Spotlight: Caught Up in a Cowboy by Jennie Marts

Series: Cowboys of Creedence, #1
Pub Date: May 1, 2018
Genre: Contemporary Western  

Rockford James was raised as a tried-and-true cowboy in a town crazy about ice hockey. Rock is as hot on the ice as he is on a horse, and the NHL snapped him up. Now, injuries have permanently benched him. Body and pride wounded, he returns to his hometown ranch to find that a lot has changed. The one thing that hasn't? His feelings for high school sweetheart and girl-next-door Quinn Rivers.

Quinn had no choice but to get over Rock after he left. Teenaged and heartbroken, she had a rebound one night stand that ended in single motherhood. Now that Rock's back—and clamoring for a second chance—Quinn will do anything to avoid getting caught up in this oh-so-tempting cowboy…

Excerpt

He snuck a glance at her as he drove past the barn. Her wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but wisps of it had come loose and fell across her neck in little curls. She looked good—really good. A thick chunk of regret settled in his gut, and he knew letting her go had been the biggest mistake of his life.

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought it. Images of Quinn haunted his dreams, and he often wondered what it would be like now if only he’d brought her with him instead of leaving her behind. If he had her to wave to in the stands at his games or to come home to at night instead of an empty house. But he’d screwed that up, and he felt the remorse every time he returned to Rivers Gulch.

He’d been young and arrogant—thought he had the world by the tail. Scouts had come sniffing around when he was in high school, inflating his head and his own self-importance. And once he started playing in the big leagues, everything about this small town—including Quinn—had just seemed…well…small. Too small for a big shot like him.

He was just a kid—and an idiot. But by the time he’d realized his mistake and come back for her, it was too late.

Hindsight was a mother.

And so was Quinn.

Easing the car up in front of the house, he took in the festive balloons and streamers tied to the railings along the porch. So much of the house looked the same, the long porch that ran the length of the house, the wooden rocking chairs, and the swing hanging from the end.

They’d spent a lot of time on that swing, his arm around her, talking and laughing, as his foot slowly pushed them back and forth.

She opened the car door, but he put a hand on her arm and offered her one of his most charming smiles. “It’s good to see you, Quinn. You look great. Even in a pirate outfit.”

Her eyes widened and she blinked at him, for once not having a sarcastic reply. He watched her throat shift as she swallowed, and he yearned to reach out and run his fingers along her slender neck.

“Well, thanks for the lift.” She turned away and stepped out of the car.

Pushing open his door, he got out and reached for the bicycle, lifting it out of the back seat before she had a chance. He carried it around and set it on the ground in front of her. “I’d like to meet him. You know, Max. If that’s okay.”

“You would?” Her voice was soft, almost hopeful, but still held a note of suspicion. “Why?”

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. He’d been rehearsing what he was going to say as they drove up to the ranch, but now his mouth had gone dry. The collar of his cotton T-shirt clung to his neck, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

Dang—he hadn’t had sweaty palms since he was in high school. He wiped them on his jeans. He was known for his charm and usually had a way with women, but not this woman. This one had him tongue-tied and nervous as a teenager.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Listen Quinn, I know I screwed up. I was young and stupid and a damn fool. And I’m sorrier than I could ever say. But I can’t go back and fix it. All I can do is move forward. I miss this place. I miss having you in my life. I’d like to at least be your friend.”

She opened her mouth, and he steeled himself for her to tell him to go jump in the lake. Or worse. But she didn’t. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, as if trying to decide if he was serious or not. “Why now? After all these years?”

He shrugged, his gaze drifting as he stared off at the distant green pastures. He’d let this go on too long, let the hurt fester. It was time to make amends—to at least try. He looked back at her, trying to express his sincerity. “Why not? Isn’t it about time?”

She swallowed again and gave a small nod of her head. A tiny flicker of hope lit in his gut as he waited for her response.

He could practically see her thinking—watch the emotions cross her face in the furrow of her brow and the way she chewed on her bottom lip. Oh man, he loved it when she did that—the way she sucked her bottom lip under her front teeth always did crazy things to his insides.

“Okay. We can try being friends.” She gave him a sidelong glance, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “On one condition.”

Uh oh. Conditions were never good.

