Cindy A. Christiansen's Blog, page 15

Weekend Blog: Inside Scoop on Braving the Blaze

The winner for Legacy of Lies was: Nancy Costello.  Thank you.

(Don't miss the giveaway at the end of the post!)
Blurb: Single-minded Dean Harward is going to become a veterinarian if it kills him.  He’s worked summers as a volunteer wildfire fighter to earn big cash for college.  Just his luck, a pyrophobic woman gets assigned to his team.  He’s certain she’ll get him killed before he can graduate. Ginger Warby is a walking firestorm as accidents continually spark around her.  Or are they accidents?  Can Dean keep the flames of desire he reluctantly feels for her under control long enough to keep them and his Yellow Labrador alive? 

How It Began: I was busy writing another book when the worst fire in Utah’s history was happening: the Milford Flat Fires back in 2007.  I printed off information and followed the news.  If you’ve read my post, A Fire Inside, you already know that I had my own fearful experience with fire, which lead to me writing this story.
My veterinarian, Dr. Dennis Law, helped me with the hero’s role, and I dedicated the book to him and his staff.  They have been taking wonderful care of my dogs since 1990.

Our family took our vacation down in Beaver, Utah in the Tushar Mountains and had a wonderful time.  It really helped with the realism of this story. And, I loved studying about mushrooms and survival cooking in the mountains.
I also did extensive research on what it's like to be a wildfire fighter.  I have several family members on my husband's side who have worked as volunteers during the summer.  They helped immensely. 


Premise:With each of my books, I always have a message in mind.  In Braving the Blaze the message is: Life is good!

Excerpt:Ginger hiked the rest of the way down to the edge of the lake. A small grill had been erected, and a campfire pit lay close at hand. Someone had even left a few chopped logs nearby.
Despite their situation, Ginger felt almost giddy. She loved the thought of being here working together with Dean, though she better not get too used to the idea. After they were rescued she’d never see him again. The chance of a future together stood about as much chance as an ice cream cone staying frozen in a four-hundred degree pizza oven. She sighed.
She intertwined the wire grass into a crude, loosely-woven basket. Then she yanked off her boots and pulled out the laces. She tied them together and then tied one end securely to a section of the woven wire grass. With any luck, they’d being eating trout within the hour.
She worked her way out to the point where she hoped she stood the best chance of catching a fish. Without bothering to slip off her mud-crusted boots, she carefully waded out as deep as she dared into the lake and settled the basket near the bottom. She placed the largest rock she could find on top of the bootlace. She took a moment to dunk herself and splash her face, relieving herself of mud and ash.
There. Now for the mushroom stuffing.
She caught sight of Dixie and Dean at the campfire pit. Dean already had a blaze going. He’d also spread their brush coats on the shoreline, holding them down with rocks. He’d formed the typical SOS symbol out of logs nearby. Ginger got busy gathering the necessary ingredients for the rest of her planned meal.
Within an hour, she returned to check her trap. Anticipation filled her as she waded out and pulled up the basket. Nothing. Disappointment settled into her bones. Her stomach rumbled. She shuffled back to shore just as Dean approached the edge of the water, his hands behind him.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“No, unfortunately.”
“Maybe this’ll help.” He pulled a telescopic rod and reel from behind his back.
“Where on earth…?”
“It was in the closet at the summer home,” he said, smiling.
“And you let me sit and weave a basket?”
He nodded. “You were so ador— absorbed in the process. I didn’t want to take the moment away from you.”
She pursed her lips at him. “So what else did you confiscate?” she asked, holding out her hand for the fishing pole. “Shampoo? Pots and pans? Dinner service for three? Toilet paper?” She hadn’t thought to take anything. Besides, stealing didn’t seem right even under the circumstances.
“You can fish if you want, but I already caught three nice-sized trout when you weren’t looking,” he returned.
She growled, wanting to rip out her hair. Instead she laughed. “Okay, okay. Let’s get them cooked. I’m starved.”
Dixie gave her a curious look.
“Do you want yours cooked?” she asked the dog, giving her coat a ruffle.
Dixie cocked her head.
“Cooked it is, Sunshine.”
When she reached the grill, she spotted the already-cleaned trout laying next to her other ingredients.
“No bowls, but I did manage to get a few flimsy paper plates and a couple of forks into my pocket.” Dean pulled them out and set them down.
“And I thought we were roughing it.”
“I’m not questioning your abilities, but…” Dean started to say as he transferred some of the burning coals to the grill.
“Let me guess. You’re worried about the mushrooms.” She took the stuffing she’d concocted and began filling two of the trout.
“My father never had time for camping trips and Mom, bless her heart, was the world’s worst scout leader.”
Ginger tried not to act surprised he’d shared some history with her. “You need to be extremely careful what mushrooms you eat. My dad taught me and Sage about the main edible ones in Utah. We camped a great deal around Fish Lake, and there’s a lot of Porcini, or King Bolete they’re called, up at this elevation. They’re very rich in flavor. They’re usually ready in August, but I found a few already coming up. You almost have to pick them early or the worms will get them before you do.”
Dean picked up the one she hadn’t cut up for the stuffing.
“The King Bolete looks like a freshly baked bun,” she continued. “It has pores instead of gills beneath the cap. See?” Dean held the mushroom, and she turned his strong hand over to expose the underside of the mushroom. She hesitated for a moment at the thrill of touching him. “Uh, Morels, Meadows, Chanterelles, and Wood Ears are other common types in Utah. But if I can’t identify them, I don’t pick them.”
Their gaze met. She still held his hand in hers. She quickly broke contact and carried the fish over to the metal grill.
“It won’t take long to cook,” she said, trying to regain her composure.
“I—” Dean whirled around and headed up the hillside.
Now what got into him?


