V.L. Locey's Blog, page 61

Throwback Thursday Tune

For the month of August we'll be listening to some classic country tunes!

I couldn`t think of a better way to boot (cowboy, of course) this special month of twangy tunes off than with the amazingly talented, Loretta Lynn!

There Are No Gay Players In The N.H.L.

Yes, that header and image certainly grabs your attention, doesn't it? I know it did mine. So I then followed the link to the blog of a friend of mine, and fellow hockey romance author, Bianca Sommerland. After reading the first two posts of her series, I was so moved that I immediately contacted Bianca to ask for permission to re-blog her posts.

I also offered to help to spread the word and keep this topic in the public mindset.She graciously offered me the chance to write a post for the series. Hopefully my post about the pressure that being a closeted gay man in collegiate/pro hockey will help get people talking, or at the very least, thinking. You can find my contribution to Bianca's series here:

The Strain on Gay Collegiate/Pro Hockey Players

As an author of gay and straight hockey romance, I feel I need to do whatever I can to help gay athletes find the courage to be who they really are. I know that this is going to take time and patience. Until the day when all athletes no longer have to fear being themselves, we must keep pushing for acceptance in every locker room.

Here are Bianca's first two posts in the series. I hope they moves you as much as they did me. Please feel free to share if you wish. The more people this reaches the better! Take a few moments to find out why the above image was taken down on the day it was put up and then tell me that we still don`t have a long way to go for the cause of battling homophobia.


Bianca Sommerland- There Are No Gay Players In The NHL - Part One

Bianca Sommerland - There Are No Gay Players In The NHL - Part Two

Tuesday Tales - Pen

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.


Today we have another chapter for Wind in White Birch and our word prompt is "Pen". Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!



                     That talk came at night, after a fine dinner that we shared with Julia and the boys. It wasn`t anything fancy, just a meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans on the side, but it was filling and settled perfectly in my stomach. My nap after the horrific lake incident had restored me. I had just slid under the covers and nestled up beside Jonah, who was nude and warm. I had a flannel shirt of his and a thick pair of socks on. The room was lit only by the fire in the fireplace. His hand instantly crept under the back of my shirt.            “No panties?” he asked, his head rolling to the left to find me admiring him. I waggled an eyebrow. He cupped and squeezed a buttock. That was pretty much all it took. A minute later, his flannel shirt was hanging over the log canopy and I was lying under him, urging him to taste my breasts. He feasted on me leisurely, enjoying my squirming gasps and weak pleas for more. When he slid over and into me I began to tremble, but not from the cold this time.             We were perfectly paired; his needs and mine seeming to rise at the same rate until we both found our releases. Mine threw me into the cosmos and I dug and clawed at Jonah`s damp back to keep me tethered to this realm. I was engulfed with a wave of blackness as his hair covered my face and breasts. I laid a hand to the back of his head as he panted and groaned into my neck. His huge body convulsed time and again as I held him close.             There was really no need to speak afterwards, not that we could have but soon enough the last fissures of pleasure elapsed. Jonah lay on his back, his long legs splayed and his right arm tucked under his head. I was using his left arm as a pillow while I traced his navel lazily. He has an outie in case you were wondering.            “Are you any good at math?” he asked. My belly-button play ceased. I lifted my head up. He was waiting for a reply.            “You want to talk about math now?”             “Sort of,” he said candidly.            “You men are the oddest creatures.” I laid my head back to his bicep with resignation. Math wasn`t what was on my mind I can tell you that much. “I`m pretty good with numbers,” I admitted, once more finding that perfect little navel of his with my fingertip. “I do the monthly books at the store. End of the year stuff goes to an accountant, of course. "            “Good. How would you like to be my bookkeeper?”            Once more, my hand stalled and my head came up. And, once more, he was staring at me waiting for a reply.             “I`m sorry, but I think that dip in Lake Freeze-Your-Ass dulled my senses. Did you just ask me to be your bookkeeper?”            He hit me with that smile. I nearly capitulated right then and there. Instead, I slapped my libido soundly and sat up, grabbing at the sheets and coverlet as they slid downward.             “Yeah, I did. You look shocked.”            “I am,” I confessed. “Do you know what that would entail? I didn't bring a pen and to be frank there are other things I would rather do this weekend."            He nodded then reached up to lay his hand on the back of my neck. He pulled softly. I didn`t want to cuddle now so I pushed his hand away. I wanted to talk about this crazy idea he just threw at me.             “I didn't mean this weekend, Dana. I know it would entail you quitting the bookstore, moving up here with Rhett, and living with me here at the lodge. Did I leave anything out?” He was so cocksure I wanted to tweak one of his dark nipples just to make him squeak. I should have but I didn`t.             “You left out how his father is going to feel about me taking Rhett to another state.”            His handsome face drew into a frown for a moment. “Yeah, I was trying to forget about Rhick. You have custody though, right? I mean, if you move he can`t really fight it, can he?”            “He might, I don`t know. I never thought about moving away from Pittsburgh to be honest. I never had any reason to leave or anywhere that I would rather be,” I said, holding the covers over my breasts. Jonah sat up and turned to look me in the eye. I reached out to tuck a long, silken strand of hair behind his ear. A log shuffled in the fireplace. I smiled at the ever-present zephyrs that move over this hunting lodge.            “So, do you have a reason now?” he asked just as I knew he would.             “I love you,” I whispered. He leaned over to capture my mouth, his weight pushing me back into the mattress. He kissed me for hours it seemed. I kissed him for days. My fingers moved through his hair. His mouth moved over mine. His knee slid between my legs.            “Move in with me, here,” he entreated, nipping at my bottom lip as he spoke.             “Jonah,” I whispered, arching up to trap his erection between our stomachs, “I need time to think. I`ll need to talk it over with Rhick.”            “Yeah, don`t say his name when I`m about to do this,” he huffed before he buried himself deeply inside me. I might have mumbled something in return but what I honestly couldn`t say. All further discussion of moving, ex-husbands, books, jobs, and children was put on the back burner until we got our fill of each other yet again.       
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!