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About the Author

Jennie Marts is the USA Today bestselling author of award-winning books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after. She is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a parakeet that loves to tweet to the oldies. She’s addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes, or friends. Find her online at jenniemarts.com.

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Read an excerpt from Love and Ruin by Paula McClain

The bestselling author of The Paris Wife returns to the subject of Ernest Hemingway in a novel about his passionate, stormy marriage to Martha Gellhorn—a fiercely independent, ambitious young woman who would become one of the greatest war correspondents of the twentieth century.

In 1937, twenty-eight-year-old Martha Gellhorn travels alone to Madrid to report on the atrocities of the Spanish Civil War and becomes drawn to the stories of ordinary people caught in the devastating conflict. It’s the adventure she’s been looking for and her chance to prove herself a worthy journalist in a field dominated by men. But she also finds herself unexpectedly—and uncontrollably—falling in love with Hemingway, a man on his way to becoming a legend.

In the shadow of the impending Second World War, and set against the turbulent backdrops of Madrid and Cuba, Martha and Ernest’s relationship and their professional careers ignite. But when Ernest publishes the biggest literary success of his career, For Whom the Bell Tolls, they are no longer equals, and Martha must make a choice: surrender to the confining demands of being a famous man’s wife or risk losing Ernest by forging a path as her own woman and writer. It is a dilemma that could force her to break his heart, and hers.

Heralded by Ann Patchett as “the new star of historical fiction,” Paula McLain brings Gellhorn’s story richly to life and captures her as a heroine for the ages: a woman who will risk absolutely everything to find her own voice.

Excerpt

Near dawn on July 13, 1936, as three assassins scaled a high garden wall in Tenerife hoping to catch the band of armed guards unaware, I was asleep in a tiny room in Stuttgart, waiting for my life to begin.

The killers were professionals. They moved without sound, slinking up hidden ropes, never looking at one another or thinking of anything but the next moment’s action. On cat’s feet, they fell from the wall to the ground, passing invisibly through the shadows and creeping softly toward their target.

It was like a symphony unfolding. Their plan was to take the guards one by one by slitting their throats. Then they would force the door beyond the veranda and climb the marble steps to the little girl’s room. María del Carmen, she was called, ten years old and sweetly sleeping until a rope would gag her quickly and pillows would crush over her small face. Then to the master bedroom, where they would dispatch the last few guards. Everything would be done without firing a single shot. The general and his beautiful wife wouldn’t need to stir even a little in their bed beyond the door, their bodies still as a painting by Velázquez, until death came.

All of this had been set in motion, but then one of the guards turned suddenly and machine-gun fire cut the night. The assassins scattered, barely escaping with their lives. The general woke at the sound of gunfire, but after hearing from his men what had happened, he only stumbled back to bed. Attempts on his life were not rare and particularly not just then, when he was on the cusp of the thing he’d waited for, as a tiger waits, just out of sight.

Five days later, the planned uprising in Morocco began. The general broadcast a message urging all military officers to join the insurgence and overthrow the Spanish government. Then he sent his wife and daughter into hiding in France, and was taken through the streets of Tenerife, where already the shooting had begun, to a waiting de Havilland Dragon Rapide. He wore civilian clothes and dark glasses and, by way of further disguise, had shaved off his familiar mustache.

It was nothing after all this for the trim little plane to take flight, ferrying its passenger to North Africa, where he would prepare the army that would soon overtake mainland Spain. On the way, he donned his uniform, crisp khaki with a red-and-gold belted sash. And just like that, he became General Francisco Franco, newly escaped from exile. Ready to start a war the whole world would be forced to finish.

And what was I doing then, at twenty-seven, when Franco made his play for Spain? Standing in a deepening shadow, as everyone was, whether they realized it or not.

German troops had recently marched into the Rhineland, and the Nuremberg Laws were being enforced, banning Jews from marrying or bearing children with “pure” Reich citizens, restricting them from public schools and certain businesses, and essentially branding them, along with Afro-Germans and Gypsies, enemies of the Volksgemeinschaft, so the Nazis could protect their Aryan blood in a race-based state. It was all so shocking and so absolutely wrong. And yet you could almost pretend it wasn’t happening by going on with your life and thinking it had nothing to do with you. 

