Reading, Writing & Ruckus

Sea Turtle Summer by Nancy Stewart

2012-01-26T13:53:00.000-05:00

Brittand Bella love living near the beach. But the normal fun in the sundoesn't compare to the wonder of discovering a nesting sea turtle.When the girls learn that the sea turtle and her eggs could be indanger from a sand sweeper machine, they try their best to protecttheir new turtle friend. Standing up to rude workers and showingcourage beyond their years comes naturally to the girls as they finda reason to be brave.

Sea Turtle Summer byNancy Stewart is a delightful children's book. I loved the friendshipand courage of Britt and Bella. The story is engaging and theillustrations by Samantha Bell are soft, yet colorful. The messageabout the importance of protecting these beautiful sea creatures iscertainly worthy of attention. Included at the end of the book is alist of information about sea turtles that I found interesting. Theinformation complements the story and can provide a launching pointfor discussion with older children.

Sea Turtle Summer isrecommended for ages 6 to 9, but I think children as young as 3 or 4would enjoy the story and illustrations.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free as part of the PumpUpYourBook Blog Tour. Iwas not required to write a positive review. The opinions I haveexpressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with theFederal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "GuidesConcerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: Firethorn

2012-01-24T10:30:00.000-05:00

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Ronie Kendig

and the book:

Firethorn, Discarded Heroes #4

Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)

***Special thanks to Ronie Kendig for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

An Army brat, Ronie Kendig grew up in the classic military family, with her father often TDY and her mother holding down the proverbial fort. Their family moved often, which left Ronie attending six schools by the time she’d entered fourth grade. Her only respite and “friends” during this time were the characters she created.

It was no surprise when she married a military veteran—her real-life hero—in June 1990. Married more than twenty years, Ronie and her husband, Brian, homeschool their four children, the first of whom graduated in 2011. Despite the craziness of life, Ronie finds balance and peace with her faith, family and their three dogs in Dallas, TX.

Ronie has a deep love and passion for people, especially hurting people, which is why she pursued and obtained a B.S. in Psychology from Liberty University. Ronie is an active member of the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) and has volunteered extensively, serving in a variety of capacities from coordinator of a national contest to appointment assistant at the national annual conference.

Since launching onto the publishing scene in 2010, Ronie and her books have been gained critical acclaim and national attention, including:

Finalist in Christian Retailing’s 2011 Readers’ Choice Awards (Nightshade)
RWA’s Faith, Hope, & Love’s 2011 Inspirational Readers’ Choice Awards in Romantic Suspense (Nightshade)
Named one of the Top 25 Christian Fiction Suspense, Mystery, and Thriller Writers by FamilyFiction (Sept 2011)
2011 FamilyFiction Readers’ Choice Awards – 3^rd place as New Favorite Author, 8^th place with Nightshade for Novel of the Year.
INSPY Award Shortlist final in Mystery/Thriller (Dead Reckoning)
The Christian Manifesto’s 2010 Lime Award for Excellence in Christian Fiction (Nightshade)

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Blown and dismantled, Nightshade is ready to repay the favor.

Former Marine and current Nightshade team member Griffin "Legend" Riddell is comfortable. So comfortable he never sees the set up that lands him in a maximum security prison, charged with murder. How can he prove his innocence behind bars?

Covert operative Kazi Faron is tasked with reassembling Nightshade—the black ops team someone dissected. Breaking Griffin out of a federal penitentiary amid explosive confusion may turn out to be her last assignment. What will it take to convince the fugitive that whoever set him up has also dissected the Nightshade team? As Kazi and Griffin race to rescue the others and discover the traitor,
love begins to awaken in their hearts.

Can a covert operative and the felon she's freed overcome their mutual distrust long enough to save Nightshade? Will anything prepare them for who—or what is coming?

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99

Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books; Discarded Heroes edition (2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602607850
ISBN-13: 978-1602607859

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

To all American military heroes

At home and abroad,

Those who have gone before

and those serving today—

THANK YOU!

Because of you, we are FREE!

RECON CREED

Realizing it is my choice and my choice alone to be a Reconnaissance Marine, I accept all challenges involved with this profession. Forever shall I strive to maintain the tremendous reputation of those who went before me.
Exceeding beyond the limitations set down by others shall be my goal. Sacrificing personal comforts and dedicating myself to the completion of the reconnaissance mission shall be my life. Physical fitness, mental attitude, and high ethics—The title of Recon Marine is my honor.
Conquering all obstacles, both large and small, I shall never quit. To quit, to surrender, to give up is to fail. To be a Recon Marine is to surpass failure; To overcome, to adapt and to do whatever it takes to complete the mission.
On the battlefield, as in all areas of life, I shall stand tall above the competition. Through professional pride, integrity, and teamwork, I shall be the example for all Marines to emulate.
Never shall I forget the principles I accepted to become a Recon Marine. Honor, Perseverance, Spirit, and Heart.
A Recon Marine can speak without saying a word and achieve what others can only imagine.

Swift, Silent, Deadly

Chapter 1

The Shack
      “It’s sad, really.” Marshall “The Kid” Vaughn trudged away from the thumping rotors of the helo that had deposited them back at the Shack, his pack almost dragging the ground. “Ya don’t realize how much a person adds until he’s gone.”
      “Legend’s not gone.” Max “Frogman” Jacobs hoisted his rucksack into a better group, his mind locked on Sydney and their two sons waiting for him at home. Poor woman had to be going out of her mind with two of his Mini-Me’s running around.
      “Yeah.” John “Squirt” Dighton hit the light breaker, then waited for the six-man team to clear the door. “He’s just temporarily detained.”
      Lights sizzled and popped to life. Groaning bounced off the grimy windows as he hauled the door closed, locked it, then started toward the showers.
      The Kid grunted. “Forty-years-to-life temporary.”
      In the locker room, a depressive gloom hung over the team. They’d been on countless missions, hit just about every terrain and environment imaginable, but none had taken the toll the last couple had. And there was one reason—they were down a man. Griffin “Legend” Riddell. If Max could write the playbook, they wouldn’t do another mission without the guy. But with the man in federal prison for murdering a congressman, it’d be a long wait.
      It was quiet. Too quiet. Max looked around the Spartan room. Walls of lockers, most unused. A few benches. A giant once-white bin for dirty duds. And the team. Six men, now. All very skilled. Good men. Even the one missing. Every man here knew Legend had been set up—he didn’t murder that congressman. But nobody could prove it. The evidence was damning. Justice—injustice was more like it—came swiftly. Lambert, ever the puppeteer, couldn’t pull the right strings to get Legend off.
      “I’m heading up to visit him tomorrow. Anyone game?” Colton “Cowboy” Neeley slumped on a bench and ran a hand over his short, dark hair. His blue eyes probed the group.
      “Nah, man. I’ve got a date,” the Kid said.
      Squirt beaned him with a towel. “What girl would go out with you, mate?”
      The Kid snapped the terry cloth back at the former Navy SEAL. “Your sister.”
      Squirt froze. His jaw went slack. Then his eyes darkened.
      Laughing, Canyon “Midas” Metcalfe rose to his feet from the corner. “You just proved his point by thinking your sister would actually go out with him.”
      Squirt swallowed, his face drained of color. “I introduced them at a New Year’s party.”
      Midas laughed harder. “Your mistake, mate.”
      Shuffling closer, Squirt pointed a finger at the Kid. “I swear, you touch her, I’ll shove a fist full of witchety grubs down your gullet.”
      “Give me credit, dude.” The Kid raised his hands. “I’m a gentleman.”
      Max grunted. “Right.” As he strode around the lockers to the shower well, he heard more threats and much more laughter from the Kid. Max shook his head. Would the Kid ever grow up, learn when to leave things alone?
      As he tossed his oily, grimy duds on the bench, Max paused, thinking maybe he should send his report to Lambert now so he wouldn’t have to mess with it tomorrow. The mission had been simple enough, a snatch-n-grab of an Iranian doctor. It’d been nice and clean, in and out. The report wouldn’t take long. Then he could shower, bug out, and know he had the whole weekend with Syd and the boys.
      Max jogged up the iron stairs, which creaked and groaned beneath his weight. Down the hall to the right. He punched in the code and entered the secure hub, the door hissing shut behind him. The most high-tech part of this dump-of-a-warehouse.
      Shouts drew his attention to the blinds. He jabbed two fingers between a couple and spread them to peeked down into the main area. Squirt and the Kid raced into the bay and back the way they came. Squirt looked ready to kill. The Kid’s face revealed his fear. Max shook his head again. Man, he wanted Griffin back. The guy seemed to bring balance to the team. Badly needed balance.
      Max powered up the computer. Hand propped on the warped wood, he waited for the system to boot.
      More shouts. Loud thuds.
      He pinched the bridge of his nose. Would they never—?
      Tat-a-tat! Tat-tat-a-tat!
      Instinct drove Max to his knee at the sound of gunfire. He scrambled to the window. Through the slanted blinds, he peered down into the slab of cement. His brain wouldn’t assemble what he saw. Gunmen. A dozen or more. Rushing into the Shack from the parking bay. Moving swiftly, as if. . .
      They know the layout.
      Max darted to the door and jerked it open. He sprinted down the hall toward the stairs. As his boot hit steel, he froze. A shadow emerged. Floated into the hall.
      Too late.
      Max jerked back. Pressed his spine against the wall.
      By the showers, the Kid looked up. Max signaled to him. Then made his best and loudest Nightshade whistle, hoping it would penetrate the building, give the men warning to take cover.
      The Kid threw himself back into the locker room.
      Men swarmed the corner. One looked to his left, one right. His weapon slowly rose as he traced the stairs with his M16.
      Max leapt backward into the darkness and into office. He closed the door. As the lock clicked, darkness dropped like an anchor over the entire building. Behind him, a glow screamed his location. The monitor!
      Max spun. Lunged across the desk. Stabbed the power button. And paused with his hand still near the monitor. If someone was coming after them. . .accessing this computer. . .
      On his knees, Max yanked the cords free. With the box, he moved to the window and reassessed the parking bay. Another van with a half-dozen men with AK-47s. They streamed into the warehouse.
      Max’s gut wound into a dozen knots. They were screwed.
      Think! Hand on the door, he considered going back downstairs. But that would get him captured. Killed. Yet he’d rather be with his guys than running like a chicken.
      No, not running. Considering options, gaining the advantage. Planning. The invasion force was armed to the teeth. They knew who they were coming after. They’d brought weapons. And those guys moved with precision. Swift, deadly precision.
      Though Nightshade had a stellar ops record, perhaps they had finally met their match. Still. . .two to one? Nightshade had faced worse.
      A large black Suburban screeched to a halt in the middle of the parking bay. Two men emerged, both wearing trench coats.
      Max cursed his luck to be up here, away from his gear, his weapons. Up here, without firepower. Thus, powerless.
      Okay, enough. He was going down there. He eased the door open and slid across the hall. Bathed in darkness, he crouched at edge of the landing, using the wall for cover. A dozen men so far, rushing here and there. Quick, quiet chatter between the men.
      A smirk slid into Max’s face. His team had taken cover and these goons couldn’t find them. If he could just get a weapon. . .
      “Can’t find them.”
      “They’re here. I saw them go in,” the man nearest the SUV shouted. “Find them! Lights!”
      Light rushed through the building as headlamps from the vehicles stabbed the dusty, damp building. Max yanked back, out of sight. He needed to get down there, defend his men. His boot hit the landing.
      Shouts erupted. A shot bounced off the steel rafters, taunting as it echoed through the Shack. Stilled, Max waited. More shouts. The sound of a scuffle. The half-dozen men waiting by the SUV lifted their weapons to the ready.
      The locker room door swung open. A man walked backward, his AK-47 aimed at a large form filling the doorway. Cowboy. Arms raised, dressed only in his jeans, he stalked forward. Someone shoved him from behind, which barely moved the big lug.
      Spine pressed against the wood, Max peered down into the bay.
      “You move one wrong muscle,” the one in front of Cowboy growled, “and so help me God, I’ll kill you.”
      “No you won’t.” Cowboy lowered his hands. “If you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be out here.”
      Ride ’em, Cowboy.
      From the side entrance to the showers, three men dragged a shouting, cursing Kid into the bay. Max smirked that it took three tangos to wrangle the Kid.
      Hand clenched, Max’s mind went into overdrive. What could he do? God. . .I need. . .something. What could he pray for? Intercepting the team was impossible. Twelve, fifteen armed tangos against one unarmed man?
      He latched on to the hope that they’d only found Cowboy and the Kid. No Midas, Squirt, or Aladdin. Good. Maybe they could regroup and—
      A man flew through the bay door from the showers and landed with a thud a yard from the others. Midas flipped over, scissored his legs, and swept the thug off his feet. The Kid seized the confusion to attack the men guarding him. And impressively. With a hard right, he dropped the first and used that weapon to disable the second.
      Cowboy took a step back and rammed his elbow into the gut of the nearest guard. The gunman bent forward—straight into Cowboy’s meaty fist. The big guy pivoted, slapped the interior of the gunman’s wrist, effectively seizing the weapon and flipping the muzzle around. He fired at the guy.
      Crack!
      In the split second it took for Max to realize the sonic boom that rent the air wasn’t the report of Cowboy’s .45 MEU but of a rifle, Max saw the man in the black trench coat drop to the ground. A circle spread out like a dark halo.
      “Sniper!” someone shouted.
      The dead guy had fallen backward. Most likely shot from the front. Which meant. . . Max’s gaze rose to the rafters. With no light, it’d be the perfect hiding spot. But. . .who? Squirt? Aladdin?
      Crack!
      The man guarding Colton stumbled forward, then went to his knees before hitting the cement.
      The man in the black trench coat nearest the SUV dropped. A pool of blood spilled out.
      “There!” One guard swung and fired his fully automatic at the ceiling. Four others followed suit, firing at the bank of grimy windows on the southeast wall of the building.
      Max followed their direction and watched. Waited, his breath caught at the back of his throat. Cracks and shattering glass blended with the staccato punches of the guns to create a wild cacophony of noise. Max tuned it out, praying whoever—Aladdin or Squirt—wouldn’t be hit.
      But then he saw it. A shift of a shadow. Like someone rolling. . .
      The gunfire petered out as a body plummeted the eight feet to the ground.
      The thud seemed to have supernatural powers as it pounded Max’s chest and pushed him back. Away from the window but not far enough that he lost line of sight.
      Silence dropped on the Shack.
      “Where’s Max Jacobs?”
      As the question streaked through the warehouse, Max registered a red glow in the far corner. Even as he noticed it, he heard a beep. Another. His gaze darted to the source of the noise. Two men were walking the perimeter, their M16s dangling as they raised their arms and pressed something against the supports. Arms lowered and the men stepped back revealing gray bricks with wires.
      Explosives.
      Gotta stop this. Do something. His gaze collided with Cowboy’s. The big lug gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
      Max’s nostrils flared as he wrestled with what to do.
      “Where’s Dighton?”
      How do they know our names?
      “Dead,” someone answered.
      Pulled back into the shadows, Max clenched his eyes and bit down on his tongue. Dighton was dead. What about Aladdin—had he survived the fall?
      Sirens wailed in the distance.
      “Load ’em up.”
      “What about Jacobs?”
      “Outta time.” The leader left as the gunmen dragged the team out of the building.
      Stealthily, Max held on to the box and sprinted the length of the hall to the side of the Shack. In the conference room, he plunged toward the window. Craned his neck to peek out. Three vehicles—twin white vans and a black town car.
      The guys were loaded into the van and one into the car.
      The leader shifted, held something out, then it wavered.
      Detonator.
      Max spun around, searching for an out. Doors. Only one way down—the stairs. But they led to the bay, which would be engulfed.
      Windows. Overlooked the dock. The canal. It was January. The water would be brutal cold. His split-second assessment told him no matter what route he took, it’d be deadly. Despite his training, if he didn’t find shelter out of the water once he broke surface, he’d die an ice cube. If he stayed, he’d die a fireball.
      Good thing SEALs are insulated against cold water.
      Max vaulted toward the window, hurtling the computer through the window. The glass shattered as a violent force blasted through the air. It lifted him. Up. . .up. . . Flipped him. Searing pain sliced through his arm. Heat stroked his back and legs. Fire chased him out of the building. Into the night.
      Boom!
      Another wave slammed into him. Threw him backward. Toward the water.
      Something punched his gut. Knocked the breath from his lungs.
      Bright white lit the night. Blinded him. Then—almost instantaneously—black. Pure black. And he was falling. . .down. . .down. . .

Ro n i e K e n d i g

Firethorn

Discarded Heroes # 4

OTHER BOOKS BY RONIE KENDIG

Nightshade (Discarded Heroes #1)

Digitalis (Discarded Heroes #2)

Wolfsbane (Discarded Heroes #3)

© 2011 by Ronie Kendig

ISBN 978-1-60260-0785-9
Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

For more information about Ronie Kendig, please access the author’s Web site at the following Internet address: www.roniekendig.com

Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683,

www.barbourbooks.com

Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

Printed in the United States of America.

Small Space Organizing by Kathryn Bechen

2012-01-21T19:27:00.000-05:00

Justabout all houses could use a little better organization andefficiency. In Small Space Organizing,Kathryn Bechen shows the reader how to examine a room's level offunction, to creatively arrange areas to be both efficient andinviting, and to optimize each space, no matter how small.

Small Space Organizingby Kathryn Bechen is a great resource for those of us that need alittle extra help in getting/staying organized. One of my favoritethings was that as the author went through each room she had longlists of specific ideas for organizing common items in each room.Then at the end of each chapter there was a place for thoughts, notesand ideas. I found the book very helpful, although I did not havetime prior to writing this review to actually try out all of theideas I want to implement. This book is also convenient to use.After you read the first few chapters, you can skip around in thebook according to whatever area of your house that you are focusingon at that time. I highly recommend this book as I definitely seemyself referring back to it time and time again.

AvailableJanuary 2012 at your favorite book seller from Revell, a division ofBaker Publishing Group.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from Revell Publishing, a division of BakerPublishing Group. I was not required to write a positive review. Theopinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this inaccordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255:"Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials inAdvertising."

Love Blooms In Winter by Lori Copeland

2012-01-19T18:44:00.001-05:00

Thefirst time Tom Curtis received a letter from Mae Wilkey, he thoughtit was a prank. The second time a letter arrives with an urgent pleafor help to care for a mysterious aunt, Pauline Wilson, who suffersfrom dementia, he takes it more seriously and journeys to NorthDakota to discover the truth. Neither Tom nor his Aunt Pauline canremember being related and the longer he stays to help with her care,the more he is convinced that he isn't related to her. Still, MaeWilkey is certainly attractive and Aunt Pauline is endearing. When atrain wreck leaves Tom stranded in town as overseerer for therailroad track repairs, he finds more love and adventure than he everexpected.

Love Blooms in Winteris the first book in Lori Copeland's Dakota Diaries series. Thisstory was a wonderful reminder to me that God is in control of everysituation, even when it seems out of control from the humanperspective. Other than the theme about God being in control, thebook is a very light and sweet read. The romance between Tom and Maewas predictable, but still enjoyable since Jake's character added insome tension.

Overall,I enjoyed Love Blooms in Winterby Lori Copeland, though I probably will not care to read it againfor several years. If you are looking for a sweet romance toentertain you for a few hours, this is a good choice.

Click here to visit the blog tour or read an except from Love Blooms in Winter by Lori Copeland.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from the publisher as part FIRST Wild CardTours. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions Ihave expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance withthe Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "GuidesConcerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: Love Blooms In Winter

2012-01-19T18:39:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Lori Copeland

and the book:

Love Blooms in Winter (The Dakota Diaries)

Harvest House Publishers (January 1, 2012)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

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

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

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

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

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

Product Details:

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

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Dwadlo, North Dakota, 1892

The winter of ’92 is gonna go down as one of the worst Dwadlo’s ever seen,” Hal Murphy grumbled as he dumped the sack of flour he got for his wife on the store counter. “Mark my words.” He turned toward Mae Wilkey, the petite postmistress, who was stuffing mail in wooden slots.

“Spring can’t come soon enough for me.” She stepped back, straightening the row of letters and flyers. She didn’t have to record Hal’s prediction; it was the same every year. “I’d rather plant flowers than shovel snow any day of the week.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hal nodded to the store owner, Dale Smith, who stood five foot seven inches with a rounded belly and salt-and-pepper hair swept to a wide front bang. “Add a couple of those dill pickles, will you?” Hal watched as Dale went over to the barrel and fished around inside, coming up with two fat pickles.

“That’ll fix me up.” Hal turned his attention back to the mail cage, his eyes fixed on the lovely sight. “Can’t understand why you’re still single, Mae. You’re as pretty as a raindrop on a lily pad.” He sniffed the air. “And you smell as good.”

Smiling, Mae moved from the letter boxes to the cash box. Icy weather may have delayed the train this morning, but she still had to count money and record the day’s inventory. “Now, Hal, you know I’d marry you in a wink if you weren’t already taken.” Hal and Clara had been married forty-two years, but Mae’s usual comeback never failed to put a sparkle in the farmer’s eye. Truth be, she put a smile on every man’s face, but she wasn’t often aware of the flattering looks she received. Her heart belonged to Jake Mallory, Dwadlo’s up-and-coming attorney.

Hal nodded. “I know. All the good ones are taken, aren’t they?”

She nodded. “Every single one. Especially in Dwadlo.”

