RSS

Author Archives: ChristineWarner

Special guest Rohn Federbush author of North Parish with giveaway

Please help me welcome author Rohn Federbush to the blog today. Rohn is here sharing her latest release, a historical, inspirational romance titled North Parish. She’s also offering a wonderful giveaway that you can enter at the end of the post.

Before we dive into Rohn’s gorgeous book cover, blurb and excerpt…let’s learn a bit more about her. She’s written an emotional and inspiring guest post I think you’ll enjoy :)

Take it away Rohn…

Rohn Federbush

Author of

Sally Bianco Mystery Series

Retired and bored with bridge, Sally’s life presents an opportunity to prove a friend is innocent of a murder charge. Once bitten by the investigative bug, murder cases continue to fill the rest of her days.

I lived on farms in Illinois until I was fourteen. Those wind-swept plains can’t compare to the storm-free, surrounding hills of my adopted state of Michigan. I’m dyslexic and uncomfortable in crowds. I’m happier in my old-age than I ever was in the riotous, experimental years of youth. Who hasn’t wanted to know everything about everything?

When I’m not writing, I paint cartoonish pictures in oil and even watercolors. I love the control over colors. I paint in primary colors, heavy on the brush. One sister-in-law thought I might have missed a career as a painter, but she received one of my better oils.

I like being married better than living alone. Of course, I am married to the best     man in the universe. I’m also thankful for moderate good health in old age. My grandchildren are perfect and my children claim every ounce of affection I own. Isn’t this every woman’s dream?

I first realized I wanted to be a writer when I was sixteen. My sister’s baby died after not completing a day of life. So I wrote a poem and eulogized my niece, hooking me forever on the potency of catharsis and the power of adding to the remembrance of a lost child. What gave you your first clue that you were one of us, unable to stop putting words on paper?

My first writing draft is finished in about three months, but the editing takes even longer. When I am in good health, I’m usually at my writing desk by 9:00 in the morning. I outline. I use Elizabeth’s system from “Write Right” and Michael Hauge’s “Six Stage Plot Structure,” which is a furtherance of Debra Dixon’s “Goals, Motivation, and Conflict” structure for characters. I put the finished outline, which includes one-sentence scene descriptions into the body of my manuscript and start writing the Rough Draft. Nothing is ever final, the outline, the sequence of scenes, etc. But the skeleton exists. The next day’s scene can be reviewed before bed and embellished in the morning. If I get stopped, I interview the characters to find out where we’re going.

I try not to stop until I have ten new pages or 4:00 arrives. My completed books are piling up, but I am still happiest and better balanced when new work is created.My ideas for books follow my curiosity.

Hiring my GirlFriday, Florence Price, has saved me from frustrating chores I don’t have the patience to learn. Such as my website design, promotion ideas and an increasing number of tasks I ask her to undertake. My books are on Amazon. I’m on Linkedin, Goodreads and have two Facebook pages. Feel free to contact me at rohn@comcast.net. My website is www.rohnfederbush.com.

Tour-Banner-North-Parish

An Ann Arborite, Professor Silas Douglas, became the first president of Michigan’s Historical Society. He was a teenager who witnessed the 1818 Maumee River treaty signing by seven tribes for President Monroe’s Erie Canal. The names of the tribes and the individual natives have been preserved in the Ann Arbor Public Library.

North Parish follows the diplomats around the Great Lakes.

* * * * *

Parish North is the blonde adopted son of a Huron native, and with his manhood-quest completed in time for his father’s trip with a Jesuit bishop, he’s allowed to participate in the efforts to secure powwow agreements from seven tribes around the Great Lakes for the building of the Erie Canal. During the trip, Parish recognizes his vision temptress in Dorothy Evans.

Hoping to join the delegation, Dorothy Evans dreams of escaping duties as her mother’s cook-helper at Fort Detroit. Exciting windows to the wider world open for the girl in the Fort’s Jesuit library. Two centuries worth of European books convince her everything good and pure comes from nature. And when Dorothy meets the blond native, Parish North, she feels her heart quicken when he smiles in her direction. She’s positive Parish is half of her future.

When a bishop assigned to the trip persuades Dorothy’s mother to allow him to chaperon her intelligent daughter on the trip to facilitate her education, Dorothy’s mother accepts his kind offer with the comforting knowledge that Dorothy is under the protection of a man of the Church. But the Bishop’s intentions may not be as pure as they appear and Dorothy’s virtue is in danger. Will the Bishop’s unholy plan succeed?

North-Parish-Cover-682x1024

 Chapter 1

Fort Detroit, Fall, 1817

Cheers from the fort’s crowd drew sixteen-year-old Dorothy Evans to the river’s shore. Two high-ended Algonquin canoes from Lake Erie and a smaller French trapper’s canoe advanced toward them on the Detroit River. With each new shout, more yellow aspen leaves tumbled to the ground, crushed under the feet of soldiers and civilians rushing along the riverbank. The sober clothing of the throng clashed with the riotous colors of the maple trees.

A Chippewa runner had arrived the night before to warn, or rather to assemble the fort’s population for Bishop Pascal’s arrival. Father Sebastian, the Jesuit pastor, rose on his tiptoes to peer down river. Dorothy and her mother stood on either side of the nervous priest. Elizabeth’s short, plump figure advertised her success as the rectory’s cook. Dorothy considered herself a competent but reluctant cook’s helper.

