Camy Tang's Blog, page 146

Books and movies

I started a new discussion thread over at Goodreads:



http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/653917



Weigh in and join the discussion!

Street Team Book List excerpt - To Have and to Hold by Tracie Peterson and Judith Miller

Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!







This week, theChristian Fiction Blog Allianceis introducingTo Have and to HoldBethany House (September 1, 2011)byTracie Peterson

and



Judith Miller



ABOUT THE AUTHORS:



Tracie Peterson is the bestselling, award-winning author of more than 85 novels. She received her first book contract in November, 1992 with Barbour Publishings' Heartsong Presents. She wrote exclusively with Heartsong for the next two years, receiving their readership's vote for Favorite Author of the Year for three years in a row. In 1995 she signed a contract with Bethany House Publishers to co-write a series with author Judith Pella. Tracie now writes exclusively for Bethany House Publishers. She teaches writing workshops at a variety of conferences on subjects such as inspirational romance and historical research. Tracie was awarded the Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for 2007 Inspirational Fiction and her books have won numerous awards for favorite books in a variety of contests. Making her home in Montana, this Kansas native enjoys spending time with family--especially her three grandchildren--Rainy, Fox and Max.



Judith Miller's first novel, Threads of Love, was conceived when she was commuting sixty miles to work each day. She wanted to tell the story of a pioneer girl coming to Kansas and the faith that sustained her as she adjusted to a new life. Through a co-worker, she was directed to Tracie Peterson who, at that time, worked down the hall from her. Having never met Tracie, Judith was totally unaware of her writing career, but God intervened. The rest is, as they say, history. Since that first encounter many years ago, Judith has been blessed with the publication of numerous books, novellas and a juvenile fiction book. Joyously, she and Tracie had the opportunity to develop a blessed friendship. In fact, they have co-authored several series together, including The Bells of Lowell, the Lights of Lowell andThe Broadmoor Legacy.





ABOUT THE BOOK



When Audrey Cunningham's father proposes that they move to Bridal Veil Island, where he grew up, she agrees, thinking this will help keep him sober and close to God. But they arrive to find wealthy investors buying up land to build a grand resort on the secluded island--and they want the Cunninghams' acreage.



Contractor Marshall Graham can't imagine why the former drinking buddy of his deceased father would beckon him to Bridal Veil Island. And when Boyd Cunningham asks him to watch over Audrey, Marshall is even more confused. He has no desire to be saddled with caring for this fiery young woman who is openly hostile toward him. But when Audrey seems to be falling for another man--one who has two little girls Audrey adores--Marshall realizes she holds more of his heart than he realized. Which man will Audrey choose? And can she hold on to her ancestral property in the face of overwhelming odds?



Excerpt of chapter one:



To Have and To Hold

Excerpt - Pirate of My Heart by Jamie Carie

Camy here: Thanks much to B&H for sending me an ARC of this book! I gave it away on my Street Team.



Pirate of My Heart

by

Jamie Carie





When her doting father dies, Lady Kendra Townsend is given a choice: marry the horrid man of her cold, money-grubbing uncle's choosing or leave England to risk a new life in America with unknown relatives. Armed with the faith that God has a plan for her, Kendra boards a cargo ship and meets American sea captain Dorian Colburn. But the captain has been wounded by a woman before and guards his independent life. A swashbuckling man doesn't need an English heiress to make him slow down, feel again, or be challenged with questions about his faith-or so he thinks. It is not until Dorian must save Kendra from the dark forces surrounding her that he decides she may be worth the risk.







Excerpt of chapter one:



PROLOGUE



Arundel, England 1777



The grey clouds of dawn shivered against the paned glass of the castle, shrouding the three figures at the side of the four-poster bed in an eerie light. The raging storm of the night before had settled into a dreary misting rain though an occasional jagged flash of lightning flaunted its power, not yet ready to relinquish its right to ravish the leaden sky. Dim light clung to the faces of those inside the bedchamber where the very walls seemed to echo the anguish felt inside the room.



All that could be heard in the chamber was the shallow, labored breathing of the one abed. A frail creature, now, pale and lifeless after the travails of childbirth. The others included the old family doctor, Radley, who hovered beside his patient and friend of many years with a strained look in his eyes. Hovering in the shadows was Bridget, the lady's long-standing nurse and companion. But their suffering was not to be compared to the tall, handsome gentleman who knelt at the woman's bedside, her hand clasped in his; a haunted look in his eyes that attested to the fact that he too feared the end was near for his beloved.



He gazed down at the limp form of his wife. She lay so still, so pale, sunk into the feather mattress as if she'd become a part of it. In a matter of hours she'd become a shallow breathing shell of the bright and glorious women she had once been. How was he to live without her? His heart spasmed with the thought.



He held his breath as her thin, white eyelids opened to reveal pain-racked eyes the color of bluebells. She exerted a small strength in squeezing his hand while a serene smile played at her lips. Her voice was a weak whisper. "I will not be leaving you forever, my darling. Our daughter will grow strong and always be a symbol of the love we shared."



"No." Edward groaned in anguish, his head falling forward, his hand clasping tight as if to force his strength into her. "I will not let you go."



"Love her, Edward, love her with all that you are." Lady Eileen closed her eyes seeming to gather what little strength she had to continue speaking. A small, whimpering sound came from the shadows of the room where Bridget held the newborn babe to her bosom. Lady Eileen opened her eyes at the sound. "Please, let me hold my sweet child."



The nurse skirted around the bed with the tiny bundle, her eyes bright with tears. "She's the mos' beautiful of babes, my lady, truly she is." She laid the wee babe in her mother's fragile arms.



His wife stared down at their daughter and then looked up at him. Her voice became fierce but still so quiet Edward had to lean in to catch the words. "This one has a special purpose in life and I expect you all to care for her as I would have."



Edward could only nod, mute and staring, aching with grief.



"I have one more request to ask of you, my love." Her breath rasped in and out causing the panic in Edward's stomach to claw into his chest like a nightmare's hand, but he nodded for her to continue and clung to her hand.



"My greatest joy in life has been you. I want her to find love, someone to share her life with who is as kind, as loving and wonderful as I have had in you." She rested a moment before continuing. "Let her choose, Edward, do not make a match for her. I know it is right." She gasped for a final breath. "I've made provision. In my will . . . no entailments, Edward. Give her the dragonfly brooch as a promise from me that I will be looking down from heaven to keep her safe."



"Of course, my darling, anything you ask I will do."



A small smile touched Eileen's lips as she gazed at their beautiful child for the last time. With a single tear sliding down her cheek she kissed the light fuzz on the child's head. "I love you." She breathed the words with her last breath, barely audible, and then she went still.



Edward collapsed over her limp hand still clutched in his strong one. "No," he cried with ragged breath. He brought the hand to his check, soaking it with his tears, willing her to come back to him.







CHAPTER ONE

Arundel, England - 1796



Kendra stopped halfway down the path that led to the stables, happiness lifting her heart at the autumn scene. The leaves had turned into a crimson, sunny yellow and carroty riot of color, as if a magician had waved a wand during the night and created a new world. She stepped across the lawn, feeling the kind of happiness that burst against the walls of her chest, stopping long enough to turn in slow circles so to watch the waving leaf show. She closed her eyes, still slowly twirling and smiled up toward heaven, humming a simple song of praise to God. The notes of her song danced around her and made a happy knot form in her throat. There was nothing she loved more than singing praises to God. Her father had instilled his love for God in her since she was a child - always making sure they had a curate in the village residence for weekly services at St. Nicholas Parish Church, praying with her each night before bedtime and teaching her scriptures and hymns. Most of all, he'd been an example of someone who was temperate, kind and patient. They had memorized the scripture about the fruits of the Spirit - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control - and often reminded each other of the one they should practice when the occasion called for it. She wished so much to be like him but sometimes her best intentions went awry and she fell short, far short of her father's shining example.



The sound of wheels crunching over dead leaves gave her pause. She stopped, turned toward the horse-shoe drive at the front of the castle and saw a shiny black post-chaise carriage. Who could it be? They had not seen visitors in so long. Kendra hurried toward the entrance to meet their guest, then came to an abrupt stop and clasped her hands in front of her dress. She held her breath as a tall, handsome man sprang from the carriage. He was dressed in a waist-coat of navy wool with an intricately knotted necktie at his throat, cream colored breeches and matching hose. She lifted her gaze to his face. Her jaw dropped with surprise. The face staring back at her looked like the one in her bedchamber mirror each morning . . . except for the color of his eyes.