The little prairie town was formed when the Chicago & North Western Railroad came through five years ago. Where abundant grass, wild flowers, and waterfalls had once flourished, hundreds of miles of steel rail crisscrossed the land, making way for big, black steam engines that hauled folks and supplies. Before the railroad came through, only three homesteads had dotted the rugged Dakota Territory: Mae’s family’s, Hal and Clara’s, and Pauline Wilson’s.

But in ’87 life changed, and formerly platted sites became bustling towns. Pine Grove and Branch Springs followed, and Dwadlo suddenly thrived with immigrants, opportunists, and adventure-seeking folks staking claims out West. A new world opened when the Dakota Boom started.

Hal’s gaze focused on Mae’s left hand. “Jake still hasn’t popped the question?”

Mae sighed. Hal was a pleasant sort, but she really wished the townspeople would occupy their thoughts with something other than her and Jake’s pending engagement. True, they had been courting for six years and Jake still hadn’t proposed, but she was confident he would. He’d said so, and he was a man of his word—though every holiday, when a ring would have been an appropriate gift, that special token of his intentions failed to materialize. Mae had more lockets than any one woman could wear, but Jake apparently thought that she could always use another one. What she could really use was his hand in marriage. The bloom was swiftly fading from her youth, and it would be nice if her younger brother, Jeremy, had a man’s presence in his life.

“Be patient, Hal. He’s busy trying to establish a business.”

“Good lands. How long does it take a man to open a law office?”

“Apparently six years and counting.” She didn’t like the uncertainty but she understood it, even if the town’s population didn’t. She had a good life, what with work, church, and the occasional social. Jake accompanied her to all public events, came over two or three times a week, and never failed to extend a hand when she needed something. It was almost as though they were already married.

“The man’s a fool,” Hal declared. “He’d better slap a ring on that finger before someone else comes along and does it for him.”

“Not likely in Dwadlo,” Mae mused. The town itself was made up of less than a hundred residents, but other folks lived in the surrounding areas and did their banking and shopping here. Main Street consisted of the General Store, Smith’s Grain and Feed, the livery, the mortuary, the town hall and jail (which was almost always empty), Doc Swede’s office, Rosie’s Café, and an empty building that had once housed the saloon. Mae hadn’t spotted a sign on any business yet advertising “Husbands,” but she was certain her patience would eventually win out.

With a final smile Hal moved off to pay for his goods. Mae hummed a little as she put the money box in the safe. Looking out the window, she noticed a stiff November wind snapping the red canvas awning that sheltered the store’s porch. Across the square, a large gazebo absorbed the battering wind. The usually active gathering place was now empty under a gray sky. On summer nights music played, and the smell of popcorn and roasted peanuts filled the air. Today the structure looked as though it were bracing for another winter storm. Sighing, Mae realized she already longed for green grass, blooming flowers, and warm breezes.

After Hal left Mae finished up the last of the chores and then reached for her warm wool cape. She usually enjoyed the short walk home from work, but today she was tired—and her feet hurt because of the new boots she’d purchased from the Montgomery Ward catalog. On the page they had looked comfortable with their high tops and polished leather, but on her feet they felt like a vise.

Slipping the cape’s hood over her hair, she said goodbye to Dale and then paused when her hand touched the doorknob. “Oh, dear. I really do need to check on Pauline again.”

“How’s she doing?” The store owner paused and leaned on his broom. “I noticed she hasn’t been in church recently.”

Dale always reminded Mae of an owl perching on a tree limb, his big, dark blue eyes swiveling here and there. He might not talk a body’s leg off, but he kept up on town issues. She admired the quiet little man for what he did for the community and respected the way he preached to the congregation on Sundays.

How was Pauline doing? Mae worried the question over in her mind. Pauline lived alone, and she shouldn’t. The elderly woman was Mae’s neighbor, and she checked on her daily, but Pauline was steadily losing ground.

“She’s getting more and more fragile, I’m afraid. Dale, have you ever heard Pauline speak of kin?”

The small man didn’t take even a moment to ponder the question. “Never heard her mention a single word about family of any kind.”

“Hmm…me neither. But surely she must have some.” Someone who should be here, in Dwadlo, looking after the frail soul. Mae didn’t resent the extra work, but the post office and her brother kept her busy, and she really didn’t have the right to make important decisions regarding the elderly woman’s rapidly failing health.

Striding back to the bread rack, she picked up a fresh loaf. Dale had private rooms at the back of the store where he made his home, and he was often up before dawn baking bread, pies, and cakes for the community. Most folks in town baked their own goods, but there were a few, widowers and such, who depended on Dale’s culinary skills. By this hour of the day the goods were usually gone, but a few remained. Placing a cherry pie in her basket as well, she called, “Add these things to my account, please, Dale. And pray for Pauline too.”

Nodding, he continued sweeping, methodically running the stiff broomcorn bristles across the warped wood floor.

The numbing wind hit Mae full force when she stepped off the porch. Her hood flew off her head and an icy gust of air snatched away her breath. Putting down her basket, she retied the hood before setting off for the brief walk home. Dwadlo was laid out in a rather strange pattern, a point everyone agreed on. Businesses and homes were built close together, partly as shelter from the howling prairie winds and partly because there wasn’t much forethought given to town planning. Residents’ homes sat not a hundred feet from the store. The whole community encompassed less than five acres.

Halfway to her house, snowflakes began swirling in the air. Huddling deeper into her wrap, Mae concentrated on the path as the flakes grew bigger.

She quickly covered the short distance to Pauline’s. The dwelling was little more than a front room, tiny kitchen, and bedroom, but she was a small woman. Pauline pinned her yellow-white hair in a tight knot at the base of her skull, and she didn’t have a tooth in her head. She chewed snuff, which she freely admitted was an awful habit, but Mae had never heard her speak of giving it up.

Her faded blue eyes were as round as buttons, and no matter what kind of day she was having, it was always a new one to her, filled with wonders. Her mind wasn’t what it used to be. She had good and bad days, but mostly days when her moods changed as swift as summer lightning. She could be talking about tomatoes in the garden patch when suddenly she would be discussing how to spin wool.

Mae noted a soft wisp of smoke curling up from the chimney and smiled. Pauline had remembered to feed the fire this afternoon, so this was a good day.

Unlatching the gate, she followed the path to the front porch. In summertime the white railings hung heavy with red roses, and the scent of honeysuckle filled the air. This afternoon the wind howled across the barren flower beds Pauline carefully nurtured during warmer weather. Often she planted okra where petunias should be, but she enjoyed puttering in the soil and the earth loved her. She brought fresh tomatoes, corn, and beans to the store during spring and summer, and pumpkins and squash lined the railings in the fall.

In earlier days Pauline’s quilts were known throughout the area. She and her quilting group had made quite a name for themselves when Dwadlo first became a town. Four women excelled in the craft. One had lived in Pine Grove, and two others came from as far away as Branch Springs once a month to break bread together and stitch quilts. But one by one the women had died off, leaving Pauline to sew alone in her narrowing world.

Stomping her boots on the porch, Mae said under her breath, “I don’t mind winter, Lord, but could we perhaps have a little less of it?” The only answer was the wind whipping her garments. Tapping lightly on the door, she called, “Pauline?”

Mae stepped back and waited to hear the shuffle of feet. Pauline used to answer the door in less than twenty seconds. It took longer now. Mae made a fist with her gloved hand and banged a little harder. The wind howled around the cottage eaves. She closed her eyes and prayed that Jeremy had remembered to stack sufficient firewood beside the kitchen door. The boy was generally responsible, and she thanked God every day that she had him to lean on. He had been injured by forceps during birth, which left him with special needs. He was a very happy fourteen-year-old with the reasoning power of a child of nine.

A full minute passed. Mae frowned and tried the doorknob. Pauline couldn’t hear herself yell in a churn, but she might also be asleep. The door opened easily, and Mae peeked inside the small living quarters. She saw that a fire burned low in the woodstove, and Pauline’s rocking chair sat empty.

Stepping inside, she closed the door and called again. “Pauline? It’s Mae!”

The ticking of the mantle clock was the only sound that met her ears.

“Pauline?” She lowered her hood and walked through the living room. She paused in the kitchen doorway.

“Oh, Pauline!”

The Accidental Bride by Denise Hunter

2012-01-09T11:24:00.002-05:00

WhenShay Brandenberger wanted to marry Travis McCoy, he left her alone onthe courthouse steps to pursue his own dreams. Years later, Shaystruggles to raise her daughter and keep her childhood homefinancially afloat following the death of her husband, GarrettBrandenberger. When Travis McCoy shows up in town, he is the lastperson Shay wants to spend time with. But when she finds herselfaccidentally, yet legitimately, married to him, Shay must decidewhich is riskier: To keep trying to save her home as she has been orto accept Travis' ridiculous proposal to stay married to him for afew months and receive the financial assistance she needs. Could thisaccidental marriage actually be God's will or just a crazy twist offate? Is Shay even willing to find out? Read for yourself in TheAccidental Bride byDenise Hunter.

The Accidental Brideby Denise Hunter is the second book in the Big Sky Romance series. Ienjoyed revisiting some of the characters of the first book, ACowboy's Touch.However, TheAccidental Bride workswell as a stand-alone book if you have not read the first one. Whilethe premise of Shay and Travis' accidental marriage seems highlyunlikely to ever happen in real life, the story was so good that Iwas happy to suspend a little bit of reality in favor of justenjoying the book. Hunter touched on an important theme about tryingto win favor with people or God. Though I think this theme could havebeen brought out a little stronger earlier in the book, it is achallenging and encouraging message for the reader to ponder.Overall, I highly recommend The Accidental Brideby Denise Hunter to anyone looking for a sweet romance with a goodmessage.

Click here to visit the blog tour and an excerpt from The Accidental Bride by Denise Hunter.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received an advanced reading copy of this book free from thepublisher as part of FIRST Wild Card Tours. I was not required towrite a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Iam disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements andTestimonials in Advertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: The Accidental Bride

2012-01-09T11:22:00.002-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Denise Hunter

and the book:

The Accidental Bride

Thomas Nelson (January 3, 2012)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

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

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

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

Product Details:

List Price: $15.99

Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (January 3, 2012)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595548025
ISBN-13: 978-1595548023

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The bell above the diner’s door jingledand—despite her most valiant effort—Shay Brandenberger’s eyes darted toward theentry. An unfamiliar couple entered—tourists. She could tell by their khakiEddie Bauer vests and spanking-new hiking boots. Look out, Yellowstone.

When her heart rate returned to normal,she checked her watch and took a sip of coffee. Five minutes till she met MissLucy at the Doll House, forty till she met John Oakley at the bank. What if hesaid no? What would they do then?

“Mom . . . Earth to Mom . . .” Oliviawaved her hand too close to Shay’s face, her brown eyes widening.

“Sorry, hon.” The one bright moment ofher Saturday was breakfast with her daughter, and she couldn’t enjoy it for thedread. “What were you saying?”

Olivia set her fork on herpancake-sticky plate and heaved a sigh worthy of her twelve-year-old self.“Never mind.” She bounced across the vinyl bench, her thick brown ponytailswinging. “I’m going to meet Maddy.”

“Right back here at noon,” Shay called,but Olivia was out the door with the flick of her hand.

The diner buzzed with idle chatter.Silverware clattered and scraped, and the savory smell of bacon and fried eggsunsettled her stomach. She took a sip of the strong brew from the fat rim ofher mug.

The bell jingled again. I will not look. I willnot look. I will not—

The server appeared at her booth, a newgirl, and gathered Olivia’s dishes. “On the house today.”

Shay set down her mug, bristling. “Why?”

The woman shrugged. “Boss’s orders,” shesaid, then made off with the dirty dishes.

From the rectangular kitchen window,Mabel Franklin gave Shay a pointed look.

So Shay had helped the couple with theirfoal the week before. It was the neighborly thing to do.

Fine. She gave a reluctant smile and awave. She pulled her wallet from her purse, counted out the tip, and draggedherself from the booth, remembering her daughter’s bouncy exit. Lately herthirty-two years pressed down on her body like a two-ton boulder.

She opened the diner’s door and peekedboth ways before exiting the Tin Roof and turning toward the Doll House. Shewas only checking sidewalk traffic, not hiding. Nope, she wasn’t hiding fromanyone. The boardwalks were busy on Saturdays. That was why she hadn’t come totown for two weeks. Why their pantry was emptier than a water trough at highnoon.

She hurried three shops down and slippedinto the cool, welcoming air of Miss Lucy’s shop.

“ ’Morning, Miss Lucy.”

“ ’Morning, dear.” The elderly woman, inthe middle of helping a customer, called over her rounded shoulder, “It’s inthe back.” Miss Lucy’s brown eyes were big as buckeyes behind her thickglasses, and her white curls glowed under the spotlights.

“Okeydoke.” Shay forced her feet towardthe storeroom.

A musty smell assaulted her as sheentered the back room and flipped on the overhead fluorescents. She scanned theboxes of doll parts and skeins of yarn until she found what she was lookingfor. She approached the box, lifted the lid, and parted the tissue.

The wedding gown had been carefullyfolded and tucked away. Shay ran her fingers over the delicate lace and pearls.Must’ve been crisp white in its day, but time had cast a long shadow over it.Time had a way of doing that.

Her fingers lingered on the thin fabric.She remembered another time, another dress. A simple white one that hung on heryoung shoulders, just skimmed the cement of the courthouse steps. The ache thatsqueezed her heart had faded with time, but it was there all the same. Would itever go away?

Shaking her head, Shay turned back tothe task at hand. The gown seemed too pretty, too fragile to disturb.

Oh well. She’d promised.

She pulled it out and draped it over thebox, then shimmied from her jeans. When she was down to the bare necessities,she stepped carefully into the gown. She eased it over her narrow hips and slidher arms into the long sleeves. The neckline was modest, the gathered skirtfuller than anything she ever wore. Here in the air-conditioning it was fine,but she would swelter next Saturday.

Leaving the button-up back gaping, shehitched the skirt to the top of her cowboy boots and entered the store.

Miss Lucy was ushering the customer outthe door. When she turned, she stopped, her old-lady shoes squeaking on thelinoleum. “Land sakes.”

Shay took two steps forward and droppedthe skirt. It fell to the floor with a whoosh.

“Fits like a glove,” Miss Lucy said.“And with some low heels it’ll be the perfect length.”

Shay didn’t even own heels. “My boots’llhave to do. Button the back?”

Miss Lucy waddled forward, turned Shaytoward a small wall mirror flecked with time, and began working the tiny pearlbuttons.

Shay’s breath caught at her image. Sheforced its release, then frowned. Wedding gowns were bad luck. She’d swornshe’d never wear another. If someone had told her yesterday she’d be wearingthis thing today, she’d have said they were one straw short of a bale.

Miss Lucy moved up to the buttonsbetween her shoulders, and Shay lifted her hair. The dress did fit, clinging toher torso like it was made for her, wouldn’t you know. Even the colorcomplemented her olive skin.

Still, there was that whole bad luckthing.

And what would everyone think of ShayBrandenberger wearing this valuable piece of Moose Creek heritage? A whitewedding gown, no less. If she didn’t have the approval of her closest friendsand neighbors, what did she have? Not much, to her thinking.

She wanted to cut and run. Wanted toshimmy right out of the dress, tuck it into that box in the storeroom, slipback into her Levi’s and plaid button-up, and go back to her ranch where shecould hole up for the next six months.

She checked the time and wished MissLucy had nimbler fingers. Of all days to do this, a Saturday, when everyonewith two legs was in town. And she still had that infernal meeting with JohnOakley.

Please, God, I can’t lose our home . . .

“I’m obliged to you, dear. I completelyforgot Jessie was going out of town.”

“No problem.”

“Baloney. You’d rather be knee-deep incow dung.” The woman’s marionette lines at the sides of her mouth deepened.

“It’s one hour of my life.” A pittance,after all Miss Lucy had done for her.

Miss Lucy finished buttoning, and Shaydropped her hair and smoothed the delicate lace at the cuffs.

“Well, bless you for being willing. Godis smiling down on you today for your kindness.”

Shay doubted God really cared one way oranother. It was her neighbors she worried about.

“Beautiful, just beautiful. You’ll bethe talk of the town on Founders Day.”

“No doubt.” Everyone in Moose Creekwould be thinking about the last time she’d worn a wedding gown. And the timebefore that.

Especially the time before that.

Third time’s a charm, Shay thought, the corner of her lipturning up.

“Stop fretting,” Miss Lucy said,squeezing her shoulders. “You look quite fetching, like the gown was made foryou. I won’t have to make a single alteration. Why, it fits you better than itever did Jessie—don’t you tell her I said so.”

Shay tilted her head. Maybe Miss Lucywas right. The dress did make the most of her figure. And she had as much rightto wear it as anyone. Maybe more—she was born and raised here, after all. Itwas just a silly old reenactment anyway. No one cared who the bride and groomwere.

The bell jingled as the door openedbehind her. She glanced in the mirror, over her shoulder, where a hulkingsilhouette filled the shop’s doorway. There was something familiar in the setof the man’s broad shoulders, in the slow way he reached up and removed hishat.

The sight of him constricted her ribcage, squeezed the air from her lungs as if she were wearing a corset. But shewasn’t wearing a corset. She was wearing a wedding gown. Just as she had beenthe last time she’d set eyes on Travis McCoy.

Fairer Than Morning by Rosslyn Elliott

2011-12-19T17:00:00.000-05:00

WillHanby is a broken soul. Following the death of his parents, he signson as a saddlemaker apprentice to Master Jacob Good. Master Goodturns out to be a cruel teacher with a thirst for power. When AnnMiller and her father encounter Will, Will is drawn to the kindnessand light that he sees in them. As circumstances develop and change,Will flees his terrible master in search of the Millers. When hefinds them, he realizes the danger surrounding them all. As a wantedman, he must stay hidden and the Millers could be in trouble. Butfar more dangerous are the feelings developing between Will and Ann.Can Will overcome his troubled past? Will Ann ever see him as morethan a dirty and broken youth? And if Will trusts the future to God,will Ann wait for him until the apprenticeship is fulfilled?

Fairer Than Morningby Rosslyn Elliott is probably in the top ten books I've read thisyear. The story had my attention from the very beginning. WillHanby's character transformation from broken apprentice to braveChristian reflected a strong sense of personal healing and growththat added depth to the story. I would have liked to have seen moregrowth and resolution in Ann's character. If Ann's nightmares hadbeen resolved and an additional scene between Eli and Ann had beenadded, I think the closure of the story would have been morecomplete. There is a sequel coming out next year, but it does notappear to focus on Will and Ann. Overall, FairerThan Morning was asurprisingly enjoyable read that I have no doubt I will eventuallyread again. I recommend it to fans of Christian romances.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from BookSneeze as part of their bloggerreview program. I was not required to write a positive review. Theopinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this inaccordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255:"Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials inAdvertising."

12 Pearls of Christmas: An Introduction

2011-12-13T18:45:00.001-05:00

Welcome to the 3rd Annual Pearl Girls™ 12 Pearls of Christmas series!

We've gathered several of today's most beloved authors to share their Christmas "Pearls of Wisdom"! Please follow along beginning tomorrow (Wednesday the 14th) through Christmas day as Tricia Goyer, Suzanne Woods Fisher, Rachel Hauck, Sandy Ralya, Sibella Giorello, Susan May Warren and more, share their heartfelt stories of how God has touched their life during this most wonderful time of the year.

And of course, there is a giveaway! Beginning tomorrow you and all your friends can enter to win a PEARL NECKLACE and EARRINGS valued at $450! The winner will be announced on New Year's Day! Pearls - a tangible reminder of God's grace to us all.

***

Introduction
by Margaret McSweeney

As I write this, I imagine that we are sitting at my kitchen table and chatting over a cup of coffee while familiar Christmas carols celebrate the Season. My twelve year old Chihuahua, Pongo, barks for a pinch of pound cake while my Shih Tzu, Lilly, patiently sits by the chair and waits for a crumb to fall.

My name is not Martha Stewart, and I will never receive a neighborhood beautification award. Just look at my front stoop. Yes, my never-had-time-to-carve-the-pumpkin-that-now-suffers-from-frostbite slouches next to the front door which is decorated with a Christmas wreath. I plan to roll this large orange ornament to the garbage pile tomorrow. For now, however, I will pretend that my front stoop is a contemplative modern art exhibit capturing the essence of contrast.

Actually, I love the concept of juxtaposition – placing things together that don’t seem to belong together, yet somehow ultimately make sense being paired. A personal example for me this season is the phrase: “comfort and joy.” Having just completed my manuscript for New Hope Publishers about the aftermath of grief, I fully understand the contrast of those two words. How can comfort bring joy? How can one find joy in loss?

Perhaps, dear reader, you have experienced loss this year – loss of a loved one, loss of friendship, loss of health, loss of financial security, loss of trust, loss of love, or loss of direction. Even with the best intent, words of encouragement shared by others can somehow seem insufficient to address an inconsolable loss. A spoken word cannot fully restore joy to a broken heart; however the Word can. And that’s the bottom line message of Christmas! God gave us the most amazing gift: His Son - the Word of God, the Holy Comforter.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but shall have everlasting life.” (John 3:16).

You are not alone this Christmas, dear friend. Juxtaposed to the unexpected grit in life is the gift of God’s grace wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. This year I purposely placed a pearl in the Nativity scene as a metaphoric reminder. When we place our grit into the hands of the Lord, His grace transforms our pain into a pearl.

“Joy to the world!”

Thank you so very much for sharing the JOY of the Season with us this year.

