It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Gina Conroy for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Gina Conroy used to think she knew where her life was headed; now she’s learning to embrace life’s detours. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction titles, including Cherry Blossom Capers and Digging Up Death. As founder of Writer…Interrupted, Gina encourages busy writers on their road to publication. A self proclaimed social media enthusiast, Gina assures her family an intervention for her near daily overdose of Twitter (@GinaConroy) and Facebook (Author Gina Conroy) is not necessary and that her social media habit is under control since using Hootsuite. Readers are encouraged to contact her and test this alleged social media addiction.
Visit the author’s website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Archaeology Professor Mari Duggins is adjusting to life as a single mom and trying to balance a television career, but gets caught between the pull of her former flame, a field archaeologist, and her ex-husband who is wanted by the FBI on an antiquities crime. Then her colleague is murdered, and she gets in over her head as she searches for truth in a desert of lies. Mari Duggins’ life caves in as she tries to excavate the truth, but realizes only God can dig her out of the hole she’s created. Will Mari sort through her muddled feelings and put her trust in someone else before her world caves in? Or will the truth bury her alive?
If you like mystery, romance and surprises with your morning coffee or late night snack, this is the book for you.
I didn’t want to put this book down until I finished it. Unfortunately, my husband enjoys having meals.
I’m definitely looking forward to Ms Conroy’s next book.
Please note: The author has agreed to give an ebook copy of Digging Up Death to one commenter, so you all, please a a comment for a chance to win this great book.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Monday, 7:42 a.m.
Texas, Lyndon University Basement
When I stepped out of my dressing room into the dim hallway, I should have heard death’s gentle taunting. I should have seen it hovering in the glow of the flickering lights. I should have felt it drawing me closer to the abyss. Instead, I rushed through the hall toward the campus television studio, my heels clicking on the tile like a ticking time bomb.
I dug in my red Coach bag, found my compact mirror, and held it on top of my latte while I dabbed my shiny forehead. It would have to do. I couldn’t be late for the biggest show of my career.
The intoxicating aroma of fat-laden pastries wafted my way, tantalizing my taste buds. Mental note: Find the Einstein who put the breakfast buffet between my dressing room and the green room and have him lobotomized. At thirty-two, I had a hard enough time maintaining my weight to please that mother-in-law of a camera. An impossible feat for anyone over a size two, I know. But my stubborn Sicilian heritage kept me in denial.
I dropped the mirror in my leather bag and slowed enough to take a clumsy sip of nonfat, sugar-free caramel latte, then gulped the creamy liquid, trying to appease my appetite.
It didn’t work.
The allure of the forbidden fat grams assaulted my senses, my stomach growling with Eden temptation. I glanced at my watch. 7:43. My heart lurched, then sprinted along with the rest of me. Seventeen minutes to D-Day.
Pulling the note cards from the inside pocket of my oversized tote bag, I got blindsided by the slender intern as she flitted from the ladies’ room opposite the buffet table. I gasped as my latte erupted through the spout, missing my crimson top, and landing on the jacket of the black power suit I bought especially for this show. I dropped the cards in my bag and fumbled for the Tide stick.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Duggins.” The intern’s sapphire eyes pooled with regret, or was that an undermining glint in her eyes? I shook off paranoia and told myself nothing was going to ruin the show today.
Nothing.
The intern gnawed on her fingernail, watching me rub at the stain. Miracle of miracles, it vanished. Now if only my luck held until the end of the show.
“No harm done.” I mimicked the tone I used on my sensitive child and held up the stain eraser in a tube. “I could have used this when my kids were little. Spit up and designer suits really clash.”
A timid smile emerged from her full lips, then retreated.
“You haven’t worked here long. What’s your name?”
“Cherilyn St. Jean.” Avoiding my eyes, she tucked her silky blonde hair behind her right ear, sending an exotic floral scent my way. The intern’s exquisite beauty reminded me of an orchid in full bloom. Unfortunately, flowers sent me into a sneezing frenzy. Didn’t she know about our fragrance-free policy?
Before I could grab a tissue from my bag, a sneeze spewed. Thankfully, Cherilyn stepped back or she’d be wearing Eau de Mucous. My nasal membranes swelled, the airways shrinking. No, no, no. Widening my eyes, I suppressed the tears threatening my mascara.
Cherilyn stared at me as if I had grown a third nostril. “Um … Tyler needs to do an audio check.”
I found a tissue and caught the next three blasts. “Thanks, I’m headed there now.” Rubbing my nose, I watched Lyndon University’s Next Top Model sashay through the hall, head raised as she skirted the buffet table with ease and vanished into the green room. A grumble betrayed me, oblivious to the threat to my hips.
Focus, Mari.
But I couldn’t. Beyond the green room, outside the studio door, Professor Peter Kipling hounded the Archaeology Department’s alpha male. Department head Theron Henderson, my first guest.
Tension weighed down my shoulders. What was Peter doing here? Didn’t he have an eight o’clock class?
After a quick glance around, I swiped a donut hole from the buffet and popped it in my mouth. I was about to break the streusel top off a blueberry muffin when Cherilyn emerged from the green room. The dull pang in my chest deepened, most likely the hydrogenated fat clogging my arteries. I waited five seconds then followed her toward the studio.
“Stay away from her.” The empty hallway echoed Peter’s bark.
Henderson, who had thirty pounds and six inches on Peter, cocked his head to the right and chuckled. He crossed his arms over his black Versace jacket, revealing a gold nameplate bracelet. When did Henderson start wearing jewelry?
Peter pressed in, fists balled at his side. The stress in my shoulders spread and ballooned in my chest. I needed my first guest in one piece. There was no way I’d lead with Fletcher.
Approaching my colleagues, I gulped the latte, savoring the sweet, liquid calm that usually worked better than Zoloft. Only today I wished I hadn’t given up that baby blue pill.
Cherilyn’s posture drooped as she passed Henderson, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his blue eyes glared at her. It wasn’t his usual you’d-go-well-with-a-bottle-of-Cabernet leer that fell on the coeds at LU. Instead, he turned up his nose and discarded her like rancid ground beef.
I checked my watch. 7:49.
Stay out of it, Mari. This isn’t your fight.
With trembling hands, I removed my note cards.
“Your tenure can always be revoked.” Peter’s terse words redirected Henderson’s focus.
“On what grounds? Professional incompetence? Neglect of duty?” Henderson peered down his Roman nose and stroked his trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.
“How about lack of professional integrity? Or sexual harassment.”
“That’s a risky move, Peter. Don’t you remember I’ve already captured your queen?” A calculating sneer betrayed Henderson’s benevolent tone, his look far more menacing than any scowls my sixteen-year-old brother had in his arsenal.
Peter yanked off his glasses, the vein in his neck throbbing. He tried to jab a wiry finger at Henderson’s chest, but Henderson snatched it, his eyes narrowing. Peter stepped closer; left arm raised and fist threatening. “I’ll. Make. You. Pay. For. What. You. Did.”
Breath caught in my throat. Fumbling to unzip the outside pocket on my Coach bag, I inched toward the studio door. My hand found my iPhone. The storm that had been building between the two of them for years threatened to peak. Though Peter surged out of control, I predicted Henderson, even with his health issues, could cause more destruction.
Henderson let go of Peter’s finger, shook his head, and stepped away.
I sighed, my inner turbulence calming as I reached the studio door. But before the air stilled, something thudded behind me. I whirled around. Peter’s forearm pressed against Henderson’s massive torso, shoving him into the wall.
Caught in a vice of uncertainty, I felt every muscle in my body tense. I punched in the number for security.
Henderson whispered to Peter, flicked him off like a dead fly, and disappeared into the green room. I closed my mouth, staring at Peter who stomped past as ruffled as his brown suit.
A reprieve and a close call.
Too close.
Part of me wanted to dismiss it as another round in the continuing saga of the Archaeology Department at Lyndon University. Another part of me knew this time Peter had overstepped, and I couldn’t brush aside the premonition that someone was going to get hurt.
Focus, Mari.
Smoothing my hair, I slapped on a smile and entered the set.
Elizabeth Ludwig is celebrating her new book with a Kindle Fire Giveaway and connecting with readers at a Facebook Author Chat party on 12/6.
One winner will receive:
A Kindle Fire
No Safe Harbor by Elizabeth Ludwig
Enter today by clicking one of the icons below. But hurry, the giveaway ends on December 5th. Winner will be announced at the “No Safe Harbor” Author Chat Facebook Party on 12/6. Connect with Elizabeth, get a sneak peek of the next book in the Edge of Freedom series, try your hand at the trivia contest, and win some great prizes—gift certificates, books and a Book Club Prize Pack (10 copies for your book club or small group)!
So grab your copy of No Safe Harbor and join Elizabeth on the evening of the December 6th for a chance to connect with her and make some new friends. (If you haven’t read the book, don’t let that stop you from coming!)
Don’t miss a moment of the fun, RSVP today. Tell your friends via FACEBOOK or TWITTER and increase your chances of winning. Hope to see you on the 6th!
She came to America searching for her brother. Instead all she’s found is a web of danger.
Cara Hamilton had thought her brother to be dead. Now, clutching his letter, she leaves Ireland for America, desperate to find him. Her search leads her to a houseful of curious strangers, and one man who claims to be a friend-Rourke Walsh. Despite her brother’s warning, Cara trusts Rourke, revealing her purpose in coming to New York.
She’s then thrust into a world of subterfuge, veiled threats, and attempted murder, including political revolutionaries from the homeland out for revenge. Her questions guide her ever nearer to locating her brother-but they also bring her closer to destruction as those who want to kill him track her footsteps.
With her faith in tatters, all hope flees. Will her brother finally surface? Can he save Cara from the truth about Rourke… a man she’s grown to love?
ISLAND BREEZES
From one harbor to the next. Is there no safe harbor for Cara? In hopes of meeting her brother in New York, she instead meets one of the men wanting to kill him.
Warned by her brother not to talk to anyone about him or why she left Ireland, Cara still doesn’t take long before she begins to open up a bit.
It isn’t long before Cara is also in danger. Is Rourke really the one she needs to worry about?
This book will put you on the edge of your seat as you fear for Cara and her brother.
Worst case scenario – Cara falls in love with her brother’s killer. You’ll need to hold judgment until the very end. Cara stands to lose everything.
***A special thanks to litfuse for providing a review copy.***
Elizabeth Ludwig is an award-winning author whose work has been featured on Novel Journey, the Christian Authors Network, and The Christian Pulse. Her first novel, Where the Truth Lies, which she co-authored with Janelle Mowery, earned her the 2008 IWA Writer of the Year honors. This book was followed in 2009 by “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” part of a Christmas anthology collection called Christmas Homecoming, also from Barbour Publishing.
In 2010, her first full-length historical novel Love Finds You in Calico, California earned Four Stars from the Romantic Times. Books two and three of Elizabeth’s mystery series, Died in the Wool (Barbour Publishing) and Inn Plain Sight (Spyglass Lane), respectively, released in 2011.
Coming in 2012 is Elizabeth’s newest historical series from Bethany House Publishers. No Safe Harbor, the first book in the Edge of Freedom Series, will release in October, with two more books following in 2013 and 2014.
Elizabeth is an accomplished speaker and teacher, and often attends conferences and seminars, where she lectures on editing for fiction writers, crafting effective novel proposals, and conducting successful editor/agent interviews. Her popular literary blog, The Borrowed Book, enjoyed a wide readership in its first full year, with more than 17,000 visitors in 2011. Along with her husband and two children, Elizabeth makes her home in the great state of Texas. To learn more about her work, visit her at www.elizabethludwig.com.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Cathy Bryant for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cathy Bryant is the author of the Miller’s Creek Novels—Texas Roads, A Path Less Traveled, and The Way of Grace. Her desire is to write heart-stirring stories about God’s life-changing grace. Though Texas-born, she currently resides in the beautiful Ozark mountains of northwest Arkansas with her husband of thirty years and near the world’s cutest grandson.
A justice-seeking perfectionist pursues her dream of a perfect life in her hometown of Miller’s Creek, Texas. Sidetracked by the desire to be a prosecuting attorney, Grace Soldano launches into uncharted waters, making herself over to please her boss and mentor. Then a disheveled free spirit turns her perfectly ordered world upside down, challenging the concept of personal goodness. A fall from perfection leaves Grace teetering between vengeance and grace, caught in a deadly crossfire that leaves her dreams in a heap of ashes. Can she learn to joyfully accept the life God has given her–far from perfect–but one completely immersed in His grace?
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 318 pages
Publisher: WordVessel Press (September 25, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0984431144
ISBN-13: 978-0984431144
ISLAND BREEZES
There are just times when you want to shake Gracie. Then there are times you want to hug and protect her.
She jumps into danger without really thinking through things properly. She has good intentions, but you know what road is paved with those. Gracie hops from one job to another and ends up with no job.
All the while I can see the danger and the villains, but can’t figure out all the hows and whys.
You need to realize you aren’t going to get any sleep until you finish this book, so start reading before breakfast.
I’ve enjoyed all the Miller’s Creek novels, but this one has really grabbed me. If you don’t get a bit of an adrenalin rush with this book, there’s something seriously wrong with your adrenal gland.
By the way, you’re going to need some of those tissues before you finish this book.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
A car horn blasted through the summer evening air, followed by tires screeching against pavement and the rancid smell of burning rubber. Grace yanked her head in Mama’s direction. The noisy blast continued as a car bore down on them. Everything went pitch black as Mama’s piercing scream joined her own, followed by a deadly thud.
Heart racing, Grace jerked awake, forcing herself to a sitting position. The same old nightmare. She brought both hands to her face and gulped in air to slow her pounding pulse. Why now? She’d endured the last year of law school and the bar exam without memories of that awful night plaguing her. But now that she was back in Miller’s Creek to work for Tyler, Dent, and Snodgrass as a full-fledged attorney, the dream shattered her sleep for the fourth time in a week.
Grace pulled her hands away from her face—almost afraid to find them dripping with blood—then glanced at the alarm clock on her makeshift nightstand. 5:15 in the morning. She flopped back on the bed and stared at the dark nothingness above her head. There was no way she’d get back to sleep now. Might as well get an early start.
A sudden rush of excitement coursed through her veins. All her hard work had finally paid off. Now it was time to enjoy herself for a change and initiate her life plan, which included a stellar career, new house, Mr. Right, and of course, children.
She removed the band that confined her hair and gave her head a shake. Better to just focus on her career at this point, her best chance at proving her worth—to Papa, to the people of Miller’s Creek, and to Mr. Right, whoever he was.
The cold floor beneath her bare feet sent shivers rippling through her body as she raced down the hallway to the tiny kitchen to make a pot of coffee for Papa. Within a few minutes the coffee machine gurgled and the fresh-brewed aroma permeated every square inch of the house. She was just about to head for a shower when Papa entered.
