Spotlight: Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham

This Spring, Heather Graham returns with a sultry and shocking standalone thriller about an FBI special agent trying to run from his past and a state police agent bent on solving a horrifying crime, even if it leads the two of them into the web of a vicious cult. Graham deepens the intrigue and raises the stakes in DANGER IN NUMBERS (MIRA Hardcover; March 23, 2021; $27.99).

On the edge of the Everglades, a brutal murder and an eerie crime scene set off an investigation that sends two agents deep into a world of corrupted faith, greed and deadly secrets.

A ritualistic murder on the side of a remote road brings in the Florida state police. Special Agent Amy Larson has never seen worse, and there are indications that this killing could be just the beginning. The crime draws the attention of the FBI in the form of Special Agent Hunter Forrest, a man with insider knowledge of how violent cults operate, and a man who might never be able to escape his own past.

The rural community is devastated by the death in their midst, but people know more than they are saying. As Amy and Hunter join forces, every lead takes them further into the twisted beliefs of a dangerous group that will stop at nothing to see their will done.

Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Fall 1993

Sam

Sam Gallagher stood in the forest, deep within the trees, holding his wife and son to him as closely as he could, barely daring to breathe.

They would know by now. He and Jessie would be missed. He could imagine the scene: Jessie wouldn’t have appeared bright and early to help prepare the day’s meal with the other women. He wouldn’t be there to consume the porridge and water that was considered the ultimate meal for the workday—the porridge because it was a hearty meal, the water because it was ordained as the gift of life.

Their absence would be reported to Brother William, sitting his office—his throne room, Sam thought—where he would be guarded by his closest associates, the deacons of his church.

The family had only been in woods for a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Jessie was so still Sam couldn’t hear her breathing, just feel the tremor of her heart.

Cameron was just six. And yet he knew the severity and danger of his situation. He stood as still and silent as any man could hope a child might be.

Panic seized Sam briefly.

What if Special Agent Dawson didn’t come? What if there had been a mix-up and he hadn’t been able to arrange for the Marshals Service to help?

What if they were found?

Stupid question. He knew the what if.

He gritted his teeth and fought against the fear that had washed over him like a tidal wave. Dawson was a good man; Sam knew he would keep his word. He’d arrived at the commune undercover, having the intuition to realize Sam’s feelings, his doubt, and his fear for his wife and his son. Together, Dawson had told him, they would bring down the Keepers of the Earth. His actions would free others. No, their actions would free others.

Today was the day. Just in time. Sam had known the danger of remaining, felt the way he was being watched by the Divine Leader’s henchmen.

They had to leave. Leave? No, there was no leaving the compound. There was only escaping.

Alana Fisk had wanted to leave, and they knew what had happened to her.

It had been Cameron who had found his beloved “aunt” Al- ana’s body at the bottom of the gorge, broken, lying beneath just inches of dry dust and rock, decomposing in her shallow grave. It had been Cameron, so young, who had become wary and suspicious first. He’d seen a few of the older boys in the area when he’d last seen Alana there, and he didn’t trust them. They were scary, Cameron said.

Sam tightened his hold on Cameron. Seconds ticked by like an eternity.

Sam closed his eyes and wondered how they had come to this, but he knew.

He and his wife had wanted something different. A life where riches didn’t make a man cruel.

Jessie hadn’t hated her father; she had hated what he stood for. And Sam knew the day when her mind had been made up. Downtown Los Angeles. They had seen a veteran of the Vietnam War, homeless, slunk against a wall. Only one of his legs remained; he had been struggling with his prosthetic, his cup for donations at his side. The homeless veteran had looked at Jessie’s father and said, “Please, sir, help if you can.”

Peter Wilson had walked right by. When Jessie had caught her father’s arm, he had turned on her angrily. “I didn’t get where I am by giving away my hard-earned money. He’s prob- ably lying about being a vet. He can get himself a damned job doing something!”

Sam had been walking behind them. Embarrassed, he tried to offer Jessie a weak smile. He hadn’t come from money, and he had lost his folks right after his twentieth birthday, but he was working in a coffee shop, dreaming he’d get to where he could work, go to college and have time left over to be with the woman he loved.

He had given the man a dollar and wished him well. Jessie had turned away from her father.

It was the last time Jessie saw her father. Despite the man’s efforts to break her and Sam up—or because of them—Jessie and Sam had eloped. The plan was to both get jobs and finish college through night school. Her father had suspected her pregnancy; he’d wanted her to get over Sam and terminate the baby.