God Bless,
Margaret McSweeny

***

Margaret McSweeney lives with her husband, David and two teenage daughters in the Chicago suburbs. She is the founder and director of Pearl Girls. For more information please visit www.pearlgirls.info. Margaret is fast at work on several fiction manuscripts. Her book Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace was written to help fund the Pearl Girl Charities. She is also the host of weekly radio show, Kitchen Chat. Connect with Margaret on Facebook or Twitter.

God Gave Us Love by Lisa Tawn Bergren and Laura J. Bryant

2011-12-12T14:26:00.000-05:00

InGod Gave Us Love byLisa Tawn Bergren, Little Cub is on a fishing adventure when theinterruptive otters scare the fish away, leading Little Cub to admit that liking the ottersis sometimes hard. Grampa gently reminds Little Cub that spendingtime together and sharing love is far more important than catchingfish. Thus begins Little Cub's lesson about God's great love and thedifferent ways it is displayed in relationships.

God Gave Us Loveis a super-cute book with an important message about God's love andthe love we should have for others. Even as an adult, I could relateto Little Cub's ambivalence towards the otters. The message of unconditional love shines through as Grampa and Little Cub discuss the love thatGod gives us and why He gives it to us. Although the book appearsdurable for children of younger ages, I recommend this book forchildren five or older. Younger children will enjoy the pictures, butI'm not sure if they would understand all of the concepts. My littleone won't be here to test it out for a few more months, but I lookforward to being able to share this story with my child when he orshe arrives.

Click here to read an excerpt from God Gave Us Love or to visit the blog tour.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from WaterBrook Press as part of FIRST WildCard Tours. I was not required to write a positive review. Theopinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this inaccordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255:"Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials inAdvertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: God Gave Us Love

2011-12-12T13:49:00.000-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Lisa T. Bergren

and the book:

God Gave Us Love board book

WaterBrook Press; Brdbk edition (December 20, 2011)

***Special thanks to Laura Tucker, WaterBrook Multnomah Publicity, for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

LISA BERGREN is the best-selling, award-winning author of more than thirty books, with more than two million copies sold. A former publishing executive, she now splits her time working as a freelance editor and writer while parenting three children with her husband, Tim, and dreaming of the family’s next visit to Taos.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

As Little Cub and Grampa Bear’s fishing adventure is interrupted by mischievous otters, the young polar bear begins to question why we must love others… even the seemingly unlovable.

In answering her questions, Grampa Bear gives tender explanations that teach Little Cub about the different kinds of love that is shared between families, friends, and mamas and papas. Grampa explains that all these kinds of love come from God and that it is important to love others because…

“Any time we show love, Little Cub, we’re sharing a bit of his love.”

This sweet tale will warm the hearts of young children as they learn about all the different sorts of love, while the gentle explanations of each provide a valuable opportunity to encourage children to share with others a “God-sized love.” Now in a sturdy format, ideal for the littlest hands at storytime, bedtime, or anytime. Would make a great Christmas gift!

Product Details:

List Price: $6.99
Reading level: Ages 0 and up
Board book: 22 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press; Brdbk edition (December 20, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307730271
ISBN-13: 978-0307730275

Here's an excerpt from the book : God Gave Us You (Board Book). (Click on images to see them larger):

The Chronicles of Zee & Zoey by Deborah Barnes

2011-12-06T06:17:00.000-05:00

Zeeand Zoey. Two completely different cats. One unlikely couple.

Zee,a large male Maine Coon cat, found the love of his life when he metZoey, a spirited Bengal cat. Together they shared their food, theirdays, their humans and even a litter of kittens. As the cats grew,changed and lived, author Deborah Barnes recognized the similaritiesbetween their lives and her own situations. Drawing on Zee, Zoey andtheir companions, the author creates a true story about embracing theextraordinary parts of our so-called ordinary lives.

Igreatly enjoyed reading The Chronicles of Zee &Zoey: A Journey of the Extraordinarily Ordinaryby Deborah Barnes. Obviously, the main audience for this type ofbook is cat lovers. However, I think other pet lovers and generalaudiences would also enjoy this book. I could even see this bookbeing used as bedtime stories for an older child. The book doesinclude stories about the author's other cats and dogs. It is notjust limited to Zee and Zoey, though they are the main stars of thebook.

Barnes'writing style consists of openness mixed with humor. As a fellow catowner and lover, I could relate to the author's experiences. Iliterally laughed out loud at some of the cat antics. There wasdefinitely an underlying message about examining our ordinary daysand deliberately looking for the extraordinary. I don't think itwould have hurt if the author had made this message a littlestronger.

Iabsolutely loved the design of this book. The pictures of the catsenhanced the narrative and helped me to experience it more deeply.Even the non-cat pictures and designs contributed to making the booka very pleasureable reading experience. I recommend TheChronicles of Zee & Zoey toany cat lover!

Click here to visit the virtual blog tour where you can enter the giveaway, learn more about the author, and read an excerpt from The Chronicles of Zee & Zoey by Deborah Barnes.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from the author as part of the virtual blogtour by PumpUpYourBook. I was not required to write a positivereview. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosingthis in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonialsin Advertising."

FIRST WIld Card Tour: There's Just Something About A Boy

2011-11-28T11:13:00.001-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Jenny Lee Sulpizio

Illustrated by

Peg Lozier

and the book:

There's Just Something About a Boy

Isaac Publishing, Inc. (September 23, 2011)

***Special thanks to Jenny Lee Sulpizio for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jenny Lee Sulpizio, M.S. is a wife, business owner, and mother of three residing in Boise, Idaho. She is an active member within her church and community, and enjoys tapping into her creative side whenever she gets the chance. There’s Just Something About a Boy is the second picture book released in a series that also includes Mommy Whispers, an ode to mothers and daughters everywhere.

Visit the author's website.

ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR:

Peg Lozier is an award winning portrait painter and illustrator whose work is known for color, whimsy, and a sense of fun. Raised in Boulder, Colorado, she now lives with a plethora of pets in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Visit the illustrator's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

There’s Just Something about a Boy is a children’s keepsake picture book celebrating the special bond between a mother and her newborn son as she anticipates the love, laughter, and unparalleled adventure that will surely come from raising a little boy.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.95
Paperback: 30 pages
Publisher: Isaac Publishing, Inc. (September 23, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1609200365
ISBN-13: 978-1609200367

AND NOW...THE FIRST PAGES (click illustrations to enlarge):

Recalling the moment, that special day
Your tiny image took my breath away.
A precious baby with nothing to hide,
My sweet, little son nestled inside.
There’s just something about a boy…

I prepared your nursery
since around month five,
Waiting for the day
you’d finally arrive.
Stuffed animals, blankies,
your daddy’s first glove--
They sat in your room,
awaiting your love.
There’s just something
about a boy…

Love on the Line by Deeanne Gist

2011-11-19T12:28:00.001-05:00

GeorgieGail's position as a telephone switchboard operator is enviable. Heremployer, SWT&T, provides an income and a simple cottage for her.Her pleasant life includes independence, community and a lovelygarden designed to attract birds. She's less than thrilled when SWT&Tsends Luke Palmer to be the local troubleman. Not only will he beselling telephone subscriptions and repairing equipment, but he'llalso be looking over her shoulder. Luke, however, is more than heseems. He's a Texas Ranger undercover in search of the notorious andwell-supported outlaw, Frank Comer. Between dealing with Luke,fulfilling her job and denouncing the use of birds in women's hats,Georgie has her hands full. As Luke pursues the outlaw and his group,danger grows and Georgie and Luke realize that more than their jobsare on the line.

Havingread several of Deeanne Gist's prior books, I had some expectationswhen I picked up Love on the Line. As always, Gist showed that she knows how to tell a story withplenty of romance and adventure! Though set in the past, Georgiestruggles with issues that women of today still deal with. Iappreciated Georgie's character growth from a mindset of 'I can doanything a man can do.' to 'Each person has their own strengths andweaknesses, but when put together with another, both are importantand complement each other.' Die-hard feminists might not be toohappy with this mindset, but I subscribe to the idea of working inpartnership rather than competition. I was completely okay with thisbook being less edgy than other books by Gist. There are less sexualovertones and not quite as many deep, dark issues as in Gist's priorbooks.

Overall,Love on the Lineby Deeanne Gist is an entertaining read for inspirational romanceaudiences.

Click here to read an excerpt from Love on the Line.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from Bethany House Publishers as part oftheir blogger review program. I was not required to write a positivereview. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosingthis in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonialsin Advertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: The Story of Your Life

2011-11-14T10:40:00.001-05:00

Today's Wild Card authors are:

Matthew West
and
Angela Thomas

and the book:

The Story of Your Life

Harvest House Publishers (September 1, 2011)

***Special thanks to Karri James of Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Matthew West is a recording artist whose singles have topped the charts and been named Billboard’s Most Played Christian Songs in 2004, 2009, and 2010. “The Motions” also earned a Grammy nomination for Best Gospel Song in 2010. His albums have sold more than 275,000 copies.

Visit the Matthew's website.

Angela Thomas is a sought-after speaker, teacher, and bestselling author of Do You Think I’m Beautiful, My Single Mom Life, Prayers for My Baby Boy, and Prayers for My Baby Girl. She inspires thousands at national conferences, workshops, and through video studies that she filmed and wrote including When Wallflowers Dance.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

When Grammy-nominated recording artist Matthew West started writing his top-selling new album, The Story of Your Life (Sparrow, 2010) he asked fans to submit personal experiences. More than 10,000 tales of hope, perseverance, and redemption poured in. With friend and author Angela Thomas, West presents some of these powerful stories paired with meaningful devotions they inspired.

Wendy gave birth to her daughter in jail. When all seemed hopeless, she found God and her life transformed into something beautiful.

Cory, a married youth pastor, had an affair and his life fell apart. With God’s mercy, he and his wife gathered the broken pieces and started again.

Sheila always struggled with severe insecurity. Now she lives confidently in the purpose God has for her.

This unforgettable devotional journey inspires readers to discover God as the author of their unique lives and to share the power of their story.

Also available this season—a companion DVD of the same title and an interactive standalone guide Experiencing the Story of Your Life, which allows readers to personalize and explore more deeply the messages of God’s hope and redemption in their stories.

Before Grammy-nominated recording artist Matthew West wrote his top-selling new album, The Story of Your Life, he asked fans to submit their faith stories. Thousands of powerful tales of hope and redemption poured in. Now West and author Angela Thomas share these amazing stories and the meaningful devotions they inspired.

MY THOUGHTS:

At times reading The Story of Your Life was easy and sometimes it was not so easy. The short excerpts from stories of people were touching. Many of the stories had to do with some sort of physical, emotional or spiritual brokenness. Both Matthew West and Angela Thomas responded compassionately to the situations. I appreciated that this book is sobering, encouraging and challenging. I recommend to any Christian looking who is looking for a non-fiction book to read.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (September 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736943986
ISBN-13: 978-0736943987

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Who is the Author
of Your Story?

From Lajos …

I grew up in Communist Hungary and escaped in 1987 at age 21. I went to a refugee camp as an atheist who mocked Christians, and 18 months later I came out of it turning my life over to Christ. It was a trying, dramatic, and sometimes traumatic experience. But in the middle of what should have been my most hopeless days and nights, I could not deny the overwhelming feeling that I was not alone and the peace that came along with it.

I went to Canada in 1988. Starting a new life in a new country as a 23-year-old was truly challenging. Without my newly found faith, I probably could not have done it. Now I am following Christ and serving Him by going on mission trips. I want the world to know there is a God, a God who is with us in our darkest moments.

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands (Psalm 19:1).

The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers of rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together (Colossians 1:15-17).

…fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith…(Hebrews 12:2 nasb).

Matthew Responds …

Who is the author of your story? How did you get here? Do you see the world as nothing more than one big coincidence after another? Did the oceans just tell themselves they could go only so far? Did the sun just appear out of nowhere? What about all the billions of stars in the galaxies or the intricate design of a human life? Is there an answer for all these questions?

When your eyes see a majestic snowcapped mountain climbing a mile high in the Rockies, does the experience leave you awestruck and amazed? When you hold a newborn baby in your arms, are you filled with wonder as you touch the tiny hands and toes and ears? When you witness a great big world with billions of people moving in billions of directions, does your heart scream, “This can’t be mere coincidence! This could not be the work of human hands! There’s no way this all just happened!”

Even the English astronomer Sir Fred Hoyle concluded, “The chance that higher life forms might have emerged in this way is comparable with the chance that ‘a tornado sweeping through a junk yard might assemble a Boeing 747 from the materials therein.’ ”

Sadly, more and more people are choosing the former way of thinking. In fact, many studies and polls report that atheism is on the rise both in America and around the world. This really should come as no surprise in a society that places so much emphasis on self-sufficiency. Nike prompted us, “Just Do It.” Burger King invited us, “Have It Your Way.” Apple Computers promised their products would give us “The Power to Be Your Best.”

In our world, all signs point to the notion that you and I are the ones who write the stories of our lives. And so people are choosing to believe there is nothing to believe in. Atheists believe there is no God. And to believe there is no God is to believe we are the authors of our own stories. Yet how can we be the authors of a story we never created? You were not the one who came up with the idea to create you. The decision of whether to believe in God is the foundation that every soul will build its story upon. The story of your life is being written every moment of every day, even as you read this right now. The question you must ask is, who is holding the pen?

In his book The Purpose Driven Life, Rick Warren begins his very first chapter by establishing where we must first look if we are to find a story with true purpose.

You must begin with God, your Creator. You exist only because God wills that you exist. You were made by God and for God—and until you understand that, life will never make sense. It is only in God we discover our origin, our identity, our meaning, our purpose, our significance, and our destiny. Every other path leads to a dead end.

Warren goes on to tell the story of Russian novelist, Andrei Bitov who had a similar experience to our story of Lajos.

Andrei…grew up under an atheistic Communist regime. But God got his attention one dreary day. He recalls, “In my twenty-seventh year, while riding the metro in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) I was overcome with a despair so great that life seemed to stop at once, preempting the future entirely, let alone any meaning. Suddenly, all by itself, a phrase appeared: Without God life makes no sense. Repeating it in astonishment, I rode the phrase up like a moving staircase, got out of the metro and walked into God’s light.”

There it is. Without God life makes no sense. Without God our stories have no meaning, no purpose. We live, we die, and that’s it. Our stories end when we die. Oh, what a sad existence if this is true. I once wrote a lyric in a song called “The World Needs a Savior” that reads, “Atheists, there are no atheists when the plane’s going down and you’re crying out for one more chance.” I wrote that line thinking about the reality that when people face crisis, they reach out for help. When our nation, which fights for separation of church and state, fell victim to the terrorist attacks on 9/11, we came together to pray.

I remember something my mom often did when I was a kid and we were in the car. Anytime she was forced to slam on her brakes or swerve out of the way to avoid an accident, her knee-jerk reaction was to stretch her arm out across whoever was sitting in the front seat, either my brother or me, and shout a prayer: “Jesus, help us!” My mom is a praying woman. She always has been, both in times of triumph and times of crisis. She knows whom she can call upon. She knows the all-knowing and all-powerful God. She knows that God hears us when we call out to Him in a whisper of praise or a cry for help.

Whom do you call out to in times of crisis? Lajos was once convinced God did not exist. But in the middle of his loneliest, most desperate hour, this “atheist who mocked Christians” cried out to Jesus. “I could not deny the overwhelming feeling that I was not alone and the peace that came along with it,” he said as the undeniable presence of our Creator turned this atheist into a believer. Lajos handed over the pen right then and there, choosing to make God the author of his story.

Maybe you are thinking, “This doesn’t apply to me. I believe in God. I’m no atheist.” Well, let me leave you with this one question. Who is really holding the pen? It is possible to believe in God, go to church, tithe, and do all the things Christians do without fully submitting the story of your life to the true “author and finisher” of our faith. It is a daily struggle to determine who holds the pen, but surrendering our stories to the One who “holds all things together” is the only true way for the stories of our lives to be filled with meaning and purpose.

Mercy Come Morning by Lisa Tawn Bergren

2011-11-07T17:33:00.000-05:00

KristaMueller experienced a difficult childhood and opted to suppress herfeelings of loss and abandonment for a happier life far away from herdistant mother. While Krista financially provides first-class nursinghome treatment for her mother, she sees no reason to revisit hermother or the past. When her ex-boyfriend, Dane McConnell, convincesKrista to temporarily return to her dying mother's bedside, Krista isless than thrilled to be near her mother or her first love. Bothevoke feelings long buried and Krista realizes she can no longer runfrom her past. She's not willing to entertain the idea of lovingeither her mother or Dane, but as the days progress and secrets arerevealed, she finds herself drawn to both of them like never before.

WhenI picked up Mercy Come Morningby Lisa Tawn Bergren, I expected a purely fictional book. I waspleasantly surprised to find a good deal of romance interlaced withthe fiction story. The authentic characters and compelling situationscaught my attention from the start. I appreciated the author'scompassionate treatment of Alzheimer's disease. Though I've neverhad to deal with it on a personal level, I know it is a difficultcondition for all involved. The themes about second chances and thebeauty of true healing are also worth noting. I recommend this bookto fans of Christian romance or Christian fiction.

Click here to visit the blog tour and read the first chapter of Mercy Come Morning by Lisa Tawn Bergren.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from the publisher as part of FIRST WildCard Tours. I was not required to write a positive review. Theopinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this inaccordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255:"Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials inAdvertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: Mercy Come Morning

2011-11-07T09:54:00.002-05:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Lisa T. Bergren

and the book:

Mercy Come Morning

WaterBrook Press; Reprint edition (August 16, 2011)

***Special thanks to Laura Tucker of WaterBrook Press for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

There are no second chances. Or are there?

Krista Mueller is in a good place. She’s got a successful career as a professor of history; she’s respected and well-liked; and she lives hundreds of miles from her hometown and the distant mother she could never please. It’s been more than a decade since Alzheimer’s disease first claimed Charlotte Mueller’s mind, but Krista has dutifully kept her mother in a first-class nursing home.

Now Charlotte is dying of heart failure and, surprised by her own emotions, Krista rushes to Taos, New Mexico, to sit at her estranged mother’s side as she slips away. Battling feelings of loss, abandonment, and relief, Krista is also unsettled by her proximity to Dane McConnell, director of the nursing home—and, once upon a time, her first love. Dane’s kind and gentle spirit—and a surprising discovery about her mother—make Krista wonder if she can at last close the distance between her and her mother … and open the part of her heart she thought was lost forever.

“A timeless tale, to be kept every day in the heart as a reminder
that forgiveness is a gift to self.”
—PATRICIA HICKMAN, author of The Pirate Queen

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press; Reprint edition (August 16, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307730107
ISBN-13: 978-0307730107

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

“She’s dying, Krista.”

I took a long, slow breath. “She died a long time ago, Dane.”

He paused, and I could picture him formulating his next words, something that would move me. Why was my relationship with my mother so important to him? I mean, other than the fact that she was a patient in his care. “There’s still time, Kristabelle.”

I sighed. Dane knew that his old nickname for me always got to me. “For what? For long, deep conversations?” I winced at the harsh slice of sarcasm in my tone.

“You never know,” he said quietly. “An aide found something you should see.”

“What?”

“Come. I’ll keep it here in my office until you arrive. Consider it a Christmas present.”

“It’s December ninth.”

“Okay, consider it an early present.”

It was typical of him to hold out a mysterious hook like that. “I don’t know, Dane. The school term isn’t over yet. It’s a hard time to get someone to cover for me.” It wasn’t the whole truth. I had an assistant professor who could handle things on her own. And I could get back for finals. Maybe. Unless Dane wasn’t overstating the facts.

“Krista. She’s dying. Her doctor tells me she has a few weeks, tops. Tell your department chair. He’ll let you go. This is the end.” I stared out my cottage window to the old pines that covered my yard in shadows. The end. The end had always seemed so far away. Too far away. In some ways I wanted an end to my relationship with my mother, the mother who had never loved me as I longed to be loved. When she started disappearing, with her went so many
of my hopes for what could have been. The road to this place had been long and lonely. Except for Dane. He had always been there, had always waited. I owed it to him to show. “I’ll be there on Saturday.”

“I’ll be here. Come and find me.”

“Okay. I teach a Saturday morning class. I can get out of here after lunch and down there by five or six.”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

“Dane, I—”

“Dinner. At seven.”

I slowly let my mouth close and paused. I was in no mood to argue with him now. “I’ll meet you at Cimarron,” I said.
“Great. It will be good to see you, Kristabelle.” I closed my eyes, imagining him in his office at Cimarron Care Center. Brushing his too-long hair out of his eyes as he looked through his own window.

“It will be good to see you, too, Dane. Good-bye.”

He hung up then without another word, and it left me feeling slightly bereft. I hung on to the telephone receiver as if I could catch one more word, one more breath, one more connection with the man who had stolen my heart at sixteen.

Dane McConnell remained on my mind as I wrapped up things at the college, prepped my assistant, Alissa, to handle my history classes for the following week, and then drove the scenic route down to Taos from Colorado Springs, about a five-hour trip. My old Honda Prelude hugged the roads along the magnificent San Luis Valley. The valley’s shoulders were still covered in late spring snow, her belly carpeted in a rich, verdant green. It was here that in 1862 Maggie O’Neil single-handedly led a wagon train to settle a town in western Colorado, and nearby Cecilia Gaines went so
crazy one winter they named a waterway in her honor—“Woman Hollering Creek.”

