Isaac Is Coming!

Well, it is hurricane season so it's not too shocking to see a storm like Isaac bearing down on my beloved state of Louisiana.

I am sending prayers and best wishes to all those in line with the storm.  I live on the western side of the state and I am hoping that the storm doesn't decide at the last minute to move further west.

This time is suppose to be a happy one with the upcoming release of my paranormal romance, Enchanted. I'm trying hard to find happiness in this moment but it's a little difficult with worry of the storm hanging over us.

Another dark cloud suppressing my joy is the recent loss of my brother in law. He passed away on August 15 of a massive heart attack. I've been with my husband for 34 years. His family has become my family so I loved my BIL as a true brother. This alone was a horrible blow. I hope the people I know and love in the path of that storm are kept safe.

I'm also hoping that once this is over, I'll be able rejoice in my book release.

Spotlight: The Viking Witch - Kelli Wilkins

The Viking’s Witch

By Kelli Wilkins

Scotland, 803 A.D.

About to be burned at the stake by her fellow villagers, Odaria does what any betrayed witch facing certain death would do. She calls down a curse. Within seconds, rampaging Norsemen raid the village, capturing everyone except her.

But her reprieve is short-lived, and Odaria lands in the clutches of the Norse leader Rothgar. Can she remain true to herself and fight her growing attraction to this domineering man, or will she fall under his influence and be used for his ambitions?

After Rothgar witnesses Odaria’s powers firsthand, he strikes a bargain with her. The raven-haired beauty will use her magical abilities to help him with his quest in exchange for safe passage off the isle. But can this cunning woman be trusted, or is she using him to exact vengeance on her village?

Together they must fight bloodthirsty villagers, battle a mutinous band of Norsemen, find a missing Norse ship, and learn to trust each other . . . before time is up.

Kelli Wilkins

Kelli A. Wilkins developed a love of reading and writing while growing up in a small upstate New York town.  Kelli enjoys writing in different genres, and her speculative fiction has appeared in numerous publications, including The Sun, The Best of the First Line, What If? andWeird Tales.

Kelli is a member of Romance Writers of America and has published several historical/fantasy romances with Amber Quill Press.  She currently lives in New Jersey with her husband.  Readers are invited to visit Kelli’s Web site, www.KelliWilkins.com, to catch up on all her writings

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Kentucky Green - The First Book I wrote - Terry Irene Blain

The first book I wrote was actually Kentucky Green. I know a lot of writers tell about the story they wrote in the first or second grade and how they always wanted to be a writer. But that’s not me. I always wanted to be a history teacher and ended up with a couple of history degrees and taught U.S. History and Western Civilization at the community college.

For me, teaching history was really story telling. All about people and places and events. How people lived, what was important to them. Everyone said, “You know all these stories? You should write a book.” Since I’m a rotten typist (and only an average speller) writing didn’t sound like too much fun. The thing that finally drove me to write was when my husband bought a computer/word processor (remember when they called it word processing?), which took away my excuse.

So being an academic, I took a writing class and learned about genres, and how popular the romance genre was. The instructor said to write what you like to read (well, duh!). I’d always read historical novels and looking back I can see that they contained a strong romance even if they weren’t ‘romantic’.

So how did I come up with Kentucky Green? I was lucky enough to grow up with a large extended Midwest family and knew a lot of family history and stories. My several times great grandmother came to Illinois from Kentucky on horseback, carrying her newborn baby in her arms. And one of my favorite historical novels was The Kentuckian by Janice Holt Giles. So Kentucky was to be the setting, and a generation later than The Kentuckians.

Being a historian, I read about Kentucky in the time I’d chosen, found details, came up with characters. I loved the research. Some of the most fun scenes to write about were when Dan teaches April about his Kentucky rifle. At one time my husband had a black powder rifle, so I knew I wanted to include a scene with the rifle.

Being my first book, it went through a lot of revisions and re-writing while I leaned the craft. Now I’m lucky enough to share my stories with readers like you. I hope you’ll enjoy Kentucky Green.

