stiff upper lip. Think of it this way, when you turn fifteen, you’ll be allowed to wear long pants.”

By fall term we’ll be back in Florida and I can wear jeans to school again.”

If Dad’s through with the hotel project.”

Well, if he isn’t, I’m going home to live with Grandma Donnie.”

Home. Just hearing it sounded weird. Coral Cove, Florida and my old boyfriend Tyler. Sudsy and Tamara and my other BFFs. The longer I was in Singapore, the hazier they all became.

I have to let all of that go, I reminded myself. Live in the now, the thought of which brought me back to my new hot boyfriend, Raffie Desai. Would he send me a valentine? Doubtful since he’d never even said anything remotely romantic. Besides, did they even have Valentine’s Day in Asia? And if they did, Raffie was maddeningly unemotional and wouldn’t send one. Maybe it had something to do with being Hindu.

I was barely through Marlborough’s massive front door when my best guy friend, Mu, spotted me. With gelled, spiked hair and turned up collar, he made Marlborough’s gross general issue uniform look almost cool.

Hey, Brooke, Queenie’s been looking for you.”

She has?”

He nodded. “Says she has something terribly crucial to tell you. But then, you know what a drama queen she is.”

Thanks. Well, I’m sure she’ll tell all when she sees me.”

My main BFF, Quoi, aka Queenie, was waiting for me outside of Mrs. Harris’ classroom. Still managing to look very Teen Vogue in her plaid skirt, white blouse, blue blazer and perfect make-up, it was obvious she was upset. “Brooke, I’ve got to talk to you.”

What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Not really.” Nervously, she ran her hand through her long, dark hair. “My father had another death threat yesterday.” It came out as one big sob.

Ohmigod! So, did he call the police?”

She nodded. “They told him not to worry and that they’ll step up surveillance around our house.”

I gave her a hug. “Don’t worry, Queenie. I’m sure this kind of stuff always happens to important people in government.”

I guess. Obviously, my parents are really freaked. They even hired a bodyguard for me.”

You’re kidding.”

She nodded to other side of the hallway. “See that muscular looking dude leaning against the wall? His name is Li Yong. He shadows me wherever I go.”

He looks pretty tough. Is he going to classes, too?”

No, we asked, but the principal won’t let him, so he’ll have to wait outside my classrooms.”

I gave Queenie a reassuring smile. “Well, it’s a good idea to be on the safe side. At least until the election is over.”

But on the inside, I didn’t feel so confident. Maybe someone was really trying to hurt Queenie and her family. Politicians always had someone mad at them. Reeling from my frightening thoughts, I grabbed my notebook and two texts and slammed my locker door. “So are we on for the Cammies Thursday?” I asked, changing the subject.

I guess, but somehow Club seems pretty meaningless right now.”

Oh, come on, Q. It will be good for you to have some fun.”

I don’t know about the word fun. Besides, we have a crisis.”

What now?”

Mei Lien is moving. The rumor is she was caught shoplifting again and her parents have to get her out of Singapore or they’ll lock her up.”

God. Well, it was bound to get real now she turned eighteen. It’s too bad, but she knew how strict Singapore is about that kind of stuff.”

And...” Queenie stopped to take a breath... “Kalavani is transferring to art school.”

No! Now who will do invitations?” There was a moment of silence while this revelation sank in. “Not that that’s the only reason I’ll miss her, of course.”

So,” Queenie continued, “that means we have to find two new girls to keep the magic number at seven. As if with all of this other stuff going on I even care.”

Oh, Queenie.” I gave her a hug. “Obviously, Club pales in comparison to your safety, but you have to move on with your life. Remember the motto of the British in World War II? Stay calm and carry on. Isn’t that what Miss Harris told us in British History?”

Queenie blinked back a tear. “You’re right, Brooke. You are so maddeningly logical sometimes.” She paused to reboot. “Okay, I know of two possibilities. Summer Chaing and her little sister, Plum. They just transferred from Nanyang Girls School. Summer’s a senior like us and Plum’s a freshman.”

Freshman? Isn’t she sort of young?”

Yes. But Summer is perfect and her mother won’t let her join unless Plum gets in, too. Besides, I recently realized something earth shattering.”

And what could that possibly be?”

If we don’t take in younger girls, the Chameleons will be extinct when we graduate. Just like the dinosaurs.”