I drove too fast but liked the way the speed made my scalp tingle when I rounded a corner and dipped, sending my stomach flying. Dane had never driven too fast. He was methodical in everything he did, quietly moving ever forward. He had done much in his years since grad school, establishing Cimarron and making it a national think tank for those involved in gerontology. After high school we had essentially ceased communication for years before Cimarron came about. Then when Mother finally got to the point in her descent into Alzheimer’s that she needed fulltime institutionalized care, I gave him a call. I hadn’t been able to find a facility that I was satisfied with for more than a year, when a college friend had shown me the magazine article on the opening of Cimarron and its patron saint, Dane McConnell.

“Good looking and nice to old people,” she had moaned. “Why can’t I meet a guy like that?”

“I know him,” I said, staring at the black-and-white photograph.

“Get out.”

“I do. Or did. We used to be…together.”

“What happened?” she asked, her eyes dripping disbelief.

“I’m not sure.”

I still wasn’t sure. Things between us had simply faded over the years. But when I saw him again, it all seemed to come back. Or at least a part of what we had once had. There always seemed to be a submerged wall between us, something we couldn’t quite bridge or blast through. So we had simply gone swimming toward different shores.

Mother’s care had brought us back together over the last five years. With the congestive heart failure that was taking her body, I supposed the link between us would finally be severed. I would retreat to Colorado, and he would remain in our beloved Taos, the place of our youth, of our beginnings, of our hearts. And any lingering dream of living happily ever after with Dane McConnell could be buried forever with my unhappy memories of Mother.

I loosened my hands on the wheel, realizing that I was gripping

it so hard my knuckles were white. I glanced in the rearview mirror, knowing that my reverie was distracting me from paying attention to the road. It was just that Dane was a hard man to get over. His unique ancestry had gifted him with the looks of a Scottish Highlander and the sultry, earthy ways of the Taos Indians. A curious, inspiring mix that left him with both a leader’s stance and a wise man’s knowing eyes. Grounded but visionary. A driving force, yet empathetic at the same time. His employees loved working for him. Women routinely fell in love with him.

I didn’t know why I could never get my act together so we could finally fall in love and stay in love. He’d certainly done his part. For some reason I’d always sensed that Dane was waiting for me, of all people. Why messed-up, confused me? Yet there he was. I’d found my reluctance easy to blame on my mother. She didn’t love me as a mother should, yada-yada, but I’d had enough time with my counselor to know that there are reasons beyond her. Reasons that circle back to myself.

I’d always felt as if I was chasing after parental love, but the longer I chased it, the further it receded from my reach. It left a hole in my heart that I was hard-pressed to fill. God had come close to doing the job. Close. But there was still something there, another blockade I had yet to blast away. I would probably be working on my “issues” my whole life. But as my friend Michaela says, “Everyone’s got issues.” Supposedly I need to embrace them. I just want them to go away.

“Yeah,” I muttered. Dane McConnell was better off without me. Who needed a woman still foundering in her past?

I had to focus on Mother. If this was indeed the end, I needed to wrap things up with her. Find closure. Some measure of peace. Even if she couldn’t say the words I longed to hear.

I love you, Krista.

Why was it that she had never been able to force those four words from her lips?

Excerpted from Mercy Come Morning by Lisa Tawn Bergren Copyright © 2011 by Lisa Tawn Bergren. Excerpted by permission of WaterBrook Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

A Necessary Deception by Laurie Alice Eakes

2011-10-22T19:20:00.002-04:00

Tryingto atone for her mistakes as a wife, Lady Lydia Gale helps Christiande Meuse, a French prisoner and friend of her late husband, obtainparole. Having done her good deed, she expects never to see himagain. With one sister debuting in London society and one sisterclose to marriage, Lydia's days are full with preparations for theevents. However, when a mysterious stranger blackmails her andChristian reappears, Lydia struggles to keep her sanity. Will herpreoccupation with Christian ruin her family? Or might he be able tohelp her connect the clues about the blackmailer?

A Necessary Deceptionby Laurie Alice Eakes is the first of the Daughters of BainbridgeHouse series. I definitely see potential for future stories thatfocus on Lydia's younger sisters. I loved all the plot twists inthis story. The suspense kept the plot moving and I was unsure of theblackmailer's identity until almost the end. The one character thatseemed out of place was Barbara. Although she accompanied Lydiaoccasionally for the sake of Lydia's reputation, Barbara seemed flatand unnecessary as there were plenty of times that Lydia went outalone or unaccompanied while spending time with Christian. Overall, Ienjoyed this book and will probably read it again in a few years. Irecommend A Necessary Deception tofans of historical Christian romances.

AvailableOctober 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division ofBaker Publishing Group.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from Revell Publishers. I was not requiredto write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own.I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal TradeCommission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use ofEndorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

A Dime A Dozen by Mindy Starns Clark

2011-10-19T18:36:00.000-04:00

CallieWebber has an eye for detail that helps her as she investigatesnon-profit agencies applying for grants. As Callie travels to theSmoky Mountains to investigate MORE, the non-profit agency run by theparents of her late husband, she is hesitant to confront painfulmemories, but expects to be able to award a million-dollar grant toMORE. Strangely, the memories are less painful than expected, butawarding the grant is not so easy. A fatal stabbing, an arson fire,and the search for a missing migrant worker complicate the situation.As Callie investigates MORE and the crime in the area, she findsherself in danger. Will she be able to finish her investigation andaward the grant prior the upcoming vacation with her boyfriend? Moreimportantly, will she make it though this investigation alive?

A Dime A Dozenis the third book in the Million Dollar Mysteries series by MindyStarns Clark. Like the other books of the series, it featuresinvestigator Callie Webber. The book is fine as a stand-alone andgives the reader sufficient background information, but I think it isprobably more enjoyable when read in conjunction with the rest of theseries.

Ipersonally don't think this should be classified as a fictionalromance. Though Callie has a romantic interest, there is not a lot ofromantic interaction between them. The mystery element of the storywas great. I had a hint about who was behind the murders, but didn'tknow the why or how until the climax of the story. Although mysteryand suspense, usually go hand-in-hand, I thought the suspense levelwas a little lacking. In my opinion, the plot moved a little slow andthe suspense just never heightened for me like it should have. I alsothought it was slightly unbelievable that the government agencieswould hand over sensitive information so easily to a privateinvestigator.

Click here to visit the blog tour and read an excerpt from A Dime A Dozen by Mindy Starns Clark.

First Wild Card Tour: A Dime A Dozen

2011-10-19T02:00:00.000-04:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Mindy Starns Clark

and the book:

A Dime a Dozen

Harvest House Publishers; Reprint edition (October 1, 2011)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mindy Starns Clark is the author of many books (more than 450,000 copies sold), which include A Pocket Guide to Amish Life, Shadows of Lancaster County, Whispers of the Bayou, and The Amish Midwife. In addition, Mindy is a popular inspirational speaker and playwright.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Fast-paced and inspirational, The Million Dollar Mystery series is from bestselling author Mindy Starns Clark.

Attorney Callie Webber investigates nonprofit organizations for the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation and awards the best of them grants up to a million dollars. In this series, Callie comes across a mystery she must solve using her skills as a former private investigator. A young widow, Callie finds strength in her faith in God and joy in her relationship with her employer, Tom.

---

In book number three of The Million Dollar Mystery series, Callie suddenly finds herself involved in the life of a young wife and mother whose husband has disappeared…possibly the victim of foul play.

Callie has come to the beautiful Smoky Mountains hoping to award a million-dollar grant to the charity set up in the woman’s late husband’s honor. But in the search for a missing migrant worker, a body is discovered, which puts the grant on hold and her new romance with her mysterious boss in peril. Trusting in God, Callie forges steadily ahead through a mire of clues that lead her deeper and deeper into danger.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers; Reprint edition (October 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736929584
ISBN-13: 978-0736929585

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

I’d never been part of a sting before. Sure, I’d blown the whistle on some defrauders in the past, and I had seen more than one person arrested because of felonious deeds I had brought to light. But this time was different. This time the crime was still in the process of being committed. Worse than that, most of the people at this party were involved.

I stood near French doors that led to the patio, holding a soda in my hand and looking out through the glass at the pool sparkling in the cool March afternoon. Behind the pool was a small lawn dotted here and there with ornamental groupings of shrubbery and plants, all surrounded by a high, thick hedge. I knew that a team of cops was on the other side of that hedge, ready to enter from every direction as soon as I gave the signal.

“Callie, would you like a hamburger? Maybe a hot dog?”

My hostess appeared in front of me bearing a platter of raw meat shaped into patties, and I assumed she was on her way back outside to the grill. My eyes focused on the marbled beef, and then at her expectant face. She was the very picture of charm and hospitality. Oh, and theft.

“No, thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Her hands were full, so I opened the door to let her out. Music poured into the house, compliments of large speakers mounted under the eaves.

“You should come too,” she urged loudly as she handed the platter off to her husband, Skipper. “It’s a gorgeous day.”

“In a while, perhaps,” I said as I let the door fall shut between us. She turned her attention to a group of guests near the pool, and as she worked the crowd I thought, You don’t want me to go outside, Winnie. The last thing you want me to do is go outside.

I glanced at my watch, wondering how much longer this would take. The police had instructed me to wait until all of the elements had fallen into place, and so far that hadn’t happened. The tension was getting to me, so I set my glass on a nearby countertop and made my way through the small crowd in the kitchen to the upstairs bathroom. I needed to be alone, to catch my breath, to make a call.

Once I was locked inside, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number of the police captain. He knew it was me and that I couldn’t say much on my end for fear of being overheard.

“Looks like things are moving along as expected,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Have they brought out the hamburgers yet?”

“Oh, yes. Everything’s in full swing.”

He chuckled into the phone.

“I hope they’re enjoying it while they can,” he said.

“They seem to be.”

“We’re all set on our end. Soon as the guy shows up, we’ll text you.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“You found the garage?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Empty?”

“Except for the boxes in the freezer.”

“Perfect. Simply perfect. Hang in there, kid. We’re on the homestretch.”

I hung up the phone and slid it into my pocket, wondering if all would go off as planned. There were so many elements coming into play here, and it was important that they close in at the moment when we could nab the greatest number of guilty parties. I shook my head, marveling at the situation I now found myself in. This wasn’t how I usually spent my Saturday afternoons!

As the Director of Research for the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation, my job was to investigate charitable organizations in order to verify their suitability for a grant. I had come here to get a closer look at Dinner Time, a food bank and soup kitchen for the homeless in a suburb of San Francisco. I had gone “undercover” by posing as a volunteer to get a good look at the organization from the inside. Almost immediately, however, I realized there was something stinky in the sauce. Dinner Time may have been providing food to the homeless, but it was also providing a handy second income to its founders and many of its employees by way of food donations that were ending up in places other than on Dinner Time’s tables.

Even this party was an appalling, blatant display of theft, and, according to my source, they had similar such events every few months. From the chips and hamburgers to the condiments, most of the food being consumed here today had actually been donated to the charity, intended for the poor. Instead, our hosts had simply loaded many of the boxes into their cars and driven the food home for this impromptu party. Any minute now a local food supplier would show up and collect his share of the take, which was waiting for him in the garage. Unbeknownst to any of them, however, much of the donated food this time was marked, from the codes printed on the bottom of the mustard bottles to the labels on the frozen steaks in the freezer.

A knock on the bathroom door startled me from my thoughts.

“Just a minute,” I called, and then I washed my hands in the sink and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My own image still surprised me sometimes. Four months ago I had gone from having long hair to short, from wearing my hair in a tight chignon at the back of my neck to having just enough length to frame my face and touch at my collar. I liked the new look, both because of the years it seemed to take from my features and the way it worked with my usual attire of suits and dresses. I’d spent this week in more casual clothes, however, and today was no exception. I had on jeans and a lightly knit tan shirt, and I felt I looked the part I was playing—that of a woman interested in some simple volunteer work at the local soup kitchen. Little did they know that I was something much more threatening: an investigator with a mission to ferret out the bad guys in the nonprofit world and bring them all to justice!

I opened the bathroom door and found a familiar face waiting to get in, an employee of Dinner Time named Clement Jackson.

“Oh, hey, Callie,” he said, “I didn’t realize that was you in there.”

“No problem.”

I moved out of the way so that he could pass me and go into the bathroom. As he closed the door behind him, I made my way back downstairs to the kitchen.

Clement was such a dear man, a tireless worker who served full time at the food bank for a salary so low I didn’t know how he managed to make ends meet. He wasn’t aware that I knew his salary rate or anything about him beyond facts he had mentioned to me in casual conversation. He had told me about his lovely wife of 36 years, his five grown children, his eight grandchildren. But the scope of my investigation had included all of the employees and volunteers of Dinner Time, so I also knew his address, his work record, and much more. In the end, he had turned out to be one of only three people connected to the center who apparently weren’t involved in the theft of the food.

I was so glad, because it confirmed what I had felt to be true about him all week, that he was a wonderful person with a true heart for charity. His personal side mission was to collect and distribute free used books to all of the children who came to the food bank and, whenever he had time, to sit and read to them and encourage them to read more for themselves.

“Reading can get you through some mighty tough spots,” I had heard him say more than once this week. “Even if your feet can’t always go somewhere else, your mind sure can.” Poor Clement was going to be stunned when this sting came together, for he believed most people were motivated by the same altruism and good faith he himself possessed.

“Callie, can I get you something to drink?”

This time, Winnie’s husband, Skipper, was playing the host, walking toward me with a newly filled ice bucket.

“No, thanks,” I replied. “My drink’s right over here.”

As if to prove it, I walked to the spot where I had left my soda, picked it up, and swirled the liquid. Skipper’s very presence made me so nervous I didn’t dare speak for fear I would begin to babble. Unfortunately, he persisted.

“How about a little ice then,” he said, using the tongs to load up my drink with ice. Holding my tongue, I watched as he clunked square cubes into the glass I was holding in front of me.

“So what do you think of our weather here in California?” he asked. “Winnie said you just recently moved here, right?”

Actually, I hadn’t told her that. What I had said was that I had never lived in California before, implying, I guess, that I lived here now. It was the kind of half-truth that going undercover necessitated and the very reason I hated playing a role. As a Christian, lying was hard for me to rationalize, even when the ends seemed to justify the means.

“It’s certainly a beautiful day today!” I said, glancing toward the window. I was desperately trying to think of some other sort of socially acceptable patter when I was saved by the bell—or the ring, to be exact, because Skipper’s cell phone began ringing from his hip pocket.

With a smile, he thrust the ice bucket at me, extricated the phone, and turned it on.

“Skipper here,” he said amiably, winking at me as he did so.

Clutching the ice in front of me, I took a step back, wondering if I could seize the moment and get away before his conversation was finished. Unfortunately, it seemed to last all of about 15 seconds. He said, “Yep. Okay. See ya,” and then hung up the phone.

“You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Callie?” he asked smoothly, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

“Of course.”

I held the ice bucket toward him, but he didn’t take it.

“Um, could you bring that ice out to Winnie?” he asked. “I need to get something from the garage.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked down the hall. I stood there for a moment, knowing I couldn’t do as he had requested without taking a step outside myself. Instead, I passed the bucket off to someone else who was heading that way. As the door fell shut behind him, I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I moved away from the crowd and went into the empty dining room. Holding my breath, I whipped out my phone, pushed the button, and looked at the screen. As expected, it was a text from the captain: Our guy just turned into the driveway. Give it about two minutes and then take a peek in the garage.

Okay, I texted back.

I then pocketed my phone, glanced at my watch, and waited, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. For an absurd moment, I wondered if there was any hidden firepower here, if perhaps Skipper and Winnie kept a Colt .45 tucked in the nearest flowerpot or something. Just because their crimes of theft were of a nonviolent nature didn’t mean they didn’t know how to defend themselves when push came to shove. As it was about to.

At one minute, forty-three seconds, I heard my name called from the other room. I looked through the doorway to see Clement just coming down the stairs on the other side of the kitchen. Clement, who could be in the line of fire if things went down in a nasty way. Clement, who was heading toward me with a genial smile, eager to start a chat just when it was time for me to move.

“I need a favor!” I said urgently, walking forward to meet him. “I can’t find my contact lens. I’m afraid it came out in the bathroom. Do you think you could go back up and look for me? Check all over the floor, the sink, you know.”

“Well, I’ll try, Callie,” he said, nodding his head, the tightly curled gray hair a sharp contrast to his brown skin. “But my eyesight’s not so good myself. Come up and we’ll look for it together.”

I glanced at my watch. Two and a half minutes.

“You go on up,” I said. “I’ll be there in just a bit.”

“Okay.”

“And, listen, if you can’t find it, at least stay there and guard the door until I get there. I don’t want someone else stepping on it and breaking it.”

“All right.”

He dutifully trudged back up the stairs as I slipped from the kitchen, walking toward the long side hall Skipper had gone down less than three minutes before. I reached the door of the garage at the end, put my hand on the knob, and turned it.

The door swung open to reveal Skipper and another man lifting boxes into the open trunk of a black Cadillac. Both men looked up to see me, their faces about as guilty as two boys caught dipping their fingers in the peanut butter.

In a way, that’s exactly what they were doing.

The men recovered quickly. Both put the boxes into the trunk, but the man I didn’t know turned and stepped away where I couldn’t see his face. Skipper, on the other hand, took a step toward me, putting on a wide, fake smile.

“Can I help you, Callie?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was looking for some more soda. Maybe root beer?”

“There’s nothing like that out here,” he replied. “Try the pantry, off the kitchen.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, returning his fake smile before stepping back out of the garage and pulling the door shut.

I turned on my heel and walked up the hall with my heartbeat pounding loudly in my head. Despite the chatter and confusion around me, I made straight for the French doors, opened them, and stepped outside. This was my signal to the police who were in hiding on the other side of the hedge, watching the party, waiting to pounce. Once on the patio, I simply kept walking through the loud music, heading around the pool and toward the backyard.

“Callie, can I help you with something?” I heard Winnie call after me.

Suddenly, before I could reply, there were shouts and screams and the sight of at least 20 police officers descending on the partygoers on the patio. I heard the words “freeze” and “raid” and “you have the right to remain silent.” Once I finally turned around and looked at the scene, all I could do was pray that Clement was safe, that the cops had apprehended the men in the garage before anyone could do anything stupid.

I waited at the back of the yard until I saw the captain come to the kitchen door and give the “all clear” signal to the cops outside. Breathing a great big sigh of relief, I headed toward the house, allowing myself to be herded into the corner of the patio where they were sorting everyone out. Counting heads, I realized they had managed to nab almost every single person who was on the list of those who had either stolen food or accepted food they knew was stolen. The cops didn’t single me out but merely pointed me in the direction of the innocent parties, the few standing near the garden shed who hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on.

Eventually, Clement was sent out from the house to join us. I gave him a big hug, certainly much bigger than our seemingly casual acquaintance would allow. Obviously shaken, he hugged me back even tighter.

When the police told us we were free to leave, I stuck with Clement, offering to take him home. In somewhat of a daze, he accepted that offer. Sitting in the passenger seat of my rental car, he stared blankly ahead as I drove toward his house and gently tried to explain all that he had just seen.

By the time we reached his house, he was still quite shaken. He invited me inside and I accepted, eager to see him safely delivered into the arms of his wife.

She wasn’t home, however, so I insisted that he call one of his children, perhaps Trey, since I knew he lived right down the street and could be here in a matter of minutes. While we waited, I heated some water on the stove for tea and essentially made myself at home in the kitchen. The house was small but tidy, and everything was easy to find in the neatly organized cabinets. As the water began to bubble on the stove, Clement took a seat at the table, silent, his expression blank. As I was setting his tea in front of him, Trey burst through the door, concern evident on his face.

“Pop?”

Short but muscular, with his father’s coffee-colored skin and deep brown eyes, Trey was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, both of which were covered with spatters of blue.

“We were painting the baby’s room,” he added, sounding breathless, looking from me to his father. “What’s going on?”

Clement didn’t answer, so I introduced myself and tried to explain the situation as best I could. The place where Clement worked, I said, had been busted for fraud and theft. Clement was in the clear, but he had been fairly traumatized by the whole event.

“And who are you, exactly?” Trey asked, looking at me as if this were all my fault. In a way, it was.

“My name is Callie Webber,” I said, carrying over two more cups of tea and taking a seat at the table. “I’m a private investigator.”

Clement turned toward me, his face suddenly registering disbelief rather than shock.

“You’re a what? ” he asked.

“A private investigator.”

“Since when?”

“Since I was old enough to get certified in the state of Virginia,” I said. “I’m also a lawyer. I work for the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation out of Washington, DC.”

Clement shook his head, as if to shake off the confusion. Before he could launch into more questions, I continued.

“I live in Maryland now,” I explained, “and I just came to California to investigate Dinner Time on behalf of my employer. Dinner Time had requested a grant, and it’s my job to verify eligibility.”

“You don’t even live here?” Clement asked me, still incredulous. “You mean you’ve been pretending all week?”

“I’m sorry, Clement,” I said. “Sometimes that’s the only way I can really see what’s going on.”

Trey slid into the seat across from me, ignoring the tea I had put there for him.

“So what happened today?” he asked. “I’m still confused.”

“In the course of the investigation of Dinner Time, I uncovered fraud, theft, tax evasion, distribution of stolen property, you name it. I took that information to the police, only to learn that they already knew about it and that they were very close to making some arrests. We worked together on a sting operation, and today we caught most of the guilty parties red-handed.”

“I can’t believe they were stealing food,” Clement said, shaking his head sadly.

“I always told you there was something slick about that Skipper person,” Trey said to his father. “‘Skipper and Winnie,’ good grief. Sounds like a pair of Barbie dolls.”

“Will Dinner Time have to close down?” Clement asked.

