tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35254281017867722822024-03-14T07:57:41.602+00:00Tirgearr PublishingTirgearr Publishinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18183236383007429116noreply@blogger.comBlogger397125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-34506225988109151932022-03-06T10:47:00.002+00:002022-03-06T10:47:10.616+00:00IT'S OUR 10TH BIRTHDAY!<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Help us celebrate ten wonderful years.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Also, Tirgearr books 50% off 6-12 March w/Smashwords.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />AND OPEN SUBMISSIONS ALL MONTH!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Show us your best!</span><br /><i>(all subs must include the full mss and be unpublished)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>Log into our site for more info.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />There are PRIZES!!! Enter w/Rafflecopter<br />and<br />Join our Reading Group on FB.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com">http://tirgearrpublishing.com</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />Thank you for supporting Tirgearr Publishing!</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiy7_EwGzUChk_BTSumdc_eVWeZRnb453qtTXVE4Q2U6yrbwnIwIz5Fm8DmHP_KngcS2urfBjw1HKRdwEaQFsrCLInRJwsqXY3ZQeU5dncryFDM5fBVKx56FFYI84Ubd9EhJI7zKTS94R3czWWNh-gqCn268ov6mm5oQe3KC2rQy1mUuLD4GIeA00Ksg=s647" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="647" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjiy7_EwGzUChk_BTSumdc_eVWeZRnb453qtTXVE4Q2U6yrbwnIwIz5Fm8DmHP_KngcS2urfBjw1HKRdwEaQFsrCLInRJwsqXY3ZQeU5dncryFDM5fBVKx56FFYI84Ubd9EhJI7zKTS94R3czWWNh-gqCn268ov6mm5oQe3KC2rQy1mUuLD4GIeA00Ksg=s16000" /></span></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-86855736766210731152021-03-24T15:57:00.004+00:002021-03-24T15:57:26.494+00:00New Releases For 2021!<span style="font-size: large;">Happy 2021!</span><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">While all hell broke loose last year<span style="color: #4d5156; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">—</span>with the pandemic, people working from home or being laid off, lockdowns, etc<span style="color: #4d5156; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">—</span>we've still been releasing great books for your reading pleasure. We're off to a slow start this year, but quickly catching up. Check out our current new titles here, and titles coming soon.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">And if you missed any releases last year, you can find them below.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">And thank you for supporting our authors during this troubling time. Many are still laid off or working much shorter hours, so your purchases help. <span style="color: red;">♥</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: large;">FEBRUARY</span></u></b></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiHkVDfdsqLFBzHHh6BeMTwzLA80dS1o_vLyd__qwxpwCipwjMP-mRsdwIpxFCqWETEMgTPuyleCcoBVcSHYM6no232Xn0y4UHsNiJwSOsYml70j9yozxks1MRFMtYcmsOWlVKqqOXx2u/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBiHkVDfdsqLFBzHHh6BeMTwzLA80dS1o_vLyd__qwxpwCipwjMP-mRsdwIpxFCqWETEMgTPuyleCcoBVcSHYM6no232Xn0y4UHsNiJwSOsYml70j9yozxks1MRFMtYcmsOWlVKqqOXx2u/s16000/image.png" /></span></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ranew_WF/blood-mug.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">BLOOD MUG</span></a></b></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Red Farlow Mysteries, #2</span></div><div><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ranew_WF" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">W.F. Ranew</span></a></div></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">PI Red Farlow has a meeting with the chairman of the Wickham Art Center in Atlanta. When he arrives, he finds the man slumped over his potter's wheel with a dagger in his back. Is the dagger a dramatic flourish of a twisted mind or a more profound message? Clues soon reveal a shady real estate scheme to raze the art center for condos. Red gets his hands muddy as he throws himself into the case.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></u></b></div><div><b><u><span style="font-size: large;">MARCH</span></u></b></div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzn1Kh8ViDWLl3RJp9lsXURYS9489KcasPhxhLb0khYKCBcjVvNHgBbERSCQI4PohPIolNtZVYI-_Oj1l1GJ6tMiEFlKEHJpJNz519qQIj6xG4g8JoXhniioO6SI9Jqn5HstwYpucnV2U/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzn1Kh8ViDWLl3RJp9lsXURYS9489KcasPhxhLb0khYKCBcjVvNHgBbERSCQI4PohPIolNtZVYI-_Oj1l1GJ6tMiEFlKEHJpJNz519qQIj6xG4g8JoXhniioO6SI9Jqn5HstwYpucnV2U/s16000/image.png" /></span></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV/blood-moon.