Martin Luther King Jr had a dream.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” Martin Luther King, Jr.
What happened to that dream? It seems as if racial and class division is encouraged more and more.
“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.
No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.
You are my friends if you do what I command you.
I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.”
John 15:12-17
Waiting for Spring
By Amanda Cabot
Amanda Cabot explores themes of love, courage and sacrifice in the second book of the Westward Winds series. With an authentic backdrop of 1880s Wyoming, Cabot creates characters whose struggle to forge a life in the old West ultimately wins your heart.
After the loss of her husband and the birth of her baby, Charlotte has had a long, hard year. But when a notorious robber believes she knows the location of a long-lost treasure, she flees to Cheyenne and opens a dressmaker’s shop to lie low and make a living. When wealthy cattle baron and political hopeful Barrett Landry enters the shop to visit her best customer, Miriam, Charlotte feels drawn to him.
If Barrett is to be a senator of the soon-to-be state of Wyoming, he must make a sensible match, and Miriam has all the right connections. Yet he can’t shake the feeling that Charlotte holds the key to his heart and his future.
Soon the past comes to call, and Barrett’s plans crumble around him. Will Charlotte and Barrett find the courage to look love in the face? Or will their fears blot out any chance for happiness?
ISLAND BREEZES
Charlotte fled with her baby to Cheyenne in hopes of safety, but never really feels totally safe. She did manage to build a successful business, but constantly worries about being found.
Barrett wants to be elected senator of Wyoming. He’s getting serious about popping the question to a society lady who’s father can help his political aspirations.
It’s neither safe for Charlotte and her special son nor expedient for Barrett, but the two of them are being drawn to each other.
Danger soon rides into town and tries to steal what happiness might be in store for the couple.
Ms Cabot has taken care of summer and spring in her Westward Winds series. I’m ready for fall and winter.
***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***
Amanda Cabot is an accomplished author under various pen names and a popular speaker. The author of Paper Roses, Scattered Petals, Tomorrow’s Garden, and Summer of Promise, she is also a charter member of Romance Writers of America, the cofounder of its New Jersey chapter, a member of the ACFW, and an avid traveler. She lives in Wyoming.
Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life.? They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.
Available January 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group
Choices of the Heart
Laurie Alice Eakes
Laurie Alice Eakes brings to life a gripping story of trust, deception and bittersweet loss, as a young woman learns the true meaning of choices of the heart. In the third book of The Midwives series, you will be transported back to 1840’s Appalachia with a tender romance that includes closely guarded secrets and a bitter feud.
Esther Cherrett comes from a proud line of midwives and was trained by her mother to take over the family calling. But when a scandal threatens all she holds dear, Esther takes a position as a teacher in the western mountains of Virginia instead. There she finds herself in the midst of a deadly family feud and courted by two men on opposite sides of the conflict. When it seems as though her past has followed her all the way into the mountains, all she wants is to run away again.
ISLAND BREEZES
She wanted to leave it all behind — her past, her vocation and all the ugly rumors. She slipped out in the middle of the night without leaving a note.
She ended up way out in the boonies as a teacher. It was an odd situation that put her in the middle of a family feud.
As a nurse, I know you can’t really leave behind the healer in you. Esther couldn’t. It could even get her killed. It might also bring about her redemption. Esther’s dilemma will touch your heart as you see possibilities for a love match on either side of the feud.
I’m definitely enjoying Ms Eakes series, The Midwives.
***A special thanks to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***
Laurie Alice Eakes is the author of Lady in the Mist, Heart’s Safe Passage, A Necessary Deception, A Flight of Fancy, and several other novels. She won a National Readers Choice Award for Best Regency in 2007 for Family Guardian. Laurie Alice writes full-time from her home in Texas, where she lives with her husband and sundry dogs and cats.
Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life.? They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.
Available January 2013 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!
Georgiana Daniels resides in the beautiful mountains of Arizona with her super-generous husband and three talented daughters. She graduated from Northern Arizona University with a bachelor’s degree in public relations, and now has the privilege of homeschooling by day and wrestling with the keyboard by night. She enjoys sharing God’s love through fiction, and is exceedingly thankful for her own happily ever after.
Visit the author’s website.
Inheriting her estranged father’s property isn’t the reason Robyn Warner wanted to come back to Pine Hollow. She thought she’d make amends with her father—but his sudden death made that impossible. And when she learns the identity of the handyman fixing the run-down cabins, Robyn is ready to flee Pine Hollow again. Caleb Sloane, the cop responsible for her father’s accident, just wants to uphold his promise and then return to the force. But he can’t seem to walk away. After all, he understands about guilt and regret. And he’ll do everything he can to help Robyn find healing, happiness and—just maybe—a lifetime of love.
Product Details:
List Price: $5.75
Mass Market Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Love Inspired (December 18, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0373877927
ISBN-13: 978-0373877928
ISLAND BREEZES
What a mess! Can Caleb and Robyn get past all those secrets? Each time it seems possible, another secret pops up.
Love is never easy, but these two are plopped down into a situation which makes even friendship difficult.