Andrew Townsend matched his nieces startling gape as he found himself looking into the younger, female version of himself. Surely this was not Edward's daughter! She could have been his own child. Recovering from his shock with more effort than he'd exerted in months, Andrew questioned the young lady. "And who might this lovely creature be? A relative of mine, perhaps?"



She curtsied and smiled up at him. "I'm Kendra Townsend sir, and who might you be?" Her smile was soft and contagious, so irresistible that Andrew found himself thawing in her presence.



"I am Andrew Townsend, your uncle, my dear." He held out his hand in greeting. "I am most pleased to finally meet you. It seems we bear a striking resemblance to one another."



"You're very handsome." She stated with bold faced honesty.



Andrew let out a bark of laughter. "Well. Thank you, I'm sure. Now, would you be so kind as to show me to your father? I have some business to conduct with him."



"Of course, sir." Kendra replied as she reached for his arm. "Your papa's brother, his twin, aren't you?" Her eyes lit up as she led him through the front door, past their astonished looking butler, and down the wide corridor, the elegant carpet making silence of their footsteps. Just as well, the surprise element couldn't hurt to gage how his dear brother was going to react to his request. "Father will be in his study with his solicitor this time of day." At her knock they heard a preoccupied "come in."



The Earl of Arundel sat behind an ancient desk with stacks of documents in front of him. Facing him was Mr. Walcott, the trusted family solicitor. As they walked into the study, Edward's face lit up with joy. Then, as he looked beyond her, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.



"Andrew?"



Andrew put on his best smile and chuckled, walking forward toward his brother. He needed Ed to accept him back into the family fold and that might require some persuasion. "Great heavens, man, is it really you?" Edward came from behind the desk and greeted him with a handshake and an awkward hug that turned into a haphazard slapping against his shoulder. "You remember Parker Walcott." He motioned to the man who had risen, eyes round behind his spectacles.



"Yes, of course, how's the family, Parker? Dorothy and the children doing well?" Andrew felt the smooth mask of charm take hold of his being and hoped Parker would take the hint. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost.



"Oh, very good, my lord, yes indeed. And yourself?"



"After meeting my lovely niece here, I couldn't be in better spirits." Andrew replied. "Ed, why have you failed to mention our likeness in your letters? It nearly frightened us both out of our wits when we clapped eyes on one another." The laughter in his voice was real this time.



"It's been so long since I've seen you." Edward hastened to explain. "Until this moment I didn't realize just how much you resemble each other." He glanced from one to the other, astonishment and something disapproving, consternation perhaps in his eyes before continuing. "Your eyes are more blue than her unusual shade of violet, but you're quite right, you resemble twins more than you and I ever did. It's remarkable, isn't it?"



Edward motioned for Andrew to have a seat. "Please, join us." They both looked up at Kendra to find her staring at Andrew. Andrew winked at her as he plopped down in the chair beside Parker. Edward cleared his throat and frowned at his daughter. "Kendra, go down and have Willabee bring up some refreshments please."



Kendra nodded but clung to Andrew's side before she left. "How long can you stay Uncle Andrew? You should stay at least until the end of the week." Her eyes were bright with excitement.



"And what, pray tell, happens at the end of the week?" Andrew asked with a half grin that he'd been told sent the ladies into a swoon.



"I've persuaded papa to have a garden party." Her eyes slid to her father before she continued. "He hates to entertain you know, but I've been so forlorn for company my own age since my friend, Lucinda, moved away that he's feeling guilty and has agreed. Please say you'll stay. Lady Willowbee's girls will be absolutely speechless for once."



"I seem to recall a Lady Willowbee, lives down the way, only other gentry around here, eh?" At Kendra's nod Andrew chuckled with the memory. "A bit of a sour puss. Are her girls as malicious and back-biting as she and her sisters used to be?"



Kendra put her hand to her mouth in an attempt to suppress a horrified giggle.



"Can't offend them though," Andrew continued with grave mirth, "must do our duty and invite the only other cream de la cream in the area, even though it is soured cream, is that the dilemma you find yourself in, my dear?"



"Papa says I must love them as the Bible says." Kendra raised her brows in beseeching charm that he recognized as one of his own trademark moves. "But if you were there it would be ever so much easier. They will be nice in hopes of an introduction. Please say you'll stay."



Andrew caught his brother's gaze and asked in a soft voice. "Can you deny her anything?"



Edward looked down and cleared his throat, a red flush filling his cheeks. "Very little, I'm afraid.



Swinging back to Kendra's expectant gaze, Andrew mused. "I will have to give you your answer later, moppet, but I promise I'll try.



That seemed to satisfy her as she gave him a happy nod and turned to leave the men to their business.



"You're going to have a devil of a time fighting off all the suitors at your door, Edward. She's amazing." Andrew remarked as he watched the whirl of Kendra's skirts around the door as she left.



Edward sighed. "I've already had my share of offers, but she's just nineteen. I'm not ready to see her betrothed to anyone yet."



"I can understand why, she brightens up the old place." Pausing, Andrew ran his fingers through his blond hair and added. "I was truly sorry about Eileen, Edward. I would have attended the funeral had I not been out of the county."



"I won't pretend I was anything other than devastated. But time has a way of taking the edge off the grief and Kendra has taken care of the rest. I don't know how I would have gone on if she had died with her mother."



Andrew didn't know how to respond to his brother's heart-wrenching revelation. Edward had aged in more than the receding hairline and creases around his mouth it would seem. Andrew cleared his throat and looked down at the floor.



Edward leaned across the desk, his hands clasped together. "Enough about me, what have you been doing with yourself these last fifteen years?"



"A little of everything, I dare say. Traveled around a good bit." The rake's smile slide across his lips and he shrugged. "Been enjoying life with good drink, fine horseflesh and beautiful women."



Edward shook his head in an older brotherly way. "I know only too well of your love for the worldly passions. It's a life that will never satisfy you, you know. I have to hear of your exploits every time I'm in London. When will you settle down? Start a family of your own?"



A bark of laughter escaped Andrew's throat. Not here ten minutes and he was already getting the lecture. "Now is not a good time for thinking of that, Ed. I - uh, seem to have gotten myself into a bit of a jam." Glancing at Parker Walcott, Andrew girded up his courage and rushed out the rest before his nerve failed him. "I was hoping to have a word with you, big brother. I have some business I would like to discuss."



Parker rose rather abruptly for one keen to the family's business dealings. Andrew smothered a chuckle as the solicitor beat a hasty path to the door. "I will bid you both good day, my lord. You and your brother have much catching up to do." Andrew suppressed a chuckle as he scurried from the room.



After the door was closed silence descended upon the room. Andrew braced his arms on his legs and pressed his sweaty palms together.



Edward broke the silence with a voice both grave and guarded. "What can I do for you, Andrew?"



Shifting in the chair, Andrew ran a well-manicured hand though his blond hair, took a deep breath and plunged into his story.

It would seem Andrew had heard, through a reputable source, about an investment that was sure to make him a very wealthy man. The Brougham Company had been started to finance several voyages of trade to America with goods the colonist desperately needed. Five great ships had set sail over six months ago to deliver their goods. Andrew had invested all that he had and was given a great deal of credit as he bore the Townsend name.



The first two ships to sail had been attacked by pirates and overtaken. The following ship did not survive a great storm, and of the two that made it to America, one had perishables on it that were ill-packed, causing the contents to spoil, while the other had cheaper goods that even when sold at an exorbitant price did not come close to making up for the expense of the trip. "I've lost everything and my creditors are threatening Newgate Prison if I don't come up with the funds."



Edward listened with sinking despair. It seemed fate would never grant his twin the power he so desperately coveted. "Of course I will help you, Andrew. Have your creditors send me the contracts and I will take care of them." He paused before continuing in a fatherly tone. "I understand you want to handle matters on your own, but please consider consulting me or even Walcott before plunging into a scheme like this in the future." Edward pressed his lips together with that eagle-eyed stare that always made Andrew squirm in his chair. "I could have had the company investigated for you, at the very least."



"Of course." Andrew shook his head, eyes downcast. The act was growing tedious but pressed on. "It's just that I was so excited. I wanted to surprise you and mother with my good fortune. I realize the family thinks me a spoiled dandy so I wanted to do something to make you all proud. Instead I proved what an idiot I am."



"Now don't be too hard on yourself. We've been through worse and we'll come through this together."



"I can't thank you enough, Ed, just the thought of that prison sent me fleeing here on wings. There is just one more thing," Andrew rushed out, fidgeting with his fingers. "I was wondering if the creditors could go through old Parker instead of you. That way it won't become common knowledge that my brother had to pay off my debts. It's a matter of pride you see." He raised his brows and gave Edward a shrug of his shoulders.



"Of course. There's no need for our business to become something for the gossip mills."



