RomCon Reader- September/October 2014

Contemporary | Erotic | Historical | Inspirational | Paranormal | Romantic Suspense | Urban Fantasy | YA

The Latest From Historical Author

SARA RAMSEY PLUS...

Nancy Naigle | Sharon Sala | Debra Holland | Shirley Hailstock | Jenna Jacob Damon Suede | Carly Fall | E Journey | Eve Langlais | Michelle Howard RomCon速 2015 | Interviews | Articles | Excerpts | Reader Recommendations | Top Rated Books

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ISSUE #3

Cover Spotlight: SARA RAMSEY An interview with the Historical author plus an excerpt from her new release, Duke Of Thorns.

Genre Spotlights: 10

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SCI-FI: CARLY FALL

ROMANTIC SUSPENSE: SHIRLEY HAILSTOCK Employment at a bridal store leads to....

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PARANORMAL: EVE LANGLAIS Outfoxed By Love

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ROMANTIC SUSPENSE: SHARON SALA Going Gone

CONTEMPORARY NANCY NAIGLE Insight into Adams Grove and her latest book.

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SCI-FI: MICHELLE HOWARD The Overlord’s Heir

Talking to your characters. Sane or insane?

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Book Excerpts:

EROTIC ROMANCE: DAMON SUEDE

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CONTEMPORARY: E. JOURNEY Hello My Love

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EROTIC ROMANCE: JENNA JACOB Saving My Submission

Slang and the romance book.

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HISTORICAL: DEBRA HOLLAND Glorious Montana Sky

Cover image credit: Jenn LeBlanc and Patricia Schmitt

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Reader Rated Books: 26

NEWLY RATED BOOKS

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ROMCON JUDGES SAY...

16 WINNERS

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Editor’s Note From the Desk of Michele Callahan Words That Change Our Lives: Have you ever read something, a quote, an article or a blog post that literally changed the way you view the world? It’s a rare and exciting experience, and it happened to me recently when I cracked open a copy of Orson Scott Card’s book Ender’s Game. But it wasn’t the story that got to me. No, I’d read the book years ago, long before the movie.

I shared it with my kids, and then filed it away in the back of my mind as one of those books. Books you adore and will think about again and again.

But then the movie hit, and a feeding frenzy occurred. New editions were released with new covers. Even my Dad, who’s in his seventies and hardly reads a thing, bought a copy. And that one small, random act changed the way I will view the world forever.Why? Because I picked up my Dad’s copy of the book and actually read the introduction written

by Orson Scott Card over twenty years ago.

His words brought me to tears. He wrote about his relationship with the people who read his books. He wrote about how his dreams and visions of his own work were changed by the people who read his words. He wrote about the deeply personal nature of each reader’s experience. He said that we all have our own vision of a story, and each person, including the author, is the only person in existence who lives in their world, in the magical reality in our minds that reading any particular book creates. It’s not his vision that people connect with, it’s their own, and his words were just a way to share the journey.

If a more powerful explanation of the way books change people’s lives has ever been written, I’ve not read it. And I realized, as both a reader and an author, that no book ever has to be perfect, it can’t be, because the vision each of us carries will be uniquely our own, no matter what words are written on the page.

Here’s to discovering new worlds.

Happy Reading!

Michele Callahan Michele Callahan is a certifiably obsessed romance fan, an author, and the founder and President of RomCon®.To find out more about Michele and her books visit her website: michelecallahan.com.

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RomCon® & The Readers’ Crown® are registered service marks of Romance Conventions Inc., 992 S. 4th Ave Ste. 100-422, Brighton, CO 80601 CORPORATE OFFICERS: Founder & President: Michele Callahan Vice President: Jennifer Zane RomCon® STAFF & VOLUNTEERS: Websites and Social Media: Blog Scheduling: Karen Docter Blog Winners: Cynthia Woolf Advertising: Jennifer Zane Book Cover Store: Jennifer Zane Stock Photography: Jennifer Zane Graphic Design: Tabatha Hansen, Jennifer Zane Content Editor: Michele Callahan Social Media Coordinator: Lori Kander Erotic Romance Group: Kasi Alexander Reader Rated Bookstore & Readers’ Crown: www.readerratedbookstore.com heather@romconinc.com Reader Judges: 500+ and counting Elite Level Reader Judges: In no particular order - (Thank you!)

Amy M., Janon S., Candace C., Debbie S., Lori Y., Lorie K., Jessica D., Rebecca C., Pua T., Elaine B., Toni L., Pat R., Jan K., Dottie A., Christina M., Anita M., Laura Y., Amy W., Sheila H., Wendy P. RomCon® 2014 & RomCon® U Convention Convention Director: Michele Callahan Programs and Author Liaison: Karen Docter Programs: Maggie Mae Gallagher, Cynthia Woolf Registration and Staff: Michele Callahan RomCon Stock Photos: www.romconstockphotos.com Art Director: Jennifer Zane Advertising: RomCon Reader eMagazine: Ciick here.

RomCon Website: Click here.

Questions: heather@romconinc.com

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Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy

Sci-Fi

&

Urban Fantasy

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Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy

CARLY FALL

I

suppose I should be a little hesitant to talk about the voices in my head, but what the heck! I’m an author, and we all tend to be a little crazy.

My characters chatter at me all the time, and not just when I write. They visit while I’m doing the dishes, driving in the car, and in my sleep.

What do they say, you ask? Well, they remind me of things in their backstory that needs to be included in the book in order to make it complete. They give me ideas for drama and tension. They tell me what they look like and how to best describe them. They each have their own voices, quirks and stories to tell.

They let me know their opinions on different scenes in the story. Sometimes they will flat out tell me that they will not participate in a scene, other times they tell me how to make it better.

My characters become very real to me, and I hope that translates in my books. I care deeply about all of the Six Saviors, and hope you will as well.cters. It doesn’t matter all want to be loved and accepted.

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Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy

EXCERPT FROM: THE LIGHT WITHIN ME First book in the Six Saviors Series, Free at all ebook outlets

©2014 by Carly Fall All Rights Reserved

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t turned out that Noah enjoyed his Bad Idea.

Immensely.

The steakhouse was a family owned and operated business, a small restaurant with only ten tables and a small back room. Legend had it that the mob used to meet back there, but the owner, Saul wouldn’t confirm it, nor would he deny it. So it remained legend.

Saul greeted Noah as an old friend. He stood at five foot five, about two hundred pounds, had a head full of thick black hair, and loved to laugh. Noah also believed that Saul loved his restaurant and its patrons more than he loved his wife. He didn’t bother trying to hide his surprise when Noah introduced Abby. Noah had been frequenting the place for years, and never once had he brought a woman with him. In fact, he had come here when Saul’s dad ran the place.When it was time for Noah to ship out of the area because hey, he wasn’t aging, he missed the place. He had to wait for Saul’s father to die before returning to the restaurant.

Saul sat them at the back table and lit the small candle in the middle of the red tablecloth. The lights were dimmed, and soft jazz played over the speakers.

The walls were decorated with old pictures of Reno and Sparks, as well as Saul’s family going back many generations.

Saul knew how to do two things great. The first was steak, and he did it right. He owned a cattle ranch just outside of town where the cattle were range fed.

It translated into a succulent meal every time.The second was pairing wine with dinner to accommodate the taste of the guest.

Noah didn’t think his system could take any more alcohol, but as he sipped the Merlot Saul had brought for them, he found that his system was enjoying it.

When his dinner arrived and he sampled the filet mignon and garlic mashed potatoes, his system was totally onboard and very happy. Or maybe it was the breathtaking woman sitting across from him that had him flying high.

After her first two questions, the interview pretty much went out the window. He turned the tables and began asking questions about her. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know everything about her.That little voice in his head was screaming at him to get up and run as far and as fast as he could, but the more she talked, the more that voice in his head sounded as though it had been locked in a closet and gagged. By the time dessert arrived, the voice was nothing but a low hum in his head and terribly easy to ignore.

With prodding and a lot of questioning, he found out that Abby’s childhood hadn’t been pretty. She grew up in Sacramento, California, where her father had died before she was born, and her mother was murdered just after Abby’s ninth birthday. He watched as her face saddened, but then the sadness disappeared as she continued talking.

“I suppose that’s why I have such a fascination in unsolved murders,” she said quietly, her finger slowly tracing the lip of the wineglass. Noah knew it wasn’t meant to be seductive; it was just something she did while she thought about what she was saying. But damn, it was sexy as hell. Her nails were cut short, and her fingers were long and graceful. There wasn’t a ring on any of them. She explained how she collected old murder files from the Reno and Sacramento area, and often looked through them, wondering if something had been missed at the crime scene, or if the murderer was just that good. She also said she had wondered if some of the murders had been committed by the same person, simply for the lack of evidence in some of the files.

“They never caught my mother’s murderer. I have this fantasy that one day I’ll be digging through old files and something will jump out at me, and I’ll somehow solve the case.” She sat back and scoffed. Her eyes met his, and he wanted to hunt down that killer and gut him, just for her. He prayed it wasn’t one of his Colonists.

Drawing her out wasn’t easy. She seemed closed off and shy. Not like she had anything to hide, but like she wasn’t comfortable letting anyone get close to her.

However, once he got her talking, once she seemed to SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2014

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Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy trust him, she unveiled a lot of herself, which pleased him immensely.

She told him of growing up in an orphanage, as none of her remaining family would take her in after her mother’s death. She worked hard in school and went to the University of Nevada, Reno, on a partial scholarship, student loans, and credit cards. In college, she’d learned how much fun partying was, and the boozing helped her break out of her shell a bit and make some friends. She kept her grades just good enough to keep the scholarship. When she graduated with a journalism degree, she wasn’t anything special, so any hope of getting into a big-city paper pretty much flew out the window. The Reno paper was happy to have her, and the rest was history.

As he split the last bit of wine between their glasses, he asked how she liked her job.

She sighed. He really liked that sound. Depending on her mood, it seemed to convey so much feeling. Right now, it was uncertainty. When he had talked to her on the phone, it had been frustration. He had never known anyone who could communicate so much with so little.

“It’s okay. It’s fine. I can pay my bills.”

He thought it was a shame for such a pretty and intelligent female to be stuck doing something that she obviously didn’t like all that much.

