At Home with Christian Fiction

Meet Julie Arduini and Renee Chaw

2011-11-14T07:04:00.000-08:00

Today it is my pleasure to shine the spotlight on two more amazing women who are both members of the COTT Blog Alliance.

Julie Arduini was born on Good Friday with tornado warnings. A description that she says could not be more accurate!

She lives in NE Ohio with her husband and two children. She's also a step-mom to two adult children who live in out of state. Her writing is featured in ten books (learn more on her site!) She also blogs monthly for the marriage counter at the Internet Café. She loves serving in children’s and women’s ministries through her local church and Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) chapter.

Julie says: "I love my strong coffee, lilacs, NCIS, and Beth Moore Bible studies (not in that order!)"
Her site has been up since December 31, 2006 and was her first act of surrendering fear of what others would think about her. That fear had kept her from doing what she loved since childhood but her baby step into blogging quickly led to many other writing opportunities—a true testament to listening to the whisperings of the Lord.
Julie's warm, transparent personality is woven throughout her blog posts. "I’m not a scholar, just a wife and mom trying to help anyone willing to read know that Jesus is close and intimate with arms open to receive, not turn away." Her focus is to encourage readers, mostly adult women, to find "freedom through surrender."
An avid reader, Julie provides book ideas on her site based on what she's reading. On Sundays you can take a peek at her amateur nature pictures with a few thoughts about God’s love. She posts 5-7 days per week so there's always something new! If you're looking for a blog-hostess gift, I hear she really really loves chocolate!
Surrendering the good, the bad, and---maybe one day---the chocolate
**********

Say hello to Renee Chaw (and her 3 year old dog, Coco.) Renee's blog features reviews of Christian fiction, romance and young adult fiction as well as posts about some of her favorite movies, TV shows, and Steelers football. Woot!
Black 'n Gold Girl's Book Spot is a fun place to gather. Renee is always looking for a way to make you chuckle or at least inform you about some great books and movies. She also sometimes posts about her other interests like vintage jewelry, TV, antiques, sports, pets etc. She always makes you feel welcome!
Another great reason to add her to your blog roll: she loves doing giveaways and hosting authors.
Renee says she's an avid reader of just about anything from the back of the cereal box to the back of a book. ^-^
"I love to blog. I've met so many great people through the blogging world and have had the opportunity to read so many wonderful books that I might not have otherwise had the chance to. I love being a member of FIRST Wild Card and this Blog Alliance, two other great groups that I wouldn't have had the chance to join if it wasn't for blogging. I'm loyal to the local sports teams, especially my Pittsburgh Steelers (LOVE those Black 'n Gold guys ;-)) and I'm a crazy car girl LOL! Take me to a car show over the mall any day of the week!"
She tries to post everyday but sometimes 'real life' limits her blogging to 3 times per week. If you want to bring her a blog-hostess gift, make sure you get a big box with holes in it. Renee loves big, furry dogs! =) Of course, it might be easier to just bring a treat for Coco.

Be sure to check out these two blogs and make a couple new friends!

* Michelle Massaro is Assistant Editor for Clash of the Titles. Find her on twitter @MLMassaro, and Facebook.

Holy Guacamole written by Dan & Denise Hunter

2011-06-28T02:23:00.000-07:00

Title of Book: Holy Guacamole

Author: Dan and Denise Harmer
ISBN 10: 1-60039-183-4
Publisher: Lamp Post Publishers
Publication Date: April, 2011
Reviewer: Dell Smith Klein

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Nestled along San Diego’s coast, the former romantic getaway of the silver screen’s most notorious lovers is now the sizzling hacienda of Bonnie Miller’s culinary boot camp. “If you are what you eat, make it hot, spicy and irresistible,” is her motto, and this queen of Southwestern cuisine enjoys quite a savory life; success, fame and a reputation for the finest palate west of Barcelona. That is, until a pot-rattling bang causes Trace Domingo, a washed-up sports writer, to crash into her life. His arrival turns up the heat at the culinary boot camp as Bonnie discovers
in Life’s recipe book, it is not the spices which add the most flavor, but how truly hungry you are. (From the book back)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Dan and Denise Harmer, authors of Holy Guacamole surprised this reviewer. Denise describes herself as a “former stenographer and devourer of books”. Dan suggested that he “fine-tuned his creative storytelling in high school as a way of explaining why he missed class whenever the surf was up.” On a more serious side, they live in sunny San Diego on a busy little ranch with 20+ animals. Also, they run a cabinet shop and raise four children.

REVIEWER’S COMMENTS:

This is one wild book! From “Egg Zombies!” on the first page, through Zorro’s hideout, a kidnapping, oceans and orphanages, Chef Bonnie Miller’s past begins to unfold before the eyes of readers who are hanging on tight. This is a book for foodies, and those who don’t have anything else to do for a few hours. If you like mystery, craziness and a disconnection from reality, you will find Dan and Denise Harmer’s novel Holy Guacamole a gourmet delight.

Reviewer: Dell Smith Klein

The Healer's Apprentice by Melanie Dickerson

2011-05-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

Came in the Mail Today

2011-05-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

I'm really looking forward to enjoying Yesterday's Tomorrow by Catherine West!

Description:

Vietnam, 1967. Independent, career-driven journalist Kristin Taylor wants two things: to honor her father's memory by becoming an award-winning overseas correspondent and to keep tabs on her only brother, Teddy, who signed up for the war against their mother's wishes. Brilliant photographer Luke Maddox, silent and brooding, exudes mystery. Kristin is convinced he's hiding something.

Willing to risk it all for what they believe in, Kristin and Luke engage in their own tumultuous battle until, in an unexpected twist, they're forced to work together. Ambushed by love, they must decide whether or not to set aside their own private agendas for the hope of tomorrow that has captured their hearts.

False Witness by Randy Singer

2011-05-06T12:08:00.000-07:00

An Interview with Randy Singer, Author of False Witness

Q: Where did you first get your inspiration for False Witness?

At a funeral.

The deceased was David O’Malley, a good friend and former client. His wife had asked me to give the eulogy. I talked about David’s generosity, his big heart. He was always inviting someone to live at his house until they could get back on their feet. He ran a used car lot and hired people down on their luck. David believed in second chances. And he was a character. He had this larger than life personality that made people laugh. He sang in a gospel quartet. Everybody had a David O’Malley story. Heads nodded as I shared mine.

David’s pastor followed me in the pulpit. He spoke about a man named Thomas Kelly. The man was a scoundrel involved in organized crime. He turned on everyone he knew. Jaws dropped and the mourners stared in disbelief at this pastor. The man had clearly lost his mind! “You don’t think you know Thomas Kelly, but you do,” the pastor insisted. “David O’Malley was Thomas Kelly before he went into the witness protection program—before he came to the Lord.”

Prior to that moment, the only people that knew about David’s past were the government, his family, myself, and his pastor. The men he had testified against had died in prison. His wife had obtained the government’s permission to reveal his past. There was utter silence as the pastor concluded with a line I will never forget. “The government can give you a new identity,” he said. “But only Christ can change your life.”

“That would make a good book,” I thought. I hope I was right.

Q: Your book also includes in its theme the plight of the church in India. When did you first become familiar with India and its caste system?

I took a trip to India with a group from my church in 2009. The culture was amazing. The cities were alive with commerce, technology, and development. This was India shining, a new world economic giant. In the rural areas, we saw the colorful traditions of a proud, hospitable, and hard-working culture, a relaxed contrast to the frenzied city life. But everywhere we went, we also encountered the underpinnings of the caste system and our hearts were captured by the struggle of the lowest castes to overcome centuries of economic and educational discrimination, as well as social isolation. I was particularly moved by the plight of the Dalit children, struggling to get a good education so that their generation might rise above the oppression and gain real equality and human dignity.

The leaders of the Christian church in India helped us understand that while India has passed many laws guaranteeing equality for the Dalits, the fabric of society still oppresses them at every turn. We knew that we needed to become engaged in the human rights struggles of the lowest castes in India. It is, in the words of one leader, the struggle for the soul of a civilization.

Q: Who are the Dalits?

The Dalits, formerly called the “untouchables,” comprise nearly one quarter of India’s society, with population estimates of 250 million people. The term “Dalit” means “those who have been broken and ground down deliberately by those above them in the social hierarchy.” Dalits live at risk of discrimination, dehumanization, violence, and enslavement through human trafficking every day. By all global research and reports, the Dalits constitute the largest number of people categorized as victims of modern day slavery.

Q: You are donating all the proceeds from your book to the Dalit Freedom Network. What is the DFN?

The Dalit Freedom Network (DFN) is a human rights, non-government organization that partners with the Dalit people in India. The DFN represents a vast network of justice-minded, modern-day abolitionists committed to bringing freedom to history’s longest standing oppressed people group. The DFN believes that we can end Dalit injustices, such as human trafficking and child labor, and make slavery history in India. Major partners include Operation Mercy India Foundation (OMIF) and the All-India Confederation

of Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe Organizations (SC-ST Confederation).

Q: What can we do to help the DFN?

Author Randy Singer

You can become involved in many ways. First, there is the child sponsorship program that provides books, uniforms, and a midday meal to Dalit children attending an English-speaking school with a Christian worldview that affirms the dignity, worth, and equality of each child. The cost to sponsor a child is $28 per month. Updates will be sent to the sponsor twice a year and photos of the children will be provided. There are approximately 67 schools with over 10,500 children presently in this program. Second, a micro-enterprise movement is helping the Dalits to break free by providing micro loans and vocational training in marketable skills. Most of these groups are organized and run by the women in the Dalit community. American Christians can contribute to this program of Dalit self-sufficiency as well. Third, the DFN acts as an international advocate for Dalit rights in places like Washington, London, and the U.N. Those with a desire to be part of this global human rights initiative can contribute to the DFN advocate fund.

http://www.randysinger.net/

http://www.dalitnetwork.org/

The Trigger by Hon Hoh

2011-05-06T11:27:00.000-07:00

An Interview with Hon Hoh, Author of The Trigger

Q: When did you begin to take interest in and study the Book of Revelation?

Initially at Bible college, then later I did a thorough exegesis on the Apocalypse in my preparation to preach a series on the book as a pastor. In my second church, I re-exegeted the entire text and preached a new expository series to the congregation. Over the last twenty years, I’ve preached a 22-sermon series on the Book of Revelation three times to three different churches.

Q: How is The Trigger different from the typical End-Times novel?

There are many ways in which it is significantly different, and I haven’t as yet come across an End-Times novel that shares The Trigger’s theological viewpoint. I’ll highlight two distinctions for now. First, The Trigger is based on Matthew 24:14, tying the End Times to the progress of the Great Commission. Until the Gospel has reached the last remaining unevangelized people group, Christ will not return.

Second, the typical End-Times novel has a pre-tribulation rapture theme similar to the Left Behind series. The Trigger espouses a different theological view that has been well accepted throughout church history—a post-tribulation view of rapture. In other words, the rapture only occurs at the Second Coming when Christ returns. Christians do not escape the Great Tribulation via a “secret” rapture.

Q: You already wrote a non-fiction, theological book about the Revelation, Risen Lamb, Empowered Saints: The Book of Revelation Made Easy. What made you decide to write a novel based on the theology from your previously written book?

A novel has the potential to help people understand the Book of Revelation in ways that a non-fiction can’t. Some will read a novel on the End Times but they won’t touch a non-fiction on the same subject. As we progress further into the 21st century, it is vital that Christians understand the last book of the New Testament so that we can adequately prepare for the future that is already present in some ways, and ready ourselves for the return of the Lamb should that occur in our lifetime.

Q: How do you hope that your book will impact the lives of its readers?

First, to help readers understand the Book of Revelation, after all it is the Word of God. Second, to inform them regarding an important End-Times theological view other than the one with which they’re comfortable. Third, to provide motivation to engage the Great Commission as expressed in Matthew 28:18-20. Fourth, to prepare for the very near unfolding future, so that we are not caught off-guard.

Q: Can you tell us a little about Living Impact Ministries?

A decade ago, Living Impact began as a church planting mission reaching some of the least evangelized nations of the world. Its vision has now expanded to include the aim of helping Christians understand the Book of Revelation and to appreciate the scriptural perspective that global missions and the End Times are intricately connected.

A Cowboy's Touch by Denise Hunter

2011-05-06T07:55:00.000-07:00

An interview with Denise Hunter, author of A Cowboy's Touch

Q: Have you always wanted to be a writer? When did you first begin to write?

I’ve always been an avid reader, but I didn’t start dreaming about writing a novel until I was in my early twenties. By then I was married and busy pursuing a degree. I put writing on the back burner until my grandfather became fatally ill. While I was visiting him in the hospital, I was struck by the brevity of life and felt God pressing on my heart to take the first step. I started my first novel a couple weeks later. I had two small children by this time, so I wrote while they napped. I wrote my first four books that way. Even if you can only write a page a day, by the end of a year you’ll have a complete manuscript!

Q: Are you a small town or a city girl? What inspired you to write a book about the life of a cowboy?

I’m a little of both. We live in a country setting just outside the city. It’s the best of both worlds. There’s something very earthy and organic about a cowboy’s life. I was drawn by the idea of living off the land. I think it takes us to a simpler time and place—even though the life of a cowboy is not necessarily simple! And Montana is such a beautiful state. I thought my readers might like to journey there with me through story.

Q: Can you tell us a little about what you have learned about the cowboy lifestyle while doing research for this book?

I learned a lot of fascinating details about the workings of a ranch: branding, breeding, cattle disease, etc. But what I came away with is a great respect for cowboys and their families. Those who choose this way of life do it because they love it. It’s not easy, and it’s not for the faint of heart.

Q: Abigail’s title at her job is “the Truthseeker.” What is the significance of this title, and what do you think a real truthseeker does?

I thought it would be interesting to write about a protagonist whose job was to seek the truth and have her find out that she was missing the real Truth the whole time. Since Jesus is the Truth, a real truthseeker follows Him.

Q: Forgiveness seems to be a recurring theme in your books. Why do you feel it is so important? Your main characters both dealt with forgiving their past mistakes. Do you think that it is just as important to forgive ourselves as it is to forgive the mistakes of others?

With sin rampant in all of us, this is something we need to get good at! Eventually, someone’s going to do something you struggle to forgive. I think this is partly because forgiveness is easily misunderstood. It’s not saying that what they did is okay. It’s saying that you’re not going to hold it over them anymore. I do think it’s just as important to forgive ourselves as it is to forgive others. Oftentimes, it’s even harder.

Q: Abigail and Wade both threw themselves into their work in order to escape their pasts. Do you believe it is easy to find an escape in work in order to hide from our problems?

No one likes to hurt, so I think the tendency is to avoid it however we can. Throwing ourselves into our work is certainly one way of doing so. But these things have a way of bubbling up to the surface eventually, no matter how hard we try to avoid them.

Q: What would you like your readers to take away after reading A Cowboy’s Touch?

Abigail was essentially trying to work off her guilt. She thought if she could just keep exposing other peoples’ wrongs, it would appease her own guilt. I’d like readers to see that only God can redeem us.

www.denisehunterbooks.com

The Lightkeeper's Ball by Colleen Coble

2011-05-06T07:40:00.000-07:00

What do I have to offer this world? Can I really be loved for who I am on the outside and not for how others view me? Where does my true significance come from? In her third installment of the Mercy Falls series, The Lightkeeper’s Ball, award-winning author Colleen Coble will answer these questions while leading her readers down a path of betrayal, desire and ultimate fulfillment.

The Mercy Falls series centers on a small town in California and its lighthouse. Coble uses the lighthouse as a reminder that Jesus is our lighthouse always leading us home. In her latest addition to the series, the main characters must wrestle with their desire to find fulfillment in more than their work and money while being hunted by those who are holding on to resentment and unforgiveness.

An interview with Colleen Coble, author of The Lightkeeper’s Ball

Q: Did you always dream of becoming a writer? Why did you choose the romance genre?

I wrote my first story in the first grade. It was about a horse that had twin colts. The teacher praised it and the writing seed was planted. I love illustrating God’s love through romance. I especially love the suspense I put into all my books as well. I have a strong streak of justice and it plays out in the suspense element.

Q: What inspired you to write a historical series based in the early 1900’s? What would you have enjoyed about living in that time period and what would you have found the most difficult?

I happened to read an article about the Gilded Age and it mentioned how that era was so similar to today’s. I was intrigued with that, plus I wanted to choose a time period that wouldn’t be too much of a departure from my contemporary books. In that era, there were still cars and telephones!

I would have loved the simpler lifestyle. However, I would miss my jeans! How vain.

Q: Society at the turn of the century was very preoccupied with appearances and impressing other people. How is that not so different than our society today and how can we keep from falling into that same trap?

That’s exactly right! The parallels between the two eras are astounding. I’ve been at the cancer hospital this week with a dear friend, and it was a reminder of how fragile this life is. We seek THINGS when God wants us to seek Him. We need to keep our eyes set on eternity and remember that THIS life is the real dream. When we reach heaven, we will finally start to really live.

Q: Bitterness and unforgiveness led to the death of Olivia’s sister. Why is it so important to forgive those who have wronged us?

An unforgiving spirit hurts us much more than the person we hate. It makes us ugly and crowds out the love we want to show other people. God is love, not hate. Bitterness is the very opposite of the attitude God wants us to have.

Q: This is the third book in your Mercy Falls series. Addie and Katie were the main characters in your first two books. Olivia was given a true gift in the friendship of Katie and Addie. What does it take to find trustworthy and loyal friends? Why do you think that we all desire to find friends like these?

You have to first be a friend. You have to be open and giving of yourself to have those kinds of friends. A true friend tells you the truth in love, and that’s an important component of the give and take of real friendship.

Q: What do you hope that your readers will take away from reading The Lightkeeper’s Ball?

I hope the readers who feel they have to earn love will take away the realization that their true worth is that Jesus loves them and died for them. They are valuable beyond comprehension. When we can step into the role of daughters and sons, we can realize our true potential.

The Lightkeeper’s Ball by Colleen Coble

Thomas Nelson/April 19, 2011

ISBN: 978-1-5955-4268-7/304 pages/paperback/$14.99

www.thomasnelson.com ~ www.colleencoble.com

NMDR 4000.mov

2011-03-12T07:12:00.000-08:00

Spring's New Titles Are Here!

2011-03-09T09:08:00.000-08:00

Be sure to check out our New Releases page for a peek of what's available! More to arrive soon too!

ChapterAWeek

2011-03-08T17:35:00.000-08:00

If you haven't visited Robin Lee Hatcher's website lately, you must. Robin updated the design herself and it's lovely.

While there I saw her link for ChapterAWeek, and this time decided to join. I'm glad that I did! ChapterAWeek is a Yahoo group for readers who might be looking for that next book to read. Created by Midwest author, Traci DePree, each month Traci provides the first chapter of a recently published book.

Click here to visit ChapterAWeek.

In the Mail Today

2011-02-08T18:17:00.000-08:00

Description:

A true story about sports, faith, and redemption, compliments of one season with the New York Yankees.

Author William Fredrick Cooper has experienced the loss of employment, painful character assaults on his literary journey and the painful truth that he must reinvent his life. Humbling himself before God and allowing the painful process of spiritual and emotional growth, an amazing journey begins. Taking a job as a maintenance attendant during the inaugural season at the new Yankee Stadium, his dreams start to come true. Connecting with colleagues, celebrities and players while rekindling a childhood love of sports, Cooper moves on from pain and loss with a championship season for the ages. In One Season (in Pinstripes), Cooper blends a sportswriter’s command of facts, real-life perspectives from a spiritual standpoint, the inside knowledge of a historian and the passion of a believer in faith to weave a sensational tale of satisfaction of a fan who can realize the ultimate dream.

Discover more about this author: http://authors.simonandschuster.com/William-Fredrick-Cooper/20129601/author_revealed

In the Mail Today

2011-02-08T17:59:00.000-08:00

Description:

A woman is wrongly accused—and one man will risk everything to prove her innocence and save her life.

The last thing Jack Mansfield ever wanted was to arrest his former sweetheart—especially with her crying five-year-old hanging on to her. But Jack is the police chief of Bullard, Texas, and records indicate Charli has embezzled more than $100,000 from the bank where she works. Charli swears she's innocent, but Jack must abide by the law.

Charli thought she had pieced her life back together after her first husband left her alone and pregnant. But now she sits in a jail cell, accused of a crime she did not commit, with a little girl waiting on the outside. Charli's faith has always kept her steady during the ups and downs of life, but she can't deny she's now close to despair.

Jack has harbored unrequited love for Charli for over a decade; and that love drives him to task himself and his private-eye brother, Sonny, to prove her innocence and find the perpetrator. But Jack and Charli will never have their happily-ever-after if she goes to prison...or is murdered by the person who framed her. Will they find the true culprit in time to save Charli's life and finally give their love a chance?

Visit the author's website: www.debrawhitesmith.com

Gail Gaymer Martin

2011-02-02T13:28:00.000-08:00

I just spent a pleasant time enjoying Gail Gaymer Martin's February newsletter. If you haven't picked up a book by this lovely, award winning author, I suggest that you do. Gail, a Steeple Hill novelist, has sold over 3 million copies of her heart-warming tales.

Gail's newest book, A Dad of His Own is available in March, 2011.

You can visit Gail at: http://www.gailmartin.com/

A Dad of His Own:

Hidden Places by Lynn Austin

2011-01-31T10:26:00.000-08:00

If you haven't seen the video, Hidden Places, adapted from Lynn Austin's book with the same title I suggest that you consider it next time you want to enjoy a warm, heart-warming tale.

Description:
Widowed with two children and beginning to lose her faith, Eliza Wyatt (Sydney Penny) must bring in the harvest before the bank forecloses on her family’s home. Just when things can’t get any worse, fate brings along hope in the form of a drifter, Gabe Harper (Jason Gedrick). Gabe is a handsome, down-on-his-luck veteran. Together Eliza and Gabe overcome the odds to save Wyatt Orchard with the help of stubborn but lovable Aunt batty (Shirley Jones). Hidden Places is a triumphant tale of faith, family and commitment.

Lynn Austin's site: http://www.lynnaustin.org

New Release: CODE OF JUSTICE by Liz Johnson

2011-01-31T07:57:00.000-08:00

Book Details:

Title: Code of Justice (on sale March 1, 2011)

Author: Liz Johnson

ISBN: 978-0373444342

Summary:

"Follow the drugs."

Her sister's last words shake FBI agent Heather Sloan to the core. They also convince her that the helicopter crash only Heather survived wasn't an accident. Sheriff's deputy Jeremy Latham is assigned the case—he's the one who can help Heather find the person responsible. Once she can convince him that they should work together. As they dig for the truth, they learn to trust and care for each other. Will they lose it all when the killer targets Heather? She's willing to risk her life to find her sister's killer—but her code of justice could cost her the chance to win Jeremy's love.

