Spotlight: Never Dare a Dragon by Ashlyn Chase

Third in Ashlyn Chase’s light paranormal romance series featuring hot dragon shifters. No one would believe that lovely Lt. Kristine Scott of the NY Fire Department is an actual dragon, but there’s no denying the flames that ignite when she meets firefighting phoenix shifter Jayce Fierro.
 
One Boston Phoenix + One New York Dragon = Scorching Heat
You think it’s tough being a dragon? It’s a piece of cake compared to being a phoenix shifter. Dragon shifters just have to worry about accidentally setting their stuff (or a loved one) on fire. A phoenix can rise from the ashes, but then they have to start over…as if growing up once wasn’t tough enough..
 
Meet Lt. Jayce Fierro of the Boston Fire Department, and Kristine Scott of the FDNY. A long distance relationship could never work—especially not with the secrets they’re keeping. But when Kristine lands herself in a blaze of trouble, she’s in no position to turn down Jayce’s help. Even if it means letting down their guards…and giving in to their sizzling attraction.
 
Boston Dragons:
I Dream of Dragons (Book 1)
My Wild Irish Dragon (Book 2)
Never Dare a Dragon (Book 3)

Excerpt

The rest of the dinner went well. In fact, Kristine was surprised by how well it was going. She hadn’t dated a guy like Jayce in a long time. Their connection seemed to be almost instantaneous. It was just too bad he was a firefighter—and lived three hours away as the Acela train flies. Actually, a quick plane ride would reduce the commute to only an hour and a half, but the hassle and time it took to go through security would make the trip even longer.

Walking down the wide sidewalks of Times Square, hand in hand, sure made her feel as if the trip might be worth the hassle. His hand was warm and rough. For once she wasn’t concerned that hers were the same way. No hand cream could stand up to a firefighters’ routine. Wet gloves, rough weather, unbearable heat… All of that detracted from the soft, supple skin she longed for.

They had decided over dinner to visit the top of the Empire State Building. Jayce had never been there before, and Kristine had only visited with friends—never a date. It was supposed to be romantic. She’d never understood why. Probably because her cynical ex-boyfriend thought it was hokey. As she glanced over at Jayce, he glanced back, and they smiled. One thing she wasn’t seeing in him was a city dweller’s pessimism. Its absence was a refreshing change.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination, and as luck—or the stars aligning at the right moment—would have it, they stepped into an elevator with no one right behind them. The doors whooshed closed while they were still alone.

She spun toward Jayce with a hand over her mouth. “I guess that wasn’t very nice of me. I probably should have waited.”

He stepped right into her space. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

As the elevator began to ascend, he leaned in and captured her mouth with his firm lips. She looped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close. She immediately opened her mouth, and their tongues found each other and swirled together. Kristine wasn’t at all sure her light-headed feeling was due to the elevator traveling so fast. Unfortunately, she felt as if she were falling instead.

Don’t think about it. Whatever happens happens… She seemed to have found a new mantra. She heard the ding of the elevator doors opening, and they were greeted by chuckles and a wolf whistle.

“Yeah, yeah…” Jayce said, but he was grinning and holding Kristine’s hand as they made their way off the elevator.

When they spotted a space at the building’s edge that was fairly deserted, they walked over to it with no hesitation.

“You’re not afraid of heights, I guess…” Jayce said to her.

She laughed. “I’d be in deep trouble if I were.” Not only was she a firefighter in a company that specialized in high-rises, but she was a full-fledged, fire-breathing, wing-soaring dragon. She could hover at this height and enjoy the view.

Speaking of enjoying the view…

Jayce turned his back on the dazzling city lights and kissed her knuckles as he stared into her eyes. She felt as if her insides were melting. A deep shimmer in his eyes must have been reflecting the lights. Or not. His eyes seemed to glow for a moment, and then he quickly turned back toward the city.

She took her first good look at the city lights as well. Dear Lord. At last she realized why people thought this place was romantic. At night, so many lights against the velvet black sky were more beautiful than Christmas. Some even seemed to twinkle like stars. Below, white headlights and red taillights trailed through the landscape, but the sounds of the city were far away.