Noah glanced at his watch and saw that the sun would be going down in about an hour. He was surprised that they had spent three hours together. It seemed like minutes. He hated to leave, but the last thing he needed was to explain why his eyes were glowing orange. His tech-head Talin had actually invented contact lenses that kept the nighttime glow of their eyes to a minimum, but they were highly uncomfortable, and Noah had not bothered with them except for a couple of times. He wished he had some now, because he felt like he could sit at the table with her all night.

He looked at Abby. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the wine, her eyelids just a little droopy.As she sat back in her chair—her slim fingers twisting the stem of the wineglass—he really, really, didn’t want to leave, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so much. Probably some party on SR44 was the last time he had been this happy—certainly never on Earth. But often what one wanted to do wasn’t what one needed to do.

“I have an appointment at six,” he said.

She paused a beat, then sat up in her chair, seeming to go back into business mode. “I understand,” she said.

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“I should get going as well.” She reached behind to get her purse that she had hung off the back of the chair.

Noah threw a couple of bills on the table and began walking out behind Abby.

“Noah!” Saul called. “Noah, you know your money isn’t good here!” It was the same thing every time Noah dined in the place. And just like every time before, Noah didn’t look back, just gave Saul the one-finger salute over his shoulder. And just like every other time before, he heard some of the other patrons laugh, Saul’s chuckle the loudest of all.

Noah walked Abby to her car, a red Honda that should have been made into scrap metal about ten years ago. But at least the damn thing got her from point A to point B most of the time.

“Thank you for everything,” she said as she fished around in her bag for her keys. “Dinner was really wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted steak like that. I’m going to have to remember this place.” As if she could afford it on her salary, but maybe if she saved up it could be a special treat for herself.

She watched Noah out of the corner of her eye as he leaned his back against her car and looked her over, smiling. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable, the way his eyes roamed her face, watching her dig through her purse as she tried to find her damn keys. Her cheeks flushed and chastised herself for not putting her keys in the designated key pocket of her purse. That was what they made all the pockets in purses for—a place for everything, and everything in its place. It was too bad she ran her life a little bit differently, despite her best intentions. Mainly, wherever it dropped was where it stayed. If she put things where they belonged, she wouldn’t spend a good portion of her time looking for things and wondering where they were. She certainly wouldn’t be digging through her purse looking for her keys.

Finally, she found them.

She met Noah’s eyes and smiled. What she saw there surprised her. She watched as his eyes grew even darker, but yet the half grin on his face made him look endearing, almost like a little boy who had been caught stealing cookies and was sheepishly trying to get out of it. She held her breath as his hand suddenly grazed over her cheek, slid down her shoulder, and briefly squeezed her hand.

“Good night, Abby,” he said, and turned back toward

Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy his car. As he walked into the sunset, Abby watched his large body move, feeling stunned. Her cheek burned where he had touched her, and her heart beat a little faster. She reminded herself to breathe. She loved the way his shoulders seemed to roll with every step, the way his long, strong legs carried him with a lethal grace.

She shook her head and tried to bring herself around to reality. If he could make her feel like that with just a touch to the cheek, she couldn’t imagine what would happen if he kissed her.

Author Bio Carly Fall

Sci-Fi Author

Contact Carly:

C

http://www.carlyfall.com/ http://www.facebook.com/pages/Carly-Fall/135934843166283?ref=hl https://twitter.com/CarlyFall1

arly Fall is a wife, a mother and a slave to Nicky the dog.

She loves to laugh, thinks chocolate and wine should be considered their own food group, and wishes Christmas happened twice a year.

She is the author of the award winning and Amazon best selling series, the Six Saviors, as well as paranormal and contemporary romance.

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Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy

Sci-Fi EXCERPT:

MICHELLE HOWARD “

Mikayla.” Walking toward her, Vaan could not miss the way her shoulders tightened. He placed his hands on the tense muscles and leaned down to inhale her sweet scent. “Be at ease, she’ma. I will return soon.”

She turned in his arms and lifted her face up to his.

Tears glistened on her eyelids and his breath stalled in his chest. This was true upset and knowing he’d hurt her caused Vaan remorse. His fingers kneaded her shoulders as he ran his lips over the soft skin down the column of her throat.

“Your anger saddens me. This decision was not made without thought, Mikayla.”

“Don’t keep secrets from me,” her husky voice warned.

“I will try not to. In this, my concern for you and our youngling comes before any feelings of pride either of us may have.” He was the Overlord but Vaan worked to balance that with being a mate first.

Though raised a warrior, Vaan enjoyed the softness of the affection she brought to his life. Her random kisses, the slight caress of her hand down his arm in passing and the gentle smile she always wore when their glances collided were saved for moments when he questioned the changes in his life. Those precious memories reminded him that he’d come out by far the winner in a battle that could have destroyed him.

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Sci-Fi & Urban Fantasy

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PARANORMAL

PARANORMAL

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PARANORMAL

PARANORMAL EXCERPT AUTHOR: EVE LANGLAIS 20

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PARANORMAL EXCERPT FROM OUTFOXED BY LOVE

O

kay, so Jan should have known better than to scare a man who’d served in the military. As soon as she hit his back, legs wrapping around Boris’ waist and arms around his neck, his body moved.

Boris clamped a hand around her forearm and yanked, flipping her over his head. She slammed onto her back in the snow, thankfully not atop jagged rock.

But she shouldn’t celebrate yet.

Still reacting to her playful attack, Boris leaped atop her, pinned her to the ground, and pointed a gun at her head. At least he didn’t shoot her.

But boy, did he look annoyed.

“Hello, Boris,” she said with a bright smile. “Fancy meeting you out here.”

“What is wrong with you?” he yelled.

“Did I scare you?” she asked, not at all perturbed by the situation because, really, despite the violence of the act, this was the closest she’d gotten to Boris in years. And hey, he was actually looking at her. Not a point above her head. Or at the floor. Of course, his expression wasn’t exactly filled with happiness, but she considered it a start.

“Are you okay?” How grudgingly he asked.

She arched a brow. “Depends. If you mean am I hurt, then no, not really. Just a few bruises and scratches. But, as for frostbite… While I’ve been wanting to have you lie atop me for years, Boris Sobolev, I’d prefer a bed to a snowbank.”

He growled, which, considering he was a moose, made it pretty special. As usual, she drew the most ornery of responses out of the man and had for years, especially since he returned from the war. Unfortunately, for him, she no longer cared. She’d accepted the fact Boris would never admit they were fated mates, but it didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy needling him every chance she got.

“You are the most irritating—” “—ly beautiful.”

“Annoying—” “Yet utterly captivating,” she interrupted with a grin.

“Woman I’ve ever known,” he grumbled as he rolled off her to his feet. He held out a hand to help her up.

Jan ignored it and lay there sprawled, naked and, yes, shivering, but the moment of frigid teeth chattering was worth it. Boris couldn’t help but stare at her.

Really stare. As in eyes-devouring, body-stiffening, definitely-noticing-she-was-a-woman stare.

It did more to warm her than a pair of cashmere socks would. Although, given he wouldn’t act upon the smoldering interest he forgot to hide, the socks would do her more good in the long run.

The moose took the term bullheaded to all new levels. From the moment she’d first met him, when Reid brought his new army buddy home on leave from the military, she’d known he was the one for her, and she’d thought he recognized it too.

During that short holiday stint, Boris flirted with her, and they even shared one long, delicious kiss goodbye as they exchanged a few whispered promises. But the man she dreamed of claiming was gone the next time he returned. Oh, he came back to Kodiak Point intact, no missing body parts even if he sported a few new scars, but the wounds in his soul had changed him.

Jan didn’t know the exact details, but she’d heard the rumors. Reid and others in his platoon, Boris included, got caught by insurgents. More than caught, they were held captive for months and, if the gossip was true, suffered torture.

Whatever happened, the boys who’d left with smiles and boasts of kicking rebel butt returned changed men. Grimmer men. The Boris she’d fallen for, the one who made her heart race faster, who ignited all her senses, lost his easy smile. Refused to acknowledge her, and when she confronted him and asked him about murmured promises spoken before he’d left?

“Things have changed. I’ve changed. You need to move on and fix your sights on someone else.” Bluntly honest. She could respect that, she just wished she could accept it.

But she didn’t want anyone else. Although she’d tried. No other man, human or shifter, ever made her pulse quicken, her blood warm, and, with a single kiss, make her just about cream her panties. Boris is my mate. Even if he denied it.

Lying splayed in the snow, wanton and naked, Jan couldn’t help but prolong the moment. When else would she get a chance to see this side of Boris, his eyes smoldering with fire, his need in plain sight? For a foolish moment, she harbored the hope he’d finally admit his feelings for her. Or act upon the arousal she could see. If only she could get him to kiss her, touch her, then maybe he’d— “If you’re done trying to give your girly parts frost bite, you should think about getting dressed.”

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PARANORMAL He turned away from her as he dropped his loaded backpack on the snowy ground. “I’ve got some spare clothes in here.”

Clothes? Only Boris would ignore her clear invitation and focus on the practical.

Well, Jan could be practical too.“What about a gun?”

He tossed her a look over his shoulder. “What the hell do you need a gun for?”

“To protect myself of course. There’s still at least one cougar out there hunting for me. I’d like something more than just my bare hands to fight him off with.”

“You’ve got me.”

Such a chauvinistic response. She rolled her eyes.

“And what if he’s not alone?”

The cocky smile on anyone else would have made her laugh, but on Boris? She shivered. Even at his most menacing, the man oozed sexy.

“You are such a moose,” she exclaimed under her breath as she dressed in the clothes he’d brought, not hers but small enough to fit, except for the boots.

Those required three layers of socks to stay on her tiny feet.

With the chill cut, her body covered, and her prospects for getting ravished nipped in the bud, Jan focused on the situation at hand. “What’s the plan?”

Without looking at her, Boris said, “We should either head back to where I left my truck. Or call in for someone to pick us up on sleds.”

He called that a plan? “What about the cougar who was trailing me? He’s still around here somewhere I’d wager.”

“What about him?”

“Shouldn’t we set a trap? Maybe take him in for questioning.”

Boris turned to face her, and his tone was mocking as he said, “We? We won’t be doing anything except getting your little ass back to town where it’s safe.”

“Safe? We’re under attack. Nowhere is truly safe.”

“Correction, Reid is under attack. You would have been perfectly fine if you’d obeyed orders and stayed put. But no, you just had to meddle and place yourself in danger.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Well excuse me for helping out a friend.”

“You are not excused. You could have been killed,” he grumbled.

“But I wasn’t.”

“By fluke.”