Andrew stood up, gave his brother a quick, firm hug, and hurried from the room.

Edward gazed at the closed door, sadness and bewilderment weighing down his shoulders like a heavy blanket. He had not seen his brother for years, and then when he finally did come home, it was only because he was in trouble and needed money. Would they ever be close?



Dear God, help me reach him.



He let his thoughts drift back to their childhood, a good and proper upbringing he had always thought, but not without its animosities. Animosities that led all the way back to their birth.



They had heard the tale countless times. Edward had been the first-born twin, the heir to the earldom, but it had come about by a strange quirk of fate. His mother, who now lived on her own estate miles from Arundel, had pushed for hours with no sign of the babies coming.



The midwife, in an effort to feel the baby's position, placed one hand on the extended abdomen and the other inside the womb. She pulled back in surprise. "Your ladyship, I do believe you are having twins. There's a head and feet near the opening."



His mother gasped and her face whitened. "Twins! I shan't be able to do it."



The contractions continued though, strengthened instead of daunted by the thought of two.



Hours dragged by as they all wondered if Lady Lenora would be able to deliver the babies. In a wondrous moment, a hushed moment between pushes, a tiny foot poked out of the womb. The midwife didn't say anything but knew the importance of the firstborn's place so she tied a scarlet thread around the tiny ankle. Gently slipping the foot back up, she concentrated on delivering the baby in the head-down position. The child seemed ready to cooperate and after several more minutes emerged from the womb.



"A boy, my lady." One of the servants rushed to take the child to clean him before he was presented to his mother. After another hour, Lady Lenora held two healthy sons. She noticed the thread and looked up at the midwife. "But what's this, Ida?"



The midwife told the story of how that child had poked his little foot out first and thought to tie the yarn around his foot in the event that Lord Townsend would regard him the first born.



And he had. Lord Albert Townsend named the babe with the string around his ankle Edward Alexander Townsend, and proclaimed him the rightful heir. Lenora named his twin brother, Andrew Richard Townsend and thought that son cheated.



Edward's knuckles whitened with the memory as he clinched his hands into fists. They'd been so close when they were boys! Inseparable until the day Andrew heard the story of his birth bluntly put by a stable hand. Andrew had changed then, pulling away and becoming distant and ever more brooding. After awhile it seemed they had little in common and less to like about each other. And that wasn't even the worst of it. The resentment his mother held destroyed their marriage. Lenora devoted herself to spoiling her younger son which forced the earl to take Edward's causes.



Edward sighed, his head dropping forward, sadness pulling at his heart. They were so different in every way. Andrew was strikingly handsome with his fair hair and pale blue eyes, so much like their mother. Edward supposed he was the epitome of an Englishman with his dark brown hair, aristocratic nose, and hazel eyes. And that was only their outward differences. Inwardly they couldn't be more distant. He a long-grieving widower and Andrew a financially destitute dandy in dire straits. But he was back.



His brother had come home.



Maybe if he loved him enough, if he showed it and gave him all the attention and praise and . . . well, whatever it was that Andrew needed, maybe he could, uptight Englishman that he was, humble himself and shower his brother with love.



Father, help me love him the way he needs it. Help me show him You.

Some random thoughts on free ebooks

I was over at the Love Inspired Authors blog and had a mini "rant":



http://loveinspiredauthors.blogspot.com/2011/09/some-random-thoughts-on-free-ebooks.html



Click on the link above to weigh in on the conversation!

"'Tis the Season" by Trish Perry from Love Finds You on Christmas Morning

"'Tis the Season" by Trish Perry from Love Finds You on Christmas Morning



'Tis the Season (Trish Perry): When personal chef Nikki Tronnier moves back home to Cary, North Carolina, she plans to fulfill a lifelong dream and buy back the family home built by her great-grandfather for his bride. But before she is able to make an offer, someone else buys the house. Just as she prepares for a fight, she learns that the very person who stole her dream is the man who has also stolen her heart. Unaware, handsome new owner, Drew Cornell, seeks Nikki's help in restoring the home to its historic beauty in time for Christmas.



Excerpt of chapter one:





Chapter One

      "Have I ever told you why I stole you away from Armand, Nikki?"

      Nicole Tronnier dusted a trace of flour off the tip of her nose and gave old Mr. Fennicle a smile. "Of course you have, Harvey. I amazed you with my culinary prowess and sparkling personality."

      She placed a basket of warm rosemary biscuits near his plate. The pumpkin-potato puree and veggie medley looked perfect next to his rack of lamb, if she did say so herself. The rich winter colors were almost as important to her as the fragrance and taste of the food she served. "If anyone deserves the very best personal chef in North Carolina, it's an absolutely spoiled multi-millionaire like you."

      She saw him fight against the twitch of a smile.

      "I resent your insinuation about me, young lady."

      "I call 'em as I see 'em, Harvey."

      "I'm an absolutely spoiled billionaire, at the very least. And that's not why I lured you away. I've always been very fond of Armand and his fine restaurant. It's one of the reasons I opened a plant in Charlotte, so I could visit him and still make money. Pilfering his star chef gave me no pleasure, and I could have found an equally gifted chef elsewhere, I'm certain."

      "But?" She crossed her arms. She adored this old man and had taken so little time to settle into her fond banter with him once she joined the staff in his spacious Cary, North Carolina, mansion almost a year ago.

      He closed his eyes and swallowed his bite of lamb, ecstasy in his expression. "Perfect." He breathed a satisfied sigh. "But I saw you do something that put you over the top, in my book. I don't suppose you even know what that was."

      "I gave you an extra large slice of my mango-coconut terrine for dessert. Was that it?"

      "Didn't hurt, but no. Do you remember that odd fellow who made off with a dish full of food the day I met you?"

      She frowned. "Odd fellow. No. What do you mean he made off with--oh, you mean the homeless guy in the fake waiter suit." She chuckled at the memory.

      "I was outside in my limo when that happened," Harvey said. "I hadn't yet entered the restaurant and was on the phone with one of my more boring advisors. I saw that fellow rush out of the restaurant, glancing back, forth, and behind. He was protecting that plate of food as if eagles would swoop down and carry it off."

      "Poor guy," Nikki said. "I think he just wandered in off the street, fully intending to beg from our customers or from the restaurant, I don't know for sure. But he was in that old black suit, and a customer handed her dish to him to bring back to the kitchen for reheating or something. She thought he was a waiter. And he thought he hit the jackpot."

      Harvey laughed. "When you stormed out the front door after him and nearly tripped over him, sitting there--"

      "You never told me you saw all that, Harvey!"

      "I did indeed."

      "Yeah, I remember it now. It was just like you said. He was so hungry he didn't even run beyond the front stoop. Broke my heart." She shrugged. "I had to redo the customer's order anyway. No sense in wasting food."

      "I saw you pat his head, Nikki. Not only did you let him eat, you weren't afraid to touch him."

      She sighed. "And that's why you hired me?"

      He focused on cutting his lamb. "Says a lot about a person, the things they'll do when they think no one else is watching. If I'm going to have someone join my live-in staff, I want to make sure she's made of the right stuff, not just able to make the right stuff."

      "Yep." She nodded. "I'm pretty special all right."

      Harvey's personal assistant Laura walked into the dining room. "Excuse me, Mr. Fennicle."

      "Laura, please." He tilted his head. "Call me Harvey. I've told you about that."

      She simply smiled. Nikki knew Laura would never loosen up enough to accommodate Harvey's request. She had replaced his previous assistant who retired months ago, and she was still loath to so much as chat over a cup of coffee. After Nikki's years of active social life in college and then working in bustling kitchens full of chatty co-workers, the lack of sisterly camaraderie was sometimes lonely.

      "Elliot Kincaid in New York is calling," Laura said to Harvey. "What would you like me to--"

      "Thanks, yes. Please tell him I'll call him in about half an hour. And could you bring me those papers he sent down yesterday? I'll look them over while I eat. Did you get dinner?"

      "Yes, thank you." She smiled formally at Nikki. "Very nice, Nikki. Thank you."

      "My pleasure."

      Although the woman hadn't yet proved easy to cozy up to, Nikki still had hope. She watched Laura's prim steps carry her out of the room and then returned her attention to Harvey. "Okay, I'll leave you to it, then. Do you need anything else?"

      "Only the fountain of youth, dear."

      She squeezed his shoulder and almost gave him a kiss on his feathery-haired head. "I'll check on you in a little while. I have something special for your dessert."

      She returned to the kitchen and started tidying up. Harvey's panna cotta was ready in the refrigerator. She only needed to drizzle the rose syrup over it before she served it to him. He loved trying new flavors, and this would be exactly that. Her old boss Armand Gaudet had introduced her to Italian rose syrup while she apprenticed under him in Charlotte.

