Spotlight: We Don’t Talk Anymore by Julie Johnson

Publication date: October 27th 2020
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

For as long as I can remember, Archer Reyes has been by my side. My closest confidant. My truest ally. My best friend. 

That is, until the summer we turned seventeen, when I started picturing him as something else entirely. 

The love of my life. 
I knew confessing my feelings wasn’t going to be easy; I had no idea he’d reject me so cruelly… or that he was only breaking my heart to save my life.  

It’s been 365 days since I told my best friend I loved him.
365 days since he didn’t say it back.
365 days since he lied straight to my face. 

WE DON’T TALK ANYMORE is a standalone new adult romance about first love, second chances, and the lengths we go to hold onto each other when everything falls apart… 

Excerpt

It’s been 365 days since I told Archer Reyes I loved him.365 days since he didn’t say it back.Then again, it’s not like he’s said anything at all to me since that fateful day, or even looked me in the eyes during our handful of unfortunate, unavoidable encounters in a town that suddenly feels far too small for the both of us. There was a time when we didn’t go more than a few hours without speaking. Now, a full year of silence yawns in the space between us. An entire turn around the sun, packed with experiences we haven’t whispered to one another in the rafters of the old boathouse, jammed full of memories made in each other’s absence. He’s built a whole new life I know nothing about, surrounded by people who aren’t me. And, hey, maybe that’s partly my fault. It’s not like I’ve reached out, either. Frankly, I don’t think there’s much of anything left to say. Not after last summer. I put my heart in his hands that hot July night — a fragile mess of hope and fear, skipping beats in the silence as I waited for his answer. And, with a single squeeze and a condescending smirk…he crushed it. It’s been 365 days since I told my best friend I loved him. 365 days since he said he didn’t love me back. 365 days since he lied straight to my face.

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About the Author

JULIE JOHNSON (born July 3, 1991) is a twenty-something Boston native and USA Today bestselling author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels. When she's not writing, Julie can most often be found adding stamps to her passport, drinking too much coffee, striving to conquer her Netflix queue, and Instagramming pictures of her dog. (Follow her: @author_julie)

She published her debut novel LIKE GRAVITY in August 2013, just before her senior year of college, and she's never looked back. Since, she has published more than a dozen other novels, including the bestselling BOSTON LOVE STORY series and THE GIRL DUET. Her books have appeared on Kindle and iTunes Bestseller lists around the world, as well as in AdWeek, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today.

Be on the lookout for her new series, THE FORBIDDEN ROYALS TRILOGY, now available at all e-retailers!

You can find Julie on Facebook or contact her on her website www.juliejohnsonbooks.com. Sometimes, when she can figure out how Twitter works, she tweets from @AuthorJulie. For major book news and updates, subscribe to Julie's newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bnWtHH

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7236797.Julie_Johnson

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Spotlight: The Waltz Of Devil's Creek by Justine Carver

Judith Campbell is dying, and she cannot take the painful truth about where her son came from to the grave with her. While on her deathbed in Atlanta, Georgia in 1994, Judith tells him the tragic story of his conception, and which of two men his birth father could be: the young man who professed his love to her, or the pastor who assaulted her.

Set in the Deep South in 1947, The Waltz of Devil's Creek digs into the dark crevices of racism and women's rights during a heated political climate in an era of segregation. Combined with Judith's lack of social stature, and at a time when reporting sexual assault was unheard of, every injustice is stacked against her from the very beginning.

But there is a light in Judith's young life: her best friend, Joseph Bird, who has loved her since childhood. Joseph stands up for Judith when no one else will and proves that even in the darkest of times, a light is always burning.

Excerpt

“But Mrs. Bird,” I said, looking over at her, “God don’t want people like Pastor Allman.”

She just looked at me for a moment, and then a smile slowly lit up her eyes again.

“YOU COME ON OUT HERE BIRD!”

The voice snapped Mrs. Bird and me from our moment, our heads simultaneously jerking toward the living room.

When we heard Joseph’s feet stomping against the floor as he ran down the hallway, Mrs. Bird and I dropped the dishtowel and the plate and hurried out of the kitchen.

“YOU GET YER DUMB ASS OUT HERE!” a second voice shouted, “OR WE’RE COMIN’ IN TO GET YOU!”

“That’s the Woodson brothers,” I told Joseph’s momma.

“Don’t you go out there,” she warned him as he thrust his big feet into his shoes. “I mean it, Joseph, don’t you go out that door!”

