Spotlight: Sisters of the Great War by Suzanne Feldman

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Publication Date: October 26, 2021

Publisher: MIRA Books

Two sisters. The Great War looming. A chance to shape their future.

Sisters Ruth and Elise Duncan could never have anticipated volunteering for the war effort. But in 1914, the two women decide to make the harrowing journey from Baltimore to Ypres, Belgium in order to escape the suffocating restrictions placed on them by their father and carve a path for their own future.

Smart and practical Ruth is training as a nurse but dreams of becoming a doctor. In a time when women are restricted to assisting men in the field, she knows it will take great determination to prove herself, and sets out to find the one person who always believed in her: a handsome army doctor from England. For quiet Elise, joining the all female Ambulance Corps means a chance to explore her identity, and come to terms with the growing attraction she feels towards women. Especially the charming young ambulance driver who has captured her heart.

In the twilight of the Old World and the dawn of the new, both young women come of age in the face bombs, bullets and the deadly futility of trench warfare. Together they must challenge the rules society has placed on them in order to save lives: both the soldiers and the people they love.’

Excerpt

1

Baltimore, Maryland

August 1914

Ruth Duncan fanned herself with the newspaper in the summer heat as Grandpa Gerald put up a British flag outside the house. If he’d had a uniform—of any kind—he would have worn it. People on the sidewalk paused and pointed, but Grandpa, still a proper English gent even after almost twenty years in the U.S., smoothed his white beard and straightened his waistcoat, ignoring the onlookers.

“That’s done,” he said.

Ruth’s own interest in the war was limited to what she read in the paper from across the dining table. Grandpa would snap the paper open before he ate breakfast. She could see the headlines and the back side of the last page, but not much more. Grandpa would grunt his appreciation of whatever was in-side, snort at what displeased him, and sometimes laugh. On the 12th of August, the headline in the Baltimore Sun read; France And Great Britain Declare War On Austria-Hungary, and Grandpa wasn’t laughing.

Cook brought in the morning mail and put it on the table next to Grandpa. She was a round, grey-haired woman who left a puff of flour behind her wherever she went.

“Letter from England, sir,” Cook said, leaving the envelope and a dusting of flour on the dark mahogany. She smiled at Ruth and left for the kitchen.

Grandpa tore the letter open.

Ruth waited while he read. It was from Richard and Diane Doweling, his friends in London who still wrote to him after all these years. They’d sent their son, John, to Harvard in Massachusetts for his medical degree. Ruth had never met John Doweling, but she was jealous of him, his opportunities, his apparent successes. The Dowelings sent letters whenever John won some award or other. No doubt this was more of the same. Ruth drummed her fingers on the table and eyed the dining room clock. In ten minutes, she would need to catch the trolley that would take her up to the Loyola College of Nursing, where she would be taught more of the things she had already learned from her father. The nuns at Loyola were dedicated nurses, and they knew what they were doing. Some were out-standing teachers, but others were simply mired in the medicine of the last century. Ruth was frustrated and bored, but Father paid her tuition, and what Father wanted, Father got. 

Ruth tugged at her school uniform—a white apron over a long white dress, which would never see a spot of blood. “What do they say, Grandpa?”

He was frowning. “John is enlisting. They’ve rushed his graduation at Harvard so he can go home and join the Royal Army Medical Corps.”

“How can they rush graduation?” Ruth asked. “That seems silly. What if he misses a class in, say, diseases of the liver?”

Grandpa folded the letter and looked up. “I don’t think he’ll be treating diseases of the liver on the battlefield. Anyway, he’s coming to Baltimore before he ships out.”

“Here?” said Ruth in surprise. “But why?”

“For one thing,” said Grandpa, “I haven’t seen him since he was three years old. For another, you two have a common interest.”

“You mean medicine?” Ruth asked. “Oh, Grandpa. What could I possibly talk about with him? I’m not even a nurse yet, and he’s—he’s a doctor.” She spread her hands. “Should we discuss how to wrap a bandage?”

“As long as you discuss something.” He pushed the letter across the table to her and got up. “You’ll be showing him around town.”

“Me?” said Ruth. “Why me?”

“Because your sister—” Grandpa nodded at Elise, just clumping down the stairs in her nightgown and bathrobe “—has dirty fingernails.” He started up the stairs. “Good morning, my dear,” he said. “Do you know what time it is?” “Uh huh,” Elise mumbled as she slumped into her seat at the table.

