Carries Book Reviews

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Vanished
Anna J. Stewart
(Circle of the Red Lily, #2)
Publication date: November 21st 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense

She’ll risk everything to expose the truth.

Since her twin sister Sylvie’s disappearance seven years ago, single mother Mabel Reynolds has turned grief into action and become a strong voice for victims of violence and abuse.

When new revelations shed light on what may have happened not only to Sylvie, but dozens of other women, Mabel’s hope for answers is reignited. But the new oh-so-charming DA overseeing the investigation seems more interested in a quick rather than an accurate resolution.

With little faith in the system, Mabel isn’t about to stay quiet, not when she’s finally close to the truth. She’s willing to go up against anyone—even a smug, irritating, attractive DA to get the answers she and other families deserve.

Open and shut.

That’s what Assistant DA Paul Flynn has been told about his new assignment supervising a house of horrors case. With a high-profile conviction at stake, Paul can’t afford to make a wrong move if his professional goals are to be achieved.

But Mabel Reynolds has his attention. All of it. Attraction aside, the woman knows far more than what’s in the official files which makes her something even more intriguing. But using Mabel as an asset means exposing her and her young daughter to even more danger. Danger that is closing in on them from every side. As even darker forces appear, and their lives are threatened, Paul is faced with risking not only his entire career, but also the one thing he never anticipated losing: his heart.

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EXCERPT:

You have a possible concussion. Even a mild one isn’t anything to play at.”

“I’m not playing with anything.” Mabel gripped the metal bumper with her uninjured hand and ignored how her stomach pitched. “I’ve had migraines worse than this. If it still hurts tomorrow, I’ll get it checked out.”

The EMT stepped back and peered down at her as if she were a naughty twoyear-old who just got caught raiding the cookie jar. Her eyes slid over his name badge identifying him as Buck.

“I promise.” Mabel offered the most saccharine smile she could muster. “I just really need to get home.”

“Can’t let you go just yet.” Sergeant Corrine Michaels, first officer on the scene, stepped out from behind the ambulance door, her dark brown hair knotted at the base of her neck. Her Black skin glistened against the glow of the streetlamps.

“Why not?” Mabel couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice. “I’ve given you my statement, and you and your partner took care of boarding up Mrs. Lancaster’s window.” She gestured to the now-wood-covered frame on the second floor. “So, tell me why …” Mabel trailed off at the sight of the all-too-familiar black SUV that pulled up to a screeching stop right in front of the ambulance. “You have got to be kidding me.”

So much for keeping this low-key.

Quinn wasn’t alone. In yet another surprise of the evening, the sight of Paul Flynn slamming out of the passenger side of the vehicle sent her already overwrought emotions into an out-of-control spiral. There was only one way to control that storm of emotions, and that was with forced hostility. “What are you doing here?”

“Answering a damsel’s call of distress.” In the pale glow of the streetlamps, what little humor twinkling in Paul’s eyes was muted by concern. It unnerved her that her first reaction upon seeing him was relief, followed quickly by gratitude before annoyance hit dead center of her chest.

Since she’d left his office, he’d earned himself a five o’clock shadow, and damn if that didn’t increase his sexiness factor. The man looked like a knight in shining armor or at least a rival for a once-upon-a-time movie hero who would have taken over not only the silver screen but the town that built them.

An uncontrolled bubble of laughter climbed into her throat at the very idea.

Instead of armor, Paul carried a briefcase. Normally. But not now. She wondered if it was bulletproof.

She almost … almost let herself sag into him at his cautious touch. That was how long it took for his words to cut through the fog in her mind. Her spine went steel-girder stiff. “Who are you calling a damsel?”

“You,” Paul countered with a quick look at Quinn. “Told you that would work.” Quinn’s grin was quick, and her annoyance grew. When did these two become friends? “How is she?” Paul asked Buck.

“She is fine.” Mabel looked from Quinn to Paul, back to Quinn. Her eyes ached from glaring so hard. She might be one big walking bruise in the morning, but she could fake it until then.

“She’s okay,” Buck corrected. “Glass puncture on her hand. Other abrasions and bruises. Bruised larynx, no doubt because of the choking. Possible concussion, which we’ve discussed at length.”

“More like ad nauseam,” Mabel muttered, and only now did she hear how raspy her voice sounded. She touched a hand to her throat as if she could ease the roughness. “I guess I don’t have to ask how you heard.” She narrowed her gaze at Sergeant Michaels who looked far from repentant. “Quinn, it’s after seven. I need to call Keeley, and they won’t let me back upstairs to get my phone.”

As anxious as she was to call her daughter, the idea of going back up and into that room left her nauseated.