You’ll need a few of those tissues as Caleb and Robyn struggle to overcome secrets revealed.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
If the rest of the property was in the same sad condition as the front porch with its missing rails and bowed floorboards, Robyn Warner would be in Pine Hollow, Arizona, far longer than she’d anticipated. She wheeled her suitcase over the flagstone walkway and paused at the foot of her father’s home to absorb the onslaught of memories.
It wasn’t too late to turn around and hand the keys back to the lawyer managing her father’s estate, though the sad huddle of cabins hardly qualified as such. What had once been a cozy mountain resort now looked pitiable and highly susceptible to a stiff wind. Her father certainly hadn’t done her any favors by willing the property to her, but after more than a dozen years of silence, she was glad to be remembered at all.
Gravel crunched near cabin two—Robyn’s favorite during her summer vacation stays as a child. A man in work pants and a paint-splattered T-shirt meandered out from between the ramshackle buildings. “Can I help you? It’s easy to get lost out here.”
“It certainly looks different than I remember, but this is the right place.” She shaded her eyes to get a better look at the man who was tall and muscular without being imposing. He was the most clean-cut maintenance man she’d ever seen—and a nice contrast to the surfers with sand in their hair she was used to back at the surf shop she managed in California. She propped up the suitcase. “I’m Robyn Warner. And you are?”
“Caleb.” He gestured toward the road. “Pine Hollow Resort is on the other side of the wash, about five miles down. Are you sure that’s not where you were headed?”
“I’m here to check out.. ” She caught herself before referring to Lakeside Cabins as hers. “I’m staying here. Dan Dawson was my dad.” She fished the keys from her pocket and held them up. “I’ll just let myself in.”
The handyman scrutinized her as though assessing her legitimacy, much the same way her half siblings, Brad and Abby, had during the funeral last week. Gauging her motives and questioning her right to be there. Her right to grieve.
He swiped his brow with his arm and slid on a pair of sunglasses. “No one told me you were coming or I’d have cleared out.”
“If it makes you feel better, the lawyer didn’t tell me about you, either.” She offered a tentative smile. “Or maybe he did, and I was still in shock.” She recalled her conversation with Phil Harding, who’d upended her world when he contacted her after the funeral and said Lakeside Cabins was hers, though all her father’s personal items would go to Brad and Abby. “Do you work here?”
Caleb shuffled the paintbrush from one hand to the other. “I’ve been fixing Lakeside up, but I can leave if you’d rather have the place to yourself.” His tone held a hard edge.
“Not at all. I’ll be glad to have your help. It looks like we have a lot of work to do.” Though she didn’t have a clue how to pay him. She made a mental note to ask the lawyer if there were provisions of some kind. After taking an unpaid leave from the surf shop, she was living on savings—meager ones, at that. “The sooner Lakeside is all fixed up, the sooner I can sell it.”
“It could take a while.” Caleb’s neck bobbed with a hard swallow, as though he wanted to say more. His sunglasses kept her from further reading his expression, though it was becoming clear she made him uncomfortable.
“With the two of us working together, it’ll speed things along.” She smiled, hoping to defrost his stoic demeanor. Having an easy rapport with the handyman would make the work and the memories of Lakeside less painful. “Either way, I’ll be here as long as it takes. But please, keep doing whatever you were doing.” She gestured toward cabin two. “Every little bit helps.”
Caleb offered a curt nod before he crossed back over the clearing and disappeared behind the small building.
Wind moaned through the trees, sending birds skittering from the branches. Robyn rubbed a chill from her arms. Something about being in the quiet space where her father lived so many years without her, so many years without birthdays and Christmases and simple phone calls, left her unsettled. She wished she’d disregarded her mother’s repeated warnings to leave her dad and his family alone, that she was no longer welcome to visit. She should have at least tried to make peace. Now she’d never have the chance.
Robyn drew a fortifying breath before inserting the key into the lock. She worked the key and turned the knob several times, but it refused to budge. Before she could shimmy it out and try again, the phone in her pocket rang. Her thumb hovered over the button until she finally worked up the courage to answer. “Abby, how are you?”
“As good as can be expected. Listen, Brad and I haven’t finished moving everything out yet, so he wants to make sure you don’t take the armoire in the bedroom.” Abby’s voice had matured and no longer resembled the giggly pre-teen Robyn remembered.
She plugged her ear to drown out the wind. “I haven’t even been inside yet. Trust me, I wouldn’t have a way to move the furniture out even if I wanted to.” She glanced at the rental car she’d put on her painfully thin credit card.
“Sorry, I know it’s awkward.” A long pause stretched over the line. “Brad just wants me to remind you that the furniture and personal belongings are ours. We’ll be back to get them.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She swallowed her sadness. She and Abby had once been close until the argument that drove Robyn away from Pine Hollow—an argument with their father about how she felt less important than his other children. Lately she’d begun to crave the closeness of a real family, and now that circumstances had brought her back, she’d do whatever it took to restore her relationship with Brad and Abby. To find some sort of normalcy.
“Good. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”
“Abby, I would never take what doesn’t belong to me.” She fingered the cross on her necklace and prayed for wisdom. “Maybe when you come out for the furniture we can have dinner. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
Silence pulsed between them until Abby cleared her throat. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We’re still shaken up.”
So was she. The tragedy of losing a parent—even an estranged one—was overwhelming.
“I mean, why would Dad leave Lakeside Cabins to you? No offense, but you haven’t exactly been around.”