Blurb: 

April Williamson’s heart calls her across the frontier, but only one man—a handsome army scout with a tormented past—can get her safely to freedom.

Synopsis: 

Daniel McKenzie was an army scout—quiet, capable, handsome…and utterly unwilling to be the trail guide April Williamson needed to reach Kentucky. The Indian attack at Blue Licks was but one bitter taste of the American frontier, a massacre that had taken her father just as cholera had taken her mother. But April would not give up on her dream. At journey’s end was independence, and nothing would stand in her way.

The young widow was beautiful and determined, but the months of travel involved in her plan would be too hard. Without the general’s order Dan would have told any woman no, but April especially. His secret would destroy her—or she might destroy him. April’s kiss was like the country itself. Restless and sweet, it promised a love that denied every boundary and looked only to freedom and the future.

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Terry Irene Blain

Bio: Terry Irene Blain was lucky enough to grow up in a large Mid-western family with a rich oral tradition. As a child she heard stories of ancestors’ adventures with Indians, wildlife, weather and frontier life in general, so she naturally gravitated to the study of history and completed a BA and MA then taught the subject at the college level. Married to a sailor, now retired, she’s had the chance to live in various parts of the U.S. and has traveled to Hong Kong, Australia, England and Scotland.

“My degrees and my teaching experience make me a natural to write historical romance. Writing historical romance gives me the opportunity to pass on stories of who we are and where we come from while exploring the relationship between men and women. What could be more exciting than that?”

Flaws of a Hero: The End Begins: The Nine - Jeffrey Zweig II

Thank you Judith for hosting me on your blog today!

Today I’m going to talk a little bit about what makes your heroes believable. This post is more for the newbie’s than the old folk but either way pull up a chair and gather around. You might learn something.

Especially as a fiction writer it is easy to get caught up in the majesty of your hero being powerful, unstoppable, and even invincible with nothing that could stand in their way. But this is uninteresting. Those kind of flawless folk are long gone with the golden age of comic books. Heroes today are not flawless examples of what society should set out to be. Instead they are what people should be – “imperfect perfect “creatures getting by the best way they can.

The human condition is far from “perfect”. Thus our characters have to represent this and be relatable so the reader can connect to them. They are going to have faults, period. Not only does this make them more interesting but open up new potential plot points or directions to take them as you write your story. And who ever complains about too much inspiration?

Let me go over a few points I notice from time to time when reviewing other peoples work:

Going through the Journey: From the get go your character needs to show at least some of what they are capable of. And then allow them to grow, sometimes in ways even you don’t expect. You want them to have peaks and valleys their characters journey. They are not untouched by the world around him. We all react to outside stimuli that test our desires, our fears, our endurance. This is the same for your character as well. Even if they are not central to the main plot, a side step here and there to round out your hero is not always a bad thing.

The 24/7 upstanding citizen: Very few of us are so perfect that we aren’t rebellious in some way. In doing that we allow ourselves the chance to change and evolve and to become our own person. And sometimes that rebellion is doing an unfavorable thing. Unless there’s a point to being that cookie cutter angel, things we do wrong help define us.

Cause and Effect: I punch through a window - my hand will break. I cheat on my girlfriend, that girlfriend may or may not plot to have me fired from my job. Your hero should not be exempt from the responsibility of the consequences their actions bring. They will not just solder on through tough times. Sometimes they will stumble or just fall. It should change them in some way, and either they fly or fall. And from there they can rise again – if you want them too. This brings me to my next point…

Roadblocks/Obstacles/Conflict: Those things the character has to overcome to get to their end goal. We have them in everyday life and have to surmount those to get to what we want. This can be a physical object, a destination, or battling depression to make it to the credits. These are just a few of infinite examples of what your character can/should face. Every story should have them and every story needs them to put the character through its paces. If they are breezing through the book without conflict and resistance – you have a problem.