Quinn handed over his cell, and Mabel gripped it as if it were a lifeline. “Thanks for the head’s up, Corrine.”

‘Following orders,” the officer assured him. “You want a rundown of events, Detective?”

“Yes, thanks.” Quinn touched a hand to Mabel’s shoulder. “You really okay?”

“Yep.” A little freaked out. More than a tad unsettled. And really, really restless to get home and put all this behind her. Most of all, she just wanted to hug her kid. All the rest of it could wait until she was alone and could scream into her pillow.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” Quinn moved off out of hearing distance, and Mabel looked down at the phone. Only then did she notice her hands were trembling.

“I have to call her.” It was as if Mabel had to convince herself, but she looked up at Paul. “I don’t know what to tell her. How do I explain this without freaking her out?”

“Maybe you don’t just yet. Give us a few minutes?” Paul asked Buck, who snapped his medical kit shut and hoisted himself into the ambulance.

“I don’t need coddling,” Mabel said when he sat next to her. “You’re a stranger,” she insisted in an effort to explain these feelings to herself. A stranger who displayed such concern and affection for her, he made her feel as if they’d known each other forever. She didn’t want to feel comfortable with him. She didn’t want to want or need him. “I don’t need …” The warmth of his body surged against hers. When he raised his arm over her shoulders and drew her in, she stiffened. “I said I’m fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut as the soft fabric of his shirt caressed her face. Tears she’d been trying to hold onto escaped, and when she fisted her hands to make them stop, an involuntary whimper of pain escaped.

“Humor me.” Still holding her close, Paul reached for her bandaged hand and turned it palm up. “How did this happen?”

It felt good, letting go for a moment. Being held. Having someone to lean on. For however short a time, she surrendered to it.

 

Author Bio:

Award-winning, USA Today and national bestselling author Anna J Stewart writes sweet to sexy romances for Harlequin and ARC Manor’s CAEZIK (Kay-Zehk) Romance. Her sweet Harlequin Heartwarming books include the Butterfly Harbor series as well as the ongoing Blackwell continuity series. She also writes the Honor Bound series for Harlequin Romantic Suspense and has contributed to the bestselling Coltons. Her Circle of the Red Lily romantic suspense series, published by CAEZIK, will launch with EXPOSED in November of 2022.

A Holt Medallion winner (BRIDE ON THE RUN), as well as a Golden Heart, Daphne DuMaurier, and National Reader’s Choice finalist, Anna loves writing big community stories where family found is always the theme. Since her first published novella with Harlequin in 2014, Anna has released more than fifty novels and novellas and hopes to branch out even more (horror romance, anyone?). Anna lives in Northern California where (at the best times) she loves going to the movies, attending fan conventions, and heading to Disneyland, her favorite place on earth. When she’s not writing, she is usually binge-watching her newest TV addiction, re-watching her all-time favorite show, Supernatural, and wrangling two monstrous cats named Rosie and Sherlock. Visit Anna online at http://www.AuthorAnnaStewart.com and sign up for her newsletter (giveaways in every issue!).

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Title: Heart Like a Cowboy

Author: Delores Fossen

Publisher: Canary Street Press

Publication Date: November 28, 2023

Page Count: 310

About the book:

He’s Emerald Creek’s hottest cowboy—and the one man she shouldn’t want

On the surface, Egan Donnelly is hometown hero material—top gun, commanding an elite fighter training squadron and ranching royalty. Inside, he feels like a fraud, convinced he’s responsible for his best friend’s death. At least he won’t let himself succumb to the heat between him and Jack’s widow, Alana. Yet. Now that she’s making regular trips to his ranch to care for his dad, that vow is getting harder to keep.

Alana Davidson isn’t just grieving her husband’s loss, she’s feeling betrayed over his secret infidelity. Wanting Egan makes things even more complicated. As a nutritionist, she can help Egan’s dad recover from his health scare, but it’s not so easy to get her own heart back on track. Because despite shared guilt and family pressure, she’s falling fast, and Egan is right there with her…

Find this book online:

Goodreads  /  Amazon  /  BookShop.org / Harlequin  / Barnes & Noble / Books-A-Million / Powell’s 

Excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

That whole deal about bad news coming in threes? Well, it was a crock. Lieutenant Colonel Egan Don- nelly now had proof of it.

First, there’d been the unexpected visitor, AKA the messenger, who’d started the whole bad-news ball rolling. That’d teach him to open his frickin’ door before he’d even finished his frickin’ coffee.

Then, there was the so-called celebration that would stir up the worst of his past and serve it up to him on a silver platter. Or rather on a disposable paper plate, anyway.

Then, a letter from his ex, which he figured was never a good sign. Who the heck actually wanted to hear from their cheating ex? Not him, that was for sure.