A chilly breeze ruffled her hair. Jayce enveloped her in a side hug. If she felt a chill, it was forgotten in favor of his warm, strong body alongside hers. Everywhere they touched, merging heat radiated through her. Wow. How she’d missed this! Or had she ever had this feeling?

Good Lord, Kristine… Get ahold of yourself!

“So, Jayce… What do you think of the view from up here?”

He turned her toward him and said, “I think the view right in front of me is as beautiful as it gets.” Leaning in, he delivered another toe-curling kiss, and she realized she was a goner.

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Spotlight: Tougher in Texas by Kari Lynn Dell

He’s got five rules
And she’s aiming to break them all

Rodeo producer Cole Jacobs has his hands full running Jacobs Livestock. He can’t afford to lose a single cowboy, so when Cousin Violet offers to send along a more-than-capable replacement, he’s got no choice but to accept. He expects a grizzled Texas good ol’ boy. 
 
He gets Shawnee Pickett.
 
Wild and outspoken, ruthlessly self-reliant, Shawnee’s not looking for anything but a good time. It doesn’t matter how quickly the tall, dark and intense cowboy gets under her skin—Cole deserves something real, and Shawnee can’t promise him forever. Life’s got a way of kicking her in the teeth, and she’s got her bags packed before tragedy can knock her down. Too bad Cole’s not the type to give up when the going gets tough…

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My Favorite Fictional Cowboys – For the Love of a Difficult Woman

I adore difficult women...and the cowboys who love them because of it, not in spite. You don't get much more difficult than Shawnee Pickett in Tougher in Texas. And as Cole Jacobs learns, it only gets harder the closer you get to her. Under that brash, outrageous surface is one tough woman who's gonna make you prove you deserve her...and that she deserves a happily ever after.

My two favorite difficult movie women aren’t known for westerns. Laura San Giacomo starred in the sitcom Just Shoot Me, and as Julia Robert’s wisecracking best friend Kit in Pretty Woman, but in between she turned in an incredible performance as Crazy Cora, who latches onto Tom Selleck in Quigley Down Under, insisting on calling him by her estranged husband’s name. Much of the humor is on the dark side and the film delves into some deep subject matter—including the systematic genocide of Australia’s aboriginal people and the source of Cora’s madness. San Giacomo flawlessly portrays everything from borderline slapstick to intense grief while being a near constant annoyance to Matthew Quigley—except when the chips are seriously down, which is why this Wyoming cowboy can’t help falling for her. And did I mention staring at Tom Selleck for a couple of hours doesn’t suck? 

I have to reach even further back for my second difficult woman—Shirley McLaine in 1970’s Two Mules for Sister Sara, which marked the last time Clint Eastwood would take second billing in a major film role. The movie is set in Mexico during the 1860’s War of French Intervention, with Eastwood and McLaine assisting the rebel Mexican forces. He is also forced to become the reluctant savior and guardian, but it is clear that Sister Sara has her own agenda and no qualms about using this mercenary to achieve her ends. It’s no great surprise when the cigar-smoking sister’s habit turns out to be a disguise—which clears the path for an equally smoking romance—but he never gains the upper hand. You gotta love that about a female character in an early Eastwood western. You go, Sister. 

And now for an excerpt from Tougher in Texas, which features Shawnee in prime difficult woman form. 

***

The parking Nazis attacked before Shawnee turned off her pickup. Red-faced and dripping sweat under their neon-yellow plastic vests, they waved their orange-painted sticks so frantically you’d think she’d landed a 747 in the contestant lot.

She rolled down her window. “Is there a problem?”

“You can’t park here,” the taller one declared, jamming his thumbs in his pockets and thrusting his beer gut at her.

Shawnee ran a deliberate glance around the clipped grass field, dotted with live oaks like the one she’d parked beneath. Four hours before the first rodeo performance, only seven other rigs had arrived, all lined up with military precision along the back fence. “Looks like there’s plenty of room.”

“There is now.” Beer Gut attempted to radiate pompous authority in a dime-store cowboy hat. “But it’ll get crowded once the rest of the contestants arrive. We have to keep it organized so no one gets blocked in.”