“You’re up early.” His eyes held questions.
There was no way she’d tell him about the nightmare. No need to cause him worry or pain. “Just excited about this being my first day as an attorney.”
He wandered past her to pull a coffee cup from the cabinet. “It’s all you’ve talked about for weeks.” He droned the words, his voice flat.
Grace rolled her lips between her teeth. It would be nice to have a word of congratulations–anything to recognize her hard work and achievement–but wishing for it wouldn’t make it happen. Instead she sent a sad smile. “I’d better get ready for work.”
She hurried down the hall to the only bathroom in the house and turned on the lights and the little space heater Papa had hung from a nail protruding from the paneled walls. The power cord snaked behind the sink faucet before finding the overloaded outlet—an electrical disaster waiting to happen, but Papa’s way of making do with what he had.
The pipes groaned in protest when she turned on the faucet and waited for the water to get warm. Living with Papa and his stony silence would definitely be the hardest part of her plan, but it would have to do for now. With her brothers and their families now in South Texas, it was her only option.
An hour later, she stepped once more into the kitchen, dressed and ready for work. Grace reached for the spiral notebook that served as her daily planner and checked off the tasks she’d already completed. Start laundry. Check. Make bed. Check. Bible study and prayer. Check.
Millie, the stray cat she’d taken in years ago, butted her head against Grace’s leg, begging for attention. She squatted to scratch the fluffy feline behind the ears. “How’s my kitty?” Grace scooped the cat into her arms and hugged her close. How would she have survived Mama’s death without the perky ears always willing to listen?
The back door swung open. Dressed in his heavy brown coveralls, Papa entered, and brought with him a gust of cold air and the smell of cows. He didn’t say a word, but ambled past her to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, his dirty work boots clomping against the old wooden floor, his face devoid of a smile.
She wrinkled her nose, dropped Millie to the floor, and brushed cat hair from her black skirt. Long gone were the hopes that her father would be proud of her for becoming an attorney. “Through with the chores?”
He continued to wash his hands without looking her way.
Grace forced her hurt feelings aside, her mouth suddenly dry. She should be used to his emotional distance by now. “Papa, I know you don’t approve of me being an attorney, but—”
He held up one hand for silence, his back still to her, water dripping down his sleeve. “Enough, Graciela. I don’t want to discuss this anymore. You made up your mind to disrespect my wishes long ago.”
His displeasure hanging like dead weight around her neck, Grace blinked back tears and picked up her old book bag. It was way too early, but she might as well go to work. She’d grab a pastry at Granny’s Kitchen on the way. No, on second thought, it wouldn’t hurt to skip breakfast. That way she’d save money and inch toward losing those last few pounds she’d gained while studying for the bar. Without another word to Papa, she slipped out of the house, climbed in the battered old farm truck, and headed to the office.
A late autumn fog engulfed downtown Miller’s Creek, and the two- and three-story hewn-stone buildings rose above the mist, silent sentinels observing the march of time. The buildings had seen over a century of use, and thanks to the grant bestowed on the town while she was in high school, had been lovingly restored to their former glory.
Though early November was a little early for Christmas decorations, Miller’s Creek had them up well ahead of time for the tourists who would pour into the historic town square for shopping. Already the old-timey street lamps were festooned with lighted wreaths, while greenery draped the Victorian gazebo and lights twinkled from Christmas trees placed throughout the square.
Gravel crunched beneath the pickup tires as she pulled into the parking lot of Tyler, Dent, and Snodgrass and turned off the headlights. She let herself in the back door and flipped the switch. As the fluorescent fixture flickered on and hummed, her earlier joy dissipated. This should be a celebration—the day for which she’d toiled to bring purpose from her pain—but somehow it felt common and ordinary. No balloons or flowers. No party. No pat on the back or word of congratulations.
She shook of the self-pity and moved to her cubicle to make sure everything was in its place, then instinctively pulled a Bible from her bag and ran her hand over the well-worn cover.
Lord, You know how my heart hurts this morning. I miss Mama and I don’t know what to say to Papa. Help me be all You want me to be. Lead me in Your Way. Give me an open heart and mind to receive Your truth.
As she thumbed through the whispering onion-skin pages, her Bible fell open to Romans. A verse she’d underlined some time before caught her attention. Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.
Enough grace to stand in. Was it even humanly possible to be a person of grace? She slanted her lips as she pondered the question, but finally gave her head a shake. True grace was motivated by the purest love, and maybe it was just her, but she doubted she could ever love someone that much.
The thought troubled her. God commanded her to love others as she loved herself, but some people made that seem impossible. Maybe something inside her was broken and malfunctioning. Perhaps her childhood left her incapable of loving like she was supposed to.
Thump!
She jumped at the unexpected noise then sat motionless, her ears tuned to the tiniest noise. More thumps sounded from the basement.
Her pulse raced at the possibility of an intruder. In Miller’s Creek at this hour of the morning? Not likely. Maybe Andy had spent the night in the basement apartment because of working late. She stood and tiptoed to the narrow stairs leading to the basement. That wasn’t likely either, especially with a newborn at home.
The noise continued. “Andy?” Grace made her way down the darkened steps. If it wasn’t him, at least maybe her voice would scare away a potential burglar.
She glided noiselessly across the large carpeted room. “Andy? Is that you?” Grace jiggled the door knob of the small studio apartment. Locked. Now what?
Perhaps she should call the ranch to see what Andy wanted her to do. She started back across the open space toward the staircase to place the call. But before she’d made it even halfway, the overhead lights sputtered on.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Gracie Mae.”
She spun around, one hand to her pounding heart, a tinny taste in her mouth. Matt?
He leaned against a wall, one stout leg crossed casually over the other, his arms overlapped. An enigmatic expression rested in his sandy brown eyes, and though his hair was damp from a recent washing, his rumpled T-shirt and jeans looked as if he’d slept in them. In the time since she’d seen him last, he’d cut his hair so short there was no evidence of the curls she’d always admired, and he’d buffed up, more muscular and lean than before.
Grace squashed the motherly instincts that rose within her at the sight of his wrinkled clothes. That’s what landed her in trouble with him the first time, and she wouldn’t fall for it again. A man like Matt, one with wanderlust in his blood, wasn’t the one for her. “What are you doing here?”
He released a short laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that question?”
“I passed the bar and—”
“Yeah, Andy told me. Congrats.” He made his way to where she stood and came to a stop a few uncomfortable feet away. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here so early.”
She shrugged and turned toward the stairs. “Couldn’t sleep. See you around.”
Before she reached the first step, Matt blocked her way, the soft scent of shampoo clinging to his damp hair.
“Still running away from me?” Though he spoke the words softly, his tawny eyes held a challenge.
Her hands balled into fists. A million retorts built up behind her clenched lips, but she held them at bay. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that his words affected her in the least. With great effort, she uncurled her fingers. “Nope. Just going back to my desk to get started on some work.”
His posture went slack, and he sent an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Let me start over. Had breakfast yet?”
A rumble sounded from her stomach. “If that’s an invitation, I accept.” The reckless words were out before she had time to reconsider. What was she thinking? She’d shut this door over two years ago, a door that needed to stay shut. Nonetheless, she’d agreed to breakfast, and she’d follow through to prove she wasn’t running away.
They crossed the room together, and Grace threw out a question to fill the silence. “Have you been working out?”
“Yep. Even joined the wrestling team at school. It’s been good for me.”
Grace followed Matt into the apartment and glanced around. In characteristic messy-Matt style, a spread-out newspaper, microwave popcorn bag, and an almost-empty glass sat on the coffee table, while a pillow and blanket hung off the couch. A duffel bag on the floor spewed its contents, bringing an odd rush of disappointment. “Just in town for one night?” Typical.
“Don’t really know at this point.” He offered no further explanation, but moved to the kitchenette fridge and removed the makings for an omelet. “So what’s next for you?” With deft movements, he prepared the meal, the chopped onions burning her eyes. “Last I heard you were going to get your career going before looking for your soul mate. Still searching for Mr. Perfect?” His voice held a hint of bitterness.
She lowered her gaze. “Look, Matt, about our conversation two years ago. It wasn’t personal. I just needed to focus on one thing at a time. My law school had to come first.”
“Agreed. As I recall, I never tried to suggest otherwise.”
“No, but I sensed you wanted more from me than I was prepared to give at the time.”
He seemed to accept the answer. “But you have to admit, I don’t exactly fit the image in your head.”
Grace froze. How was she supposed to answer that? “And what image is that?”
Her eyebrows rose. He’d pretty much nailed her must-have list on the head. In fact, he’d perfectly described one of Andy’s new partners, Jason Dent. The only problem was that guys like Jason didn’t give girls like her a second glance.
A knowing smile touched the corners of Matt’s mouth, but to his credit, he dropped the subject. “So you still haven’t told me why you’re here at such an early hour.”
“That’s because you didn’t ask nicely.”
His boyish chortle took her by surprise and set off unexplainable emotions. He glanced up from the cutting board. “True. How’s this? Nice to see you again, Gracie. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this so early?”
To her chagrin, a traitorous laugh bubbled out. She cut it short and shrugged. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I decided to come to work.”
A frown wrinkled his brow. “How come you couldn’t sleep?”
She hesitated, considering how best to answer his question. Might as well tell him the truth. He’d always been good at dragging it out of her anyway. “Nightmare.”
The lines on his forehead grew deeper. “Same one?”
She averted her gaze and nodded.
“Have it often?”
“Not as often as I used to, but for some reason it’s woken me up several times this week.”
He whisked the eggs into a frothy mixture and poured it into the sizzling skillet, but didn’t speak for a moment, as if thinking through her comment. “Might be the stress of starting a new job.”
“But it’s not really a new job. I’ve worked for Andy off and on since I graduated from high school. You, of all people, should know that.”
A wry grin curled one corner of his mouth. “Yeah, but now you’re an attorney. That worrying you any?”
She deliberated on the question. Drat! He’d done it again. How could he always discern what was bothering her?
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
The self-satisfied smirk on his face gave Grace the urge to whop him upside the head. “So what? That’s what you’re learning how to do, isn’t it? Figure out what’s eating people?”
“Yep.” He added the omelet toppings, and folded it over effortlessly. “Now the next question. Why does it bother you so much that I figured it out?”
Grace seethed inwardly. Why indeed? Maybe because it made her feel like she needed him, and she didn’t want to need him.
He moved next to her, the hot skillet out in front, and stopped, his face inches from hers, his eyelids half-closed. “Don’t worry, Gracie Mae. It’s okay that someone has you figured out. Trust me, it’s a good thing.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever been able to make me as angry as you do, Matt Tyler. Ever!” Grace pelted the words through tight lips then moved toward the door.
Once more, he blocked her way, holding the simmering omelet, the tantalizing aroma teasing her nostrils. “There you go again, running away.”
Rage exploded within, but no way would she dare give him the privilege of being right. She sent a close-mouthed smile she didn’t feel and turned to take a seat at the small table.
Matt tossed a pot holder to the table and set the pan on it, then procured two plates and glasses from the cabinet. “Still like chocolate in your milk?”
Yes, but he didn’t have to know it. “No. I’ve outgrown that childish habit.”
He cocked one eyebrow and poured two glasses of milk, dousing his with a healthy dose of chocolate syrup.
Grace turned her head and looked the other way, fighting her chocolate craving by reminding herself how much she hated her thunder thighs.
Matt took a long slurp from his glass, then released a satisfied sigh and licked his lips. “Man, there’s nothing better than ice-cold chocolate milk.” He sat his glass on the table and divided the omelet before delivering a portion to each plate. “Mind if I bless the food?”
“Not at all.” She bowed her head. At least one part of his life seemed headed in the right direction.
After he finished the prayer, Grace pulled a napkin from the holder and laid it in her lap, then forked into the omelet, cheese squeezing out from between the fluffy layers. A few minutes later she wiped her mouth and glanced up to see Matt staring at her with the same indecipherable look in his eyes.
“So if you woke up early, why didn’t you eat breakfast at your house?” Matt took another swig of milk, his eyes never leaving her face.
“No reason, really.” She shifted in her seat. At least none she wanted him to know.
“Your dad still pressuring you?”
“What do you mean?” Grace scooted her chair away from the table and stood with her plate to carry it to the sink.
Matt took hold of her arm as she whisked by. “Running away again?”
She jerked her elbow away. “No. Just cleaning up my dishes.”
“I’ll take care of it later. Have a seat.”
Grace unwillingly acquiesced. “Papa means well. We just have different opinions of what I should do with my life.”
He studied her face for a long, uncomfortable minute, like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure he should say it. Finally, he widened his eyes and changed the subject. “So back to the attorney thing. Any thoughts on why it’s bothering you?”
“Matt, you’re not a therapist yet, and I’m certainly not your client. Don’t feel like you have to analyze me and figure out all my issues. Nor should you feel obliged to fix me.”
His eyes widened again, registering hurt. “Just trying to help.”
She took in the sincerity inscribed on his face. Why did he have to be so darn likeable? Grace raised her gaze momentarily, focused on a cobweb dangling from the ceiling. And how was she supposed to talk about this with the brother of her boss? “It’s not easy to explain.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, but you’d better not breathe a word of this to Andy.”
A teasing light flickered in his eyes. “If you’re not a client, then you have no client privileges.”
Grace wadded her napkin and tossed it at him.
He caught it effortlessly in mid-air and laughed.
She pointed a finger at him. “I mean it, Matt. Promise.”
“Okay, okay.” He waved his hands, chest high, in surrender.
She inhaled a deep breath, the lingering smell of breakfast still in the air, and rubbed her arms. “You know I’ve wanted to be an attorney ever since Mama died.”
“Yeah. Go on.”
“I just didn’t see it working out this way. I thought I’d be a prosecutor.”
“So you feel like you’re working for the wrong side of the law?”
Grace nodded. “I love Andy like a brother, and owe him so much. I wouldn’t be an attorney if it weren’t for him.”
“But you feel obligated to work for him when your passion is to put the bad guys behind bars.”
“Exactly.” She gave her head a shake at the conundrum. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Matt placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his laced fingers. “Maybe you’re looking at it all wrong, Gracie. You’re focused on the situation rather than why you feel the way you do. Have you stopped to think about why you want to be a prosecutor?”
The reason flew into her brain instantly, and she straightened. “I guess for Mama, to keep someone else from going through this, and to achieve justice for others.”
“To avenge her death?” The question was half-whispered, but even then sounded cold, almost un-Christian. “Don’t overthink it, Gracie.” Matt’s tone held warning. “I see your brain spinning from here. Don’t try to assign meaning and morality to your motivation. Just accept it and move on from there.”
“But it does explain my nightmare.” The agitation in her voice surprised her. “Don’t you see? It’s as if Mama’s trying to remind me of that night so I’ll make the right decision. Maybe I need to look for a different position, one that’ll put me on the prosecution. Maybe I’m not cut out to defend guys I don’t completely trust.”