Those were the three things—count them: one, two, three—that was supposed to have been the final tally of bad crap even if for only a day, but apparently the creator of that old saying had no credibility what- soever. Then again, Egan had known firsthand that bad news didn’t have limited quantities.

Or expiration dates.

Now he was faced with ironclad confirmation that 

those other three things were piddly-ass drops in the proverbial bucket compared to bad-news number four.

And now, everything in his world was crashing and burning.

Again.

Thirty Minutes Earlier

In the dream, Lieutenant Colonel Egan Donnelly saved his best friend’s life. In the dream, the explosion didn’t happen. It didn’t blast through the scorched, airless night. Didn’t tear apart the transport vehicle.

Didn’t leave blood on the bleached sand.

Didn’t kill.

In the dream, Egan was the hero that so many people proclaimed he was. He made just the right decisions to save everyone, including Jack. Especially Jack.

Egan didn’t fight tooth and nail to come out of this dream—unlike the ones that were basically a blow-by-blow account of what had actually happened that god-awful night nearly three years ago. Those dreams were pits of the darkest level of hell where everything spun and bashed, stomping him down deeper and deeper into the real nightmare. Those dreams he fought.

Had to.

Because Egan had learned the hard way if he let those dreams play out, then it was a damn hard struggle to come back from them. Heck, he was still trying to come back from them.

Despite wanting to linger in this particular dream 

where he got to play hero, it didn’t happen, thanks to his phone dinging with a text. He frowned, noticing that it was barely six in the morning. Texts at this hour usually were not good. Considering that all three of his siblings were on active duty, not good could be really bad.

He saw his father’s name on the screen, and the worry instantly tightened Egan’s gut. His dad had just turned sixty so while he wasn’t in the “one foot in the grave” stage, he wasn’t the proverbial spring chicken, either. Added to that, his dad still ran the day-to-day operation of Saddlebrook, the family’s ranch in Emerald Creek, Texas. The ranch that’d been in the Donnelly family for over a hundred years and had grown and grown and grown with each succeeding generation. All that growth required hours of upkeep and work.

Found this when I was going through some old photo albums, his dad had texted.

What the heck? That gut tightness eased up, some, when Egan saw it was a slightly off-center image taken in front of the main barn on the ranch. His dad had obviously used his phone to take a picture of the old photo. Emphasis on old.

It was a shot that his grandmother, Effie, had snapped thirty years ago on Egan’s eighth birthday. His brother, Cal, would have been six. His sister, Remi, a two-year-old toddler, and his other brother, Blue, was just four. Stairsteps, people called them, since they’d all been born just two years apart.

In the photo, his dad, looking lean, fit and young, 

was in the center, flanked by Egan and Remi on the right, and Cal and Blue on the left. Remi and Blue were both grinning big toothy grins. Cal and Egan weren’t. Probably because they’d been old enough to understand that life as they’d known it was over.

Their lives hadn’t exactly gone to hell in a handbasket, but this particular shot had been taken only a couple of weeks after their mother had died from cancer. A long agonizing death that had left their dad the widower of four young kids. Still, his dad was eking out a smile in the picture, and he’d managed to gather all four of them in his outstretched arms.

Bittersweet times.

That’s when their mom’s mom, Grammy Effie, had come to Saddlebrook for what was supposed to have been a couple of months, until his dad got his footing. Effie was still living on the ranch thirty years later and had obviously put down roots as deep as his father’s.

Egan was wondering what had prompted his dad to go digging through old family albums when his phone dinged again. It was another text from his dad, another photo. It was an image that Egan also knew well, and he mentally referred to it as the start of phase two of his life.

The first phase had been with a loving mother that sadly he now couldn’t even remember. That had ended with her death. Phase two had begun when his dad had gotten remarried four years later to a young fresh-faced Captain Audrey Granger, who’d then been stationed at the very base in San Antonio 

where Egan was now. It was an hour’s commute to the ranch that Audrey had diligently made.

For a while, anyway.

In this shot, his dad and new bride dressed in blue were in the center, and both were flashing giddy smiles. Ditto for Remi and Blue. Again, no smiles for Cal and Egan since they’d been ten and twelve respectively and were no doubt holding back on the glee to see how life with their stepmom would all play out.

It hadn’t played out especially well.

But then, it also hadn’t hit anywhere near the “hell in a handbasket” mark, either.

If there’d been a family photo taken just two years later, though, Audrey probably wouldn’t have been in it. By then, she’d been in Germany. Or maybe England. Instead of an hour commute, she’d come “home” to the ranch a couple of times a year. Then, as her career had blossomed, the visits had gotten further and further apart. These days, Brigadier General Audrey Donnelly only came home on Christmas. If that.