Monday Author Spotlight - The No Heart Left Behind Military Boxed Set w/ Beverly Ovalle`s Love Me Forever

Veterans and Military care groups are some of my favorites to donate to. Not just money but time. I’m an active member of AMVETS – American Veterans. Our whole purpose is to assist current and former military to make their lives easier.Once you sign that line, then stand in line you have forever given your lives to something bigger than yourself. That line is what defends all we hold dear in the United States.So I like to give a little back.Reporting for duty on September 19, 2015 I’ll do that. Me and six other authors in a military box set, No Heart Left Behind. 80% of all royalties will be donated to Operation Troop Aid.
Why Operation Troop Aid? It is a way to show support to our active duty men and women of all branches and their families. I can tell you from experience that it is hard to be separated from your family for most of a year. It gets lonely. That is probably why we tend to bond for life. A majority of my oldest friends that I stay in contact with are former people I served with.The mission of Operation Troop Aid (OTA) is to provide care packages for U.S. Service members with the revenue generated through professional concert promotions and public financial generosity. OTA is a non-profit 501 (c) (3) corporation striving to make a positive difference and inspire our Armed Forces by letting them know Americans stand with them.


No Heart Left BehindWar is hell, but a heart under siege is worth the battle.Featuring seven military heroes by Amanda Clark, Tamara Hoffa, Lydia Michaels, Beverly Ovalle, Debra Parmley, Sandy Sullivan and Natasza Waters.
Love Me Forever by Beverly OvalleStaff Sergeant Liam McGregor doesn’t know what hit him. Sent home to recuperate from an IED blast, Liam is stuck in a wheelchair and is sentenced to surgery and physical therapy before he can walk again.A physical therapist, Abby Worth has loved Liam McGregor since she first noticed boys. It’s too bad he’s her brother’s best friend. She has always been firmly put in the baby sister zone no matter how hard she tried to catch his eye.Liam sees Abby and when she goes home with him doesn’t know how he can keep his hands off of her. She’s now old enough to touch and the fire in his blood and the combination of pain killers make him lose control. Abby can’t help but take what she’s always wanted.Together they have to overcome their fear of being left behind to grab what they have always wanted-each other.
The Soldier’s Surprise Baby by Amanda ClarkDavey returns to the small market town in the Lake District, on a mission. To claim the woman who rocked his world two years ago. He is in for the surprise of his life. Being a father to Jake has become his new objective.Danni’s world was turned upside down the day she met Davey, after one hot and steamy week together, breaking her own rules. She is left with a permanent reminder, their son Jake. Danni let her past rule her future once before, will she do it again?Now Davey has returned, Danni must conquer her fears, if she wants to win back the man she loves. But can Davey forgive her?Will their love survive the secrets and betrayal?
Changing Tides by Tamara HoffaWhen Marine widow Monica Montgomery’s son tore his ACL sliding into home plate, the last thing she expected to find at the base hospital was a second chance at love. But the six foot six orthopedic surgeon tempts her to play doctor.
Too bad her teenage daughter is hell bent on keeping the Navy Lieutenant Commander’s love boat anchored in port.
Dr. Jason Knight has patched up military men and women from Afghanistan to Okinawa. Now he faces his greatest challenge, filling the hole in the lives of this broken family.
Why We Go by Lydia MichaelsSarah O’Neil has waited three long years for her husband’s return. With the end of the Civil War her circumstances are distressing and her trust in others beyond shaken. When a man she does not recognize at first glance approaches and knows her name, she is filled with fear. There would be only one reason for her brother in law to travel all this way. She is as she feared, a widow of war.
Jack O’Neil returns home to honor his brother’s dying wish, but the task is no chore as he’s always held a fondness for Sarah. As her sorrow threatens to consume her, he struggles to show her there is still joy to be found in living. His vow to stay and protect her is not easily accepted, but he is determined to show her how to love again.
Check Out by Debra ParmleyWhen Marine veteran Nash Ware walks into the library where shy librarian Betsy Bobbin works, she’s intimated by the handsome man who wears an eye patch and an attitude. Her car has a flat in a storm and Nash comes to her rescue. A fight outside a bar between an angry Nash and a drunk frightens Betsy. She’s fallen for him but is it safe to fall in love with a wounded veteran with PTSD?
Nash has found the girl of his dreams, but his wounds run deep. His ex-fiancé was repulsed by his eyes patch, and manufactured drama like bees do honey. However, real drama surround Betsy, when a stalker comes after her sister.
Betsy is torn. Will love and trust win out over her fear before it’s too late?
Love After All by Sandy SullivanComing soon
SEALed with a Weekend by Natasza WatersBlind dates suck, but a blind date weekend? In the forest! With a team of SEALs! Let the chase begin.
Vanessa Langara is the Chief Editor of Luna magazine. Pitching an idea for an article, her staff breaks new ground by inviting a team of Navy SEALS to participate in a blind date weekend. A call to N.A.B Coronado and a terse conversation with Lt. Seth McKnight, who makes it clear love is ridiculous, but agrees to the exercise, she prays the girls won’t be canoeing back from the San Diego high country in one day if they’re all like him.
Seth doesn’t believe in forever. With one divorce under his belt, women are the enemy. He wants to annihilate his best friend who tricks him into the weekend fling in the woods, but when he sets his eyes on Vanessa, there’s enough spark to start a forest fire.
No Heart Left Behind – reporting for duty September 19, 2015

