We are a rodeo family. If you’re a rodeo family and have girls, you are going to have goats. Each spring, my husband would go to the cow sale and buy a goat or two for my daughter and her friends to practice goat tying.         One year, several friends asked him to get one for them. He came home with eight goats, seven sweet little ones and a Pygmy billy goat of indeterminate age.

I’ll give you one guess which goat we ended up with.

Toughie was a pain from the moment he became ours. He climbed on cars and haystacks, ate the neighbor’s flowers, and stood in the middle of the road and dared cars to make him move. Butting anyone who got close enough was his favorite pastime. He could chew through any rope we used to tie him up in ten seconds flat. After resorting to a light chain, we made him a home beneath the big cottonwood tree out the back door. Even then, he couldn’t keep himself out of trouble.

One day, I was feeding him and watched as he walked to the garage, stood on his hind legs and peered in the window. Then, he reared back and butted the glass, shattering it.

He apparently saw himself in the reflection and wanted to show that other goat who was boss.

Despite that, he lived with us for many years.
​
I haven’t written a goat into any of my books yet, but the sequel to Silver Dreams will feature Toughie

She’s found her dream… He’s losing his…
Reed is desperate to save the family ranch and can’t afford to be distracted by a fun-loving blonde who delights in making him laugh. But Catie is determined to leave tragedy behind her and reach for her dreams—no matter what. Working with silver and gemstones calls to her creative soul, and so does the quiet cowboy with a lot on his mind.

Can love bridge the gap between their two worlds?

Join Reed and Catie in this “opposites attract” cowboy romance where city meets country and sparks fly.
​
Come Visit Copper Mills, Arizona--a small town with a heart as big as the wide-open spaces and a long history of making dreams come true. 
​

Excerpt:

Reed watched as Catie’s eyes went wide. Softer looking than her twin, but alike in every other way. His heartbeat picked up, and he almost reached out and pulled her into his arms.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. McCoy?”

Her voice changed from determined to that of a giggly high school girl in a scant second, and she batted her lashes fast enough to take flight.

He studied her for a moment longer. How could two women look exactly alike and give off such different vibes?

From what he’d seen of Eleanor so far, she was self-sufficient and studious, calm and contemplative. Totally focused on her new business. From what he’d heard, she succeeded in anything she undertook.

Catie appeared to be a little girl lost. The corners of her full, pink lips quivered as he stared, and he pulled himself from his musings. If she giggled one more time, he was out of here.

There was nothing about this woman that was what he was looking for. Catie was not the woman for him. There was no way he was going to be a caretaker to another person as long as he lived.

“Never mind. I’ll talk to Eleanor later. Good luck with those beads.” Now, why in the hell did he say that? Keeping his eyes on anything but Catie’s pretty face, he turned and walked out the door. Once in his truck, relief covered him like a blanket.

Too bad it was immediately replaced by disappointment.

Eleanor Kershner was the type of woman he’d always been attracted to, but when he closed his eyes, it was Catie he saw. Catie’s sweet expression. Catie’s tempting body. Catie’s wicked grin. After talking to her today, he couldn’t imagine why people couldn’t tell them apart.

He slapped his palms against the steering wheel. It must be the stress of worrying about the ranch that was messing with his mind.

A movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see Eleanor striding down the wooden walkway the town had restored in front of the shops in the original part of town. It didn’t take a genius to know which twin was walking toward him. Eleanor’s no nonsense walk ate up the distance from her car to the antique store. So different from the fluid way Catie moved.

There his traitorous mind went again.

It was time for him to find a wife and start a family, and Catie wasn’t right for either position. That would be Eleanor.

Eleanor would have the business sense to help him regain ownership of the family ranch his father had pissed away. And the confidence to not be needy.

Babysitting dear old Dad, when the man finally gave up any pretense of work, had drained Reed.

Eleanor’s smile was so small he wasn’t sure her lips had moved after all. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her smile. He hadn’t seen her show much expression at all as opposed to Catie whose thoughts played across her face in Technicolor.

Just as he reached Eleanor, Catie came through the door of the Turquoise Moon. “Ellie, did you get the mail? Did my package come?”

Reed shook his head. She was like a kid at Christmas.

He stepped in between the sisters and faced Eleanor. It was a boorish move, but he didn’t have time to wait around while Catie got whatever bright bauble she’d ordered. “Do you have a minute?”

He felt a soft tap on his shoulder and heard the whispered word. “Jerk!” When he turned to answer, he found Catie wearing the same smile she’d had in the shop, bright and sappy.

He suspected it was the one she bestowed on her few customers and on jerks. To give her credit, he had been rude, but still… “Excuse me?”

“Oh.” She giggled after the word, but there was no humor in her gaze. “You are definitely excused. Now, Eleanor, if you’ll hand me my order, I’ll leave you to take care of Mr. McCoy all alone. He has something really important to discuss, and he’s made it clear it would be over my silly little head.”

Stephanie Berget was born loving horses, a ranch kid trapped in a city girl’s body. It took her twelve years to convince her parents she needed a horse of her own. She developed a lifelong love of rodeo when she married her own, hot cowboy. She and the Bronc Rider traveled throughout the Northwest while she ran barrels and her cowboy rode bucking horses. She started writing to put a realistic view of rodeo and ranching into western romance. Stephanie and her husband live on a farm located along the Oregon/Idaho border. They raise hay, horses and cattle, with the help of Dizzy Dottie, the Border Collie and Cisco, barrel and team roping horse extraordinaire.
 