Egan sent his dad a thumbs-up emoji to let him know he’d seen the pictures, and he was considering an actual reply to ask if all was well, but his alarm went off. He got up, mentally going through his schedule for the day. As the commander of the Fighter Training Squadron at Randolph AFB, Texas, there’d be the usual paperwork, going over some stats for the pilots in training, and then in the afternoon, he’d get to do one of the things he loved most.

Fly.

Of course, it would be under the guise of a training mission in the T-38C Talon jet, not the F-16 that Egan used to pilot, but it would still give him that hit of adrenaline. Still give him the reminder of why he’d first joined the Navy and then had transferred to the Air Force so he could continue to stay in the cockpit.

Egan showered, put on his flight suit, read through his emails on his phone and was about halfway through his first cup of coffee when his doorbell rang. He had the same reaction to it as he had the earlier text. A punch of dread that something was wrong. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet and hardly the time for visitors. Especially since he lived in base housing and therefore wasn’t on the traditional beaten path for friends or family to just drop by.

Frowning, he went to the door. And Egan frowned some more when he looked through the peephole at the visitor on his porch. A woman with pulled back dark blond hair and vivid green eyes. At first glance, he thought it was his ex-wife, Colleen, someone he definitely didn’t want to see, but this was a slightly younger, taller version of the woman who’d left him for another man.

Alana Davidson, Colleen’s sister.

“Yes, I know it’s early,” Alana sighed and said loud enough for him to hear while she looked directly at the peephole. “Sorry about that.”

Wondering what the heck this was all about, he opened the door and got an immediate blast of heat. Texas in June started out hot as hell and got even hotter. Today was apparently no exception. He also 

got another immediate blast of concern because there was nothing about Alana’s expression that indicated this was a social visit.

Then again, Alana and he never had social visits.

Never.

Just too much old baggage, old wounds and old everything else between them. Ironic, since she’d been married to his best friend. Now, she was his dead best friend’s widow and bore that strong resemblance to his cheating ex-wife who’d left him just days before Jack’s death.

Egan was no doubt an unwelcome sight for her, too. He was the man who’d not only failed to keep her husband alive, but he was also the reason Jack had been in that transport vehicle in the first place.

So, yeah, old baggage galore.

“Sorry,” Alana repeated, looking up at him. Not looking at him for long, though. Like their avoidance of social visits, they didn’t do a lot of eye contact, either. “But I have an appointment at the base hospital in an hour, and I wanted to catch you before you went into work.”

“The hospital?” he automatically questioned.

She waved it off, clearly picking up on his concern that something might be medically wrong with her. “I’m consulting with a colleague on a chief master sergeant who’s being medically retired and moving to Emerald Creek. I’ll be working with the chief to come up with some lifestyle changes.”

Alana made that seem like her norm, and maybe it was. She was a dietitian, and because as Jack’s widow 

she still had a military ID card so she wouldn’t have had any trouble getting onto the base. Added to that, Emerald Creek was a haven for retirees and veterans since it was so close to three large military installations. There were almost as many combat boots as cowboy boots in Emerald Creek.

“How’d you know where I live?” he asked.

“I got your address from your grandmother.” She glanced over her shoulder at the street of houses. “I occasionally have consults here, but it’s the first time I’ve been to this part of the base.”

Yeah, his particular house wasn’t near the hospital, commissary or base exchange store where Alana would be more apt to go. Added to that, Jack had never been stationed here, which meant Alana had never lived here, either.

“Full disclosure,” she said the moment he shut the door. “You aren’t going to like any of what I have to say.”

Now it was Egan who sighed and braced himself for Alana to finally do something he’d expected her to do for three years. Scream and yell at him for allowing Jack to die. But there was no raised voice or obvious surge of anger. Instead, she took out a piece of paper from her sizeable handbag and thrust it at him.

“It’s a mock-up of a flyer that Jack’s mom intends to have printed up and sent to everyone in her known universe,” Alana explained.

At first glance, he saw that the edges of the flyer had little pictures of barbecue grills, fireworks, the 

American flag and military insignia. Egan intended to just scan it to get the gist of what it was about, but the scanning came to a stumbling slow crawl as he tried to take in what he was reading.

“Join us for a Life Celebration for Major Jack Connor Davidson, July Fourth, at the Emerald Creek City Park. It’ll be an afternoon of food, festivities and remembrance as a celebratory memorial painting for Jack will be unveiled by our own Top Gun hometown hero, Lieutenant Colonel Egan Donnelly.”

Well, hell. Both sentences were full-on gut punches and thick gobs of emotional baggage. Memorial. Life celebration. Remembrances. The icing on that gob was the last part.