Shawnee gave him the closest thing she had to a polite smile. “Well, then, there’s no problem. 
I’m with the stock contractor. I’ll be here for the duration.”

“Oh. Then you belong over there.” The skinnier of the pair gave a dramatic wave of his stick, toward where the two Jacobs Livestock semis, an elderly travel trailer, and Cole’s rig were lined up near the stock pens. There wasn’t a tree within fifty yards.

“I don’t think so.” Shawnee turned off the pickup and opened her door, nearly clipping the big guy’s chin with the side-view mirror.

They both jumped back, then blustered along behind her as she strolled to the rear of the trailer to unload her horses. “You can’t just pull in and take the best parking spot!”

“Why not? My horses and I will be here all week. The contestants will come and go in half a day, at most.” She flipped the latch on the back door and swung it open. The flea-bitten gray in the rear stall cranked his head around to show her the whites of his eyes. Shawnee stepped aside and waited, holding the door wide.

“But…” Skinny began, then faltered, as if he wasn’t sure where to go with it.

“We got rules,” Beer Gut announced. “Contestants park where we tell them to park.”

“I repeat, I’m not a contestant.” A few tentative thuds sounded inside the trailer as the gray attempted to find reverse gear in the confined space. “And if I were you, I’d take a step back.”
The big guy stepped closer. “Listen, missy—”

Whatever wisdom he intended to impart was cut short by a clatter and a bang that rocked the entire trailer, then a huge thud as the gray took one big leap and missed the back edge of the trailer floor with both hind feet. His rear legs buckled from the twelve-inch drop that took him by surprise every single time. He plopped onto his ass, nearly squashing Beer Gut. The gray teetered on his haunches, looking shocked and perplexed, then flopped over onto his side. Shawnee caught the halter rope as the horse scrambled up and stood, legs splayed, quivering as if he wasn’t sure the ground would hold him.

“He has issues,” she told the goggle-eyed parking attendants. Among them, she suspected, a total lack of long-term memory. Or short-term common sense. The horse snorted and Beer Gut stuck out a hand to ward him off.

Shawnee slapped the halter rope into his palm. “Hold that, would you?”

He blanched like she’d tossed him a live cottonmouth.

She didn’t wait for an answer, just stepped up into the trailer to trip the latch on the stall divider and release the second horse, a sorrel who eyed her doubtfully, then began feeling his way backward. At the edge, he extended one foot and waved it around, searching for solid ground. When he found it, he eased on down.

“Here.” She tossed that halter rope to the skinny guy.

He fumbled to grab it, dropping his pretty orange stick. “Now, wait just a minute—”

Shawnee went to the front of the trailer and tripped the last latch. Her good buckskin, Roy, paused long enough to let her scratch his forelock, then ambled out of the trailer and calmly surveyed the latest of the innumerable stops they’d made together. Shawnee tied him on the shady side of the trailer and went to retrieve the other two.

Beer Gut practically threw the halter rope at her. “Look, lady. We already said you can’t park here.”

“And I asked why.” Shawnee persuaded the gray that the grass wasn’t actually quicksand laced with alligators and dragged him around to tie him next to Roy. “You haven’t given me a reason, other than that rules are rules bullshit.”

Beer Gut puffed up like an angry toad. “We were given our orders by the committee president. We have full authority to tow any vehicle in violation.”

“Is that right?” Shawnee did a quick scan and located the rodeo office, a small white building to the left of the bucking chutes. “Let’s just go have a chat with him, shall we?”

She strode away without looking back, ignoring both the outraged squawking and, “Wait! What am I supposed to do with this horse?”
***
Cole heard the sound of agitated voices, closing in fast. Katie scrambled to attention as the office door burst open, framing the female version of a Tasmanian devil—glittering eyes, wild hair, and a wide, malicious grin. One of the parking attendants huffed up behind her. Over their shoulders Cole spotted a second, skinnier guy holding a lead rope and standing well back from a sorrel horse that regarded him with equal distrust.