Stephanie is delighted to hear from readers. Reach her at http://www.stephanieberget.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stephaniebergetwrites/
Amazon: Stephanie Berget
Twitter: https://twitter.com/StephanieBerget

Please welcome back Beverley Oakley as she tours the circuit with her new release, Keeping Faith. Let's find out about the book.

The book sounds really delightful, Beverley, I hope you have a lot of great success with it.

If you are visiting, please leave us a comment to let us know you've stopped by. We love to hear from our readers.

Thanks
Connie

Please welcome back Madison Michael with her release Moonlight & Moet on my blog today. 

I love a billionaire romance story so I can't wait to get my hands on this book.  Thank you Madison, for stopping by with your new book. I hope you have great success.

If you're visiting today, please leave us a comment and let us know you've stopped by. We love to hear from our readers.

Thanks much
Connie

​Thank you, Constance Bretes, for inviting me to your blog. The book I’d like talk about today is my first Haunted Voices novel, Hearts Unloched.
 
Okay, ask me how many times I’ve had to go back and correct the spelling of this novel! Autocorrect just won’t let me spell it “right,” which is, just as you see it, with an “h” and not a “k” in Unloched. My editors, my beta readers, my family members all had to timidly ask: isn’t that word spelled wrong? Except for my eldest son, Justin, because he’s the one who came up with the title.
 
The book takes place in a tiny burg in upstate New York named after its lake, Loch Sheldrake. The loch is a small but very deep lake and has its own macabre urban legend.
 
It’s rumored that the Mafia, back in the 1950s, chose Loch Sheldrake as their dumping ground—for bodies of their “hits.”
 
My husband grew up in the area and told me of the legend years ago. One day as we drove around the lake, the idea hit me: why not put a fictional hotel on the loch’s shores—and of course, make it haunted?
 
I was struggling to come up with a title that would include the word “loch” in it. My son wandered into my office, plopped down in a chair and said, “Why not Hearts Unloched? And so, Hearts Unloched was born.
 
Winner of the 2016 NY Book Festival, it’s on sale for a limited time only for .99. 

Blurb:
A psychic interior designer reluctantly agrees to renovate a sexy investor’s abandoned hotel on Loch Sheldrake, a lake rumored to have once been the mob’s body dumping ground.

Interior designer Kate Bardach loves her single girl's lifestyle, living in Manhattan and spending weekends at her lake house. She's passionate about her career, too—reinventing old buildings. But there are some projects she can't take on because of the spirits trapped inside. Kate is psychic—she sees dead people.

Marco Lareci is one of Wall Street's most successful investment brokers who's achieved all of his life's goals—except for finding his soulmate. His latest project, an abandoned resort on Loch Sheldrake, needs a savvy designer to transform the crumbling complex into a boutique hotel. When Marco meets Kate, he can't believe his luck. She's the perfect match for his business and his heart.

Marco's body excites Kate even more than does his renovation project. But he wants more than a casual relationship, and she's not willing to give up her freedom. Plus, the haunting at Marco's resort, a bonafide poltergeist, affects her on an intensely personal level. Kate's aunt disappeared from the place fifty years ago.

Will the spirit doom Kate and Marco's love, or drive them closer together?
 
Links:  Hearts Unloched
 
Book Trailer:               https://youtu.be/cZOY6VHx-nU
Amazon:                      https://amzn.to/2Ku5aB9
Audiobook:                  https://amzn.to/2r2fAis
B&N:                            https://bit.ly/2Rau77n
All other digital formats:
                                    https://www.books2read.com/u/4AYzkJ

 
Claire is an award winning-author of supernatural suspense, contemporary romance, and women’s fiction. She also writes Author Resource guide books and presents seminars on writing craft and marketing. Her supernatural suspense, Hearts Unloched, won the 2016 New York Book Festival, and was a finalist in the 2017 RONE Awards.
 
Claire loves exploring the paranormal and holds a certificate in Parapsychology from Duke University’s Rhine Research Center. She earned her MFA in creative writing from Lesley University.
 
A New York native, Claire now lives in Massachusetts with her husband of 40 years. When she’s not writing, she works for Tufts University in the field of scientific research. She is available for seminars and media interviews and loves to travel for book promotional events.
 
Media Links
 
Email:                          gem.writer@yahoo.com
Website:                      http://www.clairegem.com
Blogs:                          http://www.clairegem.wordpress.com
                                    http://www.hauntedpathways.wordpress.com
Facebook:                    http://www.facebook.com/clairegem.author
Twitter:                       http://www.twitter.com/gemwriter
Goodreads:                  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8284235.Claire_Gem
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2nabvbm
Youtube Channel:     https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCO-vB7WDZhEQ8U4YpC937ng

​“I touched him!”
 
Honest, I’m not trying to be dirty, but let me start from the beginning.
 
Growing up, we had cousins who lived near Hollywood. My cousins were very savvy and always knew which movie sets and television shows needed extras. Often times, when we’d visit, my cousins would be on their way to a set. They knew what we needed to wear, etc., to be included in a scene. We’d be on the set all day, which kept us out of trouble. The production companies paid well and provided fabulous meals.
 
One time, we went to a set that starred an actor who wasn’t that well known. One of my cousins decided to have some fun. When the actor walked past us, she reached out and touched him, then turned to us and exclaimed, “I touched him.”
 
He turned and stared at her for several minutes, before walking away. During that time, I think my cousin wished she could melt into the floor. Afterwards, we all laughed hysterically about it. It took a while but eventually my cousin realized the entire incident was funny.
 