About the Author:

Liz Johnson grew up reading Christian fiction, and always dreamed of being part of the publishing industry. After graduating from Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff with a degree in public relations, she set out to fulfill her dream. In 2006 she got her wish when she accepted a publicity position at a major trade book publisher. While working as a publicist in the industry, she decided to pursue her other dream-becoming an author. Along the way to having her novels published, she completed the Christian Writers Guild apprentice course and wrote articles for several magazines.

Liz makes her home in Nashville, TN, where she enjoys theater, exploring the local music scene, and making frequent trips to Arizona to dote on her two nephews and three nieces. She loves stories of true love with happy endings. Keep up with Liz's adventures in writing at www.lizjohnsonbooks.com.

The Voices of Water / Le voci dell'acqua

2010-12-09T07:32:00.000-08:00

A lovely video I discovered this morning. Enjoy....

Autumn's Promise - Shelley Shepard Gray

2010-10-21T09:07:00.001-07:00

Autumn’s Promise
Shelley Shepard Gray
Avon Inspire
ISBN-13: 9780061852374

Back cover:

Until Robert Miller met Lilly Allen, his world had been dark. A widower after only two years of marriage, he’d been living in a haze, feeling that, at twenty-four, his life was already over. But thanks to his friendship with Lilly, he now has new reasons to wake up each day. He knows his connection to her doesn’t make sense. She’s only nineteen, with a past the whole town talks about. Even more, she’s not Amish, like Robert. A marriage between the two of them could never happen.

Lilly’s heart is drawn to Robert, not to his faith. No matter how much she admires his quiet strength and dependability, she doesn’t think she could ever give up her independence and reliance on the modern world. Is their love doomed before it even begins?

---

Book #3 in Shelley Shepard Gray’s series, I took on Autumn’s Promise as my entry into Seasons of Sugarcreek. To great pleasure, I discovered that Autumn’s Promise stands alone. I fell in love with the characters, and felt the weight of their heartaches.

While Lilly and Robert were easy to love, I developed a deep fondness for their families. Wisdom, devotion, and loyalty; Lilly and Robert’s parents remained beside them while they struggled with their torments.

I can’t wait to begin Winter’s Awakening, book #1 in the series, soon enough!

For others who love Amish stories, I suggest grabbing your favorite comfy blanket, a favorite beverage, and snuggling up with Autumn’s Promise. It will be a treat you won’t forget.

Reviewed by: Catherine Terry

Clash of the Titles!

2010-09-13T17:32:00.000-07:00

Welcome Readers!

Are you ready to vote? At Clash of the Titles, your opinion counts! Read a couple excerpts, vote on your favorite, and be eligible to win a free book. You'll get a taste of your favorite Christian fiction genres, with a dab of something new, all from the comfort of your chair. You might even fall in love with a genre you've never read before. Why waste time in the bookstore deliberating which book to buy? Take a peek here first, get to know the authors, then experience the pleasure of making an informed decision.

So gear up! It's time for battle!

Clash of the Titles

Art of Eloquence

2010-05-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

I thought that it was a good time to let our friends (a.k.a. "Followers) meet one another.

Today we have JoJo Tabares, owner of Art of Eloquence, sharing a little about herself and her business, Art of Eloquence.

Welcome, JoJo. ~ Catherine

JoJo Tabares holds a degree in Speech Communication, but it is her humorous approach to communication skills which has made her a highly sought-after Christian speaker and writer. Her articles appear in homeschool publications, such as Homeschool Enrichment Magazine and The Old Schoolhouse Magazine, which also endorses her Say What You Mean curricula. You can also find JoJo on web sites such as Crosswalk.com and Dr.Laura.com. For more information on communication FUNdamentals and Christian-based communication skills for the whole family, please visit http://www.artofeloquence.com/

Art of Eloquence teaches the Communication FUNdamentals of speech and debate. It’s simply your best source for fun and creative communication training for Christians of all ages. Art of Eloquence is unique in that it uses God’s Word and humor to make learning fun for all ages from preschoolers on up through adults. Art of Eloquence also teaches the most important communication skills! You may be able to live your entire life without making a speech but you’ll not get through one day without communicating something to someone. The most important communication isn’t the speech you’ll give, but the conversations you’ll have with friends and family. In fact, the number one reason cited for a marriage to fail is a lack of effective communication! Art of Eloquence teaches not just speech and debate, but everyday communication skills like social communication, defending the faith, leadership and even business communication.

In the Mail Today

2010-05-12T15:52:00.000-07:00

Shy and quiet, scarred from a fire when she was small, Clara has resigned herself to living alone and caring for her widowed mother, who tells her that no man will ever see past her scars.

When Tim Graber arrives in Sugarcreek as a favor to his aunt and uncle, he plans only to help with spring planting and then rush back home to the woman he assumes he'll one day marry. But then he meets Clara, the local schoolteacher, and he realizes why the Lord brought him to Sugarcreek.

Clara's scars mean nothing to Tim, who is charmed by her quiet nature and loving way with children. And Clara can't deny the spark she feels every time Tim crosses her path. But does she dare hope that she could have her happily ever after?

When tragedy strikes, and they are faced with the frailty of life, will Tim and Clara have the faith to risk everything for love?

~*~*~*~
Visit the author's website at: http://www.shelleyshepardgray.com/

Chosen Ones (Aedyn Chronicles, The) - Alister McGrath

2010-05-12T15:48:00.000-07:00

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Alister McGrath

and the book:

Chosen Ones (Aedyn Chronicles, The)

Zondervan (April 13, 2010)

***Special thanks to ***Special thanks to Pam Mettler of ZonderKidz for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Alister E. McGrath is one of the most respected Christian theologians of this century. Born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, Dr. McGrath currently serves as Professor of Theology, Ministry and Education, and Head of the Centre for Theology, Religion and Culture at King's College, London.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Reading level: Ages 9-12
Hardcover: 208 pages
Publisher: Zondervan (April 13, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310718120
ISBN-13: 978-0310718123

TO BROWSE THE BOOK, CLICK ON THE BUTTON BELOW:

Chosen Ones (The Aedyn Chronicles)

Let's Have a Daddy Day - Karen Kingsbury

2010-05-06T06:25:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Karen Kingsbury

and the book:

Let’s Have a Daddy Day

Zonderkidz (April 13, 2010)

***Special thanks to Pam Mettler of ZonderKidz for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

New York Times bestselling author Karen Kingsbury has written more than forty of her Life-Changing Fiction titles and has nearly sixteen million in print. Dubbed by Time magazine as the Queen of Christian Fiction, Karen receives hundreds of letters each week and considers her readers friends. Her fiction has made her one of the country’s favorite storytellers, and one of her novels, Like Dandelion Dust, is under production for an upcoming major motion picture release. Her emotionally gripping titles include the popular Baxter family novels, the 9/11 Series, Even Now, Ever After, and Between Sundays. Karen and her husband, Don, live in the Pacific Northwest with their six children, three of whom are adopted from Haiti. You can find out more about Karen, her books, and her appearance schedule at her website.

Dan Andreasen lives in Medina, Ohio, with his wife and three children. He has illustrated more than thirty picture books. When his daughter was asked by her first grade teacher, “What kind of work does your daddy do?” she replied, “He colors.”

Product Details:

List Price: $15.99
Reading level: Ages 4-8
Hardcover: 32 pages
Publisher: Zonderkidz (April 13, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310712157
ISBN-13: 978-0310712152

TO BROWSE THE BOOK, CLICK ON THE BUTTON BELOW

Let's Have a Daddy Day

Witness - E. G Lewis

2010-05-04T08:34:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

E. G Lewis

and the book:

Witness

Cape Arago Press (November 9, 2009)

***Special thanks to E. G. Lewis for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Edward (E. G.) Lewis was born and raised in Cincinnati, Ohio. A former newspaper editor and publisher, his articles have appeared in many national and regional magazines. He also wrote and directed corporate training films.

Mr. Lewis holds a graduate degree in Economics from Ohio State University and worked in Planning and Corporate Management before choosing to become a fulltime novelist. He writes both Biblical fiction and Commercial fiction.

A lifelong Christian with a burning interest in the life and times of the early Church, he feels we are privileged to follow in the footsteps of these earliest believers in the teachings of Christ. He and his wife, Gail, also a writer, live on the Southern Oregon Coast.

Visit the author's website.
Visit the publisher's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $18.99
Paperback: 318 pages
Publisher: Cape Arago Press (November 9, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0982594909
ISBN-13: 978-0982594902

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

I would have seen the lion if those clods of dirt flying past my head had not distracted me.

There I was, relaxing on a hill, bothering no one. The sheep poked around the sparse pasture for the last clumps of edible forage while I sang Psalms and wove a basket. The summer sun had browned the grass and baked the Judean hills, turning them tan as barley bread.

My tongue swept around my mouth tasting the gritty dryness of the afternoon as another clod sailed overhead. It struck the ground in front of me and broke apart in a spray of dust.

All sorts of strange objects took flight whenever I tended the sheep. Overripe figs, half-eaten pomegranates, sticks, and now clods of dirt had sprouted wings and flew through the air.

The boys did it to upset me, to make me cry. Once upon a time it had worked, but no longer. If I cried, they won. And I would never let them win.

Jumping to my feet, I spun to face them.

Two more clods headed toward me.

Ducking under them, I rested my hands on my hips and glared across the ravine at the boys throwing them. “Stop, or you will be sorry,” I yelled and adjusted my headband.

Like the bigger shepherds, I carried my shebet, a small club, and my sling tucked in my sash. I tugged the sling out and stooped to gather stones. Imagining myself David, I threw my shoulders back and rolled the stones in my hand. Seeing their startled faces when one of these rocks bounced off their forehead would do my heart good.

But there would be no rocks to the head this day, I thought with a sigh. No matter how angry they made me, there was little I could do. On Mt. Sinai, the Lord gave Moshe the stone tablets containing the Law which commanded, Thou shalt not commit murder. The boys had nothing to fear and they knew it. Gavriel and Simeon could throw things, call me names, and torment me without fear of retaliation.

“Go sweep floors, little maiden,” Simeon hollered. “Comb wool, weave cloth, bake loaves.”

“Perhaps you should go to Jerusalem and apprentice yourself to a fuller.”

Simeon’s head snapped back. His eyes popped open wide.

Beside him, Gavriel snickered at the idea of seeing his friend removing lanolin from wool cloth by plodding knee-deep in a vat of stale urine.

Simeon’s face reddened.

Gavriel’s snickers became laughs. They grew louder until he doubled over, holding his sides and choking.

“Go away! You do not belong here,” Simeon shouted. He stuck out his tongue and did a little dance, daring me to do something about it.

“Do too belong here. I am tending my flock.” The smooth stone slid between my thumb and fingers.

Where to hit him?

“Sheep are for shepherds.” He gestured toward his loins. “Shepherds. Understand little girl?” He spat on the ground, clearing his mouth of the despicable word girl.

“There are shepherds and there are shepherdesses, you evil little boy. Take a look. What do you see? A shepherdess with her flock. Now go away, you are making the sheep anxious.”

A rock to where he pointed would give him good reason to dance. I gritted my teeth in frustration. Not only did Yahweh’s law rule my life, but Abba’s did as well. My father would never approve of me hitting a boy in the loins with a stone.

Abba’s stern voice echoed in the back of my mind. “Rivkah, my little dove, will you never learn? A gentle answer turns away wrath, but harsh words stir up anger. Do not fight with the boys. Exhibit the comely behavior and feminine demeanor befitting a daughter of Avraham.”

Easy enough for him to say.

“There is no such thing as a shepherdess,” Gavriel hollered.

I shook my fist at him. “Did an unclean spirit turn you into a goy?” He glared at me for calling him a gentile, not that I cared. “What about Laban’s daughters, Leah and Rachel? Have you never heard of Jethro’s seven daughters, of Zipporah the shepherdess and wife of Moshe?”

Behind me the sheep bleated nervously. I ignored them. The boys and their dirt balls not only upset me, they bothered my sheep as well. Sometimes they threw things into the midst of the flock scattering them. It took a lot of effort to chase after those sheep and bring them back together.

We stared daggers at each other across the narrow gully.

I fit a stone into the pouch of my sling and let it dangle at the end of its straps. Shepherds used their slings to drive off small beasts and vermin. Gavriel and Simeon qualified.

Swinging it up in a practiced arc, I whipped it around in a tight circle. The whirling blur above my head buzzed like a hoard of locusts.

The boy’s mouths dropped. They glanced at each other nervously, at me, and then at each other again.

My warning shot smacked the ground in front of their feet, boring into the dry soil and scattering dust over their bare toes.

Gavriel laughed. “Ha! You shoot like a girl, little shepherdess. You would miss the side of a camel if it were standing right in front of you.” He stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and made a face.

“May the Lord will your face to remain like that for the rest of your life.”

There were several more stones in my left hand. If they wanted war, war they would get. The boys jumped when they saw me reloading my sling.

But I never threw that second stone.

Shemu’el appeared behind them while they scoured the ground for ammunition. He is three years older than we are, almost twelve and soon to become a man. Shemu’el is tall, and stronger than Gavriel and Simeon put together. And, most importantly, he is my friend. It upsets him when the boys bother me.

They were so busy hunting for rocks, his footsteps went unnoticed.

Taking long strides, he marched up behind them and grabbed each of them by a shoulder.

I grinned when the boys winced and howled as he shook them.

“Go take care of your sheep, you little fools. They are beginning to stray.” He spun them around and gave them a shove.

Today’s battle may have ended, but our war had not. The boys shot me a look that promised revenge, then slunk away.

Shemu’el swung out his staff spanking them as they left. He turned, glanced up at the ridge behind me, and gave a start.

The expression on Shemu’el’s face made my stomach quiver.

He studied the hillside a moment longer, then, quick as a gazelle, leaped the ravine and ran to where I stood. “Look, Rivkah,” he whispered. “A lion.”

Cape Arago Press

North Bend, OR

www.capearagopress.com

TSI: the Influenza Bomb - Paul McCusker & Walt Larimore MD

2010-04-26T15:16:00.000-07:00

Title of Book: TSI: The Influenza Bomb

Author: Paul McClusker and Walt Larimore M.D.

ISBN: 978-1-4165-6975-6

Publisher: Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Publication Date: June, 2010

Reviewer: Dell Smith Klein

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Siberian hospitals are overrun with people dying from a disease that appears uncannily like the Spanish Flu of 1918. When Dr. Susan Hutchinson from the World health Organization and a top-secret group of government scientists arrive, they are met with a stubborn Russian bureaucracy determined to ignore the problem.

Despite their lack of cooperation, Dr. Hutchinson learns that the outbreak began with a professor names Weigel—who has now disappeared. The scientists, including mark Carlson and Nora Richards from TSI: The Gabon Virus, search for a means of dealing with the outbreak and for Weigel himself, who seems to have been in collusion with the head of Return to Earth, a notorious eco-terrorist group.

When Weigel is killed during a kidnapping attempt, Return to Earth makes off with a mysterious device called the Influenza Bomb, which has the potential to destroy all of mankind. In a race against time—with the entire world at stake—Dr. Hutchinson must stop Return to Earth from spreading the contamination.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Dr. Walt Larimore has appeared on Focus on the Family’s Health radio show. Also, the Colorado-based physician has appeared on the Today Show, CBS Early Morning and CNN. As a medical journalist from 1996 to 2001, Dr. Larimore hosted over 850 episodes of “Ask the Family Doctor” show.

Paul McCusker, a playwright and director, has been involved with an amazing list of credits—too long a list to mention here. Since 1988, McCusker has written over 300 half-hour episodes of Odyssey for Focus on the Family. His musical “A time for Christmas” earned a Dove award nomination. He is now Creative Director for Focus on the Family.

REVIEWER’S COMMENTS:

TSI: The Influenza Bomb by Paul McCusker & Walt Larimore MD, takes us to places in Siberia, Austria, the Netherlands, England and Germany with descriptions that both warm us and chill us.

In this day as we ponder the H1N1 virus and how it even came into existence, McCusker and Larimore take us on a ride into the past, weaving historical fact with believable fiction. I was familiar with McCusker’s work on Focus on the Family, and expected good writing.

While TSI: The Influenza Bomb is a work of fiction, it has such a ring of truth that the reader will want to do internet searches to check out what might be happening today. The Time Scene Investigators come to life as they probe of past medical disasters to prepare for future outbreaks. I found I was with them every step of the way.

If you like mystery and intrigue, you’re bound to like TSI: the Influenza Bomb. The book is due to hit book stores in June, 2010. This reviewer looks forward to the next book by McCusker and Larimore. By the way, I should warn you that when you buy this book, you are in danger of becoming a McCusker/Larimore fan.

The Right Call - Kathy Herman

2010-04-23T08:01:00.000-07:00

The Right Call, by Kathy Herman from David C. Cook on Vimeo.

An interview with best-selling

author Kathy Herman

What is the underlying moral dilemma that you hope your readers will wrestle with as they read this book?

That all human beings are born slaves to sin, and until we lay claim to the power of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, we’ll never be set free from of our fleshly nature.

The Right Call is based on 2 Peter 2:19b. What truth in this passage drove you to write this book?

The fact that we’re all slaves to something—either to God and righteousness or to the flesh and its pitfalls. This is especially relevant in today’s world with so many addictions now being fed by the Internet. As long as we’re confined to these mortal bodies, the Enemy will fight to control us—body, mind, and spirit. Obviously, the vast majority of us will never experience the devastating effects of a gambling, drug, alcohol, or sex addiction, but how many of us fall victim to the more acceptable vices, such as overeating? Overspending? Overworking? Overindulging? It’s the flesh that gets us into trouble, and our only hope to overcome it is Jesus. But most of the time, we deny we have a problem until it already has a foothold. Then, rather than letting God’s Holy Spirit have the reins, we struggle to tame it in our own strength and realize we can’t—and that we’ve become slaves rather than masters, overdoers rather than overcomers. It doesn't have to be that way.

Why were addictions/obsessions a topic you decided to write about?

All generations have struggled with addictions. That's not new. But something this generation faces that others didn’t is EASY ACCESS. With the Internet, all it takes is a click of the mouse and kids can be exposed to every manner of evil, which makes them vulnerable at a much younger age—Often young people think they can have a foot in both worlds, but Satan plays for keeps. It’s easier to get sucked into the darkness than to walk in the light. Our best defense is to stay grounded in the Word so our conscience is tender. And to be in fellowship with trusted believers who will hold us accountable.

Why do you think humans tend to do things in excess? What are some ways we can fill our emptiness with God rather than other excesses?

We're born slaves to sin. Our fallen nature has a propensity to do things in excess because we have an emptiness that resulted from the fall of humankind. So much of our overdoing is an effort to fill that emptiness, which ultimately can only be satisfied by God and a relationship with Him. Self-control is a fruit of the Spirit. The more we seek God, the closer our relationship with Him, the more that emptiness is filled with His love and the fruit of that love. But so often we don't recognize the emptiness for what it is. Problems that come our way seem exaggerated when we're dissatisfied with life. And we do whatever it takes to feel better. For example, how many of us tend to eat when we're upset? We use "comfort food" as a temporary fix for a larger problem, which is an emptiness—a longing for home (paradise). This fallen world is not our home. As long as we're here, there will be times when that emptiness cries to be filled. What we decide to fill it with is our choice. Many addictions and excesses start out small. But trying to satisfy that void inside us with anything other than God, His Word, and things that draw us closer to him can end up being a temporary fix that leaves us sorely wanting and vulnerable.

The Right Call by Kathy Herman

David C Cook/March 1, 2010

ISBN: 978-1-4347-6784-4/390 pages/softcover/$14.99

www.davidccook.com www.kathyherman.com

Chosen - Ginger Garrett

2010-04-22T09:33:00.000-07:00

I was most happy to find this in our mailbox as I'm currently reading Chosen. Wonderful book; it transports the reader right into the time period. ~ Catherine

Chosen, by Ginger Garrett from David C. Cook on Vimeo.

An interview with Ginger Garrett

Q: Why did you include Chosen: The Lost Diaries of Queen Esther in the David C. Cook series Lost Loves of the Bible?

A: I chose these diaries for the Lost Loves series because of the potential for love that Esther lost.

The moment Esther was chosen for the harem, whatever hopes she had for her future, her heart, and her family were lost. She became one wife among thousands. She lost freedom and many days, she lost her dignity in the treatment she received.

However, Esther is foreshadowing the story of Christ, who tells us that to surrender our own desires and plans will lead to blessings unimaginable, and overflow goodness into the lives of others. Esther’s loss, and her submission to a cruel turn of events, resulted in the saving of a nation. Millions of Jews were saved throughout history by her sacrifices.

Q: What are the other books in the Lost Loves series?

A: I’ll be adding two novels: the stories of Jezebel and Delilah. Both women have been sorely overlooked by history, painted as cardboard villains without any understanding of who they were and why they acted as they did. Their stories are more poignant, and disturbing, than what we’ve ever imagined.

Q: Will you ever complete the Serpent Moon series?

A: Since I get this question every day on email from readers, I thought I’d answer it here, too!

Dark Hour began what was to be a trilogy of evil women from the Bible. However, due to circumstances well beyond my control, I had to stop work on the series, while certain events sorted themselves out.

While I won’t be returning to the trilogy, I will be returning to my desire to tell the stories of two epic women from biblical history: Jezebel and Delilah. Their stories, their passions, and the loves they lost compel me to finish the work.

It’s fitting, really, that these women be allowed to tell their tales without the stigma of being in a series about evil women of the Bible. Until we get past that label, and see their hearts, we can’t begin to understand the lessons they would whisper to us across the generations that separate us.

About the author: Ginger Garrett is the author of the Chronicles of the Scribes series (In the Shadow of Lions, In the Arms of Immortals, In the Eyes of Eternity), Dark Hour, and Beauty Secrets of the Bible. Focusing on ancient women’s history, Ginger creates novels and nonfiction resources that explore the lives of historical women. A frequent media guest and television host, Ginger has been interviewed by Fox News, Billy Graham’s The Hour of Decision, The Harvest Show, 104.7 The Fish Atlanta, and many other outlets. A graduate of Southern Methodist University with a degree in theater, she is passionate about creating art from history.

Chosen by Ginger Garrett
David C Cook/April 2010/ISBN: 978-1-4347-6801-8/304 pages/softcover/$14.99
www.davidccook.com www.gingergarrett.com

Welcome!

2010-04-22T09:06:00.001-07:00

This month 4 new friends decided to follow our blog.

Welcome Ron, Stan, Lloyd, and Bob!

(We just started recognizing our friends. For those of you who have been with us for some time, Thank You. You are truly a Blessing.)

