WS's Blog: Chaps & Bustles , page 6

New Releases- The Calling by James P Hanley

Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com 
Genre: FICTION / Westerns
Release Date: November 6, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-077-0 ISBN 10: 1631120778
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-078-7  ISBN 10: 1631120786
Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links...


Sheriff Luke Atwell, a religious man, doubts his occupation after accidentally shooting a female bystander during a gunfight. The violent deaths of lawmen and criminals that follow heighten his questioning as he joins the priesthood to counter evil as a man of peace. However, his lawman instincts remain as he deals with crime in his inner-city parish. Temporarily relieved of his priestly obligations, Atwell returns as sheriff to the changed, now crime-ridden Kansas town to rethink his calling, joined by unlikely reinforcements—an experienced but alcoholic deputy and a youthful banjo player. The team, often outnumbered, confronts thieves and killers in a series of gun battles. As Atwell fights lawlessness, he struggles with his feelings toward a recent widow. Eventually he must decide:  keep the badge or again wear the clerical collar. 

About the Author

Jim Hanley is a Human Resources professional, adjunct professor and short story writer, Jim has had over 70 stories appear in print and online publications.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Atwellnovel14
Website: http://jaahanley.blog.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/James...


EXCERPT of The Calling:
Chapter 1

The wind carried the dust across the empty streets of Planting, Kansas as storm clouds over the distant counties moved in to drench the parched soil and drought-weakened crops. In the far valleys, tribes held ceremonies to call upon rain gods. The horses in the corrals at the edge of town sensed the forming precipitation and paced anxiously. Lightning flashed against the hills in warning, and Sheriff Luke Atwell, standing under the wood overhang of the jail, scanned the horizon. His thoughts turned back east to the filled streets of New York City, the bustle of residents hurrying down concrete sidewalks and horse pulled carriages impatiently trotting on avenues. Lights from lamp posts and high buildings had kept the darkness from the city until early morning, he remembered. He’d answered the question so often as to why he left the ‘big city’ for a small town in farm-and-cattle country Kansas that he now just shrugged his shoulders when asked. Going back inside, he sat at his desk and lifted his feet, placing his boots on the worn wood. Deputy Albright, a twenty one year old former ranch hand, came in and shook the dirt from his sweat-rimmed hat.
“Rain’s coming, Sheriff. Mrs. Myers said she can feel it in her bones and that’s more reliable than the weather predictions that those meanerol—”
“Meteorologists,” Atwell corrected.
“Showing off your college education, Sheriff?” Albright said to tease.
“No, just displaying your ignorance,” Atwell joked back.
After the Civil War, Kansas became a central point for cattle shipment for the region as the railroad didn’t reach into states like Texas. The Kansas Pacific Railway provided transport of beef east, and towns like Planting grew along the path of cattle drives, supplemented by local farming and horse raising.
Planting was a collection of stores, businesses and buildings in parallel lines along the main street. Most structures were single-story, except for the general store, which had a second level for storage, and the boarding house. The neatly-painted store signs in front were unadorned, solely listing the establishment’s services. In one stretch of buildings, a string of simple clapboard shops were connected as if constructed at the same time: a butcher, a feed store, the post and telegraph office. Most structures had a wooden overhang propped up by thin poles to keep the rain and snow from the boardwalks and a hitching rail in front. The newspaper office, The Planting Chronicle, was near the center of town, but the general store was the place where gossip moved more quickly than the merchandise. The saloons had the most decorative fronts with opaque glass and a lantern over the front door. On the edge of the street was the town barbershop where two men lined up the scissors, hair tonic, blades and frothing soap, and wiped the leather chairs that swiveled. The town drugstore was owned and operated by Doc Eylward, and when not ministering to the physical complaints of townsfolk, he sold remedies, soaps, ointments and dressings.  Separate from the main section of town was a schoolhouse and further along the road, the church. The three-level boarding house with balconies on the upper levels protected by white railings was the largest edifice in town.
Standing close to each other, Sheriff Atwell was the taller and older lawman by three years. Years in the sun planting in open fields had darkened Albright’s skin, and most folks in town, even the sheriff, called him Brownie. On the other hand, Atwell was fair-skinned, and his even features attracted the young women in town. Both men had a dark brown mustache, were slender, and dressed in store-bought clothes that fit loosely. They shared a pride in polished boots and at the end of the day rubbed a cloth over the leather to wipe off the dirt that had accumulated. “Biggest threat to a man’s dignity is stepping in shit and smelling all day like a horse stall,” Albright had said once, as he cleaned out between the heel and sole with a dull-edge knife.
The quiet day was ending when a man swung open the jailhouse door, and gasping, said, “Sheriff, there’s a ruckus in the saloon. Could be a problem.”
“Hold on, Brewster. Tell me slowly, what happened?” Atwell demanded.
“This man came in and you could sense he was looking for trouble. Squinty-eyed and growling like a rabid dog, he poured down one whiskey after another and when the bartender asked him to pay up before the next round, the man reached across and punched Old Man Amos. Now you know Amos can’t defend himself, as tired and worn as he is by bartending, and everyone in the place was too scared to do anything about it.”
Albright offered to go to the saloon but Atwell put up his hand in a stop gesture. “I’ll take this one.”
The sheriff liked his deputy and had watched him handle some ornery drunks and cowboys letting loose in the town, but Deputy Albright had little experience as a lawman, so Atwell chose him more for his ability to charm and talk a man out of doing harm. “They’ll either listen to you or shoot you to shut you up, so you’d better work on your gun handling in case it’s the latter,”  the sheriff had said when he pinned the star to Albright’s chest. In time, the deputy improved both his aim and hand speed, but Sheriff Atwell knew an experienced gunfighter would have the advantage. 
“If I wanted nursing, I’d go back to my Ma’s house,” Albright said in frustration but quietly accepted the order to stand down.