The words stung with truth, and her face heated from the rejection. “I understand. Give me a call when you’re ready to come by.”
The line went dead. “Is everything okay?”
She whipped around, disconcerted. “Caleb, you startled me.” She scanned his face to figure out how much he’d overheard. His expression remained neutral behind the sunglasses, which left her even more flustered.
“I heard voices and thought maybe you were talking to someone.”
“I was. It was a private conversation.” She jammed the phone into her pocket.
“I was only trying to help.” Caleb held up his hands in surrender, then turned and stalked off.
“Wait.” She scrambled down the stairs, her sandals slapping the wood. Exactly why she chased after the maintenance man or even cared what he thought, she’d have to reason out later. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Caleb angled toward her, his mouth quirked. The masculine scent of turpentine and hard work drifted off him, and for some reason, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Apology accepted.” His somber tone seemed to say otherwise.
Robyn ran her hand through her hair, snarled from the wind. “Really—I’m sorry. I’m not exactly great company right now after what happened to my dad. I’m normally easy to get along with—you’ll see when we fix this place up, and before you know it I’ll be long gone.”
Judging from Caleb’s formidable posture and the twitch of his jaw, her departure wouldn’t be soon enough.
Caleb stormed into the office of Harding and Company and bypassed the receptionist. Without knocking, he entered the office of Phil Harding, attorney-at-law. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?”
Phil tapped the keys on his computer without missing a stroke. “Almost finished. Then we can talk.”
“You should’ve at least given me a heads-up.” He pulled the door closed with a thud. “Didn’t you think I might need that bit of information?”
All the way from the outskirts of Pine Hollow, he had rehearsed the diatribe he wanted to unleash on his so-called friend. But none of his imagined scenarios included Phil calmly pecking away at the keyboard.
Phil closed the program and spun around in his leather chair. “I presume you’re talking about Robyn.”
“Who else?” He dropped onto the cushioned seat, and if he dirtied the upholstery with his paint-stained pants, so be it.
“What’d she do?”
“She showed up.” Simply arriving at the cabins was enough to infuse him with a jolt of reality. What originally seemed like a brilliant way to fulfill his promise quickly turned into the single worst idea he’d ever had the moment Robyn, with her sun-bleached hair and sorrow-filled eyes, told him she was Dan’s daughter.
“Look, Caleb, I realize it’s a little awkward.”
“You think?” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I tried to play it cool in front of her, but you have no idea what that was like.”
Phil removed his wire-rimmed glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. In a placating tone, he resumed. “I can’t control every variable. Did it occur to you I might have other projects I’m working on?”
He pushed out of the chair. “A phone call, Phil. That’s all I needed.”
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
“i am the true vine, and my Father is the vine grower.
He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.
You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you.
Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.
I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.
Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned.
If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.
My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.
As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.
If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.
I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.
John 15:1-11
The Lesson
By Suzanne Woods Fisher
Centered on one of Suzanne Woods Fisher’s most loved characters, this is the story fans have eagerly anticipated. The precocious Mary Kate Lapp is all grown up (well, almost) and ready to take on the world – with surprising results. Fisher’s trademark plot twists and turns are as unexpected and satisfying as ever in this third book in the Stoney Ridge Seasons series.
In her wildest dreams, spunky and impulsive nineteen-year-old M.K. never imagined herself behind a schoolteacher’s desk. A run-in with the schoolteacher compels her to act as a substitute teacher, just as her restless desire to see the world compels her to apply for a passport . . . just in case. The only thing of interest to M.K. in the sleepy Amish community of Stoney Ridge is the unexplained death of a sheep farmer that coincided with the arrival of a mysterious young man into the community. Frustrated that no one takes the crime seriously, she takes matters into her own hands. Unfortunately, as tends to be the case for M.K., she jumps headlong into trouble.
ISLAND BREEZES
We’re back with the Lapp family and the one daughter, Mary Kate, who’s left at home. Headstrong and impulsive, M.K. happens upon a murder scene and just can’t stay out of the investigation.
Chris Yoder, both secretive and new in town, is at the center of M.K.’s suspicions. Things start going downhill rapidly with her meddling.
M.K. gets roped into teaching school in hopes of settling her down. It doesn’t seem to be working.
Toss in a couple young men for romance and it appears that her life will keep on disrupting everyone else’s.
The Stoney Ridge Seasons series has been a good one. I wonder what Suzanne Woods Fisher has in store for us next.
***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***
Suzanne Woods Fisher is the bestselling author of?The Choice,?The Waiting,?The Search,?The Keeper and?The Haven, as well as nonfiction books about the Amish, including?Amish Peace. Her interest in the Anabaptist cultures can be directly traced to her grandfather, who was raised in the Old Order German Baptist Brethren Church in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. Suzanne is a Christy Award finalist and a Carol Award finalist. She is the host of internet radio show Amish Wisdom and a columnist for?Christian Post?and?Cooking & Such?magazines. She lives in California. For more information, please visit www.suzannewoodsfisher.com and connect with her on Twitter @suzannewfisher.
Available January 2013 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.
