Kingdom of Heaven

January 22nd, 2012

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heave. 

Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”

When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astounded and said, “Then who can be saved?” 

But Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but for God all things are possible.”

Matthew 19:23-26

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Love Blooms in Winter

January 21st, 2012

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!

Today’s Wild Card author is:

 

Lori Copeland

 

and the book:

 

Love Blooms in Winter (The Dakota Diaries)
  • Harvest House Publishers (January 1, 2012)

***Special thanks to
Karri | Marketing Assistant |Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Lori Copeland is the author of more than 90 titles, both historical and contemporary fiction. With more than 3 million copies of her books in print, she has developed a loyal following among her rapidly growing fans in the inspirational market. She has been honored with the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, The Holt Medallion, and Walden Books’ Best Seller award. In 2000, Lori was inducted into the Missouri Writers Hall of Fame. She lives in the beautiful Ozarks with her husband, Lance, and their three children and five grandchildren.

Visit the author’s website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

This new romance from bestselling author Lori Copeland portrays God’s miraculous provision when none seems possible. An engagement, a runaway train, and a town of quirky, loveable people make for more adventure than Tom Curtis is expecting. But it is amazing what can bloom in winter with God in charge.

1892—Mae Wilkey’s sweet next-door neighbor, Pauline, is suffering from old age and dementia and desperately needs family to come help her. But Pauline can’t recall having kin remaining. Mae searches through her desk and finds a name—Tom Curtis, who may just be the answer to their prayers.

Tom can’t remember an old aunt named Pauline, but if she thinks he’s a long-lost nephew, he very well may be. After two desperate letters from Mae, he decides to pay a visit. An engagement, a runaway train, and a town of quirky, loveable people make for more of an adventure than Tom is expecting. But it is amazing what can bloom in winter when God is in charge of things.

 
Product Details:

    • List Price: $13.99
    • Paperback: 304 pages
    • Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (January 1, 2012)
    • Language: English
    • ISBN-10: 0736930191
    • ISBN-13: 978-0736930192
  •  ISLAND BREEZES

    Six years!  Can you imagine a woman waiting six years for a proposal from the man she’s been seeing?

    Mae Wilkey is not the run of the mill woman.  She has a loving heart and doesn’t rest until she tracks down a relative of the 92 year old neighbor lady whose mind has been playing hide and seek with her.

    Mae has been taking care of her special little brother since his birth, working as the postmistress and trying to do what she can for Pauline.  She has her hands full and needs help.

    Now she’s planning on having a bit more breathing room when she and Jake finally marry.  Especially since Tom has been located and has been persuaded to take care of his little old auntie.

    What could possibly go wrong?  Just remember that God has a sense of humor.

     

  • AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

    •  

Dwadlo, North Dakota, 1892
The winter of ’92 is gonna go down as one of the worst Dwadlo’s ever seen,” Hal Murphy grumbled as he dumped the sack of flour he got for his wife on the store counter. “Mark my words.” He turned toward Mae Wilkey, the petite postmistress, who was stuffing mail in wooden slots.
“Spring can’t come soon enough for me.” She stepped back, straightening the row of letters and flyers. She didn’t have to record Hal’s prediction; it was the same every year. “I’d rather plant flowers than shovel snow any day of the week.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hal nodded to the store owner, Dale Smith, who stood five foot seven inches with a rounded belly and salt-and-pepper hair swept to a wide front bang. “Add a couple of those dill pickles, will you?” Hal watched as Dale went over to the barrel and fished around inside, coming up with two fat pickles.
“That’ll fix me up.” Hal turned his attention back to the mail cage, his eyes fixed on the lovely sight. “Can’t understand why you’re still single, Mae. You’re as pretty as a raindrop on a lily pad.” He sniffed the air. “And you smell as good.”
Smiling, Mae moved from the letter boxes to the cash box. Icy weather may have delayed the train this morning, but she still had to count money and record the day’s inventory. “Now, Hal, you know I’d marry you in a wink if you weren’t already taken.” Hal and Clara had been married forty-two years, but Mae’s usual comeback never failed to put a sparkle in the farmer’s eye. Truth be, she put a smile on every man’s face, but she wasn’t often aware of the flattering looks she received. Her heart belonged to Jake Mallory, Dwadlo’s up-and-coming attorney.
Hal nodded. “I know. All the good ones are taken, aren’t they?”
She nodded. “Every single one. Especially in Dwadlo.”
The little prairie town was formed when the Chicago & North Western Railroad came through five years ago. Where abundant grass, wild flowers, and waterfalls had once flourished, hundreds of miles of steel rail crisscrossed the land, making way for big, black steam engines that hauled folks and supplies. Before the railroad came through, only three homesteads had dotted the rugged Dakota Territory: Mae’s family’s, Hal and Clara’s, and Pauline Wilson’s.
But in ’87 life changed, and formerly platted sites became bustling towns. Pine Grove and Branch Springs followed, and Dwadlo suddenly thrived with immigrants, opportunists, and adventure-seeking folks staking claims out West. A new world opened when the Dakota Boom started.
Hal’s gaze focused on Mae’s left hand. “Jake still hasn’t popped the question?”
Mae sighed. Hal was a pleasant sort, but she really wished the townspeople would occupy their thoughts with something other than her and Jake’s pending engagement. True, they had been courting for six years and Jake still hadn’t proposed, but she was confident he would. He’d said so, and he was a man of his word—though every holiday, when a ring would have been an appropriate gift, that special token of his intentions failed to materialize. Mae had more lockets than any one woman could wear, but Jake apparently thought that she could always use another one. What she could really use was his hand in marriage. The bloom was swiftly fading from her youth, and it would be nice if her younger brother, Jeremy, had a man’s presence in his life.
“Be patient, Hal. He’s busy trying to establish a business.”
“Good lands. How long does it take a man to open a law office?”
“Apparently six years and counting.” She didn’t like the uncertainty but she understood it, even if the town’s population didn’t. She had a good life, what with work, church, and the occasional social. Jake accompanied her to all public events, came over two or three times a week, and never failed to extend a hand when she needed something. It was almost as though they were already married.
“The man’s a fool,” Hal declared. “He’d better slap a ring on that finger before someone else comes along and does it for him.”
“Not likely in Dwadlo,” Mae mused. The town itself was made up of less than a hundred residents, but other folks lived in the surrounding areas and did their banking and shopping here. Main Street consisted of the General Store, Smith’s Grain and Feed, the livery, the mortuary, the town hall and jail (which was almost always empty), Doc Swede’s office, Rosie’s Café, and an empty building that had once housed the saloon. Mae hadn’t spotted a sign on any business yet advertising “Husbands,” but she was certain her patience would eventually win out.
With a final smile Hal moved off to pay for his goods. Mae hummed a little as she put the money box in the safe. Looking out the window, she noticed a stiff November wind snapping the red canvas awning that sheltered the store’s porch. Across the square, a large gazebo absorbed the battering wind. The usually active gathering place was now empty under a gray sky. On summer nights music played, and the smell of popcorn and roasted peanuts filled the air. Today the structure looked as though it were bracing for another winter storm. Sighing, Mae realized she already longed for green grass, blooming flowers, and warm breezes.
After Hal left Mae finished up the last of the chores and then reached for her warm wool cape. She usually enjoyed the short walk home from work, but today she was tired—and her feet hurt because of the new boots she’d purchased from the Montgomery Ward catalog. On the page they had looked comfortable with their high tops and polished leather, but on her feet they felt like a vise.
Slipping the cape’s hood over her hair, she said goodbye to Dale and then paused when her hand touched the doorknob. “Oh, dear. I really do need to check on Pauline again.”
“How’s she doing?” The store owner paused and leaned on his broom. “I noticed she hasn’t been in church recently.”
Dale always reminded Mae of an owl perching on a tree limb, his big, dark blue eyes swiveling here and there. He might not talk a body’s leg off, but he kept up on town issues. She admired the quiet little man for what he did for the community and respected the way he preached to the congregation on Sundays.
How was Pauline doing? Mae worried the question over in her mind. Pauline lived alone, and she shouldn’t. The elderly woman was Mae’s neighbor, and she checked on her daily, but Pauline was steadily losing ground.
“She’s getting more and more fragile, I’m afraid. Dale, have you ever heard Pauline speak of kin?”
The small man didn’t take even a moment to ponder the question. “Never heard her mention a single word about family of any kind.”
“Hmm…me neither. But surely she must have some.” Someone who should be here, in Dwadlo, looking after the frail soul. Mae didn’t resent the extra work, but the post office and her brother kept her busy, and she really didn’t have the right to make important decisions regarding the elderly woman’s rapidly failing health.
Striding back to the bread rack, she picked up a fresh loaf. Dale had private rooms at the back of the store where he made his home, and he was often up before dawn baking bread, pies, and cakes for the community. Most folks in town baked their own goods, but there were a few, widowers and such, who depended on Dale’s culinary skills. By this hour of the day the goods were usually gone, but a few remained. Placing a cherry pie in her basket as well, she called, “Add these things to my account, please, Dale. And pray for Pauline too.”
Nodding, he continued sweeping, methodically running the stiff broomcorn bristles across the warped wood floor.
The numbing wind hit Mae full force when she stepped off the porch. Her hood flew off her head and an icy gust of air snatched away her breath. Putting down her basket, she retied the hood before setting off for the brief walk home. Dwadlo was laid out in a rather strange pattern, a point everyone agreed on. Businesses and homes were built close together, partly as shelter from the howling prairie winds and partly because there wasn’t much forethought given to town planning. Residents’ homes sat not a hundred feet from the store. The whole community encompassed less than five acres.
Halfway to her house, snowflakes began swirling in the air. Huddling deeper into her wrap, Mae concentrated on the path as the flakes grew bigger.
She quickly covered the short distance to Pauline’s. The dwelling was little more than a front room, tiny kitchen, and bedroom, but she was a small woman. Pauline pinned her yellow-white hair in a tight knot at the base of her skull, and she didn’t have a tooth in her head. She chewed snuff, which she freely admitted was an awful habit, but Mae had never heard her speak of giving it up.
Her faded blue eyes were as round as buttons, and no matter what kind of day she was having, it was always a new one to her, filled with wonders. Her mind wasn’t what it used to be. She had good and bad days, but mostly days when her moods changed as swift as summer lightning. She could be talking about tomatoes in the garden patch when suddenly she would be discussing how to spin wool.
Mae noted a soft wisp of smoke curling up from the chimney and smiled. Pauline had remembered to feed the fire this afternoon, so this was a good day.
Unlatching the gate, she followed the path to the front porch. In summertime the white railings hung heavy with red roses, and the scent of honeysuckle filled the air. This afternoon the wind howled across the barren flower beds Pauline carefully nurtured during warmer weather. Often she planted okra where petunias should be, but she enjoyed puttering in the soil and the earth loved her. She brought fresh tomatoes, corn, and beans to the store during spring and summer, and pumpkins and squash lined the railings in the fall.
In earlier days Pauline’s quilts were known throughout the area. She and her quilting group had made quite a name for themselves when Dwadlo first became a town. Four women excelled in the craft. One had lived in Pine Grove, and two others came from as far away as Branch Springs once a month to break bread together and stitch quilts. But one by one the women had died off, leaving Pauline to sew alone in her narrowing world.
Stomping her boots on the porch, Mae said under her breath, “I don’t mind winter, Lord, but could we perhaps have a little less of it?” The only answer was the wind whipping her garments. Tapping lightly on the door, she called, “Pauline?”
Mae stepped back and waited to hear the shuffle of feet. Pauline used to answer the door in less than twenty seconds. It took longer now. Mae made a fist with her gloved hand and banged a little harder. The wind howled around the cottage eaves. She closed her eyes and prayed that Jeremy had remembered to stack sufficient firewood beside the kitchen door. The boy was generally responsible, and she thanked God every day that she had him to lean on. He had been injured by forceps during birth, which left him with special needs. He was a very happy fourteen-year-old with the reasoning power of a child of nine.
A full minute passed. Mae frowned and tried the doorknob. Pauline couldn’t hear herself yell in a churn, but she might also be asleep. The door opened easily, and Mae peeked inside the small living quarters. She saw that a fire burned low in the woodstove, and Pauline’s rocking chair sat empty.
Stepping inside, she closed the door and called again. “Pauline? It’s Mae!”
The ticking of the mantle clock was the only sound that met her ears.
“Pauline?” She lowered her hood and walked through the living room. She paused in the kitchen doorway.
“Oh, Pauline!”