As Grandpa continued up the stairs Ruth called after him. “But when is he coming?”

“His train arrives Saturday at noon,” Grandpa shouted back. “Find something nice to wear. You too, Elise.”

Elise rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

Ruth pushed the letter at her and got up to go. “Read it,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Ruth made her way down Thirty-Third Street with her heavy bookbag slung over one shoulder, heading for the trolley stop, four blocks away, on Charles. Summer classes were almost over, and as usual, the August air in Baltimore was impenetrably hot and almost unbreathable. It irritated Ruth to think that she would arrive at Loyola sweaty under her arms, her hair frizzed around her nurse’s cap from the humidity. The nuns liked neatness, modest decorum. Not perspiring young women who wished they were somewhere else.

Elise, Ruth thought, as she waited for a break in the noisy traffic on Charles Street, could’ve driven her in the motor-car, but no, she’d slept late. Her younger sister could do pretty much anything, it seemed, except behave like a girl. Elise, who had been able to take apart Grandpa’s pocket watch and put it back together when she was six years old, was a use-ful mystery to both Father and Grandpa. She could fix the car—cheaper than the expensive mechanics. , For some rea-son, Elise wasn’t obliged to submit to the same expectations as Ruth—she could keep her nails short and dirty. Ruth wondered, as she had since she was a girl, if it was her younger sister’s looks. She was a mirror image of their mother, who had died in childbirth with Elise. Did that make her special in Father’s eyes?

An iceman drove a sweating horse past her. The horse raised its tail, grunted, and dropped a pile of manure, rank in the heat, right in front of her, as though to auger the rest of her day. The iceman twisted in the cart to tip his hat. “Sorry Sister!”

Ruth let her breath out through her teeth. Maybe the truth of the matter was that she was the ‘sorry sister.’ It was at this exact corner that her dreams of becoming a doctor, to follow in her father’s footsteps, had been shot down. When she was ten, and the governess said she’d done well on her writing and math, she was allowed to start going along on Father’s house calls and help in his office downstairs. Father had let her do simple things at first; mix plaster while he positioned a broken ankle, give medicine to children with the grippe, but she watched everything he did and listened carefully. By the time she was twelve, she could give him a diagnosis, and she remembered her first one vividly, identifying a man’s abdominal pain as appendicitis.

“You did a good job,” Father had said to her, as he’d reined old Bess around this very corner. “You’ll make an excellent nurse one day.”

Ruth remembered laughing because she’d thought he was joking. Her father’s praise was like gold. “A nurse?” she’d said. “One day I’ll be a doctor, just like you!”

“Yes, a nurse,” he’d said firmly, without a hint of a smile. It was the tone he used for patients who wouldn’t take their medicine.

“But I want to be a doctor.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He hadn’t sounded sorry at all. “Girls don’t become doctors. They become nurses and wives. Tomorrow, if there’s time, we’ll visit a nursing college. When you’re eighteen, that’s where you’ll go.”

“But—”

He’d shaken his head sharply, cutting her off. “It isn’t done, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

A decade later, Ruth could still feel the shock in her heart. It had never occurred to her that she couldn’t be a doctor because she was a girl. And now, John Doweling was coming to town to cement her future as a doctor’s wife. That was what everyone had in mind. She knew it. Maybe John didn’t know yet, but he was the only one.

Ruth frowned and lifted her skirts with one hand, balancing the bookbag with the other, and stepped around the manure as the trolley came clanging up Charles.

Excerpted from Sisters of the Great War by Suzanne Feldman, Copyright © 2021 by Suzanne Feldman. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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About the Author

Suzanne Feldman cred. Tim Stephens.jpg

Suzanne Feldman, a recipient of the Missouri Review Editors' Prize and a finalist for the Bakeless Prize in fiction, holds an MA in fiction from Johns Hopkins University and a BFA in art from the Maryland Institute College of Art. Her short fiction has appeared in Narrative, The Missouri Review, Gargoyle, and other literary journals. She lives in Frederick, Maryland.

Connect:

Author Website

Twitter: @suzanne21702

Facebook: @SuzanneFeldman

Instagram: @suzannefeldmanauthor

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Spotlight: Gingerbread & Jingle Bells by Caro Carson

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Publication date: October 12th 2021

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

Synopsis:

You never get a second chance at a first kiss…

Eve Richards has made every sacrifice to become a rising corporate executive in the big city–until this December. Her grandmother needs help running the family bakery, so Eve is finally taking her unused vacation to return to her small hometown to count cookies instead of corporate cash.