Jessie quickly made friends at a park near their cheap apartment. They were old f lower children, she had told Sam. Old hippies, he’d liked to tease in return. But those friends had been happy, and they’d talked to Jessie about the beauty of their commune, far from the crazy greed and speed of the city.

In the beginning, Brother William’s commune did seem to offer it all: happiness, unity, love and light.

But now they knew the truth.

Brother William—with his “deacons,” his demands on his “flock” and the cache of arms he kept stowed away as he created his empire, demanding absolute power for himself, complete obedience among his followers. And it became clear Brother William’s will was enforced; he had those deacons—Brothers Colin, Anthony and Darryl, and the squad beneath them. They received special treatment.

Sam clutched his family as he strained to hear any unfamiliar sound in the woods. Was that footsteps? Was the rustling of branches just the breeze?

He had to stop dwelling on fear.

He had to stay strong. Maybe not ruminate on what they’d been through.

But there was nothing else to do while they waited, barely breathing.

Think back, remember it all.

Excerpted from Danger in Numbers by Heather Graham, Copyright © 2021 by Heather Graham Pozzessere Published by MIRA Books

Buy on Amazon | Audible

About the Author

Heather Graham is the New York Times and USA Today best-selling author has written over two hundred novels and novellas, has been published in approximately twenty-five languages and with about 60 million books sold in print in the categories of romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas holiday fare. For more information, visit her at TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com.

Author Website

Twitter: @HeatherGraham

Instagram: @TheOriginalHeatherGraham

Facebook: @HeatherGrahamAuthor

Goodreads

Spotlight: THE JIGSAW MAN by Nadine Matheson

In THE JIGSAW MAN (March 16, 2021; Hanover Square Press), Detective Inspector Anjelica Henley has a lot to deal with on her first day back her from leave from the Serial Crimes Unit of Scotland Yard. After nearly becoming a victim of the vicious serial killer, The Jigsaw Man, just before he was put behind bars, she also has to contend with the subtle digs and microaggressions that come with being the unit’s only black female detective. Add a new trainee and a rocky marriage to the mix, and DI Henley nearly has a full plate. Until the first call comes in... 

Along the Thames, a fan of the Jigsaw Man and copycat killer has scattered two dismembered bodies along the shores like a jigsaw puzzle. When DI Henley sees one of the victims, a young black woman, is already being written off by her colleagues, she makes it her mission to solve the case, driving her to seek help from the original Jigsaw Man himself, Peter Oliver. Oliver, however, is determined to get to his copycat before Henley can, and sets into motion a series of events that puts Henley and her family in the crosshairs of two monstrous serial killers.

Excerpt

Chapter Two

‘How long have we got until the tide comes in?’ Henley was facing the river watching the small waves crashing against the derelict pier. She checked her watch. Nearly two hours had passed since the first 999 call. 

‘I checked online, and high tide is at 9.55 a.m.’ Ramouter replied as he stepped around a half-submerged car tire, his eyes glazed with anxiety. ‘Low tide was at 3.15. Sunrise was at 6.32. A three-hour window for someone to dump whoever this is and hope that someone would find it before the tide comes in?’

‘Maybe,’ Henley acknowledged. ‘But for all we know it could have been dumped after sunrise or was dumped earlier upstream before being washed up here.’ She inspected the glass façade of the Borthwick Wharf, empty commercial spaces and work units that opened to the terrace and lacked security cameras. Henley doubted that the local council would have extended their own CCTV cameras to this part of the street. They had been neglecting this part of Deptford for as long as she could remember.

‘Has it been touched?’ Henley asked Anthony who had appeared at her side.

‘As far as I’m aware, it’s in situ. It wasn’t touched by the woman who found it. Matei, your builder, said that he hadn’t touched the legs but unhelpfully, it’s covered in his vomit. I had a quick look at the arms that were found downstream before I came here. From the looks of things, the treasure hunters may have prodded around a bit.’

‘There’s always one.’

The wind dropped and the air softly crackled with the electricity generated from the substation nearby.

‘We’re isolating the recovery of evidence to the direct path from the alleyway to the torso,’ said Anthony. ‘I doubt very much that whoever it was sat here and had a coffee afterwards.’

‘They may not have had a coffee, but if we go with Ramouter’s theory and the body parts have been dumped then whoever it was certainly knows the river,’ Henley replied. ‘We’ll let you get on. Ramouter and I are going to take a walk.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Ramouter.

