New Release -- Her Last Man (Men of Maine Series Book 8) by Diana Tobin

 

Danielle Reigh’s reappearance after being “away” for four months is something she does not want to talk about to anyone—including handsome law officer Cooper Webster. She’s more than a little interested in him, but she has to be able to trust Cooper with the story of what happened to her before she can let herself fall for him completely. Though Cooper knows a man from her past holds a place in her heart, he’s determined to be her only man. But her story might test the limits of credibility—even with someone who loves her as much as Cooper does!

When Danielle’s sister, Charlotte, becomes the nanny for newcomer single father Wyatt Jameson, she falls head over heels in love—with Wyatt’s young daughter, Isabella! But soon, Char and Wyatt realize that Bella’s happiness isn’t the only thing they have in common. After a bad marriage, Wyatt finds it hard to trust anyone, but Char is so open and loving, how can he shut her out of his life? When Char and Bella are kidnapped, Wyatt realizes Char means more to him than he ever imagined. He’ll do whatever he must to save her.

Can Danielle and Cooper put the past behind them and forge a future together? Can Wyatt manage to save Charlotte from a madman and create a new life with her and his baby daughter?

EXCERPT

Hell couldn’t be hotter than this godforsaken land. Grit – sand, dirt, ashes of the dead – filtered into every orifice of his body. It wedged between his teeth. It lay between his skin and clothes, constantly chaffing and rubbing. Not only did he want to peel off his clothes, but his skin along with them. Anything to escape the constant irritation.

Everything here was a constant irritation: the heat, the dirt, the waiting, always being on alert, the waste of human life.

The pack he carried, along with his buddy, grew heavier with each step. Blood from Wiskowski’s wounds splattered over the front of him. His own blood oozed down his leg, despite the bandage he’d slapped around his thigh. His knees wanted to give out, but he refused to allow it. He had to get Wiskowski to the medic. The Black Hawk sat just ahead.

Almost there. A few more steps.

Bullets whizzed around him. The rotors stirred more dirt, blinding and choking him. He tried to pick up his left foot, but only managed to drag it. What the hell?

Hands reached down to take Wiskowski when a punch to his back shoved him against the side of the helicopter.

Damn, he didn’t…

     

New Release — Christmas Wishes by Diana Tobin (Men Of Maine Series Book 6)

Quiltmaker Claire Stone and her young daughter, Grace, are newcomers to the small town of Webster, Maine. Erasing the past is something Claire is determined to do, for divorcing her cruel ex-husband was the only solution to save herself and her daughter—and she’s never regretted it. But when she meets handsome Marc Baxter, the attraction is instant, and she begins to realize what she’s missed in life—someone to care for her…someone to care for.

Marc Baxter has come home to his roots, recovering from a nasty divorce and the discovery that his ex-wife had some shocking secrets of her own. Christmas is on the way, and he’s looking forward to opening a clinic with his niece and getting back to practicing medicine again.

When Grace is injured in an accident, Marc’s tender treatment leaves her with a severe case of hero worship—and wishing for a loving father. Claire is grateful to Marc, but her feelings go much deeper than that. Despite her fears of emotional ties, Marc is prepared to do whatever it takes to win Claire over.

But Claire’s controlling ex-husband was a doctor. Can she take a chance on another “professional” man who’s used to making the decisions in life? Marc says he loves her, but can he respect her and treat her as a life partner? Is there any hope for a Yuletide miracle that will see all their CHRISTMAS WISHES come true?

EXCERPT

     Claire sipped her pumpkin spiced coffee and licked a drop of whipped cream from her upper lip. She should be home, starting the mayor’s quilt, but couldn’t face an empty house. Instead, she came to Moose-ley Coffee and treated herself to an afternoon snack. Even though she sat alone at one of the small tables she didn’t feel alone with the few others in the cafe. The atmosphere was welcoming and friendly.

     Grace would enjoy a hot chocolate. Maybe she’d remain in the coffee shop until school let out, order a snack for her daughter, and they could go home together.

     “Mind if I join you for a moment?”

     She looked up to find a stranger beside her table, his hand on the chair opposite hers. His dark brown hair looked wind- tossed with a lock hanging down his brow. His blue eyes pierced her with an intensity filled with sadness. Scruff covered his square jaw and outlined his full lips.

     

New Release - Charlotte's Resurrection by Linda Swift - @prairierosepubs #suspense #firestarpress

Newspaper reporter Charlotte Timberlake plans to write a book comparing past and present treatment for mental illness. She persuades a doctor to admit her to a state hospital as a patient.

When unforeseen events make it impossible for her to leave, she finds herself unable to convince anyone – those in charge, her children, or ex-husband – she doesn't belong there.