Bio:Beverly Ovalle dabbled with writing on and off for years when her best friend finally dared her to submit a story to a writing contest. Beverly decided she had nothing to lose and since she’d always wanted to be an author sent it in and agonized for months waiting to hear back. Contract in hand she has never looked back.Beverly has been obsessed with dragons and romance since she was a young girl, collecting dragon books and reading everything she could find on them even down to the care of real life dragons. She’s always been slightly panicked that the world as we know it will end, so has prepped for it, haunting survivalist pages and prepper projects she felt she needed in the event SHTF.An avid fan of all romance, Beverly’s goal is to share her love of the written word and write the hot and erotic romances that she enjoys. She writes what she loves to read and it was only a matter of time before her obsessions crept into her writing for her to share. She hopes you enjoy her tales as much as she loves writing them.A Navy Veteran, Beverly has traveled around the world and the United States enabling her to bring her settings to life, meeting and marrying her husband of twenty five years along the way for her own romance. Reading romances since the fourth grade she’s followed as the genre changed and spread into the vast cornucopia of romance offered today.
Contact Links:Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/BeverlyOvalleAuthorTsu: https://www.tsu.co/BeverlyOWebsite: www.beverlyovalle.comBlog: www.beverlyovalle.net  Blog:  http://beverlyovalleromance.blogspot.com/Tumblr:  http://ovalleba.tumblr.com/Twitter:  https://twitter.com/ovalleba Twitter: https://twitter.com/FatedDragonsPinterest:  http://pinterest.com/ovalleba/LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/BeverlyOvalle Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+BeverlyOvalle0211/postsTwitter:  https://twitter.com/SSLYblog
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/SslySmileSomebodyLovesYou

Meet Jane and Tore from Clean Sweep!

Another week closer to release day! I thought it would be neat to let you meet the leading lady and gent of Clean Sweep today. Let's get to know Coach Jane Bratkowski and Tore Ahlberg a little better.





Coach Jane is the only child of retired New York State police officer Jonathon Clinton Bratkowski. Her mother passed away when Jane was quite young. Being raised by her gruff but loving father, Jane has become tough, outspoken, and not one to suffer fools well. She won gold on the USA women`s Olympic team and turned to coaching afterwards. During college she met and married Wildcat player, Tore Ahlberg. They divorced after a family tragedy. She never remarried. Jane is in her early forties.




Tore grew up playing hockey in Sweden. After coming to the States to study history he continued to play hockey. While in school he met and fell in love with fiery redhead, Jane Bratkowski. Jane and he married and then divorced. Tore played for fifteen years in Philly then retired from the game to become the Wildcats Head of European Scouting. Tore has never remarried.