The parking attendant shoved into the office, his face frighteningly flushed, and zeroed in on Cole. “You’re the contractor, right? Jacobs?”

“Yes,” Cole admitted reluctantly.

“Well, this one—” The attendant jabbed a thumb at Shawnee, who gave a cheesy finger wave. “She claims she works for you, but she won’t park in your area.”

“I’m happier with the contestants. And shade. But if you insist—” She flashed Cole a smile so loaded with sugar it made his teeth ache. “I noticed there’s an open spot right next to you. I suppose I can move if I have to.”

He’d rather do CPR on the entire parking staff. Cole drew in a deep, supposedly calming breath. “Leave her be.”

Shawnee made a triumphant so there noise.

The parking attendant muttered and growled, but turned on his heel and marched off, leaving his bug-eyed partner to deal with the horse, which Cole assumed must belong to the natural disaster now surveying the office like she couldn’t decide what to destroy next.

Cole heaved a beleaguered sigh and gestured toward the rest of the crew lounging around the office. “Everyone, meet Shawnee Pickett.”

About the Author

KARI LYNN DELL brings a lifetime of personal experience to writing western romance. She is a third-generation rancher and rodeo competitor who works on the family ranch in northern Montana, inside the Blackfeet Nation. She exists in a perpetual state of horse-induced poverty along with her husband, Max and Spike the (female) Cowdogs, a few hundred cows and a son who resides on the same general segment of the autism spectrum as Cole Jacobs and doesn’t believe names should be gender-limited. 
 

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Spotlight: Hate to Love Him by Jody Holford

Brady Davis is as happy as he is charming. Usually. Unless he’s in the same room with the frustratingly gorgeous antidote to his cheer. Mia Kendrick is headstrong and determined. She’s done with men who stand in her way—even if he has arms like Thor and a smile that makes her dizzy. Whenever they’re together, sparks fly—both the bad and good kind.

When Mia returns home to take over management of Kendrick Place, Brady is worried her focus on big business could be the end of his tight-knit home and the family he’s created there. Mia may have the power to change everything, but Brady could have the power to change her mind…if he can get inside her heart.

Excerpt

The doors slid open and as she stepped forward, she saw the one man she didn’t want to share a small space with: Brady Davis. His full lips tilted up on one side in what he probably considered a sexy smile. His blue eyes danced and those damn butterflies joined in.

“Going up, princess?”

Mia clenched her teeth and stepped forward at the same time Brady took a step out. Because she was looking at him, which always threw her off, especially when he used that ridiculous nickname, she miscalculated and her heel caught in the track of the elevator. Heat flooded her cheeks as the thin heel of her shoe wedged into the groove and she jolted forward. Without meaning to, because she worked very hard to give this irritating man his space, her arms flung out and grabbed at the only solid thing within reach. Unfortunately, that was his chest. His very solid, wide, notably defined chest. Brady bent

his knees, caught her elbows, and grinned. Mia bit down on her tongue to avoid groaning out loud. Of course he would smile over her mishap.

The scent of his cologne invaded her space, and she just knew she’d carry it with her for the day. Great. An all-day reminder of another man who doesn’t see you for who you are. The white cotton T-shirt he wore under his plaid, flannel jacket bunched under her fingers. She’d only curled them into the material for balance. She shifted, dislodging one of her elbows abruptly. Mia figured that now, at age twenty-six, she’d already achieved a lifetime full of mortification when he went to steady her again. Because she’d pulled her arm away, when his hand touched her again, his palm pressed against her side, his thumb brushing near her breast.

Let this be a bad dream. This is not happening.

With his face—particularly his mouth—way too close to hers, Mia closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. With anyone else. She opened them and saw he was grinning. “Still here, princess,” he said. The hushed timbre of his voice sent goose bumps up her arms. It’s chilly. That’s all. She gritted her teeth as he extended a foot to block the door. Ignoring the heat of his palm pressed so intimately against her, and the embarrassment engulfing the rest of her body, she slipped her foot out of her heel and pulled her arm from his grasp. This was not a man she wanted to show weakness in front of. He already considered her spoiled, despite not knowing her at all.