These are just a few ideas I’ve come up with through my years of screenplay coverage and critiquing other writers work. But I can’t take all the credit for this experience. So for more in depth look at these kinds of things I recommend two books by Sol Stein – Stein on Writing and How to Grow a Novel. They will help you take a serious look at your project and see if there are issues that need to be addressed.

Final point before I leave. Have fun making your character be as dynamic, three dimensional, miserable, and happy as possible. It’s part of life and as they say it’s more about the journey. The same goes for your story. Thank you once again Judith for letting me prattle on your blog today and being a part of my first blog tour!

Blurb:

A young alchemist, Cassarah Telmar, thought training at the magic academy was what life was about, until she discovered it's students powers were being stolen by the Coalition, an ambiguous corporation turned warmongering militia. Cass escapes their program and vows to bring them down.

The key lies on the young James Kesumare's mind, who is responsible for destroying the gate technology that's stranded the Coalition and forced them to survive in a backward parallel world. Cass wants nothing more than to destroy them and free her clan, but she's too blind to see that the end begins for both the Coalition, and herself. She will have to chose between living under their thumb, or dying with freedom.


Excerpt of The End Begins: The Nine:

The early morning light of Cass’s fourth day in Jurgin almost blinded her. It was the second day having taken on an overnight shift and the hours were worn on her face. Children with large backpacks passed her, smiling and waving. Some of her other neighbors acknowledged her with a wave, though they seemed to still avoid her despite having blended into their population quite well.

From the street, Cass entered a small diner, very homely and inviting even with a small layer of noticeable dust. Once inside she noticed her other co-workers sat in a booth not far from the front door. She quickly turned away and sat in her own booth. The waitress was quick to come by to take her order. The male co-workers from the other side of the room tried to grab her attention, but she paid little attention and was thankful when her food arrived.

This diner she’d visited since coming to Jurgin specialized in hearty meals of bacon, eggs, and sausage, though she defied the usual for hash browns and eggs. The food was quick to come and she enjoyed the taste and though she only nibbled at the meat, she gorged herself on eggs, potatoes, and toast. Already the feeling crept in that she was losing herself in the local community’s filth at times.

As she tore into a strip of bacon, her glance shifted to the floor, a discarded newspaper sat under her feet. She brought it up to the table when a long article on the side of the newspaper’s face with an image of Skylar and some other Tro-Dey’s greeting the locals of that area the picture was taken, that had a name she had a hard time saying.

Cass scanned the plain-faced type font of the article, which at first caught her off guard to how similar it was to her own. She learned it was an interview given by Skylar, their acting representative, during the Nine’s first visit to Washington. They were interested in expanding their influence to the country in light of the issues the ravaged country had.

The young woman sank in her chair in anguish as one of her co-workers, a six-foot-something rotund man with large, black, and round glasses came and sat at her booth. She didn’t respond to his presence.

“What you readin’?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular,” she lied. He leaned on the table toward her.

“Look, Jass. Let’s face it. No one around here has taken to you too well. I know you’re not from around here and so do most of us. All I’m saying is, you hang with the right people, and things will go easier for you. Just trying to make your life a little easier. I’m sure you can appreciate that, can’t you?”

Dwelling in her personal hell, her vision locked on the paper until the fat man swiped the newspaper from her.

“Are you listening, Jass?” he asked.

Cass shot up from the table. “My name is Cass! C-A-double-S!” Her diamond blue eyes narrowed at him.

“I’ve had enough of your insistent meddling in my affairs. I am not going to,” she searched her mind a second for the right word, “fuck? You? Okay? Get found? Lost? Go away! Leave me be,” she threw down some flamboyant currency on the table and left for the door.

The man, with the paper in hand, stood from the booth. Before she made it to the door, two men, the fat man’s lapdogs from his booth, had the door blocked.

“Let me pass.”