Vanished
By Irene Hannon
New Romantic Suspense Series from Two-Time RITA Award Winner
Three PIs Who Got Burned Playing by the Rules Go Under the Radar in Pursuit of Justice
In her newest romantic-suspense novel, critically-acclaimed author Irene Hannon asks herself what would happen if the victim of a deadly car crash on a secluded country road simply disappeared? Vanished is the gripping first novel in Hannon’s Private Justice series. It opens with a shadowy figure caught in the beam of reporter Moira Harrison’s headlights – followed by a solid thump before she loses control and crashes into a tree. But when Moira regains consciousness, the victim is nowhere to be seen.
The police say the disappearance never happened, but Moira can’t forget the look of sheer terror she saw on the person’s face in the instant it was caught in the glare of her headlights. Now her only hope of discovering the truth is a former police detective turned private eye-and her own investigate skills.
As often happens for Hannon, the genesis of this story came out of the blue, triggered by a simple incident.
“I was driving home from church one rainy night and my headlights fell on a bicyclist on the edge of the narrow road. I swerved to avoid him, thinking what a risk he was taking. Then the wheels in my brain started turning and I began what-iffing. What if a woman was driving alone on a country road and suddenly caught a desperate figure in her headlights? What if she swerved, but hit the figure? What if a stranger appeared out of the darkness to offer assistance before she lost consciousness? What if she woke up and both the stranger and the victim had disappeared? My five-second encounter on that rainy night was the impetus not only for this book, but for my whole Private Justice series, which focuses on situations that have fallen through the cracks of official law enforcement or been dismissed by the police.”
ISLAND BREEZES
Be still my heart. This is suspense you don’t want to put down.
A Pulitzer Prize nominated reporter hires a private investigator she can’t afford to find a woman she may or may not have hit with her car on a rainy night.
If they ever locate that mysterious woman, they will be putting themselves deeper and deeper into danger.
Irene Hannon never disappointed me in her Guardians of Justice series. I think it won’t be any different with her Private Justice series. There’s a teaser at the end which has me anxious for fall 20113 to hurry up and get here. I’m ready for the next book.
***A special thank you to Donna Hausler for providing a review copy.***
Irene Hannon, a former communications executive for a Fortune 500 company, left the corporate world in 2003 to focus on her growing fiction brand. While continuing to write contemporary romance, she also delved into suspense. From the beginning, her romantic suspense books have garnered rave reviews. Booklist named Deadly Pursuit (Revell, 2011) one of the top ten inspirational fiction titles for 2011. The final book in her Guardians of Justice series, Lethal Legacy (Revell, 2011) received a starred review from Library Journal, which praised the book for its “compelling characters and edge-of-your-seat action.”
She is the author of more than 40 novels, including the bestselling Heroes of Quantico and Guardians of Justice series. Her books have been honored with two coveted RITA awards from Romance Writers of America, a Carol Award, a HOLT Medallion, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Daphne du Maurier Award, a Retailers Choice Award and two Reviewers’ Choice Awards from?RT Book Reviews?magazine. She lives in Missouri.
For more information about her and her books, visit her web site at www.irenehannon.com and follow her on Twitter at @IreneHannon.
Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books for everyday life.? For more information, visit www.RevellBooks.com.
Available January 2013 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!
Karen Slimick Arnpriester, author of Anessia’s Quest, a graphic artist, wife and mother, lives in central California. She has four adult children and seven grandchildren. Karen and her husband Don, made the decision to become foster parents, and are thrilled to be adopting their two daughters. Karen looks forward to sharing her imagination and faith with you through her writing.
Visit the author’s website.
Visit the book website.
Charley knew what God wanted from her. She was willing to trust and obey as she protected the others in the bank. Then He would save her from her captor. But she could not have anticipated the rage that would be unleashed in response to her prayers and her faith in God.
Raider was desperate, hardened, and his past had set the stage for an insane game of survival and spiritual warfare. The vendetta was in motion and Charley discovered that she needed her God to provide extraordinary miracles to keep her alive.
Product Details:
List Price: $11.59
Paperback: 300 pages
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (August 18, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1466274743
ISBN-13: 978-1466274747
ISLAND BREEZES
This is one of those stories I wasn’t ready to leave behind. Charley had such an incredibly adventurous life! This was certainly no “campfire girl” story.
I can’t really say much more than that without giving away the plot or subplots.
Just know you are going to need that box of tissues before it ends.
Now I’m left knowing that I need to read Anessia’s Quest. I want to know more about Pagne and her story. You will, too, especially if you read the three chapter teaser at the end of this book.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Long Ago
He tried many times to escape, but Itchy couldn’t figure out how to undo the latch from the inside.How long will she keep me in here this time? he wondered.
It was a simple mistake; he hadn’t meant to see Mrs. Anton naked. Itchy was just hanging out with his best friend, Marty Anton. When he threw open the unlocked bathroom door to relieve himself, he saw her standing in the tub. She hadn’t removed the towel from the bar yet and Itchy saw all of her nakedness. Itchy quickly looked down and fell backwards as he scrambled to get away. The screams from Mrs. Anton blasted his ears.
Mrs. Anton was enraged. She threw on her robe and telephoned his Aunt Rose, screaming that Itchy was a pervert and Rose needed to keep him away from her son. She insisted that he would corrupt Marty and turn him into a “Peeping Tom.” Itchy panicked and ran from the house as Marty’s mom shrieked at him to never come back.