I laughed, happy for an excuse to. “Hmm, I never thought of it. Somehow I assumed we were immortal.” We continued down the crowded hallway, me considering my newly discovered mortality. “So when do I get to meet our next victims?” The minute I said it, I wished I’d used another noun.

You can meet Summer now, because it just so happens, she’s assigned to our homeroom.”

The warning bell rang and Queenie and I slipped through the door milliseconds before Miss Harris closed it. Like homing pigeons, we fluttered to the back of the classroom where we slid into our seats.

There sat Summer. Pretty as a China doll, her almond eyes, tiny nose and rosebud lips looking as though they’d been painted on her face. Dressed in Marlborough white blouse, plaid skirt and saddle shoes, she sat with her hands folded, the epitome of serenity.

Lounging at my old desk, Audrianna looked up. “Hi, Brooke. Just stole your place a sec so I can keep Summer company. Oh, Brooke, this is Summer. Summer, Brooke, the girl from the U.S. I was telling you about. Brooke and I are practically the only blondes in the school.”

Getting up, she returned to her seat, reassuringly patting Queenie’s hand on the way. Obviously, Queenie had filled her in on the death threat, too.

Summer looked at me and smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Brooke. It’s always fun to meet an American. They’re so refreshing.”

I laughed. “Well, I hope I live up to the image. I hear you went to Nanyang Girls School.”

She nodded. “All through secondary, but my mother wanted my little sister Plum to attend someplace more suitable for her emotional needs. That’s why we’re here.”

Emotional needs? A laundry list of possibilities skipped across my mind.

Welcome back students.” Miss Harris’ warm British voice cut through my thoughts. “And a special welcome to those attending Marlborough for the first time. I’d like to extend a special welcome to Ruomei.” All heads turned toward Summer, who returned the attention with a Mona Lisa smile. “And now, I shall commence with roll call.” Miss Harris droned on until the bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom.

In the hallway, Queenie, Audrianna, Summer and I convened for a quick huddle. Audrianna nodded toward Queenie’s bodyguard lounging against the wall. “I assume you know about Bruce Lee over there,” she began, turning to me.

Yes, and I think it’s a great idea. I mean, who wouldn’t feel safe with a guy like him following you around all day?”

Audrianna gave him a flirty once over. “Too bad he can’t come to classes. He’d be a delicious distraction, even if he is at least thirty.”

Smiling, I grabbed my book bags. “Got to run,” I said. Taking my cue, my Marlborough BFFs regrouped, then en masse, traipsed down the hallway, Li Yong trailing behind. “See you guys at lunch,” I called.

Summer turned to give a little wave. “Okay, lah.”

I waved back. So she and her sister Plum were at Marlborough because Plum needed something more suitable for her emotional needs. Whatever that meant. It was all too much. Shoplifting. Death threats. Bodyguards. So much for living in the now.


About the Author

Laura Kennedy has been writing for what seems forever. Selling her first romance story to a well-known national magazine at twenty-two, she went on to sell several more, rounding the total to two dozen. Other writing credits include five other books: See Mommy Run, a humorous self-published novel, plus Surf Shop Sisters, Double Take, and Suddenly Singapore, all YA's featuring Brooke Bentley. The series also includes Affairs, Fibs and Felonies, the tale of Barbie Bentely, Brooke's mother.

Note: Surf Shop Sisters was a finalist in the 2016 Royal PalrmLiterary Award Competition in Florida.


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Sunday 21 November 2021

Hometown by Wendy Rich Stetson

 

Book 1 in The Hearts of the Ridge Series

Sweet Romance

Date Published: August 11, 2021

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press



On Sale for $0.99 for a limited time


When Tessa's big-city plans take the A Train to disaster, she lands in her sleepy hometown, smack in the middle of the most unlikely love triangle ever to hit Pennsylvania's Amish Country.

Hot-shot Dr. Richard Bruce is bound to Green Ridge by loyalty that runs deep. Deeper still is Jonas Rishel's tie to the land and his family's Amish community. Behind the wheel of a 1979 camper van, Tessa idles at a fork in the road. Will she cruise the superhighway to the future? Or take a slow trot to the past and a mysterious society she never dreamed she'd glimpse from the inside?


Excerpt

The girl entwined her fingers in her skirt and tugged the fabric tight. “Your hair is the same color as my cat, and she’s the best cat in the world.” In [w1] a heartbeat, she fled and buried her face in the man’s lap.

My goodness. What a compliment. Thank you.” She fumbled with the clasp of her wallet, discovering only then she smooshed her thumb deep into the whoopie pie.