The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister

2010-04-12T06:42:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Nonna Bannister

and the book:

The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister

Tyndale House Publishers (March 4, 2010)

***Special thanks to Vicky Lynch of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Nonna Bannister was a young girl when World War II broke into her happy life. She went from an idyllic early-twentieth-century Russian childhood, full of love and comforts, to the life of a prisoner working in labor camps—though she was not a Jew—eventually bereft of her entire family. But she survived the war armed with the faith in God her grandmother taught her and a readiness to start a new life. She immigrated to America, married, and started a family, keeping her past secret from everyone. Though she had carried from Germany the scraps of a diary and various photographs and other memorabilia, she kept it all hidden and would only take it out, years later, to translate and expand her writings. After decades of marriage, Nonna finally shared her secret with her husband . . . and now he is sharing it with the world. Nonna died on August 15, 2004.

APRIL GARDNER'S REVIEW:

"It is up to the survivors to be brave and let the whole world know about the horrors that took place. If we keep quiet and do not speak now about what happened before, it could surely happen again." Nonna Bannister
Half Russian, half Jewish Nonna grew up in Western Soviet Union under Stalin. At fourteen she was imprisoned under Hitler. By the time she was a woman, she had suffered more horror than any one person should ever have to endure.

Nonna's story is much like many other concentration camp survivor stories that have been documented since the end of WWII. They're all filled with the evil some men are capable of as well as the faith and resilience others. But not one story should be passed over. We must remember!
Nonna is a woman I would have been humbled to meet. She loved God, trusted him to see her through, and survived. But most astounding of all is that when it was all said and done, she forgave.
Her story, however, was one she kept all to herself. Even her husband of fifty-three years knew nothing of her staggering past until a short time before her death. I can only imagine what he must have felt the day she took him by the hand and led him to the attic to read the diaries she'd meticulously translated into English. How his heart must have broken!
Mine did. I'll treasure Nonna's story forever.

"Forgiveness is only an act of much generosity and wisdom." Nonna Bannister

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (March 4, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414325479
ISBN-13: 978-1414325477

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Deadly Disclosures - Julie Cave

2010-04-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Julie Cave

and the book:

Deadly Disclosures

New Leaf Publishing Group/Master Books (February 15, 2010)

***Special thanks to Stacey Drake of New Leaf Press for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Julie first heard a creation science speaker at her church when she was just 15, igniting her interest in creation science and sparking an enthusiasm for defending the Bible’s account of creation. She has obtained a degree in health science, and is currently completing a degree in law. Julie is married with one daughter and lives on the east coast of Australia.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: New Leaf Publishing Group/Master Books (February 15, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0890515840
ISBN-13: 978-0890515846

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Thomas Whitfield climbed out of the Lincoln Towncar and stood in the snappy, early morning fall air, breathing deeply. The temperature had fallen a few more degrees overnight, signaling that winter was truly on its way.

Thomas glanced up and down the wide street. There was nobody around at this early hour, and he took a moment to drink in the sights of his beloved city. The graceful willows, their branches arching over the street, were turning gold and red and, in the gentle yellow morning light, threw off highlights like burnished copper. This street was like many others in the center of DC — wide and tree-lined, with magnificent government buildings standing one after the other. That was another thing that Thomas found so delicious about this city — so much of it hinted at the enormous wealth and prosperity of the country, and yet only a few streets behind these world-famous landmarks, the seedier side of American poverty flourished. It was a city of contradictions, Thomas thought.

His gaze fell finally to the building right in front of him — the main complex of the Smithsonian Institution. Enormous stone pillars flanked the entryway into a marble lobby, and behind that were laid out the evidence of mankind’s brilliance. Everything about the institution was testament to the scientific and anthropological advances of man over the pages of history — the inventions, the discoveries, the deductions, the sheer radiance of a human being’s intelligence at its finest.

Thomas Whitfield had always been immensely proud of this place, and everything it showcased. He had boasted about it, defended it, nourished it, and protected it, the way a proud father would his prodigious child.

He was the secretary of the Smithsonian, after all, and he felt a strange kind of paternal relationship with the buildings and their contents.

He stood for a moment longer, a slender whippet of a man dressed immaculately, with highly polished shoes gleaming, thinning dark hair cut short, and a gray cashmere scarf to ward off the cold. Then he purposefully strode down the path and into the main building, scarf fluttering behind him.

To the malevolent eyes watching him through high-powered binoculars down the street in a non-descript Chevy, he presented a painfully easy target.

Thomas settled in his large office with the door shut, turned on the computer, and shut his eyes briefly as he contemplated what he would do next. The course of events he had planned for this day would change everything, and the impact would be felt right up to the president himself. Courage, Thomas, he told himself silently. What you are about to do is the right thing to do.

He began to type, slowly and decisively, feeling within himself a great sense of conviction and purpose. He was so lost in concentration that he was startled by the door suddenly swinging open.

“What are . . . ?” he exclaimed, almost jumping off his seat. Then he recognized his visitor and he glanced at his watch.

“What are you doing here?” Thomas asked. “It’s a little early for you, isn’t it?”

“I wanted to be sure I caught you,” his visitor replied, moving closer to the desk. “Without any interruptions.”

“I see. What can I do for you then?” Thomas asked, trying to hide his irritation. He hadn’t wanted to be interrupted during this most important task.

“What are you working on?” the unannounced guest asked, ignoring him and moving around the side of the desk and trying to look at Thomas’s computer screen.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Thomas answered with a falsely airy tone. “It’s just a family project. Nothing to do with work. Is there something I can help you with?”

Thomas was suddenly aware that his visitor was standing close by him. He felt uncomfortable, and tried to roll his chair away to maintain some space.

“You see,” his visitor said in a quiet voice, “there are people out there who don’t agree with you. They think the project you are working on could be very dangerous. In fact, I believe they have already tried to warn you about continuing with this project.”

Thomas now felt distinctly uncomfortable and a little afraid. He decided to assert his authority. “Listen here,” he said, in a voice that betrayed his anxiety. “What I am working on is none of your business. The subject is certainly not up for discussion with somebody like you. I suggest you leave my office immediately.”

The visitor managed to fuse sorrow and menace into his words as he said, “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You will have to come with me.”

Thomas retorted, “I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I. . . .” He broke off abruptly as he saw the small handgun in the visitor’s hand, pointing directly at him. There was no sorrow or pity on his face — only menace.

“Do I need to force you to come with me?” the visitor wondered, his tone like flint.

Thomas leapt to his feet, his eyes darting about wildly. He needed to get out of here, to try to get away from this situation that had so rapidly gotten out of hand. A hand shot out and grabbed Thomas by the collar with surprising strength. Thomas was shocked as he strained to get away from the man, who was intently staring at the computer screen.

“You traitor!” Thomas spat. “I should’ve known you were nothing more than a trained monkey!”

The visitor chuckled heartily. “That’s ironic, Thomas.”

The visitor, much younger and stronger than Thomas, began to drag him out of the room. Thomas was determined not to go down without a fight, and drove his heel backward into the visitor’s shin. There was a yelp of pain, but the unrelenting grip did not lessen around Thomas’s arm. Instead, a thick arm curled around Thomas’s throat and squeezed, applying pressure to the carotid artery. It took only a few seconds for Thomas to fall limply into the arms of his abductor as the blood supply to his brain was cut off.

That was the last anyone saw of the secretary of the Smithsonian Institute.

• • • •

Dinah Harris woke with a scream dying in her throat, the sheets twisted hopelessly around her legs. Her nightgown was damp with panicked sweat, her heart galloping like a runaway horse. She stared, blinking, at the pale dawn light streaming through the window, while the shadowy vestiges of her nightmare slithered from her memory.

As she lay in bed, joining the waking world from sleep, the familiar blanket of depression settled over her, dark and heavy as the Atlantic winter. The dread she felt at facing another day was almost palpable in the small bedroom. Dinah glanced across at her alarm clock, where the flashing numbers showed 6 a.m.

She threw aside the sheets and stumbled into the tiny bathroom, where she purposefully avoided looking at herself in the mirror. She was only in her mid-thirties and had once been relatively attractive. Certainly not beautiful, but with what her first boyfriend had once told her — a pleasant face and athletic body. Now her eyes were always underscored by dark bags, her skin pale and paper-thin, and the weight fell off her in slow degrees without ceasing. She dressed in her trademark dark pants suit, pulled her black hair from her face in a severe ponytail, and washed her face.

She made strong coffee and sat in the kitchen as she drank the bitter liquid. The dining alcove was still stacked with moving cartons, filled with books and music that she couldn’t face opening. The gray light of morning lent no color to the apartment, which suited Dinah just fine. Her world didn’t contain color anymore.

Though traffic often seemed at a standstill in the mornings, Dinah always arrived early to the J. Edgar Hoover building. She turned directly to the teaching wing, avoiding the eye contact and morning greetings of many she knew in the building. She knew what they whispered about during after-work drinks and at the water cooler. Her fall from grace would go down as one of the most spectacular in FBI history.

So she kept up the ice-cool veneer until she arrived at her desk, checking her e-mails and teaching schedule for the week.

She didn’t look up as an imposing shadow fell across her desk.

“Special Agent Harris, how are you?” boomed the voice of her former colleague, David Ferguson. He was a big man, six-four and two hundred pounds, with a loud, booming voice and a penchant for pork rinds. He stood above her, his hand resting easily on the holstered gun at his hip; the twin of a gun Dinah no longer wore but kept underneath her pillow.

“Ferguson,” she replied. “Fine, how are you?”

“Feel like a coffee?” he asked.

“Don’t you have a killer to catch?” Dinah asked, dryly.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, they can wait. Come on.”

He took her to a tiny Italian café a block away from the FBI headquarters. While they ordered, Dinah wondered at his ulterior motive for bringing her here. It certainly isn’t for my sparkling wit and charm, she thought. Rumor had it that the freshman criminology classes were afraid of her.

“So I’m just wondering if I could get your opinion on something,” Ferguson began, tentatively testing the water.

She scowled at him. “You know I don’t get involved in cases.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, calm down, Harris. I just want your opinion. I know you’ve given up your real talents to teach some snotty freshmen.”

His comment stung her, but she narrowed her eyes at him and pretended she hadn’t even noticed. “So get on with it already.”

“I don’t remember you always being this prickly,” complained Ferguson, draining his macchiato. “Anyway. What would you say if I told you the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution had gone missing?”

“Missing?” Dinah raised her eyebrows and slurped her latte. “In what context?”

“As in, turned up for work at six this morning and disappeared off the face of the earth shortly thereafter.”

“How do you know he turned up for work at six?” Dinah asked.

“Security cameras have him arriving in the lobby and heading for his office. After that, who knows?”

“So he’s an adult, maybe he took a trip to get away from work stress or his wife has been giving him grief or his kid is in trouble.” Dinah frowned. “Why are we even involved at this early stage?”

Ferguson paused. “It’s due mostly to his rather prestigious position. It wouldn’t do for the secretary of the Smithsonian to simply disappear. Congress is rather anxious.”

Dinah knew of political influence that ran high in this city but didn’t press the issue. “Is there evidence of homicide?”

“Not really, although I haven’t been to his office yet.” Ferguson made it sound like a confession, and he looked at her sheepishly.

Dinah stared at him. “What do you really want, Ferguson?”

He gathered up his courage. “I need you to work this case with me, Harris.”

Dinah opened her mouth to respond indignantly, but Ferguson held up his hand and continued with a rush. “You know I’m not good with sensitive cases. I. . . .”

“Or complex ones,” interjected Dinah, bad-temperedly.

“I’m operating on a hunch that this is a bad case, that it involves people in the White House.” Ferguson must have needed her very badly to allow her comment to go unheeded.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I have a heavy teaching workload,” she said. “So I’ll have to limit my involvement to opinions only.”

Ferguson didn’t say anything but looked even guiltier.

“What have you done?” Dinah demanded.

“I may have cleared your schedule so you could work with me.” Ferguson examined his fingernails with great concentration.

Dinah waited for a beat. “I see. You’ve spoken to my superiors?”

He nodded. “They’ve agreed to lend you to me for as long as the case takes.”

Dinah stood abruptly. “Thanks for the coffee.” She walked angrily from the café.

Ferguson stared at her as she walked off, then slapped down some crumpled notes and heaved his bulk out of the chair. “Where are you going?” Ferguson asked, struggling to keep up with her.

She wheeled around and glared directly at him. “Who do you think you are? Do you think I’m lesser than you so you can sneak around behind my back?”

“Dinah, we really need you back in the field. You were — are — brilliant.” Ferguson spoke softly, hoping to calm her down.

“My field days are behind me, with very good reason,” snapped Dinah. I can’t see a dead body anymore. I can’t feel desire to catch the person who did it. I just want to lie down beside the body and feel the same endless peace of sleep.

“Please, I’m begging you. I need you back,” Ferguson said. Then it hit her. Dinah realized that this situation was very serious. Ferguson was the last person on the planet to beg anybody.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she said dully. She knew that this case could break her.

Ferguson didn’t reply, and his answer was in his silence.

• • • •

The Smithsonian Institution was bustling with tourists and school kids as if nothing had gone wrong. Dinah and David strode into the main lobby, trying unsuccessfully to look casual. When they flashed their badges discreetly, they were allowed into the inner sanctum, where Thomas Whitfield’s personal assistant was fielding phone calls.

The secretary was young and pretty, with thick, dark hair waving gracefully to her shoulders, startlingly blue eyes, and a creamy olive complexion. Her only downfall was the thick eye makeup, applied to make her eyes stand out but which had the effect of making her look like a scared raccoon. “I’m afraid Mr. Whitfield simply cannot be interrupted at present,” she snapped into the phone. “I’ll have him call you back if you’d leave a message.”

She glanced up and saw the two agents standing at her desk. She gave them a wave to acknowledge their presence, repeated the details of the caller, scribbled furiously, and then hung up.

“Good morning,” she said, jumping to her feet. “If you caught the end of that conversation, you’ll know that Mr. Whitfield is in an extremely important meeting and. . . .”

“Save it,” interrupted Dinah, showing the secretary her badge. The young woman blushed. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of Mr. Whitfield. What is your name?”

The secretary sat down hard, looking relieved. “I’m Lara Southall. I’m so worried about Mr. Whitfield.”

Ferguson flashed his partner a frown and took charge. “I’m Special Agent David Ferguson and this is Special Agent Dinah Harris. You’ll have to excuse her; she’s been out of the field for some time and has forgotten how to relate to people.”

Dinah opened her mouth to reply with outrage, but Ferguson continued, “Can you tell us about this morning?”

Lara Southall regarded Dinah with a mixture of amusement and fear, which Dinah filed away for future reference. “I got to work at eight o’clock as usual,” she replied. “Mr. Whitfield always arrives before me. I usually turn on my computer, get settled, and then get us both a coffee. When I opened his office door to give him the coffee, the room was empty.” As the girl spoke, she tapped perfectly manicured fingernails together absently. Dinah hated manicured fingernails: they reminded her of her distinctly unattractive, chewed-to-the-quick fingertips.

“Mr. Whitfield was due to give a presentation at eleven o’clock,” Lara continued. “So I didn’t really start worrying until about ten-thirty. He hates to be late, and he had to come back to get his presentation and make it uptown in less than half an hour. At eleven, I started to make some calls.”

“Has he ever been absent from the office before?” Ferguson asked.

“Sure, he often has meetings or goes out into the museum to talk to visitors. The thing is, I always know what he’s doing. That’s part of my job. He never goes anywhere during the day without letting me know.”

“So you started making calls at eleven. Who did you call?” Dinah asked impatiently.

Lara ticked off her fingers as she remembered. “I called his cell phone, and I called the other museums. I thought maybe he’d just forgotten to tell me he had a meeting. Nobody had seen him and his cell just rang out. So I called his home. His wife told me he’d left for work at about five-thirty and she hadn’t seen him since. Then I called some of the senior executives. I thought they might’ve had an emergency. But nobody had seen him.”

“Did the people you called — his wife, the executives — seem concerned about his whereabouts?” Ferguson asked.

“Yes, they did. It’s so unusual for Mr. Whitfield to act this way that everyone I spoke to was concerned. I think his wife is actually here somewhere at the moment.”

“So then you called the police?” Dinah said.

“No, one of the directors came over to look at the security tapes. She specifically told me not to call anyone until she’d viewed the footage. I thought that Mr. Whitfield might’ve had an accident on the way to work. Mrs. Whitfield was calling the hospitals when Ms. Biscelli — the director — came back from security.”

“What did the tapes show?” Dinah asked.

“They showed him arriving at six-thirty or so. That’s all I know.”

“Did any of the tapes show him leaving?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Right. So what then?”

“I called the police.”

Ferguson nodded. “What did they tell you?”

“Basically they won’t do anything until he’s been missing 24 hours.” Lara stopped clicking her nails together and started twisting her hair with one finger. “So I told Ms. Biscelli, and she wasn’t happy with that. I think she must’ve pulled some strings, because here you are.”

Dinah and Ferguson both raised their eyebrows at her in confusion.

“The FBI,” explained Lara. “You guys wouldn’t normally get involved, would you?” She may have been a very pretty secretary, but Lara Southall was an intelligent girl. She’d asked the very question Dinah had been mulling over all morning.

“We’re going to look in his office,” Ferguson said, ignoring the question. He handed her his card. “Please call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”

She nodded and picked up the ringing phone. “No,” she said, sounding very weary. “Mr. Whitfield is in a meeting at the moment and can’t be disturbed.”

• • • •

Ferguson opened the door to the office while Dinah waited to get the log-on details for Thomas Whitfield’s computer. Dinah stood in the doorway, looking into the impressive room, and felt the thrill of the chase wash over her like a wave. It had been a long time since she had felt anything.

The office was furnished with heavy cedar furniture that consisted of a large desk, a leather-bound chair, a couch, and two armchairs grouped around a glass-topped coffee table and one entire wall of built-in bookcases. The floor was covered with thick burgundy carpet, and the drapes at the picture window were also burgundy. The walls contained portraits of several great scientists and inventors — Dinah recognized Charles Darwin, Thomas Edison, and the Wright Brothers — as well as photos of the secretary with the president, the queen of England, and other dignitaries. The room itself was clean and uncluttered, likely symbolic of the man himself, Dinah thought.

Ferguson was moving around the room, muttering to himself, as was his habit. Dinah had forgotten how intensely annoying she found this habit. She preferred silence so that she could concentrate.

Having received the log-on details from Lara, Dinah strode to the desk and pulled on her latex gloves. The top of the desk was shiny and would be a great medium to obtain fingerprints. She was careful not to allow herself to touch the desktop while she turned on the laptop.

“By the way, Harris,” Ferguson said from the wall of bookcases, “I forgot to mention that if something has happened to Mr. Whitfield, the media scrutiny is likely to be intense.”

Dinah scowled at the screen of the laptop. She hated the media, and it was a long-term grudge she held from the last case she’d been involved in. “You can handle it,” she said. “I want nothing to do with those vultures.”

Ferguson glanced over at her. “Of course I’ll handle it. But I can’t guarantee that they’ll leave you alone.”

Dinah tapped her foot against the leg of the desk impatiently as the laptop struggled to come to life. “Sticks and stones, Ferguson,” she said tightly. “Words can never hurt me.”

She could see that Ferguson didn’t buy the lie, but he’d decided to let it go. He at least knew not to push too far.

“This whole office is giving me a weird vibe,” he said after a moment. “It’s too . . . organized.”

Dinah logged onto the laptop. “I’m listening.”

“Look at the desk,” Ferguson mused. “No files or paperwork. Not even a pen or a Post-It note. No diary.”

“Maybe he’s just really neat,” Dinah said, opening Outlook on the laptop.

Ferguson went back to his muttering as he continued drifting around the room. Dinah frowned as she clicked through the folders in Outlook. Then she opened the other programs on the computer and looked through the folders there.

“That’s odd,” she commented at last. Ferguson looked up and came over to her.

She clicked through the inbox, sent items, and calendar of the e-mail program. There were no entries in any of them. “They’re completely clean,” she said. “The calendar is the strangest. You’d think the secretary of the Smithsonian Institution would have at least a couple of meetings a week.”

“Maybe he uses a paper diary,” suggested Ferguson.

“Certainly a possibility,” agreed Dinah. “But couple the empty calendar with the fact that he’s neither received nor sent an e-mail from this computer and something isn’t right.”

Ferguson opened the desk drawers and started looking through them.

“Also,” added Dinah, “there is not one single saved document in any other program — no letters, articles, presentations, anything. The entire computer is as if it’s never been used.”

Ferguson sat back on his heels. “You think someone has wiped his computer?”

“Well, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question is: did Thomas Whitfield wipe his own computer before disappearing or did someone else wipe his computer before abducting him?” Dinah began to shut down the programs. “After all, there is no evidence to suggest that he has been abducted. There’s no sign of a struggle in here or blood stains, is there?”

Ferguson shook his head. “No, there isn’t. But there is something off about this office. Nobody, least of all a man in his position, can get through a working day without sending an e-mail or doing paperwork of some kind.” He gestured at the desk drawers. “There’s absolutely nothing in them.”

“I agree,” Dinah said. She closed the laptop and picked it up. “I’m going to have the lab look at the hard drive. What else?”

“I’ll call in crime scene to lift some fingerprints and check for blood.” Ferguson paused, thinking. “I’d like to talk to Ms. Biscelli, and I’d like to talk to his wife.”

Dinah nodded. “If Mr. Whitfield has been abducted, what do you suppose is the motive?”

Ferguson considered. “I don’t know. Money? Fame? Half the time I think these loonies go around killing people just so they can get their name in the news.”

Dinah stared at him. “Do you think Thomas Whitfield is dead?”

He shrugged. “Right now, Harris, I know nine-tenths of absolutely nothing. Let’s talk to Ms. Biscelli. Maybe she’ll know what happened and we can solve this case before dinner time and I’ll get a decent night’s sleep.”

Flippancy, Dinah remembered, was just Ferguson’s way of dealing with the intensity of this job and the horror they’d witnessed over the years.

Sworn to Protect - DiAnn Mills (Book #2 in Call of Duty series)

2010-04-08T06:56:00.001-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

DiAnn Mills

and the book:

Sworn to Protect (Book #2 in Call of Duty series)

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (March 4, 2010)

***Special thanks to Mavis Sanders, Corporate Publicist, Tyndale House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Award-winning author DiAnn Mills is a fiction writer who combines an adventuresome spirit with unforgettable characters to create action-packed novels. DiAnn's first book was published in 1998, and she currently has more than 40 books in print, with combined sales of over one million copies. In 2009, Tyndale House introduced Breach of Trust, Book #1 in her Call of Duty series about women with dangerous occupations. Six of her anthologies have appeared on the CBA best-seller list. Eight of her books have been nominated for the American Christian Fiction Writers' book-of-the-year contest, and she is the recipient of the Inspirational Reader's Choice award for 2005 and 2007. Lightning and Lace was a 2008 Christy Award finalist.