Eve isn’t the only person returning to town. Her childhood sidekick, the recipient of her very determined (but fairly disastrous) first-ever attempt at a kiss, has returned as well. Daniel Shepherd, the once-shy boy from England, is now the town’s swoon-worthy new veterinarian. Grandma’s obvious matchmaking attempts are as mortifying as the memory of the awkward kiss that ended their friendship so many years ago, but the more time Eve spends with Daniel, the harder it is to resist the temptation to take a second chance at that first kiss.

But Daniel has come back to Masterson to put down roots; Eve will be gone after the holiday rush at the bakery. Nothing good could possibly come from letting herself fall for the man who was once her best friend.

A kiss before Christmas could be the key. Will it be the sweet ending to their childhood story…or will Eve risk everything for the chance to turn her first love into a forever love?

A heartwarming wintery romance from a USA Today Bestselling Author and RITA Award winner, set in a wonderfully unique 1980s setting. Perfect for fans of sweet and sincere happily-ever-afters.

Excerpt

Eve clutched the apron to her chest, wishing she could rewind the conversation—and this time, keep her mouth shut. “Listen, the gingerbread giant is on the house. One-hundred percent discount. I don’t even work here. It was my goof. Please, don’t tell anybody about this. My grandmother always does everything right when it comes to the bakery.”

“I insist on paying for it. It’s even more festive now that you’ve fixed the damage.” He reached out to take the apron from her, admonishing her lightly in that posh British accent. “Besides, you cannot seriously think I would ever harm your grandmother’s reputation. She is kindness itself. She never charged me for a single cookie she gave me as a child.”

As a child? Eve searched his handsome face, its masculine angles appealing but unfamiliar. His smile lit his eyes, which were as warm and brown as rich gingerbread. Posh, British gingerbread...

“Oh, my goodness. I know you. You’re—”

“Jingle Bell!” the man shouted, as the brown dog came sprinting back into the kitchen.

Eve squealed in terror as she dove to save the freshly frosted giant, but with a stern sit and stay, the man stopped the dog in its tracks as if he were some kind of magician.

“My apologies,” he said. “She was a stray until quite recently. I’ve been working with her, but her instinct to steal food still overcomes her at times.”

“Daniel Shephard.” She pressed her hand over her hard-beating heart. “It’s me, Evie Richards. From fifth grade. I didn’t recognize you, now that you’re all...” She nodded toward his sharp black slacks, his narrow tie. Toward the broad chest that filled out a burgundy dress shirt. Up, way up, to those eyes. Hadn’t she been the taller one? “...all grown up, and—and tall. Do you recognize me?”

“Yes, of course.”

She dropped her hand. She liked to think she was a polished, worldly woman of business, but apparently, she didn’t look much different from a girl in cable-knit tights. She forced a chuckle. “I haven’t changed, huh?”

“We are standing in your family’s bakery. That’s quite the clue.”

“Right.” Her cheeks were warm. “This is such a coincidence, because I was thinking about you today with the snow flurries, and now here you are.”

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and returned her gaze with an indulgent sort of smile, like he knew she was a little flustered as she tried to reconcile the boy she’d known with the man in her bakery.

He apparently was having no trouble seeing little Evie Richards in her. He didn’t look flustered in the least. Then again, he hadn’t been putting his foot in his mouth about discounts and patch jobs or yelping in terror at a dog.

She turned her back to him and picked up a wide box of cellophane wrap, taking two seconds to compose herself. Then she turned around like the brisk, efficient woman she was, ready to secure the giant cookie to its support board for the short trip to the veterinary clinic. “So, you’re back in town and going to the party. Who do you know at the vet’s office?”

Are you somebody’s date? Maybe he had a wife. She dropped her gaze to his hand.

He ruffled his dog’s ears affectionately.

Stop petting your dog. I want to see your ring finger.

“I am the vet, actually. Dr. Shephard, at your service.”

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About the Author

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Despite a no-nonsense background as a West Point graduate and U.S. Army officer, Caro Carson has always treasured the happily-ever-after of a good romance novel. After her military service, she worked in the healthcare industry with a Fortune 100 company, talking science with doctors who were rarely handsome bachelor Texans like the doctors in her books. Now a USA Today bestselling author and RITA™award winner, Caro is delighted to be living her own happily-ever-after with her husband (who actually is a handsome Texan) and their two children. They live in the great state of Florida, a location which has saved the coaster-loving theme park fanatics a fortune on plane tickets.

