Spotlight: Joy to the Wolves by Terry Spear

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Meet the shifters of the Red Wolf pack…

Close quarters make for a cozy Christmas…

As Christmas approaches, red wolf shifter Brooke Cerise unexpectedly inherits an antique shop in Portland, Oregon. But when a missing reindeer calf turns up on her property, she becomes embroiled in a kidnapping case and the primary suspect of far-too-intriguing shifter Detective Josh Wilding.

Josh doesn’t intend to fall for the mysterious new woman in town, but Brooke gets under his skin from the moment they meet, and he can’t help his instinct to protect her. These red wolves are both on the hunt for love, but there’s a mystery to solve before they can enjoy their holiday happy-ever-after.

Excerpt

Brooke called the first reindeer ranch she could find the number for while she hurried to leave the boxes outside for the recyclable trash. When she returned to the shop, someone from the ranch picked up the call.

“Hi, I’m Brooke Cerise, and a reindeer calf showed up—­” She quit speaking when she saw a tall, dark, and handsome man walk into her shop wearing a suit, a parka, and a badge. He’d better not be the bozo at the police bureau who had hung up on her!

The man glanced at the reindeer calf and then moved through the customers taking pictures of him. He reached Brooke, his posture saying he was in charge and going to get to the bottom of this. “This deer belongs to Wilding Reindeer Ranch. Do you care to explain why he’s in your shop?” He raised a dark brow. He had an Indiana Jones-­type build—­muscled enough to swing across caverns and climb tall peaks, nice broad shoulders, physically fit, not like he sat around in an office eating too many doughnuts. “This is your shop, correct?”

“Yes. I’m Brooke Cerise, the owner.”

That was when she smelled the officer’s scent and realized he was a red wolf like her. Wild, wolfish, and an Ivory fragrance. A red-­wolf pack was located outside Portland, but on her visits to see her great-­aunt, she hadn’t had time to meet anyone. She hoped it wouldn’t be a problem for her to move into the area without contacting the pack leaders first. Did he belong to the pack? Not that she could ask him in front of her human customers.

She said to the man on the phone, “Uh, sorry, it looks like I just found where the calf belongs.”

“No problem. Thanks for calling and checking with us.”

“You’re welcome. Have a great day.” She ended the call. “I called it in, but the officer I spoke to thought it was a crank call. The reindeer just walked into my courtyard.”

“I’m Detective Wilding, an investigator with the Portland Police Bureau. I’ve called the ranch, and someone’s coming to pick him up.” He had a nice, manly voice, warm and sexy like one of her favorite narrators of the romance audiobooks that she enjoyed listening to. He took a deep breath of her scent too. She wondered if he’d known her great-­aunt.

Brooke realized she was getting so much publicity that the police must have seen the news that the reindeer was at her open house and sent an investigator to investigate.

“I need to get your statement,” he said, all official-­like.

As if she were at fault for the reindeer calf being here! Hopefully, the other local wolves were a lot more welcoming than he was. That was all she needed though. To be considered a rogue wolf who committed crimes!

“By the way, you don’t leave anything important in your trash, do you? Like credit-­card or bank-­account information without shredding it?”

“No, why?”

“Someone was looking at your boxes.”

“Maybe to use for packing boxes?”

“Maybe.”

More people crowded into her shop. Brooke sure hoped people were going to purchase something and not just come to see the reindeer. Though she had to admit the little fellow made for a great marketing tool with all the social network shares that were going on. It was putting her shop on the map. He was adorable, and he seemed to be enjoying all the company.

Several of the customers were still texting about the reindeer and posting about her shop, and a few people had migrated to the drinks and food and begun to enjoy them. Then a couple of customers brought items over to her checkout counter. Yes!

“Sorry, why don’t you do your police-­officer duty and take care of the reindeer? I’ll give you a statement when things slow down, Officer,” she told Detective Wilding. She didn’t expect him to do anything with the reindeer, but she hoped he’d leave her alone while she was checking out her customers.