Itchy was afraid to go home. He knew that his Aunt Rose would use his latest misfortune to punish and shame him, but if he didn’t go home right away, the punishment would be even harsher. She had a way of stacking sins on top of each other. He could already hear her screeches in his head. “It wasn’t bad enough that you lusted after a grown woman, but then you refused to face your foul sin and suffer the consequences. God sees your filthy heart. You can’t run away from Him!”
When Itchy slunk into the house through the back door, Aunt Rose was waiting for him. The wooden paddle that she used for pulling bread from the oven was spinning in her hands. He knew what was coming next. She nodded toward the kitchen table and he placed both hands flat on the surface. The beating was vicious this time. He tried not to cry, but the repeated swings of the paddle became unbearable. The tears rolled down his cheeks and puddles formed on the table.
While he endured her wrath, she quoted scripture to him. She always pulled scriptures out of context and Itchy was convinced that God expected him to suffer to be worthy of forgiveness and salvation. Aunt Rose would alternate scripture with demeaning statements, telling him that his pain was only a small measure of what he deserved. He was born to a mother who was cheap and easy with filthy men. Aunt Rose would do whatever it took to save him from himself.
After Aunt Rose felt the punishment had suited the crime, she stopped and opened the cabinet door to the vegetable bin, an outdated storage area for fresh produce. It was the cell Itchy must endure until he repented for his wrongdoings. There was no longer enough room to sit, as there had been when he was smaller. He had to squat, bend over, and squeeze in to fit. The blisters on his backside were on fire and wet. Itchy was sure they were bleeding. This was typical when she suspected his punishable infraction was sexually motivated, which was more frequent as he became older.
The door closed and latched from the outside. There was no air circulation except for small holes drilled into the cabinet door. Originally, they had been drilled to keep the produce from rotting as quickly. Now, the holes were small windows into a kitchen filled with pain and horror.
Each time Aunt Rose walked past the bin, she would kick the door and scream at him to pray louder for forgiveness. This was the angriest she had ever been. It was quite evident to Itchy that she felt he had crossed over to a new level of depravity. When he was young, his prayers were heartfelt. He wanted to be clean, but after years of belittlement and reinforcement of his undeserving and vile nature, his prayers were hollow and solely to pacify this enraged woman. His knees and legs began to ache and his muscles throbbed.
Aunt Rose’s rantings over the years filled in the holes of Itchy’s history. His mother, June, had become pregnant at the age of sixteen. She was the youngest and the wild child in her family of staunch believers. She had run off to California with Itchy’s daddy, Arthur, who was seventeen. They didn’t have the decency to get married and lived in lustful sin. His father was blonde, handsome, and charming, like all demons were, and he’d tempted June beyond her strength to resist.
When Itchy was only six years old, his mother escaped and left Itchy to survive his father’s brutality alone. No one heard from June again and Itchy didn’t know if she was alive or dead. Most days, he hoped she was dead, a long, painful, lonely death.
Itchy had earned his name by contracting a severe case of head lice when he was young. His father’s abuse included extreme neglect. When he did go to school, the kids were relentless with their taunting. Itchy hated the nickname, but hated his real name even more. His real name, Arthur, was his father’s name.
Eventually, his father was arrested for manslaughter, a bar fight gone bad, and the police officers took Itchy to Langston Hall. Most kids would be scared in a children’s home, but Itchy felt safe there. He had three meals a day, a clean bed, and clean clothes. He didn’t make many friends but there was one girl who touched him deeply. Her name was Pagne. He didn’t know her for long, but she would always be in his heart, one of the three females he would ever trust.
The county eventually located his widowed Aunt Rose and she begrudgingly agreed to take Itchy to live with her. “It is the Christian thing to do,” she told the social worker. He was flown back to Boston to live with her and her son, Darrell. Itchy was excited to have a new home and an older brother. Darrell, however, was indifferent. He was too busy avoiding his mother’s wrath and quickly learned that having Itchy around proved to be an advantage. If he lay low, Itchy was her target.
Before arriving, Itchy had no idea of the loathing his aunt harbored or the horror that awaited him.
Chapter 1 – Friday
When Charley Abrams pulled into the bank’s parking lot, Charley was relieved to find it empty. There was no one at the ATM. When she walked up to the machine, she saw an electronic message on the screen announcing that the ATM was offline for programming updates and would be offline for several hours. Charley was annoyed. She hated going into the bank for simple transactions. There was always a wait, but she needed to deposit a large check today. When she approached the reflective doors, Charley stared at her reflection. She had become her mother over the years. There were wrinkles, but they weren’t deeply etched like a lot of women her age. Her body build was always meaty, gradually heavier as she got older. She liked to say that she wasn’t overweight, just too short. When asked how tall she wasn’t, Charley would smile and say, “four-twelve.”
Charley kept her hair in a spiky short style and had recently allowed it to remain gray. This was a big adjustment in her appearance. Though she had watched the face of an old woman slowly appear as the years passed, she still admired her eyes. They were large and gray. They weren’t as bright as they used to be, but still unique. Charley had never liked her mouth. She had thin lips and always envied women with pouty, full mouths. She had entertained the idea of Botox injections when younger, but it required needles and that was a definite deal breaker. When she pulled open the mirror of herself, she was glad to see that she was the only customer in the bank.