DiAnn is a founding board member for American Christian Fiction Writers and a member of Inspirational Writers Alive; Romance Writers of America's Faith, Hope, and Love chapter; and the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country. DiAnn is also a mentor for Jerry B. Jenkins's Christian Writers Guild. DiAnn and her husband live in Houston, Texas.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (March 4, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414320515
ISBN-13: 978-1414320519

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

We are truly a nation of immigrants.
But we are also a nation of laws.

Brent Ashabranner

McAllen, Texas

The Rio Grande was not just murky. It was toxic. Danika Morales respected the river’s temperament—lazy and rushing, crystal and muddy, breathtaking and devastating. To many illegal immigrants, its flowing water signified hope and an opportunity for a better tomorrow, while others viewed the river crossing as a means of smuggling drugs or spreading terrorism. But for Danika, the depths meant death, and it didn’t discriminate among its victims. That was why she chose a Border Patrol badge and carried a gun.

Shortly after the 8 a.m. muster, Danika snatched up the keys to the Tahoe assigned to her for the next ten hours and checked out an M4. A hum of voices, most with Hispanic accents and clipped with occasional laughter, swirled around the station. A labyrinth of sights and sounds had succeeded in disorienting her. A daze.

She took a sip of the steaming coffee in hopes no one saw how the day’s date affected her. Her hands shook. The twelfth of July. The second anniversary of Toby’s murder. She thought she could handle it better than this, but the raw ache still seared her heart.

“Tough day for me too,” Jacob whispered beside her. “We can get through this together.” The familiar tone of voice, as in many times before, nearly paralyzed her. Jacob sounded so much like his brother.

She stood shoulder to shoulder with her brother-in-law and glanced at his muscular frame and the silver streaks in his closely cropped hair, everything about him oddly different from Toby. Gone were the gentleness, the patience, and the outstretched arms of love.

“Thanks. But I’m all right.”

He frowned, a typical expression. “Well, I’m not, and you shouldn’t be either.”

She was in no mood to rile him today. “I miss Toby every minute of the day, but we have to move on. He would have wanted it that way.”

“Not till his murderer is found.” Jacob’s jaw tightened. “I’m disappointed in you.”

Danika took another sip of the hot coffee, burning her tongue. Caustic words threatened to surface and add one more brick to the wall dividing them. “I want the killer found too. I’m committed to it. I think about him every day and mourn for our daughter, who will never know her daddy. But I choose not to spend my time harboring hate and vengeance.”

“You must not have really loved my brother.”

The words cut deep, as Jacob must have known they would. No woman could have loved Toby like she did. “I refuse to be browbeaten by you anymore. Your hate is going to explode in your own backyard one day.” She stopped herself before she lit a match to his temper. Actually, she’d rather have been dropped in the bush for the next ten hours with a shotgun and a can of OFF! than argue with him. But the time had come to distance herself from Jacob.

“Hey, Danika,” an agent called, “do these belong to you?”

She turned to see wiry Felipe Chavez carrying a vase with a huge bouquet of roses. They remembered. She swallowed a chunk of life. “Oh, guys, you didn’t have to do this.”

Felipe made his way toward her. The other agents hushed; then one of them started to clap. She smiled through the tears as he handed her the clear glass vase. The sweet fragrance no longer reminded her of death, but of life and her resolve to live each day in a way that commemorated Toby’s devotion to her and their little daughter. Perhaps this was what the two-year marker meant.

She took the roses and studied the small crowd of agents. Good men, all of them—even Jacob.

“We cared about what happened to Toby too,” Felipe said with a grim smile.

Danika brushed her finger around one of the delicate petals and formed her words. Memories had stalked her like a demon since last night. “Don’t know what to say except thank you. Toby was a soldier for his own cause, and he spent his life doing what he believed in. Just like all of us.”

One agent shook his head, frowned, and left the room. Far too many explanations for his disapproval raced through her mind. But Danika needed to put the ugliness behind her.

She set the flowers on the long table in front of her. “Today is the second anniversary of Toby’s death. All of you have looked after me and my daughter, especially during holidays and special occasions. His death is why I’m more dedicated than ever to help protect the border.” She paused, sensing her emotions rushing into chaos. “I appreciate your remembering him and the sacrifice he made, especially since his beliefs were controversial.” Enough said.

She took a deep, cleansing breath. “I brought doughnuts.”

And they were buttermilk, Toby’s favorite.

She glanced at Jacob, hoping to end the tension between them. How Barbara could stay married to him was beyond her comprehension. He treated her and their four kids like yesterday’s trash.

Danika wound through the crowd of agents, greeting those who offered condolences and others who offered a good-morning.

The field operations supervisor, Agent Oden Herrera, stood in front of the flags—the U.S., Homeland Security, and the Border Patrol. Pushing the emotions of regret and grief about Toby aside, Danika captured the supervisor’s attention. “During the muster you said intel had picked up a cocaine drop last night?”

Herrera walked to a wall map and pointed. “Like I said earlier: arrested seven men and two women right along here, your area. A kid had a small bag of cocaine on him. Most likely a deterrent. The drug smuggler either hid it before being apprehended, or he’s still waiting for someone to pick him up. Dogs have been out there most of the night, but Barnett and Fire-Eater are headed that way in a few minutes.”

Danika finished her coffee and made her way into the stifling heat and stopped by Jon Barnett’s truck. As Fire-Eater’s handler, he had everyone’s admiration, and the Belgian sheepdog had a reputation for being the best of the K-9s. Barnett snapped on the dog’s leash and waved.

“I hear we’re working the same area today.” Danika refrained from patting Fire-Eater. Some days he wasn’t people friendly. After seeing the dog in action a few times when he’d found drug runners, she sometimes felt sorry for those he brought down.

Barnett grinned and wiped the sweat already beading on his face. “He’s a good dog, Morales. Just needs a little help with his people skills.” He laughed, his freckles deepening in the intense sun. “And he’s great with the wife and kids. Like another member of the family.” He pulled out his keys. “Do you want to talk? We have a few minutes.”

All she really wanted was for the day to be over. Talking increased the chances of liquid emotion—which was more lethal than the river flowing between the U.S. and Mexico. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

“Do you need to talk?”

“It’s been two years.” Therapeutic or not, she would not open up, even to a sweet guy like Barnett. She’d spent hours building a reputation as a tough agent, and she wasn’t about to take a nosedive now.

“Right, and the sooner you admit that today has crept up on you worse than a case of food poisoning, the better you’ll feel.”

She had to agree. “Have you turned psychologist?”

“Fire-Eater and five kids taught me all I know.”

“I had a dog when I was a kid,” she said, looking for any subject except Toby. “Gentle, sensed my moods, smart. My best friend. Sure missed him when he was gone.” Danika blinked back a tear, despising her reaction. She stared at Fire-Eater rather than look into Barnett’s face.

“I bet he slept at the foot of your bed.”

Fire-Eater climbed into the backseat of the double-cab truck.

“Sometimes in it. We even shared meals. I didn’t like meat, and he’d eat it for me.”

“Who’s your best friend now?”

She swallowed the ever-increasing lump in her throat. “Toby’s gone, and I have a tough time in church.”

“Confession is a beginning. Any family?”

“Toby’s family has been good to me.” Never mind Jacob. “My folks never approved of my marriage.” She sucked in a breath. It hissed like the poisonous snakes she feared. “Well-meaning friends do this to me.”

“Do you feel any better?”

Sneak. “Yeah, thanks, doc. You—”

Fire-Eater barked. No doubt anxious to get moving. The animal and Jacob had similar personalities, but today she’d rather be with the dog.

HHH

Danika turned off Old Military Road and bounced along a narrow dirt and gravel path, bordered by tall, thick grass and brush and laden with prickly pears on the Rio Grande side and more thick brush on the other. Jon had radioed ahead and reported signs from last night, but nothing new. Every agent was on alert. Trouble brewed along the entire two-thousand-mile border between Mexico and the United States. Drug cartels were slaughtering innocent people in the streets, and those on the U.S. side feared it was only a matter of time before the fighting spilled over the line. Not on her watch.

She drove slowly past the few houses perched on the right side of the road, most of which had been stash houses at one time or another, havens for illegal aliens and drug smugglers. She stopped the truck beside a well-worn trail to look for recent signs in the dirt. After a generous spray of mosquito repellent on her uniform and hands, she stepped into the stifling ninety-degree heat and bent to study the hours-old footprints indicating where the illegals had gained access into Texas before being apprehended. Most of them only wanted an opportunity to better themselves, but others had a darker agenda. At least she hoped the footprints had been accounted for.

A breeze from the north fanned her face and offered a brief reprieve from the unrelenting sun. The tall grass with its thick growth waved as though mocking her commitment to the Border Patrol.

Fifteen minutes later, Barnett radioed a call for assistance.

“Spotted a man wearing a backpack near the 112 sensor. He headed into the carrizo.”

Danika ran back to the truck and raced her vehicle toward Barnett’s location. She wanted to tell him to wait for backup and not search through the thick grass alone, but she knew Barnett and Fire-Eater were a team and stayed on the traffic. The smuggler probably hid on a rattler’s nest.

She was the first to respond to Barnett’s request. Pulling in behind his truck, she unclipped her HK from her belt while radioing her arrival. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed his number.

“Barnett, I’m here,” she said. “Tell me you’re not in the middle of the carrizo.”

He chuckled. “Fire-Eater’s after him. I’m skirting it. Neither one of us is coming out until we have our man.”

She pocketed her cell phone and followed the agent’s footprints on the dusty road until they disappeared into the thicket. Hot as it was, the Kevlar vest felt good, even if it was worthless against a stab wound or a shotgun blast.

Fire-Eater barked, snapping Danika’s attention toward the riverbank. The dog growled from somewhere in the depths of the overgrowth.

Gunfire cracked in the still morning air. Alert to the danger, she pulled her weapon.

“This is the United States Border Patrol! Come out with your hands up!” Barnett’s voice roared.

Another shot fired. Fire-Eater yelped.

Blood pumping, Danika yanked out her radio. “Shots fired. Shots fired. Agent or K-9 may be down.”

Two more shots pierced the air.

When Barnett didn’t respond, she clicked the radio in place on her belt. “Barnett,” she yelled, “tell me you’re all right.”

Nothing.

A dark-haired man emerged from the right side of the road several yards away, wearing a backpack that no doubt contained drugs. His attention scattered in different directions.

“Alto, o disparo,” she said.

The man turned and fired at her before racing across the road. The bullet angled to her left. Danika returned the fire and sank a bullet into his thigh. He fell, and she raced toward him.

“Drop the gun, or I’ll be forced to shoot again.”

He kept his fingers wrapped around it. She wrestled with the rage that always seemed to lie below the surface of her control. If she killed him, she could claim self-defense. But her job title meant self-control.

“I said drop the gun.” She fired above him and kept running in his direction.

He lifted his hand and aimed. Instinctively she pumped a bullet into his hand. His wound caused a burst of blood to splatter the ground and the quiet air to echo with obscenities. Still he refused to release the hold on his gun.

“Do you want your whole hand blown off?” She stood over him and clamped her booted foot over his injured hand.

He screamed, and she pointed her firearm at his face. Danika trembled. She wasn’t a murderer, but anger did struggle to rule her emotions.

“You’ll pay for this,” the man said. “I know who you are, and there’s a contract out for you.”

“You aren’t the first or the last to threaten me.” She picked up the man’s gun, an older model Beretta. With his leg and hand bleeding, he wasn’t going anywhere. She slipped the handcuffs from her belt and clamped them on his wrists. Rolling him over, she brushed his bleeding leg against the hard ground, and he moaned. Where was backup? Please, let Barnett be okay. Five kids. A respected agent.

“The drug cartels will destroy the Border Patrol.”

“Big talk for a man in handcuffs.”

“You wait and see who wins.” He spit on her boot. “You’ll never find out who killed your husband.”

She smothered the gasp that nearly stole her breath. How did the man know her? know about Toby’s death? He clearly had inside information—information that couldn’t have been obtained easily. Unless Toby’s murder was related to something bigger than she had imagined.

Focus. Now was not the time to weigh the shooter’s words. Later she’d look into it.

Her gaze searched the area. An outstretched arm poked through the overgrowth where the downed man had attempted to cross the road. She hurried, gun raised, eyes taking in every inch of the brush. As she grew closer, she saw the rest of Barnett’s body sprawled on the trodden grass. Blood soaked the ground, creating a small puddle of red against the vibrant green. Danika bent to his side.

Barnett moaned. “He shot Fire-Eater,” he whispered. “Get him.”

“I have him cuffed. Hold on. Help’s coming.” She pulled out the radio. “Need EMS. Agent down.”

She hadn’t been there for Toby, but she could be there for Barnett.

A Stray Drop of Blood - Roseanna White

2010-04-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

You might pick up a copy of A Stray Drop of Blood for yourself at the author's website.

Note: This review for A Stray Drop of Blood, with following interview of the author, Roseanna White, first appeared on April Gardner's website. I suggest that after reading the review, stopping by April's website for additional quality reviews. You're sure to discover a book that you'll be eager to read!

A Writer’s Journey is pleased to have author Roseanna M White visiting with us today!

Welcome, Roseanna!

I've just finished your novel A Stray Drop of Blood and was left rather breathless--a Roman soldier with a taste for beautiful women, a beautiful Jewess slave with no choice but to comply, the irrepressible yet familiar pull of sin, the redemptive power of Christ's blood, a dip into the waters of the ancient classics, and a super-charged dose of historic Jerusalem and Rome. Wow! I’m panting just listing them.

For the lover of all things romance and history, A Stray Drop of Blood is a little taste of heaven.

I'm stoked you're with us today, Roseanna, but before we delve into some questions that have been nagging at my mind, let’s have a look at the back cover over your book.

For seven years, Abigail has been a slave in the Visibullis house. With a Hebrew mistress and a roman master, she has always been more family than servant…until their son returns to Jerusalem after his years in Rome. Within a few months Jason has taken her to his bed and turned her world upside down. Maybe, given time, she can come to love him as he says he loves her. But how does she open her heart to the man who ruined her?

Israel’s unrest finds a home in her bosom, but their rebellion tears apart her world. Death descends with Barabbas’s sword, and Abigail is determined to be there when the criminal is punished. But when she ventures to the trial, Barabbas is not the one the crowd calls to crucify. Instead, it is the teacher her master and Jason had begun to follow, the man from Nazareth that some call the Son of God…

Born free, made a slave, married out of her bonds, Abigail never knows freedom until she feels the fire of a stray drop of blood from the Jewish carpenter. Disowned by Israel, despised by Rome, desired by all, she never knows love until she receives the smile of a stoic Roman noble.

Abigail’s story isn’t a short one. The girl is really put through the ringer, which makes for a great read! Why is it we like it so much when characters suffer? J

Partway through, the plot also takes a drastic and almost unexpected turn that left me reeling for half a chapter. I love a good surprise. Then shortly after, I thought maybe it should have been two books instead of one, but I’m glad it wasn’t. I never could have waited for the sequel!

Set in Jerusalem at the time of Christ, the author interjects glimpses of the Teacher, His impact on the city and inevitably, the characters. The story has just the right amount of Biblical inserts without becoming overbearing or preachy.

A bit of forewarning. There were a few more intense bedroom scenes. I didn’t have a problem with it, but a parent might want to take note if their young person is interested in reading it.

The attention to historical detail was amazing. I was there, in the dusty streets and the squawking marketplace, at the foot of the cross. Ms. White did her homework and it shows.

In short, A Stray Drop of Blood was an amazing book. Who says small press can’t be great?!

Now that everyone knows a little about your book, Roseanna, can you give us a peek into your life?

A. Describe where you're at, what you're wearing, and if you're eating/drinking anything.

R. I'm at the table in my family room (a.k.a. basement), in a house nestled in the mountains of Western Maryland. I'm wearing a divine cashmere sweater in a pale, icy blue with . . . oh, wait. Scratch that. I'm in my turquoise jammies and my purple bath robe. =) (But I'd really like a divine cashmere sweater!) Beside me is my fresh cup of coffee, poured into my favorite mug—the one with a whole slew of Disney cartoon characters on it. (Who says growing up is necessary, anyway?)

A. You're a self-proclaimed book nut. How many books are in your to-read pile? How do you decide which to read first?

R. This is actually a tricky question. I have levels, you see. On my to-be-read shelves are approximately, oh, 150-200 books. But many of those I'll send out to other reviewers. On my personal stack that I absolutely will NOT give to anyone else, there are about five. Today. Although a new shipment could arrive any minute, so that number fluctuates daily. =)

A. Proof of the tremendous amount of research you put into writing A Stray Drop of Blood saturates every page. Which bits of research did you enjoy the most? Ancient languages? Mosaic Law? Roman military? Another? Which area was the most difficult to find good information on?

R. Well, most of the research was just absorbed while I was in college studying all this stuff, but I'd have to say my favorite was the languages. I spent two years learning how to read and translate Ancient Greek, and it really helped me see how people thought during the time—which, trust me, is hugely affected by the words at their disposal. So when I wrote Stray Drop I made a decision to make my English as Greek as possible (that was the common language of the Roman Empire at the time). That's why I use no contractions—I wanted to convey formality or casualness through word choice rather than an apostrophe, as we have the luxury of doing in English but which they didn't in Greek.

The hardest to find information on . . . that would probably be some of the details of the military life. I know it's out there, but what I could find of it was so heavy that even after I read it I was left scratching my head and going, “Okay, so . . . what?” A perfect example of that is the night watch. The men seemed to be chosen rather randomly for that, but that just wouldn't work for my story, so I said, “Okay, let's put some regimenting in it.” What I came up with isn't unreasonable but wouldn't be exactly right.

A. It's evident you are passionate about the topics your novel delves into. Would you say you're a passionate person in general or just about your writing?

R. Hmm . . . well, one of my college professors once said, “I fear such temperance is unhealthy in one so young. When I hear her speak in class, I'm left wondering if she ever curses or throws a phone in anger.”

I blinked at him and said, “Well, no. What's your point?” LOL. His point, I believe, was that I lacked the passion of youth. I, of course, took it as a compliment. =) I am passionate—about my husband, my family, my writing, my faith, and a few other choice subjects. But most of that gets funneled into my books. In day-to-day life, I'm even tempered (or was, before I had toddlers trying my patience!) and laid back.

A. On your website, you say you've read a good bit of the Ancient texts. Did you enjoy reading all of them? Which would you recommend for a "newbie" to the ancient classics to begin with?

R. Did I enjoy them all? NO! Some were dry and boring, some were downright disgusting, and some I just couldn't see the point of. But all the books we read in college refer to each other, so it was crucial to read those boring, yucky ones too.

For a newbie, I'd recommend the works of Homer to get a great idea on how Ancient Greeks thought of their gods—I know The Odyssey is the more popular these days, but I actually preferred The Iliad. From Plato, you absolutely have to read The Republic. If you like biographical stuff, Plutarch's Lives are fabulous looks into some of the men who changed the course of empires, and they're not too long. I really enjoyed Epictetus's Discourses, which outline Stoicism. And—okay, I'll stop. That's enough for now. =) Though you can get a full list of all I drew on in the companion guide I put together. It's online at http://www.roseannawhite.com/index.php/books/companion_guide/.

A. Coffee or tea? Flip-flops or heels?

R. Coffee. Heels, if I'm in a dress/skirt/slacks. If I'm in jeans or shorts, it's sandals all the way. (Clogs in the winter. Classy, I know, right?)

A. Do you have any other great stories up your sleeves we should be on the lookout for?

R. Tons of them up my sleeve! My agent is shopping quite a few right now, so we'll see what gets picked up first. Will it be the Victorian trilogy about the Monagasque princess and the red diamonds? (Probably not—no one wants Victorian right now.) Will it be the 20s Mafia story about the daughter of a mob boss? (Maybe, but people tend to go, “A Christian Mafia story? Um, no.”) Or perhaps the contemporary romance set at the beach, about the woman who gave up her dreams to have twins at 16 and now has to finally tell the father about them, nine years later? (A definite possibility! I'll let you know.)

Thanks, Roseanna! I’ve loved getting to know you a bit. Can’t recommend your book enough. We’ll be anxiously awaiting your next work!

Disaster Status - Candace Calvert (Book #2 in Mercy Hospital series)

2010-04-06T06:45:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Candace Calvert

and the book:

Disaster Status (Book #2 in Mercy Hospital series)

Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (March 4, 2010)

***Special thanks to Mavis Sanders of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Candace Calvert is an ER nurse who landed on the "other side of the stethoscope" after the equestrian accident that broke her neck and convinced her that love, laughter—and faith—are the very best medicines of all. The inspirational account of her accident and recovery appears in Chicken Soup for the Nurse's Soul and launched her writing career. The author of a madcap cruise mystery series in the secular market, Candace now eagerly follows her heart to write Christian fiction for Tyndale House. Her new medical drama series, launched with Critical Care in 2009, offers readers a chance to "scrub in" on the exciting world of emergency medicine, along with charismatic characters, pulse-pounding action, tender romance, humor, suspense—and a soul-soothing prescription for hope. Born in northern California and the mother of two, Candace now lives in the Hill Country of Texas.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 352 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. (March 4, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414325444
ISBN-13: 978-1414325446

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Fire captain Scott McKenna bolted through the doors of Pacific Mercy ER, his boots thudding and heart pounding as the unconscious child began to stiffen and jerk in his arms. He cradled her close as her small spine arched and her head thumped over and over against his chest. “Need help here. Seizure!”

“This way.” A staff person beckoned. “The code room. Someone page respiratory therapy stat!”

Scott jogged behind a trio of staff in green scrubs to a glassed-in room, laid the child on a gurney, and stepped back, his breath escaping in a rush of relief. He swiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead and tried to catch a glimpse of the girl’s face. He’d swept her up too fast to get a good look at her. Now, with merciful distance, Scott’s heart tugged. Six or seven years old with long black braids, frilly clusters of hair ribbons, little hoop earrings, she looked disturbingly pale despite her olive skin. Her dark eyes rolled upward, unfocused, as the ER team closed in to suction her airway, start oxygen, and cut away her flowered top and pants.

The alarms of the cardiac monitor beeped as a technician attached gelled electrodes to her tiny chest. Thankfully, the seizure ended, although saliva—foamy as a salted garden snail—still bubbled from her parted lips.

Scott inhaled slowly, the air a sour mix of illness, germicidal soap, and anxious perspiration. He thought of his nephew, Cody, lying in a pediatrics bed two floors above.

The ER physician, a vaguely familiar woman, gestured to a nurse. “Get an IV and pull me some labs. I’ll need a quick glucose check and a rectal temp. Let’s keep lorazepam handy in case she starts up again. What’s her O2 saturation?”