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">BLOOD MOON</span></a></b></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Wolves of Faol Hall, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV" target="_blank">C.V. Leigh</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When Zane goes missing, the Kincaid brother are joined by Tess and Lauren and the demon Kelsea to help in the search. Soon, Zane’s disappearance is linked to Gaea, the vampire Jacob and Lauren met in Salem. As they search for their brother, secrets surface, threatening to tear the family even further apart. Will the pack survive when the ultimate sacrifice has to be made?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7mycCW-R3lUDgdbnaU4B4ECiSNoNmYTaZxJEunR2sF0zUGkQ9XGEuZjfo_sOB8XusNUiCROJFV50RvK1_qFEeydrS7NvTbVSAeMozuD61EdOXsg4fC7WLgRS9uvWXC7Ans6qnJnNca6Z/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7mycCW-R3lUDgdbnaU4B4ECiSNoNmYTaZxJEunR2sF0zUGkQ9XGEuZjfo_sOB8XusNUiCROJFV50RvK1_qFEeydrS7NvTbVSAeMozuD61EdOXsg4fC7WLgRS9uvWXC7Ans6qnJnNca6Z/s16000/image.png" /></span></b></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey/dating-a-dragon.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">DATING A DRAGON</span></a></b></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals series, #3</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey" target="_blank">Abbey MacMunn</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Cursed by a jealous sorceress, fire dragon Phoenix has spent centuries searching for his soulmate. Amnesiac Kat Foster longs to learn her true identity but afraid of what she'll find. While looking for her runaway dog, Kat sees a naked man hiding in a bush. Inexplicable flashbacks of her previous lives begin to make her think they may have met before. The sorceress hellbent on keeping them apart.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>COMING SOON</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;">6 April</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A Fairy's Quest</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Magicals, #3</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maya Tyler</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">20 April</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>I Am Mayhem</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Mayehm series, #4</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sue Coletta</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><b><u>Look for these titles over the summer...</u></b></div><div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>The Viking's Warrior Bride</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Brothers of Thunder series, #2</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mairibeth MacMillan</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Dating an Angel</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Love Bites series, #4</div><div style="text-align: center;">Abbey MacMunn</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Forgotten Creek</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #7</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Susan Clayton-Goldner<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Mockingbird's Cry</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Hara Force series, #1</div><div style="text-align: center;">Winter Austin</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>A Fairy Godmother's Redemption</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Magicals, #4</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maya Tyler</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Dating a Mermaid</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Love Bites series, #5</div><div style="text-align: center;">Abbey MacMunn</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Slaughterhouse</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Jack Slaughter Thrillers, #3</div><div style="text-align: center;">K.A. Lugo</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And many more!!