Preparations for meals left little time to think, to read, to dream. She hurried through her daily chores to escape into the priest’s extensive library. For more than a hundred years, the Jesuits at Fort Detroit had collected Europe’s finest literature. The tomes whetted her appetite for adventure and romance.

As Dorothy waited for the Bishop, histories of Florence, its free thinkers, faces of popes and red-garbed cardinals swam in her head. The band of young and seasoned soldiers from the fort held no interest. They smelled, and treated her as the stuck-up cook’s daughter. She was only someone to hand out an extra cookie or two when their buddies weren’t around to tease. But in her secret heart, Dorothy was a mysterious spy, an adventurous temptress, a princess waiting to be rescued.

No hint of cardinal reds were in the approaching crafts, only more drab brown and black clothing. Dorothy sighed, breathed in the cool, tannic-scented air and prayed for patience as the ceremonies began. Her chores awaited and her fingers itched to re-open the Italian history she had set aside.

After the first boat emptied its passengers, a sergeant among the troops yelled, “Attention!”

The thirty or so men lined up, tucked in their shirts and squared their shoulders. The newly arrived, tall, mustached officer with soft gray eyes under menacing bushy eyebrows introduced himself to the sloppy, disgraceful bunch. “Lieutenant C. Louis Cass.” He returned their salute and marched past them taking time to point out an unbuttoned tunic, dusty boots, or straighten a jauntily placed cap. “Where is your commanding officer?”

“Abed.” A young private in the rear yelled without fear of detection.

“This way,” Father Sebastian motioned for the Bishop to follow the troops on the half-mile trek back to the fort.

Dorothy’s mother gestured for her to follow, but Dorothy shook her head. Elizabeth delayed and tidied her hair until Dorothy relented and drew closer for what she thought would be a reprimand. Her mother merely whispered. “They’re going to take more land from the natives. Mark my word.”

“Not again. Where will they let them farm now? Is that why the Bishop came?”

“Father says the seven tribes around the Great Lakes will be affected.” Elizabeth tucked a loose black strand of hair behind Dorothy’s ear. “I guess the Bishop thinks a missionary is needed to persuade the tribes to attend the new treaty powwow.”

Dorothy shook her head. “What chance do the natives have to survive, if they disagree?”

“Hurry back to help me.” Her mother scurried away to catch up to Father Sebastian.

Dorothy wandered closer to the river. Dark clouds threatened to stop the sunshine’s play with the sparkling waves. The second smaller canoe purposefully tread water in order not to be drawn ashore. Dorothy examined its crew. A tall, straight-backed Huron sat in the front of the boat. Behind him a younger native caught her eye. The shifting sunbeams highlighted the man’s blond hair. His face seemed lit from within.

His eyes dreamily swept the shoreline past her, then sharply returned as if he had been startled into remembering something. Something important.

Me, Dorothy thought. He’s looking at me. For a moment her breath seemed to stop.

She couldn’t help rushing forward to mingle among the native men helping the two pull the boat onto the sandy shore. The natives nearly bowed before the tall Huron. He spoke kindly to each. Did he personally know their families? Then he introduced the younger man to them, “My favored son.” The older man inclined his head proudly in the direction of the blond young man, whose ethereal bearing evoked the capability of walking on water.

Noticing Dorothy among the group, the older man said, “They call me Ponthe Walker.”

Dorothy nodded but could not keep her face turned away from the infinitely more interesting younger man.

“And my adopted son, Perish North.”

“I’m…I’m,” Dorothy was sure she’d never remember her own name. “Dorothy Evans. My mother is Elizabeth, the rectory cook.”

Perish stepped forward. “A pious believer then?”

Dorothy gained full use of her tongue. “More of a favorite doubter of the Lord’s. Like Saint Thomas? You know the one who had to put his hand in Jesus’ side before he would believe in the resurrection?”

Ponthe seemed to lose interest, but Perish didn’t move.

“I’ve just returned from my vision quest,” he said.

Dorothy believed he grew an inch before her eyes. She slipped a glance down to his boots to see if he’d stretched up on his toes. As she brought her gaze up, she noted his waist adornments, his broad shoulders covered in buckskin. His light blue eyes seemed bleached by the sun, or his vision.

“The manhood rite,” she said, trying not to check. A stiff breeze lifted her hair, cooling the nervous sweat on her brow.

“You’ve heard of the Midewiwins?” Perish took a step closer.

Dorothy could smell a scent of juniper. “I have, but aren’t you too young?”

Perish laughed.

A thrill passed through her at the clear, rich tones of his voice.

When his father began to lead the natives back to the Fort Detroit, Dorothy boldly pulled at Perish’s elbow. “Walk with me.”

Perish slowed to stroll beside her.

Dorothy smiled as winningly as she knew how. “Tell me.”

“I can only share Orenda’s vision message with family.” His face was serious but his eyes were friendly.

“Adopt me,” Dorothy said, then raced ahead of the group. Aware of her silliness, she knew her mother would be needing help.

* * * * *

Perish watched the snowy show of petticoats as the dark-headed girl fled toward the stockade. His nostrils flared catching the scent of lilacs.

His father stopped, waiting for Perish to catch up before they continued to the fort. “Her hair is nearly black.”

“Brown eyes.” Perish pulled on one of his blond braids to anchor himself in a suddenly unknown landscape. “But she wasn’t wearing the red-spotted squaw cape.”

“But was she the girl in your vision?” Ponthe asked.

“The vision was taller, older.” Perish moved his hand above his eye level.