He flung the front door open anyway, and before he could step outside, the Woodson brothers jumped on him in the doorway.

“Joseph!” I screamed.

“Get out of my house!” his momma shrieked.

The whole house shook as the three fought; a small table underneath the window beside the door fell over, shattering the flower vase atop it; fists swung and legs kicked, and cuss words flew.

“You little piece of shit, you burned up my truck!” said the blonde-haired brother.

“I’m gonna kick your nuts right up yer throat!” said the brown-haired one. “What tha hell were you thinkin’ boy?!” Thwap! When his fist pulled back, his knuckles glistened with Joseph’s blood.

“Let go of him! Let go! Let gooo!” I dug all ten of my fingernails into the blonde’s arm, trying to stop him from pulling Joseph out of the house.

His momma was on the other side, screaming as she worked, unsuccessfully, to beat them off with a broom. The blonde shoved me away, and I fell onto my butt on the porch as they dragged Joseph down the steps and into the front yard.

“Don’t you touch my son!” Mrs. Bird roared, and the broom came down hard on the brown-haired one’s back.

He whirled around, seemingly unfazed by the blow, and yanked the broom from her hands and tossed it.

They nearly beat Joseph unconscious.

Mrs. Bird ran next door and called Sheriff Woodson, but he never showed; he’d stayed out of all the incidents between Joseph and his sons. But Joseph wouldn’t have had it any other way.

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About the Author

Justine Carver was born and raised in the Southern United States on a heavy dose of creek-wading, lightning-bug-catching, and Saturday morning cartoons. She is a full-time writer, all-the-time reader, and every now and then, she pulls her head out of the clouds long enough to remember how much better it is up there.

Connect:

Website: https://justinecarver.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/author_justine_carver/

Spotlight: The Light at Wyndcliff by Sarah E. Ladd

Set in 1820s Cornwall, this Regency romance evokes the captivating worlds and delicious dramas of Jane Austen, Daphne DuMaurier, and Winston Graham.

Raised on the sprawling and rugged Wyndcliff Estate near the dangerous coast of South Cornwall, Evelyn Bray lives with her grandfather, a once-wealthy man reduced to the post of steward. Evelyn is still grieving her father’s death and her mother’s abandonment when a passing ship is dashed against the rocks. The only survivors, a little girl and her injured mother, are rescued and brought to Wyndcliff Hall.

Liam Twethewey is just twenty-two when he inherits Wyndcliff Estate from his great uncle. His optimistic plans to open a china clay pit to employ the estate’s tenants meets unexpected resistance, and the rumors of smuggling and illegal activity challenge his new-found authority. Though wise beyond his years, young Liam quickly finds himself out of his depth in this land where long-held secrets and high-stakes agendas make no room for newcomers.

Brought together by troubling questions surrounding the shipwreck, Evelyn and Liam uncover even darker mysteries shrouding the estate. But as they untangle truths from deceptions, their loyalties separate them—and their budding love might not be strong enough to overcome the distance.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Cornwall, early autumn 1820

Wyndcliff Estate

Twenty-two years was a long time to wait for life to begin. Even now, as Liam Twethewey guided his bay horse down the narrow, deeply rutted path, he could barely prevent the grin from spreading on his face.

Only a mile or so more and he would be in his new home. Everything he’d been dreaming of—his plans for developing the moorland and making his own way in the world—was finally within his reach.

He filled his lungs with the damp earth-scented air. The rain had, for the moment, subsided. Night was falling and twilight’s ominous light cast shadows on the barren land surrounding him, and he squinted to assess the ribbon of road winding before him through the moor’s purple grasses and jagged crags.

He might be far from the home he’d known for most of his life, but he already felt a connection to this bit of earth.

For he was now on Wyndcliff estate land.

And it all belonged to him.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to wait for his solicitor, Edwin Kinden, to join him as they’d originally planned. Liam had never set foot on Wyndcliff property, and the directions he’d received at the inn in town were vague at best. As the man tasked with overseeing the transfer of property, Kinden was the most appropriate person to handle all introductions to the place. But after nearly two hours of waiting for the older man to arrive, impatience won out. He’d anticipated this moment for far too long to spend another second sitting idly in a dark, smoky public house.

Liam had left word with the innkeeper for Mr. Kinden to meet him out at Wyndcliff Hall when he arrived. After all, how hard could it be to find a large manor house along the main road at the moor’s edge?