Top Gun hometown hero.

Egan was, indeed, a former Top Gun. He’d won the competition a dozen years ago when he’d been a navy lieutenant flying F-16s. The hometown part was accurate, too, since he’d been born and raised in Emerald Creek, but that hero was the biggest of big-assed lies.

“I can’t go,” Egan heard himself say once he’d managed to clear the lump in his throat.

She nodded as if that were the exact answer she’d expected. “I’m guessing you’ll be on duty?”

He’d make damn sure he was, but wasn’t it ironic that the memorial celebration would fall on the one weekend of the month he usually went home to help his dad on the family ranch? Maybe Jack’s mom knew that, or maybe the woman just believed that such an event would be a good fit for the Fourth of July.

It wasn’t.

Barbecue, hot dogs, beer and such didn’t go well with the crapload of memories something like that would stir. He didn’t need a memorial or a life celebration to remember Jack. Egan remembered him daily, hourly even, and after three years, the grief and guilt hadn’t lost any steam.

“I’ll let Tilly know you can’t be there,” Alana said, referring to Jack’s mother. “She’s mentioned contacting your stepmom to see if she could be there for the unveiling.”

“Good luck with that,” he muttered, and Alana’s sound of agreement confirmed that she understood it was a long shot.

What would likely end up happening was that his brother Cal would get roped into doing the “honors.” He’d known Jack, and Cal’s need to do the right thing would have him stepping in.

“The last time I ran into Tilly, she didn’t want to discuss anything involving Jack’s death,” Egan recalled.

Alana nodded. “That’s still true. Nothing about how he died, et cetera. She only wants to chat about the things he did when he was alive.”

“So, why do a memorial painting?” Egan wanted to know.

“I’m not sure, but it’s possible the painting will be another life celebration deal that she’ll want hung in some prominent part of town like city hall or the library. In other words, maybe the painting will have nothing to do with Jack even being in the military.

Tilly was proud of him,” she quickly added. “But she’s never fully wrapped her mind around losing him.”

That made sense. The one time he’d tried to talk to her about Jack’s death, she’d shut him down. As if not talking about his death would somehow breathe some life back into him.

“There’s one more thing,” Alana went on, and this time she took a pale yellow envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “It’s a letter from Colleen.”

Egan had already reached for it but yanked back his hand as if the envelope were a coiled rattler ready to sink its fangs into his flesh. The mention of his ex-wife tended to do that. Memories of Colleen didn’t fall into the “hell on steroids” category like Jack’s. More like the “don’t let the door hit your cheating ass” category. Colleen had obviously liked that direction just fine since she hadn’t spoken a word to him since the divorce.

He glanced at the envelope, scowled. “A letter? Is it some kind of twelve-step deal about making amends or something?” he asked.

Alana shook her head. “No, I think it’s a living will of sorts.”

That erased his scowl. “Is Colleen dying?”

“Not that I know of, but she apparently decided she wanted to make her last wishes known. She sent letters for me, our aunt and your dad. I have his if you want to give it to him.”

Egan reached out again to stop her from retrieving it, and Alana used the opportunity to put the letter for him in his hand. “I don’t want this,” he insisted.

“Totally understand. I read mine,” she admitted. “Along with spelling out her end-of-life wishes—cremation, no funeral, no headstone—she wants us to have some sister time, like a vacation or something.”

Egan had no idea how much contact Alana and Colleen had with each other these days, but it was possible when Colleen had walked out on him, she’d also walked out on Alana. He thought he detected some animosity in Alana’s tone and expression.

He went straight to the trash can in the adjoining kitchen and tossed the envelope on top of the oozing heap of the sticky chicken rice bowl that had been at least a week past its prime when he’d dumped it the night before.

“I’m not interested in wife time with her,” he muttered, knowing he sounded bitter and hating that he still was.

Unlike what he was still going through with Jack, though, his grief and anger with Colleen had trickled down to almost nothing. Almost. He now just considered her a mistake and was glad she was out of his life. Some days, he could even hope that she was happy with the Mr. Wonderful artist that she’d left him for.

When he turned back to Alana, he saw she had watched the letter trashing, and she was now combing those jeweled green eyes over his face as if trying to suss out what was going on in his head. Egan decided to diffuse that with a question that fell into 

the polite small talk that would have happened had this been a normal visit.

“Uh, how are you doing?” he asked. On the surface, that didn’t seem to be a safe area of conversation since it could lead to that screaming rant over his huge part in her husband’s death. But Egan realized he would welcome the rant.

Because he deserved it.

Alana took a deep breath. “Well, despite nearly everyone in town deciding I should live out the rest of my life as a widow, I’ve started dating again.”