Here's a snippet starring Jane and Tore--




          "Look at this view." I stepped out on the patio to stand beside my ex. The light from the moon was just beginning to tint the night sky. Stars were now out by the thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. "Pretty romantic."            "Yes it is." I placed my hands on the smooth wooden railing then breathed deeply. "Do you think they see the Northern Lights up here?" I asked, my sight moving over the stars winking above.             "I think I read somewhere that there is a town in Manitoba called Churchill that is supposed to be the premiere place to view the Aurora Borealis. Seems to my memory that the lights are seen later in the year, like end of January on through May. Back home we see them earlier, from September to March in Lapland."            I had to look at the man. He had this wistful sort of homesick cast to his voice. I should have kept my sight on the cosmos. The soft glow of the moon made his hair lighter. His mouth was tremendously kissable. I took a step back from the rail and faced him. Tore continued to study the constellations.             "We call it Norrsken."            "Call what what?" I asked, wondering if he still kissed in the same slow, dancing, maddening way he had before. Tore chuckled.             "The Northern Lights. We Swedes call then Norrsken. You never did have luck with our language, did you?"            "No, no luck with the Swedish. Or Swedes, I suppose." A sharp image of our last fight appeared unbidden in my mind. I was standing at the top of the stairs watching him walk out the front door, bags in hand, never to return to my life. The fucked up part was that I been the one to lay the dynamite around the base of our marriage. Me and me alone. Jane set the explosives then pushed the plunger. Repeatedly. Until the man could do nothing to make me happy except leave the burning bridge behind.             Tore looked at me. It was too dark to read what was cooking behind those baby blues of his. The call of his arms and the succor that they would offer was nearly as loud as the bellow from Kate Fovea about stew on the table. He reached for my face. I closed my eyes as the back of his fingers slid over my cheek.             "Maybe if you opened all your closed doors a Swede could step in out of the cold."                       My lashes floated upward when I heard him walking away. He dropped my overnight bag onto the bed. Tore paused at the door as if there were something more he wanted to say. If there was, he kept it to himself. He made a sharp left and disappeared from sight. I stood on the patio, lake air chilling me to the marrow, until our hostess called us again. A shaky breath fluttered over my lips. The fists my fingers had been in relaxed.
            "Well shit balls." 

Author/Book Spotlight- Melinde De Ross' Coriola Series

Please welcome a new friend to our little corner of the interweb! Melinda De Ross is here to share some information about her wonderful looking books, Mirage Beyond Flames and Dante's Amulet.







Italian businessman Giovanni Coriola and English target-shooting trainer Sonia Galsworthy have only two things in common—a sizzling chemistry and no desire for commitment. When they meet in London, the world starts spinning faster and they quickly become addicted to each other. The incendiary passion between them skyrockets into smoldering, once-in-a-lifetime love. Just as they thought they had things settled, a strange discovery triggers a mysterious spiral of events that puts their lives in danger more than once, with no apparent reason. What connection could there be between an ancient amulet, a secret society and the long-dead poet Dante Alighieri? A sinister, complicated conspiracy that gradually catches up with the characters. And of course, one last twist before the ending. *Dante’s Amulet is a follow-up of Mirage Beyond Flames.
Purchase links: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=1071 http://www.amazon.com/Dantes-Amulet-Melinda-Ross-ebook/dp/B00WRTTYOU/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1430496380&sr=8-4&keywords=dante%27s+amulet

  Gerard Leon and Linda Coriola fight for the same cause. The attractive, noble, dedicated French doctor and the beautiful, sensitive Italian sculptress both donate their time and money to Hope – a clinic for children’s cancer research and treatment.From the moment they meet, even the air between them crackles with intense attraction. But her past makes it difficult for Gerard to understand her scars and battle with her demons. In search of a cure for cancer and armed with an innovative treatment themselves, they leave for Transylvania, that enigmatic land hidden in the heart of the Carpathians.There they get lost and have a bizarre  experience in the Hoia-Baciu forest, nicknamed The Romanian Bermuda Triangle due to all the inexplicable paranormal phenomena happening in its depths.But no one believes them, because they don’t have any proof of said experience. Or do they?...*Mirage Beyond Flames is the sister-story of Dante’s Amulet.
Purchase links: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=1024&zenid=h6rmp3p6rg3lk4p62lvvtg80s3 http://www.amazon.com/Mirage-Beyond-Flames-Melinda-Ross-ebook/dp/B00SEYRMV4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421832218&sr=8-1&keywords=mirage+beyond+flame


Melinda De Ross (real name Anca-Melinda Coliolu) is an international author of Romanian origin. She writes in two languages, and her books combine the elegance specific to the European style with the modern appeal of the American culture. Her favorite genre to read and write in is Romance, and anytime she prefers to watch a classic movie instead of going to a noisy club. She loves to hear from her readers, and you can find her at:http://melindadeross.com/https://www.facebook.com/pages/Melinda-De-Ross/513999791983330https://twitter.com/melinda_de_ross https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7163748.Melinda_De_Ross

Throwback Thursday Tune

It was time for some silly music, and no one was sillier than Ray Stevens back in the day!

Tuesday Tales - Bloom

Hello! It`s time for Tuesday Tales.