“Detective,” he corrected her. He situated himself right next to the checkout counter, waiting for her to finish ringing up her sales.

How annoying!

The ladies thanked her and smiled at the detective, who smiled back at them with a little lift to one corner of his mouth, giving him a charmingly handsome appearance. The ladies took their packages and left. Brooke glanced in the direction of the other people in her shop, wishing a whole bunch of customers would inundate her with merchandise to ring up so she could ignore the detective further, but nope. That meant she was at the detective’s mercy. Again. Darn it.

“Okay, give me your statement now.” He stood there tall and imposing, his dark hair windswept, his dark-­brown eyes capturing her gaze, powerful, demanding. There was no smile for her.

“He was eating holly berries off my shrub. Someone had left the gate open.”

“Not you, of course.”

“Of course not. I always close it.” Brooke folded her arms across her chest. She knew that was a defensive posture when she had nothing to be defensive about. She had nothing to do with stealing the reindeer!

“But you didn’t lock it.”

“Usually, I do.” She let out her breath. “I must have forgotten.”

“But you didn’t forget to close the gate.”

He might be gorgeous to look at, but he was annoying her to pieces. She was a law-­abiding citizen, and she wasn’t in the market for a reindeer calf. How could he make her feel like she was guilty of a crime just because she must not have locked her gate last night?

“The latch needs to be replaced.” She hated having to concede that to the detective.

“Faulty latch, hmm,” he said, writing it down.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’d think she’d committed the crime of the century!

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About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Terry Spear has written over forty paranormal romances. Heart of the Wolf was named a Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year and Billionaire in Wolf’s Clothing was a Romantic Times Top Pick. A retired officer of the U.S. Army Reserves, Terry also creates award-winning teddy bears. She lives in Spring, Texas.

Author Website: terryspear.com

Spotlight: Ain’t She Sweet by Whitney Dineen

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Publication date: December 15th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Tara Heinz began her modeling career at the tender age of twelve. After spending fifteen years drooling over forbidden foods, she does the unthinkable. She enrolls in culinary school and becomes a pastry chef.

After a nasty breakup with her rock star boyfriend that leads to tabloid war, Tara takes a job at a rural lodge in Oregon to escape the spotlight she no longer desires.

James Cavanaugh is a farmer in Oregon. His days are spent building his business and his nights are spent sleeping, so he can get up at four in the morning.

Ruby Cavanaugh has plans for her son that involve her new pastry chef. Of course, neither James nor Tara know what’s going on until it’s too late.

Excerpt

Things I Like About Modeling

1.

Yup, pretty sure it’s time for a change.

2.

 After arranging an assortment of gourds on her newspaper-covered dining room table, Ruby picks up her telephone to call her oldest son, Brogan. “How are you and Addie doing?” she wants to know. As the first recipients of her matchmaking endeavor, the success of their union is integral to her confidence in setting up her younger son, James, with her new pastry chef.

“She’s great. We’re great. New York is beautiful in the fall.”

Whoever said glitter was the herpes of the crafting world never fully appreciated its hypnotic effects, Ruby thinks while spraying gold glitter paint. “I knew you two were meant to be.”

“I don’t know how you decided that, but I’m glad you did. For a while there I thought you were trying to set Addison up with James. Speaking of which, how are things going between him and Tara?”

“What do you mean?” Ruby asks, trying—and failing—to sound innocent. 

“Don’t try to tell me you haven’t set your sights on her for my little brother.”

After several moments, Ruby dejectedly confesses, “It’s been hard finding ways to throw them together now that James’s farmstand is mostly closed for the season. I’ve had to resort to hiring your brother to put in a garden here at the lodge.”

“Interesting. I’m not sure I should offer, but let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“You and Addie are still coming home for Christmas, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. We arrive the second week of December and are planning on staying until the first week of March. I’ll be working on my new novel and Addie is going to commute to a hotel she’s redesigning in Portland.”

Ruby walks around the table, eyeing her decorative fall creation before firing off a final burst of sparkle. “I might need your help then. In the meantime, don’t bring up Tara’s name when you talk to James. I don’t want him to guess what I’m up to until it’s too late.”