“Whoa, girl, you’re gonna strip some gears bouncing around that fast.” He stood and moved to the sink with his plate, nabbing hers as he passed. “When it comes to life, A plus B doesn’t always equal C. It’s just a jumping off place. Give it some time.”
There it was again. Matt and his “lo que será, sera”-approach to life. “You would say that. You want me to work for Andy. He’s your brother.”
The dishes Matt carried crashed into the sink, and he made a quick trip back to the table. “That’s not at all why I said what I did. Just think through things a little more carefully. I don’t believe your mother’s trying to communicate with you from the grave, and neither do if you think through it.” He softened his demeanor. “But the dilemma you’re facing is enough to make you dream about the accident.”
“Think through it? That’s the best advice you can give? A minute ago you were telling me not to overthink.”
An exasperated sigh fell from his lips. He squatted near her chair, enclosed her hands with his own, and gazed up into her eyes. “Gracie. It’s me, remember? I know you. Don’t stress and worry about making the right decision. Pray about it. You belong to God. He’ll put you where He wants you.” His smile grew tender. “And I have no doubt that you’ll be an awesome attorney, no matter which side of the courtroom you sit on.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked furiously to keep them at bay. How good it felt to have someone offer encouragement—to remind her God was in control—even if it were Matt. She lowered her gaze to collect herself before glancing back up at him. “Thanks.”
He helped her to her feet and moved close to embrace her in a hug, the scent of his cologne toying with her frazzled emotions.
Grace sidestepped and reached for her glass. There was no way she’d let this move past a friendly level. He was more than likely here for a short time. Then he’d be off chasing his fantasies once more.
She deposited the glass in the stainless steel sink with a clunk. Besides, she had her life plan to think of—a plan that didn’t include a gypsy like Matt.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Rosanne Spears for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Known to her friends as Pip, Philippa has been writing since she was 12 in every notebook she could find. Although she would love to take full credit for her writing ability, she has to admit her faith in Jesus gives her the inspiration and desire to write. She also has a passion for reading, history, and horse-riding, and these interests have led to a love for Regency romances.
Visit the author’s website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
A penniless young widow with an indomitable spirit. A wealthy viscount with an unsavory reputation.
London, 1815: After her husband’s untimely death, Letty Burton comes up from the country with her domineering mother-in-law. Hiding a past she wishes to forget and facing an uncertain future, all she wants is to navigate London Society as a silent companion.
A chance meeting with London’s most eligible bachelor sets in motion a series of events that will bring her quiet life under the unfriendly scrutiny of the ton. With the net of scandal, debts, and rivals closing in, will she let her dark past dictate her life forever? Will she learn to trust again? And most importantly, will she allow herself to love?
Based on the biblical story of Ruth, The Widow’s Redeemer is a Regency romance depicting the pain of past hurts, the grace needed to overcome them, and the beautiful gift of redemption.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.95
Paperback: 302 pages
Publisher: Madison Street Publishing (October 12, 2012)
We’re starting out with three widows all in the same family. Then we’re down to two. It won’t take you long to figure out which widow needs a redeemer.
Then the next step is to figure out who is the redeemer. It could actually be one of two men. It’s pretty easy to figure out which one. But his job won’t be easy. First he has to decide he actually wants to be the redeemer, and then he has to convince the widow.
Just know that you will need those tissues as you read this book. You will definitely need more than one.
The ending is quite satisfying. I think it would be a good thing if Ms Keyworth continued using these characters in more books. I’ve grown quite fond of them.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.
Confucius
“I don’t understand your meaning, sir.” A little crinkle appeared between Letty’s brows. She folded and unfolded her stitchery, her hands becoming more agitated with every second that passed.
She cast the sewing onto a small side table and began teasing the frayed cuffs of her muslin day dress before standing abruptly. Leaving the doctor behind, she walked over to the small window set deeply into the farmhouse wall. Silence followed. She stared at the rugged slabs of stone that made up the thick wall and kept the winter winds at bay.
The beginning of the week had brought her husband back from the gaming hells of London. He had been sickening from exposure to rain and cold on his journey home and had fallen from his horse. Could life be so ready to change? Were the cards being dealt as she stood here?
The physician was packing up instruments into his old leather bag. There was the clink of draft bottles as they slotted into place, the creak of un-oiled leather, and the click of a stiff clasp.
Letty swung back round to face the retreating doctor. “But surely there is something more that may be done?”
His small white head shook in a well-acted sadness. Perhaps he had given this news a dozen times, perhaps he had given it a hundred times over. His headshake was so perfected and his eyes so full of sympathy. It was a slow and definite last retreat.
“It is merely a matter of nursing him until his time comes.” He paused, wetting his bottom lip before taking a long breath. “Has he drawn up a will?”
Letty’s thoughts scattered everywhere at once. She had not thought about a will. Even the mention of one but two days ago would have seemed unwarranted, almost absurd. Yet here John lay, with waxy skin and red-rimmed eyes, the smell of fever on him. The scent was curious; body odors were mingling with the wood smoke and damp, producing a rank and stale smell.
A will, was that what the doctor had said? John had been in charge of business matters, and he would not have had the forethought to write a will at seven and twenty, or at least not the care.
“I am not sure.” She reached a hand up, unconsciously checking her hair. These were not things she had expected to confront in her second year of marriage.
“I suggest you summon your lawyer as soon as possible. It is hard to estimate how much time your husband has left.”
She nodded dumbly, blinking quickly in a last, vain attempt to understand the enormity of what was happening. A sad smile marked his lips, as though that settled the business. With no more to be done, he took up his case and descended the tight spiral staircase.
Letty followed behind, grappling with the feeling of shock but still aware of her obligation to see the doctor out. In front of the house, the small boy who looked after the farm’s horses, waited with the doctor’s animal. Letty watched the physician mount the small Dartmoor pony. The animal shook his head in impatience for his hay and stable and was only happy once his hooves were falling in a steady beat. John’s wife waited at the door until the creature disappeared from sight.
For a moment she stood silently, contemplating the sentence which had just this evening been hung over her life. The gathering gloom descended upon her still figure, leaving her a lonesome silhouette in the evening farmyard. Dew settled unbidden upon the landscape, the droplets disturbed a little by a sea breeze. The sky was dark—hues of blue, gray, red, and purple all slowly merging into one as night formed above her. In a far off pasture the soft moo of a cow could be heard. The familiar sound brought her back to the problems at hand. She shook off the desire to sleep and, turning on her wooden heel, walked hastily inside.
The moonlight was firmly in control of the rugged landscape outside the window when she finally drifted off. The large winged armchair in her husband’s room had become her home in the past week, ever since he had been taken ill. The heavy woolen blanket, which was now draped across her unconscious frame, had become the roof over her head.
The farmhands had brought John back after finding him unhorsed and drenched on one of the farm tracks. After all, a drunk man was no horseman. Letty had not heard from him while he had been in Town and even his return had been a surprise.
A small fire, which had been lit early in the evening, was glowing sluggishly in the grate. The scent of it had gradually penetrated everything in the room. Objects surrounding the bed were cast in an unusual light. Several rapidly drawn up letters scattered a small desk in the corner of the room, the little amount of wax on each one looking like a small arachnid in the dim light. A bowl of tepid water reflected a little of the firelight, giving the depths an eerie, luminescent appeal. A rag hung over the side of the basin, like a lone shipwreck survivor crawling to safety.
Letty was awakened by nightmares only half an hour after she fell asleep. Too many worries consumed her mind which, until settled, would prevent her from further rest. Soon, realizing the cold had frozen her aching joints, she rose to dab her husband’s brow. He made no indication of consciousness. Pausing a moment, she watched the knitting and un-knitting of his feverous brow before turning and making her way to the desk. She shuffled the letters that lay there into some kind of order and gingerly placed another log on the fire.
“Lettice?”
She spun on her heel at the sound of the rasping voice. Small feet bore her swiftly from the fireplace to John’s side. She knelt on the wooden floor to better look into his weary eyes. He was groggy, his eyes roving about the room, though Letty could see lucidness as they settled upon her.
“Yes, John? How do you feel?” She dunked the cloth in the basin and made to wipe his beaded brow.
“No, no more of that. You have made me cold enough.” He turned his head from her.
She nodded slightly, placing the rag back into the basin.
“Why has this come upon me?” he cried out suddenly. “I am in such pain!” He writhed on the bed and upset the soiled bed linens.
“How can I make you more comfortable? Your pillows, do you wish to sit up?”
“That’s the last thing I want to do, Lettice. My back, it aches terribly.” He paused. So little strength was left to him; it was an exertion even to speak a single sentence–especially a sentence filled with anger. “My mother was right. We should never have left Town. None of this would have come upon us.”
Her eyes dropped to the disordered bedcovers. “We would never have met.”
He made no response and turned his head away once again. Letty could not stand the feeling of ineptness. She stood up, pausing by the chair, and then made her way to the fire. There was an old loaf of bread left on a cutting board by its side. She was hungry; it was early morning, a long time since she had had her frugal dinner. She started sawing off a piece to toast over the fire.
“Will you not ask if your sick husband wants something to eat?”
“Do you?”
“No, but you could at least act the caring wife.”
Letty did not answer. It was best she refrained while John was in this mood. Then, with a sobering feeling, she realized that perhaps there would not be many more of his moods to bear.
“The doctor said…well, he said the fever is not abating. He was worried. You are weakening rather than strengthening.”
“And so I expect he thinks I should call the lawyer.” John coughed, a wracking sound that clawed at his lungs and rattled his core.
“He did mention it, yes.” She did not mean it as an attack, but John took it to be one.
“So quick to make me sign over my fortune. I have been ill but a week.” The well-known scowl lines of his face deepened in a sneer.
“John?” She turned to face him. Despite their differences, to tell a man he was dying could never be an easy thing. How could she approach it? How could she say it?
As it was, she would not have to bear the discomfort of speaking it. He had turned his head away again, and he would not turn it back now. He had read it in her anxious eyes all too clearly. Death was inevitable to all men and to him it would come sooner than to most.
She stayed by his bed, quiet, trying hard to clear her mind of all the thoughts that clamored for attention. It was still dark beyond the walls of the house, dark like her mind which was filled with a hundred worries. She would go on through the night worrying, waiting by his side and watching his pain.
Dawn came slowly. She rose from the chair she had been waiting in and walked round the bed to face him. As her gaze fell on his face, the cockerel crowed. His eyes were cold, distant, and lifeless. His body was pale and hard, the worries of a lifetime written in the lines of his harsh, heavy face. She left him there. She did not close his eyes but walked through the cold house in search of her shawl so that she could go to the village and fetch the funeral men. The lawyer never came and neither did her tears.
John’s body was made ready for burial, and the farm’s tenants were duly informed. Letty would be the only one following the coffin to the graveyard on that bleak walk. No friends came; even family, it appeared, were unable to attend. Letty wondered that John’s mother did not come to bury her son, to see the last trace of his earthly self disappear into the ground. It would not be until later that she would receive a letter explaining that, upon hearing of her son’s death, the mother had locked herself in her room and was refusing to eat or come out. To lose a husband had been the first trial for that mother to overcome, but now a son also within two years was more than she could bear. So Letty was left to walk behind her husband’s coffin alone.
The last of the rich brown earth was tossed carelessly by the gravedigger. The soil sprayed across the grave that contained a body that was once a man. Feeling a cold northerly breeze spring up, Letty clasped the material of her thin pelisse closer. She looked around the deserted graveyard, sighed quietly, and then turned to make the lonely walk home.
* * *
Letty’s mind was absent. Her body, however, was seated in a large leather armchair, the springs of which were becoming rather too obtrusive, while the stuffing was half there and half missing. The chair was in a tiny room at the back of a building that constituted the solicitors’ offices. The rambling structure was situated in the village, a little set back from the other buildings, and was condemned by many to be in a worse state of repair than the infamous blacksmith’s. This was partly due to the age and personality of the main law-working occupants, but it was also because their clientele possessed a low standing and, therefore, a deficient income.
Despite the building’s exterior and the general tattiness of the objects within, it was a tidy little office. Nothing seemed out of place and, unlike most solicitors’ desks, paperwork was not scattered across it. Letty was alone in the room for a long while. The faint mutterings and voices, muffled by the wall, floated in to her. The noises all washed over her, and she did not pay them much attention. How could she be interested in the chit-chat of persons she had never met when her future was being located, shuffled, and glanced over?
The man who would be the bearer of all news concerning her future eventually opened the door. He paused on the threshold. Letty could hear his steady breathing though she did not look round. Her head remained perfectly still, her eyes forward, and she had a politeness about her carriage. She clasped her hands loosely in her lap, ready for whatever would be thrown into them. She may not have had a governess who had taught her fine languages or clever mathematics but, thanks to her parson scholar of a father, she was no fool. That pause upon the threshold was one small thing which warned her of what was to come.
Why would a solicitor pause on the threshold, run a handkerchief over the perspiration that had suddenly beaded on his brow, give four brisk sniffs, and then straighten his plain cravat before facing his client? The answer was plain and it was simple. It whispered itself into Letty’s mind. It said: fear.
She smiled faintly as the solicitor took his seat. He was a short, wiry old man and rather outmatched by the much too large wooden desk. He managed a small, polite smile before he placed the papers he had been carrying carefully out before him. With all of them equally spaced and perfectly straight, he cleared his throat and began.
“Now, Mrs. Burton, ah, here we are, ah, yes. Now I have drawn up and put together all the estate’s values and assets including the farm and the house.” He refrained from using the term “your house”, and that was when she began to realize her true predicament. “I have then compared them to repayments needing to be made, yes, um, now….” He readjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles while the small tuft of white hair in the center of his head quivered. “Yes, ah….”
Letty’s heart was tugged a little by the awkward situation this man had been placed in. She rested a tentative hand on the desk but took care to distance it from the solicitor’s own hands. She captured his gaze with her frank brown eyes. “Mr. Glenville, I am led to believe that sometimes husbands have little to leave to their wives due to unfortunate business circumstances leading up to a sudden death. I understand that this cannot be helped.” She kept her eyes on his, speaking far more with them than with her mouth.
“Yes, yes, of course. So glad you understand, Mrs. Burton. It can cause such upset, you see, when the value of the estate and assets comparative to various debts is read out. That is why—well, never mind that.” He reshuffled the papers then took them up again and read on in a calm, precise voice. When he had finished, Letty remained poised for a few moments longer, allowing the information to take its rightful place in her mind. She had been completely unaware of the debts and the precarious position John had been in before he died.
“I see,” she said finally, with far more firmness than Mr. Glenville had expected. “And now tell me truthfully: can the assets fulfill the repayments in their entirety with anything left over?” Her eyes fell back into focus as she spoke, containing a hardness that had not been there before.