I had lived in Paris on and off for years, trying to be a writer and also falling in love a lot, without being terribly successful at either. I was dying to write a character as glittering and sharp as Lady Brett from The Sun Also Rises, but since I couldn’t, I would settle for trying to be her. I wore long skirts with knit sweaters and sat in cafés smoking too much and crinkling my eyes and saying, “Hello, darling,” to near strangers. I ordered cocktails that were far too strong for me, and laughed at things that were desperate, and threw myself hard at experience, by which I mean married men. But the worst of it was walking home alone afterward under a smeary purple sky feeling not at all like Lady Brett but sad and lonely and thoroughly confused about what to do and who to be.

Something was missing in my life—in me—and I thought writing could fill it or fix it, or cure me of myself. It was only a notion I had, but I’d been following it faithfully, from St. Louis to New York, New York to Paris, Paris to Cannes, to Capri, and now to Stuttgart, where I meant to do research. I’d recently begun a novel about a young French couple that would do bold and important things in the name of political pacifism—go on strike with coal miners and endure the metal truncheons of the gendarmes, all in the name of social justice.

The story felt brave and serious to me when I was hunched over my notebooks in the Weltkriegsbibliothek, but there was a moment every day when I stepped out of the library and was confronted with the actual world. How naïve and hopeless the idea of pacifism seemed when the streets were full of brownshirts.

One day I was at the cinema when two Reich soldiers came through and dragged a young Jewish woman out of her seat in front of me and into the street by the back of her neck like a dog. The lights came down and the film reel began to spin, but I couldn’t be still in my chair and be entertained, not now. Walking back to my pension, I startled several times as I caught my reflection in a shopwindow. I looked Aryan enough, with my blond waves and light blue eyes and strong straight nose. I’d inherited my features from my parents, after all, who had easily passed as Protestant in anti-Semitic St. Louis. But there was Jewish blood in my family on both sides.

From Stuttgart, I moved on to Munich, where things grew even darker and more ominous. I read about Franco’s coup in Nazi newspapers, which recounted everything in a boasting, sneering way. The rapidly falling Republican regime was described as a pack of “Red Swine Dogs,” while Franco glowed, a prince of the Spanish people. Never mind that the government he and his henchmen were overthrowing was the product of the first democratic election in sixty years. Never mind that innocent people were being butchered so that a few could claim power and total dominion.

By the time I was back in Paris, Franco had declared martial law and vowed to “unite” Spain again at any cost, even if it meant slaughtering half the population. Most of Spain’s military had joined the Nationalists, while untrained civilians struggled to defend cities and villages. Pamplona, Ávila, Saragossa, Teruel, Segovia, and the whole of Navarre fell like dominoes before a month had passed. Anyone who spoke against the coup was a target. In the old Moorish city of Badajoz, the Nationalists marched almost two thousand into the Plaza de Toros—militiamen and peasant farmers, women and children—and opened fire with machine guns, leaving the bodies where they fell, and then pushing on to Toledo, where they would do the same.

Worse still were the terrible alliances being formed. Nazi Germany sent state-of-the-art Luftwaffe bomber planes and three thousand troops to Spain in exchange for mineral resources, raw copper and iron ore that would soon help Hitler with his own deadly goals. Submarines were sent and more bombers, hundreds of shiploads of supplies and skilled officers to train Franco’s men and sharpen their ability to kill and torture.

Mussolini came to Franco’s aid as well, “loaning” him eighty thousand troops and forming the third deadly prong of the Fascist triangle. And just like that, after years of sinister plotting, and almost overnight, Europe was a different place, and a more threatening one. It seemed anything could happen.

Stalin in the Soviet Union had his own agenda, but for the moment there was much to be gained by aiding Republican Spain. He waited to be joined by the major democracies in the West with arms to sell, but France’s government was bitterly divided, and Britain seemed more concerned with the salacious happenings between King Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson. In the States, Roosevelt was busy trying to manage the crippling effects of the Depression and also in the throes of his reelection campaign. And after all, there was much for America to debate in regard to Spain’s pleas for help. There were troubling rumors of arms being given to anarchists and labor-union militias if they would join the Republic’s cause—a difficult stance to support when there was already so much fear at home about communism.