“Jass,” the fat man gingerly called to her, “It would be in your best interests if you…”

The moment the fat man put a hand on her shoulder, she kicked into the side of his knee. He yelped an octave higher while his mass crashed to the ground with a loud thud. As the young alchemist’s attention returned to the two men at the door, her face connected with the fist of one of the lapdogs. Disoriented, the other shoved her into the diner’s counter.

As they advanced on her, she groped the counter for a weapon.

Steak knife. Dirty but sharp, she thought, but the lap dog’s greedy hands pinned her against the counter with their strength.

The fat man wobbled to his feet with a face red with anger. She felt his next course of action was going to be a violent one.

There were no options now; she had got in over her head.

Cass willed energy into her hands until they were a hint of red, then grabbed the closest man that held an arm and burned them. He released her, cursing while the skin on his forearm blistered instantly.

When the other tried to restrain her, she landed a quick jab that left knuckle marks in their skin, then released the energy housed in her hand and shot a small fireball into his face. The second lackey was down for the count, their skin was red, blistered and cracked.

But the fat man would not be detoured, and lumbered after her. She brushed her hands as they turned blue against her clothes. Energy crackled along the veins of her hands as she drew it from her torso and double-fisted him in the chest.

The sudden impact knocked the glasses off the large man’s face as he stumbled across the room and crashed into a table while he went into cardiac arrest. The other lackey, with forearms burnt, backed away.

Cass stood, bleeding with her power, triumphant.

Then came the stares and shocked faces of the witnesses around her.

Author Info:


Born and Raised in the state of Indiana, Jeffrey Zweig II is a self published author of Epic Science Fiction/Fantasy. His degree from Indiana State University, with a background in DIY film production, and internships with various production companies laid the foundation for his creative career and for living life on his terms. He resides in Indianapolis, Indiana living the dream, as they say.

When not writing he volunteers his time remotely with the Dallas based non-profit Reading and Radio Resource, a company specializing in aiding those with disabilities to enjoy literature.

For more information on this author:

His Blog: Stories of the Sleepless Mind
His Wiki: Zweig Independent Publications
Twitter
Facebook
Smashwords
Goodreads

What’s on my Office Desk? Guest Terry Irene Blain

When I was starting to write Colorado Silver, Colorado Gold, I made a collage. I’ve done this for other books, and find it a good exercise, as I’m a visual person. Once I decided on Durango, Colorado, who my hero and heroine were and what they looked like, that’s when I started looking for photos for my collage.

I use a 2’ x 3’ bulletin board and staple or pin the things I find to the board. This is often a work in progress while I’m writing the story as things are added. Since the Colorado Silver, Colorado Gold story dealt with the setting, I looked for pictures of Colorado.

The best place for photos of scenery is in National Geographic. When our Friends of the Library have their annual sale, I look through boxes of old National Geographic magazines. For ten cents I buy all the ones with articles on a place I might want to set a novel. I actually found three magazines that featured Colorado. The background for the collage is several large photos of scenery, including mountains and valleys. I even found a map of Colorado. Another place to find photos is to get tourist brochures from where you story is set. So I have nice photos of the Silverton Railroad that runs into Durango.

The inspiration for my heroine was a girl in my office, so I have a couple of actual photos of her. For the costumes, I used Dover Publications Paper Doll series, making a Xerox copy so I don’t actually cut up the book. These items are mostly on the right side. On the left side is where the hero items are. The hero doesn’t necessarily have to look like the individual in the photos, the pictures just have to have something make you to think of the hero. You’ll see there are several pictures of country singers (they have the right hat). For me, the best photo I found was of the iconic Wells Fargo green box (small picture on the map of Colorado).

Once I start writing, the collage goes on the wall where I can glance at it. And when the book is finished, I have souvenir for all the work I did.

Blurb: 

To protect her sister, Juliette Lawson stole documents and fled west. Now Wes Westmoreland, undercover lawman, threatens both her plan and her heart.