“Well, Mrs. Burton, this is where it gets rather more complex. You see, your husband’s affairs had fallen into, well, how shall I say? Difficult times. Therefore, through my calculations of his estate and the debts he accrued from purchases, as well as the debts from ah…several respectable establishments in London.”
Letty’s neck could not help but tense at the reference to her husband’s regular appearance at some of London’s most fashionable gaming hells. It had not been unusual for him to be away from Cornwall for weeks at a time while he entertained himself in London. She remembered the look of disgust and the lack of farewell as he journeyed away from their house each time he went to the metropolis. How could he, a bred gentlemen, stand to be in the country with little or no entertainment? Coupled with this was the severe lack of society that had attended him ever since his marriage to Letty. So severe were the consequences of his disadvantageous marriage that to spend only moments in his wife’s presence was too much for him to bear.
He would be off, of course, entertaining himself in some hell or another, chasing days of past glory in the far-gone seasons. He met his friends, the ones she was never permitted to see, the ones in front of whom she could only prove an embarrassment. She had often wondered what those friends had heard of her. If it were spoken from John’s lips then it would not be praise. There had been a few times when his words had stung more than his hand upon her—not many, but a few.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Glenville. Could you please repeat what you just said?” Letty’s back straightened and her mind returned from that far off place.
“Have no fear, Mrs. Burton.” Mr. Glenville smiled slightly. He liked Lettice Burton, even if she had married above her station. She seemed a sweet girl and yet, as he saw her sitting there, he reflected that she was much changed from the girl he had seen on her wedding day. She no longer looked an innocent, fresh-faced child; she was a woman now, at least about the eyes. There was a sort of wisdom there, a lack of that childlike naivety she had once borne. “I understand this is a difficult time. Losing a spouse is a terrible thing, especially at so young an age.”
Letty bowed her head in assent but behind the eyes that Mr. Glenville had deemed wise, there was no grieving heart. Was that wrong? Letty felt pangs of guilt and yet, as she raised her head again and felt the slight bruising at the back of her neck, the guilt bled away.
“What I was beginning to explain was the financial plan for Highfield. In order to cover the debts owed, I am afraid that the only way is to sell the house and the farm along with it.”
Letty, after several days of widowhood, felt the first tears pricking her eyes. The guilt came back, but it was overcome with sadness. She thought with fondness—and bitterness—of the home she had shared with John, and for a moment could not bear the thought of its inevitable loss.
“I understand, Mr. Glenville. I give you all the authority to see to the matter. I shall prepare the house and farm for a new owner and take my leave of the tenants.”
“Madam, I know this is outside of my authority, but I just wish to inquire—have you anywhere to go? I would not go about selling this property for you if you have no safety.”
Letty smiled at him, his kindness a surprise yet fitting with his winsome face. “It is quite all right, Mr. Glenville. I am sure that my family will take me in.” She said it with a certainty she was far from feeling. “In the meantime, the debts must be paid. Please sell Highfield, and before other debts are settled, take your own wages out of the sum. I do not wish to see you underpaid.”
Mr. Glenville looked down at the desk, shuffling papers in a brisk fashion. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and fluffed it about his nose. He was trying his hardest to smile his thanks without seeming impertinent. When he looked up, he saw a large smile brightening Letty’s mouth and it instantly put him at his ease. The smile remained, covering the anxiety inhabiting her mind and protecting her from further sentiment or questions. She rose to exit.
Mr. Glenville came out from behind his desk and made to take her hand. The sudden movement caused Letty to shrink back instinctively, her arms moving to protect her body. Mr. Glenville’s owl-like eyebrows rose and crinkled in confusion. Letty, her wide eyes taking in what she had just done unconsciously and the harmless gesture of the man which she had misread, dropped her hands to her sides in embarrassment.
“Thank you, Mr. Glenville,” she said, trying to speak as though nothing unusual had just occurred. “You have been exceedingly helpful. If you could send me a missive here and there, to update me on the sale’s progress and debt repayments, I would greatly appreciate it.” She made no move to give him her hand.
The small man, willing to ignore the strange episode, bowed deeply before straightening again. Something flashed in his eyes, but Letty missed the look of admiration he bestowed upon her. She was already crossing the threshold, planning in her mind what needed to be done next.
***
Letty had barely eaten a thing at lunch, and now, as she was walking to the farm tenants’ houses, a feeling of weakness came over her. She would not be eating until the leave-taking was done, however long it took. The sky was overcast though it was not likely to rain. Letty observed the sun-whitened clouds that threw everything into an oddly naked light.
The dirt track, which she had walked down so many times to oversee the farm work while John was away, was slightly damp thanks to last night’s rain. Her black widow’s garb had been bought at the cheapest price, so if a little mud spattered the hemline she did not much care. She was too used to walking in the country to be bothered about hemlines and complexion.
Her small figure went in and out of the few cottages on the farm. She bade farewell to the many families, the familiar smell of animals and earth in her nose. She was touched by the few words of condolences that were uttered, even if the tenants cared little for the loss of John. She saw their many concerned eyes and knew their feelings were for her.
To them she was the kindly parson’s daughter who came and asked after each and every one of them, never forgetting a name. Yes, they would be sorry to see her go, yet the promise of a new master who might not be as tyrannical as the last was something that gave them hope. Why had the gentleman come from Town to a small piece of Cornwall in the first place? It was a piece of the country scorned by the modish, and clearly it had been scorned by him as well.
Letty knew of the many questions that her union with John had raised. They had been worlds apart in station and they would never have married had it not been for one indiscretion. That one incident, which had been so easily misread, was the reason she had been married for two years to a man who did not love her. If only John had not led her into a compromising situation because of his own desires; if only she had not so easily mistaken his lust for love. He had been a man whom she had thought she loved, and it had taken time for that naivety to fade after their hasty marriage. She had slowly realized his resentment of her, and it was a resentment that had in two years grown savage.
Yet, as she spoke to each tenant she felt a slight loss, a slight sense of pain at the parting she was making from the place that had been her home, no matter the circumstances. She remembered that she needed to write a letter to her parents asking their shelter. Would they be able to take her back into their parsonage? Somehow, it seemed impossible to go back to her childhood home–that place where her father had once tutored John, where they had met, where the unfortunate incident had happened which forced them to marry.
Too much had happened to her, had been inflicted upon her, for her to return to that place where she had once been so innocent. She felt as though the innocence she had worn in her youth had become polluted. She could not return to live the life of someone she would never be again. As the last tenant closed the door behind her, she turned towards her home, and as she walked back in the twilight, she knew that tonight, at least, it was too late to think upon the future.
***
The following morning brought a letter from Theodora Burton, Letty’s sister-in-law, who resided in Truro. The small, pretty hand, familiar to Letty, brought a little smile to the young widow’s lips. What had her relative been up to now?
Dearest Lettice, 17 October 1815
How are you? I am so sad to hear of John’s passing away. It was such a dreadful shock! I actually said to Mrs. Grockel, my housekeeper, how sudden it was. I even dropped my paintbrush when I read the letter you sent me about it. (I was in the midst of decorating a small cabinet and now it is totally ruined as I dropped a black paintbrush right in the middle. I have no idea what to do about it. Mrs. Grockel said to paint it one color again. I told her if she wished to spend hours repainting the pattern she is welcome to it!)
Anyway, I am getting quite beside the point! Mr. Burton—well, David to you, I suppose, since you are family—has become quite ill, and as I thought you may be in need of some company and so shall I, I am inviting you to come and stay with us a while. Would you like to? Please say yes, for if I only have Mrs. Grockel to speak to I may fall ill myself, though I do not wish to exaggerate, of course.
I hope everything is well with you, dear sister, and I look forward to seeing you soon.
I send my love, your dearest sister-in-law,
Theodora Burton
Letty folded the letter and laid it in her lap. She turned to gaze out of the parlor window onto green fields that heaved up and fell away outside. Her thumb stroked the thick paper; perhaps it would be good to visit Theo. It had been a long time since she had seen her and it would be a way to save her parents any expense. Her father had been graced with a decent parish, but that did not mean money had ever been plentiful. The thought of her father only brought her mind back to John. If only money had not been so scarce when she had been young! Her father would not have had to take on gentlemen to tutor. She would never have met John, and they would never have married in a desperate attempt to avert the scandal.
She suddenly shook herself. What was she doing? Self-pity would help nothing. The past was set in stone and ultimately unchangeable. She must think of the future. If she could not change past actions, she could at least try to survive the present. She reprimanded herself and then, flicking the long plait of hair she had been fiddling with back over her shoulder, she rose clasping the letter. She sat in John’s old chair at the large wooden desk, the high back overshadowing her, and took out a sheet of paper. Once the letter to Theo was finished, sealed, and sent, Letty went about packing the few dresses she owned into a bandbox. She saw to the business of the farm, and finally coming back to Highfield, she began saying goodbye to her home.
***
And so the farm, the house, and all the possessions therein were left to the debt collectors. Letty took her final leave with only a small trunk and a portmanteau to her widowed name. She removed to her sister-in-law’s house in Truro. While Theodora’s husband remained sick, Letty would be the young wife’s comforter and companion.
The widow remembered with such clarity the day on which she left: the crisp morning air that pinched at her cheeks before she stepped up into the carriage; the sweet smell of earth that was laced with traces of briny sea air; the wind that flung her long hair back and forth, loosing it from the contraptions imprisoning it; the sky that was thick shades of iron gray and layers of towering clouds building above; the heath and shrub covered landscape in all its unruly beauty she knew so well—all was left to the elements behind her. The animals were hidden away in warm homes together, the only farewell being the natural blow of westerly winds.
The harshly sprung carriage afforded a small view of the country which she loved through a murky pane of glass. This view she engraved in her mind’s eye. She would keep it for a time when she needed to know there was a place like heaven, a paradise somewhere.
Christmas may be the most wonderful time of year, but it’s also one of the most stressful and most expensive. Americans spend billions, crafting the perfect holiday season complete with lavish meals, new decorations and the latest, greatest gadgets and fashions for everyone on their gift list. Most don’t think about the hefty price tag until the credit card bill comes in January, and many will go thousands of dollars deeper into debt to finance the perfect holiday season.
For anyone who wants to have a less stressful, more joyful holiday season and celebrate without breaking the bank, syndicated personal finance columnist Mary Hunt is here to help.
“Here’s my challenge for you,” writes Hunt. “This Christmas, lock up the credit cards and let me show you how to experience the best Christmas ever with no debt, less stress, and more joy!”
In Debt-Proof Your Christmas Hunt helps readers assess their financial situation, commit to no new debt and think creatively about their gift list. With her guidance, readers will identify what has caused them to overspend in the past and approach this holiday season with a plan and a new attitude toward holiday spending. This just might be the best gift you can give yourself and your family.
ISLAND BREEZES
This is a book I wish I had when I still had a family at home. I certainly needed it then.
I’ve managed to come to terms with a Christmas season that is much less materialistic as I continue to tr to simplify my life. Still, this book has given me insight and new ideas.
It’s still early enough in the season to put a lot of this into practice. If you’ve already blown it for this year, you can make this year’s plunge into (or further into) debt be your last.
Just think how it will feel to have a more enjoyable holiday next year. You can start anew with the new year.
***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.**
Mary Hunt?is an award-winning and bestselling author, syndicated columnist and sought-after motivational speaker who created a global platform that is making strides to help men and women battle the epidemic impact of consumer debt. She is founder and publisher of the interactive website Debt-Proof Living, which features financial tools, resources and information for her online members. Her books have sold more than a million copies and her daily newspaper column is nationally syndicated through Creators Syndicate and is enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of Everyday Cheapskate?readers. Hunt speaks widely on personal finance and has appeared on shows such as?Good Morning America, Oprah,?Dr. Phil and?Focus on the Family. She and her husband live in California.
Available September 2012 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Lynnette Bonner for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born and raised in Malawi, Africa. Lynnette Bonner spent the first years of her life reveling in warm equatorial sunshine and the late evening duets of cicadas and hyenas. The year she turned eight she was off to Rift Valley Academy, a boarding school in Kenya where she spent many joy-filled years, and graduated in 1990.
That fall, she traded to a new duet–one of traffic and rain–when she moved to Kirkland, Washington to attend Northwest University. It was there that she met her husband and a few years later they moved to the small town of Pierce, Idaho.
During the time they lived in Idaho, while studying the history of their little town, Lynnette was inspired to begin the Shepherd’s Heart Series with Rocky Mountain Oasis.
Marty and Lynnette have four children, and currently live in Washington where Marty pastors a church and Lynnette works as an administrative assistant.
Visit the author’s website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
He broke her heart.
Now he’s back to ask for a second chance.
Heart pounding in shock, Sharyah Jordan gapes at the outlaw staring down the barrel of his gun at her. Cascade Bennett shattered her dreams only last summer, and now he plans to kidnap her and haul her into the wilderness with a bunch of outlaws…for her own protection? She’d rather be locked in her classroom for a whole week with Brandon McBride and his arsenal of tricks, and that was saying something.
Cade Bennett’s heart nearly drops to his toes when he sees Sharyah standing by the desk. Sharyah Jordan was not supposed to be here. Blast if he didn’t hate complications, and Sharyah with her alluring brown eyes and silky blond hair was a walking, talking personification of complication.
Now was probably not the time to tell her he’d made a huge mistake last summer….
Two broken hearts. Dangerous Outlaws. One last chance at love.
Step into a day when outlaws ran free, the land was wild, and guns blazed at the drop of a hat.
I’ve not yet finished this book as I had trouble getting it from my computer to my Kindle. That won’t stop me from telling you that this is an enjoyable read. It has romance, action, history and more.
I will definitely continue reading books by Ms Bonner.
Update: I just finished this book, and really enjoyed it. Ms Bonner, please use these characters in your next series. I can already see more books – maybe one with Smith.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Sharyah had just bent over the papers she needed to grade when the small rock landed on her desk with a soft thud. The titter of laugher ceased as she snapped her head up to study her students. Everyone seemed to be in deep concentration and intent on their lessons. She focused her gaze on Brandon McBride, but he looked as innocent as an angel and sat attentively reading his history lesson, just as he should be. Sonja and Sally Weaver both gave her sympathetic glances, from the last row of desks where they were working on their math lesson together.
Sharyah sighed, knowing from past experience that asking the class who had done the deed would prove futile. She’d been here two weeks, now. Two weeks in the God-forsaken little back-water town of Beth Haven and for a solid week-and-a-half she’d been longing to pack her bags and return home.
She had been approached about teaching in Madras, but upon arriving learned that the former teacher had decided to stay on for another year. Disappointed, she’d been all set to go back home when the head of the board told her that Beth Haven had been having trouble keeping a teacher and he thought they might be searching for one again. When she’d arrived and informed the Beth Haven board of her interest in the teaching position, they’d been ecstatic. She could see why, now. No teacher in their right mind would want to stay and deal with this, but she was determined to make it work.