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Small Space Organizing

January 18th, 2012

Dwell Well in a Small Space

 

 

Whether you’re downsizing your home or just starting out, professional organizing and decorating author Kathryn Bechen will show you how to create a space where you can live well regardless of the size. Dedicated to helping small space dwellers thrive in their home for over 20 years, Bechen wants everyone to feel proud of their comfortable and welcoming living space regardless of the square footage.

A room-by-room ‘small space bible’ to maximize living in minimum space

In Small Space Organizing: A Room-by-Room Guide to Maximizing Your Space (Paperback ISBN: 978-0-8007-2028-5, 240 pages, January 2012, $12.99), Bechen compiles 20 years of real life organizational tips and tricks. This ‘small space bible’ will help anyone transform cramped space into a perfectly petite living space as Bechen goes room-by-room giving design and organizational advice as well as taking on the extremely small spaces of studio and basement apartments, loft and high-rise spaces and even tips for RV living.

“A true home is really about the size of your heart, not about the size of your space,” says Bechen. She encourages readers to embrace living in a small space and assures them that even the most teeny-tiny space can be transformed into a welcoming environment to maximize the space – and more importantly, maximize living. Bechen tells clients to “always remember that it’s far more important to have a spirit of hospitality and friendship as the emphasis of your home, rather than neglecting to invite others to visit you there just because you lack large rooms or expensive furniture.”

After reading Small Space Organizing readers will be able to:

– Create a non-traditional entryway space

– Find a creative space for a home office

– Craft a spa atmosphere in a teeny-tiny bathroom

– Design a nursery space to nurture a newborn

– Find storage space that’s hiding in their kitchen

– Downsize their living space successfully

Small Space Organizing will help readers at every stage of life create an inviting home and maximize living. Everyone from the newlyweds struggling to fit all their wedding presents into a small apartment to empty-nesters with years-worth of sentimental possessions moving to a smaller home can benefit from Bechen’s expert advice.

For the reluctant downsizer faced with the daunting task of moving into a smaller living space, Bechen offers encouragement and practical tips for the emotional process. “It’s normal to go through an array of emotions during your downsizing process,” says Bechen. “It helps to get through it by keeping your mind’s eye focused on the end results of a lovely new right-sized home, decorated in a style you love, in a neighborhood that’s just right for you at this new stage of your life.”

ISLAND BREEZES

This book makes sense. It’s one of the best organizing books I’ve read. If you’re living in a small place, being organized is important.

This lady has lived a great deal of her life in small spaces and has discovered many ways to make it work. You’ll find lots of very clever ideas to make your small home a very pleasant place.

I’ve learned from experience that a person needs to get rid of all the clutter. It just can’t be organized. Then with Ms Bechen’s guidance, you can work to create a beautifully organized small home.

***Thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy,***

Kathryn Bechen?is an award-winning professional writer whose articles have appeared in popular national and regional magazines and newspapers. She specializes in lifestyle feature articles and has also published several organizing and decorating e-books. The lifestyle companies she founded, Organized with Ease and Kathryn Bechen Designs, have served clients worldwide. Bechen has organized and decorated 13 personal small space residences together with her husband Steve. They currently live in their favorite small space ever: a 1,200-square-foot high-rise apartment in beautiful San Diego, California. She blogs about timely lifestyle topics at www.KathrynBechenINK.com.