“Could have been floating,” Ponthe said. “You haven’t shared your vision with Renault or Kdahoi yet?”

“No.” Perish was still held in the dream world of the girl’s dark eyes. He shook himself to respond in detail to his father. “I wanted to keep my word to meet you at Fort Detroit, before I met with Mother.” He laughed in relief at his good fortune. “Then I ran across your runner’s path.”

“Dorothy Evans might have been less welcoming if she’d seen you when you came into the Bishop’s camp.”

“True.” Perish hadn’t washed for a fortnight and his hair had been dank with sweat and grime. “I hadn’t considered the Bishop’s idea of bathing of much worth, until now.”

“Beauty’s going to have a heyday with your vision.” Ponthe shook his head.

Perish was surprised that even now his father doubted the Great Spirit’s way. “It seems you have a bond with Dorothy Evans.”

“Can’t help liking her courage.” Ponthe said. “Not many parishioners under Jesuit rule voice their doubts in public.”

“She’s still a child.” Perish tried to dismiss his attraction to her bright eyes, her pert smile, that dance of energy.

Ponthe said not a word, only nodded.

“Father.” Perish stopped walking. His stomach attacked him with a great qualm, “I need to see Kdahoi.”

“Of course,” Ponthe said. “Your mother will be waiting. Tell Beauty I will meet with her when she comes to the fort. I’ll make your excuses here.”

Without another word, Perish ran down to the beach and launched his canoe.

* * * * *

Raisin River Camp

An evil wind seemed destined to slow his trip down to the Raisin River’s mouth to his mother’s village. The trip was difficult in the canoe meant for river use instead of slicing the storm waves on Lake Erie.

At the Raisin River camp, the moon’s position told Perish he’d reached Beauty’s isolated wigwam close to midnight. Perish smiled. If need be, he’d be able to find his home blindfolded. He wrapped himself in his blanket outside the entrance and waited for dawn.

“Perish,” Beauty scolded in the morning. “I nearly broke my neck falling over your lazy carcass.”

Perish had missed her laughter. He bowed as men did to their mothers. “I had a vision.”

“I see. First coffee, then symbols.”

After his mother’s breakfast of corn flapjacks, Perish realized a certain tension had left his body. Across the river the Potawatomi village was coming to life. Dogs were barking and familiar cooking sounds marked the morning. “Why is it I can only relax here?”

“You’ve been safe here for many years.” Beauty said. “The world outside is filled with tales of violence.”

“Is it true you told Governor Hull to abandon the fort or you would scalp him yourself?”

“Renault told you that nonsense.” Beauty smoothed her plaited hair down, in her habitual show of vanity, the only one Perish could recall.

“My Copper Harbor dream was a peaceful one.”

“I’m glad.” Beauty cleared away the remnants of their morning meal.

“I stayed in the cleft of rock, where some men leave pictures of their vision guides.” Perish recalled his heightened awareness. “A lightning storm from the west rolled past me but I could still see the islands in Lake Superior. I was wet with the rain, hungry, and cold. Then someone lifted my chin, or I looked up into the pelting rain to the tops of the cliff. A woman in a red-spotted cape drifted on the wind. We were eye-to-eye when she spoke.”

“What did she say?” Beauty couldn’t hold back her curiosity, but she kept her head bowed away from Perish.

Perish tugged on his mother’s buckskin skirt as he had as a child. Still Beauty wouldn’t meet his eyes, so he told her. “She asked me how many generations of children we would beget.”

“Beget?”

“A Biblical phrase. To give birth.” As Perish explained the word, his body remembered his initial visceral response to his dream girl at Copper Harbor, which matched his reaction to Dorothy’s appearance at Fort Detroit. Was she the one, his intended mate? He prayed the Lord’s will would be accomplished.

“That was all?” Beauty seemed disappointed. Her green eyes were full upon him now.

Perish dug into his memory to find something more for her. “Hmm. I think I fell asleep then. When I woke up the sun was shining and even my clothes had dried. I must have slept through an entire day.” Perish stood up and stretched as if refreshed from that long nap. “I have enough energy to run all the way to Fort Detroit.”

Beauty insisted he give her more details. “What did she look like? Was she a white-haired, old witch? A young woman? Smiling?”

Perish attended to his bedroll. “I met her at the fort.”

Beauty dropped the coffee pot. “Already?”

The campfire sputtered, too.

“I hope so.” Perish frowned. What if Dorothy wasn’t the same woman as his vision? Where would he start his future if Dorothy wasn’t his intended mate? “Her hair was nearly black and her eyes a dark brown.”

“A native.” Beauty seemed satisfied.

“No.” Perish watched his mother sit down too hard. “Her name is Dorothy Evans. Her mother is the Jesuits’ cook.”

Beauty held her head with both hands. “I know of them. I’ll have to meditate on this. I’ll make more coffee. Did you bring any tobacco?”

Perish was embarrassed now. “Sorry, Mother.” He began to gather the rest of his belongings. “I can barter for some at the fort.”

“Don’t go on my account. ” Beauty flashed angry green eyes at him. “Renault will be here tomorrow.”

“Should I wait to tell him about my vision?” Perish decided to stay with his mother until then. He loved the quietness of their home camp. “I could help you get ready for winter.”

“Will you be gone?” Beauty seemed worried.

“You’ve been without me for three winters now.” Perish accompanied Ponthe when he tended his fur traps throughout the last few winters. The landscape was safer because fewer white men ventured out in the heavy snows.