“I believe I’ve asked you not to call me that,” she said.

Mia looked down at her blouse, checking to see that she was unwrinkled and still presentable and professional. Maybe she shouldn’t be using her clothing as armor, but it would be her first eviction, so she’d take whatever backup she could get.

When she looked up, Brady was frowning. “Worried I sullied your fancy clothes?”

“What? No. I was just making sure I’m still all tucked in,” she said. She kneeled as delicately as she could to remove her heel from the track. Her purse slipped into her path and she pushed it behind her. At least she’d chosen one that went across her chest, or it would be on the floor.

“Wouldn’t want to be seen untucked,” he said, his voice now stiff.

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About the Author

Jody Holford is a multi-published author who has a soft spot for happily ever after. So much so, she tattooed the words on her arm. She’s a mom and a wife, a friend, sister, daughter, teacher, and book-lover. Her stories have a little heat and a lot of heart. And maybe, some swoon-worthy moments that will make you smile. 

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Spotlight: Monster Among Roses by Linda Kage

“Do you know how to get to the rose garden?”

“No, you can’t go there. A monster lives there.”

Shaw Hollander is desperate.

Broke, unemployed, and determined to help his ailing mother, he falls on the good graces of a wealthy benefactor who is willing to give Shaw a job at his mansion in order to pay off his mother’s debts. Suddenly finding himself surrounded by lavish riches, he has no idea what his duties truly entail until he’s sent to the rose garden and meets the tragically mutilated Isobel.

This Beauty and the Beast story holds true to the core of the fable while shaking off the element of fantasy and dragging it into present day reality. Shaw and Isobel are ready to let you climb into their four-wheel-drive pickup and take a ride with them into their version of happily ever after, but only if you first dare to gaze upon the monster among the roses.

Excerpt

Great. I was lost. Shading my hand over my eyes, I decided the far right should take me in the general direction I wanted to go. So I went that way, only to end up at the edge of the house, but not where I’d started, and not close enough to the rose garden to get me inside.

Strangely enough, however, a boy played outside, using sidewalk chalk to color a picture of…what the hell was he drawing? Maybe some kind of dying animal with blood gushing from its side and an arrow sticking out of its back.

It didn’t look right, whatever it was.

I shook my head and jerked my gaze from the disturbingly morbid sketch. “Hey, kid.”

The boy jumped and looked up, hopping to his feet and backing away from me as I were the scary one.

No idea who he was; he looked too young to be Mr. Nash’s son from the photos I’d seen, plus he had white blond hair, the complete opposite shade of the young man in all the pictures in Mr. Nash’s office. But he was here, so he’d have to do.

Wanting to appear as non-threatening as possible, I smile and waved. “Hey. Sorry for bothering you, but do you know how to get to the rose garden?”

That must’ve been the wrong question to ask. His face drained of color. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You can’t go there.”

What? “Why not?”

“A monster lives in there. Half her face is melted off. She eats the thorns from the roses so she can spit them at people, stabbing them in the neck to slice their throat open until they bleed out and die.”

O…kay.

Somehow, I’d stumbled across one of the children of the corn. Nice.

Lifting my eyebrows, I drew my own step in reverse. Time to retreat. “Dude, that’s gruesome.”

Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

He gave a serious nod. “It’s true. My mom’ll tell you she’s real too.”

“Oh yeah?” Relieved he wasn’t claiming he’d sprouted from Satan’s cabbage patch but actually had a mother, I glanced around for this wise, all-knowing parent of his. Maybe she could tell me how to get to the conservatory. “Who’s your mom?”

“The cook,” he said, puffing up his chest as if that were the most important title in the house. “She’s worked here for fifteen years. She knows everything about this place there is to know. So…don’t go into the roses. You won’t come out alive. Lewis, the groundskeeper, doesn’t even go in there.”

Aha! So this place did have a gardener. I knew it.

I took a second to ponder why I was being sent to garden then, when Mr. Nash already paid someone to maintain the place. But if Lewis refused to go into the roses, as the kid had said, maybe it was rumored to be haunted or something, and that was where I came in. Then again, why wouldn’t Mr. Nash just hire a new groundskeeper who wasn’t so scared and superstitious? Then I stopped pondering the whys. It wasn’t my place to question strange, rich people and their strange, oddball orders. I was just here to do what I was told and save my mom.