Charlotte soon realizes it is up to her to find a means of escaping the nightmare of her self-condemned prison.

EXCERPT

     When Charlotte awoke, her room was dark except for the faint light from the lobby desk. Her throat felt parched and sore. She was thirsty. She sat up slowly, feeling groggy and stiff. She walked to the screen door and turned the handle but it didn't move. She tried again. Then she realized she was locked in. She shook the door. "Miss Hill," she called softly, so as not to wake the others. "Miss Hill."

     Josephine Hill stood up from the desk. "What you want, Timberlake?"

     "I want out. I want to get a drink of water."

     "I'll bring you one." She shuffled toward the water fountain, snapped a paper cup from the holder.

     "I want to use the bathroom, too," Charlotte said, thinking quickly. She had to get out of this room.

     "Okay, okay. One thing at a time. Here's your water."

     Charlotte took the tiny cup and drained it.

     "Okay, let's go to the john now." Josephine took her arm.

Charlotte jerked away. "I'll go by myself, thanks."

     "No, you won't, Timberlake. I got orders to keep close by you." Josephine reached for her arm again, and together they made their way in semi-darkness past the various sounds of sleeping patients.

     "What time is it?" Charlotte asked as she sat down on the commode.

     "You going somewhere?" Josephine chuckled at her joke, then added, "Nearly two-thirty."

Sixteen hours. They had really knocked her out.

GIVING THANKS OR GOING THROUGH MOTIONS? By Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer

When I was a kid, my mother, father, grandmother, and I would go to my aunt’s for Thanksgiving. It was such a special day! I would get to see my two cousins who lived all the way out in Tigard. We would run to their room to play while the men talked and the women pulled dinner together. The fare wasn’t sumptuous, but it was hearty and always enough with the big turkey as the centerpiece of the table. Sometimes there would be paper cutouts of gray-clothed pilgrims and sometimes a small bunch of flowers from the wintering garden. No one had heard of Martha Stewart back then.

After dinner, we kids would fill out our Christmas lists, all of our desires practical and inexpensive. (If we got too imaginative, such as asking for a pony, or too extravagant, like listing the Barbie Dream House plus Complete Wardrobe, my grandmother would frown disapprovingly. She had come through two World Wars and the Great Depression and still believed a tangerine and a handful of pecans, both somewhat exotic back in the fifties, was a worthy present.) Then the whole lot of us would make another list, a list of thanks.

A magical day spent with love, joy, and plenty, it was always hard to say goodbye, but I could take solace in knowing that next year, like clockwork, it would happen again.

Then everything changed. We stopped going to my aunt’s, and I found out that for years, my mother had just been going through the motions. To me, Thanksgiving meant play and excitement, but to her it was a little bit of a nightmare. Where I saw dress-up and celebration; she saw my dad fighting with his sister, my uncle drinking, and us kids getting rowdy and out of hand. She stuck with the tradition until we were teens, then when she deemed us old enough to deal with the harsh reality of the real world, couldn’t be done with it fast enough.

For me, it was worse than discovering there was no Santa Claus. What I’d believed to be one thing was really another. Bad enough that my perfect day was a lie; how easily I’d been deluded shook the foundation of my being.

As I grew up and over the half-century that followed, I often tried to recreate those perfect Thanksgivings. I had kids of my own, then grandkids, and every few years, I’d host the holiday dinner, trying to capture the innocence of my childhood memory. I would don a calico apron and run myself ragged making turkey and all the fixings, buying flowers to arrange in a centerpiece with candles and hand-painted gourds. (by then, Martha’s uber-styling was setting standards for home décor that no real person could ever meet). I’d slug back a few glasses of wine, shout at my husband about nothing, shudder in the corner with anxiety. I’d listen to one son fight with his wife as the other got drunk. I’d watch my granddaughter throw temper tantrums while my grandsons slouched, glued to their Nintendos. I’d read off their Christmas lists, pages of expensive toys, electronics, and designer clothes, knowing that I couldn’t afford even one of those things; knowing full well that they expected to receive them all.

These gatherings drained me, never coming near my ludicrous expectations; I was just going through the motions.

Some time back, I quit trying, quit controlling, quit judging. It didn’t happen overnight and it wasn’t easy to let go and let people be who they are, but serenity was a goal well worth attaining. I quit attempting to relive a past that, though wonderfully real to me, was illusion. I’d never understood the whole picture of my childhood fantasy, and I needed to move on and take the holiday for what it was.

What it is.

Giving thanks.

Check out more blogs by Mollie Hunt, Cat Writer at:

Mollie Hunt: Crazy Cat Lady Mysteries and more

Happy reading!