‘To meet Eastwood.’

‘And you want to walk it?’

Henley did her best to push aside her frustration when Ramouter pulled out his phone. ‘Google maps says that Greenwich pier is almost a mile away,’ he said.

‘Your body-part dumper isn’t the only one who knows the river,’ Anthony shouted out as Henley began to walk determinedly along the riverbank.

The gold scepters on the twin domed roofs of the Old Royal Naval College pierced the cloudless sky. The bare masts of the restored Cutty Sark completed the historical panoramic view that Greenwich was known for. It was a resplendent, whitewashed version of history that contrasted with the sewage that washed ashore. Henley stopped walking when she realized that she could no longer hear the sounds of Ramouter’s leather soles slipping on wet pebbles.

‘Where are you from?’ Henley asked, waiting for Ramouter to take off his jacket and loosen his tie. She moved closer towards the moss-covered river wall as the tide began to encroach.

‘Born in West Bromwich. Moved to Bradford when I was twelve.’ Ramouter tried to brush off the bits of mud that had stuck to his trousers, but they only smeared more. ‘Lots of moors, no rivers. Surely it would have been quicker in the car.’

‘This is quicker. Unless you fancy sitting in traffic for the next half hour while they raise the Creek Road Bridge.’

‘You know this area well?’

Henley ignored the question. She didn’t see the point in telling him that she could have walked this path with her eyes closed. That this small part of South-East London was ingrained in her. ‘Whoever dumped the torso would have taken this route. It doesn’t make any sense to come down here, go back up to the street level and then drive up to Watergate Street. Out of sight, below street level. Lighting would have been minimal.’

‘Body parts are heavy though,’ Ramouter tried to quicken his step to catch up with Henley. ‘The human head weighs at least eight pounds.’

‘I know.’ Henley pulled out her mobile phone, which had started to ring. She saw who it was and ignored the call.

‘Head, torso, arms, legs. That’s at least six individual body parts.’

‘I know that also. So, tell me, what point are you making?’ Henley waited for Ramouter to reach her before maneuvering him towards the river wall as though she was chaperoning a child.

‘I’m just saying that that’s a lot of dead weight to be carrying around at three in morning.’ Ramouter paused and placed his hand against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

Henley didn’t openly express her agreement. She fished out a black hair band from her jacket pocket and pulled her thick black curls into a ponytail. She had forgotten how much energy it took to walk across the gradient slope of the riverbank. Worse, she felt mentally unprepared for the job ahead, with a trainee struggling behind her who had no idea this was her first time as senior investigator in almost a year.

‘It’s a bit grim, isn’t it?’ DC Roxanne Eastwood shouted out as Henley finally reached the first crime scene. ‘Morning, Ramouter. Not a bad gig for your first day.’

Henley had always thought that Eastwood actually looked and carried herself like a detective. Now, Eastwood was poised on the riverbank, the sleeves of her jacket rolled up with her notebook in her hand. She had come prepared for the river and was wearing a pair of jeans and trainers that had seen better days.

‘Morning, Eastie. How does it feel to be out of the office?’ Henley asked, her eyes drifting to a crime scene investigator who was putting an arm into a black bag.

‘I should be asking you that,’ said Eastwood, with a look of concern.

Henley silently appreciated the empathy and placed her hand on Eastwood’s shoulder.

‘But since you asked, it’s bloody terrible. I think I’ve got sunburn.’ Eastwood rubbed a hand over her reddening forehead. ‘Forensics are going to be wrapping up in a bit. Not that there’s much for them to do. Bag it and tag it.’

‘Where’s Mr Thomas?’

‘Ah, our illustrious treasure hunter. Last time I saw him he was heading towards the shops. Said that he needed to get some water for his dog.’ Eastwood shook her head, obviously not believing a word of it. ‘I’ve got an officer keeping an eye on him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already uploaded pictures of his find onto Instagram.’

‘I want him taken back to the station. Ramouter can take another statement from him.’ Henley said it purposely so that Ramouter would sense she was in control. ‘If he’s like most mudlarkers, he would have been out here first thing this morning waiting for the tide to go out. Where exactly were the arms found?’

‘Just over there.’ Eastwood pulled down her sunglasses and pointed towards the foamed waves created by a passing river bus. The tide had already come in where X had once marked the spot. A sense of urgency filled the air as the river regained its territory.

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘Only that he found the second arm about three feet away from the first.’