Nodding gravely to the boy, I said, “Thanks for the warning, kid. But I think I’ll take my chances. Which way?”

He looked at me as if he’d never see me again because I was headed forth to my death, then he lifted his hand and quietly pointed toward another opening in the path of bushes.

“Thanks.” I nodded and got out of there before some of his creepiness started rubbing off.

Fortunately, he’d steered me in the right direction. I landed right at the outdoor entrance into the glass gazebo. Propping the door open, I carted my supplies inside and then paused to breathe deeply.

But fuck me, it smelled good in here. You didn’t have to be a flower enthusiast for this garden to amaze you. It was like the holy shrine of roses. A hallowed kind of reverence filled my chest. Haunted or not, I liked it. It felt peaceful and yet revitalizing.

Suddenly intimidated because I didn’t want to mess anything up in such a perfect place, my hands shook as I flipped back to the pages about rose care. The more I skimmed, however, the more confused I became.

These roses didn’t need a lick of my attention. They were all in excellent condition as if someone already tended to them. Maybe creepy kid had been wrong, and Lewis the groundskeeper came in here hourly to care for them.

Still…What the hell?

I frowned and slid my finger along the silken petals of a blood red rose. Perfectly pruned, weeded, and watered. It was as flawless as a thing could get.

But I couldn’t go tell Mr. Nash they didn’t need anything, could I? What if he fired me for lack of work to do, or because he thought I was lazy and lying about the roses not needing care?

I looked around again, searching for anything to water, or clip, or re-soil. It was crazy how thriving every single flower looked.

Maybe this was some kind of test, and Mr. Nash wanted me to fail. What if he’d never intended for me to work for him and the contract I’d signed to save my mom was being burned in the fireplace in this office as I stood here like a dumbass with nothing to weed.

Confused and worried, and growing a little angry, I scowled at a wall full of pink vine roses growing to my right. But they were honestly too pretty to be glared at, so my mood settled.

I bet Mom would love them. She was a fan of pink. And flowers. Plus, these were the good-smelling kind. I’d be a good son if I brought home such a flower to her. And it seemed as if they grew in abundance, not as if they were one of the rare breeds Mr. Nash had spoken of. So I reached for a bloom to pluck it from the vine without even thinking beyond how much it’d make my mother smile.

Behind me, a voice growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Jumping half out of my skin because I’d been certain no one had been in here with me, I whirled around only to gasp, “Shit!”

The creepy cook’s son hadn’t been lying.

In front of me stood an irate woman with half her face melted off.

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About the Author

I grew up on a dairy farm in the Midwest as the youngest of eight children. Now I live in Kansas with my husband, two daughters, nine cuckoo clocks, and a cat named Holly. My life's been blessed with lots of people to learn from and love. Writing's always been a major part my world, and I'm so happy to finally share some of my stories with other romance lovers. 

I'm a member of Romance Writers of America, and I've been through a writing correspondence class in children's literature from The Institute of Children's Literarture, and then I continued my writing lessons by majoring in English with an emphasis in creative fiction writing from Pittsburg State University. 

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Read an excerpt from The Dress in the Window by Sofia Grant

A perfect debut novel is like a perfect dress—it’s a “must have” and when you “try it on” it fits perfectly. In this richly patterned story of sisterhood, ambition, and reinvention Sofia Grant has created a story just right for fans of Vintage and The Dress Shop of Dreams.

World War II has ended and American women are shedding their old clothes for the gorgeous new styles. Voluminous layers of taffeta and tulle, wasp waists, and beautiful color—all so welcome after years of sensible styles and strict rationing. 

Jeanne Brink and her sister Peggy both had to weather every tragedy the war had to offer—Peggy now a widowed mother, Jeanne without the fiancé she’d counted on, both living with Peggy’s mother-in-law in a grim mill town.  But despite their grey pasts they long for a bright future—Jeanne by creating stunning dresses for her clients with the help of her sister Peggy’s brilliant sketches.