“Need you to keep an eye on Brewster in case he has a heart attack. He’s wheezing like a cat with asthma,” Sheriff Atwell said with a grin as he walked out. Looking up at the sky, he saw that the scouting clouds had dimmed the sun and in the distance the dark clouds were rushing across the sky as if being chased. He knew that rain would soon fall. As he entered the saloon, he saw the whores were against the wall as far from the bar as they could get without going up the stairs to the rooms they jokingly called ‘their place of business’. The few men who stayed were at tables and only one man was at the bar. The sheriff looked at the man’s gun sticking menacingly out of the holster. Atwell recognized the Colt 44-40, called the Peacemaker, a popular weapon used by the Army. The bone grip was worn smooth and the holster leather was bent near the trigger, likely, the sheriff thought, from frequent draws.  The man growled at the bartender who groggily leaned against the mahogany counter. When service wasn’t quick enough, the man reached over the bar for a three-quarters full whiskey bottle, knocking over glasses in the process.
“Put the bottle back,” Atwell said, “and leave.”
The cowboy let out a sarcastic laugh, “Who says so?”
“I’m the law and if you are not out of here, I’ll arrest you for disorderly conduct.”
“You by yourself, Sheriff?  Ain’t no one man going to tell me what to do. I think you need to leave before you get hurt.”
“Out!” Atwell said loudly.
The man turned and shouted to the others in the saloon, “You hear him. He’s calling me out and here I was minding my own business, having a drink when this lawman calls me out. Well, I ain’t never run from a fight. Guess you folks will be needing a new sheriff real soon. You go out first, Sheriff.”
“So you can shoot me in the back, no thanks. You go first.”
“I don’t need to plug you in the back; I’ll do it in the middle of your chest. You’re calling me a coward, and I don’t take that well.”
As he weaved past, the man glared at Atwell. His face was twisted in anger. The stubble and stains from tobacco darkened his jaw. Leaving the saloon, he stumbled slightly stepping down from the wooden walkway. As the cowboy walked to the center of street the town’s men and women moved away, vacating the dusty street around him while Sheriff Atwell stepped slowly out of the saloon.
“You can leave—”
Before the sheriff could finish the sentence, the cowboy reached for his gun. Atwell grabbed for his weapon and had the barrel nearly pointed at his opponent, but just before he pulled the trigger, a bullet struck his shooting arm and in that second his arm jerked and the bullet left his gun pointed away from his target. The gunman seemed momentarily stunned that his shot had almost missed; the barrel of his weapon wavered slightly. Swinging quickly back around Atwell fired again and he saw the man fall backward, blood spurting out of the hole in his chest. When the shooting stopped, Atwell looked at his own wound and saw that the bullet had torn through his shirt and grazed his upper arm taking a bite of flesh; blood was flowing down his arm. He walked toward the dead cowboy and stared at the gunman’s blank expression, his life blasted out of him.
Suddenly, Atwell heard a commotion to his right and saw men and women running toward a prone figure outside the general store. A woman screeched and muffled voices said, “My God, she’s been shot.”  Walking toward where they were congregating, the sheriff was stopped by the strong pull of his deputy. “You need to go to the doc about that wound. I’ll see what’s going on over there.”
“I heard someone call out ‘she’s been shot’”.
“Let me check while you go get fixed up. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”
When the general store proprietor stood up, after leaning over the figure in front of his establishment, he looked toward Sheriff Atwell. “She’s dead.”
Confused and weakened from the loss of blood, the sheriff pushed past his deputy and saw a lifeless, young lady on the ground with a bullet wound in her stomach. Atwell faltered, his knees buckling. He felt Albright’s grip and slight tug upward.
“Look at your arm, Sheriff, the blood is pouring over your fingers like a stuck-open pump.” He called out to a farmer he knew. “Arnie, take the sheriff to Doc Eylward.”
Atwell reluctantly accepted the help and they walked slowly toward the doctor’s office down the street. Doc Eylward, having heard the shots, knew he’d soon have visitors and was waiting outside the door. “Bring him in here,” he instructed.
“Nobody’s bringing me anywhere. I’m on my own steam,” Atwell said huffily.
As he sat down on a long table covered with a white cloth, Atwell said, “You should be out there helping that woman.”
“Sit back, Sheriff, this is going to take some stitching. She’s beyond help, from what I hear, and you need tending before you slowly bleed to death.”
Atwell winced while the doctor sewed up his arm. He could still hear voices from the street: a shout to help pick up the dead cowboy, the softer appeal to take the woman to the undertaker, then it was silent before the usual street noises began again. Deputy Albright came into the office and grimaced when he saw Doc Eylward stitching the sheriff’s arm like he was repairing a torn shirt.
“You okay, Sheriff?”
“I’m fine. Who was she? What happened? Did I shoot her?”
“From what I gathered, her name is Eleanor Manus. Her sister is Peggy Mattingly, the former elementary school teacher who arrived a few years ago and married Joe Mattingly. Mrs. Mattingly was at her husband’s clothing store while her sister went shopping in the general store. Seems Miss Manus was buying a few things before leaving on the late stage back to Texas. She must have had something on her mind and didn’t pay attention to the ruckus in the street when she came out the store. The clerk came charging out to warn her to come back inside but he heard the shots and saw Miss Manus fall. Bill Remsen was standing diagonally across the street and saw everything. He said that a bullet nicked your arm as you were squeezing the trigger and your gun hand moved slightly to the right so that you missed the gunman but your shot struck that woman. It was an accident, Sheriff, nothing more.”
“Nothing more?” Atwell bellowed part in response, and part from the deep penetration of the physician’s needle. “I killed an innocent woman.”
“Your gun shot that woman and the cowboy was as much, or maybe more, to blame for hitting your arm as you fired.”
“Semantics,” Atwell exclaimed.
“I don’t know what that means, but it ain’t your fault. It was just bad luck for that woman.”
“Stop calling her that woman, she has a name. Miss Manus,” he barked.
“I’m going to talk to her sister and tell her how sorry you are about what happened,” Brownie Albright said.
“Thanks; I’ll see her myself after a while.”
“And you need to take a day or two days off to heal,” Doc Eylward said, as he wound a bandage around the sheriff’s arm. “Don’t do anything to open those stitches, Luke.” He was one of the few in town who called the sheriff by his first name.