That got his attention. Not because he hadn’t known about the town’s feelings. And not because he believed she shouldn’t have a second chance at romance. But Egan had thought she didn’t want such a chance, that she was still as buried in the past as he was. Apparently not.

“I’m only doing virtual dating for now,” she went on, not sounding especially thrilled with that. “Last week, I had a virtual date with a guy who has six goats and eleven chickens in his one-bedroom apartment in Houston.”

Egan didn’t especially want to smile, but he did, anyway. “Sounds like a prize catch. You’d never have to buy eggs again. Or fertilizer.”

She shrugged. “He was a prize compared to the one I had the week before. Within the first minute of conversation, he wanted to know the circumference of my nipples.” Alana stopped, her eyes widening as if she hadn’t expected to share that.

Egan smiled again, but this one was forced. He 

hadn’t wanted Alana to think he was shocked or offended, though he was indeed shocked. He’d never considered nipple size one way or another.

He’d especially never considered anything about Alana’s nipples.

And he hated that was now in his head. That kind of stuff could mess with things that already had a shaky status quo.

“Dating at thirty-five isn’t as much a ‘fish in the sea’ situation as it is more of a, uh, well, swamp,” Alana explained. “Think scaly critters, slithery, that sort of thing, with the potential and hope that some actual fish lingering about will eventually come out of hiding.”

That didn’t sound appealing at all, but then he hadn’t had to hit any of the dating sites. He could thank the eternal string of matchmakers for that. Unlike the widowed Alana, apparently everyone thought a divorced guy in his thirties shouldn’t be solo. Especially a guy who’d had his “heart broken” when his wife had walked out on him right before his best friend had been killed.

“How about you?” she asked, clearly aiming for a change of subject and her own shot at small talk. “Have you jumped into dating waters?”

He shook his head. “Too busy.”

She broke their unwritten rule by locking her gaze with his for a second or two. “Yeah. Busy,” she repeated. And it sounded as if that were code for a whole bunch of things. For instance, wounded. Damaged. Guarded. Guilty.

All of the above applied to him.

It was hard for Egan to think about his happiness when he’d robbed Jack of his. Busy, though, was a much safer term for it.

“Well, I gotta go,” Alana said when the silence turned awkward, as it always did between them. “I’ll let Tilly know you won’t be at the life celebration so she can find someone else to do the unveiling.”

Egan frowned when a thought occurred to him. “She won’t ask you to do it, will she?” Because he couldn’t imagine that it’d be any easier for Alana than it would be for him.

“No.” Another sigh went with that. “Tilly still has me firmly in the ‘grieving widow’ category, which apparently will preclude me from lifting a veil on a painting and doing other things such as dating or appearing too happy when I’m in public.”

He wanted to ask, Aren’t you still a grieving widow? But that would go well beyond small talk. It could lead to an actual conversation that would drag feelings and emotions to the surface. No way did he want to deal with that.

Obviously, Alana wasn’t on board for such a chat, either, because she headed for the door, giving him a forced smile and a quick glance before she left and went to her car. Egan watched her, doling out his own forced smile and what had to be a stupid-looking wave.

Since he didn’t want to stand around and think about this visit, Colleen’s trashed letter—or Alana’s nipples—he grabbed his flight cap and keys so he could go to his truck. He barely made it a step, though, before his phone dinged with another text.

Great. Another photo trip down memory lane.

But it wasn’t.

It was his father’s name on the screen, but there was no picture. Only six words that sent Egan’s heart to his knees.

Get to Emerald Creek Hospital now.

Excerpted from Heart Like a Cowboy by Delores Fossen. Copyright © 2023 by Delores Fossen. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

About the author:

USA Today bestselling author, Delores Fossen, has sold over 125 novels with millions of copies of her books in print worldwide. She’s received the Booksellers’ Best Award, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award and was a finalist for the prestigious Rita ®. In addition, she’s had nearly a hundred short stories and articles published in national magazines. You can contact the author through her webpage at http://www.deloresfossen.com     

Author Website / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

**This post contains Amazon affiliate links which will allow me as an associate to earn a small commission on any purchase made through the link of the products I share. This commission in no way changes the pricing of any items for the buyer.**

Fairy Tales of the Magicorum #1-3
Christina Bauer
Genres: Paranormal, Young Adult

“Must read YA paranormal romance!” – USA Today

Seventeen-year-old Bryar Rose has a problem. She’s descended from one of the three magical races—shifters, fairies, or witches. That makes her one of the Magicorum, and Magicorum always follow a fairy tale life template. In Bryar’s case, that template should be Sleeping Beauty.

Should being the key word.