“It’s 98 percent on the non-rebreather mask, Dr. Stathos.”

Leigh Stathos. Golden Gate Mercy Hospital. Scott nodded, recognizing her—and the irony. She left San Francisco. I’ve applied for a job there . . . and everywhere else.

“Good. Now let’s see if I can get a medic report.” Dr. Stathos whirled to face Scott, her expression indicating she was trying to place him as well. Her gaze flickered to his badge. “Oh yes. McKenna. Didn’t recognize you for a second there. So what’s the history? And where’s the rest of your crew? Are they sending you guys out solo now?”

“No. But no crew. And no report. I was here as a visitor, until some guy waved me down in the parking lot. I took one look at this girl and decided to scoop and run.” Scott nodded toward a woman crying near the doorway. “That could be family. They were in the truck with her.”

“Seizure history?”

“Don’t know. My Spanish isn’t the best. I think they said ‘sick’ and ‘vomiting,’ but—”

One of the nurses called out for the doctor. “She’s starting to twitch again. IV’s in, and the blood glucose is good at 84. No fever. How much lorazepam are you going to want? She weighs about 20 kilos.”

Dr. Stathos moved back to the gurney. “We’ll start with one milligram slowly. But let me get a look at her first, listen to her lungs, and check her eyes.” She looked up as a blonde nurse appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Sandy?”

“Sorry, Doctor. I couldn’t get much, but her name’s Ana Galvez. Six years old. No meds, no allergies, and no prior seizure history. I think. There’s a language barrier, and I don’t have an official interpreter yet. But thought you should know I’ve got a dozen more people signing in for triage, all with gastric complaints and headaches. The parking lot’s full of farm trucks, and—” She stopped as the child began a second full-blown seizure.

Two respiratory therapists rushed through the doorway.

Scott tensed. A dozen more patients? Then his Spanish was good enough to have understood one last thing the terrified family had said before he took off running with their child: “Hay muchos más enfermos”—There are many more sick people.

He glanced back at the child convulsing on the gurney. What was going on?

+++

Muscle it. Punch through it. Control it. Be bigger than the bag.

Erin Quinn’s fist connected in one last spectacular, round-winning right hook, slamming the vinyl speed bag against the adjacent wall. And causing a tsunami in her grandmother’s goldfish tank. Water sluiced over the side.

“Whoa! Hang on, buddy. I’ve got you.” She dropped to her knees, steadying the tank with her red leather gloves. Everything she’d done in the last six months was focused on keeping Iris Quinn safe, secure, and happy, and now she’d nearly KO’d the woman’s only pet.

Erin watched the bug-eyed goldfish’s attempts to ride out the wave action. She knew exactly how he felt. Her own situation was equally unsettling: thirty-one and living with her grandmother and a geriatric goldfish named Elmer Fudd in a five-hundred-square-foot beach house. With two mortgages and a stubborn case of shower mold. She caught a whiff of her latest futile bout with bleach and grimaced.

But moving back to Pacific Point was the best option for her widowed grandmother, emotionally as well as financially. Erin was convinced of that, even if her grandmother was still skeptical . . . and the rest of the family dead set against it. Regardless, Erin was determined to put the feisty spark back in Nana’s eyes, and she had found the change surprisingly good for herself as well. After last year’s frustrating heartaches, being back in a house filled with warm memories felt a lot like coming home. She needed that more than she’d known.

Erin tugged at a long strand of her coppery hair and smiled. The fact that her grandmother was down at the chamber of commerce to inquire about volunteer work was proof they were finally on the right track. Meanwhile, she had the entire day off from the hospital. March sunshine; capris instead of nursing scrubs; time to catch up with her online course work, jog on the beach, and dawdle at the fish market with her grandmother.

She turned at the sound of her cell phone’s Rocky theme ring tone, then struggled, teeth against laces, to remove a glove in time to answer.

She grabbed the phone and immediately wished she hadn’t. The caller display read Pacific Mercy ER. “Yes?”

“Ah, great. We caught you.”

“Not really,” Erin said, recognizing the relief charge nurse’s voice and glancing hopefully toward the door. “In fact, I was just heading out.”

“Dr. Stathos said she’s sorry, but she needs you here. Stat. We’ve got kind of a mess.”

Mess? Erin’s breath escaped like a punctured balloon. In the ER, a mess could mean anything. All of it bad. She’d heard the TV news reports of a single-engine plane crash early this morning, but the pilot had been pronounced dead on the scene, and there were no other victims. The hospital shouldn’t be affected. Then . . . “What’s going on?”

“Eighteen sick farm workers,” the nurse explained, raising her voice over a cacophony of background noise. “Maybe a few more now; they keep coming in. We’re running out of gurneys, even in the hallway.”

“Sick with what?” Erin asked. The sheer number of patients qualified as a multicasualty disaster, but only if it were a motor vehicle accident, an explosion, or a similar tragedy.

“Dr. Stathos isn’t sure. But she’s thinking maybe food poisoning. They’re all from the same ranch. Everyone’s vomiting, and—”

“It’s a real mess,” Erin finished, sighing. “I got that part. But how come the ambulances are bringing them all to us? Dispatch should be sending some to Monterey.”

“They’re not in ambulances. They’re arriving in work vehicles. A couple of guys were even sprawled out on a flatbed truck. They’re lucky no one rolled onto the highway. The police are at the ranch investigating, but meanwhile we’re overwhelmed. And of course the media got wind of it, so now we have reporters showing up. You know how aggressive they get. I’m sorry, but I feel like I’m in over my head with this whole thing.”

The nurse was new at taking charge, and Erin remembered how scary that felt when things went south in the ER. Monday shifts were usually fairly tame, but this sounded like . . . “Tell the nursing supervisor I’m on my way in and that we’ll probably need to go on disaster status and . . . Hold on a second, would you?” She yanked off her other glove and strode, phone to her ear, toward the miniscule closet she shared with her grandmother. “Close the clinic and use that for overflow. Get security down there to help control things, the chaplain too. And see if the fire department can spare us some manpower.”

Erin pulled a set of camouflage-print scrubs from a hanger, then began peeling off her bike shorts with one hand. “I’ll get there as soon as I can. Just need to take a quick shower and leave my grandmother a note.” And kiss my free day good-bye?

No, she wasn’t going to think that way. As a full-time charge nurse, the welfare of the ER staff was a huge priority. Besides, Leigh Stathos wouldn’t haul her in on her day off if it weren’t important. Erin had dealt with far worse things. Like that explosion at the day care center near Sierra Mercy Hospital last year. In comparison, food poisoning wasn’t such a big deal, even two dozen cases. Messy, yes. Life-altering, no. Central service would find more basins, she’d help start a few IVs, they’d give nausea meds and plenty of TLC, and they’d get it all under control.

“No problemo,” she murmured as she hung up, then realized the inarticulate phrase was pretty much the extent of her Spanish. She made a mental note to be sure they had enough interpreters. Interpreters, basins, more manpower, and a full measure of TLC to patients—and her staff. That should do it.

Ten minutes later she snagged an apple for the road, wrote Nana a note, and stowed her boxing gloves on the rack beneath the TV. She wouldn’t need battle gear for this extra stint in the ER. And then she’d be back home. In a couple of hours, tops.

+++

When Erin turned in to the hospital parking lot, she realized she’d forgotten her name badge. Good thing security knew her. Her eyes widened as she approached the ambulance entrance. She braked to a stop, her mouth dropping open as she surveyed the scene at the emergency department’s back doors: four dusty and battered trucks—one indeed a flatbed—at least three news vans, a fire truck, an ambulance, and several police cars. She quickly put the Subaru in park, then opened her door and squinted up at the sky. Oh, c’mon, was that a helicopter? A plane crash wasn’t big enough news today?

Several nurses stood outside the doors holding clipboards and dispensing yellow plastic emesis basins to a restless line of a least a dozen patients in long sleeves, heavy trousers, and work boots. Including one elderly man who seemed unsteady on his feet as he mopped his forehead with a faded bandanna. A young uniformed firefighter paramedic, the husband of their ER triage nurse, was also helping out. Good, Erin’s request for extra manpower had been accepted.

Reporters in crisp khakis and well-cut jackets leaned across what appeared to be a hastily erected rope-and-sawhorse barricade. It was manned by a firefighter in a smoke-stained turnout jacket with the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. And an expression as stony as Rushmore.

Erin locked the car, grabbed her tote bag, and jogged into the wind toward the barricade, trying to place the daunting firefighter. Tall, with close-cropped blond hair, a sturdy jaw, and a rugged profile. He turned, arms crossed, to talk with someone across the barricade, so she couldn’t see all of his face. But he wasn’t a full-time medic; she knew them all. An engine company volunteer? Maybe, but she hadn’t met him. She was sure of that. Because, even from what little she’d seen, this man would have been memorable. Her face warmed ridiculously as she slowed to a walk.

But her growing curiosity about his identity was a moot point. There wasn’t time for that now. She needed to slip between those sawhorses, hustle into the ER, touch base with the relief charge nurse, brainstorm with Leigh Stathos, and see what she could do to help straighten out this mess.

Erin stopped short as the big firefighter turned abruptly, blocking her way. “Excuse me,” she said, sweeping wind-tossed hair from her face as she peered up at him. Gray. His eyes were granite gray. “I need to get past you. Thanks. Appreciate it.” She attempted to squeeze by him, catching a faint whiff of citrusy cologne . . . mixed with smoke.

“Don’t thank me. And stop right where you are.” He stepped in front of her, halting her in her tracks. There was the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. He crossed his arms again. “No one can come through here. Those are the rules. And I go by the book. Sorry.”

By the book? As if she didn’t have policies to follow? Erin forced herself to take a deep breath. Lord, show me the humor in this. Called to work on her day off and then denied access. It was funny if you thought about it. She tried to smile and managed a pinched grimace. This was about as funny as the mold in her shower. She met his gaze, noticing that he had a small scar just below his lower lip. Probably from somebody’s fist.

“I work here, Captain . . . McKenna,” Erin explained, reading the name stenciled on his jacket. “In fact—” she patted the left breast pocket of her scrubs, then remembered her missing name badge—“I’m the day-shift charge nurse. But I forgot my badge.”

“I see,” he said, uncrossing his arms. He pointed toward the trio of reporters leaning over the barricade. “See that reporter over there—the tall woman with the microphone and bag of Doritos? Ten minutes ago she pulled a white coat out of one of those news vans and tried to tell me she was a doctor on her way to an emergency delivery. Premature twins.”

“But that’s unbelievable. That’s—”

“Exactly why I’m standing here,” the captain interrupted. “So without hospital ID or someone to corroborate, I can’t let you in.”

Her jaw tightened, and she glanced toward the ER doors. “One of your paramedics is back there somewhere; Chuck knows me. He’s married to my triage nurse. Find him and ask him.”

McKenna shook his head. “Can’t leave this spot.”

“Then call.” Erin pointed to the cell phone on his belt. “Better yet, ask for Dr. Leigh Stathos. Tell her I’m here. She’ll verify my identity. The number is—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, lifting his phone and watching her intently as he made an inquiry. He gave a short laugh. “Yes. A redhead in what looks like Army fatigues . . . Ah, let’s see . . . green eyes. And about—” his gaze moved discreetly over her—“maybe five foot nine?”

Erin narrowed her eyes. What was this, a lineup?

The captain lowered the phone. “Your name?”

“Erin Quinn,” she said, feeling like she should extend her hand or something. She resisted the impulse.

“Hmm. Yes,” he said into the phone. “I see. Okay, then.” He cleared his throat and disconnected the call.

She looked at him. “Did you get what you needed?”

“Well,” he said, reaching down to detach the rope from a sawhorse, “it seems you’re who you say you are. And that I shouldn’t expect a commendation for detaining you. Apparently it’s because of your request that I’m here. Not that I wanted to be. I still have men out on the plane crash, but . . .” He hesitated and then flashed the barest of smiles. Though fleeting, it transformed his face from Rushmore cold to almost human. “Go on inside, Erin Quinn. You’re late.” His expression returned to chiseled stone. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. But that’s the way this has to work.”

“No problemo.” Erin hitched her tote bag over her shoulder and stepped through the barricade. Then she turned back. “What’s your first name, McKenna?”

“Scott.”

She extended her hand and was surprised by the warmth of his. “Well, then. Good job, Scott. But going by the book isn’t always the bottom line. Try to develop a little trust, will you? We’re all on the same team.”

Twenty minutes later, Erin finished checking on her staff and rejoined Leigh Stathos in the code room. They both looked up as the housekeeping tech arrived at the doorway.

“You wanted these?” Sarge asked.

“Yes. Great. Thank you.” Erin nodded at the tall, fortysomething man wearing tan scrubs, his brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail and arms full of plastic emesis basins. “Put those in the utility room, would you? And I think we could use some extra sheets and gowns too. If you don’t mind.”

His intense eyes met hers for an instant before glancing down. “Yes, ma’am, double time.”

Erin smiled at Sarge’s familiar and somber half salute, then watched him march away, his powerful frame moving in an awkward hitch to accommodate his artificial leg. She returned her attention to Leigh and the dark-eyed child on the gurney beside them. The ventilator, overriding her natural breathing, whooshed at regular intervals, filling the girl’s lungs. “She had two seizures but none before today?”

“Looks that way.” The ER physician, her long mahogany hair swept back loosely into a clip, reached down and lifted the sheet covering the child. “But see how her muscles are still twitchy? And her pupils are constricted. I’ll be honest: I don’t like this. The only thing I know for sure is that the X-ray shows an aspiration pneumonia. Probably choked while vomiting on the truck ride in. I’ve started antibiotics. Art’s coming in,” she added, referring to the on-call pediatrician. “And I paged the public health officer.”

“Good.” Erin’s brows scrunched. It was puzzling; an hour after arrival, Ana Galvez remained unresponsive, her skin glistening with perspiration. Though Leigh had inserted an endotracheal tube and the child was suctioned frequently, she was still producing large amounts of saliva. Her heart rate, barely 70, was surprisingly slow for her age. She’d had several episodes of diarrhea. Poor kid. What happened to you?

Erin glanced toward the main room of the ER, grateful things appeared to be settling down out there. “I still don’t get this, though. Ana came from home? Not the ranch where everybody got sick?”

“Yes, but—” Leigh fiddled with the stethoscope draped across the shoulders of her steel gray scrub top—“she’d been there earlier. Felt sick after lunch and her father took her home.”

“So that goes right back to the food. But salmonella takes time. Still, the symptoms fit. Triage says most of the patients are complaining of headache, nausea, cramps, and diarrhea.” Erin checked the monitor: heart rate 58. Why so slow? “What did they eat?”

Leigh sighed. “Sack lunches. Every one different. That doesn’t fit at all. I wanted it to be huge tubs of chicken stew that everyone shared. That would make sense. But Sandy’s seen twenty-six patients in triage now, and the story from everybody sounds the same: picking strawberries since 6 a.m., lunch together around eleven, and—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but something’s . . . wrong.” Erin and Leigh turned at the sound of the triage nurse’s voice at the doorway.

Erin’s eyes widened. The triage nurse looked awful—pale, sweaty, teary-eyed. Sandy was holding her hand to her head, trembling. What happened?

Before she could ask, Sandy’s eyelids fluttered and her knees gave way.

Have a Blessed Easter!

2010-04-03T11:37:00.001-07:00

How blessed is this day, when earth and heaven are joined and humankind is reconciled to God!

May the light of Jesus shine continually to drive away all darkness. May Christ, the Morning Star who knows no setting, find his light ever burning in our hearts—he who gives his light to all creation, and who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

adapted from the Book of Common Prayer -1979, the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America.

Scripture Tree - Kevin Scott Collier

2010-03-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

Kevin Scott Collier:

"Love is patient and kind, love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude...."

1 Corinthians 13: 4-13

"It's really about unconditional love, something you rarely find in this life here on earth. The love of Jesus is unconditional. And, in a world riddled with conditions, true unconditional seems beyond reach. But with faith, you can feel it. You can experience moments of it. and, most of all, you can be an example of it."

McKenzie’s Montana Mystery (Camp Club Girls 3) - Shari Barr

2010-03-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Shari Barr

and the book:

McKenzie’s Montana Mystery (Camp Club Girls 3)

Barbour Books (March 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Angie Brillhart of Barbour Publishing, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Shari Barr lives on a farm in southwest Iowa with her husband and teenage son and daughter. She writes inspirational fiction as a mission to spread the gospel while creating Christian role models for children. She has also published two non-fiction books as well as numerous articles for adults.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $5.97
Reading level: Ages 9-12
Paperback: 160 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (March 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602602697
ISBN-13: 978-1602602694

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

A Surprise for McKenzie!

Chapter 1

Aaaaaahhhh!

McKenzie screamed and clutched the reins with sweaty palms. She tugged firmly, trying to control her horse.

Please, God, help me, she prayed as Sahara bolted down the arena.

McKenzie’s heart pounded and her auburn hair whipped behind her.

Something’s wrong! she thought.

She leaned forward and pulled the reins with all her strength. The tightness she usually felt in the reins was missing. She had no control over her horse! Sahara raced straight toward the barrel in the middle of the arena.

“McKenzie!” a voice screamed from the sidelines. “Hold on.”

The reins slipped between her fingers. McKenzie started to slide from the saddle. She grasped the saddle horn, but Sahara’s galloping bounced her up and down until she could hold on no longer.

McKenzie hit the ground with a thud as thundering hooves barely missed her. She laid with her face on the ground. Sahara raced by and finally slowed to a trot.

“McKenzie! Are you okay?” A pair of cowboy boots appeared in front of her face.

Rolling over, McKenzie pushed herself into a sitting position. She coughed from the dust Sahara had stirred up and looked into the eyes of Emma Wilson, her riding instructor. “I-I don’t know yet,” she stammered as she stretched her legs.

She felt a strong hand support the back of her head. Turning, she saw Emma’s hired hand, Derek, holding up two fingers. “How many?” he asked.

“Four,” McKenzie answered.

Emma and Derek stared at her. No one said anything for a minute.

“But two fingers are bent over,” she added.

After a second, Derek’s face broke into a grin. He unbuckled her riding helmet and slipped it off her head.

“She’s okay,” a familiar voice announced. The girl with a fringe of black

bangs fluttering on her olive skin popped a red gummy worm into her mouth.

“Bailey! What are you doing here?” McKenzie screeched as the girl approached her. “Hey, can I have one of those?”

“Yep, she’s definitely okay,” Bailey said as she dangled a green and orange worm in front of McKenzie.

McKenzie grabbed the worm and pulled her legs forward, trying to stand up. But Emma placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “Not so fast. Sit for a minute.”

“What happened anyway?” McKenzie watched as her horse sauntered back across the arena and nuzzled her face. “I had no control over Sahara. I just couldn’t hold on.”

Derek reached his hand out to the chocolate brown mare. “Here’s the problem,” he said as his fingers touched a dangling strap. “Her bridle is broken.”

McKenzie tried again to stand. Emma and Derek each put a hand beneath her arms and helped her to her feet. Feeling slightly light-headed, she stepped forward and grabbed Bailey in a tight hug.

“So, how did you get here?” McKenzie asked.

“When you told me you were coming to Sunshine Stables to train for the rodeo and help with Kids’ Camp, I convinced Mom and Dad to let me fly out with Uncle Troy on a business trip. He rented a car and drove me out from the airport. He didn’t have time to stick around, so he’s gone already.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” McKenzie asked.

“Well, I signed up for the camp, since I’m not that good on horses. When Miss Wilson found out we were friends, she invited me to stay here, but she wanted to surprise you. Then after camp, she’s going to train both of us for the rodeo.” Bailey’s dark eyes flashed.

“Oh, Emma, this is the best surprise ever!” McKenzie turned to her instructor.

“Think of it as a thank-you for coming to Kids’ Camp on such short notice,” Emma said with a smile. “I didn’t expect so many kids to sign up. You’ll be a big help with the younger ones. But, let’s get you up to the house to sit for a minute. If you can walk, that is.”

“I’m fine,” McKenzie assured Emma as she brushed dirt from her face with the sleeve of her t-shirt. “I’d better take care of Sahara first, though.”

“I’ll do that,” Derek said as he grabbed Sahara’s halter. “I’ll take her to the stable and find her a new bridle. You go on to the house.”

Emma and the girls walked to the large, white farmhouse. A sign reading “Sunshine Stables” stood in the front yard. Several sheds and a huge red barn stood beyond the house. The riding arena was next to a matching red stable. A dozen or so horses grazed in the lush, green pasture.

McKenzie sighed with contentment. She had met Bailey at Camp Discovery, where they had shared a cabin with four other campers. The six girls, or the Camp Club Girls, as they called themselves, had become fast friends by solving a mystery together. Though they all lived in different parts of the country, they had kept in touch and gone on to solve another mystery together. Bailey was the youngest of the group at nine years old, four years younger than McKenzie.

The girls stepped onto the huge porch that wrapped around the house. They dropped onto the porch swing while Emma slipped inside. Emma quickly returned with cold drinks.

“Emma, this is so perfect.” McKenzie reached out to pet Buckeye, Emma’s brown and white terrier. “This will be so fun having Bailey here. Now, we can work on barrel racing together.”

“Don’t forget you have to save time for the Junior Miss Rodeo Queen contest, too,” Emma said as she ran her fingers through her short blond hair.

McKenzie groaned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to compete in the contest. Emma had competed when she was younger and had told McKenzie’s mom what a wonderful experience it had been. Now, Mom had talked McKenzie into competing. McKenzie didn’t like the thought of wearing fancy riding clothes for the contest. And she especially dreaded the thought of standing on stage in front of hundreds of people.

McKenzie got slightly nervous in riding competitions, but just thinking about the queen contest made her want to throw up.

“Are your parents coming for the rodeo and the queen contest?” Bailey scratched Buckeye’s ears.

“Yes, they’ll be here,” McKenzie answered, sipping her lemonade. “My family doesn’t live too far away. I usually come over here and train a couple of days a week. But, now that I’m helping with Kids Camp, I get to stay here until the rodeo next week. I’ll have a lot of extra time to train.”

After the girls finished their lemonade, Emma asked McKenzie to show Bailey their bedroom. The girls stepped inside the front door where Bailey had left her bags. She grabbed her pink and green striped pillow and tucked it under her arm along with a monster-sized black and white panda. McKenzie grabbed the two bags and led the way upstairs to their bedroom. A set of bunk beds stood against one wall.

McKenzie turned to her friend. “I knew you were hoping to visit, but I didn’t think you’d be able to come.”

“I didn’t either.” Bailey dropped her pillow and panda on the floor. “When Uncle Troy found out about his trip, Mom and Dad decided at the last minute that I could come along.”

“We’ll have a blast.” McKenzie pointed to Bailey’s bags. “Do you have cowboy boots in there somewhere? And, you might want to change into jeans so we can go horseback riding as soon as Derek finds a new bridle for Sahara.”