The elfin child giggled and bounced on bare toes.

Standing, the man swept her into his arms and smiled down at Tessa. “Rebecca has not seen many women with ginger hair.”

Ginger hair. For years, she was tormented by boneheaded boys shouting, “Carrot Top” and “Flame.” No one ever called her mane ginger. Beneath his candid gaze, her curls heated like embers, warming her from top to toe. Who was this man?

The girl wriggled, knocking askew his straw hat.

He tossed her under one arm like a sack of flour and righted it, loosening a tawny curl that escaped the wide brim and fell over one brow. His gaze passed over Tessa’s face.

Her unruly hair and short shorts tweaked at her consciousness. What did the Amish call outsiders? English? She was definitely dressed like an English woman. And not one from a Jane Austen novel.

He deposited the giggling girl right-side up on the floor and approached the table. “I’ve rarely seen hair that color myself. Like a copper penny.”

She stared at the mangled whoopie pie and blushed even deeper. For a brief moment, she felt his gaze trail down her body like a caress. Or did she?


About the Author

Wendy Rich Stetson is a New York City girl who still considers the Central Pennsylvania countryside to be her home. She grew up road tripping in a 1979 VW camper van, and she keeps a running list of favorite roadside attractions from coast to coast. Now an author of sweet, small-town romance, Wendy is no stranger to storytelling. She’s a Broadway and television actress, an audiobook narrator, and a mom who likes nothing more than collaborating on children’s books with her teenage artist daughter. Wendy lives in Upper Manhattan with her family of three and rambunctious Maine Coon kitty. Follow Wendy’s journey at www.wendyrichstetson.com


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Wednesday 10 November 2021

The Last Speaker of Skalwegian by David Gardner

The Last Speaker of Skalwegian by David Gardner Banner

The Last Speaker of Skalwegian

by David Gardner

November 1-30, 2021 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Last Speaker of Skalwegian by David Gardner

Professor Lenny Thorson lives in a defunct revolving restaurant, obsesses over word derivations, and teaches linguistics at a fourth-rate college with a gerbil for a mascot. Lenny's thirty-four years have not been easy—he grew up in a junkyard with his widowed father and lives under a cloud of guilt for having killed another boxer as a teenager.

Desperate to save his teaching career, Lenny seizes the opportunity to document the Skalwegian language with its last living speaker, Charlie Fox. Life appears to have finally taken a turn for the better...

Unfortunately for Lenny, it hasn't. He soon finds himself at war with Charlie, his dean, a ruthless mobster, and his own conscience.

A genial protagonist will keep readers enticed throughout this amusing romp.
~ Kirkus Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: Humorous Thriller, Academic Setting
Published by: Encircle Publications, LLC
Publication Date: September 8th 2021
Number of Pages: 308
ISBN: 164599239X (ISBN13: 9781645992394)
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

 

Book Trailer:

 

Read an excerpt:

“Why document the Skalwegian language?” Charlie Fox asked. “The answer to your question should be obvious: I want to save the language of my Scandinavian ancestors and preserve their culture for future generations. I’m no longer young, and if I don’t act soon, Skalwegian will disappear forever. And give Professor Lenny Thorson a lot of the credit. He’s a linguist—I sure couldn’t do the job without him.”

The Last Speaker of Skalwegian, Newsweek

Chapter 1

Weegan

A word in the Skalwegian language loosely translated as butthead (impolite usage)

Lenny Thorson watched the red pickup roar into the parking lot, a statue propped up in back. It was the Ghurkin College mascot, an eight-foot-tall gerbil.

Charlie nudged Lenny. “You sure you want tenure at a college with a rat for a mascot?”

“It’s a gerbil. And yes, I do. Jobs are scarce.”

Gerry Gerbil stood on his hind legs and stared into the distance, a football clutched in his right front paw, his rat-like tail draped over his left. He looked hot and humiliated.

Lenny too felt hot and humiliated, and he guessed that Gerry hated parades as much as he did. Lenny tugged his sweaty shirt away from his chest. It was a sunny September afternoon, with heat waves shimmering off the blacktop in front of the building where he lived. He badly wanted the day to be over.

The pickup swung around with a screech of tires and backed up to Lenny’s beat-up Chevy. Two college students in matching black muscle shirts stepped out. Brothers, Lenny guessed. They were a wide-shouldered pair with mussy brown hair and long ears.