‘It’s a sick trail of breadcrumbs,’ said Henley.

‘You’re telling me and before you ask about CCTV, there’re loads of cameras—’

‘But none aimed at this part of the river.’

‘Exactly.’

Henley’s mobile phone began to ring. She pulled it out and answered. After a quick chat, she ended the call.

‘That was Dr Linh Choi. You wouldn’t have met her yet but she’s our go-to forensic pathologist. She’s just arrived,’ Henley explained to Ramouter. She wiped away the sweat from the back of her neck.

‘So, we’ve got two arms, both legs and a torso,’ said Ramouter. ‘Where’s the head?’

Good question. Henley thought of the places between the two locations. A primary school, two nurseries and an adventure playground among the flats and houses. The last thing she needed was to find a head in the kids’ sandpit.

‘Can I have a quick look?’ Henley asked the assistant from Anthony’s CSI team, who had just bagged up the arm and was scribbling in her notebook.

‘Sure.’ The assistant unzipped the bag and pushed the plastic apart.

‘Fuck,’ Henley said under her breath. Her heartbeat quickened, her stomach flipped.

‘Oh,’ said Ramouter as he peered over Henley’s shoulder. One arm was covered with gravel. Slivers of seaweed criss-crossed old scars. The second arm. Slender wrist, the ring finger slightly longer than the index, broken fingernails. Black skin. Henley could hear Pellacia’s words from earlier ringing in her ears.

‘Too early to say if it belongs to the same victim or if it’s more than just one.’

‘Call DSI Pellacia,’ Henley told Ramouter. ‘Tell him that we’ve got two possible murder victims.’

Excerpted from The Jigsaw Man by Nadine Matheson, Copyright © 2021 by Nadine Matheson

Published by Hanover Square Press

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Hardcover | Paperback

About the Author

Nadine Matheson is a criminal defense attorney and winner of the City University Crime Writing competition. She lives in London, UK.

Connect:

Author Website

Twitter: @NadineMatheson

Facebook: @NadineMathesonWriter

Instagram: @QueenNads

Goodreads

Spotlight: Gabriel’s Album by Sian Ceinwen

(Cruise Control Heroes, #1)
Publication date: March 14th 2021
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

The rock star always gets the girl…

I’m living my dream. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a rock star. And now here I am, about to start my first big tour, when she comes along.

Ariana.

From the second we meet, she’s all I can think about.Asking her to come on tour with me is easy. But she’s shy, insecure, and the paparazzi scare her. We live in two completely different worlds.

I love her and I know that she’s worth fighting for. The problem is, I’m not sure if love is enough.

Gabriel’s Album is the first book in the Cruise Control Heroes series. It’s the companion novel to The Album. Fall in love with Gabriel and Ariana all over again as Cruise Control embarks on their first world tour. 

Excerpt

We’re standing in the wings, waiting to go back onstage, and Hayden asks, “Are you okay, Gabriel?”

“Yeah, as good as I can be, I guess,” I tell him and shrug my shoulders.

“I know the last half of the album sucks for you.” He gives me a wry smile.

“Understatement of the year, right there,” I laugh. “Just one more song to go, anyway. Then the meet and greet, and then hibernation.”

“Bring on the hibernation,” Harrison grins at me.

We head back out onstage for the encore, and the audience cheers loudly.

“I can’t thank you all enough for coming out tonight,” I tell the crowd.

They scream again, and I wait for the crowd to quiet down before continuing.

“I wrote a lot of Heart Wide Open while I was”—I pause and make an exaggerated thinking pose with my finger tapping on my cheek—“man, how would you describe it?”

“Angry,” Hayden says into his mic. “Very, very angry.”

I almost laugh because I wasn’t actually expecting anyone to chime in, but I fake an enlightened tone, as though he’s just given me the answer to my question and say, “Ah, yes, that’s it. Thanks, Hayden.”

“Any time, bro,” Hayden replies.

The audience laughs at our playful banter, and I laugh along with them before continuing, “So, yeah, I was very angry for a long time. What I discovered, though, is that you can’t hold onto that anger forever, or it will eat you alive. When you eventually let it go, sometimes you’ll be surprised by what’s left behind.”

I smile at the crowd, and despite my inner turmoil this evening, I’m at peace with everything. I’ve accepted that she couldn’t be with me, even though it still occasionally hurts.

The crowd cheers as Sebastian starts playing his guitar, with Hayden playing a soft beat on the drums and Harrison playing a bass line. They repeat the same eight bars of music as I continue my explanation of the song.