“I’m getting older.” His mother straightened her back as if a kink had suddenly caused a pain. Not one year of age showed on her face, her eyes were clear, her teeth sound.

“I could bring Dorothy here for you to meet.” Perish refused to think of Beauty as an aging woman. “Or, you can visit with her when we join Ponthe at the fort.”

A bright smile flickered for a second across his mother’s face. “Yes,” she said. “We’ll wait for Renault to join us.”

Beauty retreated into her wigwam and Perish laid down resting his head on his bedroll. “Now that I’m a man, Mother.” Perish tried to choose his words carefully but there was no gracious way of asking. “Where do your green eyes come from?”

“A Chinaman,” she called from inside the wigwam, and then laughed.

The old answer kept its secrets.

Perish said, “I wish you could have seen Ponthe with President Monroe.”

“I know Ponthe was taller.” Beauty exited her rounded abode, straightening from her bowed position. She handed Perish a new porcupine-quill vest. “Why do the whites need more land?”

“White men want to carve a new river out of dry land.” Perish stood and Beauty placed the vest over his head, helping him tie the side trusses. “Wagons will float farther west for settlers to claim more of our land. “Mother, the vest is beautiful.”

Perish picked at one of the beads on his vest.

Beauty slapped at his hand. “Careful you’ll undo a whole string.”

Perish knew the land-grab story was old, only the excuse was new. “They call the new river they want to build the Erie Canal.”

* * * * *

When Ed Renault arrived the next day, his canoe wasn’t filled with beaver pelts. Perish remembered Renault’s stories of when he first came to the new world as a young trapper, when the land was still thick with beaver. The deer hides and a few fox furs bore witness to Renault’s honed and deft trapping skills. In the weeks since he delivered Perish to Copper Harbor, the man had plied his trade well.

At times Perish speculated Renault might be a relative of his mother’s, but she denied any family link other than a long affiliation with their French trapper friend.

Renault’s hair was streaked with gray. Perish couldn’t recollect the gray when they had parted at the slip of the new moon. Had he been so wrapped-up in his own adventure not to notice signs of aging?

“Hard trip, friend?” Perish asked, helping to beach the loaded canoe.

“A bear tried to talk me out of life.” Renault drew up his shirt, where the claw marks of the beast still showed red, ugly welts.

Perish forgot his upbringing and drew the big trapper’s head down in a manly hug. “I’m glad he changed his mind.”

Renault grinned from ear to ear. “Me, too.”

“A few salves will erase most.” Beauty had caught sight of Renault’s raked chest before he could lower his rough blouse. She shook the trapper’s hand, a rare occurrence for them.

A glint of moisture shimmered in the old man’s eyes before Renault’s booming voice told them of other fights with Indians and settlers. The trapper was a peaceful man and Perish chalked up most of the stories to historic bravado in the face of the bear disaster.

Renault finished off another story with a cup of Beauty’s coffee, before asking Perish, “So you’re a man now?”

“And he’s met the woman of his vision.” Beauty teased him. “At the fort, a white girl.”

“When do we leave?” Renault laughed. “Have to check out a new member of this tribe.”

“I’m not sure she was the girl, Mother.” Perish could feel a blush rising as his body started to come alive again. Now that he was a man, he’d hoped to control at least this reddening of face.

* * * * *

Fort Detroit

Later that week Dorothy’s mother was too busy ordering her helpers around the kitchen to be bothered. So, Dorothy was trapped into taking Bishop Pascal and Father Sebastian a decanter of sherry and glasses into the rectory library. She sat the tray down safely, but her curtsy to the Bishop was clumsy. If she had been more graceful, she could have disappeared without them noticing.

“Bella parva,” Bishop Pascal said.

“Dorothy, let me introduce you.” Father Sebastian pushed her forward. “She has read nearly every book in the library.”

“Lovely,” the Bishop said. “What do you think of Saint Augustine’s conversion?”

“Silly,” she said without thinking.

“I beg your pardon,” the clerics said together.

Dorothy collected her wits. “St. Augustine based his conversion on his mother’s natural worry about his future.” The sober pair remained unconvinced. “On a laundry day among the drying linens.”

“I don’t remember that,” Father Sebastian said.

“Never happened,” Bishop Pascal declared.

Dorothy nodded believing the whole thing was made up so the saint could paint himself as a devoted sinner in order to relive the deeds. “Don’t you think he dwelt on his errors more than he needed to?” It seemed an innocent question to her.

“Of course not.” Bishop Pascal was obviously scandalized. “Father, I think you need to review the studies of your pupil more closely.”

Father Sebastian scratched the remaining hair on his balding head. “She reads Latin and has read the Old Testament four times, the New Testament eight.” He turned to Dorothy a proud smile on his face. “Isn’t that true?”

“Yes,” she said. “Every morning I wake with a hundred doubts, read all day and put them to rest before I can sleep.”

“Doubts?” the Bishop asked in a warning tone.

Undeterred, Dorothy continued. “I think the book of Ecclesiastes says it best when it rightly names belief in a Supreme Being as our vanity’s willingness to find the best in ourselves.”

“Dorothy!” Father Sebastian seemed embarrassed.

“A lot of work is needed, Father.” The Bishop ignored Dorothy so she slipped out into the hall, careful to eavesdrop. “That child could infect a whole nation of natives. Correct her before it’s too late.”

“She reads everything,” Father Sebastian tried to explain.

“Lock this room up and allow her only texts that will illuminate her belief.”

“But the Bible?”