Liam urged his horse to a quicker pace. This might be his property, but it wouldn’t do to be caught in a storm on unfamiliar moorland, especially this close to nightfall.

A gentle rain began to drizzle from the heavens, and Liam was about to press his horse to an even faster pace when a sharp, panicked whinny met his ears. He slowed.

The sound echoed again, followed by a muffled voice.

Concern trumped his enthusiasm, and he halted his horse. But all was now silent. “Anyone there?”

“Yes!” a feminine voice snapped, high and sharp. “Here! Please help! My pony’s caught.”

Alarm pushed Liam from his saddle, and his boots landed with a splash in the mud. After securing his reins to a rugged piece of rock, he tracked the direction of the voice.

“Mind the bog!” The increasingly volatile wind distorted the woman’s cries, tossing them amidst its gusts. “It’s deep along the crag.”

Heeding the warning, Liam stepped from stone to stone, testing each footfall before taking another step on the marshy ground. The wind tore at his greatcoat, threatening his balance. He cut through tall grasses and crested a rocky ridge, and then a flash of dark blue in the sea of brown and stone caught his attention.

A slight woman with windblown golden hair was yanking on the head collar of a gray pony knee-deep in mud.

Alarm at the potentially dangerous situation shook him from his surprise. One wrong step and the woman would be trapped in the bog, just like her pony. “Stay there. Don’t move.”

He retrieved the leather strap from his horse’s head collar and returned back down to the little valley formed between the crags. He inched down the decline, testing the firmness of the ground before committing his full weight.

The mud-caked pony thrashed and awkwardly bucked to free itself. It reeled back, tossing its muzzle and squealing, but instead of helping the pony break loose, each movement tightened the murky substance around its legs.

“Whoa, whoa,” Liam soothed, lowering and calming his voice. With careful, measured steps he approached the animal, ignoring the rain, now more like sharp bits of ice as it pounded his caped greatcoat and wide-brimmed hat.

He had to get closer.

In order to free his own movements he removed his coat, tossed it on higher land, and stepped farther into the bog. His foot instantly sank to his ankle. Like a noose, mud cinched around it. It would be unwise to go farther, so he reached as far as he could and made several attempts to secure the pony’s head collar.

The pony tossed its head in distress, but Liam’s fingers eventually caught on the head collar, and he pulled. He thrust all of his weight backward and pulled harder, careful not to lose control over his own stance.

The pony swung its head and, in a final display of momentum, freed a foreleg. The animal then broke free, and with all the wild gracelessness of a newborn foal it stumbled up onto dryer, firmer land.

Unsettled by the pony’s momentum, Liam toppled back and fell against the damp earth.

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About the Author

Sarah E. Ladd received the 2011 Genesis Award in historical romance for The Heiress of Winterwood. She is a graduate of Ball State University and has more than ten years of marketing experience. Sarah lives in Indiana with her amazing family and spunky Golden Retriever.

Connect with Sarah: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Spotlight: A Case for the Toy Maker by Candace Havens

(Ainsley McGregor #3)
Published by: Tule Publishing
Publication date: October 26th 2020
Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery

Ho. Ho. No…
It’s Christmas in Sweet River, Texas, and the whole town is feeling festive apart from Ainsley McGregor. Ainsley has never enjoyed the holidays and would rather ignore them, but with her shop Bless Your Art busier than ever and filled with happy shoppers, even she’s feeling some Christmas spirit. That is, until her Great Dane, George Clooney, sniffs out a dead body in the Santa House at the Christmas Festival.

When one of her favorite crafters becomes the prime suspect, Ainsley is determined to prove his innocence. The case is full of so many twists and turns that even Ainsley begins to fear the truth. Is she protecting a killer?

With help from her friends and some extremely nosey townsfolk, Ainsley and her dog hurry to find the truth––as long as they can outwit and outrun the killer first. Otherwise, this Christmas might just be her last.

Excerpt

“There’s the Santa house,” Shannon said, just as George  growled menacingly. “What’s wrong, George?” That growl was never a good sign, and the hairs on the  back of my neck stood up.  

I had a strong urge to turn around and walk back to the  store. But my curiosity knew no bounds. I had to find out  what was going on. 

We stopped in front of Santa’s house, which was a bigger  version of our booth except it really did look like a house  right out of the North Pole. “Wow, they did a great job. It’s  fancy,” I said. 

George growled again. A knot formed in my stomach,  twisting hard. 

Shannon glanced at him and then me. “Ainsley? You  don’t think…is something wrong?” 