When her transaction was complete, Charley tucked her receipt into her pocket. As she turned toward the door to leave, she heard a loud commotion and looked up. Charley saw two men with ball caps pulled down low, bandanas over their mouths and noses, pushing a young woman through the doors. One of the men shoved the woman and she fell to the floor, landing on her hands and knees. Charley grimaced with sympathy pain. She had fallen recently and remembered how it had jarred her whole body. The second man, who was quite tall and had a large build, turned the dead bolt, pointed a gun at the group of tellers, and bellowed, “Everyone behind the counter, take three steps back with your hands over your head! Now!” The shorter man grabbed the fallen woman’s arm and drug her further into the bank, then snarled at her to lay down flat on the floor.
“You,” the larger man said, glaring at Charley, “get down on the floor.” Charley slid down the front of the counter and sat down. “Down flat, face on the floor,” the man screamed at her. Charley quickly lay down, staring at the floor.
The shorter man, thin but muscular, moved behind the counter and raised his gun so everyone saw it. He also had a large, open black garbage bag. He swiftly moved from station to station, making each of the tellers step up and open their drawer. The money moved quickly from the drawers into the bag.
Once the drawers were emptied, the robber behind the counter herded all the tellers around to the front. Charley hoped that someone had triggered the silent alarm. She sensed the movement of bodies close to her as the tellers were told to lie flat on the floor. She was curious, but didn’t look up. She wondered why the bank didn’t have an armed security guard. Weren’t all banks supposed to have a guard? If she survived this, she would find a new bank with big guards and big guns.
The shorter man made his way to the doors while pointing the gun at the group of people on the floor. “Let’s get going!” he hollered at his companion.
No response.
“Man, we gotta go. Now!”
“We got time… wanna check the vault,” the taller man threw back as he knelt by the teller closest to Charley.
“Who can open the vault?” he sputtered as he grabbed the young woman by her hair. His other hand held the gun next to her skull and tapped it hard. Charley heard her yelp in pain.
“The manager, Mr. Mitchell.” Since there was only one man working in the bank, it was obvious who he was. Charley heard the masked man jump up and move to her right. She positioned her head slightly so she was able to see where the manager was lying. The robber grabbed him and pulled him up, holding the gun next to his chest. The tension was building as the shorter man continued to scream and curse at his partner who was dragging the manager back to the vault.
“Shut up! We’re almost done here,” the taller man yelled back.
Charley slowly shifted herself to get a better view of the room. The woman next to her looked like she was going to pass out. Charley smiled, hoping it would reassure her. Charley saw the man closest to the door. She had time to take in details now. Muscular, but not big, jeans, Nike tennis shoes, long sleeved blue shirt, red print bandana, and an Oakland Raiders cap. It was too hot to be wearing a long sleeved shirt. Charley assumed he had tattoos he was covering, but enough skin was showing to know that he was Caucasian. His hair was tucked under the hat, but a little blonde still showed. She decided to label that one Raider.
Once the vault was opened, the manager turned to face the bank robber. In that moment, the bandana slipped down off the robber’s face. The two men locked eyes and the realization that the robber could now be identified registered with both men. The robber’s eyes narrowed with an evil determination. Mr. Mitchell had only one option, to take the gun.
Charley jerked as she heard struggling and then the blast of the gun as it went off. She saw Raider move to the center of the bank and lift his gun. She squeezed her eyes shut, a natural reaction, as another shot rang through the bank. She heard the loud wail of a man and then the thud as he went down. “Darrell!” Raider bellowed. Charley heard another man cursing and moaning. “Darrell, what did you do?”
Raider demanded that they all slide to the left wall and sit with their hands on their heads as he made his way to the counter. He kicked the young woman he’d pushed down earlier and screamed at her to move over with the others. She managed to make it to the wall without throwing up. Raider kept his gun pointed at the stricken group of women. He looked over the counter and saw the manager in a crumpled heap and Darrell sitting on the floor. His hand clutched his chest as the blood oozed between his fingers.
“Darrell. How bad is it?”
“Bad enough to kill me I expect,” Darrell managed to say with sarcasm. Darrell tried to stand but fell onto his back. “Get outta here, I’m done.”
“You idiot, I should leave you,” Raider snarled.
Raider moved around the end of the counter to get to Darrell, still trying to keep all the hostages in view. His partner lay on his back, unblinking eyes staring at the ceiling. He was obviously dead. Raider looked at the front doors, his expression frantic, like that of a trapped animal looking for a way to escape.
Charley, trying to make sense of what happened, assumed that Mr. Mitchell had grabbed the gun, killed the robber in the scuffle, and was shot by Raider before he got off another round. The coppery smell of blood filled the bank.
When Raider came around to the front of the counter, he saw several cars pulling in. They appeared to be customers. Charley could see that he had no idea what to do now. “In and out quick, you stupid idiot,” he mumbled under his breath.
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!
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.
After a man named Jones rescues Trinity Franklin from a river, they find their destination is the same: a small town in North Dakota. A seemingly coincidental beginning comes to a delightful and charming ending when orchestrated by the One who can put the pieces of any lost and broken life together.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (January 1, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736930205
ISBN-13: 978-0736930208
ISLAND BREEZES
They didn’t meet under the best of circumstances, and it didn’t appear as if it would be getting any better any time soon.