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books for everyday life. For more information, visit www.RevellBooks.com

Available January 2012 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

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Sinners & Saints

January 17th, 2012

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!

Today’s Wild Card authors are:

 

Victoria Christopher Murray

and

ReShonda Tate Billingsley

(Chapters written by alternating author)

 

and the book:

 

Sinners and Saints
Touchstone; Original edition (January 10, 2012)

***Special thanks to Shida Carr of Simon & Schuster for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

 

Victoria Christopher Murray is the author of nine Essence bestselling novels, including The Ex Files, Too Little, Too Late, and Lady Jasmine. Winner of the African American Literary Award for Fiction and Author of the Year, she splits her time between Los Angeles and Washington, D.C.

Visit the author’s website.
ReShonda Tate Billingsley is an award winning former television and radio reporter, as well as the author of twenty-one books which have appeared on the Essence bestseller list more than twenty times. She is married with three small children and lives in Texas.
Visit the author’s website.

 

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

TEAM JASMINE or TEAM RACHEL?

Bestselling and award-winning novelists Victoria Christopher Murray and ReShonda Tate Billingsley bring their favorite heroines together in a novel that will delight their legions of fans.

Jasmine Larson Bush and Rachel Jackson Adams are not your typical first ladies. But they’ve overcome their scandalous and drama-filled pasts to stand firmly by their husbands’ sides.

When a coveted position opens up—president of the American Baptist Coalition— both women think their husbands are perfect for the job. And winning the position may require both women to get down and dirty and revert to their old tricks. Just when Jasmine and Rachel think they’re going to have to fight to the finish, the current first lady of the coalition steps in . . . a woman bigger, badder, and more devious than either of them.

Double the fun with a message of faith, Sinners & Saints will delight readers with two of their favorite characters from two of their favorite authors.

Product Details:

List Price: $15.00

  • Paperback: 288 pages
  • Publisher: Touchstone; Original edition (January 10, 2012)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1451608152
  • ISBN-13: 978-1451608151
  • ISLAND BREEZES
  • I was starting to get into this book until it named Jeremiah Wright as a “stand-up guy, a hero and a mentor.”  We’re talking about “Dod Damn America Jeremiah Wright.”  That threw me off, because I have a hard time looking up to someone so unpatriotic.
  • I tried to get back into the book, but all the materialism, power grabbing and acheming just didn’t hold my attention.
  • I scanned the book until chapter twenty-six before I could regain interest.  I did enjoy the rest of the book.
  • I like the way these authors each brought a heroine from a previous book to create this one.

AND NOW…THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS:

Chapter One
How in the world was Jasmine going to keep her promise to God now?
Two years ago, she had promised Him that if He saved her daughter when she was kidnapped, if He brought her home safely, then she was going to live a life devoted just to Him. Jasmine had vowed that with Jacqueline’s return, she was going to live the life that God had for her as Hosea’s wife, as Jacqueline and Zaya’s mother. She wasn’t going to want for anything more than what God had given her, because surely, He had supplied her with enough.
God had done His part.
And for the last two years, Jasmine had done her part, too.
She’d lived a low-key life, thrilled that her greatest dramas were debates about fashion choices every morning with her seven-year old daughter.
But how was she supposed to keep her promise to God now? After what her husband had just told her?
“So, hold up,” Jasmine said, slipping into the chair across from Hosea. “I thought you were just going to the convention as the keynote speaker.”
Hosea nodded.
“So, explain this to me again.”
With a sigh, Hosea folded the newspaper he’d been reading and placed it on the table. He stuffed his mouth with a forkful of pancake, chewed for a moment, then said, “The call came in from a friend of Pop’s, Pastor Earl Griffith. He thinks I need to submit my resume.”
“To be the head of the American Baptist Coalition?”
Hosea nodded.
“But we’re not Baptist.”
His eyes danced with his amusement. “Get out of here.”
“You know what I mean,” Jasmine said, waving one hand. “I just don’t get it. Why would they call you?”
“They didn’t call me. Only Pastor Griffith.Seems like there’re a couple of men in the running, though according to Griffith, the front-runner is Pastor Adams, Lester Adams from the Southern region.”
Jasmine frowned. “I’ve never heard of him.”
“Out of Houston. But Pastor Griffith doesn’t think Adams is the man. Seems that the last four presidents have been from the South and Griffith and a couple of other pastors on the board think that the Coalition needs someone from the North, someone more progressive, to really move the organization forward.”
“And they think that can be you?”
“Not they, darlin’. I told you—Griffith called me.”
“But you said there were others who agreed with him.”
Hosea nodded. “Apparently, they don’t have anyone from the North who they think can go up against Adams. I guess they think my name could win this.”
“That makes sense to me.”
“It doesn’t matter how much sense it makes, darlin’. I told Pastor Griffith that I’m not interested.”
As if she didn’t hear any of Hosea’s last words, Jasmine whispered, “Wow.” Old thoughts, familiar desires came to her mind—of power and prestige and money. How much money would a president receive?
She didn’t know a lot about the American Baptist Coalition, but she knew enough. Like the fact that they were the largest African American religious organization, and wielded major political clout. And as much as black folks loved religion, the head of the ABC would have a boatload of power—and so would his wife.
Talk about being the first lady!
“Jasmine?”
I’d be the first lady of like . . . the world!
“Jasmine?”
“Huh?” Her eyes were glassy with images of her future and it took her a moment to focus on Hosea.
His admonishment came before he even said a word. It was in the way his eyes narrowed and the way he’d already begun shaking his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“What?”
“You know what. I’m not gonna do it,” he said slowly, as if he was speaking to one of their children. “I’m gonna go to the convention and speak, just like they asked. But I’m not gonnarun for that office. The little I know about Lester Adams, he’s a good man. They’ll be fine with him.”
“How could he be the one if I’ve never even heard of him?”
“Like you know every pastor in the country.”
“I’m not talking about knowing every pastor. I’m thinking that Pastor Griffith is right. The head of the ABC should be someone who’s known and who can add to the Coalition. Think about what you bring as the pastor of one of the largest churches in the country. Then, there’s your show.” She nodded. “Pastor Griffith is right,” she repeated. “It has to be you.”
His head was still shaking. “No. I don’t want the drama.”
“Who said anything about drama?”
“Any type of election—political or religious—is always about drama.” He stood and placed his plate in the sink. “And then there’s you, my wonderful wife. As much as I love you, darlin’, anytime you’re involved in anything, drama makes its way into our lives. No, I don’t want any part of it.”
“So, you’re just gonna let this huge opportunity pass us—I mean, pass you by?”
“Yup, because it’s not an opportunity that interests me. The church, the show, and most importantly you and the children are enough for me.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Speaking of the church, I’m gonna get dressed and head over there. I have a meeting in a couple of hours.”
“Okay,” she said, dismissing him with words, though she’d already dismissed him in her mind. Jasmine stayed as Hosea left her alone in the kitchen.
You and the children are enough for me.
Until a few minutes ago, she would’ve agreed with her husband. But this conversation was a game changer.
Hosea was right—their lives were without drama, but it had gotten kind of boring. Every day it was the same thing—getting the children off to school, then working on the women’s committees at the church, then coming home to meet the children, then helping Mrs. Sloss with dinner, then . . . then . . .then . . .
Not that she had complaints; she loved her life, her family. But she would still love everyone, and maybe even a little bit more if Hosea were the head of the ABC .
Oh, no. She wasn’t going to sit back and let this opportunity pass Hosea. He needed this position, even if he didn’t know it.
Standing, she moved toward their bedroom, the conniving wheels of her brain already churning. She stood outside the door of their master bathroom, listening to her husband praise God, the spray of the shower, his accompanying music.
“I trust you, Lord!” He sang the words to one of Donnie McClurkin’s songs.
“Babe,” she said, interrupting his praise time. “I’m gonna run over to Mae Frances’s apartment, okay?”
“Don’t you have a meeting at the church?”
“Yeah, but it’s not till this afternoon and Mae Frances just called and she really needs me to help her with something.”Jasmine paused. It had been a long time since she’d manipulated the truth to get somethingshe wanted. But it wasn’t like she was going back to being a total liar again—she just needed to get this done and after Hosea was in his rightful place, she’d go back to being on the side of righteousness.
“Oh, okay. Is Nama all right?” he asked, referring to Mae Frances by the name their children called the older woman.
“She’s fine. You know Nama. I’ll call Mrs. Whittingham and tell her that I may be a little late for my meeting.”
By the time they said their good-byes and Jasmine grabbed her purse, she already had a plan. But she’d need some help, and Mae Frances, her friend who knew everyone from Al Sharpton to Al Capone and his offspring, was just the person to help her.
“Sorry, Pastor Adams,” she said to herself as she rode down in the elevator. “Whoever you are, you can be the president of the ABC once Hosea and I are done—in, say, ten or twenty years.”
She stepped outside of their Central Park South apartmentbuilding and into the New York springtime sun. Slapping on herdesigner glasses, she laughed out loud.
Oh, yeah, today was gonna be a really good day.