How’s that for an inciting incident for a young adult novel, which I don’t write, but I might!

​Imagine the Kiss

Two people open themselves to the truth and open themselves to each other.
​
Her marriage in ruins, violinist Teagan Whitloch Munroe escapes into her music and the solace she finds at the Crystal Creek Ranch. Practicing in the woods helps her piece together her life, but she isn’t alone. When she hears someone hiking nearby, she demands he reveal himself, but the only revelation she gets is a soothing voice that heals the pain in her heart.
 
Maimed by a crushing accident, the once famous architect Phineas St. Cyr protects the world from his disfigurement by sequestering himself in the woods on the Crystal Creek Ranch. When he hears the intoxicating strains from Teagan’s violin, he can’t resist the beauty that quiets his aching soul, and he yearns to know the woman who creates such beauty.
 
Teagan finds sanctuary in her friendship with this connoisseur of music, but soon realizes Phin’s hiding more than his hideous scars. As they become entangled with each other, Teagan is stunned to learn they share more than a love of music. They are caught in a web of deceit by someone threatening to reveal Phin’s secrets. His exposed past endangers Teagan, and he can no longer walk away. This time he must face the enemy determined to defeat him. He’ll fight to the finish to protect the woman he can never love. No price is too high to keep buried the secret that will mark Teagan for destruction.

Amazon
 
https://www.amazon.com/Imagine-Kiss-Crystal-Creek-Book-ebook/dp/B07GTVM1BV

Chapter One

Teagan Whitloch Munroe was trembling. She was trembling, and she couldn’t stop. She’d been trembling for more than two hours—since she’d left the downtown Denver condominium she shared with her husband, Dr. Wilbert Munroe. What she’d seen inside the condo—in their bedroom—made her want to vomit. A cold knot of disgust and revulsion gripped her stomach.

When she’d walked into the master bedroom, she must’ve gasped. Will was lying on the bed, but he wasn’t alone. He’d lifted his head from the pillow. He looked right at her.

And swore.

He didn’t look surprised. He looked annoyed.

She’d pressed a hand over her mouth.

Blinded by tears, she’d backed into the doorjamb and stumbled into the hallway. She didn’t remember running out of the condo, but she must have. Her legs throbbed, and her chest ached. The only thing she remembered was her husband calling her name. What had he said? Let’s talk? She didn’t know if she should laugh or sob.

And she remembered the dulcet laughter of the naked woman who was servicing him in bed. Teagan’s and Will’s bed. Teagan had thought Ginny Andrews was her friend.
Some friend. Ginny who was svelte and toned. A contrast to Teagan who’d struggled with her weight since she was seven years old.

A shuddering breath rocked through Teagan’s lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away.

She barely remembered driving to the Crystal Creek Ranch, throwing a saddle on her favorite horse, Champagne, and racing through the meadows until she reached the aspen forest covering Crystal Peak.

Fighting against the despair that filled her, she wrapped shaky fingers around the reins and urged the Arabian horse through the trees bursting with spring green leaves. Her vision blurred, and she tried to focus on the pink wild roses and purple elephant’s head mingling with the green undergrowth. The splashes of Crystal Creek tumbling over rocks sounded next to the trail. It was happy and musical and far from the darkness that crowded her heart. Her stomach roiled and begged to be emptied of the half sandwich she’d eaten during the orchestral rehearsal that afternoon.
She ran her hand over the horse’s neck damp from perspiration.

“How’re you doing, Champagne?” Her voice was husky, and she asked the question again.

The mare snorted. She shook her head. Her mane danced through the air before falling in soft waves about her neck.

“Did I run you too long?” She softened her tone. “I'm sorry. I had to get away. You’re lucky you’re a horse. You don’t have to worry about anyone breaking your heart.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Her insides were shattered. She’d never heal, not after what she’d seen.

Fresh tears filled her eyes. The trees around her blurred. The sunshine pouring over her was warm but couldn’t melt the cold penetrating her chest.

She had thought coming to Crystal Creek would bring her peace.

She’d never find peace. Not when the image of Will pleasured by Ginny burned in her brain.

A branch cracked.

Her nerves jumped.

Fear sprang into her chest.

She looked around but saw no one. Had Will followed her? Was this his plan—talk to her in the middle of the forest? But how would he know she’d driven to Crystal Creek?
He’d know. She always went to the ranch when she needed to think things through or needed to escape the rat race of the city.

Champagne’s ears twisted, but the horse didn’t jerk. Instead, she tilted her head and stared through the trees as if she’d expected the sound.

Teagan turned in the saddle. “Will?”

Silence.
“Hello?” she called out.

A breeze rustled through the branches. They swayed then stilled.

She peered through the boughs.

“Who are you? Tell me your name. I heard you. I know you’re here. Show yourself.” Her voice sounded thin and strained. She turned Champagne around.

The horse stepped like a ballerina over the flooring of pine needles and aspen leaves.
“Answer me,” she demanded.

“It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.” The voice was deep and rich and sent soothing warmth down her spine.

“I’m not frightened.” A swallow clicked in her throat. “I want to know who you are, and what you’re doing on my stepmother’s ranch. You’re trespassing, you know. Step into the clearing. I want to see you.”

Champagne stepped sideways, and Teagan listed in the saddle. She caught her breath and straightened. She patted the horse’s neck.

“It’s okay, girl.” She looked around. She needed to calm down. The horse was sensing her anxiety.

No one. No one appeared. No one spoke. The warmth she’d felt earlier slid away. Coldness wrapped around her.