“You make me nervous, Mom, but you did such a great job for me that I promise not to interfere in your latest project.”

“Good. Now, I’ve got to go. Your brother will be here any minute to meet with Tara about the dessert portion of the garden.”

“Does he know he’s meeting with her?” Brogan asks. 

“Of course not. What fun would that be? Bye!” Ruby hangs up on her son before he has a chance to reply. After refreshing her lipstick and picking invisible lint from her sweater, she’s off to make another love connection.

3. 

James is dawdling behind me on the way back to the lodge from the garden site. He’s moving as quickly as if he were on his way to have his legs amputated. “Hurry up, I have tons of stuff to do today,” I snap at him.

“I think I’ll just head home,” he says, veering his trajectory toward the parking lot. 

“Get back here,” I order. “For some reason, your mom wants me involved in this garden. Being that she’s my boss, I’m going to do what she’s asked. Unless you want me to tell her you can’t be bothered consulting me, that is.”

“Are you seven years old? You’re going to tell my mom on me?”

He’s got a point. James definitely brings out the child in me, and not in a good way.

“The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can part ways,” I tell him. I don’t think I’ve ever annoyed a man as much as I do this one. Okay, there was that makeup artist who told me his makeup brush wasn’t a wand when I complained about how he applied my blush, but other than him, I usually get on pretty well with men. 

“What kind of flowers do you want in the garden?” James asks like it’s causing him physical pain to do so.

“Obviously nasturtiums and roses, but I’d like dahlias, pansies, and violets, too.”

Obviously …” he mumbles under his breath before asking louder, “What about hops?” 

“I make a mean, stout brownie. I could use hops in it to add a sort of sedative effect.” Desserts tend to use a lot of things that are meant to soothe the palate after a big meal. Mint and lavender are two of the more common herbs, but hops would be a nice addition. 

James interrupts my thoughts by asking, “Why did you come to Oregon?” He sounds perturbed again, or should I say, still.

“Clearly, because I somehow knew it would irritate you and I couldn’t help myself,” I fire back.

“Seriously,” his tone evens out to an almost conversational level. “You don’t seem the type to live someplace outside of the fast lane.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know plenty. For instance, I know you were on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition four times by the time you were twenty-five, I know you were engaged to Romaine Choate, and I know you can swear in French.”

“Caught that episode of Jimmy Fallon, did you?” 

“I think the whole world watched that one.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. 

“Part of the fun of being interviewed on late night television is the ability to be a bit salty. I simply took advantage of the situation.” Not to mention, Jimmy Fallon has a decent sense of humor about himself and he likes when people don’t fawn all over him. Although, I’m sure he would have forgiven me almost anything thanks to the dress I was wearing. Men seem to have a hard time concentrating when an attractive woman is practically painted into her clothes.

A whisper of a smile crosses James’s face before he says, “It takes talent to call someone an effing gasbag and have them laugh at it.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a fan.” 

He rears up and stops moving as soon as the words are out of my mouth. “Fan? No. I may have appreciated your physical attributes from time to time, but I was never a fan. Please disabuse yourself of that notion immediately.”

“Yet I recall your mom telling me that you hung my posters on your wall when you were in high school.” I can’t help myself; I have to tease him about that.

“Just because I liked the way you look on the outside doesn’t mean I like you.”

“That’s very superficial,” I tell him.

“Seems to me the whole modeling business is superficial. You’d think you’d know that being part of it for so long.”

There is no getting along with this guy, so I stop trying. We make the rest of the trek back to the lodge in total silence, which is far preferable to the conversation we had been having.

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About the Author

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Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries -- not always in that order.

Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.

She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.

Gold Medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2017.

Silver medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.

Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.

Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.

Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017

Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017

Connect:

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https://twitter.com/whitneydineen

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8145525.Whitney_Dineen

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https://www.facebook.com/pages/category/Writer/Whitney-Dineen-Author-11687019412/

Spotlight: The Breakup Plan by Elle Vaughn

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Publication date: December 15th 2020
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Elliot has just made the list of America’s hottest bachelors. A successful business mogul who has made a name for himself in Silicon Valley, Elliot’s life is just about perfect—that is until an incriminating photo of himself appears in a tabloid magazine. If anyone discovers who the other person in the photo is, his career would be ruined.

Penny’s life has been anything but charmed. Struggling to make ends meet, she’s determined to make a better life for herself. Desperate to rescue her little brother from the same troubled life she had growing up, Penny will do whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe. Now that she’s starting an internship at a large corporation, she can only hope this is the start of something better.

And that’s when an asshole named Elliot Faulkner makes her an offer she can’t refuse.

Excerpt

I think that if my family had died differently, or at least under better circumstances, I would have felt less angry. Better, maybe. More at peace. I don’t know, I guess that sounds pretty crazy. But I have to believe that if their deaths hadn’t been so fucking tragic, I could have accepted it and moved on. But I couldn’t and I never will. Because I just can’t. That’s why I was the way I was as I kid. That’s why I was the way I was as a teenager. That’s why I am the way I am now. Their deaths were a perfect illustration for the fucked up son and brother they got stuck with, and they paid the final price.

I’m just thankful I eventually got my life together. Finally pulled my head out of my ass. Somehow made it into a good college (my uncle helped with that, it pays to have connections), and that’s when things started to turn around. After years of beating myself up and hating myself, I finally figured out the secret to life. Stop giving a fuck. And I started funneling all my God-given energy into making something of myself. I live my life for me and no one else. This way I’m happy and no one gets hurt—Including myself. I keep everyone I know at arms-length and it works. I’m a damned successful executive of a damned successful corporation and I’m finally happy. After a life of torment and agony, I’m finally happy. I take what I want, pass on what I don’t, and naturally, I don’t do relationships. There’s no need for them—they only cause unhappiness which is what I’m looking to avoid. After getting a good job straight out of college (thanks again, Uncle Richard), I worked my ass off all the way to the marketing executive of a dominating online retailer, and my every dream has come true. I am exactly who and what I’ve always wanted to be. Until one day my entire fucking life was turned upside down.

So, that’s how I met the biggest pain in the ass I’d ever known—Penny Reynolds.

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About the Author

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Elle Vaughn is an avid book lover - especially romance novels. She's the author of the Anna and Quinton novella series and is always working on a new story project. When she's not lost in her character creations she can be found chasing around her toddler, being outside in the Colorado outdoors, gardening and attempting to cook for her family!

Connect:

https://twitter.com/_ElleVaughn

https://www.facebook.com/ElleVaughnAuthor/

https://www.instagram.com/ellevaughn/

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7361406.Elle_Vaughn

Spotlight: Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas by Joanne Kennedy

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There’s no place like home…

Weary from a long deployment, Griff Bailey has been dreaming of a quiet Christmas on his father’s ranch. But all his hopes of peace are upended when he finds his one-time fling, Riley James, has moved in.

Riley swore off dark, dangerous men a long time ago, but Griff’s emotional scars pull at her heartstrings, and she desperately wants to help him heal despite their complicated past.

It’ll take a miracle for these two stubborn former lovers to open themselves up again, but isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

Excerpt

The snow globe on the dashboard rocked and sloshed as Griff Bailey’s Jeep dropped off the pavement onto the dirt road that led to his father’s ranch. The music-­box base tinkled out a few hesitant notes, but they were lost in the racket of icy flakes clattering on the windshield.

Griff had picked up the globe at an airport gift shop, remembering how his sister loved Christmas kitsch. He’d set it on the dashboard in an effort to inspire his own Christmas spirit, but it was just making him sad. There was Santa, the most senior of senior citizens, frozen forever with one foot in a chimney and a heavy pack slung over one shoulder while phony snowflakes swirled around him. It was obvious the bag wasn’t going to fit down the chute, and the jaunty, tinkling rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus” was just plain rude. This Santa wasn’t going anywhere.