Connect:

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https://www.carocarson.com/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCr7sDPZxTfUegBVJPia0s5A

https://www.bookbub.com/authors/caro-carson

https://www.amazon.com/Caro-Carson/e/B00GSGRZ62

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6984425.Caro_Carson

Spotlight: Cry Wolf by Hans Rosenfeldt

Publication Date: December 28, 2021

Publisher: Hanover Square Press

The first standalone Swedish crime novel by Hans Rosenfeldt, creator of the TV series The Bridge as well as Netflix’s Emmy-winning Marcella.

A dead wolf. A drug deal gone wrong. A female assassin of rarely seen skill. Hannah Wester, a policewoman in the remote northern town of Haparanda, finds herself on the precipice of chaos.

When human remains are found in the stomach of a dead wolf, Hannah knows that this summer won’t be like any other. The remains are linked to a bloody drug deal across the border in Finland. But how did the victim end up in the woods outside of Haparanda? And where have the drugs and money gone?

Hannah and her colleagues leave no stone unturned. But time is scarce and they aren’t the only ones looking. When the secretive and deadly Katja shows up, unexpected and brutal events start to pile up. In just a few days, life in Haparanda is turned upside down. Not least for Hannah, who is finally forced to confront her own past.

Excerpt

Everything had gone according to plan.

First their arrival.

Be the first in place, park the jeep and black Mercedes be-side each other on a rutted clearing in the middle of the forest, used by lumber trucks and harvesters for loading and U-turns, then position the coolers to face the narrow forest road they’d just come down. The ruts beneath them, the nocturnal birdsong around them, the only thing besides absolute silence until the sound of engines announced the arrival of the Finns.

A Volvo XC90, also black, drove up. Vadim watched as Artjom and Michail took their weapons and left the Mercedes, while he and Ljuba climbed out of their jeep. He liked Ljuba, thought she liked him, too. They’d gone out for a beer together a few times, and when they asked her who she wanted to drive with, she’d chosen him. For a moment he considered telling her to wait in the car, take cover, say he had a premonition this might go wrong. But if he did that, what would they do afterwards?

Run away together? Live happily ever after?

That would be impossible once she knew what had happened. She’d never betray Valerij; she didn’t like him that much, he was sure of it. So he said nothing.

The Volvo stopped a few meters in front of them, the engine switched off, the doors opened and four men stepped out. All of them armed. Looked around suspiciously as they fanned out.

Everything was still.

The calm before the storm.

The Finnish leader, a large man with a buzz cut and a tribal tattoo wrapped around one eye, nodded to the smallest of the four Finns, who holstered his gun, walked behind the Volvo and opened the trunk. Vadim also backed up a few steps to un-lock his jeep’s trunk.

So far everything was going according to their plan.

Time for his plan.

A bullet from a rifle with a silencer on it entered just beneath the eye of the large Finn closest to the car. The sudden explosion of bone, blood, and brain matter as the projectile made its way through the back of his head made the others react instinctively.

Everyone started shooting at the same time.

Everyone except Vadim, who threw himself behind the shelter of the jeep.

The man with the tattoo on his face roared loudly, hugged his trigger, and immediately took down Michail with four or five shots to the chest. Artyom answered with gunfire. The tattooed man was hit by two bullets, staggered back, but re-gained his balance and turned his weapon on Artyom, who threw himself behind the cover of the Mercedes, but it was too late. Several bullets hit his legs from the hip down. Shrieking in pain, he landed on dry gravel. The tattooed man continued bleeding, roaring, and shooting as he moved toward the Volvo, determined to make it out of here alive. But a second later he fell to his knees gurgling, let go of his weapon and pressed his hands to what was left of his neck.

Somewhere more shots were fired, more screams could be heard.

Artjom slid up into a sitting position, while trying to stop the blood that gushed from his thigh in the same rhythm as his racing heartbeat. Then another series of shots, and he went still, his gaze turning from desperation to emptiness, his lips forming some soundless word before his head slumped onto his chest.

The third Finn had thrown himself into the cover of a shallow ditch with a good view beneath the parked cars. A round of concentrated fire from his semi-automatic had hit Artjom in the back. Vadim realized that he, too, must be visible and flung himself around the jeep to hide behind one of its large wheels. When he got to the side of the car, he saw the smallest of the four Finns lying dead on the ground.