      Not for the first time Nikki felt the tiniest twinge of guilt about leaving Armand, even though he had been completely gracious when Harvey offered her this job. There had simply been too many "God things" involved for her to ignore the opportunity.

      Although she had moved away from Cary years ago in order to attend college and then train under Armand, she was definitely a family girl. She loved the city but missed her hometown. The three-hour drive between Charlotte and Cary made visiting her parents, sister, and old friends prohibitive. So for the location alone, she gave Harvey's offer serious consideration as soon as he made it.

      But there was another reason she couldn't refuse the offer to work as personal chef to the eccentric Harvey Fennicle. He had doubled her income with a stroke of his pen on her employment contract. Nikki wasn't money hungry, but as long as she could remember, she had saved for a specific goal she had in mind. Now she might actually reach that goal.

      Her family's old home here in Cary--the home her great-grandfather William Tronnier and his brothers built for William and his new bride Lillian--had been on the market for a year or more. Neither her parents nor her grandparents had maintained ownership of the Tronnier home, seeking instead to buy more modern homes for themselves and their families.

      But Nikki's fondest early childhood memories were wrapped up in that home. As a little girl she thought Granny Lillian and Grampa William would always be around. And she thought the family would spend every holiday, especially Christmas morning, celebrating in their home. She wanted to bring those memories back into her family's lives and futures.

      The house was still beautiful but needed considerable refurbishing. Until Harvey Fennicle came into her life, Nikki had little hope of saving enough to purchase and remodel the home. Now she was close to having saved a sizable down payment. It wouldn't be long before she could make an offer to the current owner. The house had been vacant for quite awhile. Nikki had confidence in her chances.

      She couldn't think of anything or anyone that would stand in her way now.

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Need title ideas AGAIN

Captain's Log, Stardate 08.24.2011



Yup, I need your help AGAIN. This time, for a different book.



I'm writing a cozy mystery in a series about an antique quilt restorer, Sarah. The series is called the Patchwork Mysteries series. Here's the basic overview of the book I need a title for:



Story idea: Sarah and Maggie travel to Boston to attend a special antique show. But when quilt after quilt goes for much higher than Sarah would have appraised them for, she begins to think something hinky is going on with the auction.



Discovery: Sarah to goes to Boston for a special antique show with her daughter-in-law. There will be all sorts of antiques, including quilts. Sarah enjoys the quilt auction, and even considers bidding on a couple pieces. But Sarah notices that the quilts are going for up to five times their true value. Something is going on and she's determined to find out what. Sarah spends the next five days interviewing participants in the auction.



Any ideas?

Excerpt - Fallen Angel by Major Jeff Struecker and Alton Gansky

Camy here: Thanks to B&H for sending me an ARC of this book!



Fallen Angel

by

Major Jeff Struecker and Alton Gansky



Major Jeff Struecker (a real life Black Hawk Down veteran) and his award-winning coauthor tell a space-based intelligence story of intense extremes in their new novel, Fallen Angel, named for the "Angel-12" American satellite that is ambushed by China and falls 22,000 miles to land in remote Siberia. U.S. Sgt. Major Eric Moyer and his Special Ops unit are deployed to find Angel-12 and keep its advanced nuclear fuel from enemy hands-and there are many. A Russian shadow government bent on restoring the former USSR pursues the satellite as does the Chinese special forces group that knocked it from the sky. A rash of military and domestic hostage concerns ensues as the stark truth looms: three nations are racing to the satellite, but only one will get there first.





Excerpt of chapter one:







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Excerpt - Buried Truth by Dana Mentink

Buried Truth

by

Dana Mentink



"Coming for you."



A note, impaled by a knife on Bill Cloudman's door, tells the former tribal agent a murderer has escaped. The vicious madman who murdered Bill's partner—and cost Bill the community's trust and his job—is on the loose in the South Dakota badlands again. Bill vows to put him behind bars once and for all. But when the woman he loved and lost returns to Eagle Rock reservation as a newspaper reporter determined to restore her own reputation with the story, Bill has to protect her…and his guarded heart.



Excerpt of chapter one:



The heat shimmered up from the asphalt as Bill Cloudman drove the pickup, Tank barking enthusiastically in the back. It had taken eight months away from Rockvale for him to realize he'd actually missed the ferocious heat. After two days back home, he felt as if he'd never left. This small town, snuggled up next to the Eagle Rock reservation, was undeniably a part of him, as much as he'd tried to escape it. He eased off the road that led away from his aunt Jean's dilapidated trailer, deep in reservation territory.



Aunt Jean was the reason he'd returned, her nasty fall the only thing that could draw him back to this place filled with bitter memories. Thankfully, she was recovering well, already back in her trailer making every guest feel welcome. Sharing a glass of iced tea and listening to her chatter had taken his mind off the past for a little while. Even though she was not his aunt by blood, he never thought of her as anything else. With her, he could pretend things were fine, that his sister, Leanne, was alive and they were a family, that his partner, Johnny Moon, hadn't been murdered.



That game got him only so far. Leanne was dead. Johnny was dead. No amount of wishing would bring them back again. His tension increased as he drove away, losing himself in acres of sunbaked trees and dry grass that surrounded him.



He breathed deeply as he drove the five miles to the small home he'd left in the months following his partner's death. It was remote, far from the nearest reservation neighbor, and he liked it like that. Working as a Tribal Ranger, one of twelve officers who protected life and property on the reservation and surrounding areas, he'd appreciated the distance sometimes, the quiet. It had been a sanctuary—until Johnny was killed. Then everywhere he looked he saw friends and neighbors who knew how he'd let his partner die. Bill had packed his bags and resolved never to come back—and he hadn't, until Aunt Jean had her fall.



Bill exhaled slowly, trying to quell a sudden feeling of unease. The tingle of alarm grew stronger even before he crested the last ridge and his house came in sight. There was an unfamiliar tang in the air, an odor that caused Tank to growl as they crunched up the winding driveway.



Wrong.



Something was wrong.



He eased the truck to a stop, breath tight in his chest.



He got out and ordered Tank to stay. The dog barked his displeasure, but obeyed.



Broken glass littered the ground, blazing in the sunlight. All the front windows were fractured into bits except for sharp teeth of glass that remained stubbornly in the frames.



Vandals with nothing better to do. Teens, he told himself. Who else would cause such destruction?



Who else?



Muscles tight, he moved closer. A bucket of crimson paint had been thrown at the walls. It stained the stucco like the red spurt of blood. Angry, hateful.



The note was impaled to the wall by the blade of a knife, plunged to the hilt into the wood.



Coming for you.



It needed no signature.



Oscar Birch's rage seeped through the scrawled letters.



Oscar, the man he had imprisoned.



The man who murdered his partner.



He didn't know how Oscar had wrecked his place when the man was supposed to be in jail, but he might as well have signed his name in the vicious smears of paint.



Paint that was still wet.



"You're not welcome here."



Bill Cloudman knew it, felt it, long before he found himself on Charlie Moon's gritty doormat two hours later. It had taken that long for his former colleagues to finish their investigation at his home and pass the information on to federal authorities. They told him the brutal truth with as much compassion as they could muster.



Oscar Birch had escaped.



The officers would try their best, but Bill knew with sickening certainty they would not capture the fugitive. Oscar was smart and wily and desired only one thing—Bill's death. Oscar wouldn't be captured or contained until he got what he was after.



Bill tried to focus on the hostile face of Johnny's uncle. "I came to warn you."



Charlie grunted. "Then you did what you set out to do."



Bill suddenly felt every one of his forty-five years weighing him down as he stood on the front porch of the small house, the South Dakota sun scorching through him with unrelenting fire. "And I wanted to see how you were doing. And Tina."



Charlie Moon raised a grizzled eyebrow. "Since you let her brother die? "



Bill exhaled. The words weren't unexpected, but they cut deep anyway. "I loved Johnny like a son, you know that."



"I don't know any such thing. I only know you were my nephew's senior officer. You were supposed to take care of him, watch his back." Charlie shook his head. "He was so proud when he joined the Tribal Rangers. So proud to work for you."



"I trained him the best way I knew how." Bill felt the surge of frustration that caused his voice to edge up a notch. With an effort, he kept it level. "It was a bust gone bad. Oscar knew we were coming."



Charlie's calloused fingers gripped the door frame, the pressure turning his knuckles white through the natural tan of his skin. "Words. Just words. Johnny went in first, a nineteen-year-old rookie—he went in first and got blown up. Can you tell me any of that ain't true?"



Bill looked at the red dust coating his boots. "No."