Review: This is the first book that I’ve read of Ms. Christiansen’s, and I have to say, I enjoyed it very much. Working with a volunteer fire dept myself, I can understand Ginger’s feelings towards fire and having a fear of it. This story had just the right amount of suspense and romance to keep it interesting. I found the book very hard to put down and had to keep reading to find out just how they were going to escape off that mountain to the exciting conclusion of the book. One could not help but root for Ginger as she finally manages to control her fear. If you are looking for a great afternoon read, then I recommend Braving the Blaze. 5/5 Stars, Miss Lynn’s Books and More 
  Giveaway:  I will select 2 winners for a PDF copy of Braving the Blaze .If you truly like my writing, like my Amazon page or add me as a FAVORITE and then leave a comment here.  If you don’t leave your email, please check back here for the winners by next Friday.
Cindy’s Amazon Page




Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Character Photo Images: http://www.123rf.comCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The 2014 Gratitude Giveaways

Autumn is my favorite time of year! I have fond memories of life on our farm with my family, harvesting what we had worked so hard to produce through the year. I remember peeling and coring apple after apple for bottled apples and applesauce, my mouth watering for one of my mom’s homemade apple pies.  I remember the canning season coming to a close as we gathered the last of the squash to store in the cellar, and then we would finally put the garden to bed for the dormant winter months ahead.
Memories of my dad’s hardworking hands, my mother’s gentle smile, and my siblings’ playful banter take me back to a picturesque time when life was slower and more people had a sense of gratitude instead of entitlement.
But most of all, I remember the love, contentment, and peace that radiated from our home. I am so very thankful for these memories and all that I have been given.   
“At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.” — Albert Schweitzer
Although most of my family I was born into have passed on, I have new family and friends--you.  I want to share this wonderful season of giving with you. I am giving away a $15 egift card from my publisher, Sweet Cravings along with 2 PDF copies of any of my books that you wish. If you want to see my titles, they are on the left side of the blog.  If you want more details, check out my website.  In return, I ask that you choose one way to keep in touch with me--only one.  I've listed a few choices for you to make it easy.
Follow me by choosing:Blog: choices are on right hand side of blog pageNew Release Announcements: input your information on blog on left hand side at bottom Amazon Author Page: Like or Favorite Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/DragonflyRomanceAuthor Page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorDragonflyTwitter: https://twitter.com/CindyDragonflyGoogle+: http://bit.ly/14TuIh6LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/in/cindydragonflyPinterest: http://pinterest.com/cindydragonfly [image error]
Now enter the choice you made in the Rafflecopter to enter the drawing for the $15 egift card plus the two free ebooks.  That's it!  You're done.  I will notify you at the end of the giveaway if you have won.

Rafflecopter Giveaway
Have a wonderful holiday season!

Please visit all of the other bloggers and authors who are giving for the season.  This event is sponsored by I Am A Reader.




Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Loving The Book Blog Tour for Fortune for Fools: A Merchant Street Mystery

Please join us on a fun blog tour over next several days and check out the incredible prizes!