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About the Author

Hi, I’m Sian Ceinwen and I live in Western Australia with my husband and two kids. I started writing this in the third person but it was just odd. A little bit about me, I’ve enjoyed writing all my life, getting the worlds and characters in my head down for other people to enjoy is my passion.

Writing a book wasn’t something I ever thought I could really do but inspired by a song, I aimed to do it. With a lot of coaxing from my friends for me to finish it so they could find out the ending.

I released Gabriel and Ariana’s story, The Album, on March 14th, 2020. Harrison and Heather’s story, The Wedding, came out on June 6th, 2020. Sebastian and Lita’s book, The Baby, was released on November 18th, 2020.

The first book in the companion series, Gabriel’s Album, is available for pre-order and will be released on March 14th, 2021. It’s Gabriel and Ariana’s story retold from Gabriel’s point of view.

I hope that you will fall in love with the Cruise Control world the same way that I have.

Connect:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20018145.Sian_Ceinwen

https://www.facebook.com/SianCeinwen/

https://twitter.com/SianCeinwen

https://cruisecontrolnovels.com/subscribe/

https://www.instagram.com/sianceinwen/

http://cruisecontrolnovels.com/

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Spotlight: The Missing Element: Inspiring Compassion for the Human Condition by Debra Silverman

In The Missing Element, author Debra Silverman describes human nature in a compassionate and succinct way. We are all made of four basic elements – Water, Air, Earth, and Fire. When we’re in pain, it means these elements are out of balance in our lives. The key is to be able to discern your own personality and understand where you can strengthen the parts of your elemental nature that are out of balance.

But even more important, this book is about waking up the Observer in you, so you can experience the beauty and fullness of who you are far away from judgment. Becoming the Observer inspires your compassion and nurtures your wisdom for all of us. When we aren’t judging ourselves and others we are more loving. And when we are loving we take better care of ourselves and other people and the planet.

The Missing Element will help you understand that your life and all its stories were designed by your soul to get your attention right now. It is inviting you to seek the wisdom of the ages to help you grow. By gaining an awareness of unique behavioral tendencies under stress, you will gain an understanding and compassion for yourself and others.

Excerpt

In this excerpt from her book The Missing Element: Inspiring Compassion for the Human Condition, author Debra Silverman explains what she is asking of the reader as they embark on a journey of self-discovery and growth.

Your Elemental Mission

I want to enroll you as an agent of change – and you’ll need two things. One is to become acquainted with the Four Elements as they exist inside you. The other is to cultivate the Observer’s position so that you can stand back and make change by altering the way you see and live your own story.

The Four Elements

• WATER: For nine months we surrendered to the awesome feminine power of a womb filled with fluid. Herein lies the wisdom of silence and trust.

• AIR: Air is everywhere – the universal source of breath and language. No one can live without breathing or communicating. Herein lies the wisdom of wonder and consciousness.

• EARTH: The patience of a mountain, the generosity of a tree. Earth is the immovable rock, tirelessly waiting for our respect. Will we care for her? If we don’t, don’t worry: she will survive. We may not. Herein lies the wisdom of respect and balance.

• FIRE: The heat of your heart and the fire of the sun drive your destiny each day. We cannot live without either. Herein lies the wisdom of accepting your mission with full conviction.

Learning to Change

Modern life is stalking us to change. With so many books being written about it spirituality has never been as popular and commonplace. As individuals and as a species we are growing. It’s an unfortunate truth that we learn the most through mistakes.

It is easy to judge humanity, our neighbors, our human nature, and our own idiosyncrasies. We have danced with evil, played with guns, tried to control and scare the Feminine into submission, and nearly destroyed the Earth. Evolution occurs by learning through our mistakes, and we have a long history of making mistakes: nuclear bombs, the holocaust, 9/11, countless wars, to mention only a few examples. Can we forgive human nature, the species, and its long path down evolution lane? Would I love to change the way we learn our lessons? You bet I would. Would I love to assist people to learn the easy way? Sure.

As a parent I want to offer a positive future to my kids. My work is meant to share what I have found that holds wisdom and hope. What I’m calling the Missing Element is twofold: 1) it is the Observer inside you – the part of you that can stand outside of judgment and see yourself with a more wise and compassionate approach – much like our elders did. And 2) the Missing Element also refers to the Elements that make up your personality and more specifically, the element, which is your weakest. Allow me to help you to see through the eyes of love. All is well, and we are exactly where the prophets of old predicted we would be – that we would reach a time when we had to get on our knees and return to basics. Water is wet, fire is hot, earth is heavy, and air is everywhere.