“It wasn’t fluke that took out the guys following 22

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me,” she snapped, tired of him acting as if she were a useless girl. Partially her fault given she’d hidden her less-than-ladylike side from him all these years.

“You got lucky.”

She growled. She couldn’t help it. There was chauvinism, and then there was Boris. “I’ll show you lucky.” She stepped closer to him.

He frowned, but he held his ground as she invaded his space. “What do you think you are doing? I don’t have time to play games, Jan. We need to call Reid and let him know you’re safe.”

“Only once you admit it.”

“Admit what?” he asked with suspicion.

Admit you want me. Ha. Fat chance of that happening.

One battle at a time. First things first. “Admit it was more than just luck.”

Before he could reply, probably something that would irritate her to no end, she disarmed him. Stepping close, she placed her hands on his chest, smiled up at him sweetly, watched his eyes cloud in confusion—and then hooked his leg and shoved.

Had she not taken him by surprise, it probably wouldn’t have worked, but Boris was so convinced she didn’t have it in her that her trick worked.

Down he went, her atop him. He landed on his back with an “oomph,” which might have had to do with the fact she brought her knee up against his chest to pin him. To keep him further off balance, she plastered her mouth to his.

Sweet electricity. Caught unaware, his lips were soft against hers, but nonetheless enjoyable. She almost forgot her main objective in the pleasure of finally touching him. Almost. But she’d spent too many years dealing with his moose-headedness.

She aimed the gun she pulled from his holster at his forehead and whispered against his mouth, “Bang.

You’re dead.”

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RomCon Elite Judges say....

A ‘COULDN’T PUT DOWN’ BOOK THAT’S WORTH TALKING ABOUT!

Ellen

Tonya

Nichole

KILLING SECRETS

BY KL DOCTER

HOW TO MARRY A ROGUE

BY ANNA SMALL

The characters had great depth to them and I could empathize with them. I felt connected in a way I hadn’t expected.

This book had all the elements of a great romantic suspense. It would even fall under the category of Thriller as it kept me on the edge of my seat (aka couch) as I read it! Looking forward to the next in the series!

Loved this story! A great treat to read.

Cassandra

Teresa

Natalie

21 DAYS

BY BETHANY LOPEZ

FIANCE BY FATE

BY JESSICA SHIRK

JUSTICE FOR ABBY

BY CATE BEAUMAN

Hot and sexy...a great read. Can’t wait for the next book from this author.

A fantastic read. A contemporary hit.This is a rock star read. Loved it!

Love this story! I will be looking for more by this author! Cate Beauman is one of my go-to authors that always brings a great story!

Tammy

Olivia

NEXT DOOR DREAMS

BY JD HOLLY I truly loved this book. Although the cover leaves a lot to be desired, the book was a great surprise. Can’t wait to read more from Ms. Holly.

A PROMISE OF MORE

BY BRONWEN EVANS

FROG

BY MARY CALMES

Another hit by Ms. Evans! She always delivers and didn’t disappoint!

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NEW READER RATED BOOKS Author: Book Title: Score: CONTEMPORARY Alex Strong Island Runaway 8.8 Aubrie Dionne Love On Loch Ness 8.5 Aubrie Dionne An American Girl In Italy 8.9 Babette James Summertime Dreams 9.2 Bethany Lopez 21 Days 9.2 Bethany Lopez 42 Hours 9.0 Brenda Margriet Chef D’Amour 9.2 Christine Bush Patient Heart 8.0 Dena Rogers Drive Me Sane 8.6 Devon McKay Cowboy On The Run 8.9 Kat Latham Playing It Close 9.6 RC Matthews Date Night 9.6 Sierra Avalon Always Rayne 8.7 Sylvie Kurtz A Little Christmas Magic 8.0 Teresa Hill Bed Of Lies 8.1 Teresa Hill Twelve Days 8.5 Tricia Anderson Breaking The Cycle 9.5 Victoria Pinder Favorite Coffee, Favorite Crush 8.5 Victoria Pinder Chaperoning Paris 8.5

PARANORMAL

Ashlyn Chase The Cupcake Coven 8.4 Aubrie Dionne Pan’s Conquest 8.1 Jami Gray Shadow’s Moon 8.0 Jami Gray Hunted By The Past 9.2 Kim Grosso Leopold’s Wicked Embrace 8.1 Lisa Kessler Night Angel 9.2 INSPIRATIONAL

Allie Pleiter A Heart To Heal 9.4 EA West Bogota Blessings 9.4 Mary Cope Beautiful One 8.3

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Author: Book Title: Score: HISTORICAL Anna Small How To Marry A Rogue 9.3 Bronwen Evans A Promise Of More 9.2 Bronwen Evans A Kiss Of Lies 8.7 Bronwen Evans Invitation To Passion 9.8 Lana Williams Unraveling Secrets 8 Patricia Hagen Orchids In Moonlight 8.2 Sharon Ihle The Bride Wore Spurs 8.5 ROMANTIC SUSPENSE Cate Beauman Justice For Abby 9.2 Cate Beauman Saving Sophie 9.8 Cheryl Yeko Shielding Her Heart 8.6 Jennifer Burroughs Into The Light 8.0 JD Holly Next Door Dreams 9.7 Karen Docter Killing Secrets 8.7 Melissa Fox Ash Rising 9.2 Terri Molina Dark Obsession 9.1

EROTIC ROMANCE Andrew Grey Troubled Range 8.1 Holley Trent O for Two 8.6 Honey Jans April Love 9.6 Jane Rylon Rebel On The Run 9.6 Mary Calmes Frog 9.2 Rhiannon Ayers Demons Within 8.6 Suzette Rose Cauler Taking Chances 9.6 Victoria Vane Jewel Of The East 8.7 SCI-FI/TIME TRAVEL Cyndi Friberg Royal Obsession 9.4 Deb Stover Some Like It Hotter 8.2 Maggie Mae Gallagher Annointed 8.7 Nancy J. Cohen Warrior Lord 8.3 SE Smith Hunter’s Claim 9.2 Sylvie Kurtz Broken Wings 8.0 CATEGORY ROMANCE Jessica Shirk Fiance By Fate 9.2 Only books with a Reader Rating Score of 8.0+ are listed.

All books that receive a score of 8.0+ are eligible for the Readers’ Crown contest.The top 10 books in each category for 2014 copyrighted books are finalists.

Finalists will be announced on May 15, 2015 and winners will be announced June 15, 2015.

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Romantic Suspense

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Romantic Suspense

SPOTLIGHT AUTHOR

k c o t s l i a H y e l r i h S EXCERPT FROM SOMEONE LIKE YOU

I

used to work in a bridal shop. And I used to sew all my own clothes. Those were the outer-clothes, even coats. I’ve made one hat for a pilgrim costume, towel robes and bathrobes, but never a nightgown.

I once made a full wedding gown as a mockup for a friend. She didn’t choose that style for the final dress.

While that is the only one I made from scratch, I have altered many gowns for various weddings and all for friends and family.

Some of them are challenging. My 4 foot, 11 inches sister, who only weight 97 pounds wore my wedding gown as her wedding dress. I’m 5 feet, 5 inches and weighed 130 pounds. Taking it in was easy and because I didn’t want to destroy the gown, I created a huge hem and covered it with crystal pleating. The gown didn’t even look the same once I was done with it.

I got immense pleasure from both sewing and weddings. The marriage of creating clothing and working in the bridal industry was the impetus for my series, Wedding by Diana and specifically for the novel Someone Like You (book two in the series). Theresa (Teddy) Granville designs wedding gowns. In addition to being a partner in the firm and director of the consulting portion of the business, she has her own line of gowns.

Successful in her own eyes, her mother believes she is a failure at finding the Mr. Right, so she sets out to do it for her in the form of Adam Sullivan. Adam has an equally enterprising mother. When the two mothers join forces to push their children together, Adam and Theresa unite to foil their parents with a marriage pact of their own.

Until next time, keep reading...

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Blind date! Theresa Granville, Teddy to her friends, drummed her long red fingernails on the white tablecloth. She was waiting for Adam Sullivan, a man she’d never met, and she could just as easily spend the rest of her life happily oblivious of his existence.

But that was not to be. She’d been set up. Teddy hated blind dates and she didn’t need anyone to find her a man, especially not her mother. The truth was, she was capable of meeting men on her own and dated often.

But she’d been goaded into agreeing to have dinner with Adam Sullivan. Since she didn’t like to go back on her word, she was stuck.

The restaurant was crowded for a Thursday night in Princeton. It was fall and the majority of the university students returned a month ago. Most of the restaurant’s patrons were around the bar cheering on some sports team’s efforts to statistically capture a spot in the history books. Teddy had long since stopped hearing the triumphs and groans of their participation in the televised game. She’d relegated the sound to white noise. Her attention was on the restaurant’s entrance.

From her solitary perch on the second-floor dining area, where private parties were usually held, maybe she’d be able to spot her date when and if he arrived.

Maybe he hated blind dates, too. And Teddy would feel no disappointment at being stood up. If she didn’t have to gently explain to her mother yet again why she didn’t want to be set up, she wouldn’t be here, either.

Frowning, she watched a short guy with roundrimmed glasses enter. Her fingers went to the phone in her pocket. Diana, her friend and business partner, was only a call away.The two had worked out a signal if Teddy wanted or needed to be rescued.

Romantic Suspense

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Romantic Suspense Again she glanced at the man below, taking in his height or lack of it. One of Teddy’s requirements in a man was height. At five feet nine inches, she didn’t want to stand with a man whose head only reached her breasts. Thankfully, Mr. Glasses lifted his hand, acknowledging his party, and joined a group at the end of the bar. She breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t her blind date.

Three other singles and two couples came in before the seven o’clock appointed hour. Then he walked in right as the clock struck the hour. Teddy did a double take when she saw him. Shaking her head, she immediately rejected him as someone who’d never need a blind date. He couldn’t be the one. Her mother didn’t have taste that good. Except for her father, who was still a handsome man in his fifties, the men her mother usually chose looked like the round-rimmedglasses guy.

For a moment, Teddy wished her date was the man at the door. Leaning over the bannister, she watched the stranger move toward the receptionist. The two had a short conversation and she checked her seating chart. Then she shook her head. As she gathered a couple of menus and led him toward a table, the room was momentarily quiet, allowing Teddy to overhear her own name.

“I’ll bring Ms. Granville over as soon as she arrives, sir,” the woman said.