The first week, she’d spent countless hours grilling the students both collectively and individually as to the identity of the trickster, but whoever the little devil was, he had a fierce grip on the loyalty of everyone else in the class. No one would give him up.
For the last several weeks, she’d tried to ignore the incidents in hopes that the prankster would give up out of sheer boredom.
Never one to be squeamish, when she’d found the snake in her top desk drawer she’d calmly picked it up and tossed it out the window. A few of the boys had gaped in disappointment, but the next day a tack had appeared on her chair. She’d noticed it before she sat on it, thankfully, and had whisked it out of sight and plunked herself down on the chair with zest. But, even though she’d been watching their faces carefully as she dropped into the seat, she hadn’t been able to determine which child was the most disappointed when she didn’t cry out in pain.
A couple days ago, she’d actually almost laughed when she’d discovered that all the chalk had been replaced with garden carrots, fuzzy green tops and all. Thankfully she’d had an extra piece in her satchel.
Today however, the large spider in her lunch pail had been almost more than she could bear. She shuddered at the memory and thanked her lucky stars that Papa had never allowed her to luxuriate in a fit of the vapors – because if ever there was a moment when she’d been tempted to, that had been it. The thing had been so large she could see its beady eyes looking right at her! And fuzzy! She rubbed at the goose-flesh on her arms. All afternoon her stomach had been grumbling its complaint. The thought of eating her sandwich and the apple that a spider crawled all over had been more than her fortitude could handle.
Yes, packing up and returning to home would be heaven. But, in a way that would be just like succumbing to the vapors, and she wouldn’t allow herself the weakness of retreat. She would get a much-needed break in the spring, just a few short months away, when her entire family came over for Jason and Nicki’s March wedding. Tears pressed at the backs of her eyes as longing to see them all welled up inside her. But she blinked hard and reined in her emotions. Until then, she would simply have to forge ahead.
All her life she’d wanted only one thing.
Well, two things if she were honest, but she wasn’t going to think about Cascade Bennett today. She sighed and glanced out the window. If she was smart she wouldn’t ever again waste another moment of time pondering the way he’d broken her heart. God promised in his Word that goodness and mercy would follow her all the days of her life, so obviously the good things God had for her didn’t include Cade Bennett.
Samuel Perry – that’s who she should be thinking on. Yes, Sam. If he ever got around to asking her, he would make a very…suitable husband. She could learn to be happy and satisfied with a man like Sam.
Giving herself a shake, she returned her focus to her students. The one thing she’d wanted ever since she could remember was to be a teacher. She loved children, loved to see their eyes light up when understanding dawned. Loved their frank outlook on life and their quickness to forgive and move on. Loved to help them make something of themselves. That love was the reason she was here, and she had to figure out a way to get these children to accept her, or at least respect her.
She glanced at the clock and stood from her desk. “Alright, children. It’s time to head home for the day.” She gave them all her sunniest smile. “See you bright and early in the morning, and don’t forget tomorrow is our day to go leaf collecting, so bring a sack or pillowslip from home to carry with you.” She pinned Brandon with a look. “Brandon, if I could have a moment of your time up by my desk, please? Everyone else, you’re dismissed.”
Purposely she turned her back and began to erase the chalk board, but inwardly she cringed, waiting for some missile or projectile to bombard her. With a determined clench of her jaw, she threw back her shoulders. Show no fear!
Amazingly enough nothing happened and soon, other than Brandon shuffling his feet as he waited for her to finish, the room filled with silence.
Finally, she hung the rag on its hook by the board and turned to face her little nemesis. My, but he had the most alluring big chocolate eyes. And right at the moment they were dripping with innocence. Future women beware! Brandon McBride cometh! She bit off a grin and folded her hands carefully in front of her.
“Did you need my help, Miss Jordan?” He looked around as though expecting her to ask him to carry something for her.
“No, Brandon. But I want you to know that I’m not going anywhere.”
He seemed puzzled. “Not going anywhere, ma’am?”
“No matter the number of tricks played on me, I will finish out the school year. Now,” she held up a hand to still his protest, “it can be a good year for both of us, or it can be a miserable year. Your choice.”
“But ma’am, I don’t…” Suddenly his eyes widened. “You think I’m the one that’s been playin’ tricks on you?” He shook his head, dark eyes wide and gleaming with sincerity. “It ain’t me, ma’am. Honest it’s not.”
“Isn’t. ‘It isn’t me, ma’am,’” she corrected automatically, then sighed. “You are dismissed, Brandon. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes’m.” He turned to fetch his lunch pail and slate.
Was that an impish gleam in his eyes? Or simply relief at not being in too much trouble?
She watched him dash out the door, his ever-present slingshot cocked at an angle in the waistband of his pants, and then sighed as she sank down onto her chair.
Wasp-venom-pain stabbed into her backside. With a yelp, she leapt to her feet. And pulled the offending stick pin from her posterior.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why that little—”
The back door crashed in, startling the rest of the thought from her mind.
A man tromped in, black bowler pulled low over his brow, red bandana covering his nose and mouth and a gun leveled at her chest.
UV
Cade Bennett stood in the alley, his heart beating a competition with the tinny piano playing inside the saloon. Judd Rodale and his younger brother Mick had gone in only moments ago. He took a calming breath and checked his weapon one more time, then stepped around the corner and pushed through the bat-wing doors of The Golden Pearl.
The room looked the same as it had the night before when he’d scouted it with Rocky and Sky. Upright piano in the back right corner. Bar along the wall to his left. Stairs leading up to the second floor along the rear wall. And six round tables scattered throughout the room. Judd and Mick sat at a table close to the bar. They’d already been dealt in to the perpetual poker game The Pearl kept running. The dealer wore a white shirt with black armbands and a visor cap, and looked a little nervous as he dealt out a card to Judd. The other two men in the game must be locals. Cade didn’t recognize them.
He sidled up to the bar and rested his forearms there, lifting a finger to the barkeep.
“What’ll it be?” The man wiped his hands on a rag that looked like it would leave more behind than it would clean off.
“Whiskey. Make it a double.”
The bartender sloshed the liquid into a glass and slid it his way.
Cade lifted it in a gesture of thanks and turned to face the room, propping his elbows on the bar and one boot on the rail below. He sniffed the whiskey but didn’t taste it. He would need all his senses to pull this off.
The poker hand came to an end and Rodale raked in his winnings.
Time to turn on the charm. Lord, a little help here. “You gentlemen care to let a weary traveler in on a bit of the fun?”
Judd Rodale didn’t even look at him. “You gonna drink that whiskey, kid? Or just look at it?”
Mick snickered and organized his stacks of coins, taking his brother’s lead in not even glancing Cade’s way.
Cade chuckled. “Well, I need all my wits about me if I’m going to go up against you Rodales in a poker game. I’ve heard you’re the best.”
Judd looked up then, scanning him from head to toe.
Good. He had the man’s attention.
“I’m sorry, kid, but I can’t say your reputation has spread as far as mine. I have no idea who you are.”
Cade grabbed a chair and circled around so that his back would be to the wall when he sat. He turned the chair backwards and straddled it, setting his whiskey on the card table. “Well now, I’m going to ignore the fact that you called me kid in that tone, because basically I’m nobody.” He stretched his hand across the table giving Rodale what he hoped was an irritated smile. “Name’s Schilling. Cade Schilling.”
The dealer fumbled the cards he was shuffling.
Judd’s eyes widened a bit as he studied Cade, ignoring his proffered hand.
Cade felt his first moment of ease. So their planning ahead on this one had paid off. These men had definitely heard of Cade Schilling.
One of the locals gathered up his money and stood. “Time for me to call it a night, fellas. Catch you another time.”
No one seemed to notice his departure. All attention at the table was fixed on Cade.
Mick cursed. “You are Cade Schilling? The Cade Schilling who—”
Judd cleared his throat loudly.
Mick caught himself. “—well, the Cade Schilling?”
Cade grinned. “Never met another one of me. So what do you say? We playing cards, or not?” Casually he removed a stack of gold eagles from his jacket pocket and laid them on the table.
Judd flicked a gesture to the dealer. “Deal him in.”
“Now you’re talking.” Cade stood, flipped his chair around the right way, removed his jacket and hung it over the back. He rolled up his sleeves as he sat down again, and grinned at the men who were all staring at him in question. “Had a friend get shot once. Someone thought he had a card up his sleeve. I watched him die, choking on his own blood.” He shrugged. “I’ve made it a point to roll my sleeves up for every poker game since then.”
Mick chuckled and picked up his hand of cards.
The kid would be easier to win over than Judd. But if he could get Judd to like him, the rest of the Rodale Gang would fall in line.
Cade let the first two hands go, cringing inwardly at the amount of money Judd was taking off him. He reminded himself that the money was Sam’s anyway – all part of the ruse.
They were halfway into the third round when Rocky and his brother Sky pushed through the doors, their badges plainly visible. Sky sauntered to a table and Rocky eased up to the bar. Cade’s heart rate kicked up a notch. The other local folded, snatched his hat from the back of his chair and quickly strode from the room. The only other patron in the room hurriedly followed him out the doors.
Smart men. A little more of the tenseness eased from Cade’s shoulders. Less potential for casualties. Less witnesses. The bartender, piano player, and dealer were the only others left now, and they would be easily convinced to keep quiet about the events that were about to unfold.
Cade thought through the plan one more time, making sure he had every detail of what was to happen figured out. Jason had wanted to be here too, but Nicki, the widow Jason had fallen in love with, was due to have her baby any day now and they’d all convinced him they could pull this off without him.
Lord I hope we were right on that count.
He laid a card aside and took another from the dealer. It was time to put everything into play. He lowered his voice and kept his perusal on his cards as he said, “Judd, unless I miss my guess, your dandy of a brother here has been sneaking down to town and has caused a little ruckus. Two lawmen just came in. One at the bar, one at the table near the door.”
Judd’s voice was just as low, barely audible over the plinking of the piano. “I see ’em. We don’t have anything to worry about. Sheriff Collier wouldn’t know an outlaw from a bread roll. This is his town.”
Pretending great interest in his cards, Cade lifted one shoulder. “The barber said they brought in a couple new men. This must be them.”
“Well, we ain’t done nothing to warrant their attention. They mostly leave us alone so long as we keep to ourselves. I’ll handle this.” Judd swilled his whiskey and took a gulp then started to stand.
Cade flicked the corner of one of his cards. “I hear tell Judge Green’s daughter is sure a pretty little thing.”
Mick shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Judd cursed softly and sank back down. “Mick?”
Mick couldn’t seem to meet his brother’s gaze.
Judd swore again. “I ought to shoot you, myself! We are just about—” he cut off, tossing Cade a glance before he returned his attention to Mick. “Now I have to figure out a way to get us out of here.”
Cade leaned forward. “Maybe I can help you with that.”
Judd glowered at him.
Cade pressed on. “I’ve been needing a place to…hang my hat, for a bit. I get you out of here and…?” He shrugged. Their whole plan hinged on the decision Judd would make right here.
Mick nodded at Cade. “You get us out of here and you can stay with us for as long as you want.”
Judd wasn’t so quick to take the bait. He lowered his brow. “Why would you do us any favors?”
Cade pushed out his lower lip and eased into a comfortable posture. “Suit yourself. Like I said, I’ve been needing a place to lie low. Word hereabouts is you have the best hide-out around, and….” He lifted his shoulders and resettled his hat, once again leaving the decision in Judd’s hands.
Rocky and Sky stood erect and turned to face their table.
“Judd, just let him help us.” Desperation tinged the edges of Mick’s tone.
Judd glanced toward the slowly approaching lawmen. Then gave Cade a barely perceptible nod.
Cade suppressed a sigh of relief as he stood and swung his jacket over his shoulder. “Gentlemen,” he said loudly, “the game has been fun, but I sense it is time to move on.” He tipped his hat to Sky and Rocky as he stepped past them. They were already drawing their guns, right on cue.
“Mick Rodale, you are under arrest for the molestation of Missy Green.”
Cade palmed his gun, spun around and swung his coat over Rocky’s Colt knocking the aim down and away. He pressed the muzzle of his pistol to Sky’s chest. Sky only had enough time to let loose his scripted cry of shock before Cade pulled the trigger.
The report was a little loud, but about right.
Sky flew backward and crashed over a table, sliding across the surface and disappearing over the other side as the table toppled onto its edge. His body was concealed, only his legs protruded from one end.
Too bad about that. He couldn’t see if the blood packet they’d rigged had worked.
Rocky had recovered from his pretended surprise by this time and had his Colt leveled at Judd’s head. “Drop your gun! I will kill him!”
Calmly Cade turned and pressed the muzzle of his pistol under Rocky’s chin. “Your friend over there is lying in a pool of his own blood. Do you think I’d hesitate to kill you too? You have five seconds to drop that gun.
Rocky’s eyes narrowed.
“Four… three…”
“Alright! Alright!” Rocky’s gun thumped onto the table and he raised his hands above his head.
This was the critical moment. Now he had to keep Judd and Mick from shooting Rocky themselves.
He kept his pistol aimed directly at Rocky and his body between him and the Rodales. “Have a seat in that chair behind you. Judd, Mick. I got this. I’ll meet you outside of town.”
Mick shucked his gun and pushed Cade aside. He stood trembling in excitement before Rocky. “Let me kill this one.”
Dear God, give me wisdom. Cade hoped his breathing sounded normal to the others in the room. It rasped ragged and thready in his own ears. He made a quick decision, met Rocky’s gaze and then thunked him a good one with the butt of his pistol. Not hard enough to actually knock him out, but Rocky took the cue and slumped over, toppling to the floor with a low moan.
Cade pierced Mick with a look. “You kill a lawman and it will follow you to your grave. Trust me, I know.”
Judd had his pistol free now. He gestured the bartender, piano player, and dealer toward the back wall and they stumbled over themselves to comply. Cade made swift work of tying up Rocky and the bartender while Mick grumbled his way through binding the other two.
Judd stepped over and eyed Sky, then turned to Cade and nodded. “Thanks. We owe you one.”
Cade smoothed down his sleeves, buttoned the cuffs, and swung his jacket on. “Best we make ourselves scarce.” He wanted to get these two out of here before one of them decided to put an extra bullet into either Sky or Rocky.
Judd snapped his fingers at Mick. “Let’s go.”
With a sigh of frustration Mick followed them out the doors. They mounted up and galloped toward the foothills.
A tremor of sheer relief coursed through Cade. First step down. Thank you, Lord.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Paula Wiseman for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
After working several years as research chemist, Paula Wiseman was blessed with the opportunity to stay home with her children and follow the writer’s path. Her bestselling Covenant of Trust Series, including Contingency, Indemnity and Precedent was recognized by Indie Excellence Awards, a Readers Favorite Gold, and Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and featured on Lifetime Television. When she isn’t working on new projects, Paula blogs on matters of life and faith at www.paulawiseman.com.