Hosted by:
Loving The Book Blog Tour
November 12 - 18
November 12   semishort.blogspot.com November 13   http://www.annadelc.com/blog
November 13   http://rebeccalamoreaux-anauthorinprogress.blogspot.com/2014/11/fortune-for-fools-by-cindy-christiansen.html November 14   http://marshaward.blogspot.com November 14   http://truthaboutbooksbyafae.weebly.com November 15   http://tripleaauthorpromotion.wordpress.com/ November 15   julkbearreads.wordpress.com November 16   http://authorcandyodonnell.blogspot.com/ November 16   quetzdomain.wordpress.com/ November 17   http://www.authorsrevealed.blogspot.com November 17   http://authorsandralove.blogspot.com/ November 18   http://sweet-n-sassy-book-a-holics.blogspot.com/



Look at all the wonderful ebooks being donated!
Jean Joachim: Sunny Days, Moonlit Nights (4 copies)Lindsay Downs: Countess for the Crown, Book 1Anna del C. Dye:  The Roilden Stones of Elf Mountain Joyce DiPastena:  Loving Lucianna (ePUB)Debra Erkert:  Relative EvilKathy Bosman: Wedding Gown GirlRuth Roberts:  Diamond Heiress Angela Carling: Shackled (MOBI)Cindy A. Christiansen:  Time Will Tell: A Merchant Street Mystery #1Cindy A. Christiansen:  Hunting for Happenstance: A Merchant Street Mystery #2Cindy A. Christiansen:  Fortune for Fools: A Merchant Street Mystery #3Patricia Costa Viglucci: The Connecticut Cowboy and the Runaway BridePatricia Costa Viglucci: Pride and PretensePatricia Costa Viglucci: Jordan's Island

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The Elation of Publication

Having always been active growing up on a farm, I thought I would go absolutely mad when an unknown illness forced me to be bedridden.  Only able to drag my hand across a notepad, I began writing my first novel.
Once hooked, a true author can’t stop writing.  I did all I could to that first draft and then I started reading how-to books.  After that, I pushed myself to writing classes and workshops and then collapsed for weeks after.  It didn’t stop me.  From what I learned I was back in bed doing rewrites on the information I had learned.
Skipping ahead many years, I finally published my first book. (It wasn’t the first book I wrote.)  Much hard work, sacrifice, struggle, hopes and dreams were wrapped up in that moment.  When that first box of books arrived in the mail, I felt such victory and vindication that despite how hard this illness had tried to keep me down, I had fought back and won.
I sank down on the floor next to the box and ripped it open, feeling rejuvenated by adrenaline, my heart drumming wildly.  Victory!
A couple of months went by and I had actually sold a number of books.  The fact that I had a published book made me feel ecstatic but to know that people were reading my words brought tears of joy to my eyes.
Until…
One day the phone rang.
“Is this, Cindy?” a man asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“I’ve read your book, Legacy of Lies .”
There was a long pause.  I gulped hard.  He made no comment whether he liked the book or not.  My heart beat in my chest so hard it physically hurt.

I’ll finish this story next week with a different emotion.

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com

Copyright of dog photo: damedeeso / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Weekend Blog: The Inside Scoop on Love on Laird Avenue

(Don't miss the giveaway at the end of the post!)
Blurb: Who said it would be easy for Tatum to leave her over-protective father, buy a 1911 bungalow, and start her own business at the same time? When things fall apart, literally, she hires a hunky home restoration specialist named Ryan to come to her rescue. She never dreamed he’d have his own ideas about protecting her...namely sabotaging her dates.
How It Began: I’ve learned a lot about Attention Deficit Disorder by living and working with individuals who deal with this issue. I’ve witnessed their talents and genius and helped them through their despair when others treat them like idiots.  I wanted to show just how talented and loveable people with ADD or ADHD can be. Heroes come in many sizes, shapes and labels.
Also when my husband and I got married, we fell in love with the home we are still in today.  However, there was much deception on the part of the previous owners.  For example, they hung a shower curtain and kept it closed when we went through the house and we assumed there was one.  Nope.  They had covered holes in the walls with pictures and disguised the smell of dead mice with apples and cinnamon cooking on the stove. Anyway, I thought it would be fun to write about renovating a house.



I love historical home tours so Laird Avenue came to mind.  It’s surprising how many people I have met who know all about Laird Avenue.  It’s been a fun connection. I did quite a bit of research and tours on the area, historical homes, and the Governor's Mansion. I also purchased a wonderful book called 100 Turn-of-the-Century Brick Bungalows with Floor Plans. I used one of the plans to make the house more real to readers.