Neither was Griff, in the long run. Like Santa, he’d flown halfway around the world only to find his life shaken and stirred by unseen forces.

As the wipers thwacked out their restless rhythm, he saw a light burning in the distance.

Almost home.

He was surprised to find his heart lifting at the thought. His sole ambition from boyhood had been to escape the everyday sameness of ranch life, with its early mornings, late nights, and chores that were never done well enough, soon enough, or fast enough.

So why was he coming home?

Simple. The last place he wanted to go was now the only place that would have him.

At least, he thought they would. As far as his family knew, he was still deployed. His dad and stepmom were on an RV trip in the Southwest, while his sister was honeymooning in California. He wasn’t sure how long they’d be gone, but he was hoping for a couple weeks of solitude so he could shake off the dark memories that had smudged his bright military future. Bit by bit, day by day, he would become the man he’d been before.

Before what?

Ghosts of the past rattled their chains in the back of his brain, threatening to rise and walk, but he knocked his head with the heel of his hand and sent them skittering back to their caves. He’d deal with them later. Right now, he needed to concentrate on the road.

As he nudged the Jeep around an icy curve, he laid eyes on his father’s house for the first time in four years—­and slammed on the brakes, sliding sideways, feeling the tug of a snowdrift hauling him into the ditch. White-­knuckling the wheel, he spun right, then left, and lurched to a sudden stop that slammed his chest against the shoulder harness.

Breathing hard, he stared at his childhood home. He’d expected to feel reluctance, nostalgia, even a surge of relief at the sight of it—­but all he felt was shock.

The entire front wall of the house was demolished, with beams and boards scattered like matchsticks in the snow. He might not be a fan of ranch life, but the Diamond Jack was the one safe, unchanging place in his world. And it had exploded.

Unbuckling, he opened the door and fell to his knees. A low buzzing began inside him, blind bees bumbling for a way out. They were with him every day, simmering beneath any emotion he dared to feel, pushing for release in a roar of rage, a howl of fear, a savage strike at something, anything. But releasing them would make the outside world match the darkness inside him, so he held them in.

The docs ought to give him some credit for that. They ought to let him go back. They would if he could control it, so he followed their advice.

Breathe.

As he drank in the cold air, the buzzing faded and died.

Surprised, oddly empty, he rose to his feet and trudged toward the house through snow up to his thighs. It was slow going, but that gave him time to assess the situation.

There were lights on in the upstairs bathroom, his sister’s bedroom, and the kitchen. That was all wrong. Nobody was supposed to be home. And what was that weird shape in the wreckage? Had it moved?

Holy crap. What is that?

It looked like an animal—­one with beaming yellow eyes that reflected the Jeep’s headlights. Had he started hallucinating now?

Apparently not. The creature proved itself disturbingly real by launching itself from the wreckage and loping toward him with an awkward, lolloping gait. Feet like paddles flung snow all around, and its drooling jowls flapped as it ran, revealing long, white teeth that gleamed in the starlight. Those teeth were the last thing he saw before it leapt up and knocked him to the ground.

Pressing Griff’s shoulders into the snow with paws the size of dinner plates, the beast dripped a cold string of drool onto his cheek as its amber eyes burned into his with a passion for…

For pats, probably. Because it was just a dog. A big, weird-­looking dog, but a friendly one. As a goofy grin spread across its slobbery face, Griff heaved it off his chest.

“Who the heck are you?”

The dog sat back and presented its paw as if introducing itself. Confused, Griff shook it, glancing around, and noticed a pickup in front of the barn.

“Shoot,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think there’d be anybody here.”

The dog shimmied close and leaned hard against him, tossing its head back and almost clonking Griff in the nose. It gazed adoringly into his face, and he suddenly felt better than he had in a year.

It might be nice to have a dog around. Trouble was, dogs generally came with people, and he wasn’t ready for people.