“Probably,” I answered. “Even if someone were to try to keep the place up and running, I doubt it would be able to stay open for very long. Between the bad publicity and the incarcerated principals, I think it’ll soon fold. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Clement said. “I’m sorry I was so blind, so stupid.”

Trey put a reassuring hand on his father’s arm.

“C’mon, Pop,” he said. “You couldn’t know. You were just doing your job.”

“Oh, yeah, my job,” Clement said. “Guess I’m out of a job now.”

“We’ll find you something,” Trey said. “Maybe Tanisha can get you on over at the grocery store.”

“I liked working at a nonprofit,” Clement said, shaking his head. “I liked feeling that my efforts were making just a little difference in the world.”

I reached into my pocket, grasping the familiar square of paper there. I pulled it out and set it on the table in front of me, still folded in half.

“I’d like to talk to you about that,” I said. “And I’m glad Trey is here, because this would involve him too.”

Both men looked at me, their faces somber.

“In the course of my investigation,” I continued, “I had to check into everybody’s background. Including yours, Clement. Your life story paints a picture of a good man, a steady reliable worker who knows the value of a dollar.”

“That’s my dad,” Trey said suspiciously. “But what are you getting at?”

“Well, I’ve watched you this week reading to the children down at the food bank, Clement. I’ve heard you talk about the benefits of reading, of being read to. I want you to think about starting a charity of your own. Something that lets you go around and give away books and have regular reading times with homeless children.”

“Like a bookmobile?” Clement asked.

“Perhaps,” I said. “Or maybe you could get some space in the recreation center or a homeless shelter or another food bank. Somewhere that you could set up a little reading corner filled with books and beanbag chairs and stuffed animals. It’s not hard to get people to donate children’s books to a charity. You could provide reading times, give the books to the children who seem to want them, encourage their parents to read with them…”

I let my voice trail off, seeing that a spark was lighting up behind Clement’s eyes.

“What do I have to do with this?” Trey asked.

“Your father told me that you’re an accountant,” I said. “Maybe you can help him get started and then keep the books for him.”

“Well, yeah, I could do that.”

“And I understand your sister is a graphic artist? Maybe she could put together some brochures and promotional materials. You’d be surprised how many resources are available, usually right at your own fingertips.”

I looked at Trey and then at Clement, surprised to see the fire quickly fading from the older man’s eyes.

“As good as our intentions may be,” he said, shaking his head, “There’s one thing standing in the way. I can’t afford it.”

I smiled, fingering the square of paper in front of me.

“Well, then let me take it a step further,” I said. “My job allows me a certain amount of leeway with small monetary grants. What would you think if I gave you a check to get started? You could get yourself incorporated as a nonprofit, file for federal tax exemption, and cover your basic start-up costs. Once you’ve got that tax exemption, I would encourage you to fill out a grant application from the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation for a much larger amount of money. We believe strongly in what you could accomplish, Clement, and we would like to have some small part in furthering your efforts.”

I sat back, thinking that in the two and a half years I had worked for the foundation, this was the first time I had to talk someone into taking our money!

“Still, I don’t see how it would work,” Trey said. “He’d need at least a thousand dollars just to get set up.”

“How does five thousand sound?” I asked, unfolding the check and handing it to them. It was already made out to Clement Jackson, who picked it up and studied it as if it were a ticket to somewhere important. “And, like I said, once you’ve got that tax exemption and your policies and procedures in place, you can apply to us for more. I have a feeling we’ll be very generous as long as you can show you’ve got a good business plan.”

The two men looked at each other and grinned, and not for the first time I wished my boss, Tom, the philanthropist behind all J.O.S.H.U.A. grants, could be here to witness their joy. Tom was half a world away right now, and though later I would recount this entire scene for him over the phone, it still made me sad that he wasn’t here experiencing it for himself.

Then again, he never was. Tom always donated anonymously through the foundation and then enjoyed the moment of presentation vicariously through me. I was happy to recreate every word, every detail, but I had never understood why he chose to remain so removed from the whole process.

Of course, he and I talked frequently during every investigation, and in fact it was the time we spent on the phone that had allowed us to become friends and then eventually something much more than friends. Four months ago, after several years of a phone-only relationship, Tom and I had finally been able to meet face-to-face.

At the time, he had been out of the country for his work, but he had surprised me by flying back to the States and showing up at my home. We had spent exactly 12 hours together—12 amazing hours that I had relived again and again in my memories ever since—and then he had to leave, returning to Singapore and the urgent business that awaited him.

Now, four months later, Tom was still in Singapore, though his business there was quickly drawing to a close and soon he would be coming home for good. His home was in California and mine was in Maryland, but our plan was to meet somewhere between the two in exactly seven days at some quiet place where we would finally, finally be able to spend some real quality time together—time getting to know each other even better, time exploring the possibilities of a relationship that had gone from friendship to something much more in the space of one 12-hour visit. I was already counting the minutes until we could be together again, knowing that once he returned, a new chapter in my life would begin in earnest. Tom was handling the logistics of our reunion, and my primary concern was to wrap up my next investigation by the following Sunday, because I didn’t want work or anything else to detract from the time we were going to spend together.

Clement spoke, snapping me out of my thoughts and back to the moment at hand.

“I’ve been praying for something like this for quite a while,” he was saying, looking at his son, and I realized there were tears in his eyes. “For so long,” he repeated, blinking. “I didn’t think the Lord was hearing me. But He was. Because He sent me an angel.”

I held up one hand to stop him, emotion surging in my heart as well.

“Now, don’t—”

“I’m not kidding, girl. You are an angel. A very generous angel.”

“So you’ll take the money and start your own charity?” I asked.

“Oh, thank You, Lord,” he said, grinning up toward the ceiling. Then he looked back at me. “Yes, Callie. Yes. Most definitely yes.”

A Heart Revealed by Julie Lessman

2011-10-16T20:26:00.000-04:00

Despitethe fact that Emma Malloy's husband is an abusive drunk who lives inanother country, she is determined to remain faithful to her marriagevows and live a life pleasing to God. In the years since she leftDublin, the pain of her past has faded and she has experienced thefulfillment of becoming who God wants her to be. When her bestfriend's brother, Sean O'Connor, begins working under Emma'smanagement, camraderie and attraction threaten her resolve to remainunattached to any man. Will God use these feelings to open her heartto something more? Or is any relationship with Sean O'Connor doomedto fail?

JulieLessman could not have chosen a more appropriate title for this storythan A Heart Revealed.Lessman's writing was excellent and I loved how she weaved thestories of so many different characters together to create abeautiful story. Inside the authentic characters and engaging plot, astirring theme reminiscient of Isaiah 61 is embedded. As the storyprogresses we see mending of the brokenhearted, freedom for thosebound by the past, comfort for those who mourn, the exchange ofbeauty for ashes, joy in place of mourning, and the garment of praisesubstituted for the spirit of heaviness.

Asthe second book in the Winds of Change series, AHeart Revealed hadplenty of background information and I didn't feel that I was missinganything vital. The few unexplained tidbits were actually aneffective teaser that made me want to read the other books. Personally, I loved the story, but I want to give fair warning: thereare some spicy (but not erotic) romance scenes and the characterssubscribe to Catholicism. A Heart Revealed wasnot only entertaining, but also uplifting. I recommend it to all fansof Christian romance.

Click here to read an excerpt from A Heart Revealed by Julie Lessman.

AvailableSeptember 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division ofBaker Publishing Group.

Maggie's Journey by Lena Nelson Dooley

2011-10-07T18:18:00.000-04:00

MaggieCaine thought she knew who she was and where she came from. But afterdiscovering that she was secretly adopted shortly after birth, shefeels betrayed by her parents. Desiring to escape the tension andturmoil in her home and her heart, she requests to visit hergrandmother in Arkansas. Maggie's father agrees to her petitionwith the stipulation that her Aunt Georgia and Charles Stanton, herfather's young business partner, accompany her. Almost immediatelyCharles is taken with Georgia and Maggie feels out of place. But asMaggie's trip progresses and truths are revealed, Charles takes moreof an interest in Maggie. However, Maggie must first discover who sheis and what truly matters to her.

Maggie's Journeyby Lena Nelson Dooley was a pleasant surprise to me. I'm not surewhat I expected, but I got a book that is worthy of keeping. Maggie's Journeytackles the difficult issue of the natural desire that a person hasto know his or her birth parent. Many readers, including myself, willbe able to relate to this issue. The characters and plot were verywell written. By integrating romance into the fictional plot, Dooleycreates a novel that will entertain and touch the heart. I recommendto fans of Christian fiction.

Click here to visit the blog tour or read an excerpt from Maggie's Journey by Lena Nelson Dooley.

FIRST Wild Card Tour: Maggie's Journey

2011-10-07T15:00:00.000-04:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Lena Nelson Dooley

and the book:

Maggie’s Journey

Realms (October 4, 2011)

***Special thanks to Kim Jones | Publicity Coordinator, Charisma House | Charisma Media for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Lena Nelson Dooley is an award-winning author with more than 650,000 books in print. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers—where she received the Mentor of the Year award in 2006—DFW Ready Writers, and Christian Authors Network. She lives in Hurst, Texas, with her husband of over 45 years.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

A girl who’s been lied to her whole life…

On her eighteenth birthday, Margaret Lenora Caine finds a chest hidden in the attic containing proof that she was adopted. The daughter of wealthy merchants in Seattle, she feels betrayed both by her real parents and by the ones who raised her.

Maggie longs for a place where she belongs. But her mother’s constant criticism and reminders that she doesn’t fit the mold of a young woman of their social standing have already created tension in their home. With the discovery of the family secret, all sense of her identity is lost.

When Maggie asks to visit her grandmother in Arkansas, her father agrees on the condition that she take her Aunt Georgia as a chaperone and his young partner, Charles Stanton, as protection on the journey. Will she discover who she really is and, more importantly, what truly matters most in life?

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: Realms (October 4, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1616383585
ISBN-13: 978-1616383589
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

September 1885

Seattle, Washington Territory

Margaret Lenora Caine sat in the library of their mansion on Beacon Hill. Because of the view of Puget Sound, which she loved, she had the brocade draperies pulled back to let the early September sunshine bathe the room with warmth. Basking in the bright light, Maggie concentrated on the sketch pad balanced on her lap. After leaning back to get the full effect of the drawing, she reached a finger to smudge the shadows between the folds of the skirt. With a neckline that revealed the shoulders, but still maintained complete modesty, this dress was her best design so far, one she planned to have Mrs. Murdock create in that dreamy, shimmery green material that came in the last shipment from China. Maggie knew silk was usually a summer fabric, but with it woven into a heavier brocade satin, it would be just right for her eighteenth birthday party. And with a few changes to the design, she could have another dress created as well.

Once again she leaned forward and drew a furbelow around the hem, shading it carefully to show depth. The added weight of the extra fabric would help the skirt maintain its shape, providing a pleasing silhouette at any ball. She pictured herself wearing the beautiful green dress, whirling in the arms of her partner, whoever he was. Maybe someone like Charles Stanton, since she’d admired him for several years, and he was so handsome.
“Margaret, what are you doing?”

The harsh question broke Maggie’s concentration. The charcoal in her hand slipped, slashing an ugly smear across the sketch. She glanced at her mother standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her bosom. Maggie heaved a sigh loud enough to reach the entrance, and her mother’s eyebrows arched so quickly Maggie wanted to laugh . . . almost, but she didn’t dare add to whatever was bothering Mother now. Her stomach began to churn, a thoroughly uncomfortable sensation. Lately, everything she did put Mother in a bad mood. She searched her mind for whatever could have set her off this time. She came up with nothing, so she pasted a smile across her face.

“I’m sketching.” She tried for a firm tone but wasn’t sure it came across that way.
“You don’t have time for that right now.” Florence Caine hurried across the Persian wool carpet and stared down at her. “We have too much to do before your party.”

Of course her mother was right, but Maggie thought she could take a few minutes to get the new design on paper while it was fresh in her mind. She glanced toward the mantel clock. Oh, no. Her few minutes had turned into over two hours. She’d lost herself in drawing designs again. No wonder Mother was exasperated. She jumped up from the burgundy wing-back chair. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m sorry, Mother.”
Florence Caine took the sketch pad from her hand and studied the drawing with a critical eye. “That’s a different design.”

Maggie couldn’t tell if she liked the dress or not, but it didn’t matter. Designing was in Maggie’s blood. Her grandmother was a dressmaker who came up with her own designs instead of using those in Godey’s Lady’s Book or Harper’s Bazar. And, according to Mother’s sister, she never even looked at a Butterick pattern. Aunt Georgia had told her often enough about all the society women who wouldn’t let anyone but Agatha Carter make their clothing. They

knew they wouldn’t be meeting anyone else wearing the exact same thing when they attended social events in Little Rock, Arkansas. Not for the first time, Maggie wished she could talk to her grandmother at least once.
With the news about people being able to converse across long distances with something called the telephone, someday she might talk to her that way. But Maggie wanted a face-to-face meeting. Knowing another dress designer would keep her from feeling like such a misfit. Mother kept reminding her that she didn’t really fit the mold of a young woman of their social standing in Seattle. At least, Daddy let her do what she wanted to. She didn’t know what she’d do without him to offset Mother’s insistence, which was becoming more and more harsh.

According to Aunt Georgia, the business Grandmother Carter started was still going strong, even though her grandmother had to be over sixty years old. Maggie planned to go visit her relatives in Arkansas, so she could tour the company. She hoped her journey would happen before she was too late to actually meet Agatha Carter. Her deepest desire was to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps, since she had inherited her talents.

The sound of ripping tore through her thoughts. Aghast, she turned to catch her mother decimating her sketch. She lunged toward the paper, trying to save it, but Mother held the sketch just out of her reach.

“What are you doing?” Tears clogged her throat, but she struggled to hide them.
Dribbling the tiny pieces into the ornate wastepaper basket beside the mahogany desk, her mother looked up at her. “Just throwing it away. You had already ruined it anyway.”

Anger sliced through Maggie’s heart, leaving a jagged trail of pain. She still wanted to keep the sketch. She could use it while she created another. Her plan was to ask her father to help her surprise Mother. The design would set off her mother’s tall stature and still youthful figure. She planned to ask him for a length of the special blue satin brocade that would bring out the color of Mother’s eyes. The dress would make Mother the envy of most of her friends when

the winter social season started in a couple of months. Now she’d have to begin the drawing all over again. So many hours of work and her dreams torn to shreds.
“Darling.” That syrupy tone Mother used when she was trying to make a point grated on Maggie’s nerves. “When are you going to grow up and forget about your little pictures of dresses?” Little pictures of dresses? The words almost shredded the rest of Maggie’s control. She gripped her hands into fists and twisted them inside the folds of her full skirt.
They’d had this discussion too many times already. She gritted her teeth, but it didn’t help. In a few days she would be eighteen, old enough to make decisions for herself—whether her mother agreed or not.

She stood as tall as her tiny frame would allow her. “Those aren’t just ‘little drawings,’ Mother. I am going to be a dress designer.” The icy disdain shooting from her mother’s eyes made Maggie cringe inside, but she stood her ground.

“Margaret Lenora Caine, I am tired of these conversations. You will not become a working girl.” Mother huffed out a very unladylike deep breath. “You don’t need to. Your father has worked hard to provide a very good living for the three of us. I will not listen to any more of this nonsense.”
Maggie had heard that phrase often enough, and she never liked it. Mother swept from the room as if she had the answer to everything, but she didn’t. Not for Maggie. And her sketches were not nonsense.

She tried to remember the last time she pleased her mother. Had she ever really?
Her hair was too curly and hard to tame into a proper style. And the hue was too red. Maggie wouldn’t stay out of the sun to prevent freckles from dotting her face. She could come up with a long list of her mother’s complaints if she wanted to take the time. She wasn’t that interested in what was going on among the elite in Seattle. She

had more things to think about than how to catch a husband. Maggie wanted to get married someday. But first she would follow her dream. Become the woman she was created to be. That meant being a dress designer, taking delight in making other women look their best. If it wasn’t for Grandmother Carter, Maggie would think she had been born into the wrong family.

The enticing aroma of gingerbread called her toward the kitchen. Spending time with Mrs. Jorgensen was just what she needed right now. Since she didn’t have any grandparents living close by, their cook and housekeeper substituted quite well in Maggie’s mind. She pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose and sniffing like the bunny in the back garden while she headed across the brick floor toward the cabinet where her older friend worked. “What is that

heavenly smell?”

Mrs. Jorgensen turned with a warm smile. “As if you didn’t already know. You’ve eaten enough of my gingerbread, for sure.”

Pushing white tendrils from her forehead, the woman quickly sliced the spicy concoction and placed a large piece on a saucer while Maggie retrieved the butter from the ice box. Maggie slathered a thick coating on and watched it melt into the hot, brown bread. “Here’s something to drink.” Mrs. Jorgensen set a glass of cold milk on the work table in the middle of the large room.

Maggie hopped up on a tall stool and took a sip, swinging her legs as she had when she was a little girl. Mother would have something else to complain about if she saw her. That’s not ladylike and is most unbecoming. The oft-spoken words rang through Maggie’s mind. But Mother hardly ever came into the kitchen. Mrs. Jorgensen met with

Mother in her sitting room to plan the meals and the day’s work schedule.
“This is the only place in the house where I can just be myself.” Maggie took a bite and let the spices dance along her tongue, savoring the sting of spices mixed with the sweetness of molasses.

“Ja.” The grandmotherly woman patted Maggie’s shoulder. “So tell me what’s bothering you, kära.”
Tears sprang to Maggie’s eyes. “Why doesn’t Mother understand me? She doesn’t even try.”
She licked a drip of butter that started down her finger, then took another bite of the warm gingerbread. Heat from the cook stove made the enormous kitchen feel warm and cozy, instead of the cold formality of most of the house.
Mrs. Jorgensen folded a tea towel into a thick square, then went to the oven and removed another pan of the dessert. “What’s the bee in her bonnet this time?”
Maggie loved to hear the Scandinavian woman’s quaint sayings. “She won’t consider letting me continue to design dresses.”

Maggie sipped her milk, not even being careful not to leave a white mustache on her upper lip. “I’ve drawn them for our seamstress to use for the last five years. As many of them have been for Mother as for me. And she’s enjoyed the way other women exclaimed over the exclusive creations she wore. I don’t understand why she doesn’t want me to continue to develop my artistic abilities.”

“Your father is a very wealthy man, for sure.” The cook’s nod punctuated her statement. “Your dear mother just wants what is best for you.”
“Why does she get to decide what’s best for me?” Maggie felt like stomping her foot, but she refrained. That would be like a child having a tantrum. She would not stoop that far now that she was no longer a child. “Soon I’ll be eighteen. Plenty old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Yah, and you sure have the temper to match all that glorious red hair, älskling.” She clicked her tongue. “Such a waste of energy.” After enjoying the love expressed in Mrs. Jorgensen’s endearment, Maggie slid from the stool and gathered her plate and glass to carry them to the sink. “You’re probably right. I’ll just have to talk to Daddy.”

The door to the hallway swung open. “Talk to me about what?” Her tall father strode into the room,

filling it with a sense of power.

“About my becoming a dress designer.”

A flit of pain crossed his face before he smiled. “A dress designer?” Maggie fisted her hands on her waist. “We’ve discussed this before. I want to go to Arkansas and see about learning more at The House of Agatha Carter.”
Her father came over and gathered her into a loving embrace. “I said I’d think about letting you go. There are many details that would have to be ironed out first. But I didn’t say you couldn’t go.”

Maggie leaned her cheek against his chest, breathing in his familiar spicy scent laced with the fragrance of pipe tobacco. “I know. But Mother won’t let me. Just you wait and see.”

He grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. “Maggie, my Maggie, you’ve always been so impatient. I said I’d talk to her when the time is right. You’ll just have to trust me on this.” His eyes bored into hers, and his lips tipped up at the ends. She threw her arms around his waist. “Oh, I do trust you, Daddy.”

“Then be patient.” He kissed the top of her head, probably disturbing the style she’d worked so hard on this morning.

Mrs. Jorgensen stopped slicing the gingerbread and held the knife in front of her. “I thought you weren’t going to be home for lunch, Mr. Caine.”
“I’m not. I’ve only come by to pick up my beautiful wife. We’ll be dining with some friends at the Arlington House hotel downtown.” He gave Maggie another hug and left, presumably to find her mother.

“Would you be wanting another piece of gingerbread, kära?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to ruin my lunch. I have some things I need to do. Can I come back to eat a little later?” She hoped her father could prevail against Mother’s stubborn stance on the question of a trip to Arkansas.

Mrs. Jorgensen waved her out the door. “You’re probably not very hungry after that gingerbread.”
Maggie went into the library to retrieve her sketch pad, then headed upstairs to her bedroom. She wanted to get the drawing on paper again before she forgot any of the details. She pulled her lacy panels back from the side window and scooted a chair close. With a few deft strokes, she had the main lines of the dress on the thick paper. Then she started filling it in. As each line appeared on the drawing, she felt an echoing movement in her spirit. Deep inside,

she danced through the design as it took shape, much faster than the first time. She was so glad she could recall every detail.

While she drew, her thoughts returned to Grandmother Carter. Everyone said she took after her grandmother . . . everyone except Mother. Why isn’t she happy about my talent?

Maggie wandered through her memories, trying to recapture how it was when she was a little girl. She remembered Mother playing with her when they lived in the smaller, but comfortable house in Oregon City. They didn’t have servants then, but the three of them laughed and enjoyed life together. Then for some reason, her mother had started talking to her father every chance she got about moving to a larger place. Now that Maggie looked back on those memories, she realized that her mother seemed almost frantic to get away from where they lived, as if something were wrong with the town. Maggie never understood why.