“Needs careful interpretation.” Bishop Pascal raised his voice to stop further debate. “The laity is ill-equipped.”

“I can see that.” Father Sebastian acquiesced to his superior. “I’ll make sure she is forbidden to enter the room.”

Dorothy was devastated. The library was lost to her? Life wouldn’t be worth living. Where would her mind go to find solace? Her stomach hurt and angry tears burned her cheeks. She ran to the kitchen. Mother would fix it.

 

Rohn-Federbush-500-224x300

Rohn Federbush retired as an administrator from the University of Michigan in 1999. She received a Masters of Arts in Creative Writing in 1995 from Eastern Michigan University. Frederick Busch of Colgate granted a 1997 summer stipend for her ghost-story collection. Michael Joyce of Vassar encouraged earlier writing at Jackson Community College, Jackson, Michigan in 1981. Rohn has completed fourteen novels, with an additional mystery nearly finished, 120 short stories and 150 poems to date.

~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~

***Click below to enter***

Rafflecopter Embed Code

 
4 Comments

Posted by on April 15, 2014 in Book Excerpts

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

BOOK BLAST ~ Kissing the Maid of Honor by Robin Bielman ~ ON SALE NOW FOR .99

Banner

Blurb

Sela Sullivan is resolved to be the best maid of honor ever, even if it means tolerating the best man. Insufferable, too-handsome Luke Watters is not only the guy who humiliated her at a kissing booth in high school, but he also happens to be her best friend’s older brother. Positive he’s the same arrogant jock, Sela vows to focus on her duties and steer clear of the frustrating—and frustratingly tempting—Luke.