Bailey changed her clothes. Then the girls headed back downstairs and went outside with Emma.

“I’ll help you saddle your horses,” Emma said as she led the way across the yard. “Bailey, you can ride the Shetland pony, Applejack. Then you two can go for a ride while I work. How does that sound?”

“Great.” McKenzie said. “When do we need to be back for chores?”

“About an hour or so.” Emma said as they walked through the stable to Applejack’s stall.

First Emma helped saddle the horse for Bailey, while McKenzie put the bridle on. Emma grabbed a riding helmet for the younger girl and led Applejack out of the stable.

Derek met them at the doorway holding Sahara, who was fitted with a new bridle. Derek was Emma’s newest stable hand. He had only been working at Sunshine Stables for two months. Even though Derek was an adult, he reminded McKenzie of her eight-year-old brother, Evan. Both were always full of mischief.

“You look better than you did a while ago,” Derek told McKenzie. “You’re not even limping.”

“Nope. I told you I was fine.” She patted Sahara’s neck.

“McKenzie, why don’t you introduce your friend to Derek? I didn’t have a chance to do that when you were taking your wild ride,” Emma teased.

McKenzie pulled Bailey to her side. “Bailey Chang, meet Derek McGrady. Bailey lives in Peoria, Illinois.”

“Nice to meet you, Bailey. You ready to hop on Applejack? He’s ready for you.” He grabbed the horse’s reins and opened the gate.

McKenzie followed with Sahara. She placed her boot in the stirrup and swung herself up onto the saddle. Then with ease, Bailey hopped onto Applejack’s back.

“Your mom said you’ve done quite a bit of riding, Bailey. Is that right?” Emma asked as she closed the gate behind them.

“Yes. But I’m not as good as McKenzie.” Bailey swept her long bangs away from her forehead and slipped on her helmet. “I’ve done some racing at county fairs but never a rodeo.”

“You’re a lot younger than she is. You have plenty of time to improve.” Emma smiled at Bailey.

“Is it okay if we ride to Old Towne?” McKenzie put her helmet on and fastened the chinstrap.

“Sure. You have your cell phone with you, right?” Emma asked. “After you look around for awhile, head back for chores. Both of you can help with Diamond Girl when she comes in from pasture.”

Diamond Girl was Sunshine Stable’s most famous horse. She was Emma’s prize horse and a rodeo winner. For the last three years, Emma had ridden Diamond Girl in the barrel-racing competition, and each year Emma brought home the first-place trophy. McKenzie couldn’t wait to show Diamond Girl to Bailey.

Eager for a ride, the girls waved to Emma and Derek and headed for the dirt track behind the house. A warm summer breeze rustled the pine trees lining the trail.

“What is Old Towne?” Bailey asked as her horse plodded beside McKenzie’s.

“It’s a bunch of Old West buildings. There’s an old-time Main Street with a general store, post office, and stuff like that. But it’s more like a ghost town now. It belongs to Sunshine Stables and is open during June, July, and the first week of August. It’s closed now for the season. But we can still go look around.” McKenzie shielded her eyes against the sun and peered into the distance.

Pointing her finger, she continued, “See that old wooden windmill way out there? That’s Old Towne.”

“It looks kind of creepy.” Bailey wrinkled her nose.

“You know, there is a spooky story about Old Towne.” McKenzie flicked her reins at Sahara who had stopped to munch some grass. “A long time ago, a mysterious rider was seen riding out there at dusk. Some people say it was a ghost rider.”

Bailey looked quizzically at McKenzie. “Is that for real?”

McKenzie chuckled. “That’s what they say.”

“Has anybody seen the ghost rider lately?” Bailey nudged Applejack forward.

“I haven’t heard anything about it. Emma said the ghost rider story started years before she bought Sunshine Stables. She says someone just made it up to get visitors to come to Old Towne. It worked. Old Towne used to rake in the money. People paid to ride horses from the stables, hoping to see the ghost rider.”

“That’s spooky. A fun kind of spooky, that is,” Bailey said as she leaned over and scratched Applejack’s neck.

“Well, let’s go check the place out. I’ve never been here after it was closed for the season.”

McKenzie nudged Sahara with her heels. The girls galloped down the trail. The horses’ hooves stirred up little puffs of dust.

“Here we are,” McKenzie said as she arrived at the top of a small hill. She halted Sahara and waited for Bailey to catch up.

“Wow! This is neater than I thought it would be!” Bailey exclaimed, her eyes wide.

The girls continued down the trail leading to Main Street. Old storefronts lined both sides of the dirt street. A weathered school building and a church were nestled on a grassy lawn at the edge of town, away from the other buildings.

“Let’s tie our horses at the hitching post and look around.” McKenzie hung her helmet on the post and fluffed her sweaty curls.

After tying both horses, the girls stepped on the wooden sidewalk. Bailey ran ahead, her boots thumping loudly on the wood. She stopped and peered through a streaked windowpane. A tall red and white barber pole stood beside it.

“I can just imagine a cowboy sitting in there getting his hair cut,” Bailey said with a giggle.

“Yeah and then he could head across the street to the general store for a piece of beef jerky and a new pair of chaps.” McKenzie stuck her thumbs in her belt loops and walked bow-legged across the street.

Bailey laughed and raced to catch up with McKenzie. She stopped suddenly in the middle of the street and looked at the dusty ground. “Hey, did cowboys eat candy bars?”

McKenzie picked up the wrapper and shoved it in her pocket. “Maybe the ghost likes the candy. Whooo-ooooh!” McKenzie wailed eerily.

The girls headed to the general store and peered through the window. McKenzie pointed out different items in the darkness. They saw old wooden rakes, hand plows, and row after row of tin cans on the shelves. A headless mannequin wore a long, lacy white dress and a pair of men’s bib overalls hung from a hanger.

Both girls jumped when McKenzie’s cell phone rang. She pulled the phone from her pocket, answered, and listened to the caller for a minute. Then she quickly said “Okay. ’Bye,” and flipped the phone shut.

“That was Emma,” she said. “She wants us to hurry home. Diamond Girl is missing!”

Welcome to AHWCF!

2010-03-26T15:59:00.001-07:00

I'm always thankful when we get new "Followers" to out site! Welcome Alisa, Dell, and Lisa!

WOW! Donna Partow

2010-03-26T08:27:00.000-07:00

All I could do after discovering Donna Partow, and her services, was to say, "WOW!!!" This woman of God is a combustive force of energy.

Check out her website, and you'll agree! http://www.donnapartow.com/

Find the Right Coach

2010-03-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

As you may remember, I recently partnered up with Making Work at Home Work as a blogger.

Find the Right Coach

By Mary M. Byers

In my last post I talked about working with a coach. This time, we'll address how to find the right coach for you. I suggest the following:

Referrals. Ask friends and colleagues if they can recommend anyone to you. Listen to conversations. If you hear someone mention that they work with a coach, ask if they'd be willing to share the name and contact information. Referrals are by far the best way to find a coach.

Identify specifically what you need help with. Do you need help increasing your income? Decreasing your expenses? Someone to brainstorm marketing ideas with? Or, do you have plenty of ideas but lack the follow through to do them? In this latter case, you'll want someone who can use a little tough love to hold you accountable for getting things done. The more specific you are regarding where you need help, the more likely you'll be to find a coach that's a good fit for you.

Search online. Do a search for coaches online. You'll find plenty! Pick a few sites to go to, read about each coach and his or her philosophy, and watch the videos. You'll get a sense of who you might feel comfortable working with. Narrow the list to these possibilities.

Request a complimentary introductory session. This is THE most important step. I "met" by phone with several coaches before finding mine. One coach spent the whole conversation talking about herself. Another spent the entire time saying, "If you decide to work with me, then..." And a third was not at all focused during our conversation, which led me to believe our coaching sessions would be the same way--frustrating for me.

Make the decision. Know that your coaching relationship won't last forever. This makes it easier to decide who you will work with. Pick the coach you are most interested in. Then, ask if you can sign up for a limited number of sessions (a minimum of three). You'll have a good sense of how the relationship is working after several sessions.

Be willing to do the work. When you enter a coaching relationship, you're making a commitment to help your coach help you. And you're making a commitment to doing homework between sessions as well as to do the heavy thinking required to help take your business to the next level. Coaches see lots of people who are willing to pay for help, but fewer who are willing to roll up their sleeves and get to work. Your work with a coach only pays off if you're invested and willing to sweat along with your coach.

Good luck!

Mary Byers is the author of Making Work at Home Work: Successfully Growing a Business and a Family Under One Roof. You can learn more about making work at home work by subscribing to Mary’s free blog at www.makingworkathomework.com. Interested in more articles like this? Join the blog ring here.

Lying on Sunday - Sharon K. Souza

2010-03-24T00:01:00.000-07:00

"And the Truth shall set you free."

Souza emphatically takes the reader through the heartbreak and loss of infidelity and death. While it is a story of one woman's marriage and life that proves to be a fraud, it's more importantly a story about Abbie's experience in asserting herself, finding the Grace of the Father, and ultimately striving for Truth.

The characters are diverse and likeable, while the story is masterfully woven with emotion and honesty. Lying on Sunday is a good book for anyone looking to laugh and cry; and to examine one's own search for strength, forgiveness, and the power of Truth.

Appreciation to our guest reviewer, Shannon Rundio

Deliver Us From Evil - Robin Caroll

2010-03-23T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Robin Caroll

and the book:

Deliver Us From Evil

B&H Academic (February 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Julie Gwinn of B&H Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Robin Caroll has authored eight previous books including Bayou Justice and Melody of Murder. She gives back to the writing community as conference director for the American Christian Fiction Writers organization. A proud southerner through and through, Robin lives with her husband and three daughters in Little Rock, Arkansas.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 320 pages
Publisher: B&H Academic (February 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0805449809
ISBN-13: 978-0805449808

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Tuesday, 3:30 p.m.
FBI Field Office
Knoxville, Tennessee

Jonathan’s throat closed as he stared at the building from the parking lot. He gripped the package tight in his arthritic hands. Could he do this? Turn over evidence that would implicate him?

His heart raced and he froze. Not the best time for his atrial fibrillation to make an appearance. Despite being on the heart transplant list for eight months, it looked like his progressed heart disease would do him in. The most important reason he couldn’t go to prison—he’d never get a heart and would die. While Carmen wanted him to confess his crimes, she wouldn’t want him to die. The memory of saying good-bye to his beloved mere hours ago scorched his soul.

Her eyes fluttered open. Those blue orbs, which had once sparkled even in the absence of light, now blinked flat and lifeless.

He swallowed hard.

“Jonathan,” her voice croaked, “it’s time.”

Tears burned the backs of his eyes, and he rested his hand over her parchmentlike skin. “No, Carmen. Please, let me get the medicine.”

Her eyelids drooped and she gasped. Air wheezed in her lungs. “Sweetheart, the fight’s . . . gone from me.” She let out a hiss, faint and eerie. “The cancer’s . . . won.”

Jonathan laid his lips against her cheek, her skin cold and clammy, as if in preparation for the morgue. How could she continue to refuse the medicine? Even though she didn’t approve of his means of acquisition, the drugs had kept her alive for five years. Five years he cherished every minute of. He’d do anything to keep her alive and the pain at bay—the intense pain that had become her constant companion these last two weeks. It killed him to witness her agony.

She licked her bottom lip, but no moisture soaked into the cracked flesh. “You’ve done . . . your best by me, Jonathan. I know . . . you meant . . . no harm to . . . anyone.” Her eyes lit as they once had. “Oh, how I’ve enjoyed loving you.”

His insides turned to oatmeal. Stubborn woman—she’d allow herself to die, all because she discovered how he’d gotten the money.

“Promise me . . . you’ll . . . tell the . . . truth. Admit what . . . you’ve done.” Her breath rattled. “What you’ve . . . all done.”

Pulling himself from the wretched memory, Jonathan breathed through the heat tightening his chest. He’d secure himself the best deal possible—immunity—or he wouldn’t decipher the papers. And without him no one could make sense of the accounting system he’d created more than five years ago. Officials hadn’t a clue.

With a deep breath he headed to the guardhouse in front of the fenced FBI building. His legs threatened to rebel, stiffening with every step. He forced himself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other.

At the guardhouse, a man behind bulletproof glass looked up. “May I help you?”

“I need to . . . see someone.”

“About what, sir?”

“I have some information regarding a crime.” He waved the file he held.

“One moment, sir, and someone will be with you.”

Jonathan stared at the cloudy sky. He could still turn back, get away scot-free. His heartbeat sped. The world blurred. No, he couldn’t lose consciousness now, nor could he go back on his promise. He owed it to Carmen. No matter what happened, he’d honor Carmen’s dying wish.

“Sir?” A young man in a suit stood beside the fenced entry, hand resting on the butt of his gun. “May I help you?”

Jonathan lifted the file. “I have some evidence regarding an ongoing crime ring.”

The agent motioned him toward a metal-detector arch. “Come through this way, sir.”

Jonathan’s steps wavered. He dragged his feet toward the archway.

A car door creaked. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder just as two men in full tactical gear stormed toward them. He had a split second to recognize one of the men’s eyes, just before gunfire erupted.

A vise gripped Jonathan’s heart, and he slumped to the dirty tile floor, the squeezing of his heart demanding his paralysis.

Too late. I’m sorry, Carmen.

Two Weeks Later—Wednesday, 3:45 p.m.
Golden Gloves Boxing of Knoxville

Ooof!

Brannon Callahan’s head jerked backward. She swiped her headgear with her glove.

“You aren’t concentrating on your form. You’re just trying to whale on me.” Steve Burroughs, her supervisor and sparring partner, bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Then why am I the one getting hit?” She threw a right jab that missed his jaw.

He brushed her off with his glove. “Don’t try to street fight me. Box.”

She clamped down on her mouthpiece and threw an uppercut with her left fist. It made contact, sending vibrations up her arm.

He wobbled backward, then got his balance. “Nice shot.”

It felt good to hit something. Hard. Sparring with Steve was the best form of venting. The energy had to be spent somehow—why not get a workout at the same time? She ducked a right cross, then followed through with a left-right combination. Both shots made full contact.

Steve spit out his mouthpiece and leaned against the ropes. “I think that’s enough for today, girl. I’m an old man, remember?”

She couldn’t fight the grin. Although only in his late forties, the chief ranger looked two decades older. With gray hair, hawk nose, and skin like tanned leather, Steve had already lived a lifetime.

She removed her mouthpiece, gloves, and headgear before sitting on the canvas. “Old? You’re still kickin’ me in the ring.”

He tossed her a towel and sat beside her. “So you wanna tell me what’s got you all hot and bothered this afternoon?”

She shrugged.

“Come on, spit it out. I know something’s gnawing at you, just like you were picking a fight with me in the ring. What’s up?”

How could she explain? “I’m not exactly keen that the district feels there’s a need for another pilot in the park.” She tightened the scrunchie keeping her hair out of her face.

“That’s a compliment—having you on staff has been so successful they want to expand.”

“But I have to train him. Did you notice his arrogance?” She ripped at the tape bound around her knuckles. “He’s nothing more than a young upstart with an ego bigger than the helicopter.” While only thirty-six, she often felt older than Steve looked.

“You’re so good, you can come across a bit intimidating at first, girl.” Steve grabbed the ropes and pulled to standing, then offered her a hand. “Give him a chance.”

She let Steve tug her up. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Even if he had maturity, I still have to train him. With all the rescues we’ve been called out on of late . . . well, I really don’t have the time.” She exited the ring. “Like those kids yesterday.” She shook her head as she waited for Steve to join her on the gym floor. “Their stupidity almost cost them their lives.”

“They were young, Brannon.”

“Please. Any amateur with half a brain should know better than to try to climb Clingmans Dome in winter.” Didn’t people realize if something happened to them they’d leave behind devastated family and friends? Loved ones who would mourn them forever? She fought against the familiar pain every time she participated in a search and rescue. All because people hadn’t taken necessary precautions.

“They didn’t know any better.”

“It takes a special kind of stupid not to have researched your climb.” Most SARs could be avoided if people planned a little more. It ripped her apart that so many parents, grandparents, siblings . . . fiancées . . . survived to deal with such grief. She’d tasted the bitterness of grief—twice—and the aftertaste still lingered.

Steve paused outside the locker rooms and shifted his sparring gear to one hand. “I agree, but most people don’t see the dangers we do every day.” He tapped her shoulder. “Hit the showers, champ. You stink.”

She laughed as she headed into the ladies’ locker room. Maybe Steve was right and the new pilot just made a lousy first impression. Maybe he’d be easy to train.

Please, God, let it be so.

Friday, 2:15 p.m.
US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse
Knoxville, Tennessee

“You want me to escort a heart?” Roark struggled to keep his voice calm. He tapped the butt of his Beretta, welcoming it back to its rightful place on his hip.

Senior US Marshal Gerald Demott glared. “Look, I know you think this is a slight, but it’s important. And for your first assignment back on the job . . .”

“IA cleared me of all wrongdoing. I’m seeing the shrink and everything.” He gritted his teeth and exhaled. “I’ve been released to return to active duty.”

“This is active. It’s a field assignment, and it’s important. Here’s the case information.” Demott passed him a folder, then glanced at his watch. “You’d better hurry or you’ll miss your flight.”

Roark grabbed the file and turned to go.

“Holland.”

He looked back at his boss. “Yeah?”

Demott held out Roark’s badge. “You might want to take this with you, too.”

Roark accepted the metal emblem, then clipped it to his belt before marching out of Demott’s office. A heart. His job was to escort a human heart from North Carolina to Knoxville. Any rookie could handle that. But no, they still didn’t trust him enough to handle a real assignment.

He’d done everything they asked—took a medical leave of absence while Internal Affairs went over every painful minute
of his failed mission, saw the shrink they demanded he speak to every week since Mindy’s death, answered their relentless questions. The shrink reiterated he’d been forgiven for acting on his own.

Maybe one day he’d forgive himself. How many innocent lives would he have to save for his conscience to leave him be?

Roark slipped into the car, then headed to the airport. But to be assigned a heart transport? Not only was it wrong, it was downright insulting. After almost fifteen years as a marshal, he’d earned the benefit of the doubt from his supervisors. Especially Demott. His boss should know him better, know he’d only disregard orders if it was a matter of life and death.

But Mindy Pugsley died. They’d all died.

He pushed the nagging voice from his mind. Even Dr. Martin had advised him not to dwell on the past. On what had gone wrong. On disobeying a direct order.

If only Mindy didn’t haunt his dreams.

Roark touched the angry scar that ran along his right cheekbone to his chin. A constant reminder that he’d failed, that he’d made a mistake that took someone’s life. He’d have to live with the pain for the rest of his life.

He skidded the car into the airport’s short-term parking lot. After securing the car and gathering the case folder, Roark grabbed his coat. Snowflakes pelted downward, swirling on the bursts of wind and settling on the concrete. The purple hues of the setting sun streaked across the mountain peaks beyond the runways, making the January snow grab the last hope of light.

Yes, he’d handle this mundane assignment, then tell Demott he wanted back on real active duty. Making a difference would be the best thing for him. Would make him feel whole again.

Maggie Come Lately - Michelle Buckman

2010-03-22T00:01:00.000-07:00

About the book:

Maggie isn't exactly popular. In fact, she's pretty much invisible. While most girls are going to parties with boyfriends, she's busy acting as mother and housewife to her two brothers and father. But what she really wants is to be noticed by her brother's friend Webb. Unfortunately, he's dating the school's hottest cheerleader.

When her sixteenth birthday comes along, Maggie makes a wish: Please, Lord, let sixteen be a great year; let me be pretty and popular and let Webb . . . it's too big a dream to even put the rest into words. Then she hears a noise in the woods that she can't ignore and takes a path that changes her life forever.

My review:

Whenever I read a book that contains any form of abuse--without meaning to--I remove my reader hat and slip on my professional one. I love it when an author gets the facts right. On the other hand, it irritates me to no end when the author gets something clearly wrong. In Maggie Come Lately, Michelle Buckman got all of her facts right. The tension is very well done and the conflict develops at just the right pace. The title even fits the story. It's hard to say why it fits without giving any spoilers so I will dance around the facts a bit and say this-- more than once I wanted to shake Maggie and say, "It's right under your nose." But on the other hand, she was well-portrayed because most people don't see abuse that is right under their noses either.

The character, Maggie, was a likeable character with realistic issues. I know, because my childhood was a lot like Maggie's. I had to do a lot of things in our home that my mother couldn't because she was bedridden with MS. I remember feeling like Maggie did, like I was responsible for so much stuff that I missed most of my childhood. So that struck a real chord in me. The author also did an amazing job at showing how boy/girl relationships should be based on mutual interests, and not just related to kissing, attraction, popularity, etc.

There could have been some scenes where issues related to her abandonment by her mother were played out more, but Maggie had enough going on in other areas so I could see that the author might not want to overwhelm the reader. It would have been nice to see Maggie really grieve the loss (as a teen) of her mom's presence in her life. Maybe that will happen in the next book. One last point--I loved how the author showed how that sometimes when you get what you "think" you want, whenever it's at the expense of someone else's pain, then it loses it's attractivness quickly. Maggie Come Lately was a great read and I'd highly recommend it.

Appreciation to our reviewer, Michelle Sutton.

Scripture Tree - Wanda Brunstetter

2010-03-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

Wanda Brunstetter:

"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones." Proverbs 17:22

"The reason Proverbs 17:22 is my favorite verse is because my childhood was sad and I rarely laughed or even smiled during most of my growing up years. When I found Jesus as my personal Savior, I wanted others to know the love of Jesus and see Him living in me. So I began to practice being happy, always looking for the special things God created to make us laugh and smile. It always brings me joy when one of my readers lets me know that something I wrote made them smile or laugh out loud. My first Amish novel, "A Merry Heart" (which is now part of the book entitled LANCASTER BRIDES) is based on Proverbs 17:22."

Turning the Paige - Laura Jensen Walker

2010-03-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

ABOUT THE BOOK:

At 35, Paige Kelley is feeling very "in between." She's still working her temp job after two years, still not dating three years after her divorce, and still melting at every chubby-cheeked toddler she sees while her biological clock ticks ever louder. Paige even moves back home to help her ailing, high-maintenance mother.It's not exactly the life she'd dreamed of!

When her Getaway Girls book club members urge Paige to break free and get on with her life, she's afraid. How will her mother react? How can Paige honor her widowed mother and still pursue her own life? The answers come from a surprising source.

A trip to Scotland and a potential new love interest help launch an exciting new chapter in her life, and lead Paige to discover that God's plan for her promises to be more than she ever imagined.

This latest release in the Getaway Girls collection delivers a smart, funny, and warm account of one woman's challenge to reconcile who she is - a dutiful Christian daughter - with the woman she longs to be.