“Hello? Are you still there?”

She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew this intruder had left. She urged Champagne forward. The horse pushed her nose against Teagan’s boot then took a reluctant step. Teagan peered through the trees. No human form appeared.

The intruder had left. She felt his absence the way she’d felt his presence. His presence was summer sun, his absence winter ice. He’d been near her and now he was gone, but she hadn’t heard him walk away.

As a violinist, she was tuned to sound. His voice had been pleasurable, a melting softness against her heart. It had been as pleasurable as the sounds coming from her violin. She wanted to hear him speak again. She wanted to capture his voice. She wanted to see his face.

She guided Champagne to the main trail that led back to the ranch house. She’d learn the identity of the forest wanderer. He must be familiar with the area. He’d slipped away too quickly not to know his way.

Occasionally, trespassers wandered onto the ranch, a massive acreage filled with meadows and brooks and rich green forests. The ranch was paradise, which was why she was riding her horse through woods colored with the first hint of spring. She’d find out about this trespasser.

Was he a trespasser? She dragged in a breath of the freshly-scented forest. Her heart thundered. This man knew the area. He’d disappeared without her seeing him.
An unnerving thought stirred in her mind. This wasn’t his first hike through the Crystal Creek woods. He knew the area well enough to avoid a face to face encounter with her. He didn’t want her to see him.

Why?

She had to know. She had to know what this man with the gentle but powerful voice had to hide.

* * *

Fool. That was the one word that described him—Phineas Bonham St. Cyr. He’d moved through the Crystal Creek woods often enough to avoid detection. But he’d been drawn to her. He’d heard her humming. The sadness in her voice was smooth and soft and felt as if velvet had brushed against his scarred skin.

The tune she’d hummed he’d heard before. What was it? A violin concerto. Mendelssohn, he thought. A concerto known for its melancholy, and its beauty. But it was her sweet voice that made him want to see this woman. Once he’d seen Teagan Whitloch Munroe, he’d recognized her instantly. Anyone who followed classical music would be familiar with this up and coming violinist who stroked the strings of her Stradivarius violin with artistic grace.

In his desire to see her, he’d been careless. He’d stepped on a twig and cracked it. She knew someone was near and she’d called out. “Show yourself,” she’d said. Would that he could. But had she’d seen him, the sadness in her voice would’ve turned to terror. She’d never have understood the deformed figure that would’ve stood before her.
Still, he couldn’t push out of his mind that wounded, demolished look in the most beautiful blue eyes he’d ever seen—startling blue fringed with thick, dark lashes.
​
If only he could know her, but he was a monster, a monster so badly disfigured no human being could bear his presence.
 

​A native of California, Laura Haley-McNeil spent her youth studying ballet and piano, though her favorite pastime was curling up with a good book. Without a clue as to how to write a book, she knew one day she would.
 
After college, she segued into the corporate world, but she never forgot her love for the arts and served on the board of two community orchestras. Finally realizing that the book she’d dreamt of writing wouldn’t write itself, she planted herself in front of her computer. She now immerses herself in the lives and loves of her characters in her romantic suspense and her contemporary romance novels. Many years later, she lived her own romantic novel when she married her piano teacher, the love of her life.
 
Though she and husband have left warm California for cooler Colorado, they enjoy the outdoor life of hiking, bicycling, horseback riding and snow skiing. They satisfy their love of music by attending concerts and hanging out with their musician friends, but Laura still catches a few free moments when she can sneak off and read.

​Thanks so much for hosting me on your blog today, Connie!

The Santa Bargain is a contemporary holiday romance. It’s about a relationship-phobic single mom and the equally commitment-shy guy who agrees to be Santa in their small town’s holiday parade. In order to get Joe to agree, however, Maria has to strike a bargain that promises to heat up the holidays.

Years ago, I lived in Colorado. Some of the small mountain towns went all out for the holidays in the hope of luring tourist dollars from the nearby ski slopes. One town had carolers roaming the streets, dressed in beautiful 1800s costumes. They actually roasted chestnuts over a fire on the street corner, and they sold goodies like gingerbread and mulled cider. When I was writing The Santa Bargain, I remembered how much fun we’d had experiencing an old-fashioned Christmas festival in the mountains, so I wrote the town’s celebration into my holiday romance.

Thanks for checking out The Santa Bargain. Have a merry and bright holiday season!
 
Title: The Santa Bargain
 
Blurb:
Santa’s gifts can be both nice…and naughty.
Coffeehouse entrepreneur, Maria Thompson, has sworn off men ever since her young son’s father walked out of their lives. But, when she literally runs into sexy carpenter, Joe Sinclair, she wonders if it’s time to rethink her plan.

Joe Sinclair doesn’t need or want romance or a family. He was raised in the foster care system and learned long ago not to get attached to anyone. Now, if he could just remember that, he could put the sensual owner of Copper River, Colorado’s new coffee shop out of his mind.

After Maria and Joe volunteer to work together on the town’s first Christmas festival, their attraction lights up brighter than a new a string of holiday lights. When Santa comes to town, will they finally find everything they’ve ever wished for under the tree?
 
Excerpt:
Wanting to lighten the mood, he cleared his throat. “I bet Zach is looking forward to Santa’s visit. The holiday is coming up fast.”

He watched a soft smile spread across Maria’s face. “Yes, he is. He’s at that perfect age for Santa – too old to be afraid, but still young enough to believe in the magic of the season.”