Roosevelt decided on a blanket arms embargo, vowing to keep America out of foreign wars as long as possible. But for some of us who watched the shadows deepen all through that fall of 1936, there was no such thing as a foreign war. Nationalist forces spread through innocent villages, killing tens of thousands as they went. As they shelled the capital of Madrid, surrounding it on three sides, we felt responsible. The Republic of Spain had tried for democracy only to be slashed down and tortured. Why was it not our concern?

Slowly, slowly, and then all at once, thousands of people began to come forward as volunteers. International Brigades were formed out of troops from France and America, Canada, Australia, Mexico. Most of the men weren’t trained soldiers. Most, in fact, had never held a gun, and yet they grabbed what weapons they could—revolvers their fathers had left them, hunting guns, pistols, gas masks from the hardware store—and boarded trains, ships, cargo planes.

It was a beautiful crusade, and though I wasn’t immediately sure how I would find a role for myself, later I thought only this: 
It may be the luckiest and purest thing of all to see time sharpen to a single point. To feel the world rise up and shake you hard, insisting that you rise, too, somehow. Some way. That you come awake and stretch, painfully. That you change, completely and irrevocably—with whatever means are at your disposal—into the person you were always meant to be.

For me the war in Spain will always shine with the light of hard-won transformation. It was like falling in love. Or looking up into the sky to see a burning arrow, which screamed to be followed. It was that simple and complicated all at once. And if more would be set in motion than I could possibly predict or even imagine, I was still ready to say yes. And if I would soon lose my heart forever, never to retrieve it, lose absolutely everything—I was ready for that, too. My life seemed to be demanding it. It was calling me forward. There wasn’t any choice to be made, in the end. I would have to go to it, with my eyes wide open, and my hands open, too, willing to pay the price. 
 
Excerpted from Love and Ruin by Paula McLain. Copyright © 2018 by Paula McLain. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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About the Author

Paula McLain is the New York Times bestselling author of the novels Circling the Sun, The Paris Wife, and A Ticket to Ride, the memoir Like Family: Growing Up in Other People’s Houses, and two collections of poetry. Her writing has appeared in The New York Times, Good Housekeeping, O: The Oprah Magazine, Town & Country, The Guardian, The Huffington Post, and elsewhere. She lives in Ohio with her family.
 

Spotlight: Dear Mrs. Bird by AJ Pearce

An irresistible debut set in London during World War II about an adventurous young woman who becomes a secret advice columnist— a warm, funny, and enormously moving story for fans of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and Lilac Girls.

London, 1940. Emmeline Lake is Doing Her Bit for the war effort, volunteering as a telephone operator with the Auxiliary Fire Services. When Emmy sees an advertisement for a job at the London Evening Chronicle, her dreams of becoming a Lady War Correspondent suddenly seem achievable. But the job turns out to be working as a typist for the fierce and renowned advice columnist, Henrietta Bird. Emmy is disappointed, but gamely bucks up and buckles down.

Mrs. Bird is very clear: letters containing any Unpleasantness must go straight in the bin. But when Emmy reads poignant notes from women who may have Gone Too Far with the wrong men, or who can’t bear to let their children be evacuated, she is unable to resist responding. As the German planes make their nightly raids, and London picks up the smoldering pieces each morning, Emmy secretly begins to write back to the readers who have poured out their troubles.

Prepare to fall head over heels for Emmy and her best friend, Bunty, who are gutsy and spirited, even in the face of a terrible blow. The irrepressible Emmy keeps writing letters in this hilarious and enormously moving tale of friendship, the kindness of strangers, and ordinary people in extraordinary times.

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About the Author

AJ Pearce grew up in Hampshire, England. She studied at the University of Sussex and Northwestern University. A chance discovery of a 1939 women's magazine became the inspiration for her first novel, Dear Mrs. Bird. She lives in the south of England.

Spotlight: Lord of Fortune by Darcy Burke

Lord of Fortune, an all-new historical and romantic standalone from Darcy Burke is LIVE!

Dashing adventurer Penn Bowen is dedicated to preserving Britain’s history and his carefree, bachelor lifestyle. He’s happiest when he’s in pursuit of knowledge and the occasional liaison with the right woman. So he’s more than a little perturbed when the wrong woman inserts herself into his latest quest—proving that a valuable artifact in Oxford’s museum is a fake. Amelia Gardiner is smart and capable...and determined to prove that Penn is wrong about the treasure her grandfather found.