Today we have another chapter for Wind in White Birch and our word prompt is "Bloom".Don`t forget to visit the other talented Tuesday Tales authors. Thanks for stopping by!



I inhaled a good gallon of icy lake when I first felt the cold water rushing up under my coat. The shock was incredible, making my brain freak out momentarily. I splashed and kicked instinctively, my head breaking the surface. Peter had tugged me upward. Now it was my turn to help him. I tossed my hair from my eyes, gathered the shivering young man to my side, and pushed through the chunks of ice floating atop the blue-green water. It was extremely slow going with only one arm to use, but Peter was now shuddering so violently he couldn`t speak let alone swim. I had to pause about three feet from the shoreline to pound on a fault-line with a fist. My fingers were so cold I couldn`t feel them and I had only been submersed for a couple of minutes. Pete must be dangerously close to hypothermia. I hammered with all I had, flogging wildly between hits to keep the two of us afloat. I could just feel the deep sloping side of the lake with the tips of my toes. If I were a foot taller I`d be able to stand and keep our heads out of the water. I went under quickly, came back up coughing and sputtering, and then wailed on the large block of ice barring our path. Pete was burrowed into my side listlessly. I shook the boy. He mumbled something vague. I grew even more panicked and slammed the side of my fist downward. That one I felt. The pain was astronomical. Black dots swam in front of my eyes.  Peter slipped from my grasp. I pulled his face out of the water. Shouts echoed off the frozen lake and through the trees. I couldn`t tell which direction the cries were coming from. Peter`s head rolled to my neck. Jonah and Julia appeared to my left. I waved and slid under the water momentarily, pushing like a madwoman on Peter`s limp form. I had to keep his head above water . . .Someone`s hand tightened around the back of my jacket. I came out of the lake gasping wildly and shouting for Peter. Jonah gathered me into his arms and waded back to shore, each step out of the water making me tremble with increased vigor.“W-W-W-W-Where`s P-P-P-Peter?” I asked as those long, powerful legs of Jonah`s pushed us from the floating chunks of ice. “With his mom,” Jonah informed me. I was thrilled to hear it. I tried to lift my head to see if I could find the sounds of mother and sons, but Jonah`s neck was too warm. “I swear I can`t let you out of my sight for ten minutes,” the man carrying me said. It was supposed to be funny but his trembling voice told me he was just as scared as I was. “G-G-G-Guess you b-b-b-better keep m-m-m-me close by t-t-then."“I plan on it.”

*~*~*
An hour later Peter and I were both sipping our third mugs of hot chocolate in front of a fire so enormous I feared the massive stone fireplace might not be able to contain it. Jonah was seated behind me, pulling his fingers through my damp hair and muttering in his native tongue. Peter`s mother was dabbing inside the lads ears with the corner of a blanket the boy was wrapped in, she too grummoxing in Seneca. Pete and I kept giving each other sideways glances. “Thanks for saving me,” Jonah`s nephew said into his mug. His cheeks were blooming pink with heat and embarrassment.“You`re welcome,” I smiled, eying a tiny marshmallow floating in my cup. “I didn`t do too good of a job though. If not for your uncle simply plowing through the ice to reach us . . .”“If not for you he would have never made it,” Julia cut in sharply.“Jules is right. I just hauled you in a couple feet. You must have swum with him for twenty feet, Dana.”“It wasn`t that far,” I argued. “Yeah, it was,” Jonah argued, pulling me back to rest against his chest. I went willingly, scooting my ass across the glossy hardwood flooring. “Distance is deceiving on water. Trust me. I saw where knucklehead here was when he went in. What the hell possessed you anyway? Didn`t I tell you not to step foot on the ice this time of year?”“Yeah, but there was this humongous shape under the ice,” Peter sighed. His brothers were sitting silently on either side of our little clump, nibbling muffins and drinking cocoa. “I tried it, you know, and it felt strong. I was just going out a little bit,” the boy said, shrugging a shoulder that made his blanket slide down over his arm. Julia quickly covered him back up, tucking the blanket under his chin just as I do for Rhett. “Maybe next time you`ll listen to Jonah when he tells you something,” Julia huffed, rustling the boys ebony hair with a towel. “Sometimes he knows what he`s talking about,” she said, catching me looking at her. “Thank you," she mouthed. A mother-to-mother thing passed between us. “You`re more than welcome,” I smiled. She swallowed that down then returned to clucking over her oldest child. Jonah wrapped his arms around me. I felt the sofa creep an inch when we both leaned back into it. “You and me, we got some serious talking to do,” he whispered beside my ear as his sister chided her sons repeatedly. With Jonah`s arms around me and dry clothes, I was warming up very nicely indeed. Whatever he wished to discuss would have to wait though, because suddenly a nap sounded like the best thing since sliced bread.


Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week!

Monday Author/Book Spotlight - M.S. Spencer's The Penhallow Train Incident

Today the talented M.S. Spencer is visiting us  again! This time she has some info on her new release, The Penhallow Train Incident. She also is sharing a wonderful recipe with us!