Walking toward the jailhouse which consisted of a desk, a few chairs, two cells and a backroom mostly filled by a wobbly bed, he felt the rain soak his tattered shirt and drench his pants. Water cascaded over the brim of his hat. Still, he never increased his pace and made a stop where the shooting occurred. Both bodies had been carried away. The downpour lightened the black blood to a pink color and some of the reminders of the killings were washing away. Looking across to where the woman fell, he noticed a circle of stain on the wood sidewalk. As lightening cracked, town residents hurried out of the rain, some with newspapers over their head as a temporary umbrella. The sheriff was drenched by the time he’d reached the jail and his shirt showed spots of blood.

Readers will not be disappointed by The Wren!

Matt Ryan and Molly Hart were childhood friends until Molly was kidnapped and presumed dead. Ten years later, Matt is more than surprised to find Molly is alive and back to find the men responsible for her capture and the murder of her mother and father. 
Matt always felt responsible for Molly and never really moved on after losing her. As a Texas Ranger, he’s dedicated his life to helping the weak and dishing out justice to those that do them harm. Something he wasn’t able to do for Molly.
Matt soon learns Molly isn’t the sweet little girl he knew years ago. Instead, she’s a strong, fearless woman that wrangles poisonous snakes and rides bareback. 
Amidst the beautiful love story that develops between Matt and Molly, Kristy McCaffrey spins a surprising story of regret and second chances. Readers will not be disappointed by The Wren. I can’t wait to read the other books in this series!

To learn more about the author and other books in this series, visit her website at www.kristymccaffrey.com

Cover Reveal for Love Finds Its Way- second book in the Way of Hearts Saga- coming December 4th!

In 1853, Lucas arrived at the Sullivan mansion with a vicious burn on his side. The mark is a clue to his past, and the accident that took his family.
The Sullivan’s gave him a home, raised him as their son, and made heir to their fortune. Lucas has everything a man could want, but he’s tortured by the secrets from his past. 

He’s a man without a name.

For seventeen years, Lucas has called the Sullivan girls his sisters, but his feelings for Callie, the youngest, have changed from brotherly to those of a man for a woman. As the passion between them ignites, Lucas is forced to make a choice between claiming Callie, and finding out who he is.  On a cold January night, Lucas leaves to follow a clue to Texas, but not before he has Callie’s promise, “I will wait for you.”

She has waited eighteen months for Lucas to return, but the arrival of an urgent telegram from Lucas asking Callie for help changes everything.  The telegram tells of a murder charge, and a possible sentence of death. Callie plans a secret trip to Texas, but her plans are foiled when a pesky accountant for the Sullivan Mining Company, Walter Delaney intervenes.