Teddy gasped. Her stomach lurched and her heart jumped into her throat. This couldn’t be Adam Sullivan.

He was gorgeous. Where did her mother find him? He was tall, at least six foot two. His shoulders were broad enough to shelter any available head and for a moment, she thought of herself resting there. Why would this guy need to be set up on a date? It took her a moment to gather herself. This was still a blind date and as far as she knew the two of them had nothing in common.

Meeting him could be a disaster despite his looks. In fact, she expected it was. A man this good-looking could stand on his own. Yes, she decided, there had to be something wrong with him.

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Contact Shirley http://www.shirleyhailstock.net http://www.facebook.com/ shailstockfan http://www.twitter.com/ shailstock https://www.pinterest.com/ shailstock https://www.goodreads.com/ user/show/831211-shirleyhailstock

Romantic Suspense WE HAVE WHAT YOU NEED TO SUCCEED.

Author Bio Shirley Hailstock

Romantic Suspense Author

Annual Writer & Fan Convention Custom & Pre-Made Book Covers RomCon Stock Photos Readers’ Crown Contest 120,000 Visitors/Month New eMagazine! RomCon Reader New! Reader Rated Bookstore

S

hirley Hailstock began her writing life as a lover of reading.

She likes nothing better than to find a quiet corner where she can get lost in a book, explore new worlds and visit places she never expected to see. As an author, she can not only visit those places, but she can be the heroine of her own stories. The author of thirty-four novels and novellas, including her electronic editions, Shirley has received numerous awards, including the Waldenbooks Bestselling Romance Award, Romantic Times Magazine’s Career Achievement Award and numerous others.

Shirley’s books have appeared on Blackboard, Essence Magazine and Library Journal Best Seller Lists. She is a past president of Romance Writers of America.

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Romantic Suspense

GOING GONE Chapter One The climax slammed into Laura Doyle so fast that she lost her mind. She heard Cameron groan as let go and went with her; riding the bliss of pure lust. She threw her head back and laughed as the last shudder rolled through her. Making love to him was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her and she didn’t ever want it to stop.

“That, my love, was amazing,” she said, as she locked her fingers around his neck.

“Am I really your love?”

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes... forever and ever,” she said, as she pulled him down for one last a kiss.

God in heaven, they were going down!

Marcy, her friend and co-worker, who was sitting across the aisle, was crying as she tried to text someone on her cell phone. Laura thought of her sister Sarah, and then of Cameron, but there was no time for goodbyes.

She could hear someone praying, and the nose of the plane was no longer level with the horizon.

Marcy gave her a frantic look as she tossed her a folded blanket. Laura caught it in mid-air and put it in her lap only seconds before she assumed the crash position. Her last conscious thought was that the blanket smelled like mouth wash and then – impact!

****

****

It was the scream of someone shouting Laura’s name that woke her, but within seconds she’d gone from the after-glow of a sexy dream to heart-pounding fear as she scrambled to tighten her seatbelt. The private jet she’d boarded in Los Angeles was in trouble. An alarm was sounding inside the cockpit, and the pilot, Ken Price was shouting at everyone to buckle up.

It was pain; rolling, stabbing, unbelievable misery; like nothing Laura ever felt that woke her next.

Something wet was running down the side of her face and she couldn’t figure out why the house was so dark.

She reached for the bedside table to turn on the light; felt hair, and then the side of someone’s face, imagined an intruder had broken into her house, and screamed

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Romantic Suspense

SHARON SALA until the back of her throat closed up from the panic.

The moan that followed was not her own, and that’s when she remembered the plane crash. She had obviously lived through it. The fact that she was not about to be murdered in bed was a relief, but that she might die in this wreckage was not. The scent of an electrical fire was strong within the cabin although she could not see any fire. She heard another moan, followed by a short, choking gasp.

“Marcy, is that you? Dan? Ken? Anyone?”

No one answered.

“Please God, don’t let this be happening,” she whispered, and then realized she was shaking, but not from shock.

It was cold-to-the-bone freezing inside the cabin. She didn’t know where they’d crashed, but it was February, and if they had gone down in the Rockies, her troubles had just exacerbated.

She began fumbling at her waist, trying to undo her seat belt and find that blanket that had been in her lap. Only she was no longer in her seat, but flat on her back on the cabin floor between the seats, which meant it was probably Marcy was on the floor beside her. She shook Marcy’s shoulder, trying to get her to wake up.

“Marcy! Where are the blankets? We need the blankets. Can you feel yours?”

Marcy wasn’t talking and Laura felt the first symptoms of hypothermia setting in.

“I did not survive this plane crash just to freeze to death,” she mumbled, and tried to get up, but her leg was caught and it was too dark to see how to free herself. Moments later, something shifted above her and she threw her arms up in a defensive mode just as a duffle bag fell out of an overhead compartment and onto her chest. The sudden impact sent a pain through her body that was so strong she passed out. When she woke up again, the bag was still on her chest and she was struggling to breathe. If her ribs hadn’t been injured in the crash, they were now. Every breath she took hurt, and she was getting light-headed from the pain. She had to find something to keep her warm or next time she passed out, she might never wake up.

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Contemporary

CONTEMPORARY

NANCY NAIGLE usa today bestselling author

Mint Juleps and Justice AN ADAMS GROVE NOVEL

W

ELCOME TO ADAMS GROVE…where the tea is sweet, but trouble is brewing.

Luck abandoned Brooke Justice during her nasty divorce. Desperate to escape her malicious ex-husband, she relocated to the small town of Adams Grove, Virginia. When someone breaks into her new house, she suspects her ex bears the blame for the crime. With no evidence and little help from the police, she asks a private investigator to take her case—a private investigator whose sexy broad shoulders and stunning blue eyes make her question her decision to swear off relationships forever.

Mike Hartman fled Adams Grove when a devastating loss left his heart in pieces. After years overseas in the military, he’s finally returned home, determined to start anew as a private investigator. Then Brooke walks into his office, awakening something he hasn’t felt in years. Can they both move on…into each other’s arms? Or will the pain of the past—and the dangerous threat lurking in the present—destroy their new beginning?

Excerpt: CHAPTER ONE

W

ho would have thought there’d be more excitement in the little town of Adams Grove than in the resort city of Virginia Beach? Okay, maybe not on any given day, but today for sure.

It was eight o’clock sharp when Brooke Justice breezed into the County Agriculture and Extension office to grab her things and get on the road. She had a string of farm visits scheduled, and even though the temperatures were going to be in the high nineties with humidity to match, she was looking forward to them. Meeting with local producers was her favorite part of the job, and the last visit on her list today was one she’d been looking forward to all week. Country superstar Cody Tuggle had recently announced his engagement to local photographer Kasey Phillips, and they’d planned to set up a new facility for race horses on the property here in Adams Grove. It was Brooke’s job, as the county extension agent, to help them put

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CONTEMPORARY CONTEMPORARY together a pasture management and grazing plan specific to their needs.

When she transferred from Virginia Beach to the position here in Holland County, she never dreamed she might get to mingle with the rich and famous in a little town this size.

Just the remote possibility of getting to see Cody Tuggle in person was going to make the rest of this day drag. Her best friend, Jenny, would flat out lose it if she knew there was a chance of her meeting Cody Tuggle today on the farm visit, which was exactly why she hadn’t mentioned this assignment to her yet. Cody probably had “people” to talk to her about the land, but it was still a possibility he might be there. She crossed her fingers. Never hurts to add a little luck.

Transferring from her old position had been one of the hardest to decisions she’d faced. Those farmers back in Virginia Beach had taught her as much as she had them in the beginning. College hadn’t prepared her for the real-life problems farmers faced, but she’d been a quick study and they’d taken her under their wing.

She loved that job, but this divorce from Keith had gotten out of control and putting some miles between them seemed like the right thing to do when the opportunity arose.

Brooke gathered a stack of soil sample kits and a notebook with the list of her appointments for the day, then grabbed the keys to the truck the county provided for their use. She headed out the back door of the Main Street office where the truck was parked.

The little white four-wheel drive pickup was much more suitable to the roads than her own car. Many of the roads were still unpaved in this county. In Virginia Beach they’d provided her with a vehicle, too, only it was a big twelve-seater passenger van. It was a bear to maneuver and forget about parking it.

The first stop on her list of appointments was to check in with the farmer who would be supplying the market lambs and goats for the 4-Hers. They’d weigh and tag the animals in preparation for the nominations next week. She worked her way through the next three farm visits, a mix of crop and livestock farmers and then tapped in the address on the GPS for the farm on Nickel Creek Road. It was less than eight miles away. Nervous excitement built as she got closer to Kasey Phillips’s farm.

Just one turn off Route 58 and she was there. She pulled into the driveway of the sprawling white ranch with the red metal roof. A nice barn and lots of high

dollar fencing was already in place. Some goats lay chewing their cud under the shade of a huge pecan tree in the front pasture. From here it looked like mostly clover and weeds, fine for goats, but the horses would go hungry in that field. There was tall fescue too—that could spell disaster for a horse farm that planned any type of breeding program.

A bright red cardinal fluttered by as she got out of the truck. Cardinal, good luck. Seeing the good luck sign calmed her.The lucky signs might have started as a fun diversion when she was just a kid hunting for fourleafed clovers with her brother, but over the years luck signs had become kind of like a second religion for Brooke. She believed in it, and it could make or break her day.

The front door opened and, at first glance, the height of the man sent her heart racing. For that one fleeting moment she thought it was Cody Tuggle, but then she caught the brown hair peeking from beneath the cap and realized it wasn’t. Wishful thinking. At least the ball cap didn’t bear a tractor company theme and it wasn’t camo like those of ninety percent of the guys she met during these visits.

He met her on the driveway extending his hand as he approached. “Hey there, I’m Mike.”

“You’re the farm manager?” Brooke asked.

He raised his brow slightly, and then smiled. “Yeah, I guess that’s me. For now.”

Nice voice and good looking too. He might even be better looking than the music man. His eyes were almost too blue for a dark haired man, and the tan showed them off just right.

It was hard to not stare into those baby blues. “I’m Brooke Justice.” She shook his hand feeling tiny in his presence. He stood a good foot taller than her, with broad shoulders that pulled his t-shirt taut and biceps... well, let’s just stop this gawking right here. “I was told y’all wanted to work on a pasture and grazing rotation plan. Want to show me around?”

“That’s right. We do.” He motioned her to follow.