Another fun aspect of Love on Laird Avenue was all the research I did about Prohibition.  Many real facts are included.
Premise: With each of my books, I always have a message in mind.  In Love on Laird Avenue the message is: Never give up!

Excerpt:“Jen, this house is my worst nightmare,” Tatum said, raging over the phone as she waded knee deep through piles of laundry on the back porch. “How could this tiny little two bedroom bungalow with one tiny little bathroom and less than one-fifth of an acre cost over six hundred thousand dollars?”
“It’s all about location, Tate.”
She tried to pull the door closed, but a pair of designer jeans was caught in the door jam. “Yes, I’ve heard of location, but have they heard of the Lemon Law?”
“It doesn’t apply to houses. I told you we should have taken more time to check the house out, but no…you had to have it. It was your dream home. Remember?”
Tatum sighed. “Don’t remind me. There’s no way I want to admit I made a mistake to my father. He’s like a lion ready to pounce, waiting to prove that I’ve screwed up by moving out on my own and starting my own business at the same time.” She pulled at the t-shirt sticking to her sweaty body and tried to cool herself. Somehow, now that it was her house, even the air conditioning didn’t work.
Most importantly, there weren’t enough outlets in the house and certainly not enough in the den to run the computer equipment for her business. Maybe she should have figured that out when the switches were the old-fashioned little circle buttons, but she hadn’t had time to worry about it. She wanted this house, and someone else would have snapped it up had she let them list it.
“Any luck finding a renovator to start on the place?” Jen questioned.
Tatum headed for the dining room and flopped down in a chair at the table, studying her notebook. “I must have made about thirty calls in the last couple of days. Everyone keeps referring me to a…a Ryan Bulldarren of Bulldarren Renovation Specialists. They say he’s the only one in the city who will touch these old walls unless I want to run all the new wiring on the outside and enclose it in metal casings like they do now. Yuck.” She wiped at the sweat dripping from the nape of her neck.
“Sounds to me like you better call him.”
“I can hear the dollars per hour zinging up just for the word specialist.” Tatum bit at her fingernail.
“Come on, Tate. You at least have to call him and find out.”
“I already have. At least nine times in the last two days. I keep leaving messages.” She sighed. “I’m doomed. I can’t keep using your computer system. I’m independent, remember?”
Ding-dong.
“Gotta go, Jen. Somebody’s at the door,” Tatum said, screeching off the sticky, wooden chair.
She flipped her phone closed and swung the front door open. The coolest drink of water she had ever seen stood before her. He was right off some hunky handyman calendar.
“Can…can I help you?” Tatum tried to stop her eyes from blinking in disbelief.
“I’m Ryan Bulldarren. Co-owner of Bulldarren Renovation Specialists.”
“But I never reached you. I never talked to you. We never actually spoke…or anything.”
“You left me twenty-one messages, all of them desperate, with your name, phone number and address. This is the soonest I could get here. I’ve even had other construction companies calling me to call you back so you’ll quit calling them.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” She looked down and played with the carpet fibers in the rug with her big toe. She desperately wanted to sneak another peek at his bulging muscles underneath his paint-stained t-shirt and his lean hips beneath his work-worn jeans. He’d obviously done a lot of physical work in his day. His skin had seen the sun; his calloused hands had earned their pay. His sky-blue eyes melted her insides, and she curbed her desire to run her hands through his curly chocolate-brown hair. She kept her vision focused on a single fiber in the rug.
She heard him clear his throat.
“Ms. Stewart?”
“What?” she asked, still studying the floor.
 “I…uh…do you think I could come in and take a look at the job?”
“Oh, excuse me. I was distracted by an earlier phone call. Please, come in.” She had to focus on the job. After all, her house was crumbling around her ears. She needed outlets in practically every room, the air-conditioning didn’t work and something was wrong with the plumbing.
“As I said on the phone, I need a bid on putting in outlets in my den, which I’m converting to my office. I just moved here, and I’m trying to start my own computer consulting business.” She pulled her clinging t-shirt away from her chest and flapped it to cool herself. “It’s not part of renovating, but do you think you could look at my cooling system?”
Ryan backed his way to the door. “Uh…I’ll…I’ll have an estimate to you about the outlets as soon as I can.”
“But you didn’t even go in the den.”
“How many outlets did you need?”
“At least four,” she yelled as he was slamming the door.
That was strange.
Review: This author has done a fine job of offering readers a plot that's filled with fun, plus a bull mastiff puppy that you will never forget.  This story has some extremely funny and heart-warming scenes.  Although this is a very tender romance, the plot also serves up some surprises.  4/5 Stars, RT Book Reviews, Amy Lignor