Visit the author’s website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Doug Bolling lost his wife of twenty years just as their stormy marriage was beginning to thrive, and he bitterly blames God. He tries to reconnect with his son, but it seems Mark is only interested if the relationship comes wrapped in religion. Mark claims he’s just following God when he moves his family, including Doug’s grandsons, further away, first to pastor, then to attend seminary. With frustrated resignation, Doug turns his attention to building a new life and a new home for himself and interior designer, Cassandra Grayson. The conflict erupts as Mark is preparing to leave for the mission field in Kenya. He delivers an ultimatum, cutting off all contact between his kids and their grandfather. God may have ripped away his wife and his son, but Doug draws the line at his grandchildren. Mark’s attempt to force him to choose between the woman he loves and the grandkids he adores, drives Doug to one fateful desperate act, even if it means destroying his relationship with his son.
Product Details:
List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 390 pages
Publisher: Mindstir Media (July 12, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0985365099
ISBN-13: 978-0985365097
ISLAND BREEZES
This book has a collection of dysfunctional families. These people love each other, but don’t really have a clue as to how to show that love.
They try to reach out to one another, but don’t really know how to go about doing it. Eventually they get tired out by the process.
Even as they go about building new lives for themselves, there’s a lack of peace and comfort. Can one really build a close relationship when separated by continents and oceans?
this is a good read as you watch the struggles play out. The ending may surprise you. Be prepared to wait anxiously for the next installment. You’ll get a little teaser at the end. Decisions have been made and I don’t really want to wait to find out what’s going to happen.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO
Thursday, July 29
Doug Bolling clutched the small bag of cookies in his left hand. His right hand rested on the door handle to his wife’s hospital room. No matter how many times he’d done this, it never got any easier.
He took a deep breath, pushed the door open slowly, and stepped inside. Images flickering across the screen of the muted television gave the room its only light. Judy’s eyes fluttered open as he got closer, and she gave him her best smile. “Hey, Babe,” he whispered, and leaned down to kiss her, wishing her cheeks were still full with the almost babyish roundness they used to have.
“You just missed the doctor.” She pulled at the bedrails and managed to prop herself up.
“There was a line at Schnuck’s.” He held the bag up for her to see.
“What’d you bring?” She stretched her arm forward, revealing her narrow wrists. Would she have enough strength to hold the bag?
“Those cookies. The white chocolate and macadamia nut ones.”
“Bless your heart.”
She labored to open the bag, and he fought the urge to do it for her.
She inhaled deeply. “They smell wonderful. I can’t wait to have one.”
“Why can’t you have one now?”
“I’m not hungry yet. I’d rather be hungry.”
“You want me to set them on the table?”
“No, I want them close.” She held out her hand, and he cradled it in his. “Almost as close as I want you.”
“So what’d the doctor say?”
Her smiled faded and she hesitated. Not good. “He’s sending me home, Doug.”
Home. Not “home” home. Home to die. “There’s not anything—?”
She shook her head. “He suggested some, uh, some hospice care providers.”
“How, how much—” He swallowed and tried again. “How much time?”
Her gentle smile returned. “He’s too slippery to give me anything definite. Christmas is probably, I mean, Christmas was his best-case estimate. He said I should think in terms of weeks . . . not months. I’m sorry.”
The grief in her eyes tore at him most of all. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I hate for you to have to go through this.”
“Me? Don’t worry about me. I’m a tough guy.”
“The toughest,” she said, and he felt the slightest squeeze. “I have a request.” She raised her eyes to his. “I want to be the one to tell Mark.”
He nodded. She’d do it better than he would anyway. He hooked his boot around the leg of the bedside chair and dragged it closer without ever letting go of her hand. Home. Hospice. Christmas. They knew it was close. But hearing it, having a doctor pronounce that . . .”Are you afraid?” He hoped she’d say yes, because he was terrified.
“No. I don’t have any pain, really.”
“I mean to die.” He regretted the words as soon as he heard himself say them. He shifted in the chair. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he mumbled.
“It won’t be as frightening if we talk about it.”
Which meant she knew he was terrified, so she would pretend she was, too. “But you’re not scared.”
“You remember when you asked me to marry you?”
“Like it was yesterday. I think it was just yesterday.”
“Seems like it. My parents were so worried. All they could see was this punk who barely graduated high school.”
“They still see that.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand again. “They never heard you say that you’d take care of me, and that you’d never, ever leave me.” She twisted and pulled herself up a little straighter. “I know this makes no sense to you, but God’s made those same promises to me, so I’m not afraid. I trusted you. I trust Him.”
He dropped his head and hoped she couldn’t see his jaw clench in the low light. The God she trusted was a fairy tale, a happy story to help her sleep better at night. A real God, a good God wouldn’t kill a wife and mother in the prime of her life.
“I see that line of discussion is a dead end.”
He smiled at the spark of attitude. “I’m glad your, uh, your faith helps you.”
“I wish it helped you.”
“It does. When I see you optimistic and brave and—” He had to look away again. If he didn’t shut up, he’d lose it in front of her. “So where’s that doctor? I need to get you out of here.”
*******
For Mark Bolling, three-thirty was the best part of the day, and his favorite thing about working for Bolling Developers. He didn’t hate construction work exactly, even though he missed the air conditioning at his grandfather’s car dealership. His dad was rarely on-site and the guys were okay to work with. He liked being able to see progress when he left every day.
His mother smiled with quiet approval any time he mentioned working for his dad. That was the main reason he was doing it. Plus, it was her idea. Right after she got sick last summer, she suggested—no, insisted—he ask his dad for a job. His father said, “So help me, if you pull an attitude and embarrass me, you’ll wish you were shoveling horse barns for a living. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“You need work boots. Pack your own lunch and be ready to leave by six-thirty in the morning.”
That was his orientation talk.
The first two days she was in the hospital this time around, it looked like this was her last trip, but she rallied once more. He planned to grab a quick shower then spend the evening there with her.
His father’s truck was in the driveway. That meant his parents were home—both of them. They’d sent her home. Great!
The stillness in the house sucked that optimism right out of him. He walked as carefully and quietly as his clunky, steel-toed boots would allow, checking the living room and the kitchen. Outside? He peeked out the back door and saw his dad fussing with the charcoal grill.
Charcoal. The guy was a million-dollar-a-year homebuilder, but he was too cheap for a gas grill. Not only that, they still lived in the same three-bedroom place he built the first year Bolling Developers was in business, and he still drove the pick-up truck he bought that year.
Mark slipped off his boots and left them by the back door, then he took the stairs two at a time, doubly anxious to talk to his mother. He heard the television. Hopefully that meant she was awake. He knocked gently as he pushed the door open. “Mom?”
“Mark? Is it that late already?” Her voice was soft, but her eyes shone. She reached for the remote and clicked off the television set. “Come and sit with me and tell me about your day.”
“I’d rather hear about yours.” He eased himself down onto the edge of the bed.
“Oh, it was about what I expected.” She tugged at the sleeve of her warm-up jacket, pulling it toward her wrist. The sicker she got, the more athletic her preferred attire became. She thought the bulky clothes hid things better. She was mistaken.
Her eyes fluttered, hardly daring to rest on his. “I shouldn’t have to go back.”
“No more treatments?” he asked, knowing exactly what that meant.
She shook her head. “The doctor said . . . well . . . his primary concern from here on out . . . is that I’m comfortable.”
Here on out. The death sentence. The air in the room thickened until it was like trying to breathe syrup. Hot, smothering syrup.
She put a hand on his knee and winked with an impish grin. “I can have all the morphine I want.”
He had to smile at her. “How did . . . ?” Mark swallowed hard and wiped his eyes. “How’s Dad?”
Her smile faded. “That’s what hurts me. Watching him.” She smoothed the comforter. “He’s so lost. He needs you more than he will ever admit, more than he understands even.”
His father didn’t need anyone, least of all him. “Excuse my cynicism.”
She took his hand and spoke with urgency. “I want you to remember this when I—” She shook her head gently. “Your dad, he carries everything inside, and he’s going to need someone he can vent to. Someone who can take it.”
“You mean someone to yell at?”
“Yell at, yell to. It’s all the same to him.”
“Then I’ve been there for him for years.”
“I’m not explaining this right,” she said. “There’s much more to your dad than the blustering guy in the hardhat. Give him a chance. Be patient and he’ll come around. Promise me you will.”
“Have you given him this speech?” he asked, carefully avoiding the promise.
“Not yet. He’s on my schedule.” She smiled. “If only I could have a few more years with him.” She blinked away her own tears. “He just needs someone who will love him.”
She wanted, expected, him to be the one—a worshipful son to take the place of the smitten wife. He was in so much trouble.
*******
Doug sat at the kitchen table sorting through the latest stack of bills. Doctor, doctor, hospital, ambulance, radiology. What a mess. He wrote check after check, stuffed them in the envelopes, and dropped the keep this portion in the box at his feet. He didn’t have time for this. He should be in there with Judy. Christmas. Christmas was only five months away. He couldn’t be ready in five months.
If she didn’t eat any more than she did today, he didn’t see how she could last that long. She used to have this metabolism most people would give anything to have. She could eat whatever she wanted, and still keep a cheerleader’s figure. He teased her about out-eating him.
She was never what anyone would call beautiful. Judy was cute. Petite and youthful, she never seemed to age. She’d never let herself get old, she said. Terminal cancer took care of that for her.
Mark strode into the kitchen and pulled a glass from the cabinet. “She’s asleep.” The teenager got a two-liter bottle from the refrigerator and it hissed loudly when he twisted off the cap. “You want a Coke or something?”
“No.” Doug laid down his pen and pushed his chair back from the table. He’d dreaded this conversation all day, especially the part where he’d ask the center of the universe to relinquish his position. “Listen, I think you need to sit out this semester coming up.”
“Why?” Mark gulped the Coke, then set the glass on the counter, clinking it against the sink.
“Really? I have to explain this to you? Your mother is dying, Mark. It’ll be a miracle if she lives past Christmas. Don’t you think you belong here with her instead of some frat house somewhere?”
“I’m not even gonna respond to that.”
Doug had seen the same condescending sneer on Judy’s face more times than he cared to remember.
“Mom specifically said not to drop out of school. She told me to go on with my life.”
“I bet she did,” Doug muttered.
“Fine! You want me to stay home? I’ll stay.”
“Oh no. I’m not taking the blame for bullying you into dropping out of college.”
“You bully me into everything else.”
“And Mommy always rescues you, doesn’t she?”
“Again, I’m not going to respond. You’re just ranting at me, and I’ve learned not to try to reason with you when you’re like this.”
“I’m unreasonable?”
“Right now, yes.”
Doug jerked himself out of the chair and stood inches away from his son. The boy, the man now, straightened himself until he stood half a head taller than Doug, with a look of annoyed indifference he inherited directly from Judy’s father.
Then Doug stopped himself. He waved his hand and stepped back. Mark couldn’t understand, and he didn’t have the strength or the words to explain it.
“Go ahead and say it, Dad.”
This time it wasn’t a challenge. Mark was inviting him, the way Judy did. Maybe the long talks with his mother were paying off. Maybe he was listening.
“Just . . . you better pray to that God of yours that you never have to stand by and watch your wife . . . watch her go through something like this.”
“He’s your God, too.”
“I have no God.”
“That’s your problem.”
*******
Tuesday, August 3
“What do you think you’re doing?” Doug leaned against the kitchen doorframe, his arms crossed against his chest as he watched his wife rummage through the kitchen cabinets.
“Making your dinner.” Judy hugged a skillet close to her body.
“You have no business—” He gently took the skillet from her hand and set it on the counter.
She huffed like an angry teenager. “Will you please, please, let me do as much as I can for as long as I can?”
“But you shouldn’t be wasting your energy—”
“It’s not wasting it if I’m doing what I enjoy.”
“You enjoy making my dinner? Since when?”
She pulled the skillet toward the stovetop. “All right, all right. There have been times when making dinner was not my favorite thing.”
“Like the first nineteen years of our marriage,” Doug teased.
“Get out the spaghetti, smart aleck.”
“That’s more like it.” He handed her the box of pasta and watched her brown the ground beef. He wasn’t joking, though. She had begrudged everything she did for him until she got sick.
“You know, this reminds me of the time we were at Disney World and Mickey or Goofy or somebody sat down beside Mark and begged for his spaghetti.” She smiled as she stirred. “He wouldn’t walk close to the characters any more after that. Do you remember?”
“No.”
“Oh, sure you do. Mark was about . . . five . . .”
“Judy, I wasn’t there. You and your parents took Mark. I couldn’t get away.”
“Or wouldn’t.”
“That’s not fair.”
She sighed with a heavy sadness. “Why did we treat each other that way for so long?”
“We were young. We didn’t know what we were doing.”
“I was selfish, Doug.” She struggled to pull a heavy pot from the cabinet, so he steadied it for her. “I married you because it infuriated my father.” She slid the pot into the sink and turned the water on. “You deserved a woman who loved you for you.”
“I have one.”
“But I’m not gonna be around to finish the job.” She turned off the faucet and held out a hand. He slipped in beside her and put an arm around her waist. She was so thin now. “Can you forgive me?”
“For what?”
“For being such a horrible wife.”
“That’s crazy.” He dropped his hand and stepped away. “You were, I mean, are, you are a perfect wife.”
“Now who’s crazy.” She arched an eyebrow at him, and he smiled. “I know better.”
“At least we had the last couple of years when things were good. Some people don’t have that.”
“It has been good, hasn’t it?”
He nodded and lifted the pot from the sink, then set it on the stove for her. “I think we both learned what was really important.”
“I learned what love was. I couldn’t give you what I didn’t have.”
Doug braced himself. He recognized the set-up for another Christianity commercial from her.
She wrinkled her brow at him. “All right. I won’t say anything else.”
“No, say it. I don’t want to leave anything unsaid between us.”
She faced him and spoke with urgency. “You’re a good man, Doug. You’ve made your own way. You work hard, and you have great integrity. I love all those things about you.”
He smiled, trying to diffuse the heaviness in the moment. “Tell me more.”
“Those things aren’t going to be good enough. The only thing, the only thing that scares me is an eternity without you. Mark finally came around, and I pray every day you will, too . . . and I pray I’ll get to see it.”
He saw the tears in her eyes, and guilt washed over him. Why couldn’t he simply say he believed whatever she wanted him to, make her happy, let her have peace these last few months?
Because he couldn’t lie to her.
“Babe, here’s how it looks to me. God . . . I don’t trust Him. He could fix all this and He won’t. He’s holding out.”
“But He’s not like that!”
“Not to you.”