The Good News: You have the personal power to make a difference. The power to create change resides inside you. It’s so much simpler than you know. And it starts with you.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Paperback

About the Author

Debra Silverman is the author of The Missing Element: Inspiring Compassion for the Human Condition. When Debra was just 20 years old, she met an astrologer who blew her mind and changed her world forever. She had officially been introduced to the world of Astrology. It was then that she realized the stars in her own world had aligned just right, and she had found her life’s purpose. Debra went on to deeply study the mind and body, earning a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology & Dance from York University and a Master’s degree in Clinical Psychology from Antioch University. Over the past 40 years of professional experience and private practice, she has specialized in helping thousands of individuals achieve emotional health and wisdom based on their unique personality and the four elements: water, air, earth, and fire. Her work with families, individuals, and couples has her standing out in a sea of therapists and coaches. She has taught at the internationally renowned Esalen Institute, and her work has taken her around the globe, practicing and lecturing in places like New York, Los Angeles, London, Vancouver, Seattle and Boulder, Colorado.

Spotlight: It’s My Party by Whitney Dineen

(Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #3)
Publication date: March 16th 2021
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

High off her success of playing matchmaker for both of her sons, lodge owner Ruby Cavanaugh decides to try her hand pairing other eligible singles–starting with her executive chef and her new event coordinator.

Party planner Claire Choate has a cheating boyfriend who also happens to be her boss. After visiting Oregon for her brother’s wedding–which didn’t even happen–Claire is offered a job that gets her out of LA for good. How can she pass up an opportunity like that?

Even though he has little time for a social life, executive chef Geoffrey Bere loves his job. After a past complication left him gun shy about workplace entanglements, he lives by a strict, “no dating co-workers” policy. But when Claire Choate arrives on the scene, he finds himself ready to break his own rule.

Will Ruby cement her reputation as matchmaker extraordinaire or will Claire and Geoffrey prove too much of a challenge for even her?

Find out in this deliciously fun third installment of Seven Brides for Seven Mothers!

Excerpt

There are so many ways to quit a job with flair. You can storm into your boss’s office and throw a hot cup of coffee on him (a potted plant would also work, but you might have a harder time claiming that was an accident); you could create a huge public scene so that onlookers would know what a reprehensible a-hole he is; or you could just stop working and wait and see how long it takes for him to notice you’re no longer doing your job.

I wish I’d channeled my mom’s feisty nature and taken one of those paths. Instead, I submitted my resignation through human resources along with the knowledge that I’d been offered a wonderful opportunity in the Pacific Northwest. I gave my two weeks’ notice at the same time I took my remaining two weeks of vacation time. 

People don’t generally quit a dream job like mine—throwing launch parties for the biggest movie studio in the history of movie studios—to work at a lodge in rural Oregon. But of course, most people aren’t dating their boss only to discover he’s been cheating on them with up-and-coming starlets. 

It’s not like I shouldn’t have seen it coming. Jack is the poster boy for Hollywood glamour. His socks are handwoven by Ecuadorian nuns, for heaven’s sake. His shoes are so bespoke, they’re practically sewn onto his feet. 

For some reason, I thought my own star shone brightly enough to make me an equal in his eyes. My aunt is Tooty Jackson, seven-time country music award-winning singer of such hits as “Tie Me Up and Call Me Betty” and “His Expiration Date is Here.” You might be thinking, “so what if she has a famous aunt?” But my peripheral glow is much bigger than just Tooty. My mom writes all of Tooty’s songs and, wait for it, my brother is Romaine Choate. Yes, the rock god and lead singer of Turnip Garden. 

I’m from music royalty and that counts in a place like Hollywood. At least it has up until now. I know how shallow that sounds, but in a town where everybody is somebody, it helps to use whatever clout you have to remain visible. 

Standing in the middle of my walk-in closet, I wonder if I should bother taking my cocktail dresses. For all I know, working at the Willamette Valley Lodge might require planning hoedowns and rodeos. I’m going to work with my brother’s ex-fiancée, Tara Heinz, who is the pastry chef at the lodge. She used to be a supermodel, but she got tired of starving. 

I was heartbroken when Tara and Romaine broke up. But Tara wanted a life out of the spotlight, which is not something she could have had being married to my brother. She’s currently dating the son of my new boss. 

My phone rings with my mom’s signature ringtone, Patsy Cline’s “Crazy.” I hurry into my bedroom to pick it up. “Hey,” I greet after putting her on speaker.

“Hey yourself. When does the moving truck come?” 

“Tomorrow morning. I’m not sure what all I should take.”

I hear fiddle strings being plucked in the background. She must be in her studio working on something for Tooty. “Why leave anything behind? Take it all!” she declares before breaking into a full riff like she’s battling the devil for territorial rights of Georgia. 

“What if I don’t like it there? Then I’d be stuck with all my stuff.”

“What if all of your stuff makes it feel more like home and you wind up settling in faster that way?”

She may have a point. 

“You sound happy that I’m leaving. Aren’t you going to miss me at all?” I ask desperately, feeling the need to know I matter. 

“Yes and no,” she answers plainly. “I’ll miss knowing you’re only twenty miles away, but I’m only forty hours away from getting my pilot’s license, so pretty soon I’ll be able to fly to you anytime I want. I’ve already looked into it and I can land at the airport in Albany.”

“I’d rather you fly commercially,” I tell her for the millionth time. My mom is an enormously driven woman and can do anything she sets her mind to, but her piloting a small jet is something that scares the bejesus out of me. The potential headlines are too scary. “Sister of Tooty Jackson/Mother of Romaine Choate Flies into a Mountain!” “Sharon Choate Dead After Forgetting to Fill Her Plane Up with Gas!” The possibilities are endless and terrifying.

“Honey, life is for the living,” my mom interrupts my morbid thoughts. “You have to grab the world by the balls and shake it up every now and again.” My mom grew up in Tennessee before going to college in New England, where she met my dad. Though her southern accent is barely discernible anymore, she’s held onto her colorful verbiage like she’s clinging to a bungee cord after flinging herself off the side of the Grand Canyon. Which she has done.

“I’d prefer you left the world’s junk alone and stayed safe,” I tell her. “I’d like you to live long enough to meet your grandchildren.” Why did I say that?

“Don’t you go blaming your lack of procreating on me. By the time I was your age, I had three babies, all potty trained. I don’t know what’s slowing you kids down these days.”

“Tell my older siblings, please. Once they’ve done their duty by you, you can complain to me, but not until then.”

“Lutèce told me she’s looking into a sperm donor. What do you think about that?” my mom asks. 

“I think it could be great or awful. I mean, if she uses a sperm bank, she has no idea what she’ll wind up with—’cause you know people lie like dogs. How many Harvard graduates are really out there selling their swimmers? “If she uses a friend,” I continue, “she could run into custody issues.” After her last boyfriend decided he wanted an open relationship—which included other men … for him—my sister declared the opposite sex more trouble than they’re worth. She’s currently taking a rather lengthy relationship sabbatical. 

“I think she should ask Travis or Vince,” my mom decides. “You know, keep the musical talent alive in the next generation.”

“I’m pretty sure neither Travis Tritt nor Vince Gill would be interested. They already have families. Why would they want a baby, and by a woman that grew up calling them ‘uncle,’ no less? Ewww.”

“They’re family friends and they’re too old to want to start over, so Lu wouldn’t have to worry about custody.”

“Their wives might have something to say about that,” I remind her.

“Quit pooping on my parade, Claire. I’m a problem solver and I’m just trying to solve a problem here. I’d also like to keep your sister from birthing a child of questionable lineage.”

While wrapping my shoes in pillowcases to keep them from getting scuffed, I reply, “You mean, having a child with no musical talent, like me.” I don’t know which line I was standing in when they handed out the music genes, but I didn’t get any. 

“You’re as capable as anyone,” my mom says. “You just never worked at it.”

I took as many piano lessons as my sister and while she came out of the experience something of a virtuoso, I can barely play “Chopsticks” without tying my fingers into knots. Then there’s Romaine, who has never picked up an instrument he couldn’t play. “Whatever,” I tell my mom. “I’m just saying that you should leave Lu’s future baby daddy up to her and not get involved.”

“Okay, then let’s talk about your future baby daddy.”

“Mom, Jack and I just broke up. Please let me mourn before asserting any motherly pressure.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. I’m sure there’s a lovely man waiting for you in Oregon.”

Throwing my last pair of Louboutins into a giant box with the rest of my footwear, I declare, “Just be here tomorrow at noon, if you’re still planning on driving up with me.”