Giveaway:  I will select 2 winners for a PDF copy of Love on Laird Avenue .If you truly like my writing, like my Amazon page or add me as a FAVORITE and then leave a comment here.  If you don’t leave your email, please check back here for the winners by next Friday.
Cindy’s Amazon Page



Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCharacter Photo Images:  http://www.123rf.comCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

In Memory of Duke

One of my favorite dogs in my youth growing up on our farm was a Blue Heeler named Duke. Despite the name, Duke was a female. (My dad loved John Wayne.) She was a protective dog and worked the sheep and cattle like a pro.
One summer day, we heard Duke whimpering. We found her sprawled on the back porch steps, a bullet in her head. My dad shooed us kids away and miraculously managed to save her life.  But…she was never the same after that.
About two years later, my dad and I hauled a load of trash to the waste disposal site. I was happy to have Duke ride in the truck next to my feet. When my dad got out to unload the back of the truck, I reached out to pet her head. She lunged at me, knocked the glasses from my face, and bit my cheek and eyelid. All I could feel was a numb stinging.
I darted a look out the back window at my dad.  He hadn’t noticed.  I couldn’t believe my once loyal friend had attack me. But…I also understood. Her brain wasn’t okay.  I never had been able to play and laugh with her like we had done before she had been shot. I loved her. My heart ached for her. I didn’t want her to get into trouble.  What should I do?  How could I hide this?
I searched my pockets for something to soak up the blood but to no avail. It dripped onto my checkered, red shirt.  I snuck another look at my dad.  He was almost done sweeping out the back.  I pushed the button on the glove compartment and tore through the items, looking for a tissue or a paper towel, anything that would help.  Nothing!  I quickly wiped at the blood on my cheek again and smeared it onto my jeans.
The shock of the wound had given away to pain, and blood began to pour profusely from the cuts.  Dad stuck the broom handle in one of the stake holes in the bed of the truck.  I turned toward my door and wiped blood on the Naugahyde roof of our old 1964 Ford pick-up truck.  I hid my face as Dad stepped up into the truck.
It only took him a few seconds to notice the bloodstains. He reached over and turned my face toward him, a shocked look of disbelief written on his face. An unnatural stillness filled the air.
“Now, Dad. Please don’t be mad at Duke,” I said, my voice small and devoid of emotion.  I quickly swiped at my eye and streaked my jeans again with red.  A weighed-down feeling settled over me.  My face stung, and I pinched my lips together.
I stole a look at Dad who had a pained expression on his face as he stared at Duke.  He reached in his pocket, pulled out a folded paper towel, and handed it to me without a word.  He started the truck, and we headed home in silence, not reacting to any of the activities around us.
I thought I had escaped the situation.  I thought Dad understood.  I’m sure he did, but I was never to see Duke again. When I didn’t see her for a couple of days, I finally asked him where she’d gone.
“Must’ve wandered off,” he said, his chin slightly quivering.
In my heart, and by the pain in his eyes, I knew what had truly happened.

Please support organizations that help abused and abandoned dogs; spay and neuter your pets; and help support legislation that would increase the penalty for animal abuse.
Now is a great time of the year to donate. I give to a smaller organization in Eagle Mountain, Utah that gives everything to their animals--Friends In Need Animal Sanctuary.

Thank you.
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense…and Dogs!Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

Inside Scoop on Caskets and Corruption

(Don't miss the giveaway at the end of the post!)