Amelia won’t allow Penn to denigrate her family’s legacy, and she certainly won’t join the ranks of women who throw themselves at his feet. As secretive and dangerous factions infiltrate their hunt, Amelia and Penn must work together to stay one step ahead. But passion ignites between them and suddenly their alliance is more than a simple convenience. When peril strikes too close, they’ll risk everything they hold dear: family, honor, and a chance for the greatest treasure of all—love.

Excerpt

Penn enjoyed watching her animated expression change as she’d relayed the tale. “You’re a romantic.”

Her brow pleated for a moment. “Not particularly.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he’d have to take her word for it since he barely knew her. Though he hoped they were rectifying that.

He did?

Did he hope to know her better? Certainly, if it meant gathering information he needed to find the real heart and dagger. As to that—he needed to convince her to accept his partnership, especially if the Order was involved. “The Order’s primary objective is to keep the Thirteen Treasures—and really anything to do with them—from being found or publicized. They want them to remain a legend.”

“But one of them is in a museum.”

He lifted his right shoulder. “Or not.”

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. “Does the Order agree with that assessment?”

“I can’t say for certain—let me be clear: I am not a member. Members are, for the most part, descendants of the knights.”

“How can that be possible if it’s all a legend?”

“The Order wants everyone to think it’s all a legend. I didn’t say they believed that.”

Mr. Tarleton returned with Penn’s breakfast.

After the innkeeper left, Mrs. Forrest shook her head. “That seems ridiculous. What is their reasoning?”

“That the treasures are too powerful, that if they were to be found, they would cause strife and conflict.” He sliced off a piece of ham and brought it to his mouth.

“War?” She stared at him a moment, and her shoulder twitched as if she suppressed a shiver. “My grandfather told me once that he gave the heart to the museum because it was far too valuable to keep. He feared someone would steal it.”

Penn relaxed slightly. Her sharing such a thing with him was progress.

Her brow furrowed once more and stayed that way as she spoke. “What he said in the letter… Was he afraid of this Order? Do I need to be concerned?”

It was the perfect opportunity to bind her to him, to encourage her reliance, but he’d also said he wouldn’t lie. “You do not need to be afraid. Concern, or wariness, is always a good thing. Even if you decide to associate with me.”

She gave him a dark but curious stare. “And what do I need to be wary about with you?”

He didn’t think she meant any sort of innuendo, but his brain took that route automatically. Lout. “I don’t plan to steal anything from you. I merely want to share information so that we may get to the heart—pardon the pun—of the matter.”

She rolled her eyes again, but this time, the edge of her mouth ticked up with humor. He suppressed a smile before taking another bite of ham.

After he swallowed, he said, “I only meant that being guarded will serve you well. That said, you can trust me.”

She let out a short laugh. “One of the first things you said to me was that you didn’t trust me, and now you expect me to trust you?”

He had said that, blast. And he’d meant it. Did he trust her now? Not completely. But then the list of those he trusted completely was quite succinct—his parents and his sister. “How about we give it a try?”

There was something about her… Something he wanted to discover. She, like all women, was a mystery. The difference was that he wanted to investigate this one.

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About Darcy Burke

Darcy Burke is the USA Today Bestselling Author of sexy, emotional historical and contemporary romance. Darcy wrote her first book at age 11, a happily ever after about a swan addicted to magic and the female swan who loved him, with exceedingly poor illustrations. Join her reader club at http://www.darcyburke.com/readerclub. A native Oregonian, Darcy lives on the edge of wine country with her guitar-strumming husband, their two hilarious kids who seem to have inherited the writing gene, two Bengal cats and a third cat named after a fruit.

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Cover Reveal: Justify by Kristin Harte

Justify

by Kristin Harte Publication Date: May 10, 2018 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense

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Book three in the Vigilante Justice series proves just how hot—and messy—it can be when opposites attract. I’m not what you’d call a man you take home to momma. I’m too rough, too mean, too…beardy. Especially compared to the woman who’s recently moved back home to open a restaurant. The one I can’t stop thinking about. I’d eat anything off her menu, spend every waking moment in her kitchen, even if I’m all wrong for her. But when a motorcycle club comes to snatch her away on the orders of someone she trusts, I’m the only one who can step in to keep her safe. The only one willing to fight to the death to keep her heart beating—especially if it beats for mine. Doesn’t matter the danger we’re in—I’m going to protect Katie every way I can, even if she ends up hating me for it.