The People and the Forest -- Spring Is Here by Jae Hall

Cat, Blackie and Kamisha

May is here and that means five birthdays in my family.
So starting today May 1, Happy Birthday to Carl, Scout, Venice, Migel, and Frank. I know we'll be celebrating on the ranch with cake and maybe a pizza or bbq.

The forest provides a wide variety of foods and medicines, so it's time to gather even more plants for future use.

I was going to spotlight chaparral, but due to my camera dying, I haven't taken enough good photos. Also the toxic bloom is raising cane with my allergies. I'll save that special herb and it's uses for later in the summer so this  blog is about a variety of spring topics, and of course plants.

I've been out gathering  and it's always fun to take the family out and learn something new. A plant we call Princess Pine has been used in our family for many generations. The tea can be used for arthritis and kidney illnesses. Always use caution and test for allergies.

Hunter picking Princess Pine

Scout

Great Grandma Betty and Scout 

Hunter and Scout

Princess Pine

Dogwood

Dogwood Tree

A tree that has beautiful blossoms in the spring is our wild Dogwood tree. This year due to a very mild winter, lack of water and impending drought, our Dogwood is blooming early.

Pussy Ears

We generally take a day drive up into the mountains at the end of May to gather Dogwood blossoms along with other wild flowers. We use them to decorate our family graves for Memorial Day. This year everything is blooming 4-6 weeks early so our flower supply will be limited.
Here are a few of our annual flowers that are currently blooming in the northern California  forests.

Mule Ear Daisy

Trillium

Siskiyou Lewisia

Miners Lettuce

Copper and blooming Chaparral

Red Bells

Lupine

 Spring Colds and flu have hit many hard around here.

Young Western Red Cedar

Mature Western Red Cedar

Cold and flu season has depleted my supply of  Western Red Cedar.

Cedar is our go to for chest congestion and respiratory illnesses. Always remember to identify plants correctly before using. We only use the Western Red Cedar. Other varieties may have similar or different properties and uses.

These photos are of  young Western Red Cedar and a mature tree.

I gather the green foliage and dry for a tea. We use it in place of, or in conjunction with, commercially produced flu remedies.
I gather the berries for decorations and jewelry. Again. know your plants and if possible go out with someone knowledgeable.

After 30+ years,  I'm still not used to the idea that my husband no longer fells timber and there will be no summer long camp-outs in the forest. The time I've spent living in the deep forest and taking pictures of trees and plants has contributed to the background information in many of my stories. Spending weeks away from modern conveniences is at the top of my fun list.

Some of my photos of my husband cutting down danger trees near roadways and tourists camps have become a part of on my book covers.

My children are also in the forest/logging industry and work to keep the forest healthy as our family has done for countless generations.

At the end of the day we all give thanks that we are able to spend our life out in nature passing down generations of knowledge and skills, enjoying good company, and watching the sun set on yet another great day in the northern California forest. It's our Shasta tradition.

Jae Hall lives in far Northern California with her husband, the Shasta tribal Chief, family, cats, dogs and over a dozen horses. She is the co-author of Arcadia Publishing history books Western Siskiyou, Gold and Dreams, and Shasta Nation. Through PRP is the novel TimberBeast and she has Indie published the second book in her TimberBeast series, DutchMan.
More fiction and non-fiction books are coming soon.

FSP -- New Release -- SNOWFLAKES AND TEARDROPS by B.J. Betts -- Giveaway!

 Be sure to leave a way to contact you in your message to enter a drawing. B.J. Betts will be giving away a copy of her new contemporary Christmas romance, Snowflakes and Teardrops.

 BLURB

On a dark and snowy November night, ER nurse, Celina Gray, takes into her home two little girls after they land in the ER with their mother, who has been seriously injured. Little did she know by taking the girls that it would land her under the protective custody of Detective Brad Palmquist. He was there to serve and protect them, but who was going to protect her heart from him?

EXCERPT

    The sound of the school bell split the air.
    Celina watched as the two girls walked onto the playground. Despite the bitter weather, they were dressed in flip-flops and shorts. Long, adult hoodies covered their tiny bodies to their knees. Their hands and legs were turning red from the cold.
    As they tried to get into line, Celina heard two girls that stood before them call out, “Ooh get away from us! You’ve got cooties!”
    One by one, they were shoved to the back of the line. The youngest girl started to cry all over again.
    The blare of a car horn had Celina looking into her rearview mirror. The light in front of her had turned green. She flicked on her left turn signal, stepped on the accelerator, and pulled into the intersection. From out of nowhere, a car burst through the intersection at a high rate of speed. Celina slammed on her brakes and fish-tailed. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, fighting for control as she cut a cookie in the middle of the icy street. Her eyes widened in fear and her heart pounded in her chest as the car careened toward her.

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Also available in large print paperback.