Callie has never trusted Walter Delaney, and finds him annoying and naïve. When Walter is jilted by his fiancé, he insists on accompanying Callie to Texas. Thanks to her father, Callie has no choice, but to agree. Events on the way, reveal a different side to Walter, and leave Callie questioning her promise to Lucas.

In the small town of Santa Camino Texas, Lucas is close to finding the answers about his family. The mark on his side lead him to the notorious Walker Gang, and made him an outlaw.

Secrets unfold, and Lucas discovers the answers he seeks. But when Callie arrives in on the arm of Walter Delaney, he realizes his past isn’t worth his future with Callie.

Is it too late for Lucas and Callie or will their love find its way?

Lilac Lane~ A New Release by Ann Swann

Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com  books@5princebooks.com 
Genre: Fiction, Romance, Suspense
Release Date: July 24, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-060-2   ISBN 10: 1631120603
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-061-9      ISBN 10: 1631120611
Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links...

Lilac Lane
Ella and her son survived her ex-husband's drunken wrath. They are starting a new life in a new town, Stutter Creek. She's even met a real man. A gentle wild life biologist named Chet Boone. But now, her ex has been released from prison early. Is that him driving past their new house late at night? Is he the one causing the strange sounds and flickering lights? Can they survive a second round with a madman?

About the Author:



Ann lives in Texas with her handsome hubby and several rescue pets.  Return to Stutter Creek is the second book in this Romantic Suspense series, the first being the aptly named, Stutter Creek. Ann’s first book with 5 Prince Publishing was All For Love, a heartbreaking story of ill-fated romance. She is also the author of The Phantom Series.  Book One is Stevie-girl and the Phantom Pilot, Book Two is Stevie-girl and the Phantom Student, and Book Three is Stevie-girl and the Phantom of Crybaby Bridge.  Ann has also published short fiction in the anthologies Timeless (paranormal love stories) and Tales of Terror (horror) as well as a speculative short story, Chems. Her current work-in-progress is a full-length horror novel.  When she isn’t writing, Ann is reading. Her to-be-read list has grown so large it has taken on a life of its own. She calls it Herman.

Public contact information 
Blog: www.annswann.blogspot.com 
Website: www.annswann.net
Facebook: www.facebook.com/annswann.author
Twitter: @ann_swann
Email: swannann76@yahoo.com