</div><div><br /></div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">2020 RELEASES</span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><u style="font-size: large;"><b>JANAURY</b></u></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TzzgThREDdINXWiGOib45qkHB6c5G2ylsI3AQ2Ra3t_h0rLK4uAPk9GoprxsjATk6g888sH0CxNIvdX4IjCuptvrbcwpW8vQFhEu77Lw11e27g0eWO2382-xtoZ6P4ugOkt-P18MkKpM/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TzzgThREDdINXWiGOib45qkHB6c5G2ylsI3AQ2Ra3t_h0rLK4uAPk9GoprxsjATk6g888sH0CxNIvdX4IjCuptvrbcwpW8vQFhEu77Lw11e27g0eWO2382-xtoZ6P4ugOkt-P18MkKpM/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Johnson_Melora/earthbound.htm" target="_blank"><b>EARTHBOUND</b></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Johnson_Melora" target="_blank">Melora Johnson</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Ally Reynolds is a raptor veterinarian who has a “spark” for healing with her hands, a gift she's kept secret. But she's lonely and longs for someone to share her life with. Ornithologist Matthew Blake suspects Ally’s healing powers could benefit him and thinks they’d make a great team. Matthew has some secrets of his own; he is a demon hunter. Can Ally trust him or is he just using her?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lyn_CH/lacey-goes-to-tokyo.htm" target="_blank"><b></b></a><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lyn_CH/lacey-goes-to-tokyo.htm" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk1t142t2lb11XYQDRAktUreYaftjnootYOmSt9AwdHQPLbxx9fzwvCCemoUSLsMKeR48OUtQfzAf20WxtgkYnQBGICVrwDqnzgkk5WKfUK1B6FD79VwYtwb3eySQreHT_V7b8EthATp3/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihk1t142t2lb11XYQDRAktUreYaftjnootYOmSt9AwdHQPLbxx9fzwvCCemoUSLsMKeR48OUtQfzAf20WxtgkYnQBGICVrwDqnzgkk5WKfUK1B6FD79VwYtwb3eySQreHT_V7b8EthATp3/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div>LACEY GOES TO TOKYO</b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Miss Belle's Travel Guides, #1</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lyn_CH" target="_blank">C.H. Lyn</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">International travel means international danger — Lacey Devaine is a four-year veteran of a spy ring which fronts as an exclusive escort service, Miss Belle's Travel Guides. While on assignment in Tokyo, a newspaper reporter threatens to blow the lid off a scandal that will put many innocent lives at risk. To protect her cover, Miss Belle is called in to act on intelligence Lacey has uncovered.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDKt0XAU5rE2LLsE1hIM1DQcYcf1Ostguiln_98ZMeYvWrXU6sKvZcKkLK4CtUxy_ybx6Z6-2Px55ZCU8JbIE7mLcb4vP5jAV7b2jU7huWhb6heQEOh3R27ZEfbOmdSDUgxGB4aV4_m4I/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDKt0XAU5rE2LLsE1hIM1DQcYcf1Ostguiln_98ZMeYvWrXU6sKvZcKkLK4CtUxy_ybx6Z6-2Px55ZCU8JbIE7mLcb4vP5jAV7b2jU7huWhb6heQEOh3R27ZEfbOmdSDUgxGB4aV4_m4I/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique/one-night-in-tampa.htm" target="_blank"><b>ONE NIGHT IN TAMPA</b></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">City Nights series, #38</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique" target="_blank">Angelique Migliore</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Mari Fuentes is running her first 5K race when she notices a sexy runner is keeping up with her. Convivio "Viv" Ricco is new to the Tampa area, and convinces her to spend the day with him to show him around. She soon finds desire bubbling to the surface, but when he can't convince her to stay with him, he sets out to steal her away for the night. Or will he end up stealing her heart instead?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>FEBRUARY</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey/violet-spirit.htm" target="_blank"><b></b></a><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey/violet-spirit.htm" target="_blank"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1ZLcyvgGxpzWIxtDJ579MxnsoO6RuqP-UnnwuiPrikE_UHmE3hlAjDr0FUPJVLVRJHqsCBjC7kZOZuenRb5qPMNUWozO9acb0XZTY03rcSxvlq0rhVCRUh83j5ltcUqClohdwXH5QxWQ/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix1ZLcyvgGxpzWIxtDJ579MxnsoO6RuqP-UnnwuiPrikE_UHmE3hlAjDr0FUPJVLVRJHqsCBjC7kZOZuenRb5qPMNUWozO9acb0XZTY03rcSxvlq0rhVCRUh83j5ltcUqClohdwXH5QxWQ/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div>VIOLET SPIRIT</b><br />The Evoxian Legacy, #1</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey" target="_blank">Abbey MacMunn</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Ever since Lexie Mills learned she was half human, half alien, her life has been far from ordinary. Evoxian shapeshifter, Drew Morgan, longs to tell Lexie he’s her destined soulmate, but she must first embrace her heritage. As their friendship blossoms into something magical, Lexie uncovers a heart-breaking truth about Drew and must make a choice—Accept her destiny with him or decide her own Fate.