She couldn’t have been more than five years old, but some of the events stood out. The hurry to leave town. The long trip. For quite a while after that, she missed playing with her friends. And she didn’t make new ones when they arrived. No other small children lived in the neighborhood. Even when she started school, she stayed to herself. She had been shy as a young girl.
After they moved to Seattle and her father bought one of the empty buildings and opened Caine Emporium, Mother changed. She became more distant, almost cold. She was no longer the laughing woman. If Maggie didn’t know better, she’d think something made Mother bitter. Maybe that was one reason she wanted to design this special dress. To brighten her mother’s life. Bring back the woman who sometimes flashed through her memory at odd times, making her long for the warmth she had luxuriated in as a small child. Finally, the drawing met her approval. Just in time to eat lunch. Maybe this afternoon she could finish the other sketch with the changes to make the dress more appropriate for her mother than herself.

Once again the kitchen welcomed her, and she enjoyed eating there with Mrs. Jorgensen. If Mother had been home, they would have had the meal in the formal dining room, complete with china, crystal, and silver. Such a fuss for an ordinary day.

“Margaret.” Her mother’s voice rose from the foyer below. “I’m home.”
Looking at the names of people she’d placed on the invitation list, Maggie finished writing Charles Stanton’s name and put the pen down. “Coming, Mother.”
She rushed out of her room and stood at the top of the staircase. “Did you want me?”
“Yes, dear. I thought we could get some shopping done this afternoon.” Her mother still wore her gloves and cape.

“Is it cold?”
Mother nodded. “It’s a bit nippy, so wear something warm.” “I’ll get my things.” Maggie hurried back to her room and gathered a light jacket, a handbag, and her gloves. When she arrived in the foyer, Mother stood tapping her foot

impatiently. “I had hoped we could buy most of the things we’ll need today.”
Maggie bit her tongue to keep from reminding her that she wasn’t the one who had frittered away so much of the day. If Mother wanted to go shopping, why didn’t they do it earlier? She could have gone along for the lunch with Daddy. But evidently Mother preferred spending time with Daddy instead of her. She took a deep breath and followed her mother to the coach sitting in front of the house. Mrs. Jorgensen’s son, who was their driver, stood beside the open

door, ready to assist them into the conveyance.

“Erik, please take us by the Emporium.” Mother took hold of his hand as she stepped up into the vehicle.

Maggie followed suit. “Why are we going to the store? Are we going to shop there?”
The door snapped shut, and Erik climbed into the driver’s seat. “I forgot to get money from your father when we were at lunch.” Mother settled her skirts as the coach lurched forward. “I believe your father is signing papers with young Charles Stanton this afternoon. It will be nice to see him again. Did you add him to your guest list?”

Maggie nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She hadn’t seen Charles since she was about sixteen, but she still remembered the girlish secret infatuation she’d had when she was younger. He’d been so handsome, and kind too. Would he be changed since he’d graduated from university? She would soon find out. She settled back into the carriage seat, suddenly looking forward to the afternoon’s events.

Favorite Posts by Other Bloggers

2011-10-07T07:04:00.001-04:00

Every week Crazy-for-Books hosts the Book Blogger Hop. Participants answer a question and then visit other blogs of fellow participants. This week's question is:

“It’s time to spread some love beyond the borders of the Book Blogger Hop! This week, we aren’t answering a question. We are spotlighting our fellow bloggers. Find your favorite(s) author interview(s), guest post(s), book review(s), or bookish article(s) that ANOTHER BOOK BLOGGER featured on their site recently and tell us why you love it/them! As an additional challenge, find your favorite one of EACH of the categories above and spotlight all 4 (interview, guest post, review, article).”

My answer: When I read this question, I immediately thought of this article: Could You Please Beat Me With This Rejection Letter? by Jackie Bouchard (Posted on the Women On Writing Blog).

The article takes a humorous look at the rejection letter -- an unfortunate event that all writers have experienced or will experience in the future.

What about you?

Deliver Me From Evil by Kathi Macias

2011-10-07T05:54:00.001-04:00

ThoughJonathan and Mara live and work in San Diego, California, theirworlds are far apart. As a high school senior in a idyllic middleclass family, Jonathan's biggest concern is accepting that baseballwon't be his career and that Bible college is the next step in thepath of life. Mara's world is filled with physical torture, sexualslavery, and the ever-present threat of death. One night, asJonathan delivers a pizza to a shady hotel, their worlds intersect inway that changes both of them. Jonathan can't forget the half-nakedgirls and Mara can't forget the kindness in the mysterious youngman's eyes. Torn by a desire to help the girls and a desire to forgetthe incident, Jonathan engages in a struggle that will eventuallydraw him to the God he professes to serve. Through circumstances,Jonathan and his family become involved in supporting a localabolitionist movement again sexual slavery. However, drawn by adesire deeper than his own, Jonathan returns to the motel time andagain. When the stakes become intensely personal, Jonathan must makea life or death choice to trust the plans of the God who loves notonly him, but also every person trapped in sexual slavery.

Dueto the difficult issues and gritty content in DeliverMe From Evil by KathiMacias, the story is not an easy read and I would not recommend it toyoung readers. That being said, I do recommend it to mature readers.There is nothing overly explicit in the novel, but given that it isabout sexual slavery, it does have some descriptive content. Macias'balances the darkness of the topic with light from those who seek itsend, preventing the novel from depressing the reader. The charactersare believable and well-developed. On a personal note, I criedseveral times while reading this novel because the characters andtheir situations gripped my heart.

Deliver Me From Eviladdresses how quickly we are to dismiss the idea of sexual slavery inAmerica and then issues a call to the reader to stand against thishorrendous evil. The novel's message that sexual slavery does existand that it's victims are in need of deliverance and healing needs tobe heard by all in America. I await the next installment in theseries.

Click here to listen to a podcast in which Kathi Macias discusses Deliver Me From Evil and the research that led to its production.

Read the prologue of Deliver Me From Evil at the home page of the blog tour.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free via PumpUpYourBook. I was not required towrite a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Iam disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements andTestimonials in Advertising."

Hello, Hollywood! by Janice Thompson

2011-10-04T19:52:00.000-04:00

Sometimesit's hard to be funny, even if you have an natural talent for humor. Athena Pappas knows just how important it is to be able to producehumor on demand. As head writer for StarsCollide, a televisionsitcom with sagging ratings, she is is determinded to introduce a newspark that will put Stars Collideback on the up and up. When Stephen Cosse, a Vegas comedian, ishired on the writing team, Athena's job suddenly seems less secure.Stephen is confident, creative, and handsome. As the attraction andcompetition escalates between Athena and Stephen, they mustrelinquish control and combine their efforts in both the plots ofStars Collideand their personal lives. They just might find that sometimes thebest things in life are unscripted.

Hello, Hollywood! byJanice Thompson is a lovely contemporary romance and the second bookin the Backstage Pass Series. Although it works well as astand-alone novel, I enjoyed it so much that I plan to go back andread the first book in the series, Stars Collide.Thompson's experience as a screenwriter shows through in the settingand plot of the novel. I felt like I was getting a “backstagepass” into what a screenwriter's life is like. I have to admitthat I've never watched the Dick Van Dyke Show,so I didn't quite understand all the references to it, but I enjoyedthe scenes, nonetheless. The characters are fun and authentic. ThePappas family was definitely humorous and enjoyable. However, underall the fun and merriment of the outer layer of the novel, Athena,Stephen, and several of the supporting characters have some veryserious issues and situations to deal with. The inner layer of depthwas what really made this novel successful for me. I recommendHello, Hollywood!to fans of Christian romance.

Read an excerpt for Hello, Hollywood! by Janice Thompson, here.

AvailableSeptember 2011 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division ofBaker Publishing Group.”

Weddings and Wasabi by Camy Tang

2011-10-03T22:07:00.000-04:00

JenniferLim has always been a good Japanese daughter. But when an abusiveex-boyfriend shows up and her family expects her to just take it,Jenn finds the courage to stand up for herself. Armed with aculinary degree, her newfound freedom, her supportive cousins, andher handsome new friend, Edward, Jenn is determined to follow God'swill for her life. Jenn's family members all seem to have their ownplans for her life, but as confrontations happen, Jenn finds thestrength to press forward to her dreams, her life, and maybe evenlove.

Weddings and Wasabi isthe fourth installment in Camy Tang's Sushi series. The novella workswell as a stand-alone and is a short, sweet read. I thought a few ofthe situations were unlikely, if not unbelieveable, but Jenn'scharacter comes across as genuine. Jenn's search to find God's willwas something that I could really relate to. I think more could havebeen done with some of the characters/situations. For instance, atone point Jenn begins to questions whether or not her ex-boyfriendpushed her or she fell while drunk. Unfortunately, that was neverresolved and there are several other ambiguities throughout the storythat leave the reader a little unfulfilled.

Overall,I recommend Weddings and Wasabi ifyou are looking for a light, sweet read to pass the time.

Click here to visit the blog tour and read the first chapter of Weddings and Wasabi by Camy Tang.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this e-book free as part of FIRST Wild Card Tours. I wasnot required to write a positive review. The opinions I haveexpressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with theFederal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "GuidesConcerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

FIRST Wild Card Tour: Weddings and Wasabi by Camy Tang

2011-10-03T09:12:00.001-04:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Camy Tang

and the book:

Weddings and Wasabi

WinePress Publishing (June 7, 2011)

***Special thanks to Camy Tang for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Camy Tang grew up in Hawaii and now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious mutt, Snickers. She graduated from Stanford University and was a biologist researcher for 9 years, but now she writes full-time. She is a staff worker for her church youth group and leads one of the Sunday worship teams. On her blog, she ponders knitting, spinning wool, dogs, running, the Never Ending Diet, and other frivolous things. Visit her website at http://www.camytang.com/ to read short stories and subscribe to her quarterly newsletter.

Visit the author's website.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

After finally graduating with a culinary degree, Jennifer Lim is pressured by her family to work for her control-freak aunty’s restaurant. But after a family blowout, Jenn is determined to no longer be a doormat and instead starts her own catering company. Her search for a wine merchant brings John into her life—a tall, dark, handsome biker, in form-fitting black leather, and Hispanic to boot. It would be wonderfully wild to snag a man like that!

Shy engineer Edward tentatively tries out his birthday present from his winery-owner uncle—a Harley Davidson complete with the trimmings. Jennifer seems attracted to the rough, aggressive image, but it isn’t his real self. Is she latching onto him just to spite her horrified family? And if this spark between them is real, will showing her the true guy underneath put it out?

And what’s with the goat in the backyard?

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 124 pages
Publisher: WinePress Publishing (June 7, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414120591
ISBN-13: 978-1414120591

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The goat in the backyard had just eaten tonight’s dinner.

Jennifer Lim stood on her mother’s minuscule back porch and glared at the small brown and white creature polishing off her basil. She would have run shouting at it to leave off her herb garden, except it had already decimated the oregano, mint, rosemary, thyme, cilantro, and her precious basil, which had been slated for tonight’s pesto.

Besides, if it bit her, she was peeved enough to bite back.

“Mom!” She stomped back into the house. Thank goodness the pots of her special Malaysian basil were sectioned off in the large garden on the side of the house, protected by a wooden-framed wire gate. Jenn was growing it so that she could make her cousin Trish’s favorite chicken dish for her wedding, which Jenn was catering for her. But everything in her backyard garden was gone. The animal was welcome to the only thing left, the ragged juniper bushes. Were juniper bushes poison? If so, the animal was welcome to them.

“Mom!” Her voice had reached banshee range. “There is a goat—”

“You don’t need to yell.” Mom entered the kitchen, her lipstick bright red from a fresh application and her leather handbag over her arm, obviously ready to leave the house on some errand.

“Since when do we own a goat?”

“Since your cousin Larry brought him over.” She fished through her leather purse. “His name is Pookie.”

Jenn choked on her demand for an explanation, momentarily distracted. “He has a name?”

“He’s a living being. Of course he has a name.” Her mother fluttered eyelashes overloaded with mascara.

“Don’t give me that. You used to love to gross me out with stories of Great-Uncle Hao Chin eating goats back in China.”

Mom sniffed and found the refrigerator fascinating. “That’s your father’s side.”

Jenn swayed as the floor tilted. You are now entering … the Twilight Zone. Her parent had evoked that feeling quite often in the past few weeks. “Where did Larry get a goat and why do we have it now?”

“They were desperate.”

Actually, Jenn could have answered her own question. That goat was in their backyard right now because everyone knew that her mom couldn’t say no to a termite who knocked on the door and asked if it could spend the night.

And outside of physically dropping the goat off at someone’s house—and she didn’t have an animal trailer, so that was out of the question—Jenn wouldn’t be able to get anyone else in the family to agree to take the animal, now that it was here. That meant leaving a goat in a niece’s backyard because no one else wanted to go through the hassle of doing anything about it.

Mom said, “You wouldn’t have me turn away family, would you?”

“Uncle Percy knows, too?”

“No, not Percy.”

“Aunty Glenda?” No way. Even if Larry were thirty-one instead of twenty-one, Aunty would still dictate to her son the color underwear he wore that day—how much more his choice of pet?

“No.” Mom blinked as rapidly as she could with mascara making her short, stiff lashes stick together, almost gluing her eyes shut.

The tiger in Jenn’s ribcage growled. “Mother.” Her fist smacked onto her hip.

“Oh, all right.” Mom rolled her eyes as if she were still a teenager. “It belongs to Larry’s dormmate’s older brother, but really, he’s the nicest young man.” Burgundy lips pulled into what wanted to be a smile, but instead looked hideously desperate.

Jenn tried to count to ten but only got to two. “I know Larry’s a nice young man. If an abundance of immaturity counts as ‘nice’ points.”

“Jenn, really, you’re so intolerant. Just because you’re smart and went to Stanford for grad school …”

The name of her school—and the one dominant memory it brought up—made her neck jerk in a spasm. It had only been for two years, but that was enough. Desperately lonely after spending her undergrad years living with her cousins, Jenn had only formed a few friendships among the other grad students, none of them close. There was only one she’d never forget, although she vowed she would every morning when she got up and saw the scar in the mirror.

“Why. Do we have. A goat.”

“It’s only for a few days—”

“We don’t know a thing about how to take care of—”

“They’re easy—”

“Besides which, this is Cupertino. I’m sure there are city laws—”

“It’ll be gone before anyone notices—”

“Oh, ho, you’re right about that.” Jenn strode toward the phone on the wall. “I’m calling the Humane Society. They’ll take it.” Although they wouldn’t provide a trailer to transport it. How was she going to take the goat anywhere, much less to an animal shelter?

Mom plopped onto a stool and sighed. “That boy was so cute. His name was Brad.”

There went her neck spasming again. But Brad was a common name. She grabbed the phone.

“Such a nice Chinese boy. Related to the Yip family—you know, the ones in Mountain View?”

The phone slipped from her hand and bungee-jumped toward the floor, saved only by the curly cord. She bent to snatch it up, but dizziness shrouded her vision and she had to take a few breaths before straightening up.

“Oh, and he went to Stanford. You two have something in common.” Mom beamed.

No. He wouldn’t.

Yes, he would.

“Brad Yip?”

Mom’s eyes lighted up. “Do you know him?”

Sure, she knew him. Knew the next time he came for his goat she’d ram her chef’s knife, Michael Meyers style, right between his eyes.

I Love My Freedom to Read!

2011-09-30T19:52:00.001-04:00

Every week Crazy-for-Books hosts the Book Blogger Hop. Participants answer a question and then visit other blogs of fellow participants. This week's question is:

“In honor of Banned Books Week, what is your favorite banned or frequently challenged book?”

My answer: We've been having a lot of discussion lately about Banned Books Week in my classes at USF. Without question, my favorite "challenged" book is To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I'm not sure if it was actually banned or not. Read more about Banned Books Week here.

What about you?

My Friday Fun!

2011-09-30T18:38:00.002-04:00

The beauty of couponing is that I'm spending less money on groceries, but my pantry is stocked better than ever before. The last few weeks at Publix have been great for me. I got everything pictured below at Publix for $16.53 with the exception of the Milk. That came from CVS and I paid $.79 for it.

Here are some of my great buys:

Hamburger Helper: $.55 each. My husband and I go through so many of these that it is a great deal for us!

Normal Price: $1.59
Discounts:

BOGO sale.
$.75/3 Manufacturer coupons.

Snackwell 100 Calorie Packs (5 ct.): $.60 per box!

Normal Price: $3.19
Discounts:

BOGO sale.
$1/1 Manufacturer coupons.

Fiber One Cereal (14.25 oz. box): $.16

Normal Price: $4.09
Discounts:

$2.50 Sale price.
$1/3 Manufacturer coupon.
$2/1 Store coupons

Milk (from CVS): $.79!

Discounts:

$3.79 Sale Price
$1/1 Manufacturer coupon
$2 ECBs from today's "Pledge to not throw away your ECBs" promotion.

In addition to only paying $.79, I also received $1 ECB to use on my next purchase.

Total before special price savings and coupons: $97.57

Total Spent: $17.32 - 83% Savings Rate!

Thanks for taking the time to check out my deals. Don't forget to stop by my Dr. Scholl's Coupon Giveaway!

Deeply Devoted by Maggie Brendan

2011-09-25T14:13:00.000-04:00

PeterAndersen is a simple farmer who longs for a bride of his own.Overlooking the local girls, Peter corresponds with a mail-orderbride from Holland. Each letter he receives convinces him more thatCatharine Olsen is the right woman for him. When she arrives, he ispleased with her beauty and sweetness. However, she failed to mentionthat she would be bringing her two younger sisters to live with them. Frustrated and unsure about this turn of events, Peter takes a leapof faith and marries Catharine the day after she arrives in Cheyenne,Wyoming. Settling into life as a married man and olderbrother-figure is undeniably difficult, but quite satisfying. However, when Peter's mother, Clara, conducts a privateinvestigation, Catharine's secrets are exposed. Will their newrelationship survive? Can Peter and Catharine learn to trust God andeach other?

Deeply Devotedis the start of Maggie Brendan's Blue Willow Brides series. Filledwith a tender romance between Peter and Catharine that many readerswill enjoy, Deeply Devoted alsoaddresses deeper issues of Catharine's previous failed marriage. Thisdrama adds tension to the plot and keeps the plot from stagnating.Personally, I thought the story moved a little too slow, but otherreaders may feel differently. The characters of DeeplyDevoted werewell-developed and Clara's internal conflict was especiallyintriguing.

Click here to read an excerpt from Deeply Devoted by Maggie Brendan.

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

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Revell Publishers. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

Life, In Spite of Me by Kristen Jane Anderson

2011-09-24T16:52:00.000-04:00

KristenJane Anderson's teen years were filled with one painful experienceafter another. Seeing no hope, she laid down on a set of railroadtracks and waited for the train to kill her. Unbelievably, afterthirty-three freight cars ran over her, she was still alive – butmissing her legs. Thus began a completely new part of her life. Itwas hailed as a miracle that she survived and Kristen's recovery wasslow and painful. Only after her suicide attempt did Kristen come toknow Jesus on a personal level. In Him, she found a reason to hope,to live, and to walk.

Life, In Spite of Meby Kristen JaneAnderson with Tricia Goyer is not a book I would want to read everyyear, but it is well worth reading at least once every few years.Despite the heavy topics it deals with, the book was a quick read. Kristen's experiences are related gently and authentically to thereader. However, I think the book and its readers could havebenefited from having more information about Kristen's healing fromthe sexual assualt in addition to the details she gives of herphysical healing and struggles with depression. I felt like most ofher issues prior to the suicide attempt were consolidated under theblanket of depression and only mentioned occasionnally after thesuicide attempt.

Ifound this book to be very encouraging as I personnally struggle withdepression. I appreciated that the author boldly, but kindlydeclares the need to know Jesus as a personal Savior. Truly, herrelationship with Jesus not only saved her soul and brought healing,but also enabled her to reach out to others struggling with the sameissues. I think this book could help anyone who is dealing withdepression or who knows someone dealing with depression. Theencouragement notes directly from Kristen were especially kind. Irecommend this to anyone who is looking for an inspirational read.

Click here to read an excerpt from Life, In Spite of Me: Extraordinary Hope After a Fatal Choice.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from Blogging for Books as part of theirblogger review program. I was not required to write a positivereview. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosingthis in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonialsin Advertising."

The Elusive 80% Savings Rate!

2011-09-24T13:15:00.000-04:00

I did it yesterday. I reached the elusive 80% savings rate. Normally I save 60%-70% on my Publix shopping.

Here are some of my great buys:

Whiskas Cat Food, 3lb. bag: Free!

Normal Price: $4.49
Discounts:

BOGO sale.
$2/1 Manufacturer coupons.
$1/1 Store coupon.

Arm & Hammer Toothpaste, 6 oz. tube: $.50/Tube.

Normal Price: $2.99
Discounts:

BOGO sale.
$1/1 Manufacturer coupons.

Motts for Tots Apple Juice, 64 oz. jar: Free!

Normal Price: $2.75
Discounts:

$2.00 Sale price.
$1/1 Manufacturer coupon.
$1/1 Store coupons.

Total before special prices savings and coupons: $52.41

Total Spent: $10.36!

Dr. Scholl's Coupon Giveaway #2

2011-09-17T13:51:00.002-04:00

It's time for a coupon giveaway!

What you get: Four coupons worth $4.00 each ($16 total) for Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles. Coupon expires December 31, 2011.