"And can you stand there and say to me it wasn't your fault? You've been a Tribal Ranger for what? Twenty years? And a rookie walks in after a fugitive first, without waiting for a backup team? That how it's supposed to go, Bill?"



He could not answer against the thickening of his throat.



Charlie looked at him, lips in a tight line. "If you came back to Rockvale for forgiveness, you're not going to find it here. Not with me. Maybe not from anybody."



A six-year-old girl with a thick braid of black hair peeked past Charlie. "Hiya, Uncle Bill. Have you come back?"



Bill knelt and blinked back an unexpected wash of tears. "Hey there, Tina. I've missed you."



"Me, too," she said. "I got the birthday card you sent and I put the stickers on my lunch box. Where's your dog?"



He nodded toward the massive rottweiler watching their every move from the back of the truck. "Right over there."



"Can I play with him? I want to see if he's learned to fetch."



Bill was about to answer when Charlie pulled the girl back.



"Mr. Cloudman is not your uncle and he's leaving now. He can't play with you anymore."



Tina shot her uncle a puzzled look. "Never? "



Charlie nodded grimly. "Never."



"Is it 'cuz Johnny went to heaven?"



Charlie patted her shoulder. "We'll talk about it later. Go back to your room and put your books in order."



"But Uncle—"



"Go," Charlie said, voice hard.



Tina's face was puzzled as she wiggled her fingers at Bill before she disappeared into the house.



Bill straightened. "Is she…how is she doing?"



"Better than you'd think for someone who lost her mother to cancer and her big brother to murder. 'Course, Johnny was more like her father, him being so much older and since her father took off before she was born. So all she's got left is her old uncle Charlie and this piece of wasteland." He gestured to the horizon, harsh cliffs painted against the setting sun. "How's that gonna get her any kind of future?"



Images of a previous sunset flashed through Bill's brain. The explosion, the ferocious hatred of the man bent on killing them. The ease with which Oscar Birch had been able to murder Bill's partner. And now the murderer was back with a different target in his sights. Bill looked up to find Charlie staring at him.



"Heard you helped bust Oscar's son near the Badlands."



"Yeah." He'd gone to assist his friend Logan to keep Oscar's son, Autie, from killing a woman named Isabel Ling. They'd gotten Autie, all right, and remanded him into custody. In the process Logan had found his soul mate in the strong-willed Isabel. At least there was a silver lining—for Logan anyway. The guy deserved it. Charlie's voice intruded on Bill's thoughts.



"Heard Oscar's son died."



"Yes." Autie had finally run out of luck. He'd made a break for it on his way to prison and been felled by a volley of police fire. Bill had felt nothing when he heard, no grief, no satisfaction; just the same numbness that had taken hold of him since the afternoon Johnny Moon was killed. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and let his gaze wander to his boots again.



Charlie's laugh was harsh. "That's justice, I guess. Oscar killed Johnny. You killed his kid. Now he knows something about my pain."



Though Bill said nothing, he knew Charlie was wrong, dead wrong. Oscar was filled with hate and anger that sizzled hotter than the Dakota desert, an incendiary rage that would not be satisfied or dulled by grief. And he was here. He might even be watching right now. Bill felt a chill in spite of the heat.



A bark from the bed of the truck pulled Bill from his thoughts. He noticed the curtain move in the front window of the small house. Tina was still watching. He tried to make his expression more pleasant. "Anyway, I thought you should know Oscar's escaped."



The old man wiped a hand over his mouth. "Listen, I got enough problems. Not my job to help you catch him again."



"I wasn't asking for your help. I'm not a Tribal Ranger anymore. I just wanted to tell you and see if you or Tina needed anything."



"She needs her big brother, but you can't give her that, can you?"



The door swung shut, the sharp click loud in the stifling air.



Bill put his palm to the wood, warm from the late afternoon heat. If I could have that minute back, Johnny would be alive.



The curtain fluttered again and Tina's little face peeked out. She mouthed something, a gap showing where she'd lost a tooth in the time he'd been away. Her expression so resembled her brother's that he was momentarily frozen. He forced a smile and walked down the drive, the enormous mass of a child's lost innocence weighing him down.



Heather Fernandes heaved a sigh. The guard at the entrance to the massive underground research facility, DUSEL, looked down at her, no expression on his stern face except for the slight uplift of one thick eyebrow.



She straightened, the steering wheel hot, since she'd turned off the air to prevent the Jeep from overheating. It was already making strange noises and she couldn't afford a repair bill. "All I want to do is talk to Dr. Egan. I've called dozens of times and gotten no response. I'm a reporter with the Desert Blaze."



She didn't entirely blame Egan. In his position, she wouldn't speak to reporters, either, especially not hacks for a local rag that was mostly filled with ads for used trucks and prickly pear jam. Egan was used to being interviewed by respected science magazines, like the kind she'd worked for in the past. "I used to write for Horizons in Science."



His eyes flickered as he took in her beat-up Jeep. "And I used to guard Buckingham Palace. This is just my summer job."



It wouldn't do any good to prove she was telling the truth. She gritted her teeth and looked past him as the dying sunlight painted the distant cliffs. Somewhere, concealed by construction equipment and the dip and swell of brown-covered hills, was the deepest mine in North America. Only, now the goal was no longer hauling out gold, but building the finest Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory in the world. The best of the best, the most cutting-edge science so close, yet it might as well be on the moon. "Here's my number. Please have Dr. Egan call me."



She snapped out her business card and reversed the Jeep, suspecting the guard was laughing as he returned to his air-conditioned post.



Laughing that a seasoned forty-three-year-old reporter was so easily defeated? Or amused that Heather actually claimed she had written for Horizons? She groaned. If it weren't for the framed copies of long-ago articles, she might have believed it was a joke herself. Now she was reduced to writing a piece about some piddly fossil find and covering the local town events. She eased the Jeep down the road a couple of miles, rounded a corner and pulled over to the shoulder. Turning off the engine, she sipped some iced tea out of the thermos and considered. In years prior, her Horizons press pass had given her access to anybody, anywhere. The who's who in the science world practically salivated for the chance to air their discoveries in the magazine.



She recalled a time when she thought Rockvale might even become a home to her. She remembered a trip a year and a half before to this town, when she and Bill Cloudman had struck up a friendship. Her cheeks warmed. More than a friendship, on her side anyway. But things had ended badly after six months. Very badly. Shame licked at her insides again.



She'd decided to return to her father's house in this nowhere town a week ago only after she'd learned that Bill had gone, checked out from the world after the murder of his partner. Where was he now?



It was probably good for him to have left. Maybe he'd found a new life. She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, remembering the emotion that had shimmered in his dark eyes the day he'd arrested her. There might have been love there, but she'd seen only betrayal, the same kind of betrayal she'd lived with since her mother had walked away from Heather and her father when Heather was just a child. Walked away. The only written contact she'd ever made was that one brief note.

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Excerpt - On Deadly Ground by Lauren Nichols

On Deadly Ground

by

Lauren Nichols



Danger in the darkness



The prowler on the construction site of her new camp didn't frighten Rachel Patterson…at first. Fear comes when her home is torched—and worsens when a body is unearthed on the campgrounds. Someone's trying to cover up a murder, and if Rachel can identify the intruder, she might be the only witness. Her neighbor, Wildlife Conservation Officer Jake Campbell, is determined to keep the lovely widow safe. But when a misunderstanding separates the pair, their distance risks more than the growing feelings between them. It leaves Rachel alone and unguarded, which could be just the chance the killer needs…



Excerpt of chapter one:



Sighing, Rachel Patterson squinted at the clock on her nightstand, saw that it was only 2:00 a.m., then groaned, flipped over and burrowed groggily into her pillow again. Outside, the coyotes were up to their old tricks, howling and yipping at the moon, even though there was barely a moon to yip at. She flipped onto her back again and stared in frustration at the ceiling. Wondered if going totally decaf was the solution to her constantly interrupted sleep.



She'd been a light sleeper since David died, and it had been two years now. Two years of listening to the wind in the trees and the coyotes on the hill. Two years of making dinner for one.



Two years of running their campground business on her own.



She felt the emptiness of missing him again. Losing him had been so terrible at first. If it hadn't been for her faith in God and the comfort she found in prayer, she might have packed her bags and joined her family in Virginia. But the business had been David's dream, and he'd awakened every morning, eager to embrace it again. She couldn't walk away from something that had been so important to him.



A strange, metallic sound broke her thoughts, and Rachel stilled. Cocked an ear…listened for a moment.



There it was again. And again.