Together, they combine forces to create amazing fashions and a more prosperous life than they’d ever dreamed of before the war. But sisterly love can sometimes turn into sibling jealousy. Always playing second fiddle to her sister, Peggy yearns to make her own mark. But as they soon discover, the future is never without its surprises, ones that have the potential to make—or break—their dreams.

Excerpt

Jeanne

Nancy Cosgrove had seen the gown made up in taffeta in Vogue, and taffeta was what she had to have. Jeanne made a muslin first, at Nancy’s insistence, even though muslin could never stand in for the stiff, slippery hand of the real thing. The muslin’s skirt hung around Nancy’s lumpy hips like wet rags and Jeanne thought she’d finally come to her senses—but Nancy just went home to get her crinoline. It made only a slight improvement: the muslin spread out over the stiff underskirt like leaves floating on a pond. But Nancy took herself across the river to the city, where she found a bolt of emerald green moiré taffeta in a shop at the corner of Fourth and Fulton.

When she brought it back, the bolt of fabric sitting in the passenger seat of her garish two-tone Packard Clipper like a visiting dignitary, it occurred to Jeanne that Nancy might still be trying to one-up her, even after everything that had happened. Never mind that Jeanne slept in the unfinished attic of the narrow row house that she shared with her sister and her niece and Thelma Holliman. She suspected that there was a part of Nancy that was stuck back at Mother of Mercy High School, where Jeanne had sailed like a swan through adolescence, winning top marks and courted by a steady stream of St. Xavier boys. By contrast, poor Nancy had been as awkward as a stump, beloved by no teacher, no suitors, and none of the other girls.

Jeanne tried not to hold this belated vengefulness against Nancy: they badly needed her money. Still, Nancy had no head for sums, and there was not enough fabric on the bolt for the New Look dress she had hired Jeanne to sew for her. Unlike the wide bolt of unbleached muslin that Jeanne kept on a length of baling wire on Thelma’s back porch, the taffeta that Nancy brought back was only forty-eight inches wide—a scant forty-eight inches at that, the selvages taking up the better part of an inch on either side. Jeanne could barely cut a skirt panel from it—even with Nancy’s oddly short, bowed calves—and only by forgoing the deep hem she’d planned in favor of an understitched facing.

Jeanne had been up the night before until nearly three in the morning, hand-tacking that facing with a single strand of superfine Zimmerman and a straw needle. When she finally went to bed, she had an unsettling dream. It had been months since she’d dreamed of Charles, but suddenly there he was, wearing a hat that had hung on a nail in the carriage house of his parents’ estate in Connecticut, a western style of hat that his father had brought back from a trip to Montana.

But in the dream Charles frowned at her from beneath its broad brim, while he pressed his hands to his stomach, trying to stanch the blood pouring from the hole in his side, while all around him in the trenches of Cisterna, his fellow Rangers were felled by the German panzers. Only six of them came home, out of more than seven hundred—but

Jeanne didn’t care about any of them. She would have traded them all to have Charles back.

War had made a monster of her, and there was nothing she could do about it—except to sew. A stitch, another, another. In this way the minutes and hours passed.

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About the Author

Sofia Grant has the heart of a homemaker, the curiosity of a cat, and the keen eye of a scout. She works from an urban aerie in Oakland, California.

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Read an excerpt from Stubborn as a Mule by Juliette Poe

Down in Whynot, NC, there are three things that hold true: 1) life moves just a little bit slower, 2) family means everything, and 3) you don’t mess with history. 

When his family decides to sell a home that’s been part of their history for over a century, Lowe Mancinkus is madder than a hornet. To add insult to injury, the woman who purchased it is some fancy pants, city girl looking to fix it up and sell it off. Doesn’t matter that she’s sexy as hell or that just being near her gets his blood racing like never before. That home belongs to his family, or at least it did until she came to town.

Well that just won’t do, now will it?

