Poverty, prejudice, her mother’s addiction…in her quest for
an education, 15-year-old Thea tries to navigate them all. But will a secret
ultimately undermine her efforts?
Thea
by Genevieve Morrissey
narrated by Nicole Fikes
Genre: YA Historical Fiction, Coming of Age
2025 Page Turner
Book Award winner for Best Historical Fiction & Character Architect Award
Oklahoma
City, 1925
Fifteen-year-old Thea Carter lives in a small garage apartment—Thea’s seventh
“home” in four years—provided by her alcoholic mother’s employer, the morose
and enigmatic Dr. Hallam.
School is Thea’s refuge and she’s an excellent student, but the parasitic Mrs.
Carter’s instability continually threatens her dream of getting a high school
diploma. In an effort to keep her mother employed and the two of them housed,
Thea secretly takes on much of her mother’s work while at the same time
navigating adolescence, friendships, and first love.
Dr. Hallam, impressed by her drive and intelligence, becomes Thea’s unexpected
ally, but in addition to wealth and position, the doctor also has a secret that
could ruin him, and shatter his bond with Thea.
"Morrissey
crafts a wise and moving coming-of-age historical novel with resonant
contemporary themes, meticulous period detail, and flawed but sympathetic
characters who will win readers’ hearts… Lovers of historical fiction and
coming-of-age stories will relish time spent with Thea." —BookLife
'Editor's Pick' review
"Thea is a coming-of-age tale with a lot of heart and charm… Morrissey's
characters truly leap off the pages." —Readers' Favorite review
"The story is one of friendship and
found family, with a heartwarming conclusion… THEA is a moving historical
coming-of-age novel whose characters' compassion and empathy inspires.”
—IndieReader review
Thea is the new historical novel by Genevieve
Morrissey, author of the award-winning Marriage & Hanging and the
popular Antlands science fiction series. She is an avid student of
British and American social history who, through one of those strange little
quirks of fate, spends most of her days talking with scientists. In addition to
writing, Genevieve enjoys reading obscure books, travel, and solitude.
This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Stu Strumwasser will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
A Real Collusion is about the secret conspiracy between the Republican and Democratic parties to control the US government through an illegal duopoly.
From the author of the bestselling novel, The Organ Broker, (hailed by Lee Child, New York Times # 1 bestselling author of the Jack Reacher series as, "Exciting and thought-provoking--the perfect package") comes, A Real Collusion, a stunning political thriller and expose.
A Real Collusion is a David Vs. Goliath(s) story about a man who accidentally becomes the leader of an independent political movement that nearly takes down the two-party system in America, while exposing a conspiracy that affects the results of the 2016 election. It explores universal and deeply human themes of loss, and the tension between justice and power. In the opening sentence the narrator points out that, “Ordinary people often do extraordinary things.” The characters in the book do, and the action is driven by the fantastic events of a unique political satire. It is also the heartfelt story of regular people struggling with lost love, alienation and nearly universal disaffection who find strength in enduring loyalty and friendship
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is John Campbell, from the lower east side."
The crowd responded with another enthusiastic round of cheers, but this time John held up his palm and said, "Please, please…." And that threw a quasi-hush over the audience.
"Thank you for coming to this little park tonight to hear me speak. Three nights ago, on the evening of July 10th, I attended our local Community Board meeting to propose that cigar smoking not be allowed on the sidewalk in front of bars and restaurants. That's all. I was not there to critique our government and I didn't ask for any of the attention that I have since received. I'm just like most of you, and I never anticipated that newspapers and newscasters would ever solicit my opinions on political issues. But now they're asking, and I have decided that I have a responsibility to answer. I am not embarrassed to say… I care."
Then, John paused. He had their rapt attention and he knew it. He looked directly at me, suddenly brimming with confidence. It might have been the kind of glance that Keith and Mick sometimes give to the roadies right before they go into the encore. I think that the feeling which washed over me then was pride. John turned back to the crowd and loudly said, "So, would you like to hear my answer?!"
Thunder from the crowd. "Yeah!" they yelled, some pumping their fists in the air.
"I won't give it to you!" John shouted, but then quickly added, "Instead, I will give you my proposal for OUR answer!" which elicited yet another roar.