Blurb: All portrait artist Lizzie Cantrell wanted was a change in careers to avoid consoling bereaved families and dealing with death.  She didn’t know she’d end up stealing a dead body and a casket full of heroin and running from the drug cartel.  She also didn't know she’d end up on the 6 o’clock news wanted for grand theft auto, robbery and assault on a police officer.  And to top it off, she must deal with her sister's Chinese Crested, stowaway dog and a stiff-necked funeral director to boot.
Buried away as a funeral director for the past two years because of an accident that left him scarred, Phillip Van Dyke finds himself in a grave situation involving a military drug smuggling operation.  Worse yet, his accomplice is a beautiful portrait artist who’s managing to exhume the remains of his deceased heart.
How It Began: This story came about from my experience as a portrait artist.  I started doing pastel portraits of movie stars and friends when I was in high school.  It soon bulldozed into a career of doing portraits for people whose loved ones had passed away, usually children. I found myself confronted with extremely emotionally wrought families.  Being sensitive myself, I didn’t know how to deal with all that pain and sadness.  However, word of mouth spread and I was overwhelmed with work.
When I was faced with doing a portrait of a young man who died from cancer, I couldn’t continue.  I just wasn’t emotionally prepared.  I quit cold turkey.
Now that I’m older and have a better understanding of life, I think I could return to doing portraits and even enjoy helping grieving families. What the character in this book learns, is what I learned about life:  It doesn’t matter what line of work we are in, we all need to be there for and support each other.


In writing this story, I discovered a wonderful book called: Stories in Stone.  It brings to life over 100 tales from the grave about the early pioneers of Park City, Utah.  I incorporated a few scary graveyard stories for fun.



Excerpt:“I wish we had some out-of-the-way place we could eat this. I feel conspicuous here.” Lizzie drew in the delicious aroma.
Phillip smiled. “I know the perfect spot. It’s only three minutes away.”
Three minutes later, he pulled into the Glenwood Cemetery and then killed the engine. “Let’s eat.”
“Oh, no. A graveyard? To eat our dinner?” How could he even imagine she would be happy eating here?
“You wanted a quiet, out-of-the way spot. No one will see us here except…maybe a few ghosts.”
“Oh, I get it. You’re trying to upset me so you can eat my dinner too. Well, freaking me out won’t work, buster. I’m starved. I just won’t look out the window.” She grabbed one of the boxes and threw open the lid.
“Then I won’t tell you all the spooky stories about this place.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”
“That doesn’t mean I haven’t heard them all.” He turned on the overhead light and greedily breathed in the aroma from his meal. “Glenwood is a five-acre cemetery nestled inside this beautiful aspen grove, but there have been many unusual incidents here.” He stabbed into his first bite of steak.
She swallowed hard. She wouldn’t allow him to ruin her meal.
“Yeah, there’s a story about this knocking sound coming from an old woman’s grave. The tale is that back in the late 1880s this cantankerous woman hobbled up and down the streets of Park City with her wooden leg, kicking kids as they passed by. You can still hear her kicking from her coffin.”
“Wooden leg? Coffin?”
He licked his fingers. “Then there’s the story about a young man who helped rescue miners after an explosion. After rescuing a number of men, he went down into the mine again and never returned. They found him eventually—standing up with his arm around an air pipe but dead. It’s said they buried him vertically. If he wouldn’t lie down to die, they figured they’d bury him standing.”
The food in her mouth turned to turpentine. He took pleasure in upsetting her. She took another bite.
“At night, people say they’ve seen a young man standing with his arm around an aspen, sheer fright on his face. They say his name was Tom. He watched his true love’s uncle chase her down, shoot her and then shoot himself. They say the uncle was jealous of Tom.”
“I’m not listening,” she said, trying to chew her rubber steak.
 “Do you know the history of Park City?”
“No, not really.”
“Fascinating stuff. The first silver strike was discovered in the late 1860s. The word spread through the U.S. and then across the oceans. Miners flocked to the area, putting up tents and building shanties. They came with the dream of becoming instant millionaires, and although a few became wealthy, many ended up doing hard labor for someone else. Many of them died in mine explosions and from cholera. Are you going to eat your roll?”
“No. Help yourself.”
He nabbed the savory morsel and took a bite. “Mining became a two-edged sword. Although mines brought thousands of jobs, they damaged the environment with pollutants—poisonous run-off into streams, smoke which blanketed the town, mutilated forests because of the need for timber and deafening noise from rock crushers which pounded away ninety-four times a minute. Can you imagine living under those conditions? Not to mention the diphtheria, typhoid fever, small pox and influenza that ran through the community.”
Pollutants? Disease? At least he’d quit talking about ghosts. Her stomach still quivered. “Do you mind? I’m eating.”
He handed his bone over to Sasha and then looked around for more food, noticing her hardly touched meal. “The chemicals in the air were so caustic they etched the windows and ate holes in laundry which had been hung out to dry. Those poisonous toxins must have caused mental illness. This cemetery and the Park City Cemetery are both full of people who committed suicide and violent murder. They say you can still see and hear the screams of a brother and sister who were chased down by their father and shot before he killed himself.”
“Okay, you win. Eat it,” she resigned, handing him her container.
Phillip smiled with greasy lips as he devoured a piece of her steak. Her stomach made a big blurb sound and rolled slightly. Darn that Phillip for ruining her meal. She watched him eat every last morsel.
He finally gave a satisfied sigh.
“I wouldn’t have thought you capable of such a dirty trick. You seemed like such an up-right gentleman when I met you.”
“That’s what hunger will do to a man,” he said, wiping his hands on a napkin.