 

Chapter Two
Watch out, Michelle Obama!
Rachel Jackson Adams smiled in satisfaction as shesurveyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’d had toleave the prestigious American Baptist Coalition regional dinnerand step inside the restroom to compose herself. After all, shewas about to be the first lady of one of the most prestigiousorganizations in the country. She couldn’t very well be actinga plumb fool because she was overcome with excitement.But Rachel had wanted to do a backflip, front flip, toe touch,cartwheel, and anything else she could think of to express herjoy.
Rachel fluffed her honey brown curls, then lightly refreshedher MAC Oh Baby lip gloss. She had come such a long way. Hermother was probably dancing in her grave at the sight of Rachelas not only a first lady, but a soon-to-be prominent one at that.Rachel had worked hard to garner the respect of the parishionersat Zion Hill Missionary Baptist Church. She’d grown up inthat church, so everyone knew her dirt—all of it—and it hadtaken God himself to get these people to respect her. And whileZion Hill had grown tremendously, it still wasn’t considereda megachurch, and outside of Houston there were few whohad even heard of it. As the first lady of the American BaptistCoalition, her status would go to a whole new level. Shoot, if shehad to be first lady, she might as well be the top first lady.
Rachel savored the thought as she dropped her lip gloss backinto her clutch and stepped back into the corridor.
“I was beginning to think you’d fallen in,” her husband ofeight years said before leaning in and lightly kissing Rachel onthe cheek.
Lester Adams wasn’t her true love—that title belonged toher thirteen-year-old son’s father, Bobby Clark. But Lester wasgood for her. Her love for Lester was that agape love they talkedabout in First Corinthians. It brought out the best in her. Well,for the most part anyway. Life with Bobby had been filled withdrama—Rachel admitted much of that was her own doing, but itwas drama-filled nonetheless. And although Bobby still remaineda part of Jordan’s life, Rachel had finally gotten him out of hersystem and was focusing all of her attention on making hermarriage work.
“What took you so long?” Lester asked, snapping Rachel outof her thoughts.
“Sorry,” Rachel said with a slight smile, “but you know I’mabout to be the preeminent first lady, so I had to make sure mymakeup was on point.” She tossed her hair back. “Come to thinkof it, I think I’ll change my name to Lady Rachel so I can havethe title to go along with the position.”
Lester narrowed his eyes and glared at his wife. “Rachel,” hebegan in that voice she hated—the one that he always used whenhe was chastising her.
“What?” Rachel shrugged, already getting defensive.
“I don’t have the position yet,” he said matter-of-factly. “Theregional board just nominated me tonight. There’s still a nationalelection.”
Rachel waved him off. “That’s just a formality. Did you hearthose election results? You beat Pastor Johnson seventy-three totwenty-five percent!”
Lester sighed. “Pastor Johnson also got his sixteen-year-oldstepniece pregnant.” As soon as Lester said it, he looked like hewished he could take the words back.
The smile immediately left Rachel’s face. Lester was no sainthimself. He’d had his own little pregnant-woman-on the-sidedebacle. But thank God, they’d worked through that crisis.“I’m just saying,” Lester quickly continued, like he wanted toprevent Rachel’s mind from traveling down that rocky memorylane, “Pastor Johnson wasn’t that hard to beat. I still have to runagainst whomever they nominate from the North region, andrumor has it they’re bringing out their top dogPastor HoseaBush.”
“That jack-legged TV preacher?” Rachel asked with a frown.
Lester shook his head. “Pastor Bush is not jack-legged. He’swell established, comes from a highly respected family, and heleads one of the largest churches in the country.”
“So? He’s. Not. You,” Rachel said, reaching up and adjustingLester’s bow tie. Lester had been an extreme nerd when theywere in high school—which is why Rachel had never given himthe time of day. But he’d pursued her relentlessly and eventuallyhad worn her down. He was willing to be a father to her twokids and he loved her unconditionally. So she agreed to givetheir relationship a try, but not before having him shave off thatred mop of a hairstyle he wore and introducing him to Proactiv.She’d revamped his wardrobe, taught him how to have a littleswagger, and now, even she had to admit, he had it going on. Notto mention the fact that he was an awesome preacher. “Lester,sweetheart,” Rachel said, taking her husband’s hands, “you heardthat emcee tonight. For the past sixty years, the president of theABC has been a Southerner. That’s not about to change. I don’tcare how prominent this Rev. Tree is.”
Lester let out a small chuckle. “Pastor Bush,” he corrected.
“Tree, Bush, Leave, whatever,”she said, flicking her hand.“The bottom line is, that position is ours. God said so.”
He laughed again. “Oh, God said so, huh?”
Rachel nodded emphatically. “He sure did. And if God said it,then it’s so.” She grinned widely.
“Look at my baby,” Lester said proudly. “And to think, youthreatened to divorce me for entering the ministry.”
“Well, that’s because I’d spent my life as a preacher’sdaughter. I wasn’t trying to be a preacher’s wife. But I’ve gottenthe hang of it now.”
“You do make a great first lady,” Lester said, kissing heragain. “And can I say it again—you look lovely in that dress.”
“Thank you. And I’m going to make an even better first ladyon a national level.” She tightened the belt on her royal blueDiane von Furstenberg silk dress. Her attire tonight was justone indication of how far she’d come. Just a few years ago, shewould’ve shown up to an event like this in the latest Baby Phator Apple Bottoms style that she could find. And although she stillloved her some Kimora Lee Simmons, she didn’t have to wear iteverywhere.
“Congratulations, Rev. Adams,” an elderly man said as hewalked past them.
Lester stopped and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“I can’t wait until you officially claim that presidency,” theman said as he stepped on to the elevator.
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Lester replied as he wavedgood-bye.
Rachel waited for the elevator door to close. “See, everyoneknows you’re the man for the job. And I’m the woman that needsto be next to the man for the job.”
“Since when did this kind of stuff excite you?”Rachel’s hands went to her hips. “Since I did my homework.Do you know that the last wife of the ABC president wasinvited everywhere? To White House dinners, commencementceremonies, the Grammys—she even cohosted on The View!”
“But wasn’t she a TV journalist anyway?”
Rachel frowned. Lester and all this negativity was about towork her nerves. “That’s beside the point. Everyone knows theABC president is one of the most powerful men in the country,so that means the ABC ’s president’s wife would be one of themost powerful women.”
“I’m just saying, don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Whatever, Lester.”Rachel rolled her eyes. She’d beeneuphoric since they announced he’d won the election an hourago. Of course, she always knew he would, but hearing itconfirmed was the icing on the cake.
As thoughts of hanging out with Michelle Obama danced inher head, Rachel once again smiled.
“Rachel, I see your mind working.”
“Just trying to determine where I’ll get my dress for yourinduction ceremony.” Maybe she could get Kimora to design hersomething personally.
“Rachel—”
She put her finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” she said, draping herarm through his. “Let’s just savor the moment tonight. Let’s goback in, mingle with the people, and enjoy ourselves. My dadand Brenda have the kids, so the night is all ours. Tomorrow,we’ll talk about the national election.” Rachel decided to justchange the subject because she didn’t care what Lester said,he would win the national election. And if this Reverend Bushproved to be a problem, well, Rachel might just have to revertto her old bag of tricks—just for a moment—to make sure thathe wasn’t a threat. She wasn’t going to let anything, or anyone,stand in the way of claiming what was destined to be hers.