"In recent years our system of government has broken down. Everyone knows it. Washington has become caught up in never-ending partisan fighting. It was on display during the recent government shutdown. The two major political parties no longer represent us. Frankly, how could they represent the spectrum or sum total of the thoughts, feelings and will of three hundred million citizens? There is a reason that more young people now choose "Independent" than either party when they turn eighteen. The political parties today exist as little more than machines for the never-ending raising of money to combat the enormous amount of money raised by their opponents (their "enemy counter-party" or, as I prefer to refer to them: "fellow Americans.") Let's stop standing for it. The Democrats and Republicans currently run our nation like two petulant children fighting over which show to watch on TV and who gets to hold the remote. When one party chooses the program, the other storms out of the room. Is that really the way we want to be led?
A Gripping Tale of
Royal Betrayal and Hidden Romance
When darkness falls on the kingdom of Ardanthia, readers
will find themselves caught up in a story where nothing is what it seems.
Princess Eloise faces impossible choices as murder and betrayal tear her world
apart. Her secret love for the Prince of Caladorn adds another layer of danger
to an already deadly situation. This isn't just another royal romance - it's a
heart-pounding adventure where love and loyalty clash in the most dangerous
ways possible. You'll feel every moment of tension as Eloise walks the razor's
edge between duty and desire.
Mystery and
Investigation That Keeps You Guessing
Sir Cedric Blackthorn brings detective skills that would
make any crime solver jealous. His brilliant mind works to solve puzzles that
could save or destroy an entire kingdom. As Ambassador Zafir arrives with
hidden motives and Baron Gorgo schemes from the shadows, every character
becomes a suspect. The investigation twists and turns through palace halls
filled with secrets. You'll find yourself trying to solve the mystery alongside
Cedric, picking up clues and second-guessing every revelation. The chase scenes
will have you on the edge of your seat as our heroes race against time through
a kingdom ready to explode into war.
Fantasy Adventure
That Brings Legends to Life
The Broken Crown Saga starts with this incredible first book
that mixes political drama with fantasy elements that feel fresh and exciting.
Secret groups work behind the scenes, pulling strings that control the fate of
nations. The world-building draws you in completely, making you believe in a
place where magic and politics dance together in dangerous ways. This story
proves that sometimes solving one crime can prevent an entire war - and that
the most important battles happen in the shadows.
For readers of David Eddings and Terry Brooks, this
sweeping tale of betrayal, magic, and destiny will leave you breathless.
The
King's Fall opens not in a throne room, but underground. A secret order — no
names, no titles, only cloaks and the authority of old purpose — has gathered
around a rune-carved table to debate an incident that should not have happened:
a full diplomatic party has been wiped out on the road between two kingdoms,
and neither king ordered it. Someone is pulling strings that no one can see.
The council is about to do something dangerous. They are going to look.
There existed beneath the old earth a sanctum
kept from all maps and memories, shielded by corridors that twisted into each
other with a geometry of deliberate confusion. In the deepest of its halls, a
chamber circular and primeval waited in perpetual shadow. The room's
centrepiece, a stone table whose circumference rivalled a city well, had been
carved from a single slab of basalt. Its rim and surface bore etched runes and
ancient sigils, their purpose unclear to any but initiates of the silent order
that convened there.
Around this table, shrouded figures gathered,
their cloaks indistinguishable but for subtle variations in the weave — one a
blue so dark it drank in the torchlight, another a coarse grey laced with fine
metallic thread, a third in deep forest green that shed a dusting of spores
with every movement. Even in the heart of stone, the air hung moist and cold,
saturated with the scent of burnt tallow and the musk of old water. From
sconces in the arched walls, torches spat and guttered, casting orange light that
slithered across faces as pale and anonymous as death masks.
No titles were spoken here, only the functional
necessity of names earned and worn like invisible crowns. The magister at the
head of the table, tall, angular, motionless save for the slow folding of
gloved hands, did not need to identify himself. When he spoke, the voice cut
through the stillness as though it had been whetted on the stone itself.
"Our watchers are not in agreement."
The words were uninflected, carefully measured.
A murmur passed around the circle, not of
dissent but of discomfort. The second figure, smaller but with an evident
coiled energy, leaned forward. Her hands were bare, fingers long and stained
black along the creases, and she tapped the table where the runes formed a
broken circle.
"It is a minor border skirmish,
Sentinal," she said. "Bloodier than most, but hardly unprecedented.
Let the kingdoms squabble among themselves — Ardanthia and Caladorn have always
warred at the fringes." She sounded impatient, as though summoned for a
lesser concern.
The magister in blue, whose hood cast his face
into shadow, spoke with a slight tremor. "The killing was not so minor. An
entire diplomatic train vanished — every courier, every retainer, every guard.
The ambassador's body was not even left for ransom. That is new. That is
calculated."