When they got to the back of the house he jumped behind the wheel of a Polaris Ranger, and she climbed into the seat next to him. He hit the gas pedal on the utility vehicle and it lurched forward.

She sucked in a breath as his arm flung across her mid-section with lightning speed as she ricocheted back in the seat. His softball-sized bicep didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the way it flexed when he repositioned his hand on the steering wheel. She knew she’d need to

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CONTEMPORARY check out the rest of him as they sped through the smooth terrain.

They rode the entire property line first, then backtracked, stopping to talk about each area that was fenced off.

Brooke listened and took a few notes. “Y’all are in really great shape here as far as the fencing goes.

Whoever set this up had some experience. It’s already cross-fenced, so you’ll be able to rotate to get the most from your pastures.”

“I can’t take credit for that. Good friend of mine remodeled this place for his wife. He’d been a farmer his whole life. Horses, cattle, goats. He died. She’s moved on.”

“Is she the one who’s engaged to Cody Tuggle?” She wished the words hadn’t tumbled from her mouth, but there they were. Daddy’d always said he’d named her right because words rushed right out of her like water over the rocks, and there was no stopping them.

“Sure is,” he said with no hint of emotion either way.

She tilted her head. “That bother you?”

“That Kasey has moved on? No. Cody is a nice guy.

They’re good together.”

“You’ve met him? And he’s nice?” she said with a little too much enthusiasm. Hello, mouth, quit going all fan girl on me.

“Sure.” He leaned forward on the steering wheel.

“Why do you look so surprised? Famous people can’t be nice?”

“No. Not that, I just never met a star before. It’s kind of cool that he’s going to be moving here.”

Mike tugged on his hat. “Well, not right here. He and Kasey are building a place on the acreage on the other side of that fence line.They bought the adjacent land all the way to the next curve. About four hundred acres.”

“He bought the cut-over from the timber company?”

Mike nodded. “They did, but I think they’re actually building on the far end. That land is still cropland right now.”

“The old Doyle farm. I know of it. Nice piece of land.” Too bad it wouldn’t be farmed, though. She didn’t like to see cropland lose its purpose. Once that cycle was broken, it just didn’t come back. More and more of it was being repurposed for non-agricultural use. A bad thing for the county.

Brooke wondered if she’d get the chance to meet Cody Tuggle when they got ready to do something with that land. Probably not. He probably had people who would handle those conversations too. When she 42

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looked up, Mike was staring at her like he was waiting on a response. Just how long had she been standing there daydreaming?

“Cody’s mother is going to be using this property.

She’s the one who is into race horses.”

Hugging her notebook to her chest, she asked,“How long have you been working with race horses?”

“Me?” Mike chuckled. “I don’t have any experience with race horses...with the exception of a few lousy bets.”

“I’m sorry, I’d just assumed you--” “ Of course, you would, but no, I’m just doing a favor for Kasey, the one who is engaged to your favorite singer. She asked me if I’d take care of things for her while they are away. It was a win-win since I wasn’t sure where I was going to put down roots when I got out of the military.This kind of helped me make the decision.”

“Nice town to put down roots. I just moved here myself. I’m a Virginia Beach native.”

“I’ve been here for a while now. Was your Dad in the Navy?” he asked.

She nodded. “A pilot.”

“How are you adjusting to Adams Grove?”

“I like it. I never realized just how loud it was out there near Oceana until I moved here. What a difference.”

“The quiet is nice. When my parents split up, my brother lived in Virginia Beach with my mom. I stayed up this way with Dad. I kind of prefer the wide open spaces.”

“Well, welcome home then.”

“Thanks.”

He looked like he was going to ask her something else, but chickened out. “I won’t be actually managing the farm. I’m just helping coordinate things that need to happen before all that, but I’ll be your guy for a little while.”

My guy? In another lifetime that would have thrilled her. “Got it. Well, I appreciate you giving me the tour, and look forward to working with you for a little while, Mike.” She knew she should be done with this appointment by now, but she was still curious about him. Another few minutes wouldn’t put her too far behind schedule. Usually she was meeting with married couples wanting to give the country life a try in their second half of life or lifetime farmers with big guts. It wasn’t often she got to visit with young, hot, available men. Not that she was in the market for one and she’d already proven with her track record with “nice” guys.

CONTEMPORARY CONTEMPORARY “What branch of the service were you in?”

He pulled off his sunglasses. White squint lines framed his eyes against his very tanned skin. “Marine Corps.”

“Of course you were.” He had Marine written all over him: muscles, confidence, and blue eyes just plain begging her to get lost in them so he could rescue her.

“How long have you been out?”

“Not long enough.”

There was more to that story. Was that a no trespassing sign hanging on that expression? “Were you in Iraq?”

He nodded, but it was clear she wasn’t going to get any other details.

After an hour of riding the fence line, walking the land, pulling soil samples and discussing land use, Brooke knew a lot about the property and still only a little about the guy that had given her the tour other than he grew up in the area. She wasn’t sure how being a Marine was going to translate into his hanging around a farm for a while, but then that wasn’t her call and it would be a nice addition to her schedule, so she wasn’t going to complain. She hoped he’d have lots of questions along the way. That would suit her just fine.

He walked her back to her truck, and opened the door for her to get in. Before he closed the door, he stopped and held it wide. “You wouldn’t want to get some dinner one night, would you?”

“I’m a big fan of dinner.” Why didn’t I just say no?

I haven’t even gotten rid of Keith yet. The last thing I need is another guy causing havoc in my life. And there was that smile again.

“Me too.”

“You’ve got my card. My cell number is on it.” Hello, brain...just who is the boss of my mouth? I hope he doesn’t call. Please don’t call.

He slammed the truck door wearing a big smile that showed off perfect white teeth and a slight dimple... right on the left side of that grin. He glanced down at her card. “Brooke Justice. Nice name.”

“Thanks. I didn’t even ask your last name.”

“Hartman.”

Of course it was. Why couldn’t she quit looking at him? She forced herself to look in the rear view mirror as she backed out of the driveway. When she pulled onto the road and looked back toward the house, the image of him walking away made her smile too.

I may have to hand-deliver a review of these reports when I get my copy. I take it back...a call would be nice.

Contact Nancy: http://www.NancyNaigle.com http://www.facebook.com/ NancyNaigleAuthor?ref=hl&focus_ composer=true http://twitter.com/nancynaigle http://www.pinterest.com/nancynaigle/

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Hello, My Love E. JOURNEY I. Elise Going to your parents’ dinner tonight?” Elise could not help smiling at the text message.

She texted back: “Yes. See you.”

Greg had been sending her text messages for some time. Often, they were greetings, in the morning, at night, on school holidays; or good luck wishes on exams, debates, and mock trials. Sometimes, he asked her opinion or a question about a legal matter or some fact of interest to either of them. She answered most of those messages although he told her she did not need to, if they were the usual greetings.

Before they met, Elise had known Greg—from numerous news reports—as the young, progressive owner of a growing internet-based business, and one of the country’s 25 most eligible bachelors. The consensus in the media, especially among women reporters: tall, dark, and handsome. But Greg also had a reputation as a playboy, whose many romances were fodder for gossip columns. While Elise hesitated judging looks and personality, sight unseen, she was certain of one thing.

She distrusted the likes of men such as Greg.

But that was a year ago.

Since he began consulting with her father, Dr. Halverson, an economics professor, Greg had been to many dinners at her parents’ home. There, Elise got to know him better.

Now, when curious acquaintances learned she knew Greg, they invariably asked, and Elise hardly ever varied her answer: “Yes, to news reports. Greg Thorpe is tall—taller than my father who’s more than six feet.

Dark—tanned from jogging, bushy hair the color of French Roast woven with golden strands. And beautiful—clean-cut, cleft chin, smiling greyish blue eyes, and, yeah, lean. But, I think, muscular. I’m not sure. I haven’t

“

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seen him without his clothes on.”

It always amused her that her incantation never failed to elicit sighs from young women.

Elise was about to slip her iPhone into her shirt pocket when it rang.

“Hello, Elise. How’s the light of my life this afternoon?” Greg said, in his teasing voice.

“Hello Greg.”

“I’m so glad you picked up. I was afraid you’d turn off your phone again.”

“I can’t turn it on in class, when I’m studying, or when I’m at work, and that’s almost my whole day.”

“Are you staying over at your parents after dinner?”

“I don’t plan such things. Depends. How late it is when dinner ends, whether I have some easy way to get back to my apartment, how guilty I feel about not having seen my parents for a while, etc., etc.”

“I see. It’s Friday so I thought you‘re staying the night with them. Can I give you a ride home?”

Elise protested. “But I live across the bay. That’s 60 more miles of driving for you, both ways.”

“Less than an hour in my fast powerful car.”

She suppressed a chuckle. Greg had a wry, sometimes self-mocking, sense of humor.

She teased him back. “But don’t you need your beauty sleep? Aren’t you getting married in two days?

I’m surprised you’re even coming to my parents’ dinner party. I always thought weddings were exhausting.

Don’t you need to rest up for yours?”

“Think of this as my last fling.”

“Isn’t that when your buddies get you all soused and cavorting with some pretty young things? You definitely need stamina for that.”

He groaned.“I’m afraid you have this unflattering im-

CONTEMPORARY CONTEMPORARY

age of me. But, believe it or not, that prospect doesn’t excite me. I feel too old for all that.”

“Thirty-two’s not old. To me, old is decrepit. You’re not quite there yet.”

“I’m glad you think so. Twenty-year olds think 30 is old” “I turned 23 a few weeks ago,” she said, her smile replaced with pursed lips.

“That still makes you a young thing in my book.

What if I cavort with you?”

Elise scowled. She couldn’t conjure up a quick retort that she knew Greg had come to expect from her. It was not that what he said irritated her. And, she didn’t actually dislike it. But she felt herself squirm, a vague sense of unease in her chest.

“I’m kidding. I know you’re not the cavorting type.

But we’re buddies, right? Well, more like sparring partners, maybe. Don’t buddies kid around?”

She picked up an edge to his voice but it grew softer when he added, “Am I wrong?” .

She hesitated through the ensuing silence, relieved only by his audible breathing. He was going to wait until she said something.

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Erotic

Erotic

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DAMON M

y name is Damon Suede and I’m a slang slut.

Romance has always spoken with a language of its own. Every one of its subgenres harnesses the essential power of lingo to create characters and setting. Frankly, we read love stories because we know that words move us so it stands to reason that we have a soft spot for the words that give the most mileage. Our most explosive expressions are slang: curses, euphemisms, risqué jargon. Like everything, language gets dirty when real people use it.