Lenny reached out his hand. “I’m Lenny Thorson and this is Charlie Fox.”

“Yeah, I know,” the taller one said, glanced at Lenny’s outstretched hand, then climbed onto the back of the pickup and untied the statue.

Lenny and Charlie dragged the wood-and-papier-mâché gerbil from the bed of the pickup, boosted it atop Lenny’s car and stood it upright.

One brother thumbed his phone while the other fed ropes through the open doors and around the mascot’s ankles.

The boy was careless as well as rude, Lenny told himself, and he was tempted to order him to untie the ropes and start over, but Lenny hated confrontation. Once he was around the corner and out of sight, he would stop and retie the knots. He didn’t want anything bad to happen to Gerry Gerbil.

On second thought, did he really give a damn?

Charlie threw his right leg over his motorcycle, gripped the handlebars and bounced once in the saddle. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that read ‘So Are You!’ He nodded toward Gerry. “He looks like a weegan, and so will you when you parade him through the center of town.”

Lenny hadn’t yet learned that word in Skalwegian. “Weegan?”

“‘Butthead.’”

Lenny nodded. He was a weegan.

Charlie looked particularly worn and shrunken today, Lenny thought, especially astraddle his beefy black Harley. His hair was gray, his skin leathery, his chin neatly dimpled from Iraqi shrapnel. He was fifty-one—seventeen years older than Lenny—and eight inches shorter.

At six feet four, Lenny was always embarrassed by his size. He wished he could go through life unnoticed. He wondered if Gerry Gerbil ever felt the same.

The shorter brother slapped the mascot’s foot. “Have fun at the parade, professor.”

Both brothers laughed.

Lenny didn’t expect to have fun. His gut told him that the day would go badly.

* * *

Bob One wasn’t happy about whacking a professor. He specialized in crooked bookies, wise guys who’d flipped, and casino managers caught skimming. But never a civilian. Bob One believed in upholding the ethics of his profession.

He parted the tall tan grass at the side of the road, pinched a mosquito off the tip of his nose and peered westward. No cars yet, but the guy who’d hired him had said his target always took this route on his way into town and would have to slow to a crawl here at the switchback. Bob One figured he’d have plenty of time to pop up, rush forward, blast the guy at close range, then get the hell back to Chicago where he belonged.

* * *

Lenny eyed the brothers, now slouched against his car’s front fender, both lost in their phones. He couldn’t remember ever seeing them on the Ghurkin College campus, the fourth-rate institution an hour west of Boston where he taught French and linguistics. “I didn’t catch your names.”

The taller one glanced up. “You don’t know who we are?”

Lenny shook his head.

The boys exchanged puzzled looks. The taller one said, “I’m Tom Sprocket, and that’s my brother Titus.”

The names sounded familiar, but Lenny didn’t know where he’d heard them. He could memorize entire pages of the dictionary in one sitting, but he was terrible with names.

Tom pocketed his phone and looked Lenny up and down. “Did you play football in college?”

“No,” Lenny said.

Tom snickered. “Afraid of getting hurt?”

“I was afraid of hurting someone else.”

Tom snorted. “Man, that’s all the fun.”

No, it’s wasn’t, Lenny told himself. Hurting someone wasn’t fun at all. Twenty-one years ago, while fighting underage with a fake name, he’d killed an opponent in the boxing ring. Guilt still clung to Lenny, ate into his soul.

Tom gestured with a thick thumb over his shoulder toward the office building behind the parking lot. “You live on top of that thing?”

Lenny nodded.

“You’re weird, man.”

Lenny stiffened. He did feel weird for living in an abandoned rotating restaurant atop a ten-story insurance building, but didn’t particularly enjoy being told so.

But in spite of Tom’s rudeness, Lenny wouldn’t let himself get angry with the boy or even with Dean Sheepslappe who, for some reason, insisted he participate in the Gerry Gerbil Alumni Day Parade, even threatening to block his tenure if he refused. Lenny had grown up angry, had fought with rage in the ring, but after that last fight, he’d promised himself he would never again lose his temper. Some people found this strange, Lenny knew, some sweet. Others used his good nature as a way to take advantage of him. Lenny knew that too.

Titus Sprocket smirked and said, “I heard the place starts up running sometimes all on its own.”