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Chasing Mona Lisa

January 16th, 2012

One enigmatic smile. Two passionate protectors. And a relentlessly ticking clock.

         

 

ISLAND BREEZES

It was so good to go along on an adventure with Eric and Gabi again. Tricia and Mike have come up with another adrenalin fueled story.

I romped through the French Resistance and celebrated the liberation with these two. And that was just the beginning.

Then the chase was on to recover the elusive Mona Lisa. Who will come out on top? The Germans? The Swiss? The French?

There’s a twist or two at the end – one of which I didn’t see coming. Don’t bother trying to read the last of the story first. You need to read from the beginning in order to really be able to understand and appreciate the end.

***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy***

August 1944. Paris is on the cusp of liberation. As the soldiers of the Third Reich flee the Allied advance, they ravage the country and steal countless pieces of irreplaceable art. In fact, Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring will stop at nothing to claim the most valuable one of all—the Mona Lisa—as a postwar bargaining chip.

But the woman with the mysterious smile has some very determined protectors. Can Swiss OSS agents Gabi Mueller and Eric Hofstadler rescue Leonardo da Vinci’s masterpiece before it falls into German hands?

With nonstop action and intrigue, Chasing Mona Lisa is sure to get your adrenaline pumping as you join the chase to save the most famous painting in the world. From war-ravaged Paris to a posh Swiss chateau, the race is on–and the runners are playing for keeps.

Available January 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

 

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Deny Yourself

January 15th, 2012

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 

For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. 

For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life?  Or what will they give in return for their life?

For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done.”

Matthew 16:24-27

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7 Money Rules for Life

January 14th, 2012

Take Control of Your Financial Future with 7 Money Rules for Life

Founder of Debt-Proof Living shares how to master your personal finances

 

“Mary Hunt has been there and back, and it shows. Hunt’s empathetic, real-world approach makes [her] advice somehow seem more palatable–and achievable.”–Money?magazine

Across the country Americans are flunking their finances. Credit-card debt has reached $828 billion, 77 percent of Americans are living paycheck to paycheck and 43 percent have less than $10,000 saved for retirement. An alarming number of Americans have never been taught how to handle their personal finances, and this has led to financial ruin for millions.

ISLAND BREEZES

I’ve managed to pay off a lot of debt, but have lately been a little lax with my money management. This book came along at just the right time to give me a boost to “straighten up and fly right.”

It’s so much easier (and more freeing) if one follows Mary Hunt/s advice and example. It’s sometimes tough to dig yourself out of debt, bot so very rewarding.

I was debt free until one thing after another happened and ate up most of the emergency fund I’d been building up. Included in that is an injury at the beginning of 2011 that left me unable to continue working as an RN.

Now I’m back in debt, but with Mary’s help, I’m determined to once again to be debt free. If we follow her first rule, the other rules fall into line. This book is very helpful without being all puffed up with a bunch of financial terms.

***Thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.*** 

Bestselling author and financial columnist Mary Hunt lived through her own financial nightmare, paying off over $100,000 in unsecured credit-card debt. In 7 Money Rules for Life: How to Take Control of Your Financial Future (Hardcover ISBN: 978-0-8007-2112-1, 208 pages, January 2012, $17.99), Hunt openly shares her own struggles with an emotional connection to spending that drove her family into financial ruin. Over the past 20 years, Hunt has helped thousands of people get out of debt and live below their means.

“These simple rules,” says Hunt, “cut through the confusion, mystery and misery, enabling readers to get their financial lives on track.” By following her seven rules, readers can fix their financial problems and take control of the future. Hunt provides a solid foundation of financial knowledge and encourages readers to get started on the road to becoming financially secure.

As she successfully paid off her debt, Hunt developed and fine-tuned the seven money rules. These simple, unchanging, basic rules work in every financial situation, for every income level, and for every stage of life:

Rule 1: Spend Less than You Earn

Rule 2: Save for the Future

Rule 3: Give Some Away

Rule 4: Anticipate Your Irregular Expenses

Rule 5: Tell Your Money Where to Go

Rule 6: Manage Your Credit

Rule 7: Borrow Only What You Know You Can Repay

To further encourage her readers, everyone who purchases a copy of 7 Money Rules for Life will receive a free membership to Debt-Proof Living, Hunt’s online community. Members have access to financial tools

and interactive calculators, articles on debt-proofing your life, and even more tips and encouragement for those taking control of their financial freedom.

Mary Hunt, award-winning and bestselling author, syndicated columnist and sought-after motivational speaker, has created a global platform that is making strides to help men and woman battle the epidemic impact of consumer debt.

She is founder and publisher of Debt-Proof Living website, 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, where it is enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of Everyday Cheapskate readers. Hunt speaks widely on personal finance and has appeared on shows such as Oprah, Good Morning America and Dr. Phil. She and her husband live in California. 

Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books for everyday life.? For more information, visit www.RevellBooks.com.

Available January 2012 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

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Stalker in the Shadows

January 13th, 2012

“Consider this a warning.”

Lately, nurse Monica Grant feels she’s being watched. Followed. And then she receives a threatening letter—accompanied by a dead snake. If she doesn’t stop her plans to open a free children’s clinic, she’ll end up dead, too. Terrified, Monica turns to former lawman Shaun O’Neill—who believes the same madman murdered his own sister five years before. She understands how much it means to the handsome, heart-guarding man to save her—and her dream. Even if he has to lure a deadly stalker out of the shadows—straight toward himself.

ISLAND BREEZES

I’ve been wondering about the other sister.  This family has certainly been in the midst of a lot of intrigue.  The Joy Luck Life spa is a danger magnet.

Monica, a nurse, who left her job to care for her father, never wanted to be part of the spa.  Her father wants the entire family to be involved.  While Monica is being stalked by a murderer, she is till dreaming of opening a free clinic.

We watch her struggle to fulfill her dream while fighting not to fall in love with the handsome hunk she hires as a bodyguard.

She’s trapped in a triangle, but not the traditional one.  This is a triangle between Monica, her bodyguard and her father.

This book is filled with adrenaline inducing mystery and adventure, love, heartache and family ties and clashes.

As usual, Camy Tang did not fail to give me a book that I had to read in a single sitting.  I don’t want to leave the Grant family behind.  Maybe there’s a hidden sister somewhere.  Or maybe Auntie and Detective Carter could be the focus.  Are you with us on this, Camy?

You can visit Camy’s website here.

Enjoy this excerpt from the Harlequin site.

Someone was watching her.

Monica Grant glanced around the bustling central plaza in downtown Sonoma, California, and rubbed the back of her neck, but the ugly, prickly feeling wouldn’t go away. She remembered the well-worn phrase from her Nancy Drew books—”the hair stood up on the back of her neck”—but she’d never realized how true it was. Until now.