As a world-renowned extreme-sports photographer, Luke is used to undertaking life-risking adventures. But risking his heart for the beautiful Sela Sullivan, who clearly still hates him for his rejection all those years ago? He didn’t see that coming. Sela inspires a passion he’s never known, and the more time they spend together, the more he craves her. But can he prove to the maid of honor he’s become a man of honor?

~~~SPECIAL~~~SPECIAL~~~SPECIAL~~~

**The Book will be on Sale for $.99 for a Limited Time**

Sale Banner

 

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/02/now-booking-tasty-book-blast-for.html

 

 Cover

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00CK52XB2/ref=as_li_ss_il?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=390957&creativeASIN=B00CK52XB2&linkCode=as2&tag=ramfrothichi-20

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/kissing-the-maid-of-honor-robin-bielman/1115290477?ean=9781622660889&isbn=9781622660889

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/kissing-the-maid-of-honor/id642292859?mt=11

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/books/Kissing-the-Maid-of-Honor/dBsoxX6hkEyRAI7YiUlztQ

 untitled

Author Info

Robin Bielman lives in Southern California with her high school sweetheart husband, two sons, and crazy-cute mini Labradoodle, Harry (named after Harry Dresden from Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files books). When not attached to her laptop, she can almost always be found with her nose in a book. She also likes to run, hike, and dip her toes in the ocean. Filled with wanderlust, she longs to visit many different places and fulfill her curiosity. She wouldn’t mind indulging her sweet tooth in every location either. She’s a lover of sticky notes, cable television shows and café mochas. Writing is a dream come true, and she still pinches herself to be sure it’s real.

She writes contemporary and paranormal romance and loves to connect with readers. Learn more and sign up for her newsletter on her website at http://robinbielman.com. She can also be found online here:

Facebook: http://facebook.com/RobinBielmanWriter

Twitter: http://twitter.com/RobinBielman

Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/robinbielman

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

BOOK BLAST ~ Down and Dirty by Kimberley Troutte with giveaway

Down-and-Dirty-Kimberly-Troutte

Blurb

Final request…

SEAL Lieutenant Commander Nick Talley keeps promises, but taking care of a teammate’s sister is a vow he should’ve made. How can a man tortured by the past, help a woman fight her tough future?

Broken dreams…

Ironman qualifier, Jill Connors, is counting the days until her brother brings handsome Nick home with him. But a buried IED takes her brother’s life and a drunk driver steals her competition hopes. Will Nick want a woman with only one foot?

Love has a way of healing the wounded…one muddy step at a time.

 

Cover

EXCERPT

Steps. Shit, there had to be a dozen of them leading up to the hospital entrance. Coming straight from the funeral, Lieutenant Commander Nick Talley was still in his naval dress uniform. He’d be damned if anyone caught him using the wheelchair access. As he hoisted himself up the steps, one grunt at a time, a SEAL motto ran through his brain—The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday.

Today was proving to be a helluva hard day.

Wiping the sweat off his lip, he took a deep breath and flinched. His ribs were just bruised, but hell, he’d broken bones that hadn’t hurt this badly. Plus, he ached in places no one could see. At the top of the steps, he steeled himself for what he’d find inside. The glass doors opened, and the pungent odor of disinfectant hit his nose. He hated hospitals almost as much as gravesites. Did fate have to keep punching him in the balls?

At the Information Desk, a little old lady who resembled his Granny Mo—blue hair and all—was head down in her crossword puzzle. The tag stuck off-kilter to her yellow sweater read: “Hi! I’m Lucille. Can I help you?”

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for a woman they brought in this morning. Car accident.”

“Heavens!” She smiled up at him, pressing her gnarled fingers to her chest. “Seeing a handsome man in his blues does my heart good. Real good. My husband was a Navy man too, God rest his soul. Now, what was the patient’s name?”

“Jill Connor.”

“Let’s see.” Squinting at the computer, she dragged her arthritic fingers slowly down the list of hospital patients. “Yes. Here she is. Oh.”  Her lower lip trembled. “Dear.”

A fist strangled his vocal cords. “She didn’t survive the accident?”

“Now, don’t think the worst. She’s had surgery, which means her visitors are restricted.” The woman rose and came around the desk. Taking his arm, she said quietly, “You might not be able to see her today unless you are an immediate family member. Are you family, Lieutenant Commander?”

Nick didn’t answer. He knew better than to lie to his elders.

“I thought not. But she is important to you?”

Jill Connor was a dying man’s last wish and a promise Nick shouldn’t have made. “She’s the only thing important to me right now. I have to see her.”

Lucille nodded and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “All right then.” She wrote on a visitor’s card and handed it to him. “Take this to the nurse at the station on the third floor. She’s a bit of a stickler about visitors, but this note should get you in. Good luck, Lieutenant Commander. I hope your lady friend gets better fast.”

Once inside the elevator, he glanced at the visitor’s card. Lucille had scrawled, “Brother of patient.”

Nick’s heart pounded. His hand shook. The ringing in his ears started up, and his vision began to tunnel. Shit, it was happening again. The card filled with blood and splattered the linoleum tiles beneath his feet. “Son of a bitch!”

He dropped the card and ground it under his heel. Blood soaked up his pant leg as if it were a thick straw. No matter how hard he stomped, he couldn’t stop the flow. He was panting when the elevator opened on the third floor.

A man got on. “Good afternoon.”

Nick nodded, picked up the card, and smoothed out the wrinkles on his pants. No blood in sight. Visions attacked him when he least expected them, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about them.

The nurse glanced at the “brother” card and buzzed him in without question. People saw what they wanted to see, and a decorated hero usually went where he wanted to go. Nick scrubbed his hands thoroughly at the washing station and was grateful that no blood circled the drain. He followed the nurse down a long corridor that reeked of cleaning supplies, and to him, death.

“This is her room,” the nurse said.

He hung back while the nurse messed around with the IVs going into tanned, muscular arms. A swimmer’s arms. How many times had he fantasized about them wrapped around his back?

Nick couldn’t take his eyes off the frail woman in the bed. Shadows pooled under her closed dark lashes. Brown freckles sprinkled across her nose stood out as a sharp contrast to her impossibly fair cheeks. She had random bruises too, most likely collateral damage from the airbag. The dark hair he’d only seen pulled up in a ponytail fanned out across the stark white pillow. Damn, she was beautiful, even now. But so small.

The picture he carried in his wallet had captured a stop-your-heart gorgeous athlete with tanned skin, a wicked glint in her green eyes, and a first place medal around her neck. The times they’d spoken by Skype, she’d seemed larger than life. This person in the bed clung to life.

“Your brother is here,” the nurse said softly. “Can you open your eyes?”

Jill stirred in her sleep.

The nurse turned to him. “She’s tired. If she does wake, don’t be surprised if she’s a bit fuzzy-headed. That’s normal. She’s been through a terrible trauma and might not know about the foot yet.”