How to enter: Leave a comment below with your email address. For an extra entry, become a follower of my blog and leave a second comment saying that you follow my blog.

The information I received states that the Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles retail for $12.99, but I saw them for $8.69 at my local Publix and they didn't appear to be on any special sale. I've never seen these on a BOGO sale, but if Publix ever did a BOGO on these, the coupons would score you an awesome deal! Amazon also has these for $7.89.

Read my review of Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles here.

Giveaway ends Friday, October 7, 2011 at 11:59 p.m. Two winners will be chosen randomly on Saturday, October 8, 2011. If you win, I will email you to get your mailing address. Winners must respond to my email within 5 days. Giveaway is open only to those with U.S. mailing addresses.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a product sample, coupon, collateral or other special premium from BzzAgent. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

Short & Sweet

2011-09-16T18:51:00.001-04:00

Every week Crazy-for-Books hosts the Book Blogger Hop. Participants answer a question and then visit other blogs of fellow participants. This week's question is:

“As a book blogger, how do you introduce yourself in your profile?”

My answer: I keep it short and sweet. I give my name, where I'm from, and a little pertinent information relating my love of reading to my blog.

What about you?

I'd Never Give Up Reading...

2011-09-09T20:14:00.001-04:00

Every week Crazy-for-Books hosts the Book Blogger Hop. Participants answer a question and then visit other blogs of fellow participants. This week's question is:

“Many of us primarily read one genre of books, with others sprinkled in. if authors stopped writing that genre, what genre would you start reading? Or would you give up reading completely if you couldn't read that genre anymore?”

My answer: I could never, never give up reading. My main genre is historical romances. I would probably switch to contemporary romances or young adult fiction. If fiction was completely gone, then I guess I would go for autobiographies. I usually find them interesting.

What about you?

A Woman's Walk in Truth by Vonette Bright

2011-09-07T18:06:00.002-04:00

It'shard to have confidence in someone that you don't know. That's whywomen who desire to live a confident, Christian life must draw nearto the God they believe in. In A Woman's Walk inTruth: Devotions for Living a Confident Faith,Vonette Bright offers short, uplifting devotional readings for anywoman who desires to grow in her faith. Stories, Scriptures, andcommentaries provide insights for experiencing God's truths and adeeper relationship with Him.

Ithink A Woman's Walk in Truth: Devotions forLiving a Confident Faithby Vonette Bright is the perfect little gift book for sisters,mothers, friends, etc. The front cover is attractive and the bookaddresses such a wide range of topics that anyone can benefit fromusing it. Personally, I prefer to read longer devotions each day,but these short ones are certainly handy on extra busy days. Eachdevotional reading is Biblically-based and supplemented by Scriptureverses and “This I Believe” affirmative statements.

Click here to read an excerpt from A Woman's Walk in Truth: Devotions for Living a Confident Faith by Vonette Bright.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required towrite a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Iam disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements andTestimonials in Advertising."

Dr. Scholl's Coupon Giveaway!

2011-09-03T16:11:00.001-04:00

It's time for a coupon giveaway!

What you get: Four coupons worth $4.00 each ($16 total) for Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles. Coupon expires December 31, 2011.

How to enter: Leave a comment below with your email address. For an extra entry, become a follower of my blog and leave a second comment saying that you follow my blog.

Read my review of Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles here.

Giveaway ends Friday, September 9, 2011 at 11:59 p.m. Two winners will be chosen randomly on Saturday, September 10, 2011. If you win, I will email you to get your mailing address. Winners must respond to my email within 5 days. Giveaway is open only to those with U.S. mailing addresses.

Product Review: Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles

2011-09-03T16:10:00.002-04:00

Ilove wearing high heels... and not just because I'm 5'0”. But eventhe nicest high heels can sometimes cause foot pain. Dr. Scholl's ForHer High Heel Insoles are doing their part to ensure that women canwear glamorous heels as long desired and feel good too. Theseparticular insoles are designed to alleviate high heel discomfort byadding padding and arch support without appearing unattractive.

I'venever used any sort of shoe insoles prior to trying out Dr. Scholl'sFor Her High Heel Insoles, but the insoles do make wearing my highheels more comfortable. Because of my lack of experience, it took meat least thirty minutes to get used to having them in my shoes, butnow I can slip on that pair of shoes and it feels perfectly normal tohave them in it.

Theclear gel insoles stick to the shoe and are small enough that theystay right under each foot. These photos show me wearing the shoeswith and without the insoles. The insoles are removable so they canbe used in more than one pair of shoes, but I don't recommend doingthat too often. They lose some stickiness after being pulled off andreapplied so many times. Also, before you put in the insole, makesure the shoe is completely free of dust or dirt that will affect theability of the insole to adhere properly.

Without insoles.

With Insoles

Dr.Scholl's For Her High Heel Insoles fit sizes 6 to 10 and areavailable in the foot care aisle of most drugstores, mass retailersand grocery stores. If you're interested in purchasing a pair theseinsoles, keep in mind that they have a money-back guarantee and makesure you enter mycoupon giveaway. Four high-value ($4.00) coupons could be yours!

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this pair of Dr. Scholl's For Her High Heel Inserts freefrom the BzzAgent. I was not required to write a positive review. Theopinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this inaccordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255:"Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials inAdvertising."

A Vision of Lucy by Margaret Brownley

2011-09-02T21:06:00.000-04:00

LucyFairbanks' passion for photography gets her into unusual situations. She's not afraid to take a risk if the reward earns her the title ofartist or photographer. After ending up as a witness/almost-victim ina stage coach robbery, Lucy is saved by the mysterious David Wolf whois believed to be a wild man by the locals of Rocky Creek. Motivatedby both gratitude and selfishness, Lucy attempts to vindicate Davidby photographing him for the local newspaper. Unfortunately, her planbackfires and places David's life in danger. But this isn't the firsttime that the town's inhabitants have tried to kill David. As ahalf-white, half-Indian child, he was ostracized and endangered. Twenty years later, he's back with a vendetta. As Lucy and Davidgrow closer to each other, the mystery of David's past becomes aninsurrmountable hurdle. Will their young love survive? Or willprejudices of the past keep them apart forever?

A Vision of Lucyby Margaret Brownley is the third book in the Rocky Creek Romanceseries, but it is fine to read as a stand-alone novel.This book combined twoof my favorite pastimes (reading and photography), but I wish it hadbeen more engaging. Some books will draw me back to them whenever Ihave a free moment. Unfortunately, this one didn't. However, I didenjoy the photography quotes and learned some information about veryold photography practices. I thought the characters of Lucy andCaleb were well-written and I honestly couldn't guess who the “fourthboy” was until he was revealed.

A Vision of Lucy willprobably be loved by some people and disdained as forgettable byothers, a judgment depending solely upon personal taste. I recommendrenting it from the library before buying.

Disclosure of Material Connection:I received this e-book free from Thomas Nelson via NetGallery. I wasnot required to write a positive review. The opinions I haveexpressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with theFederal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "GuidesConcerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

Love My Publix Shopping!

2011-09-02T20:30:00.001-04:00

The truth about Publix is: By shopping the sales, you can get better prices on products than you can get at Wal-Mart. And you don't have to be a crazy couponer (no offense, I just like to think of myself as a sensible couponer) to do it.

Last week I got Hamburger Helper from Winn-Dixie and this week I got four more boxes from Publix. It was on sale for $1 each and I used a $.80/4 coupon. That brought my price down to $.80/item.

Knorr Side Dishes were also on sale for $1 each. By using a $1/2 coupon, I was able to get them for $.50 each. I love these because they are quick and easy to make and will not expire for a long time to come.

My last deal of the day was Bird's Eye Steamfresh Frozen Vegetables. I am all about quick and convenient. All I have to do with these is pop them in the microwave for about six minutes and I have perfectly steamed veggies. These were on sale for 50% off and I used $.35/1 coupons to bring my price down to $.65 per bag.

Expectations, hmm?

2011-09-02T19:57:00.001-04:00

Every week Crazy-for-Books hosts the Book Blogger Hop. Participants answer a question and then visit other blogs of fellow participants. This week's question is:

“What are you most looking forward to this fall/autumn season - A particular book release? Halloween? The leaves changing color? Cooler temperatures? A vacation? (If your next season is other than fall/autumn, tell us about it and what you are most looking forward to in your part of the world!)”

My answer: Well, I live in Florida, so there really isn't cooler temperatures or changing of the leaves. I think I am most looking forward to my anniversary in October. It's number eight for me and my hubby. We aren't going on vacation, but we will be visiting The Melting Pot - an classy, local fondue restaurant. Yum!

What about you?

Product Review: Heelys

2011-08-29T21:19:00.001-04:00

The first thing I noticed when I opened my package of Heelys was the styling. They looked just as good in person as on the website. Purple is my favorite color. So take the black shoes with the purple accents and you have a design that I think is pretty sleek. My husband even commented that they looked nice and “not as large as Heelys used to be.”

I followed the directions to put in the rollers, thinking how easy it would be to glide around. Let's just say that rollerblading when I was younger did not quite prepare me for Heelys. Learning how to balance was relatively easy for me, but keeping my balance while moving forward was a bit harder. After a couple of tries, I still need a lot of practice before I start doing any awesome tricks, but they are fun and I intend to take them down to the park where the concrete is smooth. I don't think they'll give me strenuous exercise, but they'll probably be the equivalent of walking, which is good enough for me!

If I could change one thing about my Heelys, it would be for the manufacturer to make half-sizes. I am a solid size five-and-a-half. I didn't want to order the size five because I knew if they were too tight, I wouldn't want to use them. So, I ordered the size six. It is a little large, but the laces make it tight enough that it's not a problem. Overall, Heelys has a product that is well-made and fun to use!

Visit Heely's Website for more information about safety, pricing, products and usage tips. Between September 2^nd – September 5^th, they'll be throwing a Labor Day/Back-to-School Special. Buy one pair of Heelys, get the second pair for only $30!

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this pair of Heelys free from the manufacturer. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

The Power of a Praying Wife Devotional by Stormie Omartian.

2011-08-28T16:41:00.001-04:00

Do you aspire to be a wife with a powerful prayer life? The Power of a Praying Wife Devotional by Stormie Omartian teaches new ways to pray that contribute to a healthy and fulfilling marriage. The Power of a Praying Wife Devotional features 100 insightful devotions and related prayers that are easy-to-read and convenient for busy schedules. The devotions vary in topic, but one-third of them focus on praying for yourself, one-third focus on praying for your husband, and one-third focus on praying for your marriage relationship. The devotionals are not grouped by prayer focus and do not have to be read in a specific order.

In the interest of reviewing The Power of a Praying Wife Devotional by Stormie Omartian in a timely manner, I did not read the entire book prior to writing this review. However, I have been reading it for nearly three weeks and have finished a substantial portion of the book. Everything appears to be correctly aligned with Scripture and the pre-prayer devotionals are filled with wisdom.

I used this book to supplement my daily devotions and read between one to three of the devotions per day. I can see myself reusing this book over and over. I found that the prayers helped me to learn a new pattern of praying and provided ideas of ways to pray for my husband. I've even found myself praying for my husband more throughout the day. While I don't remember the exact words from the prayers at those times, I do remember the pattern I've learned.

I highly recommend this book to any woman who is a wife or soon-to-be wife.

Click here to read an excerpt from The Power of a Praying Wife Devotional by Stormie Omartian.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Harvest House Publishers. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

My Weekend Deals!

2011-08-27T13:44:00.000-04:00

I split my shopping for deals this week between Publix and Winn-Dixie.

At Publix I was able to get two boxes of 50 count Advil for FREE! I used two $2/1 Advil coupons and one $5/2 Publix coupon. Because the medicine was on sale for $4.49 each, I got them for free! Of courese, I bought other items while I was there. My savings percentage this week was 60%. Not my highest, but not shabby either!

My other great deal of the week was on Hamburger Helper. Winn-Dixie had it on sale for $1.00 per box. When I combined the sale with my coupons, my cost went down to $.90 per box. I bought 12! That will last us awhile, but it's the kind of item that will keep and we will definitely use it... eventually. :)

Blue Skies Tomorrow by Sarah Sundin

2011-08-27T12:08:00.002-04:00

Helen Carlisle grieves for her late husband in appearances only. Confronting the truth about their marriage would be too painful, so she forges ahead in life determined to raise her son to be proud of his war-hero daddy. When Lieutenant Ray Novak enters the picture, Helen finds a light to drive out the darkness. As their relationship develops, they are both forced to confront their greatest fears. Will their secrets and fears tear them apart? Can love carry them though the darkest night until the blue skies appear?

Blue Skies Tomorrow by Sarah Sundin is the third and final book in the Wings of Glory Series, but works well as a stand-alone novel. I loved that this book was much more than just a historical romance novel. I was hooked by the romance in the beginning, but the characters and the story gained depth once Ray and Helen started dealing with their personal issues. The theme of confronting personal fears whether in the physical battlefield or the mental battle field resonated with me personally.

I recommend Blue Skies Tomorrow to fans of inspirational historical fiction/romance. It's a keeper for me. I'll definitely read it again in the future.

Click here to read an excerpt from Blue Skies Tomorrow by Sarah Sundin.

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

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from Revell Publishers. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

My Kitty Babies!

2011-08-26T16:55:00.002-04:00

Every week Crazy-for-Books hosts the Book Blogger Hop. Participants answer a question and then visit other blogs of fellow participants. This week's question is:

“Non-book-related this week. Do you have pets?”

My answer: I have three beautiful cats that I love, love, love!

Mushti aka Captain Mustard.

Joker.

Bug-Bug.

What about you?

Still More Stories from Grandma's Attic & Treasures from Grandma's Attic

2011-08-24T22:10:00.001-04:00

Before Mabel was Arleta's grandmother, she was a girl. As an adult Mabel shared many of her childhood adventures with Arleta who in turn compiled the stories in Still More Stories from Grandma's Attic and Treasures from Grandma's Attic. Join Mabel and her best friend, Sarah Jane, as they attempt to prevent wrinkles, plan surprise parties, and much more.

Still More Stories from Grandma's Attic and Treasures from Grandma's Attic by Arleta Richardson feature short stories narrated mainly by the author's grandmother. As an adult, I found most of the stories amusing and I believe children would find them even more so. Each story takes between five to ten minutes to read outloud which makes them perfect for bedtime. The occasional drawings in the books were a welcome addition. They helped to visualize the action and provide something for a child to look at. Young girls will be more likely to enjoy these stories than young boys as the stories are about girls, told by a girls, and orientated to girls. Male characters in the family are mentioned occasionally.

Click here to read the first chapter of each book.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from FIRST Wild Card Reviews. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."

First Wild Card Tour: Books from the Grandma's Attic Series

2011-08-24T21:57:00.001-04:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Arleta Richardson

and the books:

Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic
and
Treasures from Grandma’s Attic

David C. Cook; Reprint edition (August 1, 2011)

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

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

The late Arleta Richardson grew up an only child in Chicago, living in a hotel on the shores of Lake Michigan. Under the care of her maternal grandmother, she listened for hours to stories from her grandmother’s childhood. With unusual recall, Arleta began to write these stories for an audience that now numbers over two million. “My grandmother would be amazed to know her stories have gone around the world,” Arleta said.

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:

Grandma did what? You might be surprised. Back in the 1880’s, when she was a young girl named Mabel, trouble seemed to follow her everywhere. She and her best friend, Sarah Jane, had the best intentions at home and at school, but somehow clumsiness and mischief always seemed to intrude. Whether getting into a sticky mess with face cream, traveling to the big city, sneaking out to a birthday party or studying for the spelling bee, Mabel’s brilliant ideas only seemed to show how much she had to learn. And each of her mishaps turned into lessons in honesty, patience and responsibility.

Arleta Richardson’s beloved series, Grandma’s Attic, returns with Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic and Treasures from Grandma’s Attic, the third and fourth books in the refreshed classic collection for girls ages 8 to 12. These compilations of tales recount humorous and poignant memories from Grandma Mabel’s childhood on a Michigan farm in the late 1800’s. Combining the warmth and spirit of Little House on the Prairie with a Christian focus, these books transport readers back to a simpler time to learn lessons surprisingly relevant in today’s world.

Even though these stories took place over a hundred years ago, there are some things about being a girl that never change. Just like Mabel, girls still want to be prettier or more independent. It’s all part of growing up. But the amazing thing is—Grandma felt the same way! Sometimes your brother teases you or someone you thought was a friend turns out to be insincere. Sometimes you’re certain you know better than your parents, only to discover to your horror that they might have been right. It’s all part of growing up.

Richardson’s wholesome stories have reached more than two million readers worldwide. Parents appreciate the godly values and character they promote while children love the captivating storytelling that recounts childhood memories of mischief and joy. These books are ideal for homes, schools, libraries or gifts and are certain to be treasured. So return to Grandma’s attic, where true tales of yesteryear bring timeless lessons for today, combining the appeal of historical fiction for girls with the truth of God’s Word. Each captivating story promotes godly character and values with humor, understanding and warmth.

Product Details:

Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic:

List Price: $6.99

Reading level: Ages 9-12

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: David C. Cook; Reprint edition (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0781403812

ISBN-13: 978-0781403818

Treasures from Grandma’s Attic:

Reading level: Ages 9-12

Paperback: 160 pages

Publisher: David C. Cook; Reprint edition (August 1, 2011)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 0781403820

ISBN-13: 978-0781403825

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTERS:

Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic

When Grandma Was a Little Girl

One hundred years! What a long, long time ago that is! Not very many people are still alive who can remember that far back. But through the magic of stories, we can be right there again.

When I was a little girl, I thought no one could tell a story like my grandma.

“Tell me about when you were a little girl,” I would say. Soon I would be back on the farm in northern Michigan with young Mabel—who became my grandmother—her mother and father, and her brothers, Reuben and Roy.

The old kitchen where I sat to hear many of Grandma’s stories didn’t look the same as when she was a little girl. Then there was no electricity nor running water. But my grandma still lived in the house she grew up in. I had no trouble imagining all the funny jams that Grandma and her best friend, Sarah Jane, got into. Or how it felt to wear long flannel stockings and high-buttoned shoes.

From the dusty old attic to the front parlor with its slippery furniture, Grandma’s old house was a storybook just waiting to be opened. I was fortunate to have a grandma who knew just how to open it. She loved to tell a story just as much as I loved to hear one.

Come with me now, back to the old kitchen in that Michigan farmhouse, and enjoy the laughter and tears of many years ago....

1

Face Cream from Godey’s Lady’s Book

Receiving mail always excited me. I never had to be told to get the mail for Grandma on my way home from school. But sometimes the mail became even more important. Like the time I was watching for something I had ordered from Woman’s Home Companion.

When the small package finally arrived, my face revealed how excited I was.

“What did you get a sample of this time?” Grandma asked as I came in proudly carrying the precious box.

“You’ll see. Just wait till I show you,” I said, promising Grandma the box held something special.

Quickly I tore the wrapping paper off the small box. Inside was a jar of skin cream for wrinkles.

Grandma laughed when she saw it. “You certainly don’t need that,” she said. “Now it might do me some good if those things ever really worked.”

“You aren’t wrinkled, Grandma,” I protested. “Your face is nice and smooth.”

“Perhaps so. But not because of what I’ve rubbed on it. More than likely I’ve inherited a smooth skin.”

She took the jar of cream and looked at the ingredients “This doesn’t look quite as dangerous as some stuff Sarah Jane and I mixed up one day. Did I ever tell you about that?”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” I replied. “Tell me now.”

Grandma picked up her crocheting, and I settled back to listen to a story about Grandma and her friend, Sarah Jane, when they were my age.

***

Sarah Jane had a cousin who lived in the city. This cousin often came to stay at Sarah Jane’s for a few days. She brought things with her that we were not accustomed to seeing.

One morning as Sarah Jane and I were walking to school together, Sarah Jane told me some very exciting news. “My cousin Laura will be here tomorrow. She’s going to stay all next week. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’m glad she’s coming. What do you think she’ll bring this time?”

“Probably some pretty new dresses and hats,” Sarah Jane guessed. “She might even let us try them on.”

“Oh, I’m sure she wouldn’t want us to try on her dresses. But maybe she wouldn’t mind if we peeked at ourselves in the mirror to see how the hats looked.”

Laura arrived the next day with several new hats. She amiably agreed that we might try them on.

They were too big, and had a tendency to slide down over our noses. But to us, they were the latest fashion.

As we laid the hats back on the bed, Sarah Jane spied something else that interested her. It was a magazine for ladies. We had not seen more than half a dozen magazines in our lives, so this was exciting.

“Oh, Laura,” Sarah Jane cried, “may we look at your magazine? We’ll be very careful.”

“Why, yes. I’m not going to be reading it right away. Go ahead.”

Eagerly we snatched the magazine and ran out to the porch. The cover pictured a lady with a very fashionable dress and hat, carrying a frilly parasol. The name of the magazine was Godey’s Lady’s Book.

“Ooh! Look at the ruffles on her dress!” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “Wouldn’t you just love to have one dress with all those ribbons and things?”

“Yes, but there’s little chance I’ll ever have it,” I replied. “Ma wouldn’t iron that many ruffles for anything. Besides, we’re not grown up enough to have dresses like that. It looks like it might be organdy, doesn’t it?”

“Mmm-hum,” Sarah Jane agreed. “It looks like something soft, all right. And look at her hair. It must be long to make that big a roll around her head.”

We spread the magazine across our laps and studied each page carefully. Nothing escaped our notice. “I sure wish we were grown up,” Sarah Jane sighed. “Think how much prettier we’d be.”