Trouble is, Bryar is nowhere near the sleeping beauty life template. Not even close. She doesn’t like birds or woodland creatures. She can’t sing. And she certainly can’t stand Prince Philpot, the so-called “His Highness of Hedge Funds” that her aunties want her to marry. Even worse, Bryar’s having recurring dreams of a bad boy hottie and is obsessed with finding papyri from ancient Egypt. What’s up with that?

All Bryar wants is to attend a regular high school with normal humans and forget all about shifters, fairies, witches, and the curse that Colonel Mallory the Magnificent placed on her. And she might be able to do just that–if only she can just keep her head down until her eighteenth birthday when the spell that’s ruined her life goes buh-bye.

But that plan gets turned upside down when Bryar Rose meets Knox, the bad boy who’s literally from her dreams. Knox is a powerful werewolf, and his presence in her life changes everything, and not just because he makes her knees turn into Jell-O. If Bryar can’t figure out who—or what—she really is, it might cost both her and Knox their lives… as well as jeopardize the very nature of magic itself.

Fairy Tales of the Magicorum Series

Modern fairy tales with sass, action and romance

1. Wolves and Roses

2. Moonlight and Midtown

3. Shifters and Glyphs

4. Slippers and Thieves

5. Bandits and Ball Gowns

6. Fire and Cinder

7. Fairies and Frosting

8. Towers and Tithes

9. Evil Queens and Goblin Kings

10. Scars and Weres

Perfect for teen and young adult readers who want their book series to deliver: kick-aass adaptations of fairy tales & folklore; swoon-worthy elves & fae; snarky paranormal romance; fresh themes from contemporary fiction; LOL romantic comedy; new takes on old myths & legends; edgy werewolves & shifters; strong girls and women as heroines; new worlds of urban fantasy; themes about loners and outcasts; the best laughs in humorous literature;

general coming of age whackery; and (most importantly) truly unusual contemporary fantasy.

Goodreads / Amazon

 

Author Bio:

Christina Bauer thinks that fantasy books are like bacon: they just make life better. All of which is why she writes romance novels that feature demons, dragons, wizards, witches, elves, elementals, and a bunch of random stuff that she brainstorms while riding the Boston T. Oh, and she includes lots of humor and kick-ass chicks, too.

Christina graduated from Syracuse University’s Newhouse School with BA’s in English along with Television, Radio, and Film Production. She lives in Newton, MA with her husband, son, and semi-insane golden retriever, Ruby.

Be the first to know about new releases from Christina by signing up for her newsletter: http://tinyurl.com/CBupdates

Website / LinkedIn / Facebook / Instagram / Blog / Twitter

 

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The Dasher
Cindy Kehagiaras
Publication date: December 18th 2023
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Lisa—My business is failing, my father disappeared, my brother is lazy, and my uncle just mansplained me—again. Ben is nothing I want right now, but he might be everything I need.”

Ben—My new brother-in-law, the legendary “Zen Shredder,” is making me launder my karma which is bullshit and interesting. The coolest man on the planet just married my spreadsheet-loving sister and is about to save Tennent Surf Company, making him Lisa Tennent’s hero.

I’m the one who should be her hero, yeah, me, a tattooed ex-con with anger issues. I’ll show her my friendship and loyalty and return her magic.

“The Dasher” is a friends-to-lovers, single father, over 40 romance sequel to “The Perpetual”- with GenX pop culture references and lessons in self-love as we age.

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EXCERPT:

I took a cigarette from my purse and stuck it between my lips, staring at the rain. The water hitting the asphalt was getting louder in my brain. Before I lit the cancer stick, I stepped out from under the overhang and into the downpour.

This kind of rain wasn’t common in Southern California. I was compelled to embrace it every time it poured like this. I didn’t give a shit that my hair, makeup, and $700 Gucci sneakers would be ruined.

Fat water drops hit the cigarette I had between my lips, reminding me it was there, and I lifted my hand with the lighter.

“Good luck getting that lit,” I heard from behind me and spun to see Ben standing with his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts—his chain wallet swinging, and his arm tattoos on full display.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there staring at him.

In an act of defiance for him and mother nature, I flicked the metal of the lighter several times. Then threw the damn thing, followed by the cigarette.

“Let me ask you something.” He had to shout over the rain, but his tone was calm.

That pissed me off. I was standing in a rainstorm. Soaked from head to toe, I tried to light a cigarette. How in the fucking hell was I qualified to answer any question right now? I hadn’t even taken a breath yet.

“Is it about the money? Or is it a fuck you to your old man to prove him wrong about you? Or to fix something that you think is broken?” he asked.

I had to blink to keep the water from getting in my eyes that was now dripping from my forehead.