She couldn’t actually see anyone looking at her—there were tourists strolling around Sonoma City Hall and the fountain, cars driving slowly around the square, shoppers stepping in and out of the quaint shops. A few locals across the street noticed her looking at them and waved hello. She waved back with a smile, recognizing them as staff from a nearby restaurant. The Grant family’s successful day spa, Joy Luck Life, had helped bring even more activity to the small tourist town, and all of her family was acquainted with most of the local business owners and staff.

But as she continued walking along the line of shops and historical buildings, the creepy feeling crawled up her shoulder blades. She whirled around suddenly, but didn’t catch anyone in the act of staring at her, or ducking into a shop doorway to escape her notice.

It had been a silly thought, anyway. She wasn’t a spy. She was probably imagining things.

She turned to enter Lorianne’s Cafe, a popular new restaurant owned by one of her high school classmates, which served California fusion cuisine made exclusively with local produce. She thought the feeling of being watched would go away as soon as she entered the building, but an uncomfortable shaft of prickling shot down her spine. She turned to look out the restaurant’s glass front doors, toward the green park area around Sonoma City Hall, but couldn’t see anyone except a few tourists walking by.

“Monica Grant, are you stalking me?”

The voice, still betraying the slight Irish lilt of his homeland, made her turn. “Mr. O’Neill! I should say,you’re stalking me.”

Patrick O’Neill’s light blue eyes creased deeply at the corners. “Seeing you at the Zoe International charity banquet last week wasn’t enough. I had to get in more of your lovely company.” He enfolded her in a hug that made her cheek rasp against his usual Hawaiian-print, button-down shirt. Quite a contrast to the tuxedo he’d worn at the annual dinner that Zoe International, an anti-human-slavery organization, had hosted to thank its donors.

“Are you here in Sonoma just for the day?” Monica asked. “Or are you staying overnight before you head back down to

Marin?”

“I’m here for a few days, spending time with my new grandson.”

“That’s right, I heard about the new baby yesterday from Aunt Becca.” At first Monica had been shocked because she’d thought the new baby was Shaun’s son, but quickly realized her mistake—it was Brady’s son, Shaun’s nephew. She hoped Aunt Becca hadn’t noticed her initial stunned reaction.

“What have you been up to in the seven whole days since

I’ve seen you?” He tugged at a silver lock of hair on his wide forehead. It brought back an image of Shaun doing the same gesture.

She forced her mind away from his eldest son. “I’m still taking care of Dad since he had his stroke.”

“He’s doing better? Last week, we were interrupted before I could ask you about him.”

“He still needs a live-in nurse, but I’m also taking him to physical therapy several times a week, and he’s gaining mobility back. He doesn’t need me quite as much, which is good, because my sister Naomi announced her engagement six weeks ago. She’s planning her wedding, so sometimes when she has to take off work at the spa, I fill in as manager for her.”

“Will she still be manager when she marries?”

“No, she’s going to start her own private massage therapy business in the city, closer to her future husband’s office. We’re trying to hire someone to take over when she leaves, but until then.. ” She had to stifle a small sigh. Because she still took care of her dad, filling in for Naomi stole precious free time that she didn’t have. The spa needed to hire someone soon.

“From nurse to manager.” His blue eyes were more piercing than his son’s. “It doesn’t sit with you well?”

His insight startled her. “I loved being an Emergency Room nurse,” she said, “but I have to admit I don’t regret quitting my job at Good Samaritan Hospital when Dad needed me. What I’d really like to do is run a free children’s clinic for Sonoma and Napa counties.”

Unlike Monica’s father, Mr. O’Neill didn’t roll his eyes at her. Instead, he nodded gravely. “Then you should do it, my girl. You only have one life to love.”

His phrasing touched her on a deeper level, stirred up things she had left collecting on the bottom. She shifted uncomfortably, then changed gears, giving him a teasing look. “So who are you meeting for lunch? Yet another struggling hotel owner whose hotel you’re going to buy and then turn into a raging success?”

“No, I’m just here having lunch with my son.” He gestured behind him.

Brady, his second eldest son, lived only a few miles from Sonoma in Geyserville. Monica’s gaze flickered over Mr. O’Neill’s shoulder, past the hostess waiting patiently behind the desk, toward the restaurant’s bar.and she froze.

Shaun O’Neill stared right back at her. Her breath stopped in her throat and seemed to hum there. She recognized the strange sensation, something she had only felt twice before in her life—at her first sight of a cherry red Lamborghini, and the very first time she’d met Shaun O’Neill, ten years ago at a Zoe International banquet.

Her heart started racing as he rose from his seat at the bar and walked toward them. His expression was unfathomable. Was he happy to see her? Indifferent? Something about the way he held his eyes made her think he felt the same rush of intensity she did.

No, she had to find a way to smother the electricity zinging through her veins. Shaun was a cop, and she would never, ever date anyone in law enforcement. In the E.R., she had seen what that profession did to the families left behind, had tried to heal the unhealable pain of losing a fine man to a criminal’s gunshot. She knew her heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

She also knew she wouldn’t be able to handle him.

As he approached, his scent wrapped around her—a thread of well-tooled leather, a hint of pine, a deep note of musk—a combination uniquely Shaun’s. “Hi, Shaun.” She gave a polite smile that hopefully masked the way he made her feel so…alive.

“Hi, Monica.” The deep voice had a slight gravelly edge to it, promising danger and excitement. “It’s been a long time.”

“I didn’t know you were back in Sonoma.”

“I quit the border patrol,” he said softly.

“What?” Surprised, she looked up at him and immediately drowned in the cerulean blue sea of his straightforward gaze. Shaun had always been aggressive with his stance, with his looks—and he was that way now, standing a little too close to her, staring a little too intently. “I.. ” She cleared her throat. “I thought you loved the border patrol. The last time we met, you were so enthusiastic about it.”

“I’m back to spend time with my family. I’m thinking of applying for the Sonoma Police Department.”

“Not as exciting as the border patrol,” she remarked, looking for his reaction.

He shrugged.

How strange. He still had that bad-boy air about him, but there was something that reminded her of a wounded dog. No, a wolf. A wounded wolf. She wanted to reach out to him, to help him if she could.

Wounded wolves still bite. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t her type. She had to stop now so she wouldn’t go any deeper. She wouldn’t submit herself to the kind of pain she’d seen in the Emergency Room. She shook off the memory of a cop’s widow’s shaking shoulders and forced her mind back to the present.

Then something invisible raking along her spine made her jerk. She turned to look out again through the glass of the restaurant doors but only saw the same view of Sonoma City Hall, made of local quarried stone that looked more flint-gray today under the overcast skies. Different tourists from the last time she’d looked walked around the grounds now.

She was being paranoid. She had to get a hold of herself.

She turned back to Mr. O’Neill. “The last time we talked, you mentioned how you were going to sell the Fontana Hotel in Marin and do consulting work rather than buy another hotel. Do you know when that’s going to happen?”

Mr. O’Neill smiled at her. “Does your question have anything to do with the rumors I heard that your father’s going to expand the spa and add a hotel?”

Monica grinned. “Guilty as charged. I have a lunch appointment in a few minutes, but do you have time today to talk about possibly consulting for him?”

He gave her a sharp look. “Have you talked to Augustus about this yet?”

Heat like a sunburn crept up her neck. “Uh…Dad mentioned yesterday how he needed help now that he’s actually decided to go forward with the hotel.”

Mr. O’Neill smiled. “I do have time this afternoon.” He turned to Shaun. “Did you want to come with me or pick me up later?”

“I’ll come with you.” His voice was light, but his blue eyes flickered to Monica.

She had to remind herself that she wanted to speak with his father, not with him. “Great. Thanks, Mr. O’Neill. Three o’clock at our house?”