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About the Author

Joanne Kennedy is the RITA-nominated author of ten contemporary Western romance novels. The first book in her Decker Ranch trilogy, How to Handle a Cowboy, was named one of Booklist’s “Best Romances of the Decade.” She lives with her retired fighter pilot husband in a secret mountain hideout on the Wyoming border.

Author Website: https://joannekennedybooks.com/

Spotlight: A Sweet, Soft Glow by Joshua Magnotta

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Publication date: December 15th 2020
Genres: Adult, Thriller

In the ten years since John Malley lost his wife and daughter, he has slowly faded into obscurity in a rural Pennsylvania town. He spends his days at the local bar and tries to numb the pain of his loss. That is, until Ted’s Dead Rose Tavern becomes the home of the biggest mass killing in the history of the town. John, the lone survivor of the killing-spree, is forced on the run. He heads north where he hopes to hide out at his brother’s house.

Meanwhile, in New York City, young Melanie Parker investigates a disturbing new trend she discovered online. From what she has learned, metallic black bands worn along the forearm are responsible for some form of mind control. Skeptical of this theory, Melanie embarks on a night time excursion that places her in the middle of a riot in the middle of the city. Melanie fights for her life as chaos spreads throughout the city.

As John witnesses the events in New York, he is compelled to take action. But once in the city, John is forced to confront his past.

Excerpt

“MELANIE SHOOK WITH FEAR. She wanted to wake from this madness, to roll over in bed and realize none of this was real, but her feet were glued to the pavement. Her eyes were teary, and her nose was cold and runny. She trembled uncontrollably. She had never been so terrified in all her life.

All she had seen since arriving at 111th Street was beyond her understanding. This wasn’t on f_stop39’s page. No one had mentioned a mass of bodies all convulsing as though they had swallowed poison together. Their mouths foamed as they thrashed against the ground. She wished Bridgette was with her, at least then she wouldn’t be alone.

Then, Melanie felt a pair of eyes focused intently on her. She turned and saw one of the wrist watchers clambering to her feet. She turned and saw the others rising likewise. Like lasers, their gaze turned toward her, direct and unflinching.”

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About the Author

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Josh Magnotta has been a resident of northern Pennsylvania for most of his life. Throughout his early life and teenager years he was an avid writer but during college drifted away from the passion as work and other priorities took precedence. In 2014 he graduated from college and soon began working swing shift in a factory. It was here, during off shifts where Josh would read during the night to stay awake, that his passion for writing was rekindled. After leaving the factory-life behind Josh went back to college and began work on his first novel, A Sweet, Soft Glow. He has since been writing ever since.

Connect:
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https://www.instagram.com/joshuamagnotta/

Spotlight: Cemetery Songs by Julie Gilbert

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Publication date: December 15th 2020
Genres: Young Adult

Poignant and uplifting, Cemetery Songs is a compelling YA about a girl, a ghost, and the graveyard that sends them both on a journey of self-acceptance.

When Polly Stone’s birthmother dies, she feels lost and adrift. How do you mourn someone you never knew? Even the dead, whose final thoughts Polly can hear, offer no advice.

Instead Polly fails her classes, alienates her friends, gets fired from her summer job, and accidentally sets fire to the high school. At a loss, Polly’s parents ground her and insist she volunteer at the local archives.

The dusty boxes are boring, but Polly is intrigued by her assignment: mapping an abandoned Black settlement on the edge of town. At the very least, it gives her time to examine her confused feelings for Billy Meyer, a former classmate who is also blackmailing her.

Amid weedy tombstones, Polly and Billy encounter the charming ghost of Harrison Card, who died in 1924. Sensing there’s more to the story than Harrison can recall, the unlikely trio investigates the mysterious circumstances surrounding his death.

The discoveries are unnerving, especially since the ugly racist history reflects some of Polly’s own experiences as a biracial teenager. Past and present collide when Polly’s attempts to help Harrison go tragically wrong. As Polly grapples with the consequences of her actions, she must decide if she is brave enough to heed the wisdom of the dead.

Excerpt from Cemetery Songs by Julie Gilbert Lakestone Press, 2020

“You about ready?" I ask as I sit in the grass at the corner of the gravestone.