The Sentinal allowed the words to settle,
scanning the circle with a gaze that seemed to fix on each magister, regardless
of where his face was aimed. "Six months ago, an envoy of Ardanthia, Lord
Marcus Blackbriar, journeyed south with full ceremonial escort. Their course
was direct: Eldoria to Delrith, then through the corridor to Mirashar. Before
reaching Delrith, they were set upon and destroyed. Only one man survived, and
he staggered back to Eldoria."
"Coward's tale," said the woman with
the ink-stained hands. "Most witnesses die of their wounds, the lucky ones
first."
The Sentinal ignored the snipe. "Our
watcher in Eldoria heard the testimony. The survivor told King Leofric himself
that the attackers wore the livery of Caladorn. Our watcher in Caladorn,
however, tells a different story: they found no evidence of a sanctioned
operation. If anything, Caladorn's own patrols have increased since the
incident. Their court desires peace. Their king is tired of war."
A rustling of fabrics, the weight of suspicion
shifting around the table. The green-cloaked figure finally broke his silence,
voice low and gravelly. "If both kings are ignorant, then who profits from
the attack? It's no longer a border dispute. It's something else."
A pause, broken only by the hiss of a torch
collapsing into itself. The Sentinal's next words fell heavier for the silence.
"Our order exists not to shape events, but
to understand them. Yet this affair grows more opaque with every new witness.
Either our watchers lie, or we are being lied to. That alone is reason to
intervene."
"There's little evidence it threatens the
Balance," the woman pressed. "What can it matter if kingdoms grind
each other to salt? We have seen worse in the east. Nothing endures but the
Pattern."
"Unless the Pattern itself is being
rewritten," the blue-hooded man said.
At this, the Sentinal brought his palms flat on
the runic table, producing a hollow note that echoed into the stone. "We
are not theorists. To maintain the balance we need clarity, not further
confusion. We will look. Tonight, we summon the memory of that day and see for
ourselves."
The woman's upper lip curled. "The power to
see through time is not borrowed lightly, Sentinal. It leaves marks on both the
living and the dead."
"We risk more by not knowing," the
Sentinal said. "If our council cannot agree on what is, how can we guide
what must be?"
The blue-hooded man lifted a hand, uncertain.
"If it is as you say, and both sides are being manipulated, then the
ritual may be hazardous. Memory is often trapped by the will of those who
shaped it."
Twilight’s Dominion
The Broken Crown Saga Book Two
The peace was always a lie. They just didn't know whose.
Queen Eloise of Ardanthia has done everything right. She
negotiated the alliance with Caladorn, married the prince, held her court
together through blight and borderland attacks and the whispered threat of an
ancient secret order. Now, with villages vanishing overnight — crops blackened,
livestock dead, people simply gone — she does what any good
ruler would do. She sends her best.
Sir Cedric Blackthorn, the precise and principled
knight-investigator. Captain Elira, a soldier who has survived too much to
flinch at anything. Tomas, a scholar more at home with footnotes than
fistfights. Ryn, a street thief from the Saltspire docks whose instincts are
worth more than anyone's education. And Auralias — the Court Mage, brilliant
and unsettling in equal measure — who brings knowledge of old magic that none
of the others possess, and who may be the only thing standing between Ardanthia
and the League of the Moon.
Together, they are hunting the League before the League can
finish what it started.
What they find will change everything they think they know —
about the attacks, the conspiracy, and the true scale of what is being
assembled in the dark. There are artifacts, older than any living kingdom,
whose power was thought lost to history. There are secrets buried so deep that
uncovering them will cost more than anyone is prepared to pay. And there is a
question, growing louder with every mile: who, exactly, is the enemy?
Twilight's Dominion is a story about loyalty
tested to breaking, courts where every smile hides a calculation, and the
particular horror of realising that the enemy has been in the room all along.
It is about a queen learning that the peace she built was built for her
— and a company of mismatched, battle-worn companions who keep fighting even
after the ground gives way beneath them.
Set across mountain fortresses carved from living rock,
fog-wrapped port cities, a besieged royal palace, and the treacherous corridors
of two kingdoms in collision, this is epic fantasy for readers who like their
politics sharp, their magic consequential, and their betrayals earned.
Perfect for readers
who love:
*The
political intrigue of A Song of Ice and Fire
*The
ensemble loyalty of The Lies of Locke Lamora
*The
world-building depth of Robin Hobb
*Characters
who are competent, scarred, and worth caring about
"There's no certainty in what's ahead. But I'd
rather die among friends than watch the world go to monsters."