Throwing back her floral comforter, she strode to the long window facing the strip of land she'd recently acquired. The skimpy moon and woods were swimming in fog making it difficult to see, but—



A jolt of adrenaline hit her as Rachel spotted the moving beam of a flashlight in the misty darkness. Someone was out there! And so was the expensive ground-moving machinery the Decker brothers had parked there late yesterday afternoon.



Grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed and pulling it over her dorm shirt, she hurried across the hardwood to the hall, then through the living room to her kitchen. The light below the over-the-range microwave shone dimly, but it was enough illumination to locate the heavy-duty flashlight under the sink. Snagging it, she unlocked the patio door to her elevated deck and strode, barefooted, to the redwood railing.



The intruder's light went out.



Rachel shone her beam down through the darkness and fog—flicked it over tree limbs that were almost fully leafed—found the mist-shrouded bulldozer, rock crusher and dump truck fifty yards away.



A new rush of adrenaline hit her when the beam revealed a hooded figure crouched near the dump truck. "Hey!" she shouted. "What are you doing out there?"



The figure bolted—clicked his light back on and crashed down through the thick hemlocks and oaks toward the creek below. But not before Rachel caught another glimpse of him.



Rushing inside, she flipped through the phone book, found the number for Charity, Pennsylvania's tiny police force and punched it in. Chirpy night dispatcher and church organist, Emma Lucille Bridger, answered. Rachel and Emma Lu were kindred spirits of sorts. They were both avid readers and borderline insomniacs. Even though it was common knowledge that the sixty-seven-year-old dispatcher napped during her shift, no one on the force minded. Her only job was to answer the phone.



"Emma Lu, it's Rachel Patterson at the campground. I'm trying not to be an alarmist, but someone's prowling around outside my house."



Emma Lucille's sweet soprano rose, and her grandmotherly instincts kicked in. "Are you okay, Rachel?"



"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just worried about— Emma Lu, Decker Construction parked some equipment here yesterday. I'm afraid it might have been vandalized."



Emma Lu spoke quickly. "Okay, honey, I'll radio Fish and tell him to get down to your place right away. He's on patrol, so it might take him a few minutes. You sit tight now. Don't you go outside."



"I won't," Rachel agreed, meaning it. She'd already done that, and going outside to check on someone who obviously didn't want to be seen wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever done. "Thanks, Emma Lu."



"You're welcome. Just stay safe."



She'd just finished pulling on jeans, sneakers and a navy sweatshirt, when she heard the not-too-distant rumble of a vehicle. Her pulse picked up speed. It was after 2:00 a.m., and her campground was five miles from Charity. It was too soon for Patrolman Larry "Fish" Troutman's arrival.



Striding to the window facing her driveway, Rachel cupped her hands against the glass. Headlights poked through the blanket of fog, then followed the winding lane past her camp store and tourist cabins. From Memorial Day weekend through Pennsylvania's deer hunting season, light poles lit the way, but the holiday was still almost three weeks off—and the breaker for the lights was in the camp store.



The motion lights at the corners of her wood-sided ranch house clicked on. And Rachel's anxiety dissolved when a green truck with a Pennsylvania Game Commission emblem on the door swung in beside her red Explorer and parked.



Startled to see him at this hour, but unable to stop the happy quickening of her pulse, Rachel tossed her fingertips through her straight sable bangs and shaggy cap cut—then went stone-still with guilt. Guilt and another emotion it shamed her to acknowledge.



Gathering her composure, she stepped outside to greet her unexpected visitor.



The early-May temperatures had been cool until yesterday when they reached the low seventies. Now, according to the round outdoor thermometer wired to the deck railing, it had dipped twenty degrees. A faint breeze ruffled the trees, carrying with it the fog-damp fragrances of earth, pine and fallen leaves.



"Jake?" she said when he'd exited his vehicle. "What are you doing here?"



He kept his voice low, but she could hear the concern in it. "I was driving back from a callout when your call came over the radio. Are you all right?"



"I'm fine," she returned, warmed by his concern despite her feelings of disloyalty. "Just a little on edge."



Wildlife conservation officer Jake Campbell started up the flight of six steps, his dark brown hair attractively mussed. For a big man, he had a loose, confident way of moving and chiseled good looks that were a little grim until he smiled. He had good eyes, too, Rachel thought. Perceptive brown eyes that missed nothing. The dark green uniform jacket hanging open over his black T-shirt and jeans nearly concealed the sidearm on his hip.



"So what happened here tonight?" he asked when he'd reached her. "The dispatcher said something about a prowler and vandalism."



She nodded. "The prowler part's correct. Vandalism's only a possibility right now." She backtracked to bring him up to speed. "When we spoke last, I think I mentioned putting in a mini golf course on the strip of land I acquired a few months ago. A little putt-putt for the kids."



"Yeah, you did."



She indicated the foggy clearing beyond the trees. "Yesterday, Tim Decker dropped off his equipment because he'll be leveling the land in the morning. He said it would be fine sitting there. Then a few minutes ago, I heard noises and went outside. Someone with a flashlight was messing around near Tim's truck." She paused. "When I yelled, he took off into the woods."



Jake's features lined and he sighed. "Rachel, you're alone here. You should have stayed inside and called the police immediately."



"I know. I thought of that after the fact." But the past two years had forced her to become independent—and part of her liked it. "If David had been here, he would have handled it. But he isn't, so it's my job."



Jake didn't comment, but the troubled look in his eyes sent a clear message: He didn't like that it was her job. "Did you get a good look at him?"



"Not really, considering the fog. But I know he was white, and he was wearing a dark hooded jacket with a light-colored emblem on the back of it." She stilled as her mind recreated that split-second happening, then spoke hesitantly. "He was carrying something. Something light-colored that flapped when he ran. A bag, maybe."



"If it was a bag, that says he expected to carry something away. Do you know if Decker left tools or anything portable behind? "



"I'm not sure. I hope not."



Another set of headlights pierced the darkness and fog. This time, the vehicle was a black-and-white police cruiser, and the patrolman who got out was a tall, lanky young man in his mid-twenties with fire-red hair and a mouth full of silver braces. Fish was the youngest member of the department, and the one with the least experience. The thud of the cruiser's door closing sounded hollow in the stillness.



"Hey, Rachel," he said solemnly as he ascended the steps. "Emma Lu said you had some uninvited company tonight. You okay?"



"Yes, I'm fine," she assured him as he reached her. "Fish, have you met Jake Campbell? Jake's—"



"The new W.C.O.," Fish said cordially, clasping the hand Jake extended. "Our paths cross from time to time. Nice to see you again, Jake."



"Same here, Fish."



"You live around here?"



Rachel nearly smiled. It was a casual inquiry, but Fish obviously wondered why Jake was here at two-thirty in the morning. The amusement in Jake's eyes told her he'd caught that unspoken question, too.



"About a mile up the road," he replied. "I was coming home from a callout when I heard your dispatcher on the radio. Thought I'd see if my neighbor needed some help."



Apparently satisfied with the answer, he smiled his approval and pulled out a notebook and pen. "Okay, Rachel, let's take it from the top. First, can you give me a description of the guy? If it was a guy."



Rachel told him everything she could remember, glad that Fish was on duty. With the Charity P.D. being small, there was a chance the new police chief would have responded. She'd only spoken to Lon Perris once since he'd pinned on the badge—the night of his welcoming dinner sponsored by the chamber of commerce. But she hadn't come away from that conversation feeling warm and fuzzy. Chief Perris was… She searched for a word Reverend Landers would approve of. "Condescending" was the best she could do.



When she'd finished detailing what had happened, Fish made a final note, then tucked his pen and pad away. "Okay, I'll take a look at the site and drive around the loops before I leave—make sure this guy isn't coming back for a vehicle. You're pretty far off the beaten path, so I doubt he got here on foot." He chewed his lip. "You didn't hear any engine sounds before Jake got here, right?"



"No."



"Jake? See any vehicles on the road tonight?" Jake wandered closer, his boots quiet on the plank floor. And Rachel felt another stir of attraction as she looked up at him. "No, and I was watching for them. But I came in from the other direction, not from town. Since the guy cut through the woods, he might have parked on one of the logging roads."



"Yeah, he probably did." Fish pulled a flashlight from a loop on his belt, then shone it in a wide arc over the construction site and campground. "Could have been a kid looking to siphon gas or steal tools. It's a little early in the season for that stuff, but it happens."



He tucked the light away and turned back to Rachel. "Like I said, I'll check out the sites and loops, but it's kind of hard to see now. I'll be back in the morning for a better look, okay?"



"That'd be great," she returned. "Thanks for coming. I know I should have told Emma to hold off sending you down here until daybreak, but I wanted to report the incident right away in case there are damages."