“Sounds good. Who are you meeting for lunch, by the way?”

“It’s a potential investor for my free children’s clinic. Phillip Bromley.”

Shaun’s jaw suddenly tightened and his eyes became shards of ice. “The son of the CEO of Lowther Station Bank in San Francisco?”

She nodded. “His brother’s a medical missionary in Kenya. I’ve known Phillip for a few months, but last week at the Zoe banquet, he expressed interest in my clinic and mentioned that his brother might be willing to donate his time to the clinic when he returns to the States this summer.”

But Shaun was shaking his head. “You should stay away from Bromley.”

“Shaun.. ” Mr. O’Neill said gently.

“Why?” Monica said. “Phillip has always been perfectly civil to me.” Whereas Shaun’s wildness seemed to exude from him, only barely restrained by his conservative white cotton shirt and jeans.

There was also anger underlying that wildness as he answered, “It’s just a mask. It’s not the real him.”

A mask? Monica hadn’t seen that at all, and she prided herself on being able to read people rather well. She didn’t particularly like Phillip—there was something about his manner that seemed too self-focused and self-serving—but she hadn’t detected anything deceptive during the times they spoke to each other.

“He’s dangerous,” Shaun growled. “You need to stay away from him.”

Shaun’s commanding tone grated down her spine, and she lifted her chin to glare at his set face. “How is he dangerous?” Shaun’s lips tightened briefly. “He just is. You don’t know him.”

“And you do?”

“Better than you do.”

“Children,” Mr. O’Neill said in a long-suffering voice, “play nice.”

Monica backed down. Mr. O’Neill was right, she was being childish. The same fiery temper that got her into arguments with her dad was now picking fights with a man who only wanted to…what? Warn her? Protect her? She wasn’t used to men like Shaun, whose life work was protecting people. Her ex-boyfriends had mostly been artists and playboys, who all seemed “soft” now compared with Shaun’s solid presence.

She had to admit that his presence made her feel less uneasy, less vulnerable to the eyes that might—or might not—be watching her. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing outside again, but saw no one lurking or looking at her.

At that moment, her cell phone rang, and the caller ID said it was Phillip.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Mr. O’Neill said quickly, giving her a peck on the cheek before letting the hovering hostess seat him and Shaun at a table.

She answered the call. “Hi, Phillip.” Were his ears burning because they’d been talking about him?

“Hi, Monica. I’m sorry, but there’s an overturned construction truck here on highway 121. I’ll be about twenty minutes late.”

“No problem. I’ll be waiting.”

She had the hostess seat her at a table, but stopped when she saw it was right in the center of the large windows at the front of the restaurant. She glanced out at the tourists and pedestrians on the street. No one was even looking in her direction, but she felt as if a cold hand gripped her around the throat.

“Could I get a table near the back?” she asked, and the hostess nodded and seated her at a small table at the back of the restaurant.

However, it was close to where Shaun and his father were seated. She didn’t want to request another change so she sat, but it was hard for her to keep her head averted with Shaun only a few feet away to her right.

At least the horrible feeling of being watched was gone. She spent a few minutes checking her email on her phone, but then the restaurant’s owner and chef, Lorianne, approached her table with a long white florist’s box and a huge grin on her face. “Hey, Monica. I happened to be up front just now when this was delivered for you.” Excitement radiated from her bright eyes as she sat down across from her. “Who’s it from? You didn’t mention a new boyfriend when I talked to you a couple weeks ago.”

“I still don’t have a boyfriend. Your guess is as good as mine.” Monica didn’t look at Shaun, but could sense him glancing at her at Lorianne’s words. Really, what business was it of his? She wished she weren’t so close to their table.

“Ooh, a secret admirer,” Lorianne said. “Well, as owner of this fine establishment, I am entitled to view any and all flowers delivered.” She winked at Monica.

A part of her was flattered by the gift. Who wouldn’t be? But another part of her was wary. Who gave flowers to a woman through a delivery and not personally? Then it occurred to her that maybe Phillip had them delivered in advance of their meeting. He had seemed a bit friendly last week at the Zoe banquet, but she’d been careful not to encourage anything more than a business relationship. She hoped he didn’t misinterpret her body language.

Well, she knew who it wasn’t from. She tried to angle her body away from Shaun as she lifted the lid. An odd cigarette smell made her eyes burn, and she blinked away sudden tears.

In the box, nestled among white tissue paper, lay a huge dead snake.

Monica gasped and dropped the box onto the table, making the silverware rattle.

“Oh, my gosh.” Lorianne’s eyes were huge.

The ugliness of the gift seemed to stifle her, and Monica fought to breathe. Who would send her something so hateful, so horrible?

***Review copy provided by the author.*

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The Keeper

January 12th, 2012

The Keeper by best-selling author Suzanne Woods Fisher. Full of the plot twists and surprises her fans love, The Keeper is the first book in the new Stoney Ridge Seasons series.

Julia Lapp has planned on marrying Paul Fisher since she was a girl. Now twenty-one, she looks forward to their wedding with giddy anticipation. When Paul tells her he wants to postpone the wedding–again–she knows who is to blame. Perpetual bachelor and spreader of cold feet, Roman Troyer, the Bee Man.

Roamin’ Roman travels through the Amish communities of Ohio and Pennsylvania with his hives full of bees, renting them out to farmers in need of pollinators. He relishes his nomadic life, which keeps him from thinking about all he has lost. He especially enjoys bringing his bees to Stoney Ridge each year. But with Julia on a mission to punish him for inspiring Paul’s cold feet, the Lapp farm is looking decidedly less pleasant.

Can Julia secure the future she’s always dreamed of? Or does God have something else in mind?

ISLAND BREEZES

Suzanne Woods Fisher has done it again. This book is a keeper. So are the bee keeper and the family.

Several of these people need a heart makeover, but will it actually happen? Some of them are too busy protecting their heart.

You’ll find a whole range of emotions in this book. You might as well have that box of tissues at your side while you’re reading this book. If you have a heart, dear reader, you’ll be downright sobbing before you reach the end of this story.

***Special thanks to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***

Available January 2012 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

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The Accidental Bride

January 9th, 2012

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!

Today’s Wild Card author is:

 

Denise Hunter

 

and the book:

 

The Accidental Bride
Thomas Nelson (January 3, 2012)


***Special thanks to
Audra Jennings – The B&B Media Group – for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Denise lives in Indiana with her husband Kevin and their three sons. In 1996, Denise began her first book, a Christian romance novel, writing while her children napped. Two years later it was published, and she’s been writing ever since. Her books often contain a strong romantic element, and her husband Kevin says he provides all her romantic material, but Denise insists a good imagination helps too!

Visit the author’s website.

 

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

 

Shay Brandenberger has built her entire life on the shifting sands of what others think. Constantly seeking the approval of others, she has struggled through a rocky childhood, a failed marriage and single parenthood. Now it looks like she’s losing the ranch that has been in her family for three generations, a surefire way to mark her as a failure in the eyes of the community. When Travis McCoy, the high school sweetheart who very publicly broke her heart fifteen years before, returns to Moose Creek, she is less than pleased. Not only does his re-appearance dredge up a deluge of painful memories, it also reminds everyone in town that it was he who left her, not the other way around. To make matters worse, Shay and Travis are unwittingly paired to play bride and groom in the annual Founder’s Day wedding re-enactment where, much to her chagrin, she discovers he still has the power to take her breath away.