About Kristin Harte

Kristin Harte started off as a chemistry major in college but somehow ended up writing romances featuring ex-military heroes and the women who knock them to their knees…literally and figuratively. She likes drinking in the shade, snuggling under a warm blanket on a cold evening, and researching how to blow things up. Her children know nothing of what she writes, and her husband just hopes he’s not at their Chicago-ish home the day the government shows up to confront Kristin about her Google search history. When not writing good men doing bad things, Kristin can be found writing paranormal romance as Ellis Leigh or co-writing naughty novellas as London Hale.

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Spotlight: No Cowboy Required by JoAnn Sky

Welcome to Reno, Nevada, the Biggest Little City in the World! Sweet Home Alabama meets Raising Helen in this sweet small town contemporary romance debut from Golden Heart® Award finalist JoAnn Sky!

Enemies make the best partners…

As a photographer in NYC, Grace Harper is a pro at handling the unexpected--which comes in handy when she inherits the ranch home she ran away from seven years ago…along with a young, autistic stepbrother she’s never met. And because nothing ever goes easy for her, Grace finds her frustrating, sexy ex-flame, Noah, taking care of JJ. But she’s getting out of this nowhere town fast, so she’ll have to find a way to keep from throttling Noah—without kissing him first.

Noah Taylor may be enemy number one to Grace, but she needs his help. He knows the girl he used to love is still there, beneath the heels and fancy clothes, so he’ll help her—and keep his distance like she says she wants. Only the more time they spend together, the closer he wants to get. Grace has no intention of staying, but she belongs in his arms—he just has to prove it to her.

Excerpt

Copyright© 2018 No Cowboy Required

He leaned against the kitchen entrance, his own half-eaten sandwich in hand, watching her. “Are you going to avoid me all day?”

She stiffened. She was the New Yorker, used to being direct and dealing with people who got in her face. Yet when Noah did it, it unnerved her. “I’m not avoiding you.” Her pitch was a half-step high, the trait of a liar.

“We’ve got to talk about last night.”

She smacked her bread together and turned to face him, using her sandwich as a shield. She straightened her pose, planted her feet apart, and hoped the Wonder Woman stance would give her Amazonian strength. “Last night was a mistake.”

His dark-blue eyes flashed with a determination that told her he disagreed. Her stomach clenched, and the strength she sought eluded her. Instead she stood there, too frightened to move and too weak to stop where they were going.

He came up on her slowly, as if he knew she’d spook and scatter at any sudden movement. He reached out and tucked one blond curl behind her ear. His fingers skimmed her skin. Goose bumps blossomed down her neck, her spine, to her toenails.

“And it won’t happen again,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “End of discussion.” Her voice squeaked, again betraying her, though no worse than the rest of her body.

He leaned in until his lips were inches from hers. Her breathing hitched. She should have put some distance between them, acres of distance, but her feet stuck to the floor. Her eyes flickered to his lips. They’d been so soft last night and were so close right now. One little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it? She reflexively licked hers.

He moved in. His breath trailed her cheek, and his lips hovered at the edge of her jaw, just below her earlobe. She arched her neck back, giving him more access, then shivered, closed her eyes, and waited to feel his lips on her neck.

Instead, his breath fanned her ear. “Liar,” he whispered. Then he was gone.

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About JoAnn Sky

JoAnn Sky has written for years as part of her job (business and marketing plans and the like). One day she tried her hand at writing for fun—and like it. Now she authors adult contemporary romance and young adult romance with a magical twist as well as children's books.

JoAnn is a two-time Golden Heart® finalist (YA category and Contemporary Short category). Originally from the Midwest, JoAnn currently lives in northern Nevada with her husband a.k.a. love of her life, three teenage children, and three crazy rescue dogs.

Visit her at https://joannsky.com/ where you can sign up for her newsletter (and check out www.dogsandbooks.com for additional information about her children’s books). You can also connect on Twitter at @jaskybooks (http://twitter.com/JASkyBooks) or on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/joannskyauthor).

JoAnn is represented by the fabulous Nicole Resciniti of The Seymour Agency.

Connect with JoAnn:  Website  | Facebook  | Twitter  | Goodreads

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