“I’ll be there with bells on, hon! Dad says he’s sorry he can’t come too, but he has to fly to DC for a meeting this week, then he’s off to somewhere he can’t talk about for two more weeks.” My dad is a building contractor for the government. Since most of his jobs are top-secret, we have no idea what those buildings really are. But let’s face it, in this family, unless he was designing a concert hall, no one really cares. 

“Tell Dad I love him, and I totally understand. Maybe he can come up sometime in the spring.”

“I’ll fly him up myself!” my mom declares excitedly. Great, both of my parents dead in a plane crash.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. Goodwill is coming by in a couple of hours and I have to make sure I have everything that I’m not taking ready for them to pick up.” I’m totally lying. Goodwill comes the day after I leave and will take everything left in the driveway. I just really need some time with my thoughts right now. 

The most pressing thought being, what in the world am I doing moving to Oregon?

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About the Author

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:

https://whitneydineen.com/

https://twitter.com/whitneydineen

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

https://www.instagram.com/whitneydineenauthor/

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

Spotlight: Wilde Type by HK Jacobs

Genre: Contemporary Romance

He had awoken something in her the first night they met--a rebirth of hope for irrevocable love, a love so powerful that it canceled out the burden of her pain.

Dr. Alexandra Wilde is brilliant, driven, and wholly dedicated to her profession. Caring for critically ill children has taken her across the globe from Mongolia to Haiti to her current assignment in Gaborone, Botswana. Her life is full of excitement, tragedy, and personal sacrifice with little room for anything or anyone else. She has always welcomed any adventure…except for the one wearing the face of billionaire mining heir and international playboy, Ian Devall. He is arrogant, charming, and utterly disenchanted. However, when circumstances thrust him into her life, she is captivated by a glimpse of his deeper character and drawn into a blazing romance. An ensuing path of self-discovery leads her to reopen the wounds of her past, and she must choose between the life she always imagined…or one she never dreamed was possible.

Excerpt

“Well, you aren’t looking for sex,” he said with a raise of one eyebrow as he nearly emptied his bourbon glass.

     Alex sputtered into her drink, which thankfully broke the half-trance she had been entertaining, and she turned in her chair to face him.  Although her heart thundered and her insides felt like they had been scrambled, she donned her calmest, most in-control façade.           “How do you know I’m not?”

     “Because, Alexandra, a lot of women want me, and I can always tell when they do,” he answered matter-of-factly with a wry smirk briefly contrasting his beautiful face.

     She answered with a raise of her eyebrows and a mild glare that gave off her unspoken disdain. He wasn’t exactly wrong.  She was not here looking for Friday night post-debauchery sex.  However, despite her preference living within a formidable ice fortress, her body felt anxious to betray her.  Her mouth felt paper-dry, and a slight sheen of sweat was rapidly accumulating on her palms.  She wiped her hands over her jean-clad thighs, a movement that caught Ian’s eye.

     Looking up at him, she startled a bit at his expression which was curious and sincere with interest, quite different from a moment ago. 

     “You’re right,” started Alex. “I am definitely not looking for sex.” She flicked her eyes down to the bourbon for comfort rather than continuing to let herself be enraptured by his face.

      “Let me tell you what you are looking for,” he said in a husky, bourbon-soaked voice.  He leaned over now so close that Alex could feel his breath on her cheek.  She didn’t dare meet the eyes that looked down at her through half-closed lids.  Was he going to kiss her? She held her breath and felt everything stop for a moment, including her heart.  In fact, it seemed to take forever for it to squeeze another aliquot of blood into her arteries.

     “You want an epic love story…a love that is timeless…immortal.  You want a love that frightens you and inspires you,” he whispered into her ear.  His face retreated from hers then, and his nose barely skimmed her cheek as he did so.  “And I hope you find it,” he finished, genuinely smiling at her, without a trace of his previous bravado.

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About the Author

HK Jacobs graduated from Baylor College of Medicine and has spent her life as a physician traveling the globe caring for children.  She also has a Master of Public Health from the University of Texas with a concentration in global health and completed her thesis in Port au Prince, Haiti.  She currently resides in Texas, where she practices pediatric critical care medicine and strives to live the life she imagined.  Wilde Type is her debut novel. 

Connect:

Website: www.hkjacobs.com

Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/hkjacobsauthor/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/hk_jacobs

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/authorhkjacobs

Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/heatherchandlermd

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20880402.H_K_Jacobs