Synopsis:

Socialite Juliette Lawson fled west from Philadelphia on a train and in disguise. In Colorado she’d be safe; she’d take work with her uncle at the Rio d'Oro, his smelting operation. Her actions back east had been wrong, but to protect her pregnant sister from scandal she would have done anything. Then she met a man as hungry for answers as she was for independence. A handsome, honorable man. For him, she wished the truth was hers to tell.

From the first, Wes Westmoreland knew he couldn’t trust her. Having grown up in the saloons and brothels of San Francisco, he saw trust, like love, as a luxury an undercover lawman couldn’t afford. Not on a job like this one, not with gold involved. This woman dressed as a widow was clearly hiding something; he’d felt it the moment they touched. But he’d felt other things too, stirrings in his heart, and for the first time ever, he saw riches worth the peril.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

St. Louis, Missouri, 1889

Whistle shrieking, the train jerked to a stop, the sudden lurch throwing Julie Lawson forward. The black silk of her skirt slipped on the hard wooden seat and only the firm bracing of her feet kept her from slipping to the floor. She glanced down at the small valise that hadn’t been out of arm’s reach since she fled Philadelphia.

Julie shifted back in her seat, hearing the echo of her grandmother’s favorite phrase, your impulses will get you into trouble one day, Juliette Marie, you mark my words. Gran had certainly been right.

She let out a shallow sigh. The widow’s weeds she’d hurriedly dug out of the trunk in the attic required a corset so severely laced a shallow sigh was all she could manage.

The train whistle gave a short toot. “St. Louis! St. Louis! Thirty-minute stop in St.

Louis!” came the sing-song voice of the conductor.

She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. Enough time for her to walk down the platform and back. As she stood, the hat and heavy veil wobbled. Using her reflection in the dusty window as a mirror, she readjusted the long hat pins. The hat more secure, she peered through the glass.

The platform bustled with activity. Fellow passengers came and went, dodging

scattered trunks and carpet bags. The harried-looking conductor strode by, a piece of paper in his hand and a pencil tucked behind his ear. A small boy in corduroy knickers trailed a large, hairy dog, the boy clutching a piece of twine attached to the dog’s collar.

A telegraph office stood at the platform’s west end near the panting engine. Standing in front of a row of round-topped steamer trunks, a man waited quietly beside the office. His coat and trousers were the color of bitter chocolate. A perfect match to his wide-brimmed Stetson and western boots. A pair of saddle bags hung over one shoulder.

Leaving her coat draped across the seat, she lowered the black lace veil, and drew on her black kid gloves. Picking up the small valise, she left the railroad car.

She walked along the platform, the warm summer air smelling of coal smoke and dust. As she neared the west end of the platform, she noticed the man she’d seen from the window. A growing commotion behind her caused her to turn. All down the platform, people scrambled and yelled, their shouts mingled with a dog’s deep bark. A flash of tabby fur streaked past her skirt. The dog bumped her knees as he gallumped past.

Off balance, she stumbled backward. And into a solid, warm male body. Strong arms wrapped around her. Her flailing bag struck him, bringing a muffled exclamation. With a thud they came to rest against a steamer trunk. Turned sideways, she half-sat, half-lay over his long legs. She fought to regain her balance, thwarted by the slick silk of her skirts.

“Hold still, lady,” he muttered as he hitched her more securely over his lap. “I don’t want to drop you.”

Throwing her arms around his neck, the bag she still held thumped into his back.

Another exclamation, this one not so muttered, sounded in her ear.

With one arm about her shoulders, the other stretched across her lap grasping her hip, he kept her from sliding to the ground. For a few seconds neither of them moved. She started to breathe again inhaling a faint scent of leather, tobacco, and shaving soap.

The masculine scents made her instantly aware of the intimacy of their position with her draped across his lap, the surrounding warmth of his arms and body. She loosened her grip around his neck and brought the bag back over his shoulder where it plopped to the ground. Unable to get her breath, she blamed the too-tight corset. “I... I beg your pardon,” she managed to get out.