“I hope not,” I said. George had done this before and it  had never been good news. 

He barked and then did the high-pitched whine that told  me something I really didn’t want to know. 

“No,” I whispered. 

“Ains?” 

I took a deep breath and pulled my phone out of my  pocket. “Hold on to George—tight.” After handing her the  leash, I turned on the flashlight app on my phone. 

“You’re freaking me out,” she said, as she gripped the  leash tightly. 

“I’m freaking myself out.” Opening the double doors to  Santa’s house, I peeked inside. 

My breath caught, and bile rose in my throat. 

“Call my brother.” My voice was nothing more than a 

hoarse whisper. I forgot I had my phone in my hand. “What is it?” 

The image of the man with the candy-cane-striped pole  sticking out of his chest would be burned in my brain  forever. 

“Santa is dead.”

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About the Author

Bestselling author Candace Havens has written more than 35 novels. She has won the Holt Medallion and her books have received nominations for the RITA's and Write Touch Reader Awards. She is the author of the biography Joss Whedon: The Genius Behind Buffy and a contributor to several anthologies. She is also one of the nation's leading entertainment journalists and has interviewed countless celebrities including Tom Hanks, Nicolas Cage, Tom Cruise, George Clooney and many more. Candace also runs a free online writing workshop for more than 2000 writers and teaches comprehensive writing classes. She does film reviews for Hawkeye in the morning on 96.3 KSCS, and is a former President of the Television Critics Association.

Connect:

http://candacehavens.com/

https://www.facebook.com/candace.havens.7

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https://twitter.com/CandaceHavens

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/116617.Candace_Havens

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Spotlight: Want Me Always by Lea Nolan

Genre: Contemporary Romance 

Her mind says no…

Wren Donovan’s done with love. Betrayed and humiliated by her ex-fiancé, she retreats to her family’s beach house on Heron Harbor Island to lick her wounds and gorge herself on ice cream, spray cheese, and a box of glazed donuts. Wren vows to devote herself to her law career and swears off men forever, but she isn’t prepared for what being reunited with her oldest friend makes her feel…

His heart says yes, please…

Smith Connors can’t believe his eyes when Wren walks into his restaurant. He’s loved her since they were kids, when summertime found them inseparable best friends. As a boy, he’d never felt good enough for Wren. But now he’s a rising-star chef with a thriving business who knows what he wants—which means he’s not letting beautiful, brilliant Wren get away again. 

Smith determines to show Wren how good they could be together, and soon neither of them can resist the heat growing between them. He’d do anything to earn her faith—and her heart, if only she could learn to trust again.

Exclusive Excerpt: 

He was trying to tease her. And dammit, it was working.

It wasn't fair. Wren had admitted her attraction and Smith was using it against her. It was time to turn the tables.

They put the finishing touches on the last wall, then turned to face each other.

"You've got a little paint." Smith pointed to a small white dot on her T-shirt that she already knew was there.

"Well, you've got a lot of paint." Wren swiped her still wet brush across his broad chest.

His eyelids stretched wide. "Did you really just do that?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. And guess what? I'm going to do it again." Wren swung the brush in the opposite direction, drawing a giant white X across his black T-shirt.

Smith's jaw dropped as he stared at his chest. "This is one of my favorite shirts."

Oops. That might have been a mistake. Nervous laughter bubbled up her throat. "Sorry?"

He lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Oh, it's on now." With a devilish glint in his eyes, he bent and scooped a handful of paint from the tray, then hurled it at her. It splattered her T-shirt and leggings.

"Aaah!" Wren squealed, then ran across the tarp and ducked behind the covered furniture in the center of the room.

"You think you can hide from me?" Smith laughed as he stalked toward her.

"Um...maybe?" she giggled, crouched behind the dresser.

He loomed over her, his hand filled with another pool of white paint. "Uh uh. You started this war, you've got to fight in it."

Wren stood, wearing her best sweet-and-innocent smile, the one she used when facing a particularly harsh judge in court.

"Truce?" she asked, her right hand tucked behind her back.

His lids narrowed. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't dump this on your head?"

"Because it would be really hard to wash out."

Smith exhaled. "That's fair." He slapped the paint on the tarp, then wiped his hand on the only dry spot left on his T-shirt.

Shaking her head, Wren clucked her tongue. "It isn't smart to disarm yourself before your opponent does." Rising on tiptoes, she pulled out the paintbrush she'd kept hidden behind her back and wiped it across his forehead.