Thanks for having me, Vicki. I hope your readers enjoy the excerpt and my little extra gift, a recipe!
Today I’d like to look at our hero, Griffin Tate. When not pursuing Rachel Tinker or a mysterious map to the tomb of the Queen of Sheba, he is expounding on his theory of recipe migration in the Middle East.
It is generally accepted that the similarity among many dishes found from the Horn of Africa to Kazakhstan is due to the influence of the Ottoman Turks. Turkish food, some would argue, represents the epitome of Middle Eastern cuisine. However, Griffin, hero of the Penhallow Train Incident has a different theory, worth considering for those of you interested in how recipes travel. A retired Middle Eastern history professor, he hypothesizes that dishes such as çaçik (yogurt cucumber salad) or tabbouleh (bulgur and tomato salad) actually came from the south and west and not from the north and east. In other words, perhaps they arrived with the cooks in the Queen of Sheba’s train when she visited King Solomon.
Here is my recipe for tabbouleh, stolen (and modified) from a Palestinian friend many years ago:


1 cup fine bulgur3 tomatoes, seeded and chopped1 cup scallions, minced1 large bunch parsley, chopped½ cup fresh mint, chopped1 cup lemon juice4-6 tablespoons olive oil (preferably Greek)
Soak bulgur in ½ cup water, ½ cup lemon juice for 15 minutes until soft.Add all ingredients and toss. Serve immediately.
However, as the excerpt below shows. Griffin does not limit his palate to Middle Eastern dishes.


The Penhallow Train IncidentM. S. Spencer79,450 words (260 pp.)Sweet Cravings Publishing (June 23, 2015)Romantic Suspense/Mystery, M/F, 2 flames



BLURB:

In the sleepy coastal Maine town of Penhallow, a  stranger dies on a train, drawing Rachel Tinker, director of the Penhallow Historical Society, and Griffin Tate,  curmudgeonly retired professor, into a spider’s web of archaeological obsession and greed. The victim’s rival confesses that they were both after a map to the Queen of Sheba’s tomb, and with his help they set out to find it. Their plans are stymied, however, when a tug of war erupts between the sheriff and a state police detective who want to arrest the same man—one for murder and one for bank robbery. It falls to Rachel to solve both crimes…and two more murders, if she is to unlock the soft heart that beats under Griffin’s hard crust.
BUY LINKS: http://store.sweetcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=278Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Penhallow-Train-Incident-M-S-Spencer-ebook/dp/B0100PHOZSB&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-penhallow-train-incident-ms-spencer/1122175522?ean=2940152200393Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/the-penhallow-train-incidentARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thepenhallowtrainincident-1839405-149.htmlScribd: https://www.scribd.com/book/269163462/The-Penhallow-Train-IncidentInktera: http://www.inktera.com/store/title/02e6123c-5ddd-4dbf-ae08-e0fd0aadfa0cBookstrand: http://www.bookstrand.com/the-Penhallow-train-incidentVersent: https://www.versentbooks.com/store/title/02e6123c-5ddd-4dbf-ae08-e0fd0aadfa0c