After having her home vandalized and then stripped by grasshoppers, Trinity finally made it into town. That’s when she meets some of the characters I grew attached to in the first book of the Dakota Diaries.
Now her goal is to just sell her house to the railroad so she can go back to Sioux Falls. Unfortunately, Jones, the man from the railroad who has the authority to buy her house, is also the varmint who stuffed her in a barrel and sent her over the waterfall. As if that weren’t enough, she also ends up babysitting an ancient relative.
Jones and Trinity have to figure out how to get along for awhile in order to meet their goals. It’s either that or just shoot each other and get it over with.
This is a good stand alone read, but you’ll miss some good background if you don’t go ahead and read Love Blooms in Winterfirst. I hope Ms Copeland comes up with a spring and fall book for this series, I’m not sure I want to leave Dwadlo yet.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Near Piedmont, South Dakota, 1893
“Don’t put me in that barrel!”
“Do you want to die, woman?”
“No! That’s why you can’t put me in the barrel—I can’t swim!” She had gone to the river for a simple bucket of water when this beast had swept in and captured her. She loved the good Lord, but she wasn’t ready to meet Him face-to-face. The sound of rushing water overwhelmed her senses as iron hands gripped her waist. War whoops filled the air as three riders poured over the hillside. She pounded the solid wall of flesh that enveloped her. “Let me go!”
“I’m trying to save your life, lady.”
The stranger heaved her over to the barrel and unceremoniously dumped her inside, stuffing her head between her knees before he slammed the lid down on top.
“I can’t swim!” Her muffled voice echoed in her ears. Was he deaf????? Mad? What kind of man would put a woman in a barrel and send her over the rapids when she couldn’t swim? She banged on the wooden sides. “Let me out!”
All bedlam broke out, and even through the barrel Trinity could hear grunts, shouts, and the sound of bare fists meeting flesh. Her heart hammered in her chest. She willed herself to be still, but she could feel the barrel shifting underneath her, teetering at the water’s edge. “Don’t let me fall in, don’t let me fall in,” she whispered. A flour mill sat downstream, but if she reached it she would be too late. A few minutes in the turgid waters and she would drown.
Grunts. More fists.
Please, God. Please, God.
She swallowed back the urge to shout. Calling out would mean certain death. Her brother, Rob, had written tales of rebels, both Indian and white, banding together to plunder and commit unspeakable acts, but never in her wildest dreams would she have thought to encounter one of the lowlifes. A gunshot—then another. Trinity’s heart crowded her throat as the fighting grew fiercer. The barrel shifted again.
Don’t let me fall in. Don’t let me fall in.
A deep rumble. A shove. Trinity’s heart sputtered. She was close—too close. She could almost smell the cold, rushing water. She heard the shuffle of men’s boots—though now it sounded as though there were fewer of them. Maybe two? Against overwhelming odds, the stranger appeared to be winning.
Rapids rushed in the distance. Relax. That beast of a man is strong. He still faced formidable odds, but it sounded as if he were besting the enemy. Trinity felt the tension draining away from her. The ruckus would be over soon and he would release her from her wooden prison.
And then she would demand to know who he was and how he’d had the audacity to risk her life!
Locked in a duel, the men’s groans filled the air as they strained against one another. The sheer force in their tones made her cringe. Then—the unthinkable. A boot caught the edge of the barrel and sent it toppling into the churning water.
Trinity screamed as the current caught the barrel and bounced it downstream. Terror-stricken, she watched the water seeping through the cracks in the wood. The rapids were only two hundred yards downstream—she had to be getting close.
She was going to die. Rob had perished far too young, and now she was going to join him. And it was all her fault. She should never have left her nice, safe café job in Sioux City and come to this rugged land. She had refused to accompany Rob a year earlier when he’d pleaded with her to join him and help him settle Wilson’s Falls, the plot of land their family had owned for generations. She should have held to her belief that no good would come of her visiting this remote country for even a short time. No amount of money on earth could keep her safe now—not even the handsome sum the railroad was likely to offer for the family’s parcel of land.
The trip was supposed to be brief. Never once had she thought her journey would end at the Pearly Gates.
W
Jones whirled when he heard the barrel hit the water. The man locked in his grip took advantage of the distraction and landed a blow that took Jones to his knees. He swung wildly, landing a punch that momentarily staggered his opponent.
His eyes swung back to the barrel. Only a few moments before it went over the rapids. The other thug came at him and he managed a hard right and then his signature left, the knock-out blow. His opponent slumped to the ground and Jones took off running down the bank. His boots thrashed through a heavy thicket as his eyes followed the bobbing container. When he reached a wide spot, he dove in and surfaced just within reach of the barrel.
“Hold on! I’m here!” he yelled.
The girl’s reedy voice came back. “I can’t swim! Get me out of here!”
“I’m trying!” He lunged, his hand brushing the barrel in vain. Charging again, he only managed to hurry the barrel along. It flew over the rapids and he heard her screams until the roar of rushing water snatched them away.
Shoot. She was going to be mad as a wet hen.
“Are you still there? I can’t hear you!”