The Broken Crown
Saga:
Book One: The King's Fall
Book Two: Twilight's Dominion
Book Three: Echoes of Kings - coming soon
Twilight's
Dominion opens on two stories running in parallel. In the first, Lady Seraphina
D'Argent — a diplomat travelling alone through the unforgiving Crownspine
mountains — has just been surrounded by armed strangers on a mountain pass. She
has been riding for ten weeks on orders she doesn't fully understand, heading
toward coordinates her queen gave her without explanation. She is about to
discover something that will change everything she thought she knew about the
world she serves.
~820 words
The figures came on in absolute silence,
fanning out across the trail with the efficiency of wolves. In a matter of
seconds they had closed off her retreat and were sliding, almost bonelessly,
down the talus to encircle her.
Their leader wore a helm that entirely
concealed his face, its visor painted with a crude snarl of animal fangs. The
others carried composite bows at the ready, arrows nocked, but pointed down — a
gesture that managed to be both merciful and contemptuous at once. Seraphina
drew Cassia to a halt and set her hands openly on the pommel, every muscle
rigid with calculation.
"State your business," the leader
growled, voice rendered inhuman by the tin of his visor.
Seraphina debated, for perhaps two breaths,
whether to attempt bluff or bravado. The bows decided the matter. "I am
Lady Seraphina D'Argent, of Armathor," she replied, "on a mission
from Her Majesty Queen Evelina."
The leader turned, a lazy gesture that made
mockery of her authority, and a snort went up among his lieutenants. "And
your escort?"
"Was not permitted." Seraphina kept
her gaze level, though the blood pounded furiously in her ears. "I am to
meet with a representative of the Riders, if you are such."
The mention of the Riders produced a shift in
the circle. The archers exchanged glances, some wary, some almost amused. The
leader drew closer, boots crushing the shallow crust of snow.
"You speak too much for a courier,"
he observed. "But too little for a spy." He swept a gauntleted hand
at her pack horse. "Open your satchel."
She untied the travel case from the gelding,
working fingers gone numb in the cold, and fished out the scroll tube. It was
heavy, made of dark wood and brass, the wax seal untouched. She held it up so
they could all see the sigil of Caladorn: a pair of crossed sabres over a
seven-pointed star. There was a stillness, then a slow, careful release of
tension among the archers as the leader nodded, almost respectful.
"Walk forward. Slowly," he said.
They escorted her up the ridge, off the
trail, through a section of scree so loose that even Cassia balked. For an
hour, maybe more, they wound through impossible switchbacks and across narrow
spines of rock, each step a new exercise in balance and terror. Finally, the
leader raised his hand and the party halted at a narrow saddle between peaks.
Seraphina caught her breath, took a long
swallow from her water skin, and paused as she noticed what lay beyond the
saddle.
The city was carved into the living stone of
the mountain's interior, hidden from the world by both geometry and design.
Terraced galleries spiralled down the inside face of a gigantic crater, studded
with windows and fire-gleaming vents that gave the place an eerie, hive-like
vibrance. Slender bridges of bone-white stone spanned the void between rocky
spurs, connecting to massive towers whose roofs gaped open to the sky. Far
below, at the crater's deepest point, a plaza of blue granite caught the light
of a hundred lanterns, transforming it into a pool of shimmering stars.
She had never seen such a thing. She had
never heard of such a thing. And yet, as she stood there, wind plucking at her
cloak, Seraphina understood instantly, with a sick clarity, that Queen Evelina
had always known.
They did not take her down the public steps.
Instead, the archers led her along a narrow spiral cut into the stone,
half-tunnel, half-balcony, with just enough space for one person and a horse at
a time. The air grew colder with every turn, and the hum of unseen machinery —
bellows, pulleys, some kind of water-driven elevator — echoed from deep within
the walls. At last they emerged onto a flagstoned platform where the leader,
visor now up, gestured for her to dismount.
"Wait here," he said, less
threatening now. "You will be summoned."
Seraphina did not ask how long. She
untethered her gloves, flexed her hands, and tried not to shiver in the thin
mountain air. The view from the platform was staggering; across the chasm, the
terraces of the city glimmered with what looked like glass or ice, and tiny
figures moved between the arcades.
A boy in a grey tunic arrived, bearing a tray
of tea and something that looked like bread but tasted of cedar and salt. He
smiled at her with a gentleness that belonged to another world. When she asked
him his name, he merely gestured for her to drink.