EXCERPT (PG): Salmonello’s
He sat back. “Okay, turn left here. Now right on Union Street. There it is—Salmonello’s.” He chuckled. “Not what you’d call a felicitous choice for a restaurant name.”They walked into what a native Mainer might envision a traditional Italian trattoria to be. That is, if a traditional trattoria consisted of a room filled with Formica tables and farm implements, a salad bar, and a wall of pinball machines. “Doesn’t look like lobster roll is on the menu. Too bad,” Griffin said jocularly.The place was empty except for a group of women at the bar talking in loud voices. A girl of about sixteen with a long braid and braces skipped over to them. “Anywhere.”Rachel knew that Griffin was biting his tongue to keep the retort at bay and loved him for it. “Thanks.”They found a table as far away from the din as possible, which wasn’t. Griffin ordered a carafe of their house wine—”please, God, at least make it Italian”—and they perused the menu. Without looking up, Griffin asked, “So, how did George strike you?”“He only hit the furniture.”“No, I mean, do you think he’s telling the truth?”“About what?”“Really Rachel, I’d hate to think you’re being deliberately obtuse. His story of Masri’s perfidy.”“I don’t have any idea. You’re the Middle East expert. Does it make sense?”“There are lots of stories out there of fanatical academics pursuing the elusive tomb or artifact. It’s not impossible. I have a call in to a friend at Harvard.”“Harvard? Oh, right, about George.”“And one to a friend at Cairo University about Masri.”The waitress plunked a basket of bread and a glass carafe on the table. Drawing two plastic wine glasses from her pockets, she inserted the bowls into the bases and set them down. And left. Griffin poured a smidgen of wine into his glass. With an affected simper, he rotated it, then sipped, holding the wine on the tip of his tongue before swallowing it. His eyes opened wide. “Whaddya know? It’s excellent. How refreshing.”Rachel sipped hers. “You’re right. Go figure.”He called the waitress over. “My dear child, can you tell me the name of this delightful beverage?”“Huh? Oh, the wine? I’ll go ask Dad.” She shuffled back a minute later and read from the back of her hand. “Tig…Tin…Tignanello, he says.” She read further. “Two thousand nine vintage. Dad gets it from his cousin in Tuscany. He says it’s ready to drink now.” She smiled perkily, the fluorescent light pinging off her braces.“Tell Dad he’s right. Thanks…”“Sally. You want some more time?”“No, we’re ready. Rachel?”“I’ll have the tagliatelle al ragu Bolognese.”“The spaghetti in meat sauce. Gotcha. You?”“How’s the veal?”“My brother just brought it in from Kenworthy Farm. You know, the place that raises all those weird breeds? Calf got its leg caught in a fence and they had to put her down. Butchered her yesterday. That’s why it’s on special.”With a slightly green face, Griffin handed her the menu. “I’ll have that.”Rachel laughed. “For a tough guy you can be pretty squeamish.”He produced a rueful grin. “I suppose if I’m going to eat it I should be able to hear how it made its way to my plate.”Sally returned and slid tiny simulated wood bowls of wilted lettuce drenched in what looked like tomato soup under their noses. “Your salads.”Rachel took a gulp of wine to fortify herself and said with determination, “I’m going in.”Griffin watched her take a forkful, chew slowly, and push the bowl away. “I hope the wine and not the salad is a portent of things to come.”They took a moment to gaze into each other’s eyes before waking up to the fact that they were gazing into each other’s eyes. In the lull, while both desperately sought something to say, a raspy female voice rang out.“I tell you, Jackie, that sheriff was way outta line. He as much as told me I’m a liar!” They both turned to see a woman of about fifty with a staggering cascade of pumpkin-colored hair. Her red lipstick was a little smeared and her lashes, thick with mascara, blinked rapidly.Rachel nudged Griffin. “I think that’s Noreen Fowler, Stan Holiday’s girlfriend,” she whispered. “At least she looks like the woman Edna Mae Quimby described.”Confirming Rachel’s guess, a tiny woman with a nose that could follow a cold scent twittered, “Well, Noreen, you gotta admit your story sounded pretty flimsy. I mean, there were witnesses who saw John on the train.”“Witnesses? A bunch’a tourists who were busy watching that moronic cowboy show. Probably didn’t give him a second glance. John’s not exactly a standout in the looks department. I love him for his personality.”“Personality? Or money?” The klatch broke out in snickers.“Laugh all you want, Ellen. I’ll swear he was with me that day.”Someone in the back of the pack cried out, “And what day was that, Noreen?”She hesitated. “Last week. I forget the day exactly.”Jackie piped up. “It was last Saturday.”“Wait a minute.” A tall, gaunt woman in jeans spoke slowly. “Wasn’t Stan Holiday up here with you last Saturday? I thought I saw you two on the sidewalk by the cafe.”Noreen gulped down her beer. “That was earlier, Betty Jo. John came by later.”Betty Jo seemed to mull this over, then stubbed out her cigarette. “But I ran into Maude Jewett in the Penhallow co-op last week and she told me Stan was supposed to drive the train.” She wagged her chin. “That he missed it because he was with you, Noreen.”The voices rose and intertwined in a cacophony of anger and insults and the women spilled out the door.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Although M. S. Spencer has lived or traveled in five continents, the last 30 years were spent mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director, and parent. She has two fabulous grown children, and currently divides her time between the Gulf coast of Florida and a tiny village in Maine.
CONTACTS:

Blog: http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.comORhttp://bit.ly/1aBzraTFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/msspencerromanceTwitter: www.twitter.com/msspencerauthor
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OTHER BOOKS BY M. S. SPENCER
Romantic suspense and mystery, they are available in ebook and print from Secret Cravings Publishing and all fine on-line book stores. For more information, visit http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.com/p/my-books.html
Whirlwind Romance The Mason's Mark: Love and Death in the Tower (an Old Town Romance) Lapses of Memory Mai Tais & Mayhem: Murder at Mote Marine (a Sarasota Romance) Artful Dodging: The Torpedo Factory Murders (an Old Town Romance) Triptych
Losers Keepers

Exclusive Clean Sweep Excerpt!

In just over three weeks the first Venom book will be released! To say that I'm excited about the women of my fictional team hitting the ice would be an understatement. I am thrilled to be able to share these wonderful ladies with my readers. I hope that you enjoy each book. I know I ran a full range of emotions with Clean Sweep as I wrote it. Laughter and tears were my constant companions as Jane and Tore's book flowed onto the paper. 