"No problem," he said, heading for the steps. He stopped then and glanced back. "One more thing. That logo or whatever it was on the back of the jacket? Can you describe it?"



Rachel hesitated. As descriptions went, it wasn't the best. "It looked like a round head with rabbit ears. That's probably not very helpful, but I only saw it for a second."



"It's a start," Fish replied. He started down the steps, his lanky body still half-turned toward her. "I'll stop back if I find anything out of the ordinary. Otherwise, I'll see you in the morning."



"Thanks, Fish."



"Yep. Night, Jake."



"Night, Fish."



And in short order, the cruiser's red taillights had



disappeared, leaving her alone with Jake again. Rachel looked up at him. She was more attuned to his presence now that they were alone, more attuned to their woodsy isolation.



"I should get moving, too," he said with some hesitance. "Will you be okay? Do you want to call someone to stay with you?"



"I'll be all right," she replied. "I'm a lot tougher than I look."



A faint smile tipped his lips. "So I've noticed. You paint, you plow snow, you run a successful business and you even make a decent cup of coffee. I'm impressed."



"Don't be," she said, smiling. "It's all smoke and mirrors."



"No, it isn't," he returned. "It's all you." Then out of the blue, the night seemed to shrink around them, his gaze softened and he looked at her in a way no man had looked at her since David. "You're an extraordinary woman, Rachel."



For a few seconds, she didn't even breathe—and she wasn't alone. Jake seemed just as stunned by his words as she was. Then he quickly rebounded and spoke again, his tone a little gruff.



"Well, I'm out of here. Maggie's probably wondering why she's still in her pen." He drew a breath. "If there's another problem, and you're not sure it's serious enough to call Fish, I'm only a phone call away."



Rachel found a smile somewhere, but her heart was still racing. "Thanks. And thank you for checking up on me."

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Street Team Book List excerpt - RANSOME'S QUEST by Kaye Dacus

Camy here: Here's another book I added to my Street Team book giveaway list! You can win this book by joining my Street Team--Click here for more info!





Today's Wild Card author is:

Kaye Dacus

and the book:

Ransome's Quest

(The Ransome Trilogy) Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011) ***Special thanks to Karri | Marketing Assistant | Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***



ABOUT THE AUTHOR:



Kaye Dacus, author of Ransome's Honor has a BA in English, with a minor in history, and an MA in writing popular fiction. Her love of the Regency era started with Jane Austen. Her passion for literature and for history come together to shape her creative, well-researched, and engaging writing.



Visit the author's website.



SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:







This engaging end to the Ransome Trilogy is a fast-paced tale of love, faith, and danger on the Caribbean Sea in the early 1800s. Captain William Ransome frantically searches for his kidnapped wife and sister. But who will rescue them when buried secrets emerge and challenge everything they believe?











Product Details:



List Price: $13.99

Paperback: 320 pages

Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0736927557

ISBN-13: 978-0736927550



AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:





It is too dangerous."



William Ransome snapped his cutlass into its scabbard and turned to face his wife. "The longer I delay, the farther away they take Charlotte."



Dread froze his lungs, his stomach, his heart. Charlotte. His sister. Taken. "If anything happens to her…"



Julia wrapped her arms around her abdomen and leaned against one of the heavy posts at the end of the bed. "Why the message to my father? What has he to do with Charlotte?"



William double-checked the load of his pistol and tucked it under his belt. "Your father has publicly vowed—more than once—to rid the Caribbean of pirates and privateers for good. Charlotte was likely a target of opportunity, not purpose."



"But if the man's argument is with my father, it should have been me taken, not Charlotte."



William could not disagree with her. Nor could he agree, as the very idea of Julia's being taken by pirates nearly ripped his heart from his chest. "I should have put her on that ship in Barbados returning to England. If I had followed my conscience"—instead of listening to Julia's and Charlotte's emotional arguments—"she would have been well out of harm's way by now."



They both startled at a knock on the door.



"Come."



The door opened at his command, revealing Jeremiah. "The horses are ready, Commodore."



"Very good." William took up his case and hat and moved toward the door.



Julia stepped in front of him, expression imploring. "Please, William, wait until dawn. The roads are treacherous enough in the full light of day. At night…and you do not know where you are going. What good will it do Charlotte if you become lost or…or something else happens to you or the horse? Or what if the pirates have laid a trap and done this to lure you from the safety of the house?"



A mirthless laugh expanded in his throat, but he stifled it. Safety of the house? Was the house safe when the brigands had snatched Charlotte from the porch almost directly outside this very room?



"I am sending Asher with him, Miss Julia," Jeremiah said. "He knows the roads 'twixt here and Kingston better than anyone I know."



William tore his gaze away from Julia's anxious face. "Jeremiah, I am depending on you to protect Mrs. Ransome and ensure no harm comes to her while I am away."



"I will protect her with my life, sir."



He stepped around Julia and handed his bag and hat to Jeremiah. "Thank you. I shall join you in a moment."



As he hoped, Jeremiah understood the dismissal. He gave a slight bow and left the room, closing the door behind him.



William took Julia by the shoulders and directed her to the chaise positioned at the end of their bed. He had to apply more pressure than he liked to make her sit. "You are to stay at Tierra Dulce. You will keep an escort with you at all times. I want armed guards posted near the house."



She nodded, never blinking or breaking eye contact. "Yes, William."



"If you hear any word from Charlotte or receive"—his voice caught in his throat—"a ransom demand from the pirate, you will send a messenger to Fort Charles. They will get word to me."



"Yes, William."



Heart tearing asunder at the necessity of leaving Julia behind, he bent over and pressed his forehead to hers. "Pray for Charlotte."



Julia's hands slid around behind his neck, her fingers twining in his hair. She angled her head and kissed him. "I promise. I will pray for you also, my love."



He kissed her again and then tore himself away from her embrace. "I must go. I promise I will return—and I will bring Charlotte with me."



Determined to not look back, he made for the door. He opened it and then hesitated. Without turning around, he said the words he needed to say, just in case they were the last he ever said to his wife. "I love you."



"I love you, William." Though softly spoken, her words acted as the command that loosed him from his mooring. He stepped through the door and closed it, leaving her on the other side.



Ned Cochrane paced the drive below the porch steps when William exited the house. He barely spared his former first officer a glance. Intellectually, he knew Ned had done his best, having been taken by surprise and set upon by several men. However, in his heart, he wanted to rail at the younger man for failing to protect Charlotte.



Though a horse was his least favorite mode of transportation, William easily swung himself up into the saddle. Once he was settled—and Ned appeared to be also—William nodded at Asher to lead the way.



Darkness enveloped them. Behind, the light from the house acted as a siren's call, beckoning him to turn, to look, to regret his decision to leave in the dead of night and wish he had taken Julia's advice and waited until dawn.



His neck ached from the effort of keeping his face forward instead of giving in to temptation and taking one last look at the house, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Julia.



He focused on the bumpy motion of the animal underneath him. He must leave all thoughts of—all worries about—Julia behind, just as he now left her home behind. Jeremiah had known Julia most of her life. He had been as much of a substitute father for Julia as her father, Admiral Witherington, had been for William.



No, he could not worry about Julia and her safety. Rescuing Charlotte must be his only focus, his only thought.



The monotonous rhythm of the horses' hooves, at a walk over the dark, deeply rutted dirt roads, along with the necessity of keeping his eyes trained on the light shirt stretched across Asher's broad back, lulled William into a stupor.



Ahead lay his ship. The thought of boarding Alexandra and getting under sail chipped away at his anxiety. As soon as he was on the water, as soon as he stood on the quarterdeck and issued the command to weigh anchor, he would be that much closer to finding Charlotte and bringing her home.



The road widened, and Ned pulled up beside him.



"You are certain the man did not identify himself?"



"No, sir. He did not give his name. He only said her safety depended on the mercy of a pirate." Ned's voice came across flat and hoarse.



"What were you doing out on the porch, alone with her in the dark?" Even as William asked this, he reminded himself Ned was not at fault. But if Charlotte had been inside, perhaps…



"I followed them—Miss Ransome and Winchester—when they went for their walk. I did not trust Mrs. Ransome's steward to behave honorably." He paused. "I need not have worried. Char—Miss Ransome handled the situation admirably and dispatched Winchester, and their engagement, with aplomb."



"Winchester was with you when she was taken? Why did you not tell me this before?"



"No, sir. Miss Ransome dismissed him. He had been gone for…several minutes."



Could Winchester be involved? Dread sank like a cannonball in William's gut. Julia already suspected the steward of embezzling money from the plantation. And William had left her there with that man—



"I asked her to marry me."