Time stretched, then snapped back when the
leader returned, flanked by two more guards in matching visors. "You will
come," he said.
I am a new author writing under the pen name Orlan Drake, my
real name is Chris Hills Farrow. I've
worked as a freelance writer for magazines in the past but have always wanted
to write fiction, and after having more free time during the lockdowns, I have
made some progress. I enjoy fantasy because it opens my mind to other worlds or
ways of life that do not exist in real life, or have ever existed.
The family he
didn't know he wanted might be the only thing worth dying for.
Baby ConSEALed
SEAL & Shelter Book 1
by Leah Miles
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Baby ConSEALed won
the 2024 Georgia Romance Writers' "Maggie Award"!
Rissa Parker struggles to support herself and her daughter
by working overnights as a home health nurse. After witnessing her employer's
murder, she has no choice but to grab her two-year-old and run toward the one
person strong enough to protect them, the Navy SEAL who fathered her child
during a one-night stand.
Navy SEAL Bernard "Burn" Cruz is a straight arrow,
approaching work and play in equal parts. He doesn't regret much in life,
except for one woman he's never forgotten. Nearly three years after their
initial encounter, she shows up in San Diego at the bar his team likes to
frequent, and he believes Forever might have knocked on his door. Until a child
cries, and all hell breaks loose.
As bullets fly and bodies drop, Rissa must outrun a killer
whose connection to her past threatens to destroy any chance at a future with
the father of her child, and Burn discovers the family he didn't know he wanted
might be the only thing worth dying for.
Baby ConSEALed, an award-winning contemporary
romantic suspense novel, is fast-paced, steamy and suspenseful. Pick up your
copy today!
“A tightly
plotted, fast-paced whirlwind of a ride fraught with secrets, danger, and an
emotional love story that focuses on family—the kind you choose.” —Lena Diaz,
Publishers Weekly best-selling author
“With a
to-die-for hero, sizzling tension, and edge-of-your-seat suspense, this romance
delivers all the feels in an unforgettable, heart-pounding read!” – Charlee Allden,
Goodreads Review
“A fast-paced,
slow-burn romantic suspense where danger, secrets, and second chances collide…. With
bullets flying and hearts on the line, Leah Miles delivers high stakes and
emotional impact in equal measure.” – Cam Torrens, Goodreads Review
“A Cosmopolitan, please.” After this, she’d
call it a night. Get a cab back to Liesel’s place. Maybe read a few chapters of
a book. Wild and crazy. That’s me.
She took a sip of the
drink the bartender delivered, letting the tart cranberry linger on her tongue
as she watched the television mounted above the bar. A bowling tournament
played, of all things, the announcer droning on about a perfect strike. A man
slid between her stool and the next one, close enough that the heat of his body
radiated toward her.
“Sorry to crowd you.” His voice was deep, smooth, and impossibly
calm despite the chaos of the crowd around them.
She turned—and nearly forgot how to breathe.
He was tall and
built like he actually used his gym membership. His dark skin contrasted
against the crisp blue of his button-down, and when he tilted his head, the
light caught his short black curls. But it was his eyes that stole her
attention, a golden shade, piercing yet unreadable.
For a moment, she
thought he might be about to hit on her, but he only raised a hand, signaling
to the bartender. Of course, he wasn’t interested in her. She needed to finish
her drink and go back to the apartment. Rissa gulped down a large swallow and barely
managed not to cough.
“Patrick. Beer for
me and one of those for the lady.”
She blinked.
“You’re buying me a drink?”
Amusement flickered
in those striking eyes. “Only if you want it.” He wedged himself farther into
the space, turning sideways to fit, with one elbow propped on the bar and his
free hand tucked in his pocket.
She absently swirled a finger through the condensation on her
mostly empty glass. One more drink might be too much. “I think I want a soda,”
she said.
He gave a slight
nod of approval and called out the order to the bartender. While he did, she
took the chance to study him more closely. The sharp angles of his face, the
short-cropped hair, and the faintest hint of a scar cutting through his left
eyebrow.
“The golden color of your eyes reminds
me of a stray cat I sometimes feed near my apartment. I mean, they’re nice,”
she added quickly, when she realized that may have sounded a little weird. “Not
that I’m calling you a cat.”
He chuckled, a
low, rich sound. “I’ve been called worse.”
She glanced down
at her glass, unsure what to say next.
“You here alone?”
he asked.
“No. My friend is
over there.” She motioned toward Liesel, who was dancing with a guy who looked
like he belonged on a recruitment poster.