Excerpt of Lilac Lane:
Chapter One

“I really like it, don’t you?” Ella asked.
Nick, her ten-year-old son, looked up at her. “It’s okay, I guess.” His expression said more than his words.
Ella hugged him to her side. “It will be all right,” she said. “Stutter Creek isn’t that far from Albuquerque. It’s just a little resort town. Skiing in the winter, camping and fishing in the summer. It backs right up to the National Park, you know. That’s why it’s such a tourist town.”
Nick didn’t say anything.
“Don’t worry,” she rattled on. “We’ll be going to visit Nana all the time, and I’m hoping she’ll come to visit us a lot, too. We’ll even fix up the spare bedroom just for her.”
She ruffled his dark hair and climbed the porch steps of their new rental. It was a quaint old house that had seen better days, but the realtor assured her that all the important stuff, like plumbing and wiring, had been recently updated. It was only the exterior that needed a little TLC. “Well, that we can do,” Ella had replied. “I’ve painted a few houses in my time. My dad was a carpenter. One of my greatest joys was helping him finish out the houses he built.” Maybe if we paint it we can get a break on the rent, she thought. But she didn’t say anything. They had more than enough to worry about at the moment.
“I don’t see why we had to move anyway,” Nick pouted, interrupting her reverie. He trudged up the steps behind his mom.
He’d been very brave the whole time they were packing and moving, but now that they were here, it had suddenly become real.
Ella felt her spirits slump. “I know, sweetie, I wish we could have stayed put, too. But this little diner—they call it The Drugstore—just beckoned me.” She glanced down and smoothed the hair she’d just tousled. She never came right out and told him they moved specifically to hide from his stepfather. She just tried to make it sound like one big adventure. “We could never have bought anything like this back home. The prices here are half what they are in the city. And there is only one other eating establishment in the whole town—if you don’t count the convenience store—and I don’t.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I hope you understand. I just didn’t want to keep waiting tables forever. I want more, for me and for you.”
Nick shrugged and plopped the box he was carrying on the sofa. Fortunately it held only books.
He’s just a child, she thought. Am I doing the right thing? She remembered the bright red handprint on his cheek the day she’d left him in Anson’s care. It was the day she’d been called into work unexpectedly. Up until then, her mom had always kept Nick. When Anson tried to tell her Nick had been disrespectful, thus giving him cause for a face-slap, she’d become so distraught he wound up shoving her across the kitchen. When she told him to leave, he’d simply laughed and shoved her again. This time, her face hit the doorframe. Then he went back to the bedroom and packed her suitcase. But Ella was no one’s victim. She called the police and had him arrested. She never slapped her child, she certainly wasn’t going to stand idly by and let someone else do it. When the officers arrived, Anson was convinced he could talk his way out of going to jail.
“The boy’s just worthless,” he’d told the senior officer. “He ain’t mine, you know. Takes after his mother. Or maybe his old man; who knows? That worthless piece never even claimed him. Now I see why. Too bad I didn’t know this before I took them in and gave them a home.” He was talking to the gray-haired cop as if they were sharing confidences over coffee. He seemed to think every man felt the way he did. Ella assumed it was the beer talking. Once he got started drinking, things usually got ugly. But this was the first time they’d gotten physical.
She remembered standing in the doorway with Nick safely ensconced behind her. “Does he need to see a doctor?” the younger officer asked.
Glancing back at Nick, the red handprint standing out on his face like day-glo under black light, Ella shook her head. “No, he’ll be okay as long as we get away from that madman.” Her eyes were crusty where she’d accidentally wiped blood from her cheek into her lashes.
“I’ll need you to come to the station and file an official report. But first, the hospital for an x-ray.” The officer nodded toward her swelling cheek. “I’m no doctor, but I think you’ve got a fracture there.”
Tears spilled from her eyes when he said that. They mixed with the smear of blood and left red trails down her face. “I feel so stupid,” she said. “How could I have let this happen?”
The officer was kind. “You didn’t let it happen, and you didn’t cause it. You’re going to follow through and get him put away.” He hesitated as if gauging his next words carefully. “And you won’t back out when it comes time to testify. You won’t go back to him and make all this night’s work be for nothing, right?”
Ella looked at him as if he were crazy. “Of course I won’t go back to him. I’m not that stupid.”
“You’d be surprised how often it happens,” the officer replied. “You would be surprised.”
The paramedics came, but Ella insisted she could drive herself to the hospital. She didn’t want to start off her single life with a huge ambulance bill hanging over her head.
As she took her keys from her purse, she saw the senior officer snap the cuffs on Anson.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he yelled in between curse words. “I’ll sue the whole department. I’ll have your fucking job! What’s your badge number? It ain’t no crime to swat a smart mouth kid. Especially not one as worthless as that punk.” When he said that, he turned and looked right at her and Nick.
They’d been trying to get out of the house without having to confront him.
“Worthless,” he bellowed, struggling against the cuffs. His face turned the exact shade of an overripe plum, eyes bugging out as if they would leap on Nick and Ella and finish the beating. “Both of ‘em. Not worth shit!” He lunged forward, catching the officer off balance.
“Hey!” The gray-haired cop leapt on Anson’s back and took him to the floor.
“I’ll kill ‘em,” Anson was screeching. “They’ll be sorry they did this to me!”
The younger officer shielded Ella and Nick and hurried them outside. “A woman from Children’s Services will meet you at the hospital to look after him and take your story.”
That terrified Ella. “Let me call my mother. She’ll meet us there, too. She’ll help us. I know she will. Please, don’t let anyone take my boy.”
The paramedic patted her hand. “Settle down,” he’d said. “No one’s going to take your boy.”
But Ella wasn’t listening.
She was pressing her mother’s picture icon on her cell phone.