She must be working some magic of her own on him because Joe felt the warmth of her smile all the way to his toes. He grinned, remembering his own excitement as he awaited Santa’s visit when he was Zach’s age. “Has he told St. Nick what he wants for Christmas yet?”

“I’ve been waiting until the festival to take him to see Santa because the big guy is supposed to show up there. That is, if I can ever find someone to actually be Santa.” Maria clamped her mouth shut.

He saw a glint come into her eyes as she tilted her head to one side, then squinted at him like she was appraising a prize show horse. “Hmm.”

Joe really didn’t like the way she’d started looking at him. He could practically see the image in her mind – and, in it, he was all decked out in a red suit. He put his mug down on the counter so fast it made a clinking noise as he held up his hands. “Oh no, don’t get any ideas, Maria. I’m the last guy who should be Santa.”

“Why, Joe, I think you’d make a perfect St. Nick.”

He’d swear her voice had dropped by at least an octave. The new throaty tone made his groin twitch.

She picked up her spoon and slowly slid it between her lips. He watched her tongue sweep out to lick a droplet of coffee from it, and he fought to keep from groaning. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pull his gaze from her mouth.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…if you were Santa, I could be your elf,” she continued in her sultry voice. “Who knows? You might be very happy with what you find under your Christmas tree this year.”
​
He suppressed a smile as he thought about that. How she could make being a festival Santa sound enticing was beyond him, but she was managing. Joe was very nearly tempted to tell her he would do it, but he held back and waited to see if she’d sweeten the deal.
 
Buy links:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077996MP2.

​Robin Michaela writes heartfelt, small town contemporary romances in all levels of heat, from sweet to steamy. Her stories combine family, pets, hope and friendship – all the elements that bring her readers emotional and enduring love stories.
By day, she’s a dental hygienist. By night, Robin can be found crafting her next novel - often while trying to type around her black cat, Boo. She's a runner and breast cancer survivor and happily married to her own Handsome Prince.
Website: robinmichaela.com
Facebook: /RobinMichaelaRomances
Twitter: https://twitter.com/robinsromances

Like others, I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something humorous that has happened in my life, and I may have written about it. But I write romantic suspense and usually kill people I don’t like. Then I remembered when I was back in nurses training and lived in residence. We had a curfew with lights out at that time. However, I knew how to sneak in to residence through a basement door from the hospital. (Not that I did this very often) I was late one night, and it was lights out. I snuck up to my room on the sixth floor and down the corridor to my room, in the dark. I opened the door and reached inside to turn on the lights. I let out a shriek when I touched a cold, clammy hand.
​
My ‘wonderful’ classmates in the rooms around me opened their doors and laughed and chuckled. I untied the rubber glove filled with cold water they’d hung over the light switch. Thank heavens it was on the sixth floor and our night supervisor didn’t hear me. It was a good joke on me and I was very careful when I sneaked in late after that. But no, this hasn’t showed up in any of my stories.

Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married.  She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara, sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?

​Excerpt
18 months earlier
 
The office said he’d had a heart attack. Was he alive? Did she want him to be? What if her husband had to stay home for a few weeks to recuperate? Palms sweating, Sara’s breath came in short, shallow bursts at the thought.
The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.
Sara fumbled through her purse and counted out her meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash. She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.
“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I…I… Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.
The driver spun around. A short stubby finger waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there—No Checks.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husbands had a heart attack and I… I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers through her hair and scrunched the tight bun at her neck.
The driver shook his head. “Aw, shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”
Sara pulled the single crumpled check Gordon allowed her carry for emergencies out of her purse. When she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.
She froze and rapidly blinked her eyes. She only saw the ghosts of dead people. Gordon didn’t believe her and forbid her to ever mention it.
Could he really be dead?
“Gordon?” she whispered.
“Lady, are you writing that check or not?”
“Yes, sorry.” Sara scribbled her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you, thank you so much.” She clutched her worn purse to her chest, slid out of the cab, and scurried through the emergency room doors.
What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her. How would she manage?
Twenty years ago, she could have handled it. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.
His face flitted in front of her, fixed in an angry glare.
He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want her to be free. If he thought she could see him he’d be furious.
Sara shuffled toward the reception desk. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she had seen him. She clung to the edge of the transition counter, her head down, chewed on her lower lip and waited to be noticed.
Finally, a brusque voice snapped, “Can I help you?”
Sara looked up to see a heavy set, older woman in a loose blue top. The woman’s thick dark brows met in a v in the middle of her forehead.
“I’m sorry, I… I’m looking for my husband. His office phoned to say he’d been brought here.” Sara shrunk into her body.
“Name?” the woman commanded.
“Gordon, Gordon Peters.” Sara stared at her worn black oxfords, then at the scuffed, gray linoleum with the red, blue and yellow lines that led to different areas. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe she should have waited for Gordon to call and tell her whether she should be here or not. But if he was dead she would have to make her own decisions. Her pulse raced. Her head pounded. For the last nineteen years she had never made a decision. Gordon made all of them for her.
“When was he admitted?” The woman reminded Sara of a sergeant major.
“I’m not sure, less than an hour ago. They told me to meet him here. Maybe he’s been discharged already?” She chewed her thumbnail. If Gordon had been discharged, he’d be furious at her for spending all that money on a taxi. But she’d seen his ghost.
Tension twisted her stomach into knots. The pain caused her to clutch her purse tightly against her abdomen. She needed to get home and start dinner. She’d have to take a bus. Did she have enough money? She opened her purse.
The woman moved to a second pile of folders and pulled one out. “You’re his wife?”
Sara nodded. “Yes. Can I see him?”
A sob slipped out. If she didn’t find see him soon, he’d be furious. He’d think she was too stupid to even find him in a hospital and he’d be right.
His ghost floated in front of her. This time confusion mixed with his anger
“Have a seat, Mrs. Peters. I’ll have the doctor speak to you.” The sergeant major’s voice softened. She indicated a chair near the desk.
“No, please, I need to see him right away. He’ll be upset if I’m late.”
The woman rounded the desk and laid her hand on Sara’s shoulder. She squeezed gently for a second. “It’ll be okay, honey. You just sit down for a minute. The doctor will be right out.”
 