The Moon View Revolving Restaurant had failed financially in just six months, when its motor took to speeding up at random moments, knocking staff off their feet and sending diners sliding sideways off their booths and onto the floor. Lenny moved in shortly afterwards. He was paying minimal rent in the abandoned restaurant in return for serving as its live-in caretaker. He found it oddly comforting to be the world’s only linguist who inhabited a rotating restaurant. “Sometimes it makes a couple of turns in the middle of the night,” Lenny said, “then shuts down. It’s no problem.”

It was in fact a problem. When the deranged motors and gears got it into their head to noctambulate, they did so with a terrific bellow and jolt that made Lenny sit up wide awake, and which frightened Elspeth so badly that she’d stopped staying overnight.

But Lenny wasn’t bothered by the smirking Sprockets. In fact, he felt sorry for the boys, regarding them as underprivileged lads from some sunbaked state where children ran barefoot across red clay all summer and ate corn pone for breakfast.

Lenny wondered what corn pone tasted like and—more importantly—what was the origin of the word pone? A Native American term? Spanish? Skalwegian even?

He turned to Charlie, astride his motorcycle and fiddling with one of its dials. “Is pone a word in Skalwegian?”

“It sure is,” Charlie said without looking up. “It means ‘He who makes a big weegan of himself by driving an eight-foot rat through the center of town.’”

“You’re no help.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

Lenny drifted off to ruminate on pone. The campus newspaper had labeled him the most distracted member of the faculty—misplacing his briefcase, forgetting to show up for class, walking into trees. But he’d also been one of the most popular until he’d flunked a pair of star football players. The school newspaper excoriated him, and fans called him a traitor. A few students considered him a hero, however. Lenny wanted to be neither.

Charlie tightened his helmet and slipped the key into the ignition. “I got to get back to the farm because Sally must have lunch ready by now. Besides, I don’t want to stick around and watch my good buddy make a big weegan of himself.”

“Can you come over tomorrow? We got only halfway through the G verbs this morning.”

“Tomorrow I got to work on the barn roof. Maybe the day after. Or the day after that.”

Charlie started the engine, leaned into the handlebars and roared away in a blast of blue smoke.

Lenny watched him go. There were times when Lenny felt like quitting the project. Charlie used him as resource—“What’s a gerund? Where do hyphens go? What in hell is a predicate complement?”—but had given him no real role in documenting the language itself. Although this was frustrating and puzzling, it was never quite enough to force Lenny to drop out. He took great pride in helping save a language, not to mention that it was a hot topic in linguistic circles and would go a long way toward saving his teaching job.

Tom and Titus simultaneously tucked their muscle shirts into their waistbands. Titus said, “We was football players.”

“Oh?” Lenny said. He paid no attention to team sports but closely attended to subject/verb conflicts.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Titus said. “But we got cheated and ain’t never going to get our whack at the NFL.”

Distracted, Lenny tugged on Gerry’s ropes. Yes, they’d definitely need retying. It pleased him to hear someone say ain’t so naturally and not merely to make an ironic point. He said over his shoulder, “NFL—that would be the National Federation of… uh…?”

“Holy shit on a shingle!” Titus said. “I’m talking about the National Football League—big money, fame and all the poontang a guy could ever want.”

Lenny had read somewhere that poontang descended from New Orleans Creole, from putain, the French word for prostitute, but he wasn’t absolutely sure. He would look into this later, along with pone. He turned to the brothers. “Something went wrong?”

The Sprockets looked at each other in wonder. “Yeah, you could say that,” Titus said. “We got screwed.”

“Yeah, screwed,” Tom repeated.

Lenny said, “That’s a shame.”

“Yeah, well, we’re gonna get payback,” Titus said and patted Gerry’s foot.

Lenny climbed into his car and eased out of the parking lot. Ropes squeaked against the door frames, the statue’s base creaked on the Chevy’s roof, and Lenny was sure he heard Gerry groan in anticipation of the dreadful day ahead.

In his rearview mirror, Lenny watched the diminishing Sprocket brothers waving and laughing. What an odd pair, he thought.

Lenny decided to take his usual route through the arboretum on his way downtown. The beauty and isolation of the place soothed him. He hoped it would today.

* * *

Bob One spotted a car approaching and got to his feet. It was an old black Chevy with a maroon right front fender. Don’t all professors drive Priuses?

But it had to be the guy on account of the statue on top like he’d been told to look for. What was that thing? A squirrel? A rat? Look at how the damn thing wobbles! About ready to tip over.