Premise:With each of my books, I always have a message in mind.  In Caskets and Corruption that message is: Rediscover yourself!


Review: Fun, fresh and exciting, Caskets and Corruptions was a delightful read. It has a great blend of both suspense and comedic elements that keeps the story upbeat and fast paced.

The heroine Lizzie, gets caught up in a mess when she storms in to confront her sister's ex-boss. I bet she's sorry about that, at least at first, when she comes in at a time things start to get a little strange around there.

Phillip is mysterious, and intriguing, even despite his grumpy personality in the beginning. But his demeanor changes during the book. Throwing him in an adventure with the beautiful Lizzie is bound to do that.

This was a great book to read, and I enjoyed it. I love the witty and great dialogue the author throws in and the plot is filled with excitement, and plenty of twists. If you're a fan of contemporary suspense that has potential to leave a smile on your face, then don't miss this story! 4/5 Stars, Seriously Reviewed


Giveaway:  I will select 2 winners for a PDF copy of Caskets and Corruption .If you truly like my writing, like my Amazon page or add me as a FAVORITE and then leave a comment here.  If you don’t leave your email, please check back here for the winners by next Friday.
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Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! 
Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Character images:  http://www.123rf.com 

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

A True Ghostly Experience

My brother purchased a military building and turned it into a rock carving workshop on the farm.  He carved mostly small animals.  He was working on a duck drinking from a water pond the day our mother died.  He put a lock on the rock shop door and never opened it again.
Six years later, he died.  A good friend found him, and my sister and I rushed over to the farm.  We gathered up all the keys to the various buildings, took them home, and made arrangements with a family friend, Ken, to take care of the animals until we could figure out what to do.  When we went over later that day, he was waiting for us and as white as a zombie. He darted toward our vehicles before we could even get out.
“Did either of you unlock the rock shop last night?” he asked.
My sister and I looked at each other and shook our heads.
“I was doing the chores this morning and heard a motor running,” he began.  “Couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. I walked down toward the horse barn and noticed the door on the rock shop was open. Was he working on a project in there?”
I tried to swallow but my throat was already as dry as a dead man’s bones.  I shook my head again, knowing he hadn’t been in the rock shop since mom died.
Ken drew the fingers and thumb of his right hand slowly along his beard.  “I figured kids must have busted in.”
Already they were vandalizing the farm?  How would we protect the farm and the animals unless someone stayed here?
But Ken was shaking his head.  “The lock wasn’t broken. The door wasn’t broken. I could hear the sound of that motor getting louder.”
My sister went as stiff as a five day old corpse.  “But we took all the keys with us last night.”
A chill ran up my spine.  “How can that be?”
Ken went as pallid as ghost.  “That’s not all,” he said.  “I went inside.  The rock tumbler was plugged in and running.  It didn’t have anything in it. Years of dust rested on everything. Nothing had been disturbed.”
Despite this being my family home, I fought the urge to get the hell out of there.  How had the building gotten unlocked and who would plug in an empty rock tumbler and leave?  It didn’t make sense.
Had it been a last message from my brother?  What was he trying to tell us?  Obviously, he wanted to tell us something because it wasn’t the only ghostly experience we had, but that’s for another story.
Happy Halloween!  Keep safe!
Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs! Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Ghost Dog Image: http://forum.cheatengine.org/viewtopic.php?t=569336&sid=32e0bae63da1e7239b26f510d5e2a0fa

               

Cindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

A True Halloween Tale

Halloween night found the sky as dark as a stack of black cats. My dad flipped on the yard light, illuminating the stock pens. What a night to be butchering hogs. But to my family, Halloween was just like any other night. We were way off the beaten track for city kids to be out trick-or-treating, and nothing stopped farm work from needing to be done.
The air felt as brisk as a honey crisp apple. I yanked my hood up and tied it snug. I pulled the hose from the well house and filled the huge metal barrel while other family members gathered wood to heat the water.
Soon the fire blazed, and steam rose off the boiling water like dancing witches. The tractor roared in the background. Dad checked his rifle and picked up the long knife. Time to shoot the first hog and then slit the throat to drain the blood.
Dad straddled the tractor seat and headed down into the stock yard. The rifle fired. The hog squealed. Into the beam of light, I watched as the carcass came swinging on a chain tied to its hoof from the bucket of the rambling tractor. The bucket went high into the air, carrying the hog with it. Dad moved the tractor forward until he reached the barrel of boiling water. The snot of the hog barely cleared the barrel, and then it went down, down, down into the water, scalding the stiff, bristle hair of the hog.  Water sloshed over the sides and sizzled in the fire.
A stench hung in the air like burning flesh from a branding iron. The tractor bucket rose up until the hog cleared the rim, and then Dad lowered the carcass so we could reach it. Each of us grabbing a special tool called a bell, we frantically scraped as much hair from the hide before it cooled from the frigid air. The dipping and scraping repeated until the shape resembled a naked zombie.
My dad picked up the knife used to cut down the belly of the hog and remove the innards. He plunged the knife in and cut down the soft belly. My brother reached for the bowels as they burst out of the carcass like an exploding pumpkin. The knife slipped and dropped to the ground. Blood spurted from my dad’s left hand. He’d severed his thumb almost off.
Three high-pitched screams came from the edge of the lighted yard. I turned to see three small kids dressed as a ghost, a witch and a princess, clutching their trick-or-treat sacks and running in place. They tripped over each other as they raced away down our dirt road.
“Get your mother,” Dad said, wincing.
I rushed to the house yelling for Mom, but she was already on her way with towels. She quickly wrapped his hand and pulled the car keys from her purse.
Dad picked up the knife and handed it to my brother. “Be careful, son,” he said, his eyes wild from the dancing fire. “It was like someone took the knife and cut me.”
We helped him into the old, blue Lincoln and Mom headed toward the hospital. Except for the crackle of the fire, the night had become eerily quiet. My brother’s wide-eyed gaze shifted slowly to each of us.
Then he smiled. “You think Dad was pulling our leg? Ya know, Halloween and all.”
Everyone let out a sigh of relief. That had to be the answer. My brother picked up the knife and slowly placed it where Dad had left off.
He gasped and dropped the knife.
Blood sprayed from a severed artery. I stared in horror as his thumb lay splayed away from the rest of his hand—identical to my dad’s cut.
Other family members must have rushed to the house for towels and keys, and then we all piled into the old pickup truck and headed into town. I’ll never forget my parents’ frightened expressions as we walked into the emergency room.
My brother, looking white as a ghost, stared straight at Dad. “It was like someone took the knife and cut me.” 
We never butchered hogs on Halloween night ever again. Spooky!


Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense…and Dogs!Fly into a good romance at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.comCopyright: Cole123RF / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author

The Earth is Slowing Down: Why Aren't You?

I just love this time of year. The earth is slowing down to rest, and we should do the same.Stop, take a deep breath, and enjoy life this weekend.I've included a wonderful poem about doing just that and the most adorable video of a Chihuahua puppy playing with bubbles.
So sweet! Enjoy!

Slow DanceBy David L. Weatherford
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?You better slow down.Don't dance so fast.Time is short.The music won't last.
Do you run through each day on the fly?When you ask "How are you?"Do you hear the reply?When the day is doneDo you lie in your bed,With the next hundred choresRunning through your head?You'd better slow downDon't dance so fast.Time is short.The music won't last.
Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow?And in your haste, not see his sorrow?Ever lost touch,Let a good friendship dieCause you never had time, to call and say "Hi"?You'd better slow down.Don't dance so fast.Time is short.The music won't last.
When you run so fast to get somewhereYou miss half the fun of getting there.When you worry and hurry through your day,It is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.Life is not a race.Do take it slowerHear the musicBefore the song is over.

You can always curl up with a good book, too.  :)

Let your light shine through in all you do!

Cindy A. ChristiansenSweet Romance, Humor, Suspense...and Dogs!Fly into a good book at:  http://www.dragonflyromance.com
Poem: http://www.1stholistic.com/reading/liv_poem-stop-to-smell-the-roses.htmDog Photo Copyright: kazakphoto / 123RF Stock PhotoCindy A. Christiansen
Sweet (clean) Romance Author