Ljuba wasn’t visible.

Another round of shots sounded from the ditch at the forest edge and bullets hit the metal on the back of the wheel, puncturing the tire. One went through the rubber and hit him in the side, just above his butt. The pain was a white-hot flash through his body. He closed his eyes, swallowed a scream, leaned his forehead against his knees and made himself as small as he could. As he slowly let the air in his lungs out again, he realized the gunfire had ceased.

It was silent. Completely silent.

No movement, no voices, no roar of pain or betrayal, no bird-song, nothing. As if the very place itself were holding its breath.

He peeked out carefully from behind the jeep.

Still silent. And still.

Slowly, slowly he raised his head for a better view. The sun hung below the trees, but still above the horizon; the scene in front of him was bathed in that particular soft, warm light of the midnight sun.

He rose cautiously to his feet. A bullet was still lodged in his muscle and tissue, but it didn’t seem to have damaged any vital organs. He pressed his hand to the wound. Blood, but no more than he could stop with a compress.

“Ljuba?”

Ljuba was leaning against the rear bumper of the Finn’s car, breathing shallowly, the front of her gray T-shirt beneath her jacket soaked in blood, the gun still in her right hand. Vadim assessed the damage. The blood was running out at a steady rate, so it hadn’t nicked an artery. No air bubbles, so her lungs were probably intact. She might very well survive.

“Who shot us?” she asked, out of breath, grabbing Vadim’s jacket with a bloody hand. “Who the fuck started shooting?”

“He’s with us.”

“What? What do you mean with us? Who is he?”

“Come on.”

He gently took the gun away from her, pushed it into his pocket before standing up, leaned forward and helped her to her feet. She grimaced from the pain of exertion but managed to stand. With his arm around her waist and her arm around his shoulders, they walked out into the open area between the cars. When they reached the rise where the tattooed Finn had fallen, Vadim stopped, gently removed Ljuba’s arm, released his supportive grip from around her waist, and backed away with two large steps.

“I’m sorry…”

Ljuba’s gaze was uncomprehending at first, but she soon realized what was happening, why he’d brought her here. Seconds later a bullet pierced her temple and she was thrown to the ground.

Vadim pressed his hand to the wound on his lower back and stretched, let out a deep sigh.

In the end, everything had gone according to plan.

Excerpted from Cry Wolf by Hans Rosenfeldt, Copyright © 2022 by Hans Rosenfeldt. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

Buy on Amazon Kindle | Audible | Paperback | Bookshop.org

About the Author

Hans Rosenfeldt is a Swedish screenwriter, radio presenter, novelist and actor. He created the Scandinavian series The Bridge, which is broadcast in more than 170 countries, as well as the ITV/Netflix series Marcella

Connect:

Instagram: @hansrosenfeldtofficial

Facebook: @hjorthrosenfeldt

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Spotlight: Toasted by Tracy Broemmer

Instead of getting married, Grant Gerritsen nurses his broken heart by sharing one night of flirty, fun adventure with supposed-to-be bridesmaid Zoey Voss. Will romance spark between the two, or are their escapades just a New Year’s Eve fling? Readers who love Emily Griffin and Lexi Ryan, will enjoy Toasted by Tracy Broemmer, a one night fling, runaway groom, contemporary romance.

Instead of getting married at St. Andrew’s Church, runaway groom Grant Gerritsen is throwing back shots at the Whistling Dragon to forget his bride-to-be. He’s nursing his angry, broken heart alone in the New Year’s Eve crowd…

Until supposed-to-be bridesmaid Zoey Voss shows up at the Whistling Dragon desperate for a phone to call a cab to get back to her hotel.

When Grant saves his ex-fianceé’s childhood friend from an unkempt stranger at the bar, a night of flirty, fun adventure begins. Will Grant and Zoey kindle a friendship of their own or are their escapades just a New Year’s Eve fling?