His gaze followed
hers, and something flickered in his expression. “The guy she’s dancing with is
from my SEAL team.”
Rissa’s stomach dropped at his words. “You’re a Navy SEAL?” He
was so far out of her league.
“Nine years.” His eyes locked on her, and he seemed to be
waiting for her to comment.
She didn’t know much about military ranks, but the way he
carried himself suggested he wasn’t just some guy on weekend leave. “I’ve seen
that TV show, Navy SEAL, but I don’t know anyone in the military.”
His eyes crinkled
at the corners. “You do now.”
Leah Miles writes romance and paranormal fiction from her
small-town in South Georgia, where she lives with her husband and cocker
spaniel while running an insurance agency and Airbnb business.
After a dozen
years in news production at CNN, Leah Miles now manages an insurance agency and
an Airbnb business in rural Georgia, while writing romantic suspense and
paranormal romance featuring take-charge heroes and fierce heroines.
The greatest danger may lie in the firestorm burning
between them
Jenna McCray dedicated her life and trust fund to helping others succeed
through her charitable foundation, Pathways Mission. After a self-imposed
hiatus, her first venture back into the dating pool is an unmitigated disaster
witnessed by many, including hunky Fire Marshall Thomas Donovan.
Donovan had a profound mistrust of the upper crust—until Jenna McCray. One
photo in the paper. That’s all it took. Regal. Composed. A killer smile. She
looked straight into the camera…and into him--and he hadn’t even met her yet.
When he finally did, the effect was seismic. Prim, proper, and utterly
magnetic. Something primal flared to life inside him, and he was powerless
against it. Calling her “The Ice Queen” didn’t help. Mocking was easier than
admitting she'd gotten under his skin long before they even spoke.
When a fire ravages her business on the same night someone vandalizes her home,
he wonders if the incidents are connected and searches for answers.
But someone wants to keep their secret buried.
As danger escalates, so does the blistering chemistry between Jenna and
Donovan, and he vows to protect her at all costs—even if it means risking
everything.
Jenna
shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair and stumbling into someone behind
her, who then collided with a waiter carrying a water pitcher, sending all
three to the floor in a shower of ice-cold water.
She
landed partially on top of the man, his arms around her waist as he bore the
brunt of the fall. Another scream lodged in her throat when she saw it resting
on her thigh.
Suddenly,
his hand moved, and the spider vanished.
“You’re
okay,” murmured a husky voice against her ear. “It’s gone. You’re okay.”
Laughter
filtered through a fog of humiliation. She’d freaked out—in a public place and
lay on the floor atop a total stranger while Oscar did nothing but watch, a
self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“Something
wrong, Jenna?” he crooned.
“I
t-t-told you I h-hate spiders.” Her body trembled, and she couldn’t control the
quiver in her voice.
The
man’s arms tightened slightly.
“Did
you?” cooed Oscar. “I must have forgotten.”
***
Donovan
couldn’t believe his eyes when he first saw Jenna McCray in person tonight. All
prim and proper, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and his crazy heart
raced like a runaway train.
She’d
dominated his thoughts from the moment he saw her picture in the paper two
weeks ago. Hell, he’d even cut the damn thing out and kept it in his desk. How
pathetic was that?
Everything
from her regal posture to how she sipped the wine screamed money and class.
Coffee-colored hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape, and pearl studs in her
ears emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face and the fullness of
ruby-colored lips. The basic black dress and single strand of pearls would look
simple on most women. On her, it was elegant.
When
their gazes locked briefly, the jolt of desire was so potent it shocked him.
The
returning look of interest stole his breath.
Every
unexplained feeling he’d endured the last two weeks hit like a tidal wave. It
took massive effort to walk calmly to his table.
Oscar's
joining her was an unpleasant shock. The man was dirty as mud. Why on earth
would a woman like her associate with him?
Thoughts
in turmoil, he decided to skip dinner and leave—until all hell broke loose.
He’d
never met anyone with arachnophobia, but judging by her reaction to a fake
spider, she suffered an extreme case. As snickers from the other patrons
registered, his protective instincts surged.
A
shudder rolled through her body, and she sucked in a jerky breath, mumbling
something he didn’t catch.
“It’s
gone,” he whispered. “You’re okay.”
She
made a move to stand, and he maneuvered to assist, one hand remaining on her
arm for stability.
“I’m
so sorry,” she muttered, avoiding eye contact and swiping at the water on her
dress. “I’ll pay to have your clothes cleaned.”