In this blog exclusive excerpt Coach Jane takes a ride over the river  to check out her new team with Tore Ahlberg, her ex-husband. Make sure to add Clean Sweep to your Goodreads Want-To-Read shelf! I hope you enjoy the snippet.

Clean Sweep on Goodreads
*~*~*
         A door attendant doffed his cap at us as we stepped out under the porte-cochѐre. Tore left me with the doorman, a jovial black man by the name of David Colby Jr., to fetch his car. When the silver Jeep Cherokee pulled up five minutes later, I jumped inside, wishing I had brought a thicker coat.
            "Have a good day now, Jane," David said then closed my door soundly.             "He calls you Jane? After five minutes?" Tore asked his tone a wee bit possessive. I peeked through my lashes at the man as I buckled my seatbelt.             "I happen to be a people person, unlike you, who are happy to lounge in a corner sipping Aqua Velva, or whatever that stuff was you pulled out every Christmas."            "Akvavit." He gently corrected as he pulled out into morning traffic. "I could never keep up with your outgoing personality that much is true."            "No, you couldn`t." I turned my head to try to drink in the city that I would be calling home. It was all a big blur though. None of it sank in. My mind was spinning in reverse, taking me to a holiday season umpteen years in the past. One that involved Tore and I making love in front of a live fir covered with lights, bows, and little gingerbread men he and I had baked while we sipped akvavit from tulip-shaped glasses. When next I peeked at him, we were on I-95 headed for Trenton. He was intent on the road ahead of him, his shoulders tense, his jaw set, like a pilot trying to avoid a barrage of surface-to-air missiles. I felt a need to break the ice. But how?             "You don`t need to worry. I won't forget to stop to get you some new clothes. Those smell like wet dog."            Well there was a conversational opening if ever I heard one.             "Thanks." He threw me a fast look then returned to navigating the interstate. And there went that conversational opening. Shit balls. I cleared my throat. Let it never be said that a Bratkowski could not find something to converse about. "So you ever get remarried?"            Our eyes met over the console. The Jeep swerved a bit. Someone hit his or her horn. Tore turned his attention back to traffic.             "No. No, never."            "Once bitten, twice shy?" I asked with humor. The jest zoomed over his pale head.             "I thought about it once. She was a nice woman who dated me for over a year. Pretty and a decent cook. No zip though," he said with a toss of a shoulder into the air.             "What had no zip? Her food?" I asked, keenly interested to discuss the nice woman who had almost won over Tore.            "She had no zip. She was flat, lifeless…fireless."            "Oh." I looked straight ahead, suddenly acutely aware of myself, the slight stink of dog rising off me, and the slow creep of heat slithering up under the freckles on my cheeks. I chewed on my tongue, and several other things, until Tore took a right off I-95. We pulled into a chain store with lights just blinking to fluorescent life. I exited the Jeep like a thief. The store manager gave me a dour look as she unlocked the front doors. The entire five minutes it took me to pick out a skirt, blouse, and ugly old lady shoes, I thought about what Tore had said about the fireless nice woman. It took all the fortitude I possessed to walk across that empty parking lot after paying for my clothes. Bolstering my flagging courage, I yanked the door open. Tore was sipping on a hot beverage. One awaited me in the console. The interior of the Cherokee smelled like a Starbucks.             "Black, one heaping sugar." He nodded at my coffee. I tossed the bag into the back, closed the door, and then took a long sweet sip of starter fluid.             "Perfect." I sighed, my lashes fluttering with pleasure. He smiled. The dimple appeared. The coffee in my stomach gurgled. We found an exit then merged back into traffic. After emptying half my jumbo cup, I unsnapped my belt then climbed over the console into the back.            "What are you doing?" Tore asked over the pinging of the seatbelt alarm and the soft rock radio station.             "Getting changed," I said as I wiggled around. I glanced up to see his eyes in the rearview. "Pay attention to the road, Ahlberg."            "You're so prim of a sudden." He chuckled then looked from me to the cars in front of him. I kicked off my still damp sneakers, peeled off my shirt, then wriggled out of my jeans.             "God, who picked this shit out?" I muttered as I looked over the frumpy brown skirt and vivid yellow blouse. What the hell had I been thinking? I avoided yellow, red, and orange like the plague normally. See, this is what mooning over a man does for you. It makes you pick out gruesome clothes at a chain store. When I returned to the front, Tore gave me a fast once-over. Wisely, he clamped his mouth shut. "I know I look like something a cat regurgitated on the carpet. Thank you for not pointing it out."            "You're the prettiest cat puke I ever saw."            "You Swedes sure know how to sweet talk a lady." I smiled into my coffee. The rest of the trip to Jersey felt a trifle less constrictive. Maybe it was Seals & Croft playing on the radio. Or maybe it was the soft humming of the big man seated on my left? Hell, maybe it was the superlative coffee. It sure as hell wasn't this damned hideous blouse.