"Sure," Billy says, sitting back on his heels. He swings the flashlight to illuminate his handiwork. A series of objects is arranged around the perimeter of the grave. Nearest me is a chipped coffee mug with the Monroe city logo on it. Next to that there's a single golf glove and a pile of tees. A worn dog leash curls in the corner, nestled against a plastic water dish.

"He's the guy who died at his desk, isn't he?" I ask. "Like two weeks ago or something." My mom mentioned it over dinner the other night, the city employee who'd been physically fit but plagued with anger management issues. Apparently he died in the middle of a conversation.

"Yeah, that's him. You know him?"

"No, but I'm about to."

I wrap my hands around the mug, drawing in a few deep, clean breaths and turning my attention to Arnold Weber, sliding into his mind, or whatever's left of it.

He died during an argument, I learn. What the hell, Scott? was his final thought. I hold the mug tighter and images start to appear in my mind. I see the inside of an office paneled in wood and carpeted in gray. There's an industrial desk dominating the small space, buttressed by several filing cabinets. A clock ticks on the desk and I see that it's golf-themed and inscribed with the word "Pinehurst."

A wave of memories rushes through me as I amplify Arnold’s mind further. I see a woman's blonde hair shot gray at the temples, her eyes tired and distant. I see the same woman in a photograph, younger, her eyes wary but hopeful beneath the veil of her wedding dress. I see a

parade of children and I see Arnold and the woman standing near this very spot on a cold, October day, watching as a tiny coffin is laid into the ground.

There are more memories. Christmas morning, Halloween night. Endless meetings and workshops where the phrases "organic synergy" and "workflow analysis" rattle around sterile conference tables. There's a cruise in the Bahamas where everyone got sick and another to Alaska where they saw whales. As I release the mug, there's one last image of Arnold as a college student, skipping over the art class that tugs at his pen and reluctantly signing up for an accounting class instead.

I can feel myself return to the surface, can hear Arnold's voice yelling at Scott in my mind. Before I break through into consciousness, I hear the words "Jessam Crossing" and a voice says, "She can't use what she can't find." Then I'm back in my own body, crouching over a mound of earth.

Billy is studying me.

"How long was I gone?" I ask.

"About thirty minutes. You okay?"

"Yeah."

"What did you learn?" he asks.

"Lots." I shake my head. "Lots of images and memories. I'm not sure where to start."

"I can ask you the security questions when I find them," Billy says, his voice low.

"Might be easier," I interrupt. I clamber to my feet and we start walking back to the truck. I'm concentrating so hard on trying to recall other snippets of the conversation that I step into a badger hole and stumble to my knees.

"I gotcha," Billy says. His hands slide from behind me to cup my elbows and leverage me to my feet. When I'm standing again, I've got my back to him. We're not touching, other than his hands at my elbows, but I can sense him, his entire body towering over me, sheltering me. It's electric. I swallow and feel my breath speed up. He moves a hair closer to me, his chest against my back, his legs brushing mine. He's so much taller than me but I feel tall and strong standing here like this. His head dips and I can feel his breath on my neck.

"Polly—" he says, just as a bat swoops overhead, breaking the spell. I jump and take a few steps toward the truck.

"I should get home," I say. I put my hand over my throat to conceal the rapid flutter of my heart, even though I know he can't see it in the dark anyway.

"Let's go," he says at last, his voice gravelly. We go back to the truck and don't talk the rest of the way.

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About the Author

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Although Julie K. Gilbert's masterpiece, The Adventures of Kitty Bob: Alien Warlord Cat, has sadly been out of print since Julie last stapled it together in the fourth grade, she continues to write. Her short fiction, which has appeared in numerous publications, explores topics ranging from airport security lines to adoption to antique wreaths made of hair. Julie makes her home in southern Minnesota with her husband and two children.

Connect:

https://www.juliegilbertbooks.com/

https://twitter.com/JulieKGilbert

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16619450.Julie_Gilbert