Face
flaming, she watched the waiter clean up the mess. “Oh, Alfred,” she asked. “Are
you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Miss McCray.” He nodded toward Oscar’s retreating figure. “And he’s to
blame—not you.”
Donovan
lightly squeezed her arm. “Ma’am? Are you okay?”
She
managed a shaky “I’m fine,” then swallowed. “Th-thank you. For helping me.”
Donovan clenched his teeth as his fantasy
dreams went up in smoke. She couldn’t even look him in the eye when she mumbled
insincere words of gratitude.
“Anytime.”
At
his terse response, dark, earnest eyes, filled with confusion and something he
couldn’t readily identify, whipped to his. Desire coursed through him, heady as
strong whiskey, leaving him off-balance.
She
frowned and retrieved a wallet from the bag on the table, pulled out a card and
some bills, then passed the money to Alfred. “If this isn’t sufficient for my
wine and the pitcher, please let me know.”
He
hesitated, then took the money. “It’s fine, Miss McCray.”
A
harried woman appeared from Donovan’s left. The manager—they’d met on a
previous visit, but he couldn’t recall her name.
“Oh
my God, Jenna. Are you all right?”
“I’m
fine, Katie. Embarrassed but unhurt.” She nodded toward Donovan. “This
gentleman broke my fall.” She nibbled her lower lip as though unsure of what to
do next. Inhaling, she passed him the card. “Thank you, Mr…”
“Donovan.”
“Mr.
Donovan. Please—”
“No
mister. Just Donovan.”
Lips
slightly parted, she hesitated. “Oh. Okay. Donovan. Please send me a bill for
the dry cleaning.”
“That’s
not necessary.”
“Yes.
It is.”
Cheeks
the brightest red he’d ever seen, her earnest expression softened.
“Please.”
That
one word curbed his resentment. He took the card, ignoring the tingle as their
fingers brushed.
“Donovan,”
said Katie. “Thank you for helping my friend.”
“No
problem, ma’am.”
“And
dinner’s on me tonight.”
“Actually,
I was just leaving.”
She
looked around. “Was something wrong with your table?”
He
shook his head. “Unexpected change in plans. I was on my way out when—this
happened.”
“Then
please accept a raincheck for next time.”
He
nodded, knowing he would never accept the offer, no matter how kindly extended.
Katie
rubbed Jenna’s shoulder. “Guess kicking him to the curb in a public place
wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?”
Donovan
barely covered his surprise. So that’s what happened—good for her.
Jenna’s
gaze skipped from him to Katie. “No. It wasn’t.”
“I’ve
never seen you react that way before.”
She glanced
at Donovan. “I—it just surprised me. That’s all.”
He
immediately recognized the lie. She wasn’t surprised. She was terrified.
“I
told him they bothered me.”
And
that’s the understatement of the century.
“And you’d already told him to back off,”
added Katie, “so the creep had a Plan B to get even. I’m just happy you weren’t
hurt.”
This
time, when she looked at Donavan, her gaze held, and the intensity floored him.
A dark chocolate brown enhanced by a golden ring around the edges, they
glistened in the restaurant’s ambient lighting.
Or
was it unshed tears?
Texas Winds
by Dana Wayne
Genre: Contemporary Small-Town Romance
Two hearts shattered by betrayal. Once chance to trust
again.
Jake Holloway discovered his wife’s infidelity as she lay in
a coma, carrying a child that may not be his.
Four years later, his heart remains closed to all emotion. Lexie Morgan’s dream
of happily-ever-after ended the day she stood alone at the altar. The need to
put distance between her and the pain places her in the path of feral hogs and
Jake Holloway’s life. Neither is prepared for the intense attraction.
When Lexie meets his four-year-old daughter, Katie, the timid child with
downcast eyes steals her heart.
Forced to rely on Jake’s assistance, it’s impossible to ignore the escalating
pull.
But the past never dies, and resurrected hurts threaten their fragile bond.
Will the ever-changing Texas winds hold them together or reduce their love to
dust?
Ankle and hip
throbbed in unison, and a growing headache added to the misery mix.
She took a breath
and looked around. The front bumper dug into the far side of the muddy
embankment, and the blown-out tire rested in muck halfway up the rim. Dingy
water in the ditch swirled around her feet and leached up her mud-coated pant
legs. Her disgusted gaze took in the filthy jeans and soaked and blood-coated
tee shirt. “Crap,” she muttered. “Brand new shoes.” She swiped a hand across
her cheek, leaving a streak of bloody mud in its wake. “Great way to start my
first vacation in years.”