Ella swept the painful memories to the back of her mind and crossed into the kitchen where she deposited her own box full of dishes and various utensils. “As soon as we get the rest of these boxes unloaded, we’ll go to The Drugstore, then explore a bit.”
The movers had done all the heavy work, but Ella hadn’t trusted them with her grandmother’s china. She also had several more boxes in the Jeep that contained photos and artwork taken from the walls of their old house. It had been a cramped ride to their new home, but now that they were here, in the mountains, Ella was thankful they had the Wrangler. The roads were beautiful but steep. Even the driveway leading up to the house was narrow and uneven.
We’ll rent for a while, she thought. And if it doesn’t work out, we can always go back to Nana’s house. The thought stuck in her craw, though. Not only did she hate the thought of going back to mama, but Anson had made such ugly threats when she had him arrested, she was afraid to be anywhere near him, even if he was in the county jail. It was obvious how much he had grown to despise both her and Nick. He blamed her for every bad thing that had happened—even though he was the one who hurt them.
Her hand went to her cheekbone. There was a permanent indentation there; small, hardly noticeable, but what would it have looked like the next time she did something that displeased him? And what would Nick look like the next time he “swatted” him? How long before it escalated to closed fist rather than open-handed slap?
She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for someone so mean and hateful. Of course, he hadn’t been either of those things in the beginning. She recalled all the news stories of wives who had married men who turned out to be psychopaths in disguise. When the wife disappeared, the authorities almost always looked at the husband first. One woman disappeared right off the cruise ship while they were on their honeymoon. Another disappeared when she discovered her husband had been lying about being a med student. Her body was later found in the local landfill. And what about that poor pregnant woman whose husband sunk her body in the ocean? She had been eight months pregnant.
It’s hard to really know someone, Ella thought. Especially when they seek to deceive.
Bing-bong.
“Is that the doorbell?” It was the first time she’d heard it from inside the house. Her first inclination was to call out, “Come on in!” but her second thought was to yell at Nick not to answer it. She compromised by hurrying toward the door. “Just a minute, I’m coming!”
When she rounded the corner between the kitchen and the living room, she could see a woman standing outside the door.
She opened the screen. “Hello?”
The woman held out her hand. “Norma,” she said. “From next door, well, you know, down the road.” She grinned and indicated the direction with a wave of her hand. All the houses in this area were set back from the road at the end of their own stumpy, humpy driveways. Each one occupied several acres separated from each other by tall pines and junipers.
“Nice to meet you.” Ella took the proffered hand.
Norma swept streaky gray hair off her forehead and smiled. “Saw you two unloading boxes and thought I’d stop by and offer to help. My husband is a long-haul trucker, hardly ever home. So I know how welcome an extra pair of hands can be.”
Ella returned the woman’s grin even though she wondered how Norma could possibly know it was just the two of them. How does she know I don’t have a husband lurking around somewhere?
“Hope you don’t think I’m too forward,” Norma said, as if she’d read Ella’s thoughts. “Your realtor is my second cousin. She told me to check in on you guys and make sure you were getting settled.” She held up a small brown bag that Ella hadn’t even noticed hanging from her arm. “Brownies,” she said.
Ella laughed and stepped aside so she could come in. “Nick will love those. Thank you so much. And trust me, we’d welcome another set of hands if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
Norma passed the bag to Ella and patted her arm. “Just point me in the right direction.”
Ella called Nick to come in and meet their new neighbor, and then she showed him the brownies.
“Pleased to meet you,” Nick said politely. “Do you have any kids?”
Norma shook her head. “Sorry, buddy. My only daughter is grown and gone. She hasn’t even blessed me with grandchildren yet.”
Nick’s face fell.
“But don’t you worry.” Her voice was sympathetic. “We’ve got a wonderful little school here in Stutter Creek. You’ll make lots of friends. Besides,” her face grew thoughtful. “I’ve got a godson who is just a bit younger than you. His name is Danny and he just turned eight.” She glanced at Ella. “I’ll be glad to introduce the two of them—well, all of you, of course, when you’re ready. Beth and John are excellent parents. In fact, Beth is a teacher at Stutter Creek Elementary.”
Ella shot her a look of thanks, then led the way to the kitchen. “Nick is in fifth grade,” she said. “What grade does Beth teach?”
Norma clucked her tongue. “Can you believe she teaches fifth grade? Will wonders never cease?”
“That is wonderful,” Ella replied. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “We haven’t bought any groceries yet.” She opened the bag containing the homemade brownies. “But as soon as we finish unloading the Jeep, I’ll run to town and get some milk to go with these.”
“Couldn’t I have just one,” Nick wheedled, obviously won over by the cook. “I don’t have to have milk.”
Ella smiled. She’d thought that would be his response. He was just like her when it came to chocolate. “Of course you may.” She handed him a still-warm square and pinched off a little taste for herself. “Sit at the table, kiddo,” she instructed. “I have no idea where the napkins are. Hmmm, these are delicious.”
Nick sat at the table and sunk his teeth into the first moist bite.
Together, the two women backtracked to the Jeep and began carrying in the rest of the boxes.
It was easy to put the cartons in the appropriate rooms. Ella’s mom had insisted on labeling each one with a giant Sharpie while helping them pack up the house back in Albuquerque. “Half the work is done in the preparation,” she’d said. Ella hated to admit it, but it had made unloading things a lot easier. Even the movers had commented on it.
When the boxes were stowed away, just waiting to be unpacked, Norma insisted it was time for her to go. But she invited them to come over for a visit. “Just stop by anytime,” she said. “It’s the first one on your right when you head back toward town.”
“Can we drop you there on our way to the grocery store?” Ella glanced out the front window. “I don’t see your car.”
Norma shook her head, gray-streaked curls bouncing. “I walked. It’s my greatest pleasure, walking these hilly roads. Good for my heart and my hips.” She winked at Ella. “Besides, it’s only a mile.”
Ella gave her a brief hug. “I’m in awe,” she said. “Once we get things all figured out, maybe I’ll just join you sometime.”
“I’d love that,” Norma replied. “And Nicky, too. We’ve got lots of wildlife in these old woods. And I know a trail that goes straight from my house to yours.”
Nick’s eyes lit up. “I’d like to see that. We lived in town before.”
“Well, that’s a date then. The first chance you get, you two stop by and we’ll go exploring.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Ella said.
Norma walked down the porch steps then turned and gave a little wave. Just past the edge of the drive, she headed into the woods. Ella could see the beginning of the trail—in another moment, Norma was invisible.
Wow. Guess the woods are thicker than I thought. That gave her a moment’s pause. Finding such a bargain for rent seemed ideal yesterday, but now she wasn’t so sure. Yep. We definitely have to explore that trail. Face the unknown. Otherwise, I’ll be imagining all sorts of things lurking there. Anson’s face popped into her head. But not him, she thought. He’s in jail. And when he does get out, he has no way of finding us.
Grabbing her purse and keys, she swept away tendrils of brunette hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“Remind me to pick up the ingredients for a caramel pie,” she told Nick as they drove into town. “I’ll make one for Norma to thank her for coming over and helping us get settled.”
“And for the brownies,” Nick added, patting his midsection comically. “I liked her. I can’t wait to check out that trail. You think we could camp out in the woods behind the house? Please?”
Ella laughed. “I’ll bet we can before it gets too cold. But I guess we’d need a tent, right?”
Nick laughed, too. “And sleeping bags, and a lantern, you know to see by, and—”
Ella rolled her eyes. “And more money to buy all this stuff!”
She pointed to a neat white house with butter colored trim on the right side of the road. The house sat back behind a lush garden of fall mums, bright purple kale, and shiny green holly bushes graced with tiny red berries. “Must be Norma’s house,” Ella said. “Wonder how long it takes her to walk a mile anyhow?”
Nick shrugged. “I’ll bet I could run to her house and back in no time!”
“I’ll bet you could,” Ella replied. “I’ll bet you could.”