Buy Links
Amazon https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07JQ97L8M?ref_=pe_3052080_276849420
Kobo https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-fourth-victim-9 
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​Murder, mystery and romance fills award-winning, Canadian author, Beverley Bateman's life. She loves to plot, kill and hopefully baffle the reader. Her nursing and public health nursing background helps with some details and administering a community care facility program had her investigating and directing investigations into irregularities and sometimes a death. She even has court experience.
She began writing in her preteens and loved to write locked room mysteries. Reading Nancy Drew helped her figure out plots. Facing breast cancer, she decided she needed to do what she’d always wanted and began to write. She completed her first romantic suspense novel and hasn’t stopped writing since. She recently moved and now lives among ranches and wheat fields in southern Alberta, with her husband and Shiba Inu dog.
 
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Beverley Bateman and her latest release The Fourth Victim are guests on https://www.constancebretes.com/connies-blog #MFRWAuthors #Newrelease
Check out The Fourth Victim and the secret Foundation at https://www.constancebretes.com/connies-blog #MFRWAuthors #Newrelease #Romanticsuspense 
The Fourth Victim, a secret organization and a serial killer check it out at https://www.constancebretes.com/connies-blog #MFRWAuthor #Newrelease

​I’ve always been an independent being. My mother said my first sentence was “Me do it,” and I’ve been insisting on doing things myself for ever since. And, yes, it’s definitely gotten me in trouble.
 
When I think of examples of the above, I come up with way too many but one that stands out in my mind is the time I bought drainage pipe. If you’ve ever done any work on your yard or house, you’re probably familiar with the flexible plastic pipe that is buried in the ground and connects to either a larger drainage pipe or the guttering of your house. It serves a wonderful purpose, that of making sure your yard doesn’t become a welcome wagon for mosquitos, mold and contractors who have to drain your basement.
 
I had such a back yard. When I bought my first house, a new construction with a small retaining wall at the back of the patio, I realized quickly that, with any rainfall, the runoff settled in my back yard, making it a squishy, sloshy mess until the sun dried it up. I, being a frugal, responsible home owner and above mentioned independent woman, decided I’d forgo the handyman or contractor route and figure out the drainage problem myself.
 
I did well with the planning. Always do, it seems. It’s the execution that goes south for me. I compiled a list, headed to the nearest big box hardware store and purchased all the items necessary for my drainage project. However, I hadn’t counted on space. The space in my Toyota Corolla’s trunk, to be precise.
 
I’d purchased fifty feet of drainage pipe and it came neatly coiled and tied with plastic ties, so to be easily transported. And so it was, until I got to my car. I’d figured on a tight fit but not on the fact that the pipe was too fat, in its nicely tied bundle, to go in the trunk.  So I, in my independent wisdom, untied it.
 
Yep, you guess it. The pipe proceeded to snake its way across my lane in the parking lot and back toward the store, as if missing momma. I ran after it, gathering it up in my arms and hustling it to my car. After all, if someone ran over the pipe, it wouldn’t take any water anywhere.
 
After trying to escape my car trunk several times, the snakey pipe finally got corralled when I crawled into the trunk, released the back seat lever and folded the back seat. I then threaded the pipe into the back seat and trunk and happily drove home with the pipe in. my rear view all the way.
 
And no, no one asked if they could help, but I provided quite a show for the early bird contractors in the parking lot.
 
I haven’t written this in a book, yet. But I have plans!

​About Sinner’s Redemption
 
Ex Seal sniper Cole “Sinner” Ramsey left the service when one mistake ended an innocent’s life. His job now, that of a rehabilitation counselor at the Brighter Days Ranch outside of Eagle Rock, Montana, keeps him busy and is fulfilling his desire to be of service. He’s put his past behind him. Or so he thinks until Vanessa “Van” Hastings shows up at the ranch with PTSD and memory loss after being held hostage in the middle east for weeks. As Cole tries to put his resentment of her part in his career ending mistake on the back burner, Van’s beauty, bravery and vulnerability make him rethink this woman’s purpose, both in his life and for her own. As Van recovers her memory, the couple realize more may be at stake than their affection for each other. Can they stay alive long enough to find out if love is possible for them?

Prologue
Cole sighted the target in his night scope and sussed the situation. Too many people around the man now, he needed to wait until there would be no ancillary harm. The woods and brush around him provided cover, along with the ever-present vines. He ignored the trickling sweat pouring down his back, grateful for the band he’d tied on his forehead. It wicked the moisture from his face, keeping sweat out of his eyes. Cole stayed in place, waiting for interminable moments, patient. Watching.
“Sinner,” his commander’s voice hissed over his com unit and Cole clicked in reply. “You got em?”
“In my sights. Waiting for clutter.”
“Take em now, we gotta get the woman out.”
Cole stifled a curse and clicked in reply. He took a breath, centering his body and looked down his scope again. The hostage, a dark-haired woman dressed in dirty jeans and a stained t-shirt, stood alongside the target, her hands behind her. As he squeezed the trigger, Cole watched in slow motion as the woman bent over and pushed at the target with her shoulder. Cole corrected automatically and his second bullet found its home. He wasted a moment to see the results of his shots. Damn it! Instead of the one hit, he’d taken out two. And one of them an innocent.
He policed his area and silently pulled back as all hell broke loose in the encampment. As he ran through the South American forest, Cole tried to get the image of the fallen innocent out of his mind but the blank eyes stared back at him, accusatory, judging.
  