“Let me find somebody who can explain things better than I can—”
“I don’t want to talk about it with somebody else. I only talk about it with you because—”
“Because I’m dying. You’re patronizing me.”
“I’m not patronizing you. I’m trying to be supportive.” He sighed deeply at the hurt in her eyes. “Just save your religion talk for Mark.”
“You hate that, too.”
“I don’t. ” He turned his back to her, paced away, and took a deep breath. If she saw his eyes, she’d know he was lying.
“You resent every minute I spend with him.”
It was a soft declaration, not an accusation, but she still knew how to cut into his very soul. He faced her again. “Can we compromise on this?”
“Can we?” The light in her eyes faded, and her hair seemed to gray before his eyes. She’d spent all her energy on him.
“Talk about your religion, your faith. Tell me all about it, but I don’t want to hear how much I need it. No hard sells, no sob stories, nothing.”
“And you won’t give Mark a hard time?”
“Mark and I will be fine.”
*******
Wednesday, September 22
Mark met his father at the top of the stairs outside his mother’s room, and to his utter surprise, his dad held out a hand. Mark shook it as grieving fear took hold of him. “Is she . . . ?”
“They said it was a matter of days now.” His father glanced back toward the door. “She’s on a lot of medication. She’s kind of in and out.”
Mark nodded. “You tell her I was coming?”
He shook his head. “She didn’t want me to call you. Afraid your schoolwork would suffer.”
As if he had anything more important to do.
“I’m gonna grab her a glass of water and throw a load of her things in the laundry. Did you get the mail on your way in?”
“It’s on the table.”
“Thanks.” His dad stepped around him and headed down the stairs.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“We’ll get through this.”
His father shook his head and shuffled into the kitchen.
Mark pushed the bedroom door open, and his breath caught when he saw his mother, ashen-faced and motionless, propped up against a pillow. “Mom?”
“Mark? It’s not Friday, is it?”
“No, it’s Wednesday.”
“Your dad doesn’t listen.” She managed a smile.
“I’m glad he called me.”
She reached for his hand. “Your dad, he reads my Bible to me. I wish you could hear him.” Her eyelids drooped until they were only half open. “It’s the most beautiful thing. Mark.” She let out a dreamy sigh. “Would you let him read at your wedding?”
“My wedding?”
“You’re still dating the preacher’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“You love her?”
“I do.”
“See, you’re already practiced up on the ‘I do.’” She smiled again and rolled her eyes to look at him. “Don’t wait, Mark. Don’t wait until you’re older . . . or you’re more settled . . . or you have more money. There are no guarantees.”
“Mom, it’s a little—”
She managed another smile. “Your dad doesn’t know about her, does he?”
“It’s not like I’m trying to keep it a secret. It just never seemed like the right time to bring it up.”
“Practice then. Tell me about her. Tell me what you love about her.” She settled back against her pillow, her eyes drooping shut again.
“Um, well . . . She’s, uh, she’s pretty, of course, and smart. She listens to me.”
His mother nodded slightly. “Mmmm. You need that. Men need that. They need someone who believes in them . . . then they can do anything.”
“Did you believe in Dad?”
“Not like I should have. Look what’s he’s accomplished in spite of it. What if I’d been what he needed? What could he have done?” She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. Her fingers were soft and cool. “With, uh, tell me her name again.”
“Julie. Julie Hammell.”
“With Julie behind you, there’ll be no stopping you. I wish I could have met her. I’m sure she’s wonderful.”
Mark smiled and nodded. “She is.” Julie Hammell was his ticket to respectability, acceptance, and purpose, and it didn’t hurt that she was crazy about him. “Does Dad know you want him to read?”
“He promised me today.”
“You pick out the passage?”
“First John, chapter four. Where it talks about love, God’s love for us. He read it today.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “‘There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear.’ It was beautiful. He has a beautiful voice . . . and he read it slow so he didn’t stumble.”
“Are you getting tired? I should let you rest.”
“No, stay. I have one for you too.”
“Something to read at my wedding?”
“No, a promise. I want you to make me a promise.” She squeezed his hand weakly again. “Promise me you won’t give up on him. Promise you’ll make sure your dad becomes a believer.”
“Mom, I can’t. He has to make that decision.”
“You have to tell him. You have to. It’s like in Ezekiel. You’re the watchman. If you don’t tell him . . . if he dies in his sins, Mark, we’re accountable. Maybe not responsible, but . . . Please tell me you won’t let that happen. I have nightmares—”
“I won’t, Mom. I’ll take care of it.” How could he not promise?
She relaxed against her pillow, apparently exhausted, and guilt closed off his throat. He couldn’t make his dad become a believer. He’d just lied to his mother on her deathbed.
“Talk to me,” she said without opening her eyes. “I love hearing you. I’m listening.”
Mark talked about his classes, his homework, the drive home, whatever he could think of, but the promise hung in the back of his mind. I’ll take care of it. How?
The more he talked, the more each word came with a keen awareness of every breath she took. If she passed without his father there at her side . . . God help them all.
*******
Friday, September 24
Doug rubbed his eyes and shifted in his chair. In the pale early morning light he squinted, trying to make sure Judy was still breathing. Finally, he reached his hand to her chest. It rose and fell in a slow, shallow rhythm. That reassurance was costly. Now he was afraid to pull his hand away for fear he’d miss the last one.
Ellen and Russell Carson had passed the night with him here, hovering over their only daughter. Of course they belonged here, had a right and a need to be here, but Doug hated it. When Ellen slipped out to get a quick shower, at least Russ left to make coffee, giving Doug these precious few moments alone with Judy.
“You’ve never answered anything I’ve ever asked,” he whispered. “But . . . I’ll do . . . anything. Or take me instead . . . Just . . . Don’t . . . You can fix this. I read those stories to her, I know what You can do . . . I need her. Take anything else of mine . . . Just not—”
Judy drew in two quick breaths and opened her eyes. “Doug?”
“I’m right here.” He slipped his hand around hers. “Right here.”
“I love you.” She labored to draw the corners of her mouth into a smile. “Mark . . . ?”
“He’s down the hall. He’ll be right here.”
“Were Mom and Dad . . . ?”
He nodded. “Your mom’s down in our bathroom getting a shower and your dad’s making a pot of coffee. They’ve been here the whole time.”
She closed her eyes. “You need . . . that.”
“Need what? Coffee?” he asked, daring to tease her in this moment.
She blinked slowly in place of a smile. “I heard . . . you pray.”
He felt himself flush with the shame of desperation. “I don’t think it did any good.”
“I pray . . . for you . . . and Mark. You need . . .”
You, he wanted to say. I need you, Judy.
“You need someone . . . someone who deserves to have you.” She squeezed his hand. “You . . . I love you. We will meet again. I have that peace.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can let go. You’ll . . .” Her hand relaxed, and everything inside Doug Bolling died.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Sharon Farnell for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHORS:
Robbie Cheuvront is the worship/associate pastor and an elder of The Journey Church in Lebanon, TN, and cofounder of C&R Ministries with Erik Reed. He is also a songwriter and formerly tour with BNA recording artists, Lonestar who is best known for their crossover smash, “Amazed”, which was #1 on Billboard Magazine’s Hot 100. The band also won 1999 ACM’s Single of the Year” for “Amazed” as well as ACM’s Song of the Year award. Robbie is married to Tiffany and has two children, Cason and Hadyn, and is currently pursuing a theology degree.
Erik Reed is the lead pastor and an elder of The Journey Church in Lebanon, TN. He graduated from Western Kentucky University with a BA in Religion Studies. He also graduated with his MDiv from Southern Seminary. Erik is married to Katrina, with two children, Kaleb and Kaleigh.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
When former black ops specialist turned CIA operative Jonathan Keene is summoned to the White House, he’s not sure what to expect. And neither does FBI agent Megan Taylor. Together they learn they’ll be working with a former military chaplain Boz Hamilton to track down a man claiming to bear a message from God about the imminent downfall of the United States. As the three of them traverse the country and the globe in search of the Prophet, they’re led deeper down a path of deception and dead ends. Suddenly they’re called to join a battle against an enemy no one saw coming. As the US is pushed into a situation it hasn’t seen since its inception, a conflict awaits that will test the foundations of the country…and force Keene to face a past and faith he’d rather leave buried. Can Keene—and America—survive?
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (September 1, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616267690
ISBN-13: 978-1616267698
ISLAND BREEZES
Interesting title. What on earth is that supposed to mean? That was my thought before I started reading this book. Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out as you read.
Three unlikely people are pulled together (thrown together) by the White House to track down a man who is claiming to have a message from God. It’s not easy. They end up all across the States and even in foreign countries trying to get to this man.
Unexplainable things are happening. Is this guy really a prophet? What is happening to America?
This is an action packed, suspense filled book. The scary part is the fact that one begins to wonder if this really could happen.
There’s a teaser for the follow-up novel, The 13:Stand, at the end of the book. Just a few pages that make me eager to read it.
These two authors are talented. Don’t miss them.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
THE CLOCK ON THE WALL TICKED DOWN THE SECONDS
AS HE STARED INTO THE CAMERA.
This was it. In a matter of minutes, his life would change. Everyone’s life
would change.
He rehearsed his lines, though he knew them by heart. There would be
no teleprompter. There would be no script. There would only be him. And
the camera, of course. And the person who would receive this message.
A small television sat off to the side, monitoring the feed. He could see
his image staring back at him. He watched as the second hand ticked off
the final seconds. Tick. Tick. And then it was time.
The red light above the lens flicked on. With the remote in his hand,
he zoomed in and watched the monitor. This was it. No turning back.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and let it out
again. His heart was pounding through his chest. He opened his eyes and
set his jaw firm. And then he began.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I am the Prophet. And I have been
commanded to give you a message.”
Prologue
H i d a l g o C o u n t y S h e r i f f ’ s D e p a r t m e n t
E d i n b u r g , Te x a s , J u l y 2 , 2 0 2 5 ; 1 0 : 3 0 a . m .
Becky Sayers looked at the discolored, flat-screen plasma TV and silently
cursed her boss. “You’d think in this world of technology, we could find a
TV that wasn’t made before I was born,” she mumbled to no one. “I mean,
this thing’s not even in 3-D.” A rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond was
playing—the one in which Raymond fakes going to the doctor so he can
play golf. She’d seen it at least four times, but it was one of her favorites.
She pushed back from her desk and stretched her legs. The switchboard
had been quiet most of the afternoon. A few drunk-and-disorderlies and a
domestic dispute. The holiday weekend usually meant a boring few days
at the Hidalgo County Sheriff’s Department. But even though Hidalgo
County seemed like half a world away from Washington, DC, the impact of
the last two weeks’ events were being felt. It seemed that everyone was waiting
to see what would happen next.
The green light flashed on her board. She placed the earpiece in
her ear and said, “Thank you for calling the Hidalgo County Sheriff ’s
Department. This is Becky. . . .”
The caller made her complaint and hung up abruptly. Her neighbors
were setting off illegal fireworks; could a deputy come by and take care of it?
All of south Texas had experienced a horrible drought these last few months.
The governor had issued a decree, suspending all fireworks throughout the
entire state. Residents weren’t happy, but they understood. Brushfires this
time of year were common and could lead to damage in the billions of dollars.
Becky keyed her microphone. “Roy, this is Becky. I need you to go out
to Ms. Dobson’s farm, out on Highway 83. Neighbor kids are shootin’ off
sparklers or something.”
She waited for the grumpy complaint that was sure to come. Roy
hated dealing with neighborly disputes. He always tried to pawn them off
on one of the other deputies.
Nothing.
“Roy, this is Becky—come in.”
Nothing.
“Roy! I ain’t playing! Pick up that radio or else!”
Still nothing.
She switched over to another channel. She couldn’t figure why one
of her deputies would switch channels, but she was starting to get a little
worried. Roy was dependable, if nothing else. He’d never not answered a
call while he was out in the field.
“Roy, this is Becky. You change channels on me to try and get some
R and R?”
Nothing.
Now she was getting worried. She switched the channel back. “Clay,
this is dispatch. Check in—over.”
Nothing.
“Marcus, check in—over.”
Nothing.
She walked down the hall and found her boss, told him what was
going on, and waited for a response. He told her not to worry. It was probably
just weather related. “Probably a sunspot or something, messin’ with
the radios,” he said. “Try again in a few minutes.”
Back at her desk, she waited, watching the end of the show. As the
credits rolled she picked up her microphone. After five minutes of going
through the motions again, she decided this was no sunspot.
She grabbed the phone and called the Cameron County Sheriff ’s
office—the next county over. She told them what was going on and asked
if they were having any trouble. Gina, the dispatcher over there, said none
of her deputies had checked in or returned back to HQ either.
Becky hung up and called Star, Zapata, and Webb Counties. All three
reported the same goings-on. At that point, she dismissed paranoia and
called the state police. She was told that they, too, had a few officers who
weren’t responding, but all of the state police vehicles were equipped with
GPS and were being located as they spoke. The young man at state police
HQ offered to send a few officers her way to check on her deputies as well.
She thanked him and told him where her deputies were last known to be.
July 4, 2025; 12:00 p.m.
Becky stood in front of her fourth TV camera in the last hour and told
her story again. This time it was Fox. NBC and CBS had already been by.
The mysterious disappearance of her deputies two days ago was making
national news. Several sheriff ’s deputies, border patrol agents, and state
and local police officers had all turned up dead, all across the border towns
in Texas. Over the last two days, New Mexico and Arizona had reported
similar tragedies.
Becky was one of the first to discover the disappearances across the
border, therefore she was a hot commodity with the news anchors.
The pretty, blond reporter smiled and nodded as Becky told her story.
She opened her mouth—Becky figured she was about to ask another
question—and then slapped her hand over her left earbud. Her smiled
faded and gave way to a look of disbelief, shock, then horror. Tears filled
her eyes and her face turned ashen. Her arm dropped to her side, taking
the microphone with it.
“What’s wrong?” Becky had never seen a television personality act like
this.
The reporter turned to her, eyes wide. She moved her mouth but
nothing came out.
Becky grabbed the woman by her shoulders and shook her. “Hey,
what’s wrong?”
The reporter looked at Becky blankly and said, “Bomb. . . They’re all
dead.” Her knees gave out, and she slumped to the hard, dry ground.
Becky ran back inside to the flat-screen TV.
Hidalgo County, Texas
July 4, 2025; 11:30 a.m.
Jonathan Keene pulled his car off the road onto the dirt path, according
to the directions he’d been given. After a mile, he came to the fork in the
road. Up ahead, on the left, there stood the house.
He parked the car, got out, and surveyed the area. Nothing. No sign
of anyone. The house was a typical single-family home. It needed a coat
of paint, and the railing on the front porch had seen better days. The lawn
was unkempt, but a somewhat new-looking satellite dish sat mounted on
the corner of the roof.