Cover Reveal for Bridge of Hope by Lisa J Hobman

Coming August 21, 2014!

Love is like a snowflake; beautiful but fleeting in its presence…
I’ve been in love. But I’ve also been lied to, betrayed by those closest to me and I’ve suffered loss. Sadly it’s those last three things that stick with me the most. The only real constants in my life are music, Angus my dog and Rhiannon; my guitar.
But things changed when she walked into my place of work. All blue eyes, curves and a warmth that could melt even my hardened heart. I was taken over by feelings that I didn’t expect so soon. Guilt plagued me and I took my anger out on her.
On Mallory.
But I fell fast and hard and there was nothing I could do to stop it. When she too became the victim of heartbreak I was the only one who understood her pain but I was the last person she wanted help from.
Would I ever convince her that we could be friends? And would I ever accept that she couldn’t love me back?


Genre: FICTION / Romance / Contemporary
Release Date: August 21, 2014
Digital ISBN 10:163112062X ISBN 13:978-1-63112- 062-6
Print ISBN-10:1631120638 ISBN-13:978-1-63112-063-3

Release Day for Crisis of Serenity (Crisis Series Book 2) by Denise Moncrief

Available from 5 Prince Publishing www.5princebooks.com books@5princebooks.com 
Genre: Fiction, Romance, Suspense
Release Date: July 17, 2014
Digital ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-047-3   ISBN 10: 1-631120-47-6
Print ISBN 13: 978-1-63112-048-0      ISBN 10: 1-631120-48-4
Purchase link : http://www.5princebooks.com/buy-links...

Crisis of Serenity
Tess Copeland lives a quiet life in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Thanks to the government’s witness protection program, she enjoys the freedom of never having to glance over her shoulder to see if someone is following her. Life has become safe, serene...and boring. Her heart longs for something more than just existing...until a ghost from her past shatters her serenity.

Once upon a time, Tess was caught between the FBI and the men the feds were trying to take down. Jake Coleman is the U.S. Marshal who extracted her from the jam she was in with the FBI, a man she could have fallen for...hard...if she had let herself. It’s been a year since she last saw Jake, and in all the months that have passed, he’s never tried to find her. The longer he keeps his distance, the more she wonders why his absence hurts so much.

When a stranger comes to town searching for her, all of Tess’ old fears are resurrected. Asking Jake for help with her current crisis might lure him into a dangerous trap involving murder, kidnapping, and revenge. When Jake and Tess come face-to-face with the past, they will have to use all their wits to survive.

About the Author

Denise is a Southern girl. She has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a wonderful husband and two incredible children, who not only endure her writing moods, but also encourage her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and scrapbooking.

Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote he first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few full-length manuscripts already completed, she has no desire to slow down.

Public contact information (ie. Website, twitter, facebook, blog)

http://www.facebook.com/DeniseMoncriefAuthor
http://www.twitter.com/dmoncrief0131
http://www.denisemoncrief.com
http://www.denisemoncrief.blogspot.com


Excerpt of Crisis of Serenity
CRISIS OF SERENITY
serenity-n.-the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled

Chapter One

It was seven a.m. and Sadie’s Pancake Kitchen had just hit its peak occupancy. Morning rush was prime time, but the pace never slowed from the time the restaurant opened to the time the last customer waddled out the door at night. Sadie’s served breakfast all day, every day.
As soon as I walked in the door around six, Wendy, the hostess, didn’t waste any time assigning me a section on the top floor. She did it on purpose because I had once complained about the trip up and down the stairs. When I worked the top, I had to climb those stinking stairs fifteen jillion times a shift. The owner, whose name was Helen, not Sadie, kept telling us she was going to install an upstairs kitchen or a food service elevator. Yeah, right. Wendy told me to suck it up and do my job, as if she were my boss. I called her Princess behind her back one day and the rest of the wait staff picked up the nickname. The nasty wench obviously held a grudge.
After I cleaned the coffee maker and set a fresh pot to brew, I wrapped my apron around my waist and stuck a pencil behind my ear. Once I entered the dining room, routine set in. What do you want to drink? What will you have today? Can I refresh your coffee? Is there anything else I can get you? Slap the check on the table.
I’d never been a waitress before, but I found I wasn’t half bad at waiting tables. Sadie’s wasn’t the best job I’d ever had, at least not since the feds decided my life would be so much better if I was placed in their questionable witness protection program, but the steady paycheck served my purpose. The waitressing gig kept my wallet fed. No extras. Just subsistence. That’s all I asked. All I needed. Anything more might bring unwanted attention to my existence. After all, the FBI wanted certain individuals to think I had disappeared from the face of the planet so the bad guys would stop searching for me. Because I had dared to testify against Bennie the Goon in federal court, something that didn’t ensure a long life, I had to cooperate with the feds. I liked living and I liked living on the outside. I don’t do well in prison.
Life in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, had settled into a comfortable pattern. Get up at five. Take my niece to daycare. Bum a ride to work. Roll silverware. Brew coffee. Clean teapots. Wait tables until my shift was over at three. Catch the trolley. Pick up my niece from daycare. Go home. Feed the kid. Stuff a few bites of food into my mouth. Soak my feet. Put Joyce to bed. Watch TV. Pass out. Rinse and repeat.
Some of the patrons at Sadie’s were tourists, but quite a few locals breakfasted there several times a week, some every morning. After a few months, faces, and then names had blended into my daily grind. The monotony of the ordinary promised me safety and few surprises. For the first time in years, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder every second and wondering who was stalking me. The sameness of my days appealed to me, better than the life I’d led after I escaped from the Illinois corrections system and the Fugitive Task Force began looking for me. There was never a dull moment as a fugitive. By the time I came out of hiding, the FBI had taken an interest in my case and coerced me into rolling on Bennie. That’s when the feds immersed me in the witness protection system.
I sighed, set Jim Owens’ cup in front of him, and poured coffee from the fresh pot I’d just made. He smiled at me, revealing a perfectly straight set of ultra-white teeth. He had one of those symmetrical faces that cameras love. Why was the guy a cop instead of a movie star? For the first time since I met him, I smiled back. Just because I felt like it.
After a year of living—no, more like hiding out—in Gatlinburg, my stomach had stopped churning every time a member of law enforcement spoke to me. Sadie’s was a popular cop hangout early in the morning. If I had known, I would have taken the job at the souvenir store down the street, despite the fact the owner of that fine establishment couldn’t keep his eyes off my assets. Where his eyes roamed, his hands were likely to soon follow. I didn’t need that grief.
The ticket booth position my handler had obtained for me at Zombiemania when I first arrived in Gatlinburg went away when the attraction went out of business. After that, I found employment on my own. I figured I could do a better job hunt than the federal agent that couldn’t care less if I survived or not.
So I was settled in Tennessee, at least for a while. I gulped down my distrust every single day and served Gatlinburg’s finest their breakfast, even though I had certainly had my fill of cops. This particular patrol officer seemed nice, but I swore I’d never trust a cop again. Ever.
“Thanks.” Jim flashed his gorgeous smile. “How are you today, Tess?” His eyes gleamed with expectation.
“Good. You want the usual?” I asked him the same question every Friday at seven a.m. He always sat at his favorite table. The one that offered the best view of Parkway. Jim was predictable. I liked that in a man. My ex-boyfriend Trevor was anything but.
“Hmmm. Let’s see… Yeah.” His order never varied. Four buttermilk pancakes. Four crispy pieces of bacon. Two eggs—over easy.
A shiver of dread snaked along my backbone. My head snapped up and I peered through the window. A thin ribbon of sidewalk separated the two-story-high plate glass from the roadway. The clink of silverware and restaurant grade china clattered against the background noise of cars stopping and starting. I wiped my bangs from my eyes and studied the flow of traffic on the street below. Two lines crept bumper-to-bumper in view of the restaurant, a small percentage of cars making it through the green light in one cycle. Stoplight #6 was always busy. A patrol unit had stopped at the signal. The officer turned his head my way. Our eyes met and held, and then my heart skipped a few beats. What was he doing here in Gatlinburg? I thought I had left him behind in Colorado.
Nothing on earth could have dragged me away from his stare. Life as I knew it had changed, and my monotonous existence didn’t feel so safe anymore. The uncontrollable urge to escape overtook me…again. I had always been good at running.
“I was thinking…” Jim’s voice drifted in and out of my consciousness.
“Huh?”
“Tess, are you all right? You went pale all of a sudden.”
“I’m okay.” I turned my attention back to him. “I’ll put your order in.”
I left before he could hint that he wanted to take me out. He was predictable about that as well. Today wasn’t a good day. There might never be a good time—not with a ghost from my past invading my newly acquired contentment.