When Hot Head first came out, I caught all kinds of hell for using language most romances wouldn’t touch.

My heroes were crude, blunt, and above all raw. These firefighters could not live in the Land of Schmoop. They could love each other, have deranged sex, even build a forever…but no way in this world were two adult men in the FDNY going to speak in the generic idiom of Romancelandia. If anything, the salty New York slang grounded them in a way that let them get bigger and more operatic with their emotion.

My next book was a sci-fi novella that proved a different kind of challenge. For one thing Grown Men took place several hundred years from now, in a corporate future.

I had to invent a lingo from the ground up to make the world ring true. And because one of the two characters was mute, any communication carried crazy firepower.

Slang instantly defines a way of seeing the world, and is one of the quickest ways to build a subculture: of nerds, hitmen, sexworkers, or hardscrabble terraformers…

Bad Idea’s world of comic books and movie makeup grew out of my own experience working in those industries. I got to drill down into the nitty-gritty of superheroes and showbiz. For Trip and Silas, pop culture references are the air they breathe and the work they produce. These guys make up worlds for a living and find it all too easy to hide in them. They used distinctive slanguage as a wall and a test.

Every book I’ve written has taught me its lingo on the

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fly. Slang can sift humor into an emotional confrontation, wring secret pain out of a character, or lend a sweet drizzle of sleaze to any conversation. The right word can write a world we know instantly, even on our first visit.

Purple prose gets a bad rap these days. Between thee and me, I kinda dig the overwrought patois of oldschool romances because of the naked emotionalism.

The word choices are so indulgent and shameless that the writers get to unfurl all kinds of vocab to flap in the breeze: romantic fantasy escapism in excelsis. Still, twenty-first century romance enjoys a freedom and a pressure unimagined forty years ago. Prohibitions have fallen away and taboos have trundled into the spotlight.

Some sex scenes still fade to black, while others veer into med-school detail. The challenge for modern romance writers has evolved and as always, slang has rushed to the rescue.

We still want to fall in love with our heroes. We still want an emotional rollercoaster. We still battle audience erosion by more instinctive entertainment options. Readers have evolved as well, with publishers racing to catch up. At core everyone still wants fresh words that take them where they want to go. For writers today, stepping away from clichés of adoration onto new ground is terrifying but essential. Whether you’re looking at a twenty-five page spanking scene or a farcical argument with first-generation immigrants, the word choices will provide the bedrock.

I try to write the kinds of books I want to read.

I’m a sucker for a strong voice, and without exception a strong voice comes down to a writer who cannot sound like anyone else and seems to say everything for the first time. If I look at my keepers, the stories I reread over and over, unforgettable language is the deal. I write romance because I think love always requires a lifeand-death struggle. If my words get dirty sometimes, I hope it’s because my characters have used them well.

Erotic

SUEDE Bad Idea: Some mistakes are worth making.

Reclusive comic book artist Trip Spector spends his life doodling supersquare, straitlaced superheroes, hiding from his fans, and crushing on his unattainable boss until he meets the dork of his dreams. Silas Goolsby is a rowdy FX makeup creator with a loveless love life and a secret streak of geek who yearns for unlikely rescues and a truly creative partnership.

Against their better judgment, they fall victim to chemistry, and what starts as infatuation quickly grows tender and terrifying. With Silas’s help, Trip gambles his heart and his art on a rotten plan: sketching out Scratch, a “very graphic novel” that will either make his name or wreck his career. But even a smash can’t save their world if Trip retreats into his mild-mannered rut, leaving Silas to grapple with betrayal and emotions he can’t escape.

What will it take for this dynamic duo to discover that heroes never play it safe?

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Erotic Erotic (The following excerpt from Chapter 6 takes place on Trip’s second date with Silas after a superhero costume event: Silas in He-Man gear and Trip playing it safe in a T-shirt & jeans.)

“

Here’s me.” Silas stopped in front of a poky building on West Seventeenth and climbed one step so that he stood a couple of inches taller, then shifted his weight foot to foot. He almost shone with contentment, the face of a farmer at an Impressionist picnic.

The streetlamp spilled sallow light over them; the glitter on Silas had rubbed off on Trip’s arm and jeans and left hand: borrowed sparkle. At the top of the four stairs, a dim front vestibule almost hid the door where the lamplight didn’t reach.

Trip hadn’t realized the walk was so short. He snuck a peek at his watch. Was the date over at 10:20? He stepped closer. “You must be freezing.”

Silas nodded but didn’t climb up or down. He waited as if he’d asked Trip a casual question. “So…?”

Trip had never struggled so much trying to read someone… but somehow had gotten addicted to the warm discombobulation. Fuck it. He backtracked to the steps. “Wait, I suck at being cool.” Take a risk. “I mean, we could just make a plan right this second.”

Silas laughed, but he didn’t come back. “Sure. Name the place.”

Trip stepped nearer, his stomach knotting. He scrabbled through the credible options. Gallery? Dancing?

Fancy dinner? Bowling? Orgy? How the hell was he supposed to come up with a killer date when he could barely survive one?

“Unless you don’t want. I mean, you don’t have to decide right now.” Silas shuffled on the steps. He didn’t seem impatient, more confused.

Trip swayed. Manhattan offered anything at all. But with a cleft-chinned hero smiling at him like a gun at his head, he couldn’t muster any suggestion that didn’t sound dumb or tacky. “I do.”

A car drove by slowly, searching for a parking space.

They watched until the cone of headlights reached the end of the snow-dusted block.

“Well….” Silas inhaled raggedly. “I want—” Trip turned first, admiring Silas’s profile. “You want…?”

“You.” Silas swung the hazel gaze back, almost green in the amber light, and considered Trip’s waist, shoulder, chin, eyes. “I want you to come upstairs right now.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Trip took a breath of that vanilla-and-ink smell he’d come to associ-

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ate with Silas. “Right away.”

“Sorry.” Silas shook his head and crossed his arms.

“Do-over.” He wiped his hands on his coat. “You make me so fucking nervous.”

“I do?” Maybe they weren’t so different.

“Everything.” Silas looked up at the cloudy night sky, then back. “Y’see? All I want is for you to come upstairs right this minute and help me take all this crap off so I can make you dessert and we can get into my bed.”

Head shake. “Eventually. Eventually, y’understand? I want the next thing. But then, of course, I don’t want any of that because I don’t want just that. You, I mean. That is, all that would probably be a horrible mistake because it’s what I would do, not what I should do.”

“You make me nervous too.”

“Sorry.” Silas frowned. “I don’t mean to.”

“Not in a bad way. I guess—” Trip took a step back.

“Thank you for, I dunno, a super evening.” His bones buzzed with that strange calm.

“Super date.”

Trip grinned. “Date, yeah. I’m gonna… catch a….”

“Cab.” Now Silas mirrored his Joker’s grin. “Right.”

Before Trip questioned the impulse, before he stopped his feet or his hands, he closed the three yards between them, brought their mouths together, and… kept going, actually, so that instantly his arms were full of peacoat and barbarian.

“Tha—” Trip swallowed whatever Silas almost said when their mouths came together again. His coat gaped to let Trip take hold of him.

Trip’s momentum pushed Silas against the front door, so they kissed in a pocket of shadow created by the overhang. The barbarian harness pressed against Trip through his T-shirt.

“Gnnngh.” Silas wrapped those corded arms around Trip and rolled over him, shielding them from the street with his broad back, and pressed Trip’s spine against the cool metal door. The surface warmed quickly. They struggled to get at each other, tugging at clothes.

Silas crushed Trip under his brawn and scrubbed his shirt between them. He sucked and bit at Trip’s mouth, chin, and throat with a hunger that tore Trip open with spikes of heaven and involuntary shudders. Trapped against his inner thigh, his bulge strained against the denim.

Trip chuckled and bit back. Silas didn’t complain. Not so terrible after all.

Coming 21 October 2013 from Dreamspinner Press Copyright 2013. Damon Suede. All Rights Reserved.

Erotic

Author Bio Damon Suede Erotic Author

Contact Damon: www.damonsuede.com http://www.facebook.com/ damon.suede.author https://twitter.com/DamonSuede http://www.goodreads.com/ damonsuede

Damon Suede grew up out-nproud deep in the anus of right-wing America, and escaped as soon as it was legal. Though new to romance fiction, Damon has been writing for print, stage, and screen for two decades. He’s won some awards, but counts his blessings more often: his amazing friends, his demented family, his beautiful husband, his loyal fans, and his silly, stern, seductive Muse who keeps whispering in his ear, year after year. Get in touch with him at DamonSuede.com.

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c i t o r E EXCERPT: JE Erotic Erotic

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Erotic

ENNA JACOB S

ituated on a tall pedestal was the tiny figure of a naked woman, kneeling. Her face was upturned toward the heavens and her long slender neck banded in a wide metal collar. My breath caught in my lungs as I stared at her hands resting on her splayed thighs—palms up—her pose undeniably submissive.

Tears burned the back of my eyes and my heartbeat quickened.The statue called to me in a way so powerful and primitive, I couldn’t stop staring. How had the man managed to transform a lump of clay into such a powerful reflection of submission? The enthralling piece of art seemed to have been crafted as a tribute from the heart.

The intricate details were so painstakingly exact that meticulous tears clung to slivers of her eyelashes.

So realistic, I could clearly see the lines on her palms and whorls carved into each fingertip. Even the pads of her heels had been etched like the living. Long hair fell in soft curls over her slender shoulders and cascaded down her back, kissing the apex of her ass.

Studying her oval face, her prominent cheekbones, narrow nose, and full lips bore a disturbing resemblance to my own. A shiver slithered up my spine. The longer I studied the piece, the more convinced I became; she wasn’t gazing toward the sky. No, the girl was focused on the face of some unseen Master—seeking approval, pleading for Dominance, or begging his mercy.

Entranced by the lifelike figure, memories bubbled to the surface, igniting a blistering fire of longing and

neglect. Seduced by the smoky images filling my mind, I could see myself—through the eyes of an unknown voyeur—kneeling before the man who once held my heart, mind, and soul. Lost in reminiscence, the ghostly sound of my own submissive voice resonated in my ears, while sheltered surrender warmed my empty soul.

My days had been bound to unfulfilling duties and tasks, but my nights… oh, my nights had been spent liberated in the bliss of submission. Every cell in my body ached to re-live that glorious feeling…for one more night.