Her hat dipped so far forward it practically sat on her nose. The pins pulled hurtfully at her hair. Without thinking, she reached to fix it and flipped back the veil. She glanced up and got a good look at her rescuer.

His hat gone, his gold-blond hair curled slightly where it lay too long about his ears and collar. His muted green eyes widened in surprise. His gaze flicked from her face, to her hair, and back to her face. Julie’s stomach dropped like a stone. She jerked the veil back into place.

Without the obscuring veil, she looked even younger than her twenty-one years, her hair a pale, but unmistakable, blond. Not the gray-haired widow he’d obviously expected. “I do beg your pardon,” she repeated. “I’m so sorry.”

A grin tugged up one corner of his mouth, white teeth flashing under his blond

mustache. “I’m not,” he replied.

Her heart jumped into her throat, reminding her of her scandalous position on his lap. She squared her shoulders, stiffening in his grasp. She swallowed her heart back to its proper place. “Please, sir,” she said in her best touch-me-not voice.

His fabulous smile faded. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” Carefully, he loosened his grip,

allowing her to slide from his lap. Once she’d regained her feet, he stood. For some reason she still couldn’t catch her breath. Drat the corset for making her so breathless and lightheaded.

After a second, he stooped to pick up his hat. Her gaze followed his movement and she spotted her valise tangled with his saddle bags. “Oh,” she gasped.

He shot her a quick glance then extracted the small bag from the snarl of leather.

She twisted her hands together, resisting the impulse to grab for her bag.

“May I carry your bag?” the blond man asked as if to make amends. He gestured with the bag toward where passengers were re-boarding. His face showed a carefully neutral expression. But his green eyes reminded her of the waters of the Chesapeake in a storm. She didn’t want to imagine what thoughts those eyes might hide.

“No,” she stammered, “no, thank you.” She couldn’t even get a simple sentence out. When he handed her the valise, her hand brushed his strong, tanned one. Even through her glove, she imagined the warmth of his touch. “Thank you,” she was able to murmur as she turned.

She concentrated on walking with as much dignity as possible as she returned down the platform. He had to be watching, for she felt his gaze between her shoulder blades as she fought to keep her steps at a sedate pace. At last she regained the haven of the railroad car. Relief washed through her.

She took her seat but couldn’t resist looking out the window. He still stood in front of the telegraph office, hat in hand, looking down the platform toward her railroad car. After a moment, he slapped the hat against his thigh before resettling it on his head.

“Al-l-l aaaa-board!” shouted the conductor. The train whistle echoed with a toooo-tootoot! A loud clanking was followed by a sudden forward jerk. The whistle shrilled again. A series of short tugs became smooth forward movement. Through the window the train depot and platform began to slide away.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Her head remained straight forward, but in spite of her

admonishments her gaze crept toward the window as the telegraph office scrolled by.

Saddle bags resting near his booted feet, he scanned the train. His gaze seemed to penetrate the dusty window and her veil with no problem. His eyes held hers for a split second, making her breath catch. He briefly touched the brim of his hat and nodded as is figure slid past.

The Twilight Saint - Jessica Penot

Blurb:

It has been thousands of years since the fall of the great nations and the tribes that remain in the ashes of the fallen must fight to survive in the shadows.  In this desperate landscape, Ailive has spent her entire life fighting for the honor of her tribe and she has grown weary of war. When Ailive sees a chance to escape her fate, she flees into a chaotic landscape where death and darkness lurk behind every friendly face until she finds refuge in the peaceful city at the center of her world.  In this city, Ailive finds everything she’s ever dreamt of, but news of a strange prophet from the South brings whispers of war to Ailive’s peaceful home.  Now Ailive alone can stop the genocide of an entire tribe of people.  Ailive alone holds the key to bringing peace to the world and destroying the monstrous man whom she once loved, if she can only gain the courage to pick up her sword again and make herself fulfill the destiny she’s fought her entire life.