Excerpt

Copyright 2021 Tracy Broemmer

“You sure you wanna do this?” He bumped her arm with his. She had slipped his coat back over her shoulders, and now she held the coat tightly around her middle.
“I want to do this.”
“Do we have a story?” he asked as they hurried up the two steps and the sidewalk to the front door. Through the windows, Grant saw rooms crowded with people of all ages and sizes. The current song was something by Elvis. A Christmas tree lit up the corner of the front room. Several people held Solo cups.
“Think there’s a keg?” she asked quietly.
“Maybe.” He leaned close to the window to see better. “Doesn’t look like an all-college crowd, though.”
“College kids don’t have the corner on kegs.” She shrugged.
“Do we have a story?” he asked again.
“Let’s wing it.” She tugged at his arm and pulled him to the door. Seconds after Grant rang the bell, the door swung open. Zoey peeked up at him as a young kid leaned around the door with a sloppy grin. He didn’t particularly look of age, but he did look smashed.
“Hey! C’min.” The kid backed up and threw a hand out in welcome. “Zip’s in the kitchen, man. Grab a drink.”
“Great.” Grant ushered Zoey inside and then closed the door. Small groups of people everywhere yelled to be heard over the deafening music. Grant reached for Zoey’s hand, pleased when she linked her fingers in his and followed him. The kitchen was obviously in the back of the house, so Grant led her that way. The wooden door swung closed behind them. More people gathered around the island counter, but the music was a bit quieter in here.
“Hey.” A tall bald guy nodded at them. Since he was surrounded by people—four girls and two guys—Grant decided he might be Zip.
“How ya doin’, Zip?” he asked with a knowing smile.
“Where’ve you been, man? Haven’t seen you in ages.” Zip stepped forward and offered Grant his hand.
“No kidding.” Grant shook his hand. “Been around. Same old same old.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Zip nodded enthusiastically. “Grab a drink. Catch up. I think Doug’s out back. Bet you haven’t seen him in years.”
“I haven’t!” Grant suppressed a laugh when Zoey squeezed his hand. “Remember Zoey?” He pulled her in close to him.
“Hey, yes!” Zip left the group he had been talking to and approached them with open arms. He swallowed Zoey up in a big hug and then gave Grant a bro hug, complete with a slap on the back. “Fancy digs, guys.”
He stepped back to eye Grant’s vest and Zoey’s dress.
“Well.” Grant aimed a sheepish grin at Zoey. “We eloped tonight.”
“Say what?”
Zoey looked at him with wild eyes, as if she seconded what Zip had said.

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About Tracy Broemmer 

An only child, Tracy Broemmer grew up with a wild imagination. An avid reader from a young age, she spent a lot of time with her nose buried in books and a lot of time making up her own stories. She penned her first book in grade school and hasn’t stopped writing since then. When she’s not writing, you might find her with a book in hand, or maybe a glass of wine, or maybe a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Tracy enjoys spending time with her family, traveling with her husband of twenty-eight years, music, NFL, and MLB. Tracy is the author of the Lorelei Bluffs women’s fiction series, the Williams Legacy, and several stand-alone women’s fiction novels. She has recently dabbled in contemporary romance, as well. Tracy’s books have been called gripping, emotional, and timely, and readers describe her characters as real and relatable.

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Spotlight: A Christmas Love Song by Andee Reilly

Publication date: November 8th 2021

Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Synopsis:

He gave her a song. She gave him Christmas.

Once a huge pop star, Jake Wilder hasn’t written a hit song in over ten years. Stuck playing small-time venues where only his most dedicated fans remember him, a comeback seems improbable. But even those gigs are quickly drying up, and if Jake doesn’t do something soon, he’ll slide into permanent has-been oblivion. In a twist of fate, a record executive with a soft spot for retro artists, holds a competition in search of pop musicians to write a new Christmas classic.

Longing to become a serious and respected journalist, Mackenzie Stone scoffs at her latest assignment to write a profile about a washed-up pop singer. She would prefer to cover hard news rather than light stories assigned by her editor who seems unwilling to give her a chance. Determined to write a noteworthy story and at the same time prove herself, it’s up to Mackenzie to help inspire Jake to compose a Christmas classic.

As Jake struggles to overcome his anxieties and write a great song, Mackenzie digs for a story of substance. Together they find love while also discovering the true meaning of Christmas.

Excerpt

Mackenzie Stone stormed into her editor’s office at The Sunrise Press. “Mr. Hughes, you do realize I have a degree in journalism and political science.” 

He let out a harsh breath. On several occasions, he’d asked her not to raise her voice, especially in front of the rest of the staff. Not that he’d ever fire her. She was hands down his best reporter. 

There were exactly two things she hated: being told what to do and getting assigned fluff pieces. 

“I’ve said it a million times.” He looked up from the plant he was watering. She admired his green thumb since she could barely keep her Chia pet alive. 

“The political news comes straight from The Associated Press. Our focus is on community events and human-interest stories,” he said. 

“And you think what’s going on in the rest of the world isn’t of human interest?” She slapped her hand on the desk for effect. He jumped. Too gentle to be in the cutthroat business of big league journalism in her opinion. Though The Sunrise Press was hardly big league. How he lasted over forty years at the paper was a miracle. 

She took in a deep breath. Her father always said her temper would lead to trouble. There was also the whole red-headed stereotype. More than once she’d been called hot-headed and told it had something to do with her flaming red hair. This narrow-minded assumption usually irritated her even more. 

“All I’m asking for is a serious story. I need something with grit.”
Mr. Hughes set down the watering can and scratched his head, pushing his gray hair so it stood up in all directions. She stopped herself from smoothing the wayward strands and, while she was at it, straightening the sagging shoulders of his cardigan sweater. He was like the unkempt, sweet old grandfather she wished for as a kid. 

He finally said, “Take it easy, Lois Lane. You’ll get your chance at the Pulitzer someday.” 

She brushed off the Lois Lane comment. Profiling Superman would be a lot more interesting than the story he had assigned her. “The whole world’s going to pot, and you want me to profile some washed-up pop star named Jake Wilder?” 

“Everybody loved him. You know that song,” he said. “‘We looked out at the city lights that night’,” he sang. “‘The connection we both felt, it seemed so right’.” 

Not bad. She was getting too distracted and needed to drive the point home that nobody would care about this story. “Yeah, well I had to Google him, and so will the mere handful of people who may want to read about him.” 

“Believe it or not, young lady, pop music didn’t begin with Lady Gaga, or whoever it is you’re listening to these days.” 

“But there are plenty of washed-up stars to profile. Why him?” “I think the term you’re looking for is retro.”
She imagined that’s how Mr. Hughes referred to himself as well. “If you Googled him, then you should know the answer,” he said. “He’s a local boy. Born and raised in Pasadena. Probably grew up right down the street from you.” 

Her family knew everybody in their private, very exclusive neighborhood. She would’ve heard if they had a celebrity, even a former one, in their midst. 

“He hasn’t even cinched the deal.” She’d been informed earlier about the details of the contest. Jake Wilder was only one of several artists competing for the shot. “His Christmas song could be a disaster and the story a huge waste of our time.” 

“Let me worry about that,” Mr. Hughes said. 

“This is so lame.” She slumped into the chair across from him. For five years she’d been compiling a portfolio of important stories that might land her a job at one of the major newspapers. This Jake Wilder nonsense wouldn’t make the cut. 

“I got a call from Jake’s manager today. He said we’d have exclusive access to the whole process—from Jake accepting the challenge, to writing the song, to waiting for the call,” he said, punctuating every stage with an animated hand gesture. He was excited about the story, and she knew she’d lost the battle. 

“I don’t even like Christmas.” She hoped he wouldn’t remember her desk was covered in Christmas decorations. 

He leaned his head back and laughed. “Everybody around here knows the truth. You’re crazy about Christmas.”

Mackenzie had to admit. There was a story. She only had to dig it up. 

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About the Author

Andee Reilly was born and raised in Los Angeles. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of California, Riverside, Palm Desert. After many years of teaching writing and literature at California State University, Channel Islands, Andee moved to Maui to pursue her dream of teaching at the University of Hawaii, writing full-time, and surfing the beautiful waves of Hawaii. To learn more, visit www.andeereilly.com

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Spotlight: East of Everywhere by Susan Pogorzelski

Publication date: November 11th 2021
Genres: Coming of Age, Young Adult

Synopsis:

It’s been almost a decade since the end of the war, when the telegram first arrived at their house on Lennox Lane.

Four years since the apartment on Harker Street, where food was scarce and nights were long and their mother slept away her grief.

Three months since Janie was forced to leave her little brother, Brayden, and best friend, Leo, behind at Anthers Hall.

Two weeks since she stole a bicycle and ran away from the new children’s home on the other side of the state.

One day since she arrived in Montours City.

No one knows her secrets in this small town. If Janie is going to make it back to her brother and the only place she’s ever called home, she needs to keep it that way. But when a hard-hearted widow, a boy in a boxcar, and a dog named Panda weave their way into her life, Janie begins to wonder if what she’s searching for isn’t better off laid to rest.

Excerpt

“Are you Alex?” 

“That’s me.” He nodded towards the boxcar. “And that’s me home you’re in.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Sabina told me to find you and—” Janie stepped onto the concrete blocks, her foot catching the edge. The odd angle and her weight made them shift and begin to wobble. Her pulse quickened as she fought to keep her balance, her hands grasping at the air. She tumbled to the ground, sprawled across the weeds and dirt.  

“Well,” Alex said above her. “Now you broke me stairs.”

Unwilling tears pooled in her eyes and her cheeks grew hot as a sharp, burning pain pierced her palms. She winced and stood slowly, trying to brush away the stray gravel that clung to the bits of blood streaking her hands and knees. She took a step back, stumbling over the railroad ties. Alex reached out to steady her, then took her hand and turned it over. His touch was surprisingly hesitant and gentle.

“Cut yourself on the landing there.” He dropped her hand and began walking towards the platform. “Come on, then.”

Janie brushed at her eyes with the back of her hands and followed after him. Step one, she reminded herself. Focus.

“I can do it myself—the window, I mean,” she called after him. “She wanted you to fix it, but I can do it myself…” Her voice trailed off as she watched him lean his hands on the platform and hoist himself up. She raised her eyebrows at him, annoyed. A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head towards his left. 

 “Stairs are over there.” 

Janie glared at him and stalked towards the other end of the platform.

“It’s just that Sabina said she has a list for you—a list of things she needs fixed.”

“Seems those hands need fixing first.” 

She followed him inside, past the remnants of the motorbike and broken benches and the ticket counter where flyers still advertised roundtrips to the city. They walked down a short corridor until they reached a bathroom that had lost its door. Faded writing was scrawled across broken green and white tile, and the mirror above the sink was spotted with dark water stains. Alex pulled his striped shirt over his head and pushed up the sleeves, then ran the tap and stuck his hand beneath the steady stream to check the temperature. Wordlessly, he reached for her—more gently than she was expecting—and before she could protest, he was guiding her hands beneath the lukewarm water. She jumped back and hissed at the sting, but he held on.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he said quietly. 

A blush crept into her cheeks as he ran his thumbs along the scratches, easing the dirt free from the cuts. She glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, studying the way his hair hung across his forehead, the way the dimple just beneath his cheek deepened when he clenched his jaw, the way he tilted his head, his deep brown eyes roaming across her hands as he tended to her. He was so different from Leo…

She drew in a short intake of breath and jerked her hands away. Alex glanced at her, eyes narrowed in brief confusion, then pulled back and tossed the towel that was draped across his shoulder onto the sink next to her. He leaned against the doorway, folding his arms across his chest as he watched her run a small section of the towel beneath the water and dab at her hands.

“Is that your motorbike out there?” she asked. She leaned down to brush stray bits of pebble from her pants where dirt stains had already set in.

“Yep.”

“What are you doing to it?”

“Fixing it up. So I can be on me way.”

“So, you’re not from here?”

“What gave it away, the boxcar or me accent?” Janie felt herself relax and returned his smile. “I’m just traveling,” he said. “Same as you.”

She looked up sharply but didn’t say anything. She turned off the faucet and set the stained towel down on the edge of the sink. 

“Guess we better go and see about that window.” He reached over and grabbed the towel. “What’s your name then?”

“It’s Janie,” she said, following him out of the bathroom and into the main room. 

“Janie.” He said the word like he was testing it. He tossed the towel onto a broken bench and crouched down near his motorbike to gather his tools. “You sure that’s your name?”

She regretted coming here instantly—here to this derelict train station, to the boarding house with her very own room, to this town with its sense of safety and relief and friendship. She’d overstayed her welcome; she should have moved on days ago. She’d have to leave eventually, anyway—she knew that. She was only there until she could make enough money to get herself home to Anthers Hall. She didn’t belong to this town, not really. This wasn’t forever. 

But the thought ripped through her, clutched at her heart until it took her breath away. She didn’t want to leave—not this town, not these people, not when she finally found a place she could actually belong, at least, for a little while. Not because of him and how from the moment they’d met just a few moments ago he seemed to see right through her.

She grit her teeth. “I know my own name.”

“And I know when something’s not the whole truth.” 

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About the Author

Susan Pogorzelski is the award-winning author of Gold in the Days of Summer and The Last Letter. When she's not writing novels of nostalgia and the magic of everyday life, she works as a consultant and editor at Brown Beagle Books, is an intuitive energy practitioner at Susan Dawn Spiritual Connections, and is the founder of LymeBrave Foundation. She lives in South-Central Pennsylvania with her beloved family and pets.

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6899856.Susan_Pogorzelski