From the moment that she laid eyes on the historical home in rural North Carolina, Melinda Rothschild knew Mainer House was something special. The perfect escape from life in New York City, Melinda signed the papers and set to work restoring the house to its natural beauty. That is until an angry Lowe showed up on her doorstep one day. With a scowl on his handsome, chiseled face. And a shotgun in his strong, muscular arms.

Is it getting hot in here?

Melinda’s about to get a lesson on life in the south, but Lowe is about to learn a lesson of his own – this city girl doesn’t back down from a fight.

Excerpt

“Looking good, Lowe Mancinkus,” I hear a woman call out as I stretch upward to paint the top of the frame around the window. Turning my head to look over my shoulder, I see Lynette Carnes getting ready to walk into Sweet Cakes across the street. She’s our town’s very own Daisy Duke. By that, I mean she struts around in miniscule jean shorts, high heels, and a sleeveless blouse tied off just underneath her very ample chest.

She’s definitely nice to look at, although she doesn’t have much going on above the cleavage.

“Morning, Lynette,” I call back. “Lookin’ good yourself.”

She grins and blows a kiss at me before walking into Larkin’s shop.

The front door opens and Mely steps out onto the porch, carrying a cup of coffee. There’s no doubt in my mind she witnessed that exchange from the other side of the doorway. It’s obvious by the pinched expression she has on her face. Still, she brings the coffee over to me and sets it on the porch rail.

“Thanks, darlin’,” I tell her as I go back to brushing paint over the layer of primer I’d put on a few hours ago. I’d decided to work half a day here at Mainer House, not because I was anxious to get the work done, but because I wanted to be around Melinda Rothschild.

She may not be strutting around in little shorts and a low-cut blouse, but she is most definitely a prettier picture than I’ve ever seen around these parts. She’s wearing a white sundress with a halter top, and her shoulders are lightly tanned with tiny freckles. Her legs are long, bare, and perfectly adorned with nothing more than a pair of simple white sandals. Her silky blonde hair is pulled away from her face at the top of her head and she looks like a breath of fresh air.

Mely leans against the porch rail, crosses her arms low under her breasts, and watches me work for a minute. I wonder if she likes what she sees.

I think so.

There was going to be another kiss last night if Morri hadn’t managed to ruin that little moment. And while I’d never stoop to mention this to Mely, I’m pretty sure he’d been hovering at the top of the stairs, just waiting to ruin it.

“Much better than hot pink,” Mely says as I continue to apply paint to the casing. I have no clue what the hell I was thinking when I painted her house pink. It was an attention getter and since the two people whose attention it got were Mely and Judge Bowe, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out I might have been pulling on her metaphorical pigtails a bit.

“I should have this finished by tomorrow,” I tell her. “Then all will be right again.”

“Odd since it took you a single night to do the damage,” she quips. I don’t look back at her, but I hear the laughter in her voice.

“Well, neon pink isn’t all that easy to cover up,” I tell her with a laugh.

She snickers and I can’t believe she was trying to get me thrown in jail last week. My how the mighty have fallen.

“When in Rome and all that,” Mely says and I turn to look at her from my perch on the ladder. She jerks her chin over her shoulder in the direction of Sweet Cakes. “Is that the standard southern girl uniform?”

Chuckling, I cut my eyes over to Sweet Cakes where sexy Lynette just disappeared into. I’m not about to tell Mely that I have actual carnal knowledge about that southern girl, even if it was back in my younger years.

Looking back to Mely, I take in her stylishly sweet dress that doesn’t reveal much but is still sexy at the same time. Giving her a wink, I say, “There’s nothing standard about you, Melinda Rothschild, so I’m advising you to stay away from that look. I think you’re mighty fine just the way you are.”

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About the Author

Juliette Poe is the sweet and swoony alter ego of New York Times Best Selling author, Sawyer Bennett.

A fun-loving southern girl, Juliette knows the allure of sweet tea, small towns, and long summer nights, that some of the best dates end sitting on the front porch swing, and that family is top priority. She brings love in the south to life in her debut series, Sex & Sweet Tea.

When Juliette isn’t delivering the sweetest kind of romance, she’s teaching her southern belle daughter the fine art of fishing, the importance of wearing Chucks, and the endless possibilities of a vivid imagination.

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