“That’s three questions.” I shook my head. “Why are you even out here? What do you care about any of this? Who the fuck are you, Ben?”

He stepped closer. “Now you asked me three questions.”

God, he was impossible. What did he think would happen, some romance movie moment in the rain where I jumped into his arms, and we lived happily ever after getting matching tattoos and motorcycles?

In my silence, he answered one of my questions: “I’m Billy-fucking-Joel.”

My heart clenched then fell into my stomach. He knew. Of course, he knew what I’d thought last night when Jason described

“Uptown Girl” as a man falling in love with a woman out of his world and how it had changed him. Was Ben in love with me? I didn’t expect him to change for 1. He shouldn’t even like me or, God forbid, love me. I wasn’t worthy.

“I don’t need this shit right now,” I shouted at him.

“Answer my question, Lisa.”

I wiped the rain from my eyes. “Which one?”

“Is it about the money?”

“Yes, damnit, and my father and fixing broken things. It’s all of it.”

“Lisa—”

“No.”

It was too much. I couldn’t keep this up. His questions, his mysterious look, the mere presence of him. My desire for him. My lust for him. My fear of him. My fear of him and me together. I wasn’t strong enough.

I was too broken. “You have to stop. You want to fix me—”

“No, I don’t. I like you like this.”

“What? Having a breakdown, standing in the fucking rain? You like this? You’re a sick fucker.”

He laughed. He fucking laughed at me. I was having a stage-three meltdown, and he was laughing. I threw my arms up and spun away from him.

“You’re the only one who can fix you,” he hollered to my back. “All of the business stuff, though, you can figure that out. Just think about it. We all know you’ll make it work.”

I turned back around. “Why? Why do you think I can? I can’t even figure out that a lighter doesn’t work in the damn rain.”

He laughed again. “You are so fucking hot.”

Author Bio:

My writing journey began after my 50th birthday, and the pandemic lockdown provided the opportunity to write. Some of my stories have haunted my dreams for decades. When the characters shouted day and night, I knew I had to write about them.

My previous lives have been in advertising, fashion, and a small business owner. I’ve made it my life’s ambition to push through challenges of a dyslexia diagnosis to consume novels, poetry, articles, and tell fun, swoony, romantic stories.

A proud GenX woman and native Californian, I live in Hermosa Beach, CA, with my husband aka “The Greek”, two beautiful kids, and two spunky-rescue kitties.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / TikTok

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Now that the holiday season is upon us I keep thinking that it would be a good excuse to fall off of the wagon but alas I only have two new titles to share this week. Still a few weeks to come to use the Christmas present excuse though so who knows! In the meantime I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving and are staying nice a cozy!

As always clicking the covers will take you to the book on Amazon!**

New additions from Netgalley Nov 19th  – Nov 26th

From TikTok’s “CEO of plot twists” comes a supernatural thriller that will keep you guessing until the very end. Packed with voice-driven whodunit storytelling, and a classic slasher-movie feel, this dark, pacy, and irresistibly creepy thriller really has something for everybody!

16-year-old, Irish-born Niamh has just arrived in London for the summer, and quickly discovers that girls who look frighteningly like her are being attacked.

Determined to make it through her Drama Course, Niamh is placed at the Victorian Museum to put her drama skills to the test, and there she meets Tommy: he’s kind, fun, attentive, and really hot! Nonetheless, there’s something eerie about the museum…

As present-day serial attacker and sinister Victorian history start to collide, Niamh realizes that things are not as they seem. Will she be next?

A YouTubing cruiser couple sails the world living their best life—until one of them goes missing and their whole world capsizes, in this captivating psychological thriller perfect for fans of Something in the Water and Saint X.

Sawyer Stone III and Dani Fox, a young couple who spends their time circumnavigating the globe aboard their 42′ sailboat and documenting it for their fledgling YouTube channel Sailing with the Foxes, have anchored in Exuma, in the Bahamas. As they wait for the price of crypto to rebound so they can provision and continue their journey, they’re partying and exploring with their fellow cruisers off shore. On the surface, everything looks perfect. But one night, Dani vanishes after a boat party, and Sawyer has no memory of her disappearance.

The search for Dani is initially fueled by concerns that she drowned during one of her daily ocean swims, but Dani’s pre-scheduled video posts, recorded before she went missing, soon reveal a darker side to her relationship with Sawyer. Meanwhile, Royal Bahamas Police Force Inspector Veronique Knowles has her hands full trying to keep the investigation on course as the story of the American woman missing in the Bahamas goes viral and the internet sleuths unearth secrets from Sawyer’s past. Sawyer Stone is far from perfect, but is he a murderer? 

This twisty, edge-of-your-seat thriller will keep readers gripped all the way through the final satisfying turn.