Chapter One
Cole strode across the snow-covered Montana ground, his hands plunged in his denim jacket pockets. Damn, it was cold and not even officially winter yet. He’d have to get something warmer if he planned on staying at the Brighter Days Ranch for any period of time.
He stomped up onto the porch and entered the main house, wiping his boots on the mat before greeting Hannah, the program head. “Hannah, you didn’t tell me my ass would be numb here.”
She glanced up from the pile of paper on a work-worn table and laughed. “You’re a big boy. You should have done your research on the ranch before agreeing to come work for me. You need a coat, not that dinky jacket.”
Her husband, Taz Davilla leaned against the kitchen counter, a mug in his hand. “After the hot spots you’re used to, I don’t doubt you’re freezing your balls off. Sorry, babe,” he glanced at Hannah and grinned. “The truth’s the truth.”
She shook her head and gestured toward the coffee pot. “Get something to drink and we’ll go over the cases we have.”
Cole ambled to the counter and filled a mug to the brim before taking a tongue scalding sip. He sighed and removed his jacket, hanging it on a hook and took a seat at the table. “You got an office, right?” At her nod, he continued, “Why work at the kitchen table?”
She tilted her head. “I love this room, always have. It’s more comfortable than the office.”
“And she can watch everything that’s going on from here,” Taz joked and kissed his wife on the cheek before straightening. “I need to check in with Hank, babe. I’ll see you later,”
She nodded and Cole waited as she watched her husband leave the room. “He still working for Hank?”
“He takes assignments near home,” she replied. “Neither of us want him to be traveling all over the world and Brotherhood Protectors is growing. He still likes to ‘keep his hand in’, as he says.”
“Better him than me,” Cole muttered and ignored the sharp look Hannah sent his way. He’d been out of the military four years and it hadn’t gotten any easier, dealing with the dreams and memories.
“Are you satisfied with counseling?”
He nodded, not offering any explanation. Rehab counseling suited him now.
“I’ve noticed you still do lots of PE and target practice.” She laid a file aside, face down and opened another, not meeting his gaze.
He shrugged, “I loved shooting targets as a kid. I guess that never goes away.” And paper targets didn’t bleed.
She didn’t question him further. Hannah was good like that. He nodded toward the files, “What do we have?”
She handed a couple files to him for review. “A couple amputees are coming in this week. One has been out of the military for a year and the other is just coming out. And we have a non-military case.”
He glanced up from the folder he’d been perusing. “You haven’t taken any non-military cases, have you? Not in the time I’ve been here, anyway.”
“We make exceptions now and then. This one was a special favor from the State Department.” She pushed the folder toward him. “An amnesia case, along with some trauma. You’ll be in charge, since her wounds are more emotional than physical.”
“Her?”
“She was a hostage,” Hannah murmured and Cole felt his pulse quicken. “She got out of the hospital last week.”
“Where?”
“Syria. Apparently, the extraction team took out a hornet’s nest of bad guys and they found her in the middle of it all. They didn’t even know she was there until they went in to clean up.”
Cole grunted an absent response as he surveyed the information. "Female, early thirties, undernourished, scars from probable beatings, no memories of her imprisonment. Diagnosis of PTSD."
“She’s from DC, worked as a reporter for one of the cable stations. Went on assignments all over the world. She’d been freelancing this past year, after the station let her go. That’s why no one knew where she was.”
“No one reported her missing?”
“Seems that she went on that assignments without letting anyone know her destination. Right now, she’s pretty subdued. And scared. She’s in cabin three.”
Cole finally looked at the name tab on the side of the chart. He didn’t spout expletives, didn’t throw the file across the room, didn’t even change his breathing. Inside, the name Vanessa Hastings made his blood run cold. The woman responsible for the ancillary death was his new assignment.
He stood and refilled the half full cup at the counter, taking precious moments to regain his composure. Vanessa Hastings had bad luck with hostage situations. His last assignment as a Seal sniper, to assist in her extraction from a drug encampment years before, resulted in a final casualty for which he couldn’t forgive himself. If she hadn’t shoved the target–. Damn. His head started splitting with an intense headache, radiating from his neck. He took a breath and turned to Hannah.
“Let me look over her file and I’ll pay her a visit. She okay with me being in the room alone with her?”
Hannah shook her head. “No, we’ll have one of the women counselors with her at first. And the initial meeting will be with her handler.”
“Handler? She that important?”
Hannah tilted her head in consideration. “I think the information she can’t remember is that important. This request came down from pretty high in the government. I couldn’t have refused without a good reason, even if I wanted to.”
He grunted. “The handler male or female?”
“Male. And there’s a secretary that accompanies him everywhere he goes.” Hannah smirked. “Between you and me, that secretary probably has a nine millimeter inside her jacket."
Cole nodded. So the handler had a body guard. Did that mean Ms. Hastings needed one too?