My review:

This novel was the perfect combination of fun, wit, romance, and emotion. I don't normally like "girl group" type books, but this one felt so natural that I was drawn in.Turning the Paige addresses some universally relatable issues such as responsibility toward family versus living your own life. I loved the inner dialog and the cute self-deprecating humor that was right on target but totally tongue-in-cheek at the same time. The book club idea was also pretty intriguing. And I adored Marc the florist. (Yay for sensitive guys who know the names of flowers.) I appreciated the subtle theme of being friends "first" as necessary for building a foundation for romantic relationships.

Turning the Paige even made me cry a few times. But I laughed a whole lot more than I sniffled. After experiencing this author's engaging style and writing voice, I know I'd pick up anything she's written and enjoy it. She's great at drawing you in to the characters' lives. I wanted to taste some of Paige's cooking after reading about how amazing it was! I rejoiced when broken or strained relationships healed, and especially enjoyed when Paige was able to move on with her life. I felt her pain when she held on to it and I sensed her relief when she finally let it go. This book wasn't overly spiritual, but the faith element was present and a natural part of the story, which is not always the case.

Appreciation to our guest reviewer: Michelle Sutton.

Creamy Hot Chocolate

2010-03-19T06:59:00.001-07:00

A few friends over at Facebook were telling how cold it is today in their parts of the U.S.A.. Here in Colorado Springs, it's snowing. Husband tells me it's supposed to be a really cold weekend.

With those thoughts in mind, this recipe sounded too delicious to let it pass by without sharing. Hope you enjoy this Creamy Hot Chocolate!

Ingredients

1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
3/4 cup white sugar
1 pinch salt
1/3 cup boiling water
3 1/2 cups milk
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup half-and-half cream

Directions

Combine the cocoa, sugar and pinch of salt in a saucepan. Blend in the boiling water. Bring this mixture to an easy boil while you stir. Simmer and stir for about 2 minutes. Watch that it doesn't scorch. Stir in 3 1/2 cups of milk and heat until very hot, but do not boil! Remove from heat and add vanilla. Divide between 4 mugs. Add the cream to the mugs of cocoa to cool it to drinking temperature.

Source: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Creamy-Hot-Cocoa/Detail.aspx

For the Love of Dogs - Suzanne Woods Fisher

2010-03-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

A degenerative disease has robbed Samantha Christiansen of most of her vision, and it’s only a matter of time before the light and shadows are gone as well. Sam, however, is not one to let impaired vision slow her down. All business, she’s introducing America to the benefits of olive oil, and has become quite successful. Her groves of olive trees are thriving under the hand of her brother-in-law, and her twin sister’s creative edge in the kitchen is bringing nation wide attention their family-grown company.

As her sight wanes, Sam is reluctant to admit that getting around is increasingly difficult. A near miss crossing the street leaves her on her backside with a stranger helping her to her feet. It’s an encounter that changes her life. First, the man, then the dog.

Jack Shaw is a guide dog trainer. He’s also the knight in shining armor that helps the blind woman to her feet and onto the bus. If only, she would see the hero in him. To Sam, Jack is just the “crazed bus guy”; the man that’s pressuring her to get a guide dog that she insists she doesn’t need; the man that one day will sell his land to her to advance her business; the man that puts a kink in her otherwise perfect day. Well, he won’t sell his land, but he’d be more than happy to be Sam’s personal guide dog trainer. And he’s got the perfect dog for her.

Sam is a take-charge, go-getter with little fear of challenges or obstacles. She’s also an embittered missionary kid that wants little to do with God. That being the case, He has to turn up the heat to get her attention.

Her sister Kathleen begins to suffer from severe depression. Nonna, her dear grandmother, seems to be losing her grasp on reality, and Jack is such a distraction that Sam’s life has nearly crumbled to pieces before she realizes that it’s even begun to crack. The snowball grows as it barrels down the mountain, and Samantha is helpless to stop it. But there is One who can, if only she will allow Him…

Once again, I feel compelled to rave about author Suzanne W. Fisher’s knack for developing a wonderful cast. Each character, down to the most “insignificant” is full of life and color. In the end, Sam, Jack, Kathleen, and even irritatingly troubled Lucy, are more than just names on a page. They’re my friends!

Samantha, uses her stronger senses to hear, feel, and smell her way through life, which adds richness and depth to the story. I also appreciated Samantha for her serious, no-nonsense personality. It was a refreshing angle for a leading role, and contrasted perfectly with easy going, take-life-as-it-comes Jack. Those two kept me chuckling. They’re perfect for each other, and watching them figure it out is quite the adventure!

For the Love of Dogs is set is 1960’s California. The 60’s is a period rarely seen in Christian fiction, and I would like to have experienced a bit more of it in the descriptions. I did, however, get an excellent feel for the sunny California coast.

Apart from a compelling story, every novel needs an imperceptive tutorial, and author Ms. Fisher is always good for it. Raising guide dog puppies herself, she has intimate knowledge of the ins and outs of owning one of these gentle guides. Her expertise shines through giving the reader a tiny taste of being blind and leaving only gratitude to the Lord for the gift of sight.

Her portrayal of dementia and how it affects loved ones is, sadly, also from the author’s personal experience. This novel gave me a deeper respect for those who witness the devastation of Alzheimer’s, and also, of course, for the blind.

As if the quality of the story isn’t enough to compel you to purchase the book, the author is generously donating all royalties to Guide Dogs for the Blind.

To sum it up, this novel will motive you to achieve your dreams despite the unpleasant odds. In the end, though, none of it is possible without strength from Above.

Ps. 46:1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

Appreciation to our reviewer: April Gardner.

Chosen - Ginger Garrett

2010-03-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Ginger Garrett

and the book:

Chosen

David C. Cook; New edition (March 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Audra Jennings, Senior Media Specialist, of The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Focusing on ancient women’s history, critically acclaimed author Ginger Garrett creates novels and nonfiction resources that explore the lives of historical women. In addition to her writing, Garrett is a frequent radio and television guest. A native Texan, she now resides in Georgia with her husband and three children.

Visit the author's website.

Chosen, by Ginger Garrett from David C. Cook on Vimeo.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 304 pages
Publisher: David C. Cook; New edition (March 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1434768015
ISBN-13: 978-1434768018

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Prologue

Fourth Day of the Month of Av

Year 3414 after Creation

If you have opened this, you are the chosen one.

For this book has been sealed in the tomb of the ancients of Persia, never to be opened, I pray, until G-d1 has put His finger on a new woman of destiny, a woman who will rise up and change her nation. But we will not talk of your circumstances, and the many reasons this book may have fallen into your hands. There are no mistakes with prayer. You have indeed been called. If this sounds too strange, if you must look around your room and question whether G-d’s finger has perhaps slipped, if you are not a woman with the means to change a nation, then join me on a journey. You must return with me now to a place without hope, a nation that had lost sight of G-d, a girl with nothing to offer, and no one to give it to.

I must introduce myself first as I truly am: an exiled Jew, and an orphan. My given name was Hadassah, but the oppression of exile has stripped that too from me: I am now called Esther,2 so that I may blend in with my captors. My people, the Hebrew nation, had been sent out of our homeland after a bitter defeat in battle. We were allowed to settle in the kingdom of Persia, but we were not allowed to truly prosper there. We blended in, our lives preserved, but our heritage and customs were forced underground. Our hearts, once set only on returning to Jerusalem, were set out to wither in the heat

of the Arabian sun. My cousin Mordecai rescued me when I was orphaned and we lived in the capital city of Susa, under the reign of King Xerxes.3 Mordecai had a small flock of sheep that I helped tend, and we sold their fleece in the market. If times were good, we would sell a lamb for someone’s celebration. It was always for others to celebrate. We merely survived. But Mordecai was kind and good, and I was not forced into dishonor like the other orphans I had once known. This is how my story begins, and I give you these details not for sympathy, but so you will know that I am a girl well acquainted with bitter reality. I am not given to the freedom in flights of fantasy. But how can I explain to you the setting of my story? It is most certainly far removed from your experience. For I suspect that in the future, women will know freedom. And freedom is not an easy thing to forget, even if only to entertain an orphan’s story.

But you must forget now. I was born into a world, and into this story, where even the bravest women were faceless specters. Once married, they could venture out of their homes only with veils and escorts. No one yet had freed our souls. Passion and pleasure, like freedom, were the domain of men, and even young girls knew the wishes of their hearts would always be subject to a man’s desire for wealth. A man named Pericles summed up my time so well in his famed oration: “The greatest glory of a woman is to be least talked about by men, whether they are praising you or criticizing you.” Our role was clear: We were to be objects of passion, to receive a man’s attention mutely, and to respond only with children for the estate. Even the most powerful woman of our time, the beautiful Queen Vashti, was powerless. That was my future as a girl and I dared not lift my eyes above its horizon. That is how I enter this story. But give me your hand and let us walk back now, past the crumbling walls of history, to this world forgotten but a time yet remembered. Let me tell you the story of a girl unspared, plunged into heartache and chaos, who would save a nation. My name is Esther, and I will be queen.

1 Out of respect for God, Jews write the name of God without the vowels, believing that the name of God is too holy to be written out completely by a human. God is referred to as either “G-d” or “YHVH.”

2 The name Esther is related to the Persian name of Ishtar, a pagan goddess of the stars.

3 Esther refers to the king by his Persian name. In the Hebrew texts of antiquity, he is also referred to as Ahasuerus.

1

Eleventh Day of Shevat

Third Year of the Reign of Xerxes

Year 3394 after Creation

Was it today that I became fully awake, or have I only now begun to dream? Today Cyrus saw me in the marketplace haggling gently with my favorite shopkeeper, Shethana, over the price of a fleece. Shethana makes the loveliest rugs—I think they are even more lovely than the ones imported from the East—and her husband is known for his skill in crafting metals of all kinds. When I turned fifteen last year, he fashioned for me a necklace with several links in the center, painted various shades of blue. He says it is an art practiced in Egypt, this inlaying of colors into metal shapes. I feel so exotic with it on and wear it almost daily. I know it is as close to adventure as Mordecai will ever allow.

But as Shethana and I haggled over the fleece, both of us smiling because she knew I would as soon give it to her, Cyrus walked by eating a flatbread he had purchased from another vendor. He grimaced when he took a bite—I think he might have gotten a very strong taste of shallot—and I laughed. He laughed back, wiping his eyes with his jacket and fanning his mouth, and then, oh then, his gaze held my eyes for a moment. Everything in my body seemed to come alive suddenly and I felt afraid, for my legs couldn’t stand as straight and steady and I couldn’t get my mouth to work. Shethana noticed right away and didn’t conceal her grin as she glanced between Cyrus and me. I should have doubled the price of her fleece right then!

Cyrus turned to walk away, and I tried to focus again on my transaction. I could not meet Shethana’s eyes now—I didn’t want to be questioned about men and marriage, for everyone knows I have no dowry. To dream of winning Cyrus would be as foolish as to run my own heart straight through. I cannot dream, for it will surely crush me. And yet I can’t stop this warm flood that sweeps over me when he is near.

I haven’t told you the best part—when Shethana bought her fleece and left, I allowed myself to close my eyes for a moment in the heat of the day, and when I opened them again, there was a little stack of flatbread in my booth. I looked in every direction but could see no one. Taking a bite, I had to spit it out and started laughing. Cyrus was right—the vendor used many bitter shallots. The flatbread was a disaster.

©2010 Cook Communications Ministries. Chosen by Ginger Garrett. Used with permission. May not be further reproduced. All rights reserved.

Rebecca’s Choice - Jerry S. Eicher

2010-03-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Newly engaged Rebecca Keim and John Miller are looking forward to a future life together in their Amish community. But while Rebecca is away attending her beloved teacher’s funeral, John receives a mysterious note accusing her of scheming to marry for money. Disturbing news soon follows. Instead of the rightful heirs—Rachel Byler and her brothers—Rebecca is named as the sole heir to her teacher’s three farms. But there’s a condition: She must marry an Amish man.

REVIEWER’S COMMENTS:
Rebecca’s Choice by Jerry S. Eicher is the third in The Adams County Trilogy. I read Rebecca’s Promise, the second book in this series not long ago, so Rebecca and John and some of the other characters were well formed in my mind as I picked up Rebecca’s Choice. Eicher took us into a ministerial meeting, and to a funeral and a wedding. In each, we learned of Amish beliefs and customs. Readers will struggle right along with Rebecca and John as they ponder accepting rules made by people who simply don’t know all the truth. And they’ll shudder that Rachel could be so determined to see them fail. Yet, even as I read, my heart went out to Rachel, who like so many of us, seek after something that ultimately can’t satisfy. We are sometimes thrown into situations similar to Rebecca and John’s, as when a lie can change our direction in life. And as when the behavior or actions of others harms innocent people. Eicher makes those problems come to life in Rebecca’s Choice.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jerry S. Eicher spent time in Honduras where his grandfather helped found an Amish community outreach. Later, as an adult, he taught in Amish and Mennonite schools in Ohio and Illinois. Mr. Eicher has also been involved in church renewal and has preached in churches and conducted week-end meetings of Bible teaching. He and his wife Tina and their four children live in Virginia.

Appreciation to our reviewer: Dell Smith Klein

Dead Reckoning - Ronie Kendig

2010-03-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Ronie Kendig

and the book:

Dead Reckoning

Abingdon Press (March 1, 2010)

***Special thanks to Camy Tang and Ronie Kendig for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Ronie Kendig has a BS in Psychology and is a wife, mother of four, and avid writer. In addition to speaking engagements, Ronie volunteers with the American Christian Fiction Writers and contributes monthly to the highly acclaimed Novel Journey blog, and is a columnist for the International Christian Fiction Writers blog. Her espionage thriller, Dead Reckoning, releases March 01, 2010 through Abingdon Press and the first in a military thriller series, Nightshade, will release July 2010 from Barbour Publishing. Ronie can be found online at or at Facebook.

Visit the author's website.
Visit the author's Facebook.

Product Details:

List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 400 pages
Publisher: Abingdon Press (March 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 142670058X
ISBN-13: 978-1426700583

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Mumbai Harbor, India

Shafts of yellow light pierced the blue-green waters, silhouetting the dive rig that hovered on the surface of the Arabian Sea. Shiloh Blake stopped and watched a wrasse scuttle past, its tiny fins working hard to ferry the brightly striped fish to safety.

Clad in her wetsuit, Shiloh squinted through her goggles and tucked the underwater camera into her leg pocket. Gripping a small stone artifact in her gloved hand, she propelled herself toward the surface. Ten meters and she would reveal her historic discovery to long-time rival Mikhail Drovosky.

Shiloh smiled. The guy would go ballistic. Score one for the girls. Between her and her new dive partner Edie Valliant, they had surged ahead in finds. Not that this was a competition. Not technically. But everyone with the University of California-San Diego dig team knew it was make or break time.

Shiloh broke the surface. As the warm sun bathed her face, she slid off her mask and tugged out her air regulator before hauling herself onto the iron dive flat. She squeezed the saltwater from her hair, the auburn glints catching in the sunlight. Her long auburn hair glowed in the sunlight.

“What did you find?” Khalid Khan knelt next to her.

With a smirk, she peeked at her best friend. Her own excitement was mirrored in his dark eyes. Then she noticed Edie’s absence.

“Where’d she go this time? And Dr. Kuntz?”

“She wasn’t feeling well.”

“More like she had another date.” Irritation seeped through her pores like the hot sun, boiling her to frustration. She couldn’t believe her dive partner kept cutting digs to flirt with locals.

Khalid reached over to remove her dive tanks.

With a hand held up, she shifted away. “No, I’m going back down.”

Footsteps thudded on the deck. “It’s my turn.” Mikhail’s glower fanned her competitive streak.

“Sorry.” Shiloh grinned. “Not for another ten minutes. You’re not going to stop me from qualifying for the Pacific Rim Challenge.” She nearly sighed, thinking about racking up enough dive hours for the deep-sea assignment—her dream.

On his haunches, Khalid swiveled toward her, cutting off her view of Mikhail. “What’d you find?” he whispered. Damp from his last dive, Khalid’s jet black hair hung into his face. “Please tell me you aren’t playing games.”

From a pouch hanging at her waist, she produced the lamp. “This for starters.”

He took the piece and traced the contours. “Soapstone.” His gaze darted back to hers. “You mapped it on the grid, right? And photographed it?”

Any first-year grad student would know to take a picture to verify its location and record it on the mapped grid of the site. “Of course.” She patted the camera in the pouch.

Not so many years ago a sunken city had been found in the area. Would she find another? Her heart thumped at the prospect. Tools. She would need better tools to safely remove the vase waiting at the bottom of the sea. Shiloh stood and hurried to the chest to remove an air pipe to suction the silt and sediment away and grabbed an airlift bag. As she plotted how to excavate the piece, she tucked the tools into holsters strapped around her legs and waist.

“I’m coming down there whether you’re done or not.” Mikhail bumped his shoulder against hers and pursed his lips. “If you find it in my time, I get to log it.”

Eyebrow quirked, she swept around him to the stern and sat on the ledge.

“I mean it, Blake!” Mikhail’s face reddened.

She slipped the regulator back in her mouth, nearly smiling. With a thumbs-up to Khalid, she nudged herself into the water. Glee rippled through her. The look of incredulity on Mikhail’s mug buoyed her spirits. Finding the lamp had been exhilarating, but one-upmanship had its own thrill. Besides, how many divers worked this dig in the last year? Like them, she found a piece of history. Divers and researchers had scoured this area and other sites along the coast of India.

Dr. Kuntz would have insisted on diving with her if not for ferrying Edie around Mumbai. Irritation at her new dive partner swelled. Why they had ever agreed to take on that useless woman, she’d never know. How could partying compare with the discovery of the past?

Although the silt and sand shrouded the lip of the vase, Shiloh spotted its outline easily where she had marked the place with a flag. She lifted the red vinyl square from the sandy floor and worked quickly, refusing to relinquish this relic to the overblown ego of Mikhail Drovosky. He’d beaten her out of top honors for her bachelor’s degree, relegating her to magna cum laude, lessening her scholarship. Enough was enough.

Why hadn’t anyone else found this vase? As she brushed away the sediment, confusion drifted through her like the cool waters. A spot in the clay smeared. Her heart rapid fired. Had she ruined the relic? Yet something . . . Shiloh stilled, staring in disbelief. What on earth?

She rubbed the piece. Metal gleamed beneath the clay. The lip and handle floated away. This wasn’t ancient pottery. She turned it over in her hand. What was it? It almost reminded her of a thermos. About eighteen inches long, the cylinder’s weight surprised her. What was it doing here, buried like treasure? Just as she freed the object, her white watch face flashed, snapping her attention to the competition. Time was up.

Joy ebbed like the tide. Whatever this thing was, she wouldn’t leave it down here for Mikhail. Holding the bag open, she tried to ease in the metal tube. The piece teetered on the edge, nearly falling out, so she slipped it under her arm and started toward the surface. Light again directed her to the rig. Suddenly, thrashing ripples fractured the luminescent water, stirring particulates beneath the wake of a powerful motor.

A speedboat? Why were they so close to the dive area? Didn’t they see the warning beacon, the one that announced divers below? What kind of idiot would put someone’s life in danger for a thrill ride?

A torrent of waves rattled her, threatening her grip on the vase. What . . .? A half-dozen bicolor parrotfish shot past. Shiloh paused, watching their incredible color—like a psychedelic underwater show.

Thwat. Thwat.

A sound vibrated against her chest. She searched for the source but found nothing.

She continued upward, and then someone dropped into the water. Could Mikhail not wait? Sticking to the schedule ensured everyone’s safety. He wasn’t supposed to enter the water until she climbed out. He was in such a hurry to win that he would risk injury to her and anyone who got in his way. She’d throttle him. Only, it wasn’t Mikhail.

Khalid!

A plume of red swirled around his dark form like some freakish science experiment. Blood? Was he bleeding? Her heart skipped a beat—he wasn’t swimming.

Shiloh launched toward him as adrenaline spiraled through her. She struggled to breathe, threatening the nitrox mixture in her tank. Why wasn’t he swimming? He’d drown if it he didn’t paddle back up.

She pushed into his path, and he thudded against her. Hooking her arm under his, she aimed toward the surface, scissoring her legs.

A shadow loomed over the water. Another body plunged toward her, sinking deep and fast. Mikhail’s open, unseeing eyes stared back at her, a shocked expression plastered on his face. Reminding her of an Egyptian plague, the water turned red.

Watery tubes pursued him. Bullets!

What’s happening?

Khalid. He needed oxygen. She wrangled him toward her so she could share her air. The metal cylinder fumbled from her grasp and sunk back into the oblivion where she’d found it. Whatever the thing was, it couldn’t be worth a life—especially not her best friend’s. She removed her air regulator and stuffed it into his mouth.

Khalid jerked. Pain hooded his eyes. His dark brows knitted as he gazed at her. He gripped his side and grimaced. That’s when she saw the source of the red plumes. He’d been shot too. Her gaze flew to the rig. What about the captain and his son?

Khalid caught her arm. With a firm shake of his head, he pointed away from the rig. Escape.

Shiloh linked her harness to his and swam from the rig. Uncertain where they could find safety if someone was determined to kill them, she barreled away from the nightmare. If she could make it to an island—she remembered seeing a small one in the east—they might be safe. Khalid tried to pump his legs, but not successfully. At least he hadn’t passed out. Or died.

Her stomach seized. No way would she let Khalid Khan die. Shiloh wagged her fins faster, thrusting both of them farther from the boat. Seconds lengthened, stretching into what felt like hours. With each stroke, her limbs grew heavier, dragging her down to the ocean floor. She pushed upward, refusing to become a victim.

Suddenly, she was drawn backward, pulled out to sea by the strong natural current hugging the Indian coast. Battling the forces of nature, she did her best to keep herself and Khalid aimed in the right direction. Her chest burned from oxygen deprivation.

The mouthpiece appeared before her. Surprised at Khalid’s attentiveness, she stuffed it in her mouth and inhaled deeply, savoring the strength it gave her. Another twenty meters, and the water collided with mangroves. Shiloh struggled around the roots to a small, shallow inlet. On her knees, she tore out the regulator, dragging Khalid as she clawed her way to safety. He attempted to crawl, but collapsed. She yanked off her goggles and released their d-rings.

Khalid coughed, gagged, and vomited sea water.

Warm sand mired Shiloh’s trembling limbs as she laid there, panting and gasping. The swim had been harder and much longer than she’d expected. They both could have drowned.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Thoughts of what was lost . . . Mikhail! Was he truly dead? Who would attack grad students on a dig? Why?

Shiloh pressed her hand to her forehead, tiny grains of sand digging into her flesh. She rubbed her temples and tried to make sense of the chaos.