Surprise flashed in his eyes. "You fight dirty."

She shrugged. "I am a lawyer."

"I'll show you dirty." In one smooth movement, Smith hoisted her up in his arms, and deposited her on the dresser top. Spreading her knees wide, he wedged himself between her legs and leaned in so far, she was nearly lying flat, propped on her elbows. A mischievous smile played on his lips. "That wasn't very nice."

"But it was funny."

Smith's eyes sparkled. "True, but you still deserve to be punished. What should your punishment be?" His hard length pressed against her. It was hot and hard and made her insides coil with need.

Wren swallowed. "It's never a good idea to ask the accused to set their own punishment. They always go too light. I'll leave it to you to decide."

Kiss me. Hard and rough. Then rip off my clothes and do whatever you want.

"Hmm, what do you deserve?" His gaze bore into her.

Her breath raged as electric energy sparked between them.

Smith's own fierce desire was written on his face. So what was he waiting for? All he had to do was dip his mouth to hers, then do all the things he'd promised last night.

Finally, his lips curled at the ends. "I've got it. But you're not going to like it."

Wren smirked. "Try me."

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About the Author: 

Lea Nolan is a USA Today bestselling author who writes smart, witty contemporary stories filled with head-swooning, heart-throbbing, sweep-you-off your feet romance. She also pens books for young adults featuring bright heroines, crazy-hot heroes, diabolical plot twists, plus a dose of magic, a draft of romance, and a sprinkle of history. 

Born and raised on Long Island, New York she loves the water far too much to live inland. With her heroically supportive husband and three brilliant children, she resides in Maryland where she cracks crabs and bakes ugly birthday cakes. 

Connect with Lea Nolan: Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | Newsletter

Spotlight: Prospects of a Woman: A Novel by Wendy Voorsanger

Elisabeth Parker comes to California from Massachusetts in 1849 with her new husband, Nate, to reunite with her father, who’s struck gold on the American River. She soon realizes her husband is not the man she thought—and neither is her father, who abandons them shortly after they arrive. As Nate struggles with his sexuality, Elisabeth is forced to confront her preconceived notions of family, love, and opportunity.

She finds comfort in corresponding with her childhood friend back home, writer Louisa May Alcott, and spending time in the company of a mysterious Californio Don. Armed with Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Self-Reliance, she sets out to determine her role in building the West, even as she comes to terms with the sacrifices she must make to achieve independence and happiness.

Prospects of a Woman is a fresh, authentic retelling of the West that explores women’s contributions in California and shatters the stereotypes of the typical hard-boiled novel of the West that has captured the American imagination for over a century.

 Excerpt

Upon hearing a circus had come to town, an excited farmer set out in his wagon. Along the way he met up with the circus parade, led by an elephant, which so terrified his horses that they bolted and pitched the wagon over on its side, scattering his vegetables and eggs across the roadway. “I don’t give a hang,” exulted the jubilant farmer as he picked himself up. “I have seen the elephant.” 

—NINETEENTH-CENTURY AMERICAN FOLKTALE —NINETEENTH-CENTURY AMERICAN FOLKTALE 

1 

“The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.” —RALPH WALDO EMERSON, “SELF-RELIANCE

Elisabeth counted the stitches holding together their dingy canvas tent. Twice. She got 946 both times. Cooped up in the midday heat, she seethed at Nate for leaving her alone. They'd lost too much time already. Refusing to wait another goddamn minute on his frittering and scheming, she untied the tent flaps and crawled out, stretching her arms long overhead. A soft air of relief touched her cheeks. Aching with hunger, she stumbled downriver, in the direction of Culoma Town. She hadn’t eaten since a bite of beans for breakfast the day before. 

Nate had left early that morning, again. Gone digging for gold in the river, refusing to let her join. Telling her to stay put. Warning about unsavory men roaming around, men with a mind to take what they will. Elisabeth was done waiting on him to bring her something decent to eat. She grabbed her satchel and headed for the river trail, thinking on how she’d get food in her belly with no money left. 

She wasn’t thinking about the roaming men but about the blisters on her feet still burning something awful from that long journey getting to the river. Elisabeth walked all afternoon alongside the American River roiling loud, cutting through the valley, tempting her. Tempting Nate. Her eyes burned with the honest light shining lush and vibrant through the narrow valley. The grass glowed golden along the river trail, and the rich green pines marched up the steep sides of the canyon, swaying alive and standing taller and fuller than the scraggly pitch pines at home in Concord. Warm air whooshed through the branches, spreading a sweet smell around. 