He couldn’t imagine why not. She was yelling loud enough for them to hear her all the way to Canada.
“I’m here! Just hang on!”
“I can’t swim!”
Like he hadn’t heard her the first eight times. Closing his eyes, he dove under the swift current.
W
The thin wood split as the water and rocks smashed the barrel into kindling. Trinity gasped for air, her breath lodged in her throat. The wind and water whipped wildly about her. Where was he?
Anger churned with panic as she bumped along. Objects blurred as she choked, struggling to right herself. She went down, down, down, thumping and bumping over rocks. This was it. This was the end. She’d never done anything worthwhile in her nineteen years. Nothing but wait tables and serve others—but that was good. To her knowledge she’d never caused anyone an ounce of trouble, so she could meet her Maker in good faith.
Now she would draw her last breath—gurgle it, more like—but…she broke the waterline, choking. A strong hand latched onto her hair as she went under again.
Pain blinded her—pain the likes of which she’d never experienced. Her very roots were being ripped out. She struggled to break the fierce hold, and did, momentarily, but then something snared her and yanked her back to the surface.
“Stop fighting me!” a male voice demanded.
She saw him then—the man who’d stuffed her in the barrel. At the moment it didn’t matter what he’d stuffed her in; he was an anchor in the storm. Her efforts ceased. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight.
He was a strong swimmer, but she was dead weight. Dragging her through the water, he reached a ledge and paused to catch his breath. Paralyzed with fear, her heart threatened to pound out of her chest, and for the first time in her life she couldn’t find the words she wanted. His arms around her were powerful, and the feel of his prickly dark beard against her cheek brought a blush to her face. She’d never been this close to a man before—except Rob, of course. When she poured coffee at the café she bent close, but never this close. She could smell him, hear his ragged breath in her ear.
“Sorry I scared you,” he said, swiping his face to clear the water out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean for the barrel to go over.”
She nodded, still not able to find her voice. She was in the middle of a rushing rapid, standing in the arms of a stranger, finding her brush with death very difficult to comprehend.
“Hold on.” He hitched her up and swam the remaining distance to shore. Throwing her on the bank like a landed carp, he crawled out and collapsed beside her. For a moment they lay in the warm sun, gasping for breath. In a novel the moment might have been romantic, Trinity thought. Instead it was wet and cold and ghastly.
“Who are you?” she asked, finally finding her breath. Since she could speak she should probably thank him—it was only polite—though at the moment she wanted to throttle him for putting her life in danger in the first place.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m just passing through.”
“What’s your name?” She had the right to know who’d almost killed her, didn’t she?
“Jones.”
“Jones what?”
“Just Jones.” Rolling to his back, he stuck out his hand. “Are you all right?”
Trinity stared at the proffered hand, stultified. “Why did you stick me in that barrel?”
“I saved your life.”
“You could easily have taken it. I don’t…”
“Swim. So you’ve said.” Struggling to his feet, he removed his left boot and dumped out a stream of water. “Sorry I upset you, but those men would have distressed you more.”
Her gaze fixed on the tall stranger. She knew she should feel nothing but gratitude, but he’d scared the wadding out of her. “Well, before you stick a lady in a barrel and send her downstream, you might want to make certain you can save her.”
Jones dumped the water out of his right boot. “Don’t figure there’s any reason for me to apologize for saving your neck.” He glanced up. “What are you doing out here alone, anyway?”
“I was doing my wash.” She pushed to her feet and brushed the wet hair out of her eyes.
“You live around here?”
“Not live. I’m staying here for a while. I’m in the process of selling my land, and once I do I’m going back to Sioux Falls.”
“Nice town.”
“You’ve been there?”
He nodded, shoving his foot, wet sock and all, back into his boot. “Couple of times. Do you want me to walk you back to your place?”
“No, thank you.” She’d had quite enough of him for one day.
Nodding, he set his Stetson on his head and adjusted the band. “You might want to keep a close eye out for the others. The men scattered, but they’ll meet up again.”
Trinity swallowed, trying to retain her composure. She’d get home, and then she wouldn’t rest until she’d sold the land and left this godforsaken place behind her forever. “Thank you. I’ll be careful.”
“You think you can handle these wilds?”
She lifted her chin. “Of course I can handle myself.” Granted, he had caught her in a bad circumstance, but chances were that the men were only passing through and she’d have no more trouble with them.
“Do you have a gun?”
“My brother left one.”
“Do you know how to use it?”
The chin rose higher. “I do—if necessary.”
He paused, a slow grin starting at the corners of his mouth. Dark curly hair, penetrating brown eyes, and skin browned by the long hours in the sun. He was handsome, no denying it, but Trinity had more important things on her mind. “I see you’ve got things well in hand.”
She nodded coolly. He had every right to suspect that she was one of those helpless simpering females, but she was far from vulnerable. She’d been on her own since Rob had left to work this land, and she’d learned to care for herself nicely.
He started off and then turned back. “By the way…”
She pushed another lock of soggy hair out of her eyes. “Yes?”
His gaze drifted down. “You lost your skirt in the water.”
Gasping, she looked down. She was wearing nothing but her bloomers! And he hadn’t said a word until now.
When she looked up, he was gone. Drawing herself up straight, she sniffed. And a good riddance it was.