“What happened back there, Khalid?” She flipped onto her back, the sun blazing against her pounding skull. “Who was it? Did you see?”

Silence.

Shifting, she rolled her head to peek at him. He wasn’t moving. On all fours, Shiloh scrambled and shook him.

“Khalid!” His gray wetsuit glistened red from the blood that poured from his side. She clamped a hand over his wound, the warmth sickening. “Khalid, talk to me.”

He groaned.

“No!” Fire flashed through her. “You aren’t chickening out. Not now.” Again, she shook him, but this time he didn’t respond. “Please!”

Shiloh examined his chest. Not breathing. With two fingers pressed to his neck, she tried to feel past the hammering of her own heart to detect his pulse. Nothing! She started compressions and breaths, counting between each to keep a steady rhythm. His blood stained her hands. While she pumped his chest, she took a cursory glance around the thick vegetation. It was so thick, she’d never know if someone stood five meters off.

They needed help—now! She activated the emergency beacon on her watch as she again searched—hoped—for help. Her heart caught when she spotted a “mechanical giraffe” staggering in the shifting fog. Jawahar Dweep.

“Butcher Island,” she mumbled, as she tried to revive her friend. The isolated spot only offered isolation and oil. No help. They were alone.

“At least we’re safe,” she said. But would Khalid die? “Don’t you dare!”

She pounded his chest. More blood dribbled from the wound that seemed too close to his lungs.

A rasp grated the air. His ribs rose.

“Khalid?”
He moaned.

Tears stung her eyes as she slumped next to him. “Khalid, stay with me. I’ve activated the beacon.”

His blue lips trembled against his chalky skin. “C-cold.”

She’d always admired his dark olive complexion, but the pallor coating his rugged face worried her. Would she ever see his dark eyes ignite when she made some snide, inappropriate remark? Who would help her through her episodes? She’d told only him about her rare disorder.

“We should move you closer to the rocks to stay warm until help arrives.” Shiloh once again hooked her arms under his and drew him to the side. Blood stained the sandy beach.

A wave rolled in, then out. Red streaks reached toward the warm waters. She nestled him against a large boulder and lay close to keep him warm.

“Stay with me, Khalid. No naps. This is the ultimate test, got it?” She looked to where the ocean kissed the horizon. Mumbai sparkled in the distance. So close, yet so far away it might as well be a million miles. She could only hope they would be found in time.

“You just wanted to kiss me,” Khalid mumbled.

Shiloh jerked toward him, frowning. “What?”
“CPR. I didn’t need it . . .” He coughed. “You just wanted to kiss me.”

With her hand pressed to his forehead, she smiled. “Ah. Just as I expected—delirious with fever.”

A half-cocked grin split his lips.

She tried to swallow. He had been her rock for the last four years. Despite the tight-knit relationship between their parents, Khalid and Shiloh had forged their own friendship in the fires of college life. They’d been inseparable since he came to America to study.

How long would it take Search and Rescue to locate her signal? What if the SAR team didn’t make it in time? If this were American waters, it would only be a matter of minutes, but in the Arabian Sea . . .

Shiloh’s head dropped to her chest. She had to believe everything would be fine. They’d be found, a doctor would tend Khalid’s wounds, he’d recover, and then they’d be off to the Pacific Rim Challenge. She had worked so hard for it. They both had. For the last two years, they had prodded each other toward their common goal. Their requisite dive hours were nearly complete. No, nobody would die, especially not Khalid.

Mikhail died. She clenched her eyes shut and blotted out the image of her rival slipping through the water, sinking lower and lower.

Biting her lip, she groped for something to refocus her attention. Naming the scientific classification for the sun star. Animalia. Echinodermata. Asteroidea. Spinulosida. Solasteridae. Solaster dawsoni.

“Miss . . . Amer . . . ca . . .” Khalid’s words, though broken, speared her heart.

She scooted closer. “I’m here. Be still, Khalid. They’re coming.”

“Marry me.”

“You dork.” She let out a shaky laugh as a shudder tore through her, threatening to unleash tears. Lips pulled taut, she forced herself to remain calm and look at him. “Rest.”

His fingers twitched. She lifted his hand and cradled it in hers.

A gurgling noise bubbled up his throat. “I love . . .”

“No, shh.” He couldn’t love her. Not her.

“Shil . . .”

When he didn’t finish, she knitted her brow. His eyes closed, and his mouth remained open.

“Khalid?”

His arm went slack.

“Khalid!” Tears blurred her vision, making it impossible to see if he was breathing.

A horn blared in the distance. She whipped around and spotted the massive white Indian Coast Guard rig racing toward them with its lights swirling.

* * *

Reece Jaxon straightened and watched the woman without watching. Seeing without being seen. She batted her auburn hair, thick and tangled with ocean water, away from her face. Hiding in plain sight on the rescue boat, he tracked her movement with ease. She hadn’t noticed him yet, even though he was less than a dozen feet away.

Wrapped in a gray thermal blanket Shiloh Blake stared at the injured Pakistani on the medical stretcher as the local authorities churned across the water toward Mumbai. She hadn’t left the man’s side since the rescue.

Another man in his early fifties hooked an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Dr. Kuntz, according to the file, was fifty-three. Married. Three grown children. An unfaithful wife and a divorce later he’d partnered with a local Indian museum to arrange underwater excavations with U.C. San Diego. Something about the man didn’t sit right with Reece.

“Noor Hospital,” Dr. Kuntz insisted to the Coast Guard captain.

An hour earlier Kuntz had stormed into the Coast Guard station and interrupted Reece’s conversation with the officer. Surprised at the man’s intrusion, Reece feigned disinterest, although Kuntz’s story corroborated what Reece had relayed to the authorities after witnessing the attack. Then? The emergency transponder signal erupted.

Reece noticed Shiloh stiffen under the professor’s protective touch. Kuntz spoke soothingly to her, reassuring her that Noor Hospital would give Khalid the best care. Bent to shield his face, Reece tightened the laces on his boots while memorizing everything that took place in the boat’s small cabin. Now if he had judged her character right, in about twenty seconds she’d pull away from Kuntz.

Shiloh took a step out of the man’s reach.

Bingo.

“I need something to drink.” Reece watched her cross through the hatch. “They said they had coffee up front.”

Dr. Kuntz laughed, his arms outstretched. “But you don’t drink coffee.”

“It’s chilly,” she called without looking back.

Chilly. Interesting. It was a mild sixty-five degrees on the Arabian Sea, and she was chilly.

Shiloh Blake strode straight toward him with her head held high. Calm. Relaxed. Confident.

Come on, look at me, Reece silently dared her.

Blue-grey eyes collided with his. He scratched his beard, wishing he had more than two weeks’ growth, but it was enough to conceal his identity. With an acknowledging nod, he stayed in position. Now if she would only hold his gaze.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to smile his pleasure as she stared at him. She only tore her eyes from his when it became impractical not to. Reece guessed she would never show any weakness.

Atta, girl.

Although he’d already skimmed the preliminary data on the American students, Shiloh’s impressive character made him want to know more. She had a higher confidence level than most of the people he had monitored in the region. What gave her that unshakable demeanor? Reece determined to get a DNA sample and run her through the system. Was she working undercover?

As the ship bumped Victoria dock, he leaped off and lassoed the pylons. Heavy thuds sounded against the weathered planks as the emergency crew transferred the young woman and her Pakistani friend to a waiting ambulance. Dr. Kuntz doted on her once again, but with no room in the narrow mobile unit, the professor was relegated to a rickshaw.

Shiloh huddled on a small bench in the ambulance, her glassy gaze locked on her friend as the emergency personnel worked on him. Just as the doors swung closed, she glanced toward Reece. A load of steel partially blocked his line of sight. Yet, despite the stenciling on the rear window, he saw her tilt her chin just enough to look for him over the emblem. The ambulance bumped over the sandy path, and then settled on PD Mello Road. Sirens wailed. Lights whirled.

Reece strolled down the boardwalk toward the beach, retrieving the cell from his pocket. He hit autodial. Having to report one American dead was bad enough. But having to tell Ryan Nielsen that another sat neck deep in an ocean of chaos—

“We’ve got trouble.”

What was Shiloh Blake doing at a nuclear arms dead drop?

A Stranger’s Wish - Gayle Roper

2010-03-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Englisher Kristie Matthews’ move to an Amish family farm in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, couldn’t have started on a worse note. The young schoolteacher is bitten by the farm dog, and on her trip to the local ER, she has a strange encounter with a man who has just had a heart attack…

Suddenly he raised his head and looked at me with an intensity that made me blink.
“Will you do me a favor, Kristie Matthews?”
I leaned close to hear his weak voice. “Of course.”
“Keep this for me.” He fumbled in his shirt pocket.
“But tell no one—no one—that you have it.” He slipped a key into my cold hand and folded my fingers over it.
When her life is endangered, Kristie suspects a connection to the mysterious key. While solving the mystery, Kristie must decide whether her lawyer boyfriend, Todd Reasoner, is right for…or if Jon Clarke Griffin, the local man she’s met is all he seems to be.
REVIEWER’S COMMENTS:
Amish books are very popular right now, and my first surprise was that this book came out first in 1996, as The Key, well before the current Amish trend. Harvest House Publisher used wisdom in reprinting this book as A Stranger’s Wish. My second surprise was how much I enjoyed another book set in Amish country! Kristie wore jeans, bright colors and very non-Amish clothing to the Zook’s farm, but they took her right in and accepted her graciously as their son’s renter. Gayle Roper did a fine job of layering this book. As I read I kept on the lookout for clues about the key, but Kristie’s faith, her interest in art, color and even that she noticed Mr. Zook’s gnarled hands all showed me a well developed character. Kristie broke out in song with little nudging. I could relate to that. I do the same thing. Roper layered in the romance with a light hand showing Kristie Matthew’s thoughtful consideration of the men in her life. It is always fun to find characters so interesting that I want to see them again in the next book. I recommend A Stranger’s Wish by Gayle Roper.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

A Stranger’s Wish is a reprint of Gayle Roper’s book The Key. Roper has written more than 40 books. Also, she is a speaker. If you find your way to her website, you’ll discover a sample of her speaking as she discusses Titus 2 and godly living. Roper has two grown sons and five grandchildren. She lives in southeastern Pennsylvania.

Appreciation to our reviewer, Dell Smith Klein

It's in my Blood - Shawneda Marks

2010-03-14T00:01:00.000-08:00

Today's Wild Card author is:

Shawneda Marks

and the book:

It's in my Blood

SC Creations (December 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Shawneda Marks for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Shawneda Marks is known as the activist author. She loves to sound the trumpet about important issues. In addition to being a tree hugger and running her charitable organization she loves to weave stories. Her heart and passion surround helping people be wellness walkers. Marks novels address issues in the faith based community while bringing laughter, conversation, revelation and hope. The nonfiction books are written at this time explicitly for women to be encouraged, empowered, beautiful from the inside out and most important whole!

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 274 pages
Publisher: SC Creations (December 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0615304664
ISBN-13: 978-0615304663

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Prologue

Rosalyn wanted to give a courtesy wave to the driver of the minivan she cut off switching from the far left to the far right lane on Houston’s interstate ten but she had to focus. Several drivers blasted their horns as she pushed all six hundred ninety horses to their maximum. She glanced into her rearview mirror and swore as the black SUV on her tail gunned and pulled within inches of her bumper. Her cell phone rang. Rajj’s name and number lit up the screen. He ignored her calls and office visits for weeks, told her he didn’t want anything else to do with her. Now he chased her down the interstate like a madman. Confusion, fear and hope knotted her stomach. She pressed talk.

“Rajj, please slow down and think about what you’re doing!” Rosalyn jumped into the left lane again and missed an eighteen wheeler by centimeters.

“Why! You didn’t think about what you did. A baby Rosalyn…” Rajj screamed into the phone. “You tricked me into getting you pregnant.”

Rosalyn revved her engine and shot forward past two motorists. Sweat dripped from her nose and down her back. She sighed when the SUV disappeared from her rearview mirror. Tricked seemed such an ugly word. Their time together created life. He was the first man she loved since college, why didn’t he see that? He felt something for her.

“Then you told Toney. My wife—.”

“Fiancé…excuse me—ex fiancé who I didn’t tell anything.” Rosalyn sped up as Rajj cut off two cars and squeezed in behind her again. When his engagement ended she offered her love, a family and happily ever after to him. He offered her the other side of his front door, and a rejection that ripped her soul apart at the core.

Rosalyn’s car lurched forward as he bumped her from behind and called her every derogatory word for female she knew and a few she didn’t. Rosalyn almost pressed the gas pedal through the floor and pulled the steering wheel left before changing her mind and sliding into a small opening in the right lane. Sweat soaked through her tight red sweater and camisole.

Rajj’s SUV pulled into the left lane and sped ahead of her. An eighteen-wheeler skimmed the back of the SUV. Time slowed as Rajj’s vehicle turned then flipped. A scream ripped from her throat as his body burst through the front window into the concrete median. His SUV hit the wall and slid several hundred feet scraping parts of the asphalt back. She turned on her hazard lights. Motorists slowed allowing her to pull off of the interstate onto the shoulder behind the path his SUV left on the interstate.

Rosalyn’s trembling hands refused to allow her fingers to press the small numbered buttons as sobs began to well up in her throat. She flung the cell phone into the passenger seat. The same way Rajj flung her heart aside when his relationship and their tryst as he called it ended. Her heart broke again. Snapshots of their nights together flashed in her mind as she wiped at the tears spilling from her eyes. Rajj the man she lived to love for months lay twisted in a bloody heap next to the median. Cars moved to the right lanes as drivers slowed to look at the body and wreckage of the crumpled luxury vehicle.

The pulse in her ears grew deafening as she pushed her car door open. Every synapse of her brain instructed her to run to Rajj. Rosalyn wrapped her hands around her midsection and shivered as traffic crawled by. She took a step towards his limp body. Her legs gave out as her body crashed down to the gravel beneath her. Her mind went blank with the impact of her head against the ground.

Rosalyn squinted at the outline of a man of the man hovering over her. Her hand flew to her forehead to stop the pounding behind her eyes.

“Ma’am you okay?” the trooper took her by the elbow and guided her to a sitting position. He looked at the puddle of blood left by Rajj’s -body. “Did you see what happened?

Nodding she forced herself to make intelligible words between tears as she told the officer of their cat and mouse chase all over the interstate. Sobs overtook her as she described the moments that passed like years as Rajj flew through his windshield into the wall. Rosalyn wiped her nose with her left arm. She winced and grabbed the back of her head as a pain shot through her shoulder and neck.

“You need to have yourself looked at let me call another ambulance.” He reached for his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving my car.” Rosalyn grabbed him with her right hand. “I can drive myself to the hospital, that’s not necessary.”

“Is there someone you can call to pick it up and meet you there?” His eyes wandered to the median where emergency workers attempted to secure Rajj on a stretcher.

A breath Rosalyn didn’t know she held eased from her lips as she nodded. “Yes.”

“Call them now we’ll finish talking to you at the hospital.” The officer stopped traffic as he crossed back over toward the SUV.

A cool wind whipped through Rosalyn as she made her way back to the driver seat. She retrieved the cell phone from her passenger seat and called her best friend. The state trooper climbed into his cruiser and the siren blasted bringing traffic to a standstill. Rajj’s hand fell limp from the gurney as they eased him into the small space under the glaring bright light on the back of the ambulance. She ignored the snot and tears covering her face and climbed into the back of the ambulance.

***

Rosalyn sat on the bed behind the half opened curtain with her left arm in a temporary sling. She exhaled as a group of people led Rajj’s ex-fiancé into the waiting area. Her eyes closed as she leaned her head on the wall. The curtain snatched open and closed, Rosalyn popped up.

“Rosy. Oh my goodness! Are you alright? I almost got a ticket trying to get here. I knew something was wrong when I didn’t see you at the rink. You haven’t missed a Friday at Golden Skate since I moved here.”

“Slight concussion, something called a seatbelt injury. The baby is fine though. I think.” Rosalyn rested her right hand over her flat stomach.

“It was Rajj, wasn’t it? Love of your life, the guy you came over my house in hysterics over a few days ago. ” Becca tried to smooth the unruly curls crowning her face as she sat next to Rosalyn. “Why was he trying to kill you?”

“Becca, I wanted to tell you. I didn’t plan on falling in love with someone else’s man. He broke all my rules…the way he kissed me. What am I supposed to do now? How am I gonna raise a baby by myself? He seemed so into me, all those nights we spent together…things were more than physical. He never said it but he loved me. It might not seem to make sense but I know he did. Then when she dumped him… I thought I was the one he wanted to be with. He just wanted what they all want. Why did I think he cared? About me. ” Rosalyn tried to stand up.

“What are you doing? You better wait for the doctor Rosy.” Becca placed a firm but gentle hand on Rosalyn’s right arm. She pulled the curtain closed as another group of people glanced in while walking by. “Bump him, I care about you. Now you have to start taking better care of yourself. ”

“Becca, no! We have a baby on the way. He is everything to me…I love him. It started out like all the others but something changed. We talked about everything, he looked at me and I felt alive. I felt desirable as a person. I thought he loved me. I thought he could help me. Whose gonna help me?” Rosalyn looked down then smiled at the concern she recognized in her alum’s eyes.

“I’m here for you but I’m not enough? You have family back in Chicago you can depend on Rosalyn. Call your parents, take some time off, and talk this over with them.” Becca rubbed Rosalyn’s right arm.

Rosalyn dropped her head back. The thought of going back to Chicago made her shudder. The events of the night replayed in her mind. Earlier in the evening before the chase she imagined a happy life with Rajj and their baby. After a few more days the realization he loved her and wanted their baby would drive him to her. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and eyes. Instead his anger drove him into a wall and out of her life for good. Dead men didn’t change their minds, or fall in love. All hope of their getting together died with Rajj in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Her fast life in Houston came to a screeching halt in one night. Things were getting bad, bad enough for her to contemplate going home to Chicago.

First Trimester

Chapter One

Rosalyn filled her mouth with water and gulped down a fist full of pills. She fidgeted with the radio buttons on the arm of her seat. Bong. The “fasten your seatbelt” light turned on next to the air globe and attendant call button above her.

“Flight 118 to Chicago is set to land as scheduled at 10:25A.M. Flight attendants please complete landing cross check.” The scratchy voice interrupted the music piping through her earphones provided by the airline.

Her watch read 10:05A.M. She wanted to be happy to have somewhere to go, but couldn’t push past the anger. If Rajj just … it didn’t matter. Rosalyn decided to focus on staying healthy.

She needed these next few weeks to talk to her father. A thought popped in her mind to visit her favorite spa, maybe even invite her mother. Rosalyn couldn’t remember the last time they spent an enjoyable day together. A pamper us day might prove to be a starting point for them to bond, rebuild a relationship. Rosalyn admitted to herself how much she still wanted a relationship with Naomi to happen. Did she want it bad enough to invite her to the spa? Maybe not, she wanted to leave the spa feeling refreshed. Dad would help her get her

mind right. So much to talk about, so many decisions, six weeks would be over… quick. Rosalyn looked out of the window onto the snow covered roofs as the plane descended and readied to taxi into Midway International. This city held onto the cold like a security blanket. Six weeks, then back to Houston and on with her life.

Rosalyn shook her head as the rooftops grew larger. What kind of life would she have with a baby? What kind of life for a baby with her? What did she do to deserve this mess?

Rosalyn followed the second hand on her watch.10:15 A.M. She imagined Saint Naomi’s reaction to the news, unwed, pregnant and HIV positive. Her parents sounded happy for her to come home when she spoke to them last night on the phone. How happy when they found out her condition?

Rosalyn inhaled the stale recycled air and sighed. Naomi’s disapproving lecture and drama were certain. Her Dad crossed her mind, and that look. The one he perfected her last three years in high school, sheer disappointment. Not the return home she planned. Well not all of it.

Whatever happened to mercy? All the grace and stuff they preached and shouted about in church during her childhood. Rosalyn looked at her watch. 10:20 AM.

SSS

Her father sat in the living room as Rosalyn entered her childhood home. Naomi walked over and gave her father a gentle kiss on the lips. Rosalyn smiled and ran to him. He stood up and pulled her into a bear hug. Her eyes glazed over as she went back to a better time in her life. She inhaled his scent not wanting the moment to end but determined to get the worst part of her trip over she pulled out of his embrace.

Naomi perched on the far end of the sofa. Rosalyn plopped down in the middle and pulled her father down next to her. She looked at Naomi then back at her father. Her nerves calmed a bit as he gave her one of his “its okay honey” smiles. She dragged in a deep breath and took one of both her parents’ hands.

“I didn’t know what to do, and Becca suggested I use my rollover paid time off from last year to come home. With everything goin on…”

“What exactly is going on, Rosalyn? You turn down every invitation to come home since you graduated college then call and say you may need to be here for a few weeks.” Naomi said.

“Well I heard some rumors about layoffs, involuntary transfers—”

“So what, you’ve been there since you graduated college. Let your Dad tell it, you run the place.” Naomi rolled her eyes.

“Naomi, please. Let her finish...go ahead, sweetie” Her father nodded.

“There is no easy way,” Rosalyn filled her lungs with air then pushed it out, “Daddy, I’m almost three months pregnant and--,”

“Oh my goodness! Rosalyn,” Naomi took her hand from her daughter’s and covered her mouth.

“Mimi, calm down. And what Rosalyn? ” He looked at Naomi then back into Rosalyn’s tear filled eyes. “We won’t interrupt you again.”

“I’m…I’m...” Rosalyn cleared her throat and tried to ignore Naomi who covered her entire face with both of her hands, “not with the father anymore.”

Her father scrunched his eyebrows together and nodded his head in slow motion. Rosalyn studied the new painting on the wall. She leaned forward between her parents with her head down. Within seconds her face covered in tears. Her father pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from her face. Shamed filled every inch of her being. Her plan to tell them everything fading with each gentle stroke, if her pregnancy brought this response her HIV positive status could kill them.

Rosalyn felt Naomi reposition herself on the couch. Naomi’s hand gripped Rosalyn’s trembling shoulder. She almost drowned in her father’s eyes bright with unshed tears. Next to her, Naomi’s lips moved and eyes closed.

“Daddy I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.” Rosalyn sobbed and choked back her desire to bury her head into her father’s chest.

“Why are you sorry? I love you, Rosy, and I’ll love my grandchild.” Her father kissed her hair and rocked her while she cried. “Nothing could ever change that.”

Rosalyn took some comfort in his words. Peace tried to engulf her. She scooted away from Naomi’s hand fighting the urge to accept the warmth and comfort it offered. The desire to love and be loved overpowered by fear of another betrayal continued to wage war deep inside her. She felt Naomi kneel in front of the couch. She didn’t care how hard Naomi prayed, there weren’t enough prayers on earth to make her forget. Forgiveness would be a miracle.