Arriving in Culoma Town, Elisabeth picked her way through a mess of empty tents strewn haphazard. Plopping down on a log in the center of town, she unlaced her boots to let her stockinged feet breathe and witnessed new beginnings. Industrious fellas buzzed around, hammering up buildings with fresh-hewn boards and siding and plank floors and shingle roofs. Jabbering and rushing. Heaving pails and shovels and pans and timber. Haggling for food and supplies. No women milled about, and she wondered if they were all hiding away too. 

Some of the fellas in town noticed her sitting alone on the log. One man dropped his hammer and walked over, stammering and stuttering as if he hadn’t seen a woman in years. She smiled polite, introducing herself as Mrs. Nathaniel Parker. More men came. And more. Until over a dozen stood around gawking at the only woman in Culoma Town. She pulled at her dress collar. Shifted her bottom on the log. Cleared her throat. When a few of the men sat down in the crisped-up grass like they had all the time to waste, she wondered why but didn’t dare ask. A fella with a long curly beard dripping down his chin offered her a cup of cool river water. She took it, gulping. Wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, she reddened with shame. When one man tossed two bits into her empty cup she looked at him coolly, thinking him daft. When another coin clinked into the cup, then another, she didn’t give them back. Didn’t look at the coins either. She simply stared up at the clear sky, fanning herself with her shabby straw hat, acting like she couldn’t care less if those foolish men wanted to waste good money just to sit near a woman looking not exactly pretty. 

“I’m not out here to beg,” she said. “Of course not,” said the long-beard fella. She shuffled her unlaced boots, tamping down the dry grass. “I’m simply out getting some air,” she said. “We all see that,” he said. An older man, wrinkled up like a prune, scooted up to her left knee. She caught him looking her up and down, leering, and she wanted to slap him for the lack of manners but held back. Letting men stare for money was unseemly, no matter the circumstances, but she knew each clink of a coin meant she and Nate would eat tonight. Oh, he’d be furious, of course. He’d probably even accuse her of flirting. Maybe she was. Flirting. Encouraging. She didn’t care. She needed a proper supper and a hot bath. Besides, the men seemed harmless. 

She considered how many coins those fools had given her, but was too afraid to count for fear they’d wise up to this absurd payment-for-gawking scheme and demand all those coins back. The men stared at her wide-eyed while a pecker pounded on a nearby trunk, knocking and knocking for grubs, matching the thud in her head. 

“Any of you know a Henry Goodwin?” Elisabeth asked. “That your husband?” “My father. He settled a claim up the North Fork,” she said. It’d been nearly a month since he’d run off with that Indian girl, and she still stung sore and angry at his leaving. She convinced herself he’d change his mind. Convinced he’d return to the claim eventually. 

“Sing us a song?” A prune-face fella asked. “Not hardly,” she said. “Can’t? Or won’t?” Not exactly delicate, Elisabeth lacked the finer qualities admired in most ladies. Her singing sounded more feeble frog than melodious finch, and she had no patience for sitting still for parlor conversations, finding the feminine topics of curtain colors and canning peaches dreadfully dull. Nate said she walked too heavy, but she knew he’d appreciated her strong back when they’d taken turns pushing their cart loaded down with his case of books through the foothills and into the river basin. 

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About the Author

Born and raised on the American River in Sacramento, Wendy Voorsanger has long held an intense interest in the historical women of California. She started her career in the Silicon Valley, writing about technology trends and innovations for newspapers, magazines, and Fortune 100 companies. 

She currently manages SheIsCalifornia.net, a blog dedicated to chronicling the accomplishments of California women through history. Her debut historical novel, Prospects of a Woman will be published in October 2020 (She Writes Press); an excerpt entitled "Shifting in California" won 1st place in the California Writers Club short story contest and is published in the Fault Zone: Shift: An Anthology of Stories.

She earned a B.A. in Journalism from California Polytechnic State University in San Luis Obispo and an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts. She is a member of the Castro Writers' Cooperative, the Lit Camp Advisory Board, and the San Mateo Public Library Literary Society.

In addition to being an author, Wendy has worked as a lifeguard, ski instructor, and radio disc jockey. Wendy lives in Northern California with her husband and two sons.

Connect:

Author website: www.wendyvoorsanger.net

Additional website: Sheiscalifornia.com

Facebook: Author Wendy Voorsanger

Instagram: @authorwendyvoorsanger