EXCERPT:

I walk the way of the storm. It is all I have ever known. In the haze of early childhood memories, there exists brief moments before the storm, but now it has consumed everything. Every piece of me has been lost and all I can remember is fire and smoke and the remains of old dreams singed by death.  Even as I sat high above the city, looking down on the magnificent beauty of my tribe, the smell of death lingered. Our tribe’s city was alive, vibrant, and prosperous, but to me it was nothing.

I sat perched on top of the highest tower of the karash, looking down on what most people in our tribe would call the real world. I was a Xenderian. I was part of the most powerful tribe of its time. I was more than part of it; I was the sword that cut the path to its glory. I was a karake. I was born to fight for the glory of my people, but as I looked through the icy air, I felt dead inside. My scars were long and my nightmares haunted my every moment.

Check out the Author!

To learn more about Jessica Penot and her books go towww.jessicapenot.net or follow her on her adventures at her blog www.ghoststoriesandhauntedplaces.blogspot.com.

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Review - Books by Terry Irene Blane - Promo Blitz

My first review of Colorado Silver, Colorado Gold.  It was nice to read a book reminiscent of the historical romances from the 1980's.  Ms. Blain's book reminded me of Rebecca Bradewynes' novels.

The story was smooth and enjoyable. I liked both the heroine and hero.  

I would definitely recommend this book to readers who enjoy diving into a true historical romance novel.

Blurb: 

To protect her sister, Juliette Lawson stole documents and fled west. Now Wes Westmoreland, undercover lawman, threatens both her plan and her heart.

Synopsis:

Socialite Juliette Lawson fled west from Philadelphia on a train and in disguise. In Colorado she’d be safe; she’d take work with her uncle at the Rio d'Oro, his smelting operation. Her actions back east had been wrong, but to protect her pregnant sister from scandal she would have done anything. Then she met a man as hungry for answers as she was for independence. A handsome, honorable man. For him, she wished the truth was hers to tell.

From the first, Wes Westmoreland knew he couldn’t trust her. Having grown up in the saloons and brothels of San Francisco, he saw trust, like love, as a luxury an undercover lawman couldn’t afford. Not on a job like this one, not with gold involved. This woman dressed as a widow was clearly hiding something; he’d felt it the moment they touched. But he’d felt other things too, stirrings in his heart, and for the first time ever, he saw riches worth the peril.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My second review is on Kentucky Green.  Another great feat of storytelling by Ms. Blain.  I have so missed books set in this era and location.  I used to devour every one I could find.  It was nice to see such a strong heroine.  Would definitely recommend this book.

Blurb: 

April Williamson’s heart calls her across the frontier, but only one man—a handsome army scout with a tormented past—can get her safely to freedom.

Synopsis: 

Daniel McKenzie was an army scout—quiet, capable, handsome…and utterly unwilling to be the trail guide April Williamson needed to reach Kentucky. The Indian attack at Blue Licks was but one bitter taste of the American frontier, a massacre that had taken her father just as cholera had taken her mother. But April would not give up on her dream. At journey’s end was independence, and nothing would stand in her way.

The young widow was beautiful and determined, but the months of travel involved in her plan would be too hard. Without the general’s order Dan would have told any woman no, but April especially. His secret would destroy her—or she might destroy him. April’s kiss was like the country itself. Restless and sweet, it promised a love that denied every boundary and looked only to freedom and the future.

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E-book  USA and International

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Terry Irene Blain

Bio: Terry Irene Blain was lucky enough to grow up in a large Mid-western family with a rich oral tradition. As a child she heard stories of ancestors’ adventures with Indians, wildlife, weather and frontier life in general, so she naturally gravitated to the study of history and completed a BA and MA then taught the subject at the college level. Married to a sailor, now retired, she’s had the chance to live in various parts of the U.S. and has traveled to Hong Kong, Australia, England and Scotland.

“My degrees and my teaching experience make me a natural to write historical romance. Writing historical romance gives me the opportunity to pass on stories of who we are and where we come from while exploring the relationship between men and women. What could be more exciting than that?”