The sensation of hot tears sliding down my cheeks brought me back to the present. Quickly brushing them away, I lifted the champagne to my lips with a trembling hand. The bubbly liquid fizzed over my tongue and I swallowed tightly, unable to look away from the work of art.

“She’s quite beautiful, isn’t she?” A deep voice asked in a smooth, velvet whisper.

Even the stranger’s question didn’t lure my gaze away. I absently nodded. “Yes,” I murmured.

“She speaks a language you seem to understand. I’ve watched you stare at her for over half an hour,” the whisky-voiced man noted. “Tell me, why the tears?”

His question finally broke the statue’s spell and I jerked my head toward the stranger. Startled, I found myself gazing into the same striking green eyes from the article about the tragedy that befell Joshua Lars.

No longer haunted with pain, the artist’s eyes held something far scarier… awareness.

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Historical

Historical

SARA RAMSEY: AN INTERVIEW

BONUS Excerpt from Duke of Thorns (Heiress Games #1) 60

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Historical Historical Question 1:What’s your newest book about?

Duke of Thorns (out ~9/29) is the first book in the Heiress Games series. It’s a spinoff from my first series -- the hero is the Duke of Thorington, who was the villain in The Earl Who Played With Fire. So, while it’s the perfect place to start for readers who are looking for a new series, those of you who enjoyed the Muses of Mayfair will see some familiar characters pop up in this book.

Duke of Thorns is about a dark, autocratic duke who finds himself down on his luck, and the very bold, very American heiress whose fortune could save his family. Since Thorington was the villain in the last book of the Muses of Mayfair series, he has quite a ways to go to redeem himself in this one. Luckily, his heroine (Miss Callista Briarley) is definitely up to the task of reforming him!

Question 2:What was the most interesting thing you learned while researching Duke of Thorns?

I’ll give you a minor spoiler (very minor - you’ll find this out in the prologue) and say that I learned a lot about American privateers during the War of 1812. Callie inherited a shipping company from her father, and it’s fair to say that most of her profits are coming from sea battles rather than sugar imports. While it pains me to say the Americans were mostly inept for most of the War of 1812 (and were potentially only saved from ruin because the British were distracted by Napoleon), the American privateers certainly enjoyed wreaking havoc on British shipping.

Question 3: Switching to your personal life, what’s your favorite travel destination?

I’ve been very fortunate to have traveled a lot for both the day job and for personal trips. My most fascinating trip was the six months I spent working in India in 2005 - that experience informed some of the hero’s character in The Marquess Who Loved Me (Muses of Mayfair #3). I’ve had some very beachy trips to Puerto Rico and Mexico that left me very relaxed and very sunburned. But my favorite place to visit will likely always be London -- does a Regency romance writer really have any other option? I’m going there again in October, and I can’t wait to stroll around Mayfair and dream of dukes and spinsters.

Question 4:What songs are you listening to right now?

I make a playlist for each book as I write it, and since I’m putting the finishing touches on Duke of Thorns as I write this, I’m listening to that playlist almost nonstop. It has certainly stopped people from wanting to ride in my car, since they’re guaranteed to hear the same fifteen songs on endless repeat :) This playlist is all over the place - it includes current pop (Ariana Grande’s “Problem”), classic rock (“Ridin’ the Storm Out” by REO Speedwagon), a bit of techno (“Alone” by Moby, when I just need background noise to drown out the other people in the cafe), and some very angry music that Thorington probably would have loved if it had been available in 1813 (“Hemorrhage” by Fuel).

Question 5: Coffee or tea? Wine or cocktails? Regular or diet?

I’ll drink everything in moderation :) I tend to drink tea in the morning and iced lattes in the afternoon. I prefer Champagne over just about anything else, but sometimes (especially when writing, ahem, steamy scenes) a bold, dark red wine is just the ticket. The only thing that’s changed in the last few years is that I gave up my beloved Diet Coke (shocking, I know) - so when I’m craving carbonation, I’ll occasionally have a regular Coke (and feel very weird and guilty doing so).

Question 6: Do you have any pets?

No pets, but I have a roommate - does that count? :) Question 7: If you could write anything other than Regency romance, what would it be?

I have a vague idea for a paranormal young adult book, which I think would be fun to write. But I’ll always want to come back to the Regency - I just love it too much to ever let it go.

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Historical EXCERPT FROM DUKE OF THORNS:

C

allie curtsied on instinct. When she looked up, his smile was back — a real smile, just for a moment, before he twisted it into something else. “I knew you could curtsey to me when given the proper incentive,” he said.

She placed her hand on his arm. “Do not let it go to your head, sirrah.”

He squeezed her other hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles he’d threatened before. “You play a dangerous game, madam.”

Portia began to play. The music lifted around them and he pulled her into the heart of it, their steps perfectly timed to the beat of the waltz.

Callie had waltzed before. She had even enjoyed it.

But this experience -- the feeling of being held, surrounded, overwhelmed -- was entirely different. She felt every brush of his leg against hers, every bit of pressure from his hand against her back.

The music swelled. She was no longer a girl in a borrowed dress, still slightly fatigued from her journey, uncertain in a new country. She was herself again. But she was the best version of herself -- the confident, joyful Callie she had been on her ship during a sea battle, not the hesitant Callie she’d been when she had arrived at Maidenstone.

She made the mistake of looking up.Thorington was watching her. Their gazes locked, becoming a tether that was unbreakable even as they spun around the room. His green eyes had lost whatever hardness she’d expected to see there.

All she saw was heat.

He somehow pulled her closer. And still she didn’t stop looking -- she couldn’t have stopped, even if she’d been told that she’d be condemned to death for looking directly at him. She was too fascinated by the man she saw lurking in those eyes.

All his outrageous words and mercenary schemes should have given her pause...should have sent her running from him. But there was more to him than that.

And none of his warnings were enough to stop her from wanting to see who he could have been.

When the song stopped, it took a moment before either of them remembered to separate. They took several steps in silence before he suddenly brought them to a halt. They stayed there for another few seconds -- a few endless seconds, in which every emotion seemed to flash through his eyes, even as his face 62

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stayed remarkably impassive.

At least she remembered to step back before he did. She curtsied again. “Thank you for the dance.”

He bowed. “You are more than I expected, Miss Briarley.”

It didn’t occur to her until later that it was an odd choice of words. He should have said that she was better than he expected, if he was talking about her ability to waltz.

But she didn’t think that was what he had meant.“I’m so happy I’ve found you,” she repeated, nearly breathless. “Well, not you specifically, anyone really. I’ve been riding in circles for close to an hour now, and I’d just about given up all hope of finding someone when I spotted you. My cousin warned me about the altitude of these hills and how I mustn’t underestimate the density of this blasted fog. Of course, I didn’t listen and got myself thoroughly turned about. You see, I’m forever regretting not listening.”

She rode closer still and he could see her quite plainly now. She was tall and lanky, her riding habit revealing a rather trim frame. His focus quickly shifted from her slender build to her smile. It resembled nothing of the demure, timid smiles he’d become accustomed to seeing within his social circles.This smile was wide, revealing a number of straight ivory teeth, and seemed to extend to every facet of her face. Even her eyes, large and dark, appeared to be smiling.

Were they brown?

No, blue.

They were an impossibly dark shade of blue.

Then she gave her head a little shake, throwing a mass of unruly ginger curls over her shoulders, captivating him entirely.

He was fascinated, but not by anything she did.

Rather, it was what she didn’t do. She didn’t fuss at or apologize for her disheveled appearance. She sat atop her mount, brazen in all her wild, chaotic glory.

Historical Historical

Author Bio Sara Ramsey

Historical Author

Contact Sara: http://www.sararamsey.com/ https://www.facebook.com/ sara.ramsey https://twitter.com/Sara_Ramsey

H

opelessly uncool as a child, Sara Ramsey has overcompensated by becoming obsessed with fashion, shoes, and #regencyworldproblems. She has great taste in Champagne, bad taste in movies, and a penchant for tiaras. She also believes in taking naps, wearing sunglasses at night, and using Oxford commas. Sara currently lives in San Francisco, California, where she can be found drinking overlyartistic lattes and working on her next Regency historical romance.

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Historical

EXCERPT: CHAPTER ONE Cambridge, Massachusetts Summer, 1885 Joshua Norton sat at the dining room table with his deceased wife’s family at their house in Cambridge and wished he was anywhere in the world but here. He’d settle for returning to Uganda, even though he’d been longing to leave Africa for the last several years. But he’d bear with the presence of his in-laws for his son’s sake. He glanced at nine-year-old Micah, who poked at his peas with his fork, frowning.

The gaslight from the sconces on the walls and the flames’ glow from the silver candelabra flickered over the circular table, covered in snowy linen and laden with enough food to save ten Baganda families from starvation. The savory smell of roast turkey lingered in the air, making his stomach growl. Yet he couldn’t help contrasting the sight to the simple meals of ugali or matooke his native parishioners would eat, if they were lucky enough to even have food to serve.

From time to time, a blustery gust of wind rattled the windows behind him. Even with a fire in the green-tiled fireplace to warm the cool spring evening, Joshua felt chilled to his toes. His old wool suit, which had proved to be too hot and heavy to wear in Africa, now wasn’t warm enough. The clerical collar he wore around his neck seemed a tightening noose.

He glanced at Micah, who stared at the peas with undisguised loathing. The boy had been uprooted from all he knew—a life that suited him.

Earlier his son had complained about the cold, about the damp air, and about the perpetually gray sky.

The food served at his grandparents’ table would probably end up on Micah’s list of dislikes.

Micah wasn’t used to formal dinners. During the last year of his mother’s illness, the boy had eaten when he 64

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Historical Historical was hungry or taken meals with his best friend Kimu’s family.

Micah picked up a pea between his thumb and forefinger. He studied the tiny vegetable as if considering what he could do besides eat it.

Joshua tapped Micah’s leg underneath the table and gave him the parental behave yourself eye in silent signal to stop playing with his food. He couldn’t give the boy a verbal warning because he couldn’t remember the word for pea in Hebrew, Latin, or Greek, the only languages permissible at the Maynard family dinner table.

Even the children were allowed to participate in mealtime conversations provided they spoke in one of the three languages, although an occasional utterance of German, French, Italian, Russian, or Spanish was also permitted. The use of an English word meant the loss of dessert. A second infraction meant immediate eviction from the table. While Micah might welcome banishment, their homecoming was uncomfortable enough without violating the family rules.