Product Details:

List Price: $15.99

  • Paperback: 304 pages
  • Publisher: Thomas Nelson (January 3, 2012)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 1595548025
  • ISBN-13: 978-1595548023
  • ISLAND BREEZES
  • Left at the altar.  Well, more like on the courthouse steps.  Fourteen years later she accidently became the bride of the man who dumped her.  No, I’m not going to tell you how that happened.  You need to read the book.
  • Now he want the marriage to be real.  Get real!  Shay only agrees to go through the motions because she’s destitute and he’s going to pay the bills for five months.  The ground rule she’s laid out says “no funny stuff.”
  • Shay struggled with so many feelings.  Both from back then and those happening to her right now.  How stubborn can any one woman be?
  • You’ll need that box of tissues before the end of this book.  If you’re not careful, you’ll have tear splotches on the pages of your book.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The bell above the diner’s door jingled
and—despite her most valiant effort—Shay Brandenberger’s eyes darted toward the
entry. An unfamiliar couple entered—tourists. She could tell by their khaki
Eddie Bauer vests and spanking-new hiking boots. Look out, Yellowstone.
When her heart rate returned to normal,
she checked her watch and took a sip of coffee. Five minutes till she met Miss
Lucy at the Doll House, forty till she met John Oakley at the bank. What if he
said no? What would they do then?
“Mom . . . Earth to Mom . . .” Olivia
waved her hand too close to Shay’s face, her brown eyes widening.
“Sorry, hon.” The one bright moment of
her Saturday was breakfast with her daughter, and she couldn’t enjoy it for the
dread. “What were you saying?”
Olivia set her fork on her
pancake-sticky plate and heaved a sigh worthy of her twelve-year-old self.
“Never mind.” She bounced across the vinyl bench, her thick brown ponytail
swinging. “I’m going to meet Maddy.”
“Right back here at noon,” Shay called,
but Olivia was out the door with the flick of her hand.
The diner buzzed with idle chatter.
Silverware clattered and scraped, and the savory smell of bacon and fried eggs
unsettled her stomach. She took a sip of the strong brew from the fat rim of
her mug.
The bell jingled again. I will not look. I will
not look. I will not—
The server appeared at her booth, a new
girl, and gathered Olivia’s dishes. “On the house today.”
Shay set down her mug, bristling. “Why?”
The woman shrugged. “Boss’s orders,” she
said, then made off with the dirty dishes.
From the rectangular kitchen window,
Mabel Franklin gave Shay a pointed look.
So Shay had helped the couple with their
foal the week before. It was the neighborly thing to do.
Fine. She gave a reluctant smile and a
wave. She pulled her wallet from her purse, counted out the tip, and dragged
herself from the booth, remembering her daughter’s bouncy exit. Lately her
thirty-two years pressed down on her body like a two-ton boulder.
She opened the diner’s door and peeked
both ways before exiting the Tin Roof and turning toward the Doll House. She
was only checking sidewalk traffic, not hiding. Nope, she wasn’t hiding from
anyone. The boardwalks were busy on Saturdays. That was why she hadn’t come to
town for two weeks. Why their pantry was emptier than a water trough at high
noon.
She hurried three shops down and slipped
into the cool, welcoming air of Miss Lucy’s shop.
“ ’Morning, Miss Lucy.”
“ ’Morning, dear.” The elderly woman, in
the middle of helping a customer, called over her rounded shoulder, “It’s in
the back.” Miss Lucy’s brown eyes were big as buckeyes behind her thick
glasses, and her white curls glowed under the spotlights.
“Okeydoke.” Shay forced her feet toward
the storeroom.
A musty smell assaulted her as she
entered the back room and flipped on the overhead fluorescents. She scanned the
boxes of doll parts and skeins of yarn until she found what she was looking
for. She approached the box, lifted the lid, and parted the tissue.
The wedding gown had been carefully
folded and tucked away. Shay ran her fingers over the delicate lace and pearls.
Must’ve been crisp white in its day, but time had cast a long shadow over it.
Time had a way of doing that.
Her fingers lingered on the thin fabric.
She remembered another time, another dress. A simple white one that hung on her
young shoulders, just skimmed the cement of the courthouse steps. The ache that
squeezed her heart had faded with time, but it was there all the same. Would it
ever go away?
Shaking her head, Shay turned back to
the task at hand. The gown seemed too pretty, too fragile to disturb.
Oh well. She’d promised.
She pulled it out and draped it over the
box, then shimmied from her jeans. When she was down to the bare necessities,
she stepped carefully into the gown. She eased it over her narrow hips and slid
her arms into the long sleeves. The neckline was modest, the gathered skirt
fuller than anything she ever wore. Here in the air-conditioning it was fine,
but she would swelter next Saturday.
Leaving the button-up back gaping, she
hitched the skirt to the top of her cowboy boots and entered the store.
Miss Lucy was ushering the customer out
the door. When she turned, she stopped, her old-lady shoes squeaking on the
linoleum. “Land sakes.”
Shay took two steps forward and dropped
the skirt. It fell to the floor with a whoosh.
“Fits like a glove,” Miss Lucy said.
“And with some low heels it’ll be the perfect length.”
Shay didn’t even own heels. “My boots’ll
have to do. Button the back?”
Miss Lucy waddled forward, turned Shay
toward a small wall mirror flecked with time, and began working the tiny pearl
buttons.
Shay’s breath caught at her image. She
forced its release, then frowned. Wedding gowns were bad luck. She’d sworn
she’d never wear another. If someone had told her yesterday she’d be wearing
this thing today, she’d have said they were one straw short of a bale.
Miss Lucy moved up to the buttons
between her shoulders, and Shay lifted her hair. The dress did fit, clinging to
her torso like it was made for her, wouldn’t you know. Even the color
complemented her olive skin.
Still, there was that whole bad luck
thing.
And what would everyone think of Shay
Brandenberger wearing this valuable piece of Moose Creek heritage? A white
wedding gown, no less. If she didn’t have the approval of her closest friends
and neighbors, what did she have? Not much, to her thinking.
She wanted to cut and run. Wanted to
shimmy right out of the dress, tuck it into that box in the storeroom, slip
back into her Levi’s and plaid button-up, and go back to her ranch where she
could hole up for the next six months.
She checked the time and wished Miss
Lucy had nimbler fingers. Of all days to do this, a Saturday, when everyone
with two legs was in town. And she still had that infernal meeting with John
Oakley.
Please, God, I can’t lose our home . . .
“I’m obliged to you, dear. I completely
forgot Jessie was going out of town.”
“No problem.”
“Baloney. You’d rather be knee-deep in
cow dung.” The woman’s marionette lines at the sides of her mouth deepened.
“It’s one hour of my life.” A pittance,
after all Miss Lucy had done for her.
Miss Lucy finished buttoning, and Shay
dropped her hair and smoothed the delicate lace at the cuffs.
“Well, bless you for being willing. God
is smiling down on you today for your kindness.”
Shay doubted God really cared one way or
another. It was her neighbors she worried about.
“Beautiful, just beautiful. You’ll be
the talk of the town on Founders Day.”
“No doubt.” Everyone in Moose Creek
would be thinking about the last time she’d worn a wedding gown. And the time
before that.
Especially the time before that.
Third time’s a charm, Shay thought, the corner of her lip
turning up.
“Stop fretting,” Miss Lucy said,
squeezing her shoulders. “You look quite fetching, like the gown was made for
you. I won’t have to make a single alteration. Why, it fits you better than it
ever did Jessie—don’t you tell her I said so.”
Shay tilted her head. Maybe Miss Lucy
was right. The dress did make the most of her figure. And she had as much right
to wear it as anyone. Maybe more—she was born and raised here, after all. It
was just a silly old reenactment anyway. No one cared who the bride and groom
were.
The bell jingled as the door opened
behind her. She glanced in the mirror, over her shoulder, where a hulking
silhouette filled the shop’s doorway. There was something familiar in the set
of the man’s broad shoulders, in the slow way he reached up and removed his
hat.
The sight of him constricted her rib
cage, squeezed the air from her lungs as if she were wearing a corset. But she
wasn’t wearing a corset. She was wearing a wedding gown. Just as she had been
the last time she’d set eyes on Travis McCoy.

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