Available at Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Sinners-Redemption-Brotherhood-Protectors-World-ebook/dp/B07K89LSBD/

​Kate McKeever was born and raised in the south and spent her childhood rambling in the woods and reading, often at the same time. She spent a lot of time in libraries as a volunteer and reader, then as a perennial student, so her mother thought. She tried several careers before settling down on her current one. Writing is a passion and joy. Kate loves to write sweet and spicy contemporary and paranormal romances.

​Website www.kate-mckeever.com
Facebook:https://www.facebook.com/authorkatemckeever

​Thank you to Connie for inviting me back to the blog!

I love the holidays and especially love decorating the Christmas tree and the house with all kinds of handmade ornaments. Uhh. . . handmade by other people, that is. LOL 
A long time ago, I tried to get crafty at Christmastime. Really. At the time, I was a Brownie (the younger version of a Girl Scout) and our troop used to spend the November and December meetings getting ready for Christmas. Part of the prep involved making ornaments. Knitted snowmen. . . felt stockings cut out in fancy designs with the pieces hot-glued together. . . wreaths made of macaroni glued to paper plates and spray-painted. And everything I attempted turned into a disaster! 

I’ve now passed along my unhappy experiences to Nick, the hero of my first Snowflake Valley book, Snowbound with Mr. Wrong. Nick is trapped in a mountain lodge with his ex and three unrelated kids. As you’ll see in the excerpt below, I put the icing on the cake. . . or should I say, the trimming on the tree?. . . by having the heroine rope Nick into making ornaments with her and the kids. :)
​
Thanks to my publisher, Snowbound with Mr. Wrong is on sale for 99 cents in e-book format at most etailers for the entire month of November. I hope you’ll check it out!

​Worst. Day. Ever. After Lyssa Barnett’s sister tricks her into reprising her role at Snowflake Valley's annual children's party, she doesn’t think anything can be worse than squeezing into her too-small elf costume. Then tall, dark, and way too handsome Nick Tavlock shows up to play Santa…and an unexpected storm leaves them snowbound in the isolated lodge.

The last thing Nick wants is to spend a cozy Christmas Eve with a trio of kids and the woman who dumped him. But as much as Lyssa frustrates him, he can't stop thinking about her. And soon, he's fighting very un-Santa-like thoughts of kissing a certain sexy Miss Elf under the mistletoe. As Nick starts to fall for Lyssa all over again, he knows it will take nothing short of a miracle to have Lyssa in his arms on Christmas Day.
 
Excerpt

Lyssa sat on the floor in front of the coffee table sewing her own stocking, making tiny, even stitches invisible to him from this distance.

Nick stared down again at the table and the two fabric pieces meant for his stocking. He still had no plans to join in on this sewing bee. He had flunked basket-weaving at summer camp and botched every project planned during every weekend retreat his parents signed him up to attend.

But somehow his skill in threading a needle had branded him an expert, at least in Tommy’s eyes. The little boy sat next to him on the couch and showed him every stitch he made.

“Do you think Santa likes my stocking?” Tommy asked.

The kid emphasized the word, as if someone here had already insulted his work. “I’m sure he’ll like it. In fact, you’re doing such a great job, I think you should make my stocking, too.”

“But Santa doesn’t—” The boy cut himself off and put his head down over his work again.

Across the room, Mollie gave a huge, exasperated sigh.

Till this morning, the little girl had seemed inclined to stick by his side. Since they had all returned to the living room, she had sat apart from them in his former Santa chair, stabbing her stocking-shaped piece of fabric with her needle as if it were some kind of voodoo doll. He pitied the person she was picturing as her target.

“When we get back to civilization,” he said, “we’ll need to make a shopping trip.”
That caught Mollie’s attention, though she looked up without a word.
​
It caught Lyssa’s attention, too, judging by the way her hand holding the needle had frozen in midair. Already he could tell she was forming objections to his plan. No matter what he did, he couldn’t seem to please her.

“Shopping?” Tommy asked. “What can we buy?”

“Christmas presents for all your parents.”

“But I told…I told Santa I made a card.”

“And that’s very nice. But there’s no reason you can’t give your mom and dad a present, too.”

“We’ll make ornaments,” Lyssa said.

“Make how?” Tommy demanded. “And what’s a ormer…that thing you said?”

“It’s a decoration for your Christmas tree. We’ll make them with a very special recipe I have for clay. We use flour and salt and glue and food coloring. Just like you do in school with Miss Barnett, right, Mollie?”

The girl shrugged and stabbed her stocking again.

This time, Nick didn’t blame her. The thought of having to make a stocking had been bad enough. And now, this?

Lyssa was going to great lengths to keep the kids occupied. He had a sneaking suspicion her efforts were also aimed at making sure he and she didn’t get to spend any time alone. After last night, he couldn’t blame her.
​
Yet even the fresh wave of guilt he felt now couldn’t keep him from wanting her.

Book Links
Amazon:  http://bit.ly/swmw-amz
Amazon Canada:  http://bit.ly/swmw-ca
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Barbara White Daille lives with her husband in the sunny Southwest. Though they love the warm winters and the lizards in their front yard, they haven’t gotten used to the scorpions in the bathroom. Barbara also loves writing, reading, and chocolate. Come to think of it, she enjoys writing about those subjects, too!
 
Barbara wrote her first short story at the age of nine, then typed "The End" to her first novel many years later...in the eighth grade. Now she's writing contemporary romance on a daily basis. Sign up for her newsletter to keep up with the latest in her writing life:  https://barbarawhitedaille.com/newsletter.
And don’t forget to check out Snowbound with Mr. Wrong while it’s sale-priced at $.99 during November!

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