Nick’s gaze swept across the off-white cotton blanket. Near the bottom of the bed, where the pillows had been piled up, he saw something he’d never wanted to see. Holy hell! Jill’s right foot was gone.

“Don’t stay long,” the nurse admonished on her way out. “If she’s thirsty, you can give her a few ice chips.”

Nick was alone with a woman he’d never met in person.

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/03/now-booking-release-day-blast-for-down.html

 

Buy Links 

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Down-Dirty-EXtreme-Short-Story-ebook/dp/B00JFHN7ZO/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1396543208&sr=1-2&keywords=troutte

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/down-and-dirty-12 Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/down-and-dirty-kimberley-troutte-kimberley-troutte/1118929813?ean=2940149393664

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Kimberley_Troutte_Down_and_Dirty?id=Rd4WAwAAQBAJ

 

Kimberley

Author Info

Kimberley Troutte is a Southern California girl, born and raised. She lives with her amazing hubby, two awesome sons, one old dog, a wild cat, four very large snakes and various other creatures the man/kids/dog inevitably drag in.

Kimberley has been an accountant, substitute teacher, caterer, financial analyst for a major defense contractor, real-estate broker, aerobics instructor and a freelance writer. With a B.A in Business Economics and a M.S. in Systems Management, she was destined to write romance.

 

Author Links

Subscribe to newsletter for scoop, ARC requests, and giveaways: http://tinyurl.com/pvs7pcs

Websitehttp://kimberleytroutte.wordpress.com/

Facebook pagehttp://tinyurl.com/pf2o7mt

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/KTroutte

Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/mmsxo3p

~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~

*Kimberley is hosting a Tour Wide Giveaway for a Digital Copy of COMING IN HOT (Book One in the SEAL EXtreme Team Series)*

***CLICK HERE TO ENTER***

 
2 Comments

Posted by on April 10, 2014 in Blitz/Bonanza Spotlights

 

Tags: , , , , ,

What to Read Wedesday with Cynthia Sax and giveaway

Thank you for coming back for another round of What to Read Wednesday! Today we have Avon author Cynthia Sax in the hot seat. She’s written an intriguing guest post that will leave you in the hot seat when you answer her question.

I, for one, can’t wait to read your answers.

Cynthia is also sharing teasing us with a blurb from her latest release Breaking All The Rules…an erotic novella that sounds like a fun read. And don’t forget to enter the giveaway at the end of the post. Details listed below!

Take it away Cynthia…

Will The Real You Please Stand Up?

Cynthia Sax

When I was in university, I was infamous for my mad party crashing skills (before Wedding Crashers made it cool). I’d drag a group of buddies out and we’d crash random parties, doing our best to blend in. If we attended an engineering party, we’d all be engineers. If we attended a chess club party, we’d all be chess players.

We mastered the art of making conversation without saying anything. We asked questions and listened. I knew nothing about chess or quantum physics before I attended the parties. After the parties, I knew a little bit about both topics (this splattering of knowledge is now invaluable for my writing).

I’m certain we weren’t fooling anyone but we were all female (in a very male-dominated school) and we were having a blast so no one said anything.

Sometimes I still pretend to have knowledge I don’t or to be someone I’m not. I’ll nod when a friend tells me about an insurance rating system (I don’t even know what that is). When I win the airline lottery and get bumped to first class, I act as though I belong there. Book bloggers (grins) interview me and I pretend I know what I’m talking about.

Camille, the rebel heroine of Breaking All The Rules, finds herself in a similar situation. She wants Nate. She’s a bit obsessed with the uptight CFO. The problem is… Nate only has sexual relations with high class escorts. No problem, Camille thinks, I’ll pretend to be an escort.

She has NO idea how to be an escort. She doesn’t know how escorts act, what they charge for their services, or what the true relationship is between an escort and her client. Camille makes things up as she goes along, giving Nate what she thinks he needs, covering her errors with fast talking.

She severely undercharges for their first encounter (she sets an hourly rate and Nate, having been teased and tormented for months, doesn’t last long). When Nate calls her on this, she claims the fee was a deposit.

Here’s a snippet…

***

I cover his grim lips with my right index finger. “I don’t want to hear another word about the other women and what they charge or what they do.” His eyes flash, bolts of lightning surging through his darkened irises. “They run their businesses their way. I run my business my way.” I sweep my fingertip over his lips back and forth, back and forth. His breath blows tantalizingly hot against my skin. “This is a deposit. I’ll collect the remaining balance after the transaction is completed.”

I drift my hands over his suit-clad chest, relishing his firm muscle and solid form. “There will be none of that pay-in-sixty-days nonsense either.” I swirl my fingers over his slim sleek belt buckle. “I expect immediate cash.” I release his belt and he inhales sharply, his body shaking.

***

Yeah, Nate is a goner. Camille is a sexual force to be reckoned with.

Have you ever pretended to have knowledge you didn’t or acted like someone else?

Breaking-All-The-Rules-186x300

Blurb

Nathan Lawford, Blaine Technologies’ chief financial officer, is known as the Iceman. He conducts his personal and business affairs without emotion, never allowing himself to become involved with anyone. When Nate sees something or someone he wants, he negotiates, paying a simple, set monetary price.

Now he wants Camille, the company’s green-haired intern.

Camille Joplin Trent never expected to be paid to pleasure the man of her dreams. She can’t quite figure out why this is a bad thing. Nate is intelligent, handsome, sophisticated—everything she’s ever wanted in a lover and never thought she could have. Their contract is for a month, thirty lust-filled days of making every sexual fantasy they’ve ever had come true. At the end of this month, the rules state that their relationship will end.

Of course, Camille has never been good at following rules.

Link to Follow the Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/02/now-booking-tasty-virtual-tour-for_7046.html

 

Buy Links

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Breaking-All-Rules-Erotic-Novella-ebook/dp/B00F2I2GXY

B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/breaking-all-the-rules-cynthia-sax/1117501082

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/breaking-all-the-rules/id703339985?mt=11

 

 

Author Info

Cynthia Sax lives in a world filled with magic and romance. Although her heroes may not always say, “I love you”, they will do anything for the women they adore. They live passionately. They play hard. They love the same women forever.

Cynthia has loved the same wonderful man forever. Her supportive hubby offers himself up to the joys and pains of research, while they travel the world together, meeting fascinating people and finding inspiration in exotic places such as Istanbul, Bali, and Chicago.Please visit her on the web at http://www.CynthiaSax.com

 

Author Links

Author Website: http://cynthiasax.com/

Blog: http://tasteofcyn.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cynthia.sax

Twitter: @CynthiaSax

~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY

*Avon is hosting a Tour Wide Giveaway for a Digital Set of THE SEEN TRILOGY by Cynthia Sax*

**CLICK HERE TO ENTER**

 
10 Comments

Posted by on April 9, 2014 in What to Read Wednesday

 

Tags: , , , , , , , ,

RELEASE DAY BLAST ~ California Thyme by Casey Dawes and Gift Card giveaway

Release Blast

Blurb

Caterer Mandy Parker doesn’t want to turn out like her mother, an aging bi-polar actress desperate for the love. Avoiding anything Hollywood-related is vital for Mandy’s sanity. Her ideal man has a nine-to-five job and coaches Little League—someone true to her and to their family, unlike her philandering Hollywood producer father. But when waitress shifts at Costanoa Grill are cut, she’s forced to find additional work as a movie caterer.

Since the woman he’d loved had married his best friend, movie set location manager James Lubbock has put women far behind advancing in his career. The assistant caterer is attractive, but he’s more focused on figuring out who was sabotaging his set. If he can’t determine the culprit, he’ll lose everything he’s worked for over the last five years.

Sparks fly between Mandy and James, but can they overcome their painful pasts to risk a chance on each other?

 

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20897434-california-thyme?from_search=true

 

 Cover

Excerpt

Mandy glanced at the man seated at table nine. His lean profile and square jaw were classically handsome.

If I were in the market for a man, this one would do just fine.

Plucking a sweating water pitcher from the tray, she made her way through the scattered tables to a two-seater by the window. As she picked up his glass to fill it, she smiled at him and said, “Hi, I’m Mandy, and I’ll be your server this evening. Would you like anything to drink besides water?”

His lips curled into a grin, revealing the straight white teeth of a Hollywood smile, a smile that went all the way to his sea-green eyes. The wrap-around sunglasses perched on his sun-blond hair gave him a casual elegance belied by the Rolex on his tan wrist.

Her heart beat a little faster.

Good thing I’m a professional.

She put the water glass down without spilling a drop. “We have an excellent wine list if you’d like to see it.”

“How do you know I’m a wine connoisseur and not a Bud man?” he challenged.

She gestured to his pressed short-sleeve shirt. “A Bud man wouldn’t be caught dead in that.”

He laughed. “You’re right about that!”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “I’ll get you that list.” She brought the water pitcher back to its tray, hoping her face cooled on the way.

Moments later she was back with the thick, imitation-leather-bound book. “I don’t know if you realize this, but you’re at the edge of one of the oldest wine regions in California. We have a nice selection of local beverages on our menu. The Santa Cruz Mountains appellation is particularly known for Chardonnays and Pinot Noirs, although there are a few outstanding Cabernet vineyards, too.”

She snapped her mouth shut, wishing she could cut down on her ability to over-share.

“Glad to see your enthusiasm for your job.” He gestured to the purple streak in her hair. “Neat color.”

“Thank you. I’ll return in a few minutes.”

She checked in with her other diners, all the while trying to squash her awareness of the masculine vibe emanating from table nine.

He was exactly the type of man she wanted to avoid—too handsome, self-important, and probably involved in a career that would expose him to women who had no care for the feelings of wives. The same type of man her father had been.

Not the kind she wanted at all. Her ideal was a man with a nine-to-five job, who coached Little League in the summers—a man who’d be true to her and to their family.

The memory of her mother’s tears as she told Mandy of her father’s final infidelity pained her. How could men be so unfeeling? This table nine guy was probably the same as every other man with money and power. Thought he could do anything he wanted.

By the time she got back to the table, she’d worked herself into a solid anger. How dare some Southern California snob come into her restaurant and sit at her table?

“What can I get you?”

Her indignation must have seeped into her voice, because he frowned before answering.

There goes my tip.

“I’ll have the Ridge Cabernet,” he said.

Might as well get dinner started, so he’d finish and leave, and she could begin again.

“Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes to decide?”

“Have I done something to offend you?” he asked.

“No. The specials are—” She rattled them off, then waited a few seconds, tapping her pen against the bill folder. “Well?”

She internally winced at the snippy tone in her voice. He didn’t deserve this—seemed like a nice-enough guy. Once again she was letting her anger over her past control her present.

He set down the menu and held out his hand. “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot here, although for the life of me, I don’t understand why. I’m James Lubbock.”

Automatically, she shook his hand, and electricity raced up and down her spine. He had the strong grip of a man in charge. For a moment she wasn’t sure she’d be able to breathe again.

This was so not good.

She jerked her hand back. “What can I get you, James?”

“Was it the hair?”

“What?”

“Was it the remark I made about your hair that got you so mad?”

“No. No. It has nothing to do with you.” Her behavior shamed her. “What brings you to Costanoa?” She made an effort to add warmth to her voice.

He grinned at her. His damn teeth sparkled so much she expected a flash, like she’d seen in commercials for whitening strips.

“I’m an assistant locations manager. I’m working for a company filming a movie up toward Davenport,” he said.

Yep. She’d been right. He was a Hollywood guy. Just like dear old dad. “Oh.” She warred with her returning displeasure.

 

Buy Links

Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/california-thyme

B&N:  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/california-thyme-casey-dawes/1118895464?ean=9781440580925

iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/california-thyme/id836804836?mt=11

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/California-Thyme-Crimson-Romance-Casey-ebook/dp/B00IV3Q81S/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1396210078&sr=8-1&keywords=california+thyme

 

 

Link to Follow Tour: http://tastybooktours.blogspot.com/2014/02/now-booking-release-day-tasty-book_14.html

Casey Dawes

Author Info

Casey Dawes has lived a varied life–some by choice, some by circumstance. Her master’s degree in theater didn’t prepare her for anything practical, so she’s been a teacher, stage hand, secretary, database guru, manager in Corporate America, business coach, and writer.

With a few marriages, two sons, and three step-children, her personal life was a challenge when she met and married her current husband who has proved to be the love of her life. They reside in Montana where she quilts, writes, and coaches on the banks of the Clark Fork River. The couple has been adopted by two gently used cats.

 

Author Links

Website/Blog: www.stories-about-love.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Casey.Stories.About.Love
Twitter: https://twitter.com/CaseyDawesAutho
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/caseydawes/boards/

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/caseydawes

Google Plus: https://plus.google.com/u/0/110992009813387113000/posts

LinkedIn: www.linkedin.com/in/wisewomanshining/

~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~GIVEAWAY~~~

Casey is giving away a $25.00 Amazon Gift Card and $10.00 Donation to FISHER HOUSE in the Winner’s Name

***CLICK HERE TO ENTER***

 

Tags: , , , , ,

 
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 400 other followers