She adjusted her
grip on the door and blew wet hair away from her mouth. “Alrighty then.”
Muttering under her breath, she reached past the dog and plucked the half-full
Swear Jar from the floorboard. An irritated swipe at the wet hair
clinging to her cheek left more muddy streaks behind. “Time for the big guns.”
She placed the jug on the seat near Biscuit and pulled two soggy one-dollar
bills and three quarters from her pocket. She took a breath and ceremoniously
dropped the quarters through a slot cut into the lid, mumbling after each one.
“Damn. Damn. Dammit.” She took a deep breath and crammed the wet bills through
the hole. “And son-of-a-bitch.”
“Don’t reckon
that’s gonna help much.”
An f-bomb exploded
before she could stop it.
***
Startled by the
man’s deep voice, Lexie swore and spun around, tossing the jar over her
shoulder as intense pain shot up her leg.
Off-balance, she grabbed the door to keep from falling on her rear as
the jug landed with a mushy thump at the stranger’s feet.
The brim of a dark
Stetson cast his face in shadow, but there was no disguising his frame. Tall,
at least six-two or three, shoulders a mile wide, with long, muscular legs
encased in worn jeans. Muddy work boots covered his feet, and well-used leather
gloves stuck out of his front pocket. Rain dripping from the brim of his hat
left wet trails on his pale blue chambray shirt, and the rolled-up sleeves
revealed tanned, muscular forearms.
He hesitated, then
picked up the jar, one corner of his mouth curling up as he read the
inscription. “I’m guessing that last word is expensive,” he said as he passed
her the container before stepping back.
His husky,
just-woke-up voice raced through her like fine wine, leaving her momentarily
speechless. “It is,” she snapped and took the jug. “Five bucks.” She glanced past him and noted a
grime-coated, black Ford F250 crew cab parked behind him on the shoulder of the
road. Holy crap. I never heard a thing. She eyed her bag, mentally
calculating how long it would take to reach the pistol inside if needed. “You
shouldn’t sneak up on people. I have a gun. And I know how to use it.”
He made no effort
to approach, just stood there, hands on his hips. “Are you hurt?”
She gripped the
door tighter when her throbbing ankle threatened to fold again. “No. I’m good.”
“You have blood on
your face. And mud.”
His intense gaze
traveled up and down her body, causing an involuntary shiver.
“Were you ejected?”
“No. I slipped when
I got out.”
He tipped his head
toward the back seat. “What about the dog?”
She glanced at
Biscuit, who showed no concern over the stranger’s sudden appearance, and noted
a little blood on the side of his mouth. How did she miss that before?
“Biscuit!” Dismissing the man, she leaned against the car and ran her hands
over the dog again, checking more thoroughly for anything broken. “I’m so
sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
The dog stoically
endured her frantic exam with only a slight whimper when she touched his front
paw before moving to his mouth. “Come on, baby, open up.” She slowly pried his
jaw open and saw blood on his tongue.
“Looks like he bit
it. Probably on impact.”
It took tremendous
effort not to react to the unexpected voice behind her left shoulder. “Yeah.
Probably. I’ll have him checked out when I get to town.”
He looked at the
luggage piled in the back of the SUV. “Where you headed?”
She glanced up and
discovered walnut-colored eyes watching Biscuit, his square jaw visibly tense.
His face was rugged and somber, bronzed by wind and sun and covered with dark
stubble. No laugh lines around full lips, and unspoken pain was alive in dark,
fathomless eyes. In a heartbeat, his expression changed, switching to
closed-off and distant as he took two steps back, hands stuffed in his front
pockets.
Multi-awarding winning author Dana Wayne is a
sixth-generation Texan and still resides in the Piney Woods. She routinely
speaks at book clubs, writers’ groups and other organizations and is a frequent
guest on numerous writing blogs. A die-hard romantic, her stories are filled
with strong women, second chances, and happily ever after.
“I’m all about the romance, so my tales are heartwarming,
have a splash of suspense and humor. While they are a little steamy, I believe
romance is more about emotion than sex, and the journey is more important than
the destination.
“I retired in late 2013 and published my first book in 2016.
I was over the moon when it was awarded first place in a contest through the
Texas Association of Authors, and I never looked back. My books have been
nominated for and/or received various awards and numerous five-star reviews. To
have my work validated in such a manner is very gratifying and humbling.”
Affiliations include Texas Association of Authors, Writers
League of Texas, East Texas Writers Guild, Northeast Texas Writers
Organization, and East Texas Writers Association.