Walking into the house, he noticed the reflection of light coming
from the hillside off to his left. He waited ten minutes. Then, as per his
instructions, he left through the back door and walked slowly up the hill
toward the reflection.
Once at the top, he got to his knees, placed his hands behind his head,
and interlocked his fingers. This was the unsettling part. Out in the open.
No cover. The sun blazing in his eyes. The wind blowing dust everywhere.
It was hard to see anything past twenty feet. He did feel better, though,
knowing that strapped to his back, under his loose shirt, was his Glock
9mm. It lay inches from his fingertips.
After nothing for five minutes, he heard the faint hum of motorcycle
engines. Within seconds he was surrounded by a half dozen, armed
Mexicans. One, covered with tattoos and a scar across his left cheek,
moved toward him. According to the description he’d been given, this was
his informant.
“Hola,” the young man said. “Welcome to Mexico.”
Though the walk uphill had been a short one, Keene knew that in
doing so, he’d illegally crossed the invisible border into the gangbanger’s
country.
“Gracias.” Keene shifted uncomfortably and squinted upward. “You
must be Hector.”
“Do I need to search you?”
“Not unless you want to find the nine mil I got strapped to my back,”
Keene said.
Hector laughed. “Stand up.”
“So what’s so important that you need to talk to the CIA?”
“Follow me.” Hector began walking down the hill toward the house.
Keene followed the men back into the house, thankful to be back on
sovereign US soil.
“I know what happened to those sheriff ’s deputies,” Hector said.
“Yeah, so. Call the police.”
“Nah, CIA, la policía don’t want none of this.”
“None of what?”
“That’s a nice watch. Where was that made? China?”
“Yeah,” Keene said. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Lots of stuff in your country made by China.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Funny thing. In the last two months, I been seeing lots of Chinese
people ’round here.”
“Maybe they like the food.”
“Maybe,” Hector answered. “But these Chinese been coming in
droves. In big military trucks. From down south.”
“Interesting.” Keene gave this some thought.
“You want to know what’s really interesting?”
Keene shrugged.
“These Chinese, they got guns.”
“So?”
“And tanks. And airplanes.”
“What?”
“You heard me. They got an army down here. They been bringing it
up here to the border for the last two months.”
“Impossible. We would’ve known about it,” Keene said. This guy was
unnerving him.
“You wanna know what happened to your cops? About three hundred
Chinese foot soldiers, with automatic weapons, crossed your border and
took them out. I got boys all up and down the border saying they see it,
man. Now, I don’t know what’s up with a hundred thousand Chinese
being in my—”
“What did you say? How many?”
“From what I hear, about a hundred thousand.”
Keene’s jaw went slack. There was no way a hundred thousand Chinese
soldiers were living across the border without the United States knowing
about it. Something was wrong.
“You look like you seen a ghost.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why now? Why not two months ago?”
“ ’Cause two months ago, I couldn’ta cared less. You Americans don’t
know what goes on down here. You come to your vacation spots and get
treated like kings. Then you go back home and don’t care what happens
to the rest of us. Well, guess what? These Chinese start showing up and
doing nice things for our communities. Nobody says anything ’cause they
like it. Then, without warning, they start taking over. And our policía don’t
care. They getting paid off. Next thing I know, I start seeing guns, tanks,
and fighter planes. And then they come into town and line up five men
and shoot them in the head. They say, anyone talks or tries to do anything,
they kill the whole town.”
“This is—this is ridiculous!” Keene said. “I don’t know what your
game is, but this isn’t funny. You could get into a lot of trouble—”
“I ain’t playin’!” Hector shouted angrily. “They kill my little brother,
man! And something bad is about to happen! I’m telling you as a favor.”
He hung his head and wiped his eyes. “I don’t know why your government
don’t know about this, CIA, but I’m telling you. Someone had to mess up
big to miss this.”
Keene stood there dumbfounded. There was no way this could be
true. An entire army couldn’t march on the United States’ border and not
be detected. He had to call Jennings. He reached for his phone and felt the
buzz against his leg. He looked at the display. Funny, he thought.
“I was just getting ready to call you,” he spoke into the mouthpiece.
“Get back here immediately,” his boss, Kevin Jennings, ordered.
“Yeah, about that,” Keene said, “I think I need to stay here awhile.
I need to check something out.”
“No, you need to get back here immediately. Turn on the TV.”
“What’s happened?”
“Just do it!” came the reply.
Keene pushed past the group of men and pushed the button on the
television sitting on a makeshift stand. It only took a few moments for him
and the others to see what was happening.
Every channel had interrupted programming, now covering the
breaking news. Plumes of black smoke rose into the sky from devastated
buildings. Bridges and highways melted into a pile of searing red metal.
Ash and debris covered the entire landscape. Cars were turned over and
blown to bits. Then the camera changed. A new city. Same result. Then
another. Then another. Finally the images ended. The cameras returned
to the news station. A disheveled-looking man in blue jeans and a sweater
sat in front of the camera. He opened his mouth and said the words that
would change the course of history.
“Ladies and gentlemen, less than ten minutes ago, the entire West
Coast of the United States of America was attacked. It appears to be a
nuclear strike. Every major city from San Diego to Seattle. The death toll
has to be in the millions. . . .”
Chapter 1
Two Weeks Earlier
The man sat in front of the small camera, rehearsing what he was about to
say. Behind him, the wall was dotted with computer monitors, all displaying
different news websites, with the screens zoomed in showing today’s
date. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his cheek as he bit into his
lower lip, trying to calm himself. He was moments away from doing something
that couldn’t be undone.
He’d wrestled with himself the last three days, knowing what would
happen if he didn’t do as he was instructed. He’d cried out in desperation,
begging that he wouldn’t have to be the one. He’d even tried to bargain his
way out of it. But it was no use. This would be done. If not him then someone
else. But no. It was his charge. Given to him with explicit instructions.
He would be obedient and do as he was instructed.
The clock on the wall ticked down the seconds as he stared into
the camera. This was it. In a matter of minutes, his life would change.
Everyone’s life would change.
He rehearsed his lines, though he knew them by heart. There would be
no teleprompter. There would be no script. There would only be him. And
the camera, of course. And the person who would receive this message.
A small television sat off to the side, monitoring the feed. He could
see his image staring back at him. He watched as the second hand ticked
off the final seconds. Tick. Tick. And then it was time.
The red light above the lens flicked on. With the remote in his hand,
he zoomed in and watched the monitor. This was it. No turning back.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and let it out
again. His heart was pounding through his chest. He opened his eyes and
set his jaw firm. And then he began.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I am the Prophet. And I have been
commanded to give you a message.”
Chapter 2
The sun had begun to set over Washington, DC, as the streets bustled
with the commuters going home from work. Slivering rays of light pierced
their way through the buildings, making way for the cool early summer
breeze that wound its way off the Potomac and into the city streets. Soon
the breeze would give way to the hot midsummer. Soon you would be able
to see, as well as feel, the heat wafting up from the pavement, making DC
inhabitants wistful for the pleasantries of June.
The president was just a few minutes away from giving his highly anticipated
speech on health-care reform. Rarely did a president call together both
chambers of Congress for the purpose of an address to the nation outside of
the State of the Union address. But since President Calvin Grant had taken
office, it had been one of his major priorities to put an end to all of the
infighting with the health-care industry once and for all. This speech was
to be the exclamation point at the end of a three-year, grueling bipartisan
reform effort. Though it was no secret that the president had been working
on the new policy, details of it were. The only thing that had been leaked
so far had been the fact that President Grant had successfully achieved what
none of his three predecessors could, a comprehensive bill with regulation
that all parties agreed upon. Outside of that, not even a hint of what was
to come had been available, which had every news anchor and pundit both
frustrated and in anticipation.
The news anchors outside the Capitol seemed to be in deep conversation
with their cameras, floating their ideas and predictions of what was to
come. And then, as if being led by a conductor, they all nodded in unison,
each to his respective camera, signifying the president’s speech was about
to begin.
Inside the chamber of the House of Representatives, significant leaders,
from both parties, lined the aisleway, hoping to get a photo opportunity
with President Grant as he passed by. The room, as was typical for this
sort of event, was a cacophony of noise as everyone continued conversations
and settled in. Finally the outer doors to the House chamber swung
open, and the sergeant at arms entered. Immediately the room quieted, as
if someone flipped a switch. Then came the announcement.
“Mr. Speaker, the president of the United States!”
As was traditional, the room was again flooded with noise as the members
of the Senate and House, along with everyone else in attendance,
stood and applauded as the president slowly made his way to the floor of
the chamber, shaking hands, signing autographs, and posing for pictures
along the way. Finally, with the business of being sociable behind him,
President Grant held his hands up to quiet the almost eight-minute opening
ovation.
Only a few moments later and the speech was in full swing, and the
president had wasted no time in commanding the attention of the entire
nation. So far, the speech had lived up to its expectations. With the news
of his wife being diagnosed with cancer only a few weeks earlier, he was
expected to deliver a stunning blow to the health-care reformers. And with
the content of the speech being perhaps the closest-kept secret in all of
Washington, the entire room, as well as the rest of the country waited
on bated breath to hear what the president had to say. That and the fact
that President Grant was thought of as perhaps one of the most beloved
presidents in recent history, it was a sure bet that this address would go on
record as being one of the most viewed events in all of television history,
not just presidential history.
Homes all across the country were tuning in to hear what the president
would say. Ratings were already pouring in from all over the country.
Indeed, this was already a record-setting event. Within the first ten minutes,
the reports were already surpassing the collective quarterly ratings.
President Calvin Grant had the nation waiting on bated breath for his
next thought.
The speech was just over forty-five minutes when, just as promised,
President Grant landed his final blow. The news was simple. He had already
been working with members of Congress and had the support needed to
change the health-care system. His plan would strip away the potential for
many of the frivolous lawsuits that plagued the industry. New law was being
introduced to allow Americans unprecedented access to good health insurance.
And there were major stipulations being put on the insurance companies,
regulating how they underwrote policies and collected revenue. No
longer would there be massive abuses, deterioration of services, and rising
costs. The message was simple. There was about to be a complete overhaul
of the American medical system. An overhaul that would eliminate the
government-run policies of previous administrations and give the medical
field back to the private sector, but with some “seat belts,” as President Grant
liked to call it.
The speech ended in thunderous applause. And though there had
been some lines drawn previously in the speech between parties, the final
five minutes brought both sides of the chamber to their feet in rousing
cheers.
After the speech, President Grant made his way through the chamber,
once again pausing for photos and signing autographs. He tried to be as
pleasant as he could, but there were bigger things on his mind right now.
Tess, his wife, was at home, lying in bed. He wanted nothing more than to
get home and see how she felt.
After another fifteen minutes of meet-and-greet obligations, he finally
excused himself, reminding everyone where he really needed to be right
now. He asked the Secret Service agent in charge of his detail to make
ready the motorcade. He wanted to leave in the next few minutes.
The drive back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was quiet. He waved to
the guard as the car passed through the security entrance. Once inside, he
headed straight upstairs to the private residence.
Tess was lying in bed and greeted him with a huge smile.
“You were amazing, Calvin. I’m so proud of you.”
“Nah,” he brushed it off. “Just a bunch of no-good politicians trying
to make things worse is all we are!”
“I wish I could’ve been there.”
“Me, too, Tess,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He took
her hand in his and kissed it gently. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said.
“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said, standing back up. “Besides, I’m going
to go surf the net and see all the good stuff they’re saying about me!” He
winked.
Tess smiled back at him and said, “Don’t stay up too late. You need
your rest.”
“Look who’s talking.”
He left her to sleep and stepped into his private office. He sat down and
turned on the monitor to wake up the computer. In just a few moments,
the desktop came alive. He opened a browser window and typed in his
search. Already, there were over twenty-five thousand results for his speech.
He was looking down the list when he heard a ding. His private e-mail.
He assumed it was one of his staff, congratulating him on a successful
speech. He decided to check it because, well, he thought at least one
positive response would be nice before he started sifting through all the
negative ones.
Opening the mail server he saw the new message. There was no
subject. There was no return address. He didn’t think much of it, so he
double-clicked the icon and watched it open. It was a video. And it definitely
wasn’t from one of his staff. But he was afraid that he knew who this
was. And what this was about. He had heard from this man before. Just
not like this. How did you get into my private e-mail? he thought. He stared
at the still image of the man on the screen. Should he call for Agent Green?
Should he just step away from the computer and not touch anything? No,
he decided. He wanted to see it. He pushed Play.
The man sat still on a stool and stared into the camera. A bead of sweat
rolled down his forehead and clung to the top of the bandana that covered
every inch of his face below the eyes. He wore a plain, long-sleeved, white
T-shirt and blue jeans. His shoes were everyday work boots. All in all, a
very nondescript, average-looking man—with the exception of the face, of
course. Behind him stood a white wall with what appeared to be computer
monitors with websites showing today’s date.
A few seconds, which might as well have been hours, passed as the
strange man closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he opened his eyes
again, he began to speak.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I am the Prophet. And I have been
commanded to give you a message.”
The man swallowed hard and then continued, “I am a servant of the
Lord Most High. And I have been instructed to warn you. Since the days
of our forefathers, the United States has become a prosperous nation,
strong in her defenses. She has done great moral things in the name of
peace and freedom. She has been an open door for those who are in search
of something greater. And she has brought stability to the world.”
The man blinked hard and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“But,” he continued, “‘I have this against you,’ says the Lord. ‘That
you have abandoned the love you had at first.’
“Therefore, thus says the Lord, ‘Behold, the day of the Lord comes,
cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the land a desolation and to
destroy its sinners from it. For the stars of the heavens and their constellations
will not give their light; the sun will be dark at its rising, and the
moon will not shed its light. I will punish the world for its evil, and the
wicked for their iniquity; I will put an end to the pomp of the arrogant,
and lay low the pompous pride of the ruthless. I will make people more
rare than fine gold, and mankind than the gold of Ophir. Therefore I will
make the heavens tremble, and the earth will be shaken out of its place, at
the wrath of the Lord of hosts in the day of his fierce anger. Behold, my
anger and my wrath will be poured out on this place, upon man and beast,
upon the trees of the field and the fruit of the ground; it will burn and not
be quenched.’
“Yet fourteen days, and the United States shall be overthrown!”
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
Archaeology Professor Mari Duggins is adjusting to life as a single mom and trying to balance a television career, but gets caught between the pull of her former flame, a field archaeologist, and her ex-husband who is wanted by the FBI on an antiquities crime. Then her colleague is murdered, and she gets in over her head as she searches for truth in a desert of lies. Mari Duggins’ life caves in as she tries to excavate the truth, but realizes only God can dig her out of the hole she’s created. Will Mari sort through her muddled feelings and put her trust in someone else before her world caves in? Or will the truth bury her alive?