His mother-in-law, Ruth Maynard, sitting at the foot of the table, reached over and put a restraining hand on Micah’s arm. “Te, nec pisum,” she said in Latin, using a far more gentle voice than when reprimanding her own offspring.

Pisi. That was the word for pea.

Micah sent Joshua a resentful glance—one his grandmother, sitting on his other side, couldn’t see. But he obeyed her, forking the pea into his mouth.

Ruth nodded in approval, her steel-gray eyes soft.

When she’d first laid eyes on Micah, Ruth had declared he looked just like his mother. Joshua’s formidable mother-in-law had blinked away tears for her deceased daughter, Esther, and had held herself all the more tightly coiled ever since.

She turned to address Joel, who was sitting on her other side, the second youngest of her eight children.

The older three, with spouses in tow, had gathered tonight for the homecoming meal and were ranged around the large table.

As befitting the family of a clergyman, the Maynards were dressed simply in sober colors. Only the expensive fabrics and fine cut of their garments betrayed their wealth. Ruth had come from a family with money, and even with their many acts of charity, the women had plenty to spend on adornment. But at least they weren’t wearing gowns with those ridiculous puffed sleeves he’d seen since leaving Africa. And, thank good-

ness, the fashion for bustles had vanished. Joshua had thought it silly, how women carried around a beehive on their backsides.

The Maynards mostly ate in silence, methodically, as if they disliked the food—or each other. The patriarch, Abner Maynard, conducted a monologue in Latin on his view of the political situation--he was solidly behind President Cleveland’s position on the gold standard.

Joshua remembered discussions around the dinner table being much more stimulating. And he’d certainly contributed to his share of the conversation. Perhaps his two new brothers-in-law and his sister-in-law lacked the Maynards’ ability with foreign languages.

After long years in Africa, Joshua had forgotten much of his previous knowledge of foreign tongues—except Swahili, of course, and couldn’t muster up the energy to converse with Abner, much less to try and dredge up enough Latin to string a sentence together.

Relieved Micah’s pea crisis had been averted Joshua took a bite of his mashed potatoes and enjoyed the butter-soaked goodness. He loved mashed potatoes— especially without gravy—but hadn’t eaten them for years, only the yams, which were a staple of the Baganda diet.

Micah picked up another pea.

Before Joshua could intervene, his son set it on his spoon and flicked the projectile across the table to smack the cheek of his youngest aunt. “Micah!” he reproved.

Twelve-year-old Mary Elizabeth let out a squawk.

“Nasty boy!” she screeched, anger apparently driving her to forget the language rule. “How dare you!”

His mother-in-law looked askance at Joshua.

He searched for a suitable way to discipline his son.

If he sent Micah to his room, the boy would learn to cause mischief to avoid meals he didn’t like.

Abner directed a reproving frown at his daughter.

“Mary Elizabeth!”

“Why are you scolding me?” The girl pointed across the table at Micah. “He’s the one who did it.”

“You will leave the table this instant,” her father ordered in Greek.

Even Joshua could understand that much.

Annoyance showing on her face, Mary Elizabeth rose from the table, her long brown ringlets bouncing as she moved.

Micah’s eyes grew wide with apparent shock.

“Wait.” Abner glanced at his grandson and held up a hand, his stern expression softening. “Perhaps for to-

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Historical night we need to relax our rules. Micah isn’t used to our ways. Have a seat, daughter.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Mary Elizabeth returned to her chair.

Joshua tapped the edge of Micah’s plate.With a burst of inspiration, he realized how he could communicate with his son. “Eat the rest,” he said in Swahili, directing a firm look at the boy.

Abner frowned. “We’ll converse in English.”

Joshua caught a quickly suppressed look of relief from one of his brothers-in-law, lending credence to his belief that the newer additions to the family might not be as fluent in the three languages as the Maynards.

Abner took a bite of mashed potatoes, then waved his fork at Joshua. “No need for that heathen tongue tonight. Swahili, isn’t it? A clever way to respect our language rules.”

Micah looked down, a blank expression on his face.

Joshua had seen that look all too often since they’d left Uganda. His heart ached at the boy’s unhappiness about leaving all he’d ever known. But even if Esther hadn’t died, they’d planned to send the boy back to America to attend school. His mother’s illness had only postponed their decision. Micah would have made the transition away from Africa sooner or later…and been miserable about it.

If only he’d allow me to comfort him.

Feeling guilty about his son, Joshua took another bite of his potatoes. But the meal had lost its flavor. He glanced around the room—once a welcome source of hospitality and belonging.

Twelve years ago, Joshua had been an awkward seminary student—a country boy fresh from a small Montana town, flattered to be taken under the tutelage of Reverend Abner Maynard, the dean of the college. Joshua, as out of place as a chicken hatchling in a swan’s nest, had considered Reverend Maynard, well-known Biblical scholar, orator, and revered professor, the utmost authority in matters of doctrine and life philosophy.

He’d taken the man’s teachings and advice to heart.

Joshua had studied so hard he’d mastered the classical languages and risen to the top of his class, not just because he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity for higher education, but to prove worthy of his mentor’s interest in him.

Dinners at the Maynard house had been both an anxious challenge and an exhilarating way to test his knowledge. The more adept Joshua had became at meeting Reverend Maynard’s high standards, the more 66

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he basked in the smiles and nods of approval from Esther Maynard, Abner’s eldest daughter. He’d taken pride—a reaction that in retrospect was unbecoming a future man of the cloth—in his ability to keep pace with the quick-witted and well-educated Maynards.

Now, listening to Abner’s discourse, Joshua wondered if he’d always been blind to his father-in-law’s pompous self-assurance, or if the man had changed in the intervening years since Joshua had been away as a missionary. Perhaps both.

Or maybe I’m the one who’s changed.

Now Joshua felt the Maynards’ rigidity, the sanctimonious attitude, their prejudice, tighten around him like a cage, and he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to take his son and flee to the blue skies of Montana, to the warmth and openness of his family.

“Now, Micah, I’m sure you’re glad to be in America,” said Joel, the sibling who looked most like Esther.

“You can come with me tomorrow. I’ll introduce you to some of the younger boys so you’ll make friends right away.”

“That’s kind of you,” Joshua said, glancing at his son.

Micah scowled at Joel. “I already have friends. I don’t need more.”

Ruth raised her eyebrows at Joshua. “I wasn’t aware there were other white families in the area of your parish in Uganda.”

“There weren’t.” Joshua’s stomach tightened. He tried to think how he could protect Micah from their disapproval. But short of grabbing up his son and racing out of the house with him never to return, there was no way to avoid the Maynards’ judgment.

Micah set down his fork. “Kimu is Baganda,” he explained. “He’s my best friend.”

Shocked silence descended on the room.

Ruth’s eyebrows rose even higher, creating furrows across her brow. “Surely you didn’t become friends… best friends…with a native?”

“Of course he did,” Joshua said in the mildest tone he could manage. “There was no one else for him to play with.”

“Play,” Abner frowned. “He had his studies. If he must play, Micah could do so quietly at home.”

Joshua clenched his fist around his napkin. “Why should Micah be denied the companionship of other children?”

“Well, of course he should interact with the natives to some extent,” Abner agreed. “Set a good example.

Teach them the proper way of the Lord.”

Historical Historical Micah scowled. “They know the way of the Lord!”

He pushed back from the table so hard the chair legs thumped on the floor. He rose and ran out of the room.

The sound of his footsteps faded.

Abner directed a frown at Joshua. “You are going to have to take Micah in hand.”

“I know that, and I will.” Joshua was torn between going after his son and defending him. “However, you all need to take into consideration that Micah has lost his mother and has been taken from everything he knew and loved.”

Ruth sighed. “If you hadn’t allowed him to become best friends with a native, he wouldn’t be reacting in this manner.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Joshua said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “Nursing Esther meant I was constantly at her side. And she was too sick to bear with Micah for more than a few minutes. While I continued Sunday service, all my other duties to my parishioners suffered from neglect, as did my translation efforts, as did my time with my son. The natives loved Micah, and I was grateful for their care of him.”

The maid came in with the dessert tray. Her appearance with a towering chocolate cake broke the awkward silence that had followed his impassioned declaration. As she cut the cake and passed around the plates, Joshua tried to rein in his feelings.

As disturbed as he was by the Maynards’ reactions, Joshua had spared them the full truth--how Esther refused to have a native servant attend her, even though she hadn’t wanted her husband’s help either. But they’d had no other option. In the last months before she died, Esther had even rejected her child. Micah received more nurturing from the native women than he had from his own mother.

When the maid set a piece of cake in front of him, Joshua looked up at her. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“And when you’re finished here, please take one up to my son.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Joshua, you shouldn’t spoil Micah,” Ruth scolded.

“He’s the one who left the dinner table.”

“I think Micah might feel as if he’d been driven from the dinner table,” Joshua said in a matter-of-fact tone, digging his fork into the cake. “You are all strangers to him. Strangers passing judgment, as if the natives, the people he loves, are less than those who are white.”

His gaze traveled around the table. He noted the shocked and disapproving expressions. “We don’t hold

with such beliefs.”

No one spoke.

“As Micah makes friends here--” Joshua spoke into the heavy silence “--he will naturally let go of his attachment to his Ugandan friends. There’s no need to drive him to it.” He gave Abner a short smile. “And when he grows up, if he chooses, Micah will make a superb missionary because he will already know the language and the customs of the Baganda.”

Abner nodded. “There is that,” he agreed.

“In fact, Micah helps me with my translations.”

“Ah, good.Then you intend to go ahead with them?”

Abner took a bite of cake.

“With Micah’s help, I believe I can finish the New Testament. I’d already completed the Gospels.”

Ruth refused any dessert. She daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Joshua, I think you need to consider leaving Micah with us when you travel to Montana. The child has obviously been through a great deal, and he needs stability and rules. The sooner he begins his new life, the sooner he’ll adjust.”

Joshua tried to conceal his immediate dislike of her suggestion and thought how he could frame a tactful refusal.

Abner set down his fork. “Better yet, invite your parents to Cambridge. Then you don’t have to leave.

Micah can start school right away, and you would be here with the boy to exert your authority.”

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Joshua lied, not feeling grateful at all. “But both Micah and I will be traveling to Montana.” He mentally shifted their itinerary from the month he’d originally meant to stay with the Maynards. “We’ll leave next week.”

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