Bob One slipped closer to the road, crouched behind a bush, pulled his pistol from his belt and slapped a mosquito off his forehead. He examined the bloody splotch on his palm. Shit, stick around much longer, and the damn insects would suck him dead.

* * *

Lenny was scared.

In two days, he had to go on live television with Charlie and discuss their Skalwegian project—not easy for someone wanting to go through life invisible. Would he make a fool of himself? Say dumb things he’d later regret?

Probably.

Lenny’s thoughts turned back to the Sprocket brothers. Strange last name. Scholars could trace sprocket back as far as the mid-sixteenth century as a carpenter’s term but hadn’t yet located an ancestor.

Tom and Titus Sprocket!

Of course!

He’d flunked them in first-year French because they never showed up for class, which cost them their eligibility to play football. The dean had been furious with him but not with the errant guard and tackle. Jocks normally took Spanish with Juan Jorgenson—the other candidate for the language department’s one tenured slot. Juan automatically gave A’s to athletes just for registering.

Lenny reached over and cranked up the radio for the boisterous ending of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, then glanced up to see he was driving much too fast into Jackknife Corner.

Panicked, he jammed on the brakes and twisted the steering wheel hard left.

He felt the car tilt to the right and heard a loud Thunk! just as Beethoven’s Fifth swelled to a crescendo. Puzzled, Lenny drove on, with the Chevy pulling to the right. Probably something to do with tire pressure, Lenny guessed. He’d have that checked later.

* * *

Bob One lay on the side of road. Blood flowed out his left ear and down his cheek. His head buzzed, and his eyes slipped in and out of focus. He pulled himself to his feet, wobbled, then toppled into the ditch. He crawled into the marsh, still gripping his unfired handgun. Puddles soaked his knees and elbows. A possum trotted past. An airplane roared low overhead. Or was that inside his skull?

Bob One’s left temple hurt like a son of a bitch. That damn rat had toppled over and whacked him on the side of the head. Or was it a guinea pig?

Bob One curled up beside a bog. Half-conscious, he watched a fat snapping turtle waddle toward him, stop two feet from his nose, look him up and down, then open its jaw. Shit, Bob One said to himself, the thing’s got a mouth the size of a catcher’s mitt. Bob One didn’t like animals or much of anything else in nature. He tried to crawl away, but things started going dark—warm and dark—not such a bad feeling, actually.

Bob One awoke to see the turtle biting his right forefinger off at the second joint. Bob One felt no pain and noticed that one of his shoes was missing. As Bob One slipped comfortably into his final darkness, he wondered if a missing trigger finger would hinder him professionally.

* * *

Lenny reached the parade route late and swung in behind the school bandsmen in their sky-blue uniforms with “Skammer’s Fine Meats” embroidered in bright yellow across the back.

Spectators to Lenny’s right shouted and pointed. Some ducked, some knelt, some even dropped to their stomachs. Lenny shook his head in disbelief. Had students and townspeople taken to prostrating themselves before the college mascot? Did he really want tenure at a batty place like this?

At the end of the block, a policeman holding a Dunkin’ Donuts cup stepped into the street, raised his palm, and forced Lenny to brake.

As Lenny stepped from his car, he realized that he’d forgotten to retie the ropes.

Gerry Gerbil lay sideways across the car’s roof, projecting five feet to the right, the ankles tied precariously in place. Someone took a photo. Someone fingered the slack ropes and spoke of slip knots. Lenny touched a patch of something red and damp on the mascot’s forehead. Lenny rubbed thumb against forefinger. The stuff looked like blood.

Since when did gerbil statues bleed?

***

Excerpt from The Last Speaker of Skalwegian by David Gardner. Copyright 2021 by David Gardner. Reproduced with permission from David Gardner. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

David Gardner

David Gardner grew up on a Wisconsin dairy farm, served in Army Special Forces and earned a Ph.D. in French from the University of Wisconsin. He has taught college and worked as a reporter and in the computer industry. He coauthored three programming books for Prentice Hall, wrote dozens of travel articles as well as too many mind-numbing computer manuals before happily turning to fiction: "The Journalist: A Paranormal Thriller" and "The Last Speaker of Skalwegian" (both with Encircle Publications, LLC). He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Nancy, also a writer. He hikes, bikes, messes with astrophotography and plays the keyboard with no discernible talent whatsoever.

Catch Up With David:
DavidGardnerAuthor.com
Goodreads
Instagram - @davidagardner07
Facebook

 

 

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