“Yes, and how much more fun we could have. These ladies don’t spend all their time going to school and doing chores. They just get all dressed up and sit around looking pretty."

We looked for a moment in silence; then Sarah Jane noticed something interesting. “Look here, Mabel. Here’s something you can make to get rid of wrinkles on your face.”

I looked where she was reading.

Guaranteed to remove wrinkles. Melt together a quantity of white wax and honey. When it becomes liquid, add the juice of several lemons. Spread the mixture liberally on your face and allow it to dry. In addition to smoothing out your wrinkles, this formula will leave your skin soft, smooth, and freckle free.

“But we don’t have any wrinkles,” I pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” Sarah Jane replied. “If it takes wrinkles away, it should keep us from getting them too. Besides,” she added critically, “it says it takes away freckles. And you have plenty of those.”

I rubbed my nose reflectively. “I sure do. Do you suppose that stuff really would take them off?”

“We can try it and see. I’ll put some on if you will. Where shall we mix it up?”

This would be a problem, since Sarah Jane’s mother was baking in her kitchen. It would be better to work where we wouldn’t have to answer questions about what we were doing.

“Let’s go to your house and see what your mother is doing,” Sarah Jane suggested.

We hurriedly returned the magazine to Laura’s bedroom and dashed back outdoors.

“Do you have all the things we need to put in it?” Sarah Jane asked.

“I know we have wax left over from Ma’s jelly glasses. And I’m sure we have lemons. But I don’t know how much honey is left.

“I know where we can get some, though.” I continued. “Remember that hollow tree in the woods? We found honey there last week.”

Soon we were on our way to collect it in a small pail.

“This is sure going to be messy and sticky to put on our faces,” I commented as we filled the pail.

“Probably the wax takes the sticky out,” Sarah Jane replied. “Anyway, if it takes away your freckles and makes our skin smooth, it won’t matter if it is a little gooey. I wonder how long we leave it on.”

“The directions said to let it dry,” I reminded her. “I suppose the longer you leave it there, the more good it does. We’ll have to take it off before we go in to supper, I guess.”

“I guess so,” Sarah Jane exclaimed. “I don’t know what your brothers would say. But I’m not going to give Caleb a chance to make fun of me.”

I knew what Reuben and Roy would say, too, and I was pretty sure I could predict what Ma would say. There seemed to be no reason to let them know about it.

Fortune was with us, for the kitchen was empty when we cautiously opened the back door. Ma heard us come in and called down from upstairs, “Do you need something, Mabel?”

“No, Ma’am,” I answered. “But we might like a cookie.”

“Help yourself,” Ma replied. “I’m too busy tearing rags to come down right now. You can pour yourselves some milk too.”

I assured her that we could. With a sigh of relief, we went to the pantry for a kettle in which to melt the wax and honey.

“This looks big enough,” Sarah Jane said. “You start that getting hot, and I’ll squeeze the lemons. Do you think two will be enough?”

“I guess two is ‘several.’ Maybe we can tell by the way it looks whether we need more or not.”

“I don’t see how,” Sarah Jane argued. “We never saw any of this stuff before. But we’ll start with two, anyway.”

I placed the pan containing the wax and honey on the hottest part of the stove and pulled up a chair to sit on. “Do you suppose I ought to stir it?” I inquired. “It doesn’t look as though it’s mixing very fast.”

“Give it time,” Sarah Jane advised. “Once the wax melts down, it will mix.”

After a short time, the mixture began to bubble.

“There, see?” she said, stirring it with a spoon. “You can’t tell which is wax and which is honey. I think it’s time to put in the lemon juice.” She picked up the juice, but I stopped her.

“You have to take the seeds out, first, silly. You don’t want knobs all over your face, do you?”

“I guess you’re right. That wouldn’t look too good, would it?”

She dug the seeds out, and we carefully stirred the lemon juice into the pan.

“Umm, it smells good,” I observed.

Sarah Jane agreed. “In fact, it smells a little like Ma’s cough syrup. Do you want to taste it?”

“Sure, I’ll take a little taste.” I licked some off the spoon and smacked my lips. “It’s fine,” I reported. “If it tastes that good, it will certainly be safe to use. Let’s take it to my room and try it.”

We carefully lifted the kettle from the stove. Together we carried the kettle upstairs and set it on my dresser.

“It will have to cool a little before we put it on,” I said.

“What if the wax gets hard again? We’ll have to take it downstairs and heat it all over.”

“It won’t,” I assured her. “The honey will keep it from getting too hard.” By the time the mixture was cool enough to use, it was thick and gooey—but still spreadable.

“Well, here goes,” Sarah Jane said. She dipped a big blob out and spread it on her face. I did the same. Soon our faces were covered with the sticky mess.

“Don’t get it in your hair,” I warned. “It looks like it would be awfully hard to get out. I wonder how long it will take to dry?”

“The magazine didn’t say that. It would probably dry faster outside in the sun. But someone is sure to see us out there. We’d better stay here.... I wish we had brought the magazine to look at.”

“We can look at the Sears catalog,” I suggested. “Let’s play like we’re ordering things for our own house.”

We sat down on the floor and spread the catalog out in front of us. After several minutes, Sarah Jane felt her face.

“I think it’s dry, Mabel,” she announced, hardly moving her lips. “It doesn’t bend or anything.”

I touched mine and discovered the same thing. The mask was solid and hard. It was impossible to move my mouth to speak, so my voice had a funny sound when I answered her.

“So’s mine. Maybe we’d better start taking it off now.”

We ran to the mirror and looked at ourselves.

“We sure look funny.” Sarah Jane laughed the best she could without moving her face. “How did the magazine say to get it off?”

Suddenly we looked at each other in dismay. The magazine hadn’t said anything about removing the mixture, only how to fix and spread it on.

“Well, we’ve done it again,” I said. “How come everything we try works until we’re ready to undo it? We’ll just have to figure some way to get rid of it.”

We certainly did try. We pushed the heavy masks that covered our faces. We pulled them, knocked on them, and tried to soak them off. They would not budge.

“I think we used too much wax and not enough honey,” Sarah Jane puffed as she flopped back down on the bed.

“That’s certainly a great thing to think of now,” I answered crossly. “The only way to move wax is to melt it. And we certainly can’t stick our faces in the fire!”

“Mine feels like it’s already on fire. I don’t think this stuff is good for your skin.”

“You’re going to have to think about more than that,” I told her. “Or this stuff will be your skin. There has to be some way to get it off.”

“We’ve tried everything we can think of. We’ll just have to go down and let your rna help us.”

That was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. But I could see no other alternative. Slowly we trudged down to the kitchen.

Ma was working at the stove, and she said cheerfully, “Are you girls hungry again? It won’t be long until suppertime, so you’d better not eat ....”

She turned around as she spoke. When she spotted us standing in the doorway, her eyes widened in disbelief.

“What on earth? ... What have you done to yourselves?”

I burst into tears. The sight of drops of tears running down that ridiculous mask must have been more than Ma could stand. Suddenly she began to laugh. She laughed until she had to sit down.

“It’s not funny, Ma. We can’t get it off! We’ll have to wear it the rest of our lives!”

Ma controlled herself long enough to come over and feel my face. “What did you put in it?” she asked. “That will help me know how to take it off.”

We told her.

“If you two ever live to grow up, it will only be the Lord’s good mercy. The only thing we can do is apply something hot enough to melt the wax,” Ma told us quickly.

“But we boiled the wax, Ma,” I cried. “You can’t boil our faces!”

“No, 1won’t try anything as drastic as that. I’ll just use hot towels until it gets soft enough to pull away.”

After several applications, we were finally able to start peeling the mixture off. As it came loose, our skin came with it.

“Ouch! That hurts,” I cried.

But Ma could not stop. By the time the last bits of wax and honey were removed, our faces were fiery red and raw.

“What did we do wrong?” Sarah Jane wailed. “We made it just like the magazine said.”

“You may have used the wrong quantities, or left it on too long,” Ma said. “At any rate, I don’t think you’ll try it again.”

“I know I won’t,” Sarah Jane moaned. “I’m going to tell Laura she should ignore that page in her magazine.” She looked at me. “The stuff did one thing they said it would, Mabel. I don’t see any freckles.”

“There’s no skin left, either,” I retorted. “I’d rather have freckles than a face like this.”

"Never mind.” Ma tried to soothe us. “Your faces will be all right in a couple of days.”

“A couple of days!” I howled. “We can’t go to school looking like this!”

***

“We did, though.” Grandma laughed as she finished the story. “After a while we were able to laugh with the others over our foolishness.”

I looked at the little jar of cream that had come in the mail.

“I don’t think I’ll use this, Grandma. I guess I’ll just let my face get wrinkled if it wants to!”

************************************************

Treasures from Grandma's Attic

Cousin Agatha

My best friend, Sarah Jane, and I were walking home from school on a cold November afternoon.

“Do you realize, Mabel, that 1886 is almost over? Another year of nothing important ever happening is nearly gone.”

“Well, we still have a good bit of life ahead of us,” I replied.

“You don’t know that,” Sarah Jane said darkly, “We’re thirteen and a half. We may already have lived nearly a third of our allotted time.”

“The O’Dells live to be awfully old,” I told her. “So, unless I get run down by a horse and buggy, I’ll probably be around awhile.”

We walked along in silence. Then suddenly Sarah Jane pulled me to the side of the road.

“Here’s the horse and buggy that could keep you from becoming an old lady,” she kidded. We turned to see my pa coming down the road.

“Want to ride the rest of the way, girls?” he called. We clambered into the buggy, and Pa clucked to Nellie.

“What did you get in town?” I asked.

“Some things for the farm and a letter for your ma.” Around the next bend, Pa slowed Nellie to a halt. “Your stop, Sarah Jane.”

“Thanks, Mr. O’Dell.” Sarah Jane jumped down. “I’ll be over to study later, Mabel. ‘Bye.”

“Who’s the letter from?” I asked Pa.

“Can’t tell from the handwriting. We’ll have to wait for Ma to tell us.”

When Ma opened the letter, she looked puzzled. “This is from your cousin Agatha,” she said to Pa. “Why didn’t she address it to you, too?”

“If I know Aggie, she wants something,” Pa declared. “And she figured you’d be more likely to listen to her sad story.”

Ma read the letter and shook her head at Pa. “She just wants to come for Thanksgiving. Now aren’t you ashamed of talking that way?”

“No, I’m not. That’s what Aggie says she wants. You can be sure there’s more there than meets the eye. Are you going to tell her to come ahead?”

“Why, of course!” Ma exclaimed. “If I were a widowed lady up in years, I’d want to be with family on Thanksgiving. Why shouldn’t I tell her to come?”

Pa took his hat from the peg by the door and started for the barn, where my older brothers were already at work. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he remarked as he left.

“What did Pa warn you about?” I asked as soon as the door closed behind him. “What does Cousin Agatha want?”

“I don’t believe Pa was talking to you,” Ma replied. “You heard me say that she wants to come for Thanksgiving.”

“Yes, but Pa said—”

“That’s enough, Mabel. We won’t discuss it further.”

I watched silently as Ma sat down at the kitchen table and answered Cousin Agatha’s letter.

Snow began to fall two days before the holiday, and Pa had to hitch up the sleigh to go into town and meet the train.

“It will be just our misfortune to have a real blizzard and be snowed in with that woman for a week,” he grumbled.

“Having Aggie here a few days won’t hurt you,” Ma said. “The way you carry on, you’d think she was coming to stay forever!”

Pa’s look said he considered that a distinct possibility. As I helped Ma with the pies, I questioned her about Cousin Agatha.

“Has she been here before? I can’t remember seeing her.”

“I guess you were pretty small last time Agatha visited,” Ma replied. “I expect she gets lonely in that big house in the city.”

“What do you suppose she wants besides dinner?” I ventured.

“Friendly company,” Ma snapped. “And we’re going to give it to her.”

When the pies were in the oven, I hung around the window, watching for the sleigh. It was nearly dark when I heard the bells on Nellie’s harness ring out across the snow.

“They’re coming, Ma,” I called, and Ma hurried to the door with the lamp held high over her head. The boys and I crowded behind her. Pa jumped down from the sleigh and turned to help Cousin Agatha.

“I don’t need any assistance from you, James,” a firm voice spoke. “I’m perfectly capable of leaving any conveyance under my own power.”

“She talks like a book!” Roy whispered, and Reuben poked him. I watched in awe as a tall, unbending figure sailed into the kitchen.

“Well, Maryanne,” she said, “it’s good to see you.” She removed her big hat, jabbed a long hat pin into it, and handed the hat to me. “You must be Mabel.”

I nodded wordlessly.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you speak?” she boomed.

“Yes, ma’am,” I gulped nervously.

“Then don’t stand there bobbing your head like a monkey on a stick. People will think you have no sense. You can put that hat in my room.”

I stared openmouthed at this unusual person until a gentle push from Ma sent me in the direction of the guest room.

After dinner and prayers, Pa rose with the intention of going to the barn.

“James!” Cousin Agatha’s voice stopped him. “Surely you aren’t going to do the chores with these two great hulking fellows sitting here, are you?”

The two great hulking fellows leaped for the door with a speed I didn’t know they had.

“I should guess so,” Cousin Agatha exclaimed with satisfaction. “If there’s anything I can’t abide, it’s a lazy child.”

As she spoke, Cousin Agatha pulled Ma’s rocker to the stove and lowered herself into it. “This chair would be more comfortable if there were something to put my feet on,” she said, “but I suppose one can’t expect the amenities in a place like this.”

I looked at Ma for some clue as to what “amenities” might be. This was not a word we had encountered in our speller.

“Run into the parlor and get the footstool, Mabel,” Ma directed.

When Cousin Agatha was settled with her hands in her lap and her feet off the cold floor, I started the dishes.

“Maryanne, don’t you think Mabel’s dress is a mite too short?”

Startled, I looked down at my dress.

“No,” Ma’s calm voice replied. “She’s only thirteen, you know. I don’t want her to be grown up too soon.”

“There is such a thing as modesty, you know.” Cousin Agatha sniffed.

Pa and the boys returned just then, so Ma didn’t answer. I steered an uneasy path around Cousin Agatha all evening. For the first time I could remember, I was glad when bedtime came.

The next day was Thanksgiving, and the house was filled with the aroma of good things to eat. From her rocker, Cousin Agatha offered suggestions as Ma scurried about the kitchen.

“Isn’t it time to baste the turkey, Maryanne? I don’t care for dry fowl.”

“I see the boys running around out there with that mangy dog as though they had nothing to do. Shouldn’t they be chopping wood or something?”

“I should think Mabel could be helping you instead of reading a book. If there’s one thing I can’t abide . . . “

“Mabel will set the table when it’s time,” Ma put in. “Maybe you’d like to peel some potatoes?”

The horrified look on Cousin Agatha’s face said she wouldn’t consider it, so Ma withdrew her offer.

A bump on the door indicated that the “mangy dog” was tired of the cold. I laid down my book and let Pep in. He made straight for the stove and his rug.

“Mercy!” Cousin Agatha cried. “Do you let that—that animal in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Ma replied. “He’s not a young dog any longer. He isn’t any bother, and he does enjoy the heat.”

“Humph.” Agatha pulled her skirts around her. “I wouldn’t allow any livestock in my kitchen. Can’t think what earthly good a dog can be.” She glared at Pep, who responded with a thump of his tail and a sigh of contentment.

“Dumb creature,” Cousin Agatha muttered.

“Pep isn’t dumb, Cousin Agatha,” I said. “He’s really the smartest dog I know.”

“I was not referring to his intellect or lack of it,” she told me, “‘Dumb’ indicates an inability to speak. You will have to concede that he is unable to carry on a conversation.”

I was ready to dispute that, too, but Ma shook her head. Cousin Agatha continued to give Pep disparaging glances.

“Didn’t you ever have any pets at your house, Cousin Agatha?” I asked.

“Pets? I should say not! Where in the Bible does it say that God made animals for man’s playthings? They’re meant to earn their keep, not sprawl out around the house absorbing heat.”

“Oh, Pep works,” I assured her. “He’s been taking the cows out and bringing them back for years now.”

Cousin Agatha was not impressed. She sat back in the rocker and eyed Pep with disfavor. “The one thing I can’t abide, next to a lazy child, is a useless animal—and in the house!”

I began to look nervously at Ma, thinking she might send Pep to the barn to keep the peace. But she went on about her work, serenely ignoring Cousin Agatha’s hints. I was glad when it was time to set the table.

After we had eaten, Pa took the Bible down from the cupboard and read our Thanksgiving chapter, Psalm 100. Then he prayed, thanking the Lord for Cousin Agatha and asking the Lord’s blessing on her just as he did on the rest of us. When he had finished, Cousin Agatha spoke up.

“I believe that I will stay here until Christmas, James. Then, if I find it to my liking, I could sell the house in the city and continue on with you. Maryanne could use some help in teaching these children how to be useful.”

In the stunned silence that followed, I looked at Pa and Ma to see how this news had affected them. Ma looked pale. Before Pa could open his mouth to answer, Cousin Agatha rose from the table. “I’ll just go to my room for a bit of rest,” she said. “We’ll discuss this later.”

When she had left, we gazed at each other helplessly.

“Is there anything in the Bible that tells you what to do now?” I asked Pa.

“Well, it says if we don’t love our brother whom we can see, how can we love God whom we can’t see? I think that probably applies to cousins as well.”

“I’d love her better if I couldn’t see her.” Reuben declared. “We don’t have to let her stay, do we, Pa?”

“No, we don’t have to,” Pa replied. “We could ask her to leave tomorrow as planned. But I’m not sure that would be right. What do you think, Ma?”

“I wouldn’t want to live alone in the city,” Ma said slowly. “I can see that she would prefer the company of a family. I suppose we should ask her to stay until Christmas.”

“I think she already asked herself,” Roy ventured. “But she did say if she found things to her liking. . . .”

We all looked at Roy. Pa said, “You’re not planning something that wouldn’t be to her liking, are you?”

“Oh, no, sir!” Roy quickly answered. “Not me.”

Pa signed. “I’m not sure I’d blame you. She’s not an easy person to live with. We’ll all have to be especially patient with her.”

There wasn’t much Thanksgiving atmosphere in the kitchen as we did the dishes.

“How can we possibly stand it for another whole month?” I moaned.

“The Lord only sends us one day at a time,” Ma informed me. “Don’t worry about more than that. When the other days arrive, you’ll probably find out you worried about all the wrong things.”

As soon as the work was finished, I put on my coat and walked over to Sarah Jane’s.

“What will you do if she stays on after Christmas?” she asked.

“I’ll just die.”

“I thought you were going to be a long-living O’Dell.”

“I changed my mind,” I retorted. “What would you do if you were in my place?”

“I’d probably make her life miserable so she’d want to leave.”

“You know I couldn’t get away with that. Pa believes that Christian love is the best solution.”

“All right, then,” Sarah Jane said with a shrug. “Love her to death.”

As though to fulfill Pa’s prediction, snow began to fall heavily that night. By morning we were snowed in.

“Snowed in?” Cousin Agatha repeated. “You mean unable to leave the house at all?”

“That’s right,” Pa replied. “This one is coming straight down from Canada.”

Cousin Agatha looked troubled. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

“We’ll be all right,” Ma reassured her. “We have plenty of wood and all the food we need.”

But Cousin Agatha was not to be reassured. I watched her stare into the fire and twist her handkerchief around her fingers. Why, she’s frightened! I thought. This old lady had been directing things all her life, and here was something she couldn’t control. Suddenly I felt sorry for her.

“Cousin Agatha,” I said, “we have fun when we’re snowed in. We play games and pop corn and tell stories. You’ll enjoy it. I know you will!”

I ran over and put my arms around her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. She looked at me in surprise.

“That’s the first time anyone has hugged me since I can remember,” she said. “Do you really like me, Mabel?”

Right then I knew that I did like Cousin Agatha a whole lot. Behind her stern front was another person who needed to be loved and wanted.

“Oh, yes, Cousin Agatha,” I replied. “I really do. You’ll see what a good time we’ll have together.”

The smile that lighted her face was bright enough to chase away any gloom that had settled over the kitchen. And deep down inside, I felt real good.

Ransome's Quest by Kaye Dacus

2011-08-19T23:39:00.006-04:00

Commodore William Ransome is accustomed to being in command. The ability to control his crew and his ship earned him the rank of commodore. However, when his wife, Julia, is kidnapped only days after his sister, Charlotte, is taken, he is torn by the fact he cannot save them both himself. Entrusting his sister to her fiancé, Ned Cochrane, William seeks clues leading to his beloved wife. Strength and bravery alone will not be enough to rescue the two ladies. When a pirate offers vital information and assistance, long-hidden family secrets rise and William is forced to trust his wife's life to this pirate. Will Julia be safely reunited with William? Can anyone thrive after surviving such horrible circumstances? What other secrets surround this family?

Ransome's Quest is the third book in the Ransome Trilogy by Kaye Dacus. Set in the Regency era and featuring pirates, Royal Navy officers, and wealthy plantation owners, Ransome's Quest has a unique setting with lots of adventure. The book was more fiction than romance, but that was somewhat expected from the synopsis. I think it would have been easier for me to get into the book if I had read the first two books (Ransome's Honor and Ransome's Crossing) prior to reading Ransome's Quest. I don't recommend reading it as a stand-alone novel. There was some backstory given, but not until later in the book and I always had the feeling that I was missing something. Thankfully, once I got about halfway into the book, the plot really caught me and carried through until the end.

Click here to read an excerpt from Ransome's Quest by Kay Dacus. (Scroll to the bottom)

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher as part of First Wild Card Reviews. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising."