Spotlight: Hero Unexpected by Kait Nolan

Release Date: November 14

I rebuilt my grandmother’s bakery from the ground up. Poured everything I had into making it thrive again—flour, sweat, and a whole lot of tears.

Then she died. And her will blindsided me.

If I’m not married by the time probate closes, I lose the bakery to my mother—the last person who should ever be trusted with it.

Enter Bodie Gibson.
Childhood friend turned enemy. The boy who used to bring me tea and peanut butter sandwiches…
The cop who put my little brother behind bars.

He offers me a way out: a fake marriage that keeps the bakery in my hands and our past buried where it belongs.

It’s just paperwork. A few public appearances. Nothing real.
Except he still looks at me like he sees the girl I used to be.
And when he kisses me it doesn’t feel fake at all.

In a town built on second chances, sometimes the only way forward is to rewrite the ending.

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Meet Kait Nolan

Kait Nolan is a USA Today best selling, RITA® Award-winning Mississippi author who calls everyone sugar, honey, or darlin', and can wield a 'Bless your heart' like a Snuggie or a saber, depending on requirements. She believes in love, laughter, and that tacos are the world's most perfect food. When she's not writing, reading, or wrangling family (both the two-legged and the four-), you can find her obsessively watching The Great British Bake Off. 

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Spotlight: Morally Black Betrothal by Nicole French

Release Date: November 14

AVAILABLE IN KINDLE UNLIMITED

HE DOESN'T NEED A WIFE. HE NEEDS A WEAPON.
UNFORTUNATELY, HIS SWEET FAKE FIANCEE IS ABOUT TO BECOME HIS WEAKNESS.

Brendan
They call me the Black Prince.
Heir to Blackguard Equity. First in line for the CEO crown. Ruthless, precise, untouchable—until my father decides to move the goalpost.
No wife, no CEO seat.

So I find the one woman who can play the part.
Simone Bishop. The sweet, small-town candy striper I met years ago, who sat by my father’s bedside when no one else could stand him. She’s sunshine wrapped in an apron, with flour on her hands and eyes too innocent to belong anywhere near me.
But she needs my money. I need her hand.
Four months. One shared address. Zero feelings.

Simple. Until I start wanting to mess up that perfect hair in my bed every night. Until I start wanting to keep her.

Simone
I should’ve said no.
Brendan Black is everything I’ve been taught to avoid—grumpy, bossy, and so intense it feels like my heart’s on a leash when he looks at me. But the family farm is days from foreclosure, and his offer is too good to be real: pretend to be his fiancée, live in his penthouse for four months, and walk away with enough money to save the farm twice over.

I can handle this. I can survive the way his eyes linger. The way he says my name like it’s a command. The way my pulse stutters every time we’re in the same room.

It’s all fake… until it isn’t.

Because somewhere between the first kiss in public and the first kiss in private, I stopped pretending.

And if I’m not careful, the Black Prince is going to ruin me—in the best and worst ways.

MORALLY BLACK BETROTHAL is the first standalone novel in the Morally Black Billionaires series.

Warning: May cause uncontrollable sighing, blushing, and an inability to think about anyone but Brendan Black for days. Proceed with swoon-caution.

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About Nicole French

Nicole French is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. She's also a hopeless romantic, Springsteen fanatic, and total bookworm. When not writing, she is hanging out with her family, playing soccer with the rest of the thirty-plus crowd in Seattle, or going on dates with her husband. In her spare time, she likes to go running or practice the piano, but never seems to do either one of these things as much as she should.

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For more information on Nicole and her books visit here

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Spotlight: Beneath The Rings by Joe Battaglia

The Doha 2040 Summer Olympics are supposed to be about gold medals and global unity. Instead, they kick off a descent into terror when 12 Israeli and Lebanese athletes vanish, leaving behind only the chilling threat of The Obsidian Hand and an impossible $500 billion ransom. Veteran journalist Nova Mendelsohn finds herself entangled with a cryptic Ancient Arabic note and a mysterious local merchant, forced to race the clock. Her pursuit of the truth will take her from the glittering Olympic Village into the city’s darkest corners and onto the blood-soaked sands of the desert, where a centuries-old vengeance threatens to ignite a catastrophic final act. What secrets lie beneath the surface of the Games, and what will it cost Nova to uncover them?

Excerpt

Nova’s pen hovered above her notepad as the stadium shimmered into life. The world held its breath as the countdown echoed through the vast expanse of Lusail Iconic Stadium. A sea of lights pulsed in perfect harmony, reflecting the shimmering brilliance of the Persian Gulf beyond the skyline. It was July 20, 2040, and Doha, Qatar, was making history as the first Middle Eastern city to host the Summer Olympics.

The stadium, a fusion of modern architecture and traditional Islamic motifs, was at full capacity, an electrified crowd of 100,000 spectators draped in the colors of their nations.

This historic event was also the first Olympic Games under the leadership of International Olympic Committee President Sheikh Tariq bin Fahd Al-Mazrouei of Kuwait. His appointment marked a new era for the Games, emphasizing inclusivity and regional representation. Now, standing beneath the Olympic cauldron, his legacy was on the line.

The significance of hosting the Olympics in the Middle East was palpable—this was a moment of pride, a testament to the region’s growth, and a celebration of its rich heritage.

Inside the tunnel, athletes from every corner of the world lined up in preparation for the grand parade of nations. Dressed in sleek uniforms designed to combat Doha’s notorious summer temperatures, the Olympians awaited their moment to step onto the track. Among them, the Israeli and Lebanese contingents found themselves standing side by side, their nations' flags adorning their uniforms.

Maya Ben-Ari, a sprinter from Israel, adjusted the sleeve of her white-and-blue tracksuit and exchanged a glance with her teammate, Lior Abramson, a swimmer set to compete in the 400m freestyle.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Maya murmured, shifting from foot to foot. “First Middle Eastern Olympics, and we’re part of it.”

Lior smirked. “Let’s just hope the politics stay outside the stadium.”

A few feet away, Yasmine Haddad, a Lebanese taekwondo champion, overheard the comment. She turned to her fellow countrywoman, Nadine Al-Rassi, a long-distance runner, and nudged her slightly. “You hear that?” she whispered.

Nadine sighed. “Of course. But tonight isn’t about that.”

Yasmine hesitated, then took a breath and stepped closer to Maya. “It’s a first for all of us,” she said cautiously. “Maybe we should just appreciate that we’re here.”

Maya blinked, surprised. In past Olympics, tension had always shadowed their nations’ delegations. But this time felt different—perhaps because of the location, or maybe because the world itself was tired of division.

“Agreed,” Maya finally said, offering a tentative smile. “No politics. Just competition.”

Yasmine nodded, and the two exchanged a brief handshake—small, but monumental in its own way.

Suddenly, a deep voice boomed through the stadium’s speakers. “And now, the Parade of Nations!”

One by one, countries were introduced alphabetically, their athletes marching into the stadium beneath a dazzling array of lights.

When Israel was announced, its athletes stepped in sync. Their flag bearer, Ronit Weissman, a decorated judoka and the first Israeli woman to win back-to-back world championships, led the team with a confident stride. She held the Star of David aloft, her expression one of sheer determination and pride.

A murmur rippled through the stadium, quickly growing into audible boos from pockets of the crowd. Some spectators remained silent, while others clapped politely, but the wave of jeers was undeniable. Maya felt her stomach tighten as she walked alongside her teammates.

Lior clenched his jaw. “Well, so much for fucking keeping politics out of the stadium,” he muttered under his breath.

Maya exhaled slowly. “Just keep walking,” she said. “We knew this bullshit might happen.”

From a few feet away, Yasmine watched the Israeli team endure the reaction. She glanced at Nadine, who remained impassive. “Sucks to be them,” Yasmine admitted.

Nadine nodded. “You don’t have to like someone to respect that they trained just as hard to be here.”

Moments later, the Lebanese team stepped forward, their red, white, and green uniforms gleaming under the stadium lights. At the front of the delegation, holding the Lebanese flag high, was Omar Haddad, a decorated Greco-Roman wrestler and two-time Olympic medalist. His grip on the cedar-emblazoned banner was firm, his posture dignified, embodying the pride of a nation that had endured challenges yet continued to shine on the world stage.

As they entered, a wave of cheers erupted from the stands. Lebanese expatriates, many draped in their homeland’s flag, stood proudly, chanting and waving in unison. The sound of traditional Lebanese derbakke drums echoed through the stadium, adding a rhythmic pulse to the moment. Yasmine felt a surge of exhilaration, exchanging glances with her teammates as they waved to the crowd.

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About the Author

Joe Battaglia is a seasoned and award-winning journalist who spent years in The Olympics arena. With over two decades in sports media, Battaglia has led content creation across news, politics, and athletics, including a role on the NBCOlympics.com team that earned a Sports Emmys for Outstanding New Approaches To Sports Event Coverage for the 2008 Beijing and 2012 London Summer Olympics. He currently lives in Texas with his family. Joe is the author of the award-winning children’s book, The ABCs of Track & Field: A Fast Start For Future Runners Jumpers & Throwers, and Beneath the Rings is his debut adult novel. 

Spotlight: Once Upon a Midnight Dreary by Michelle Miles

Enchanted Realms Book 5 

Genre: Gothic Paranormal Romance 

A beautiful heiress seeking solace. A mysterious caretaker burdened by shadows. And a forbidden love haunted by the echoes of the past.

When tragedy shatters her family, Victoria Ravenwood inherits the crumbling estate of Ravenfell Manor, a place she once called home but no longer recognizes. Hoping to escape her grief, she returns to its ivy-choked walls and forgotten rooms, determined to start anew. But Ravenfell is no sanctuary--it is a house of sorrow, steeped in secrets, and alive with something that should be dead.

Gabriel Allward, the manor's reclusive caretaker, has remained at Ravenfell for years, his presence as rooted as the ancient stones. Cold and mysterious, he keeps to the shadows, guarding a truth he dares not reveal. Yet Victoria is drawn to him and to the darkness that clings to him like a second skin.

As their fragile bond deepens, something awakens in the manor. A raven watches from the garden. Whispers echo through the halls. And a long-buried secret claws its way to the surface. One that binds Gabriel's soul to the estate...and could drag Victoria into the same eternal night.

Can they uncover the truth behind Ravenfell's curse before it claims them both? Or will their love become just another tragic tale whispered within its walls?

If you love heiresses reclaiming their haunted legacies, brooding caretakers bound by dark secrets, and crumbling manors where love must outlast restless ghosts—you’ll love this gothic reimagining inspired by Poe’s The Raven.

Excerpt

The letter arrived on black-edged stationery at half-past nine during breakfast on a too-bright day for mourning.

Victoria Ravenwood stared down at the unfamiliar wax seal stamped with the sigil of a bird in flight. A raven, from the looks of it. A slanting, looping hand had scrawled her name across the front in black ink.

Miss Victoria Ravenwood

Care of Mr. Hubert Pembroke, Crown Hollow, Rothbridge

“What is it, dear?” Aunt Eloise peered over her teacup, her bright blue eyes alight with interest. She looked like a feral cat ready to pounce on the latest juicy gossip.

“A letter.”

She laughed. “Of course, it’s a letter, silly goose. What does it say?”

She was always a bit of a busybody. Victoria didn’t want to read the contents of the letter in front of her. She’d demand to know it word for word. As her thumb swept over the seal, she had the distinct feeling this was meant for her and her alone.

Why she felt that way, she did not know.

It had no return address, which she found curious.

“Well? What is it, dear?”

She granted her aunt a faint smile as she placed her napkin next to her half-empty plate and pushed back from the table. “I think I’ll read it in the parlor.”

Alone. She wanted to read it alone, and not with her aunt breathing down her neck.

The woman harrumphed as she hastened from the dining room. No doubt she was planning to extort the information from her later.

Aunt Eloise meant well, but she was overbearing and pushy. Victoria was grateful to her and her uncle for taking her in after her parents died, but the woman was exhausting on a good day. If there was news of any sort in the contents of the letter, she would never let it rest.

What news, though? Victoria, still in mourning, walked to the parlor and pulled the door closed. She stood in the silence of the room staring down at that raven wax seal wondering about the sender. As far as she knew, there was no one else who knew she was here. She had no family except for her aunt, who was her mother’s older sister, and her uncle by marriage. And she didn’t exactly have a lot of friends.

Moving to the sofa, she popped the seal. Perching on the edge, she unfolded the letter with a careful hand. She pulled in a deep breath when she read it and then read it again.

This couldn’t be right.

Could it?

To Miss Ravenwood,

In accordance with the last will and testament of your late parents, Abner and Eleanor Ravenwood, you are hereby named sole heir to their estate, which includes Ravenfell Manor in the village of Elderbloom, Rothbridge. You are requested to take possession immediately.

There were other instructions about inheritance, land deeds, and legal oversight. It was signed by an R. Williams, Solicitor, Brown, Williams & Davis. She had never heard of him.

Her mind drifted away from the letter and the solicitor. To her childhood home and a place she thought she’d never see again. She thought her parents had sold it when she was a child.

Ravenfell Manor.

Her nightmares of the manor had long since faded, but now, as she held the letter, they flooded back to her.

A piano that played a haunting tune when no one was about. The acrid scent of smoke drifting through the halls. A shift in temperature from warm and comfortable to cold and frightening. Sometimes during certain times of the year, a misty fog curled through the west wing corridor.

What she recalled most of all was the man in the shadows with eyes full of sorrow and despair.

Her parents had never seen him.

But she had. And she had never feared him.

When she was eight years old, they fled Ravenfell Manor under the cover of darkness. And now, twenty years later, it had returned to her.

Perhaps her fortune had changed. As the heiress of the country estate, she had a home to call her own. She no longer needed to depend upon the kindness of her aging aunt and uncle.

It was a moment of elation.

Shattered by the opening of the parlor door.

Her aunt bustled in with an expectant look on her face. Victoria wasn’t so sure she wanted to share the contents of the letter with her, but then, she also knew her aunt would badger her until she did.

“Good news, dear?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

Was it good news? She said nothing as she extended the letter. Aunt Eloise took it and read it, her face an explosion of expressions. From surprise to doubt to sorrow to something akin to envy.

“Well, this is a surprise. I thought my sister and her husband sold off that crumbling old manor years ago.” She handed back the letter.

“I suppose they didn’t.”

“Naturally, you’ll refuse to move there.” She said it flippantly, as if this were already true.

“Why would I do that?” Victoria rose, her ire suddenly raised.

“Well, my dear, you are a single lady. Alone. You can’t possibly think of running that estate all by yourself.” She chuckled, as though the thought was merely a jest.

She lifted a brow. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Aunt Eloise wrung her hands, looking confused. “You are a single lady,” she said again.

“Yes, I am. With an inheritance at my disposal. I’m sure I can hire anyone I need to help me run and take care of the estate.”

Flabbergasted, she said, “You’re considering it?”

Annoyance hit her hard and fast at her aunt’s disbelief. She understood very well that she was a young, single lady. With no prospects looming and no purpose to keep her here in Crown Hollow, Victoria saw no reason not to consider it.

“Yes,” she said, the word an icy breath.

Her aunt didn’t understand her need to find independence. Now, she had a chance—a real chance—at a life all her own. If she stayed in the city with Aunt Eloise, she’d suffocate.

Aunt Eloise remained still as a statue, rooted in the middle of the room, her chest heaving with labored breaths.

“I simply can’t allow it,” she said then, her tone stern. As though she would entertain no other thoughts on the matter.

Victoria stiffened. “The letter says I’m to take possession immediately.”

“Who’s to say this letter is valid?” Eloise snapped. “Why, I’ve never heard of this solicitor, and as far as I know, Abner and Eleanor made no mention of this in their wills.”

This was not going well. Victoria resisted the urge to crumple the letter in her fist.

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About the Author 

MICHELLE MILES believes in fairy tales, true love, and a little bit of magic in every story. She writes fantasy, paranormal, and young adult books packed with adventure, action, and swoon-worthy romance—because what’s a story without a bit of danger and a whole lot of heart? From angels and demons to dragons, elves, and time travelers, her books are filled with epic quests, fierce heroines, and the kind of heroes worth falling for.

When she's not crafting new adventures, she brings stories to life as a narrator and hosts Miles Beyond the Page, a podcast where she chats with authors about their writing journeys. A Texas girl through and through, she loves getting lost in a good book, binge-watching movies, hiking the trails, and sipping a glass of wine. Come hang out with her on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and more!

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Spotlight: Can’t Hurry Christmas by Melissa Baldwin

Publication date: November 13th 2025

Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

Synopsis:

The holiday spirit is the last thing on my mind, and he’s focused on his new beginning. But one mistletoe moment might change everything.

Callie
Spending the holidays alone for the first time in four years wasn’t exactly on my wish list. But with a major shake-up at work and more changes than I ever saw coming, embracing my new reality seems like the only option.

And then there’s Travis—charming, handsome, and a Texas drawl that could make any woman weak in the knees. But is it too soon to start something new? I’ve been out of the dating game for a while, and maybe this season is meant for family, friends, and finding joy in my new season.

One thing’s for sure—I’m in no hurry for Christmas to arrive.

Travis
Christmas in the Northeast? In the freezing cold? Yeah, not exactly my idea of home. But turning down this job offer wasn’t an option—it’s the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around every day.

Still, spending the holidays away from everything and everyone I love is tougher than I expected. And then there’s Callie. I never planned to meet someone like her, let alone work so closely with her.

Now I’m left wondering… is taking this risk worth everything I’ve worked for?

Have you read the award-winning UnLucky Christmas? Don’t miss the chance to catch up with your favorite characters in Can’t Hurry Christmas from USA Today Bestselling Author Melissa Baldwin.

Excerpt

 “Callie, I know this isn’t a typical holiday season for you. I can’t imagine how you are feeling now that…things are different without ...”

“You can say his name, Hannah.”

“Joey,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I know this is a difficult time.”

I shake my head. “Don’t be sorry. I asked him to set a wedding date, and he said he wasn’t ready and didn’t know when he would be. That pretty much told me everything I needed to know. Our goals were not exactly as aligned as I thought they were.”

She places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really proud of you.”

“Proud? For getting dumped?”

“No. For not settling,” she explains. “And for letting me drag you into crazy holiday chaos instead of spending the night alone, binge-watching TV shows you’ve seen a hundred times.”

I laugh under my breath. “You’re not wrong. This is good for me—I always do better when I’m busy.”

“You might even enjoy yourself at the festive family night,” she says, tying another bow in less than two seconds.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be a blast,” I say flatly. “Hundreds of children, awkward small talk, and tacky decor. I’m all in.”

She giggles. “By the way, Anna’s new friend is coming with us. Her name’s Mia. She’s such a sweetheart.”

“Cool,” I say, biting my lip as I attempt another bow.

“And her dad’s meeting us there.”

I glance up. “Okay?”

“He’s a very nice guy…”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s great. Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”

She conveniently avoids making eye contact with me. 

“Hannah…”

“Yes?”

“What are you up to?”

“I’m not up to anything,” she says, innocently. “I just thought it might be nice for you to meet a new friend.”

I stare at her. I should’ve known she was up to something. She was very insistent that I go to the festive family night.

She shrugs. “Anyway, he’s single. And nice. He has a good job. And he’s very—”

“Stop right there,” I interrupt. “No setups. You promised.”

“I didn’t set you up,” she says. “I merely mentioned that a single, employed man who also happens to be a devoted father will be in the same vicinity as you.”

“Oh, well in that case,” I say, rolling my eyes again. 

She smirks and reaches over to take the mangled ribbon from my hands. “Here, let me help. You’re not exactly grasping the bow tying process here.”

“I didn’t get Mom’s crafty gene like you,” I mutter.

She laughs. “No. But you certainly inherited the moody gene from her.”

“I’m not the only one,” I tell her.

She holds up a perfectly wrapped box, complete with an elaborate gold bow. “See? We make a good team.”

“Always,” I say. “You do the work, and I’m here for moral support.”

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About the Author

USA Today bestselling author Melissa Baldwin always dreamed of sharing her stories with the world. She brought this vision to life, becoming an award-winning, bestselling author of over thirty romantic comedies and cozy mysteries. Melissa is also a wife, mother, new empty-nester, and travel advisor.

Her books feature charming, ambitious, and real women, whom she considers part of her tribe. Although she rarely takes a day off, when she's not writing, she enjoys quality time with her family, traveling, attempting yoga poses, and booking Disney vacations. Melissa still uses a paper planner, and her guilty pleasures include Beverly Hills 90210 reruns and General Hospital.

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Spotlight: Till Taught by Pain by Susan Coventry

Inspired by the groundbreaking discoveries of ether and chloroform anesthesia, William Stewart Halsted pursues a surgical career with relentless ambition, daring to perform operations deemed impossible by his peers. His reputation skyrockets with each bold success— until his quest for an effective local anesthetic leads him to inject himself with cocaine. Caroline, the niece of Confederate General Wade Hampton, seeks to escape the constraints of post-war South Carolina by training as a nurse. When she takes a position at the prestigious Johns Hopkins Hospital, she finds herself captivated by the brilliant yet troubled chief of surgery, Dr. Halsted. Till Taught by Pain is a poignant exploration of love and sacrifice, as Caroline grapples with the difficult choice between enabling her husband’ s addiction and supporting his pioneering career. As their lives intertwine, both must confront the consequences of ambition, the nature of love, and the toll of personal demons on their shared dreams.

Excerpt

Prologue

1922, October

Baltimore, Maryland

1201 Eutaw Place, Baltimore, MD

October 16, 1922

Dear Dr. Welch,

Thank you for your letter and for the trouble you have taken trying to satisfy Dr. Halsted’s sisters. As you say, the memories that I have are what stay with me and the hours between seven and half past eight when we would sit together are the most lonesome of the whole 24 hours…

—Caroline Hampton Halsted to Dr. W. H. Welch, October 1922

My vision blurred. Why was I doing this? No one had ever accused me of being a hysterical woman. I was never outwardly emotional; yet, here I was, tapping my private pain onto the keys of William’s typewriter to burden his most steadfast friend with my grief. Hadn’t Dr. Welch done enough for William over the years? Must he now also console the widow? An impossible task.

The letter would have to wait until I was more self-composed. I shouldn’t be dwelling on how empty the hours were when I had tasks to fill them. If William were here, he would give me one of those wry looks. I could see him doing it.

“Oh, William.”

Swiping the back of my hand over my eyes, I cleared away both tears and my late husband’s image and, instead, regarded his study. Off limits. It had always been off limits. I never bothered him here. This was where he lost himself in his work—that fiction we’d told one another, not with words but with the lack of them. The neat chaos supported the story: journals bearing snips of blue paper as markers, stacked into orderly piles; one basket of correspondence to answer and one for his secretary to file; a draft of the paper he’d been struggling with, more crossed out on the page than remained; scattered books. And downstairs in his library, there were case files, laboratory notes, and more shelves and shelves and shelves of books and journals.

I moved to the window to pull back the drapes. Drawing in a breath, I could still smell tobacco, a distinctly William smell. It was twined down into the antique furnishings, the drapes, and the oriental carpet, too deep to ever dissipate. How sad I could not relish it, but it stank.

It was quiet enough to hear the soft tick of his Gustav Becker wall clock, a gift from a German colleague. The beats sounded slow, as though minutes must now crawl by to rebalance time itself after the hours had slipped away from us so quickly.

Over the past year, William had determined more than once to sort through the accumulation of a busy, productive lifetime, but he was distracted from so desolate a task by the more urgent call to complete what he had started, to move on to more. He’d been so purposeful. All his life, he had been purposeful. That’s what people would remember. Wouldn’t they?

Perhaps not his sisters. Ridiculous creatures. With their Billy would want such-and-such and oh, we have to do this-and-that. Billy? In the end, I’d thrown up my hands. I was only a wife; I wasn’t about to argue with sisters. But neither would I trek up to New York to put him into a grave in the city he’d left all those years ago. I refused to see him buried un-der some hideously sentimental headstone with claptrap about angels. Thank God for Dr. Welch.

Dr. Halsted always said his sisters knew nothing about science and cared less.

Mrs. Halsted, with your permission, I’ll order the headstone.

He’d done it too:

William Stewart Halsted, M.D. 

September 23, 1852-September 7, 1922 

Professor of Surgery in the Johns Hopkins Hospital

Elegantly simple. William would have approved. And his sisters would not argue with the imposing Dr. Welch.

I would have to ask him what should be preserved for the university and the medical library. William’s friend Dr. Crowe said the books and journals were worth quite a bit and I should sell them. But William left me ridiculously well provided for. Surely, he expected me to give the books to the school.

More worrisome was what to do with all the accumulated paper.

Someone—one of William’s acolytes—would start nosing about, intent upon memorializing him. Would William prefer that only his published work survive to represent him? All this unfinished business, correspon-dence, notes for speeches—would it embarrass him to have people pawing through it? Would collected bits from William’s life—not only journal articles but private letters, personal recollections, half-remem-bered anecdotes—be pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle to summate the man he’d been? William would hate that. Ill-fitting pieces ruined a puzzle, and not all William’s pieces fit tidily.

He had to trust me to sift through the leavings, tidying them for pos-terity, before someone from the university arrived to cart all his precious papers away.

Precious papers—I had my own boxful back at High Hampton. My heart thudded painfully and heat rose to my face; William could write a pretty letter. I’d always intended to put a flame to them. One day. To keep them from a would-be biographer’s hands.

Lucy would have to do it. I couldn’t travel anywhere now. There was too much to do. Other things more damning to William’s dignity than love letters might still be locked away in drawers and cabinets. I had to be the one to find them.

William would want his secrets, his untidy pieces, buried with his ashes.

Excerpted from TILL TAUGHT BY PAIN by Susan Coventry © 2025 by Susan Coventry, used with permission by Regal House Publishing. 

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About the Author

Susan Coventry is a retired physician with a lifelong historical fiction obsession. Her first novel, The Queen’ s Daughter, was a YA historical set in the Middle Ages. She has since switched from YA to adult novels and moved on from medieval Europe to the turn-of- the-20th-century U.S. She lives in Louisville, KY with her historian husband, Brad Asher.

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