If Winchester were involved, and this was a ploy to get William away from Tierra—he yanked the reins. The horse voiced its protest and jerked and swerved, nearly unseating William. "I beg your pardon?"



"After Charlotte broke her engagement with Winchester, we talked about our mutual regard. I proposed marriage to her, and she accepted." Ned's words barely rose above the sounds of the horses' hooves on the hard-packed earth.



From a sinking ship into shark-infested waters. Could Charlotte not have waited even a full day after breaking one engagement before forming another—again, without her family's knowledge? "And if I refuse my permission?"



"Then we shall wait. We'll wait until you think I am worthy to marry her, sir."



Worthy to marry her. William did not have to think hard to remember standing before Julia's father twelve years ago and saying the same words. Sir Edward had graciously given him—a poor, threadbare lieutenant with no prospects and nothing to recommend him as husband or son-in-law—a father's blessing for William and Julia to marry based on nothing other than their love for each other. William had been the one to deem himself unworthy of her affections, and he had almost lost her forever.



"We shall discuss this after we return Charlotte home."



"I pray that will be soon, sir."



"So do I, Ned. So do I."



Charlotte awoke with a gasp. Wooden planks formed the low ceiling above her. A canvas hammock conformed to her body and swung with the heave and haw of the ocean beneath the ship.



A ship?



Not possible. They had made port, hadn't they?



She stared at the underside of the deck above, trying to clear the haziness from her brain. Yes. They had made port. Left Alexandra and ridden in carriage across those horrible, rutted roads to Tierra Dulce, Julia's sugar plantation. The low, sprawling white house with the deep porch that wrapped all the way around and the white draperies billowing through the open windows.



The porch. She blinked rapidly. The porch. At night. In the dark. Henry Winchester and…and Ned.



She bolted upright and then flung her torso over the side of the hammock as her stomach heaved.



Why should she be sick? She hadn't experienced a moment of seasickness on the crossing from England to Jamaica. She climbed out of the hammock, skirt and petticoats hindering her progress until she hoisted them above her knees, and made for the small table with a glass and pitcher.



Wan light from the stern windows sparkled through the glass, revealing a residue of white powder in the bottom of it. She set the glass back on the stand. Last night the pirate had made her drink from the glass, and then everything had gone hazy. But before that…



She buried her face in her hands. Being torn away from Ned. She prayed they had not killed him. She'd heard no gunshot, but as their raid had been one of stealth, they would more likely have used a blade to end Ned's life.



A sob ripped at her throat, but she forced it to stay contained. She would not give the pirates the satisfaction of seeing her upset. And she must, and would, find a means of escape.



Thirst got the better of her, and she lifted the china pitcher of water and rinsed her mouth before drinking deeply the brackish liquid. She then turned and surveyed the cabin. Obviously the pirate captain's quarters. Though smaller than Ned's aboard Audacious, which was in turn smaller than William's aboard Alexandra, the room was neatly kept, with serviceable furnishings, whitewashed walls and ceiling, and plain floors. Nothing to exhibit the extravagance or wealth she'd expected to see in a pirate's private lair.



The desk. Perhaps something there would tell her more about her captor. She crossed to it, rather surprised by the empty work surface. No stacks of the papers or books like the ones resting on William's or Ned's worktables. Her fingers itched to open the drawer under the desktop and the small doors and drawers along the high back of it, but Mama had taught her better than that.



Two miniatures hanging above the desk caught her eye. One showed a woman, probably a few years older than Charlotte, with dark hair and angular features. Too plain to be called pretty, but not ugly either. The green backdrop of the second painting contrasted vividly with the reddish-brown hair of a pretty girl and matched her vibrant green eyes.



Mahogany hair and green eyes—just like Julia. Why would a pirate have a portrait of Julia hanging in his cabin? But, she corrected herself, the painting was of a girl no older than thirteen or fourteen. Surely the resemblance to Julia was merely coincidental.



"She was lovely, was she not?"



Charlotte gasped and whirled. A dark-haired man dressed in a blue coat that resembled a commodore's or admiral's—complete with prodigious amounts of gold braid about the cuffs, collar, and lapels—stood in the doorway of the cabin.



He tossed a bicorne hat—also similar to a navy officer's—onto the oblong table in the middle of the cabin, clasped his hands behind his back, and sauntered toward her, his eyes on the portrait.



"What do you want with me?"



"I am sorry for the manner of your coming here, Miss…?" He cocked one eyebrow at her.



"Ransome. Charlotte Ransome. My brother is Commodore William Ransome. He will hunt you down. And when he finds you—"



"When he finds me," the pirate said, sighing, "I am certain the encounter shall be quite violent and bloody. Is that what you were going to say?"



Charlotte ground her teeth together. The man stood there, serene as a vicar on the Sabbath, acting as if they stood in a drawing room in Liverpool discussing the weather. "What do you want with me?"



"With you? Nothing." He flicked an invisible speck of dust from the oval frame. "My business is with her."



"With her?" Charlotte nodded toward the painting. "Is that…?"



"Julia Witherington—or Julia Ransome, as I have lately learned. Empress of the Tierra Dulce sugar empire."



The strange lilt in his voice when he said Julia's name sent a chill down Charlotte's spine. "Yes, she is married. To my brother."



"The famous Commodore Ransome." The pirate turned and ambled toward the dining table. "His reputation precedes him."



Worry riddled Charlotte at the pirate's lack of worry over the thought of William's hunting him down and blowing him and his crew out of the water. After Charlotte escaped, naturally.



"You were not part of my plan, little Charlotte Ransome." He turned, leaned against the edge of the table, and crossed his arms. The coat pulled across his broad chest and muscular shoulders. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead, softening the way his heavy black brows hooded his eyes. His nose had been aquiline once, but now it sported a bump about halfway down from whence the rest of the appendage angled slightly to his left. A scar stretched across his forehead and down into his left eyebrow. On first sight he could have passed for Spanish, but his accent marked him as an Englishman.



If he weren't a no-good, dastardly, cowardly, kidnapping pirate, she might consider him handsome.



"Did you kill him?" The question squeezed past her throat unbidden.



"Him?"



"Ned—Captain Cochrane. The man with me on the porch." She schooled her emotions as best she could, pretending the man standing before her was none other than Kent, her nemesis during her days aboard Audacious as a midshipman.



"If he is dead, it is through no work of me or my men. We do not kill for sport, only for defense."



"Ha!" The mirthless laugh popped out before she could stop it. "Morality from a pirate? Someone who spends his life pillaging and thieving and destroying and killing and…and…" Heat flooded her face.



"And?" The pirate stood and stalked toward her, an odd gleam in his dark eyes. "And ravishing young women? Is that what you were going to say?"



Charlotte backed away, right into the edge of the desk. She gripped it hard. "N-no."



The pirate leaned over her, hands on either side of her atop the desk, trapping her. "Do not try to lie to me, little Charlotte Ransome. You have no talent for it."



Stays digging into her waist, she bent as far back as she could. "Yes, then. Ravishing." Not that he would get a chance to ravish her. A fork. A penknife. Anything with a sharp edge or point. Once she had something like that in her possession, she would be able to defend herself against him.



Up close, the pirate's brown eyes held chips of gold and green. A hint of dark whiskers lay just beneath the skin of his jaw and above his upper lip.



He blinked when someone knocked on the door but didn't move. "Come!"



"Captain, Lau and Declan are back."



"Very good. I shall meet with them in the wheelhouse momentarily to hear their report. Dismissed."



Charlotte wanted to cry out to stop the other man from leaving, but she knew she deluded herself. She was no safer with any man on this ship than with their captain.



Would Ned still want her—even be able to look at her—after the pirates were finished with her?



"What's this?" The pirate reached up and touched Charlotte's cheek. "Tears?"



She shook her head, more to dislodge his hand than in denial.



With another sigh he straightened and then handed her a handkerchief. "Calm yourself, Miss Ransome. I have no intention of ravishing you. Nor of allowing anyone else to ravish you. While you are aboard my ship, you are under my protection."



He crossed to the table and retrieved his hat. "You, however, must stay to this cabin at all times. Though my men know my rules of conduct, a few of them might give in to the temptation of their baser desires should they see you about on deck."



Charlotte leaned heavily against the desk. The handkerchief in her hand was of the finest lawn, embroidered white-on-white with a Greek-key design around the edge. She frowned at the bit of cloth. Why would a pirate carry something so delicate?



He settled the bicorne on his dark head, points fore-and-aft, the same way the officers of the Royal Navy wore theirs.



"Who are you?"



He touched the fore tip of the hat and then flourished a bow. "I am called El Salvador, and you are aboard my ship, Vengeance. Welcome to my home, Miss Ransome."





It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!



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