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmr4UMowburPS7f4RypirIKS62tto-x_q2ZztJgVtSpPZHPbqKgBG08D1f1PMs5kcttQ3fZc_6pDADYHANKTiw2JTZrIgiy2BE1rHz22ni7ADXkoN_OJElCDZk1wZhmaBeRnQnrlVk4JPV/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmr4UMowburPS7f4RypirIKS62tto-x_q2ZztJgVtSpPZHPbqKgBG08D1f1PMs5kcttQ3fZc_6pDADYHANKTiw2JTZrIgiy2BE1rHz22ni7ADXkoN_OJElCDZk1wZhmaBeRnQnrlVk4JPV/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV/memory-magic.htm" target="_blank"><b>MEMORY MAGIC</b></a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Wolves of Faol Hall, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV" target="_blank">C.V. Leigh</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Jacob Kincaid meets Lauren Summers on his flight to America and soon learns she's a witch and may be able to undo his sister-in-law's curse. Lauren has her own reasons for helping Jacob. Not all secrets have been revealed, and when someone from his past makes an appearance, he has difficult decisions to make. Can Jacob control his growing feelings for Lauren while trying to save his family?<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><u><b>MARCH</b></u></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip1r4bwnJypJCtxplVy49RQ6PRreNCrPsTsj1c4XLDMoGkgnCSYA03qxagdqeVLPYr26SWXTmWt8MBdTg1aJke1t5TE1fu_gryUbtMrZ9qZiouV2qoMdvOnHBqW05MhYqz2nmtX_CWIBOI/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip1r4bwnJypJCtxplVy49RQ6PRreNCrPsTsj1c4XLDMoGkgnCSYA03qxagdqeVLPYr26SWXTmWt8MBdTg1aJke1t5TE1fu_gryUbtMrZ9qZiouV2qoMdvOnHBqW05MhYqz2nmtX_CWIBOI/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy/age-of-secrets.htm" target="_blank">AGE OF SECRETS</a></b></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Druid's Brooch series, #8</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy" target="_blank">Christy Nicholas</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">A powerful woman sends Fingin on a quest to find his grandmother. He falls in with a band of Fianna, nearly drowns, and climbs the sea island of Skellig Michael. Ready to give up, he's finally sent in the right direction. When he finds her, he discovers his grandmother is entangled in a power struggle, and Fingin ends up getting caught in the middle. His decisions have long-term consequences.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmX_zdZY6gaUdbDCPCdz1fxqBwonqTWV58jkgAE1-BrePJeTj2bpyDOLnsUVWYvCwvcClWab_HVylDmgw5eoMwSYkKjtw_hT_mQpm8A7PmR2bpUM4XUDxV-eBOIBerdn49dS40N4PIYer/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmX_zdZY6gaUdbDCPCdz1fxqBwonqTWV58jkgAE1-BrePJeTj2bpyDOLnsUVWYvCwvcClWab_HVylDmgw5eoMwSYkKjtw_hT_mQpm8A7PmR2bpUM4XUDxV-eBOIBerdn49dS40N4PIYer/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/red-hatchet-falls.htm" target="_blank">RED HATCHET FALLS</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #7<br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan">Susan Clayton-Goldner</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When a diamond ring attached to a severed hand is discovered near Ashland Creek in Southern Oregon, Detective Winston Radhauser is bought in to discover who the victim is and what happened. Set just eight months post 9-11, a young Islamic family is terrorized, and the severed hand is only the beginning. This time, Radhauser is tested to his limits, but will the truth devastate him?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>APRIL</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVh1uldE6b-Dewc54JANsvz__lwDiGrU-se_10SyB_4mioDyL5vdSVfWFoiFlOzJFSplkY62ELR3PNMCGurGNWNXUUFhfcR_Fvv0Q9YNZnt-TPRYLR6XUiUXZhkTxySWp-kuebAyj81dkW/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVh1uldE6b-Dewc54JANsvz__lwDiGrU-se_10SyB_4mioDyL5vdSVfWFoiFlOzJFSplkY62ELR3PNMCGurGNWNXUUFhfcR_Fvv0Q9YNZnt-TPRYLR6XUiUXZhkTxySWp-kuebAyj81dkW/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></span></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Cole_Ainsley/wolf.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">WOLF</span></a></b></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Black Dove Security series, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Cole_Ainsley" target="_blank">Ainsley Cole</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />Wolf returns home to Montana to find oil tycoon, Gerald Moore, threatening his hereditary land. When Moore's offer to sink derricks on the land is rejected, he sends in his lawyer. Wolf isn't expecting Moore's daughter, Yasmine, and finds himself battling with his emotions. He's never been so attracted to anyone in his life. Wolf must decide between his ancestor’s land and his heart's desire?<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHFg4RhK7oU-79dQ_rEUFCraZY0gAQHMZZtEt_3hpzavdUMJmhGqJyIFI-9hNpMKgGEB_CVK__VyMb_Lp7pLwkGFB7M6y4fv-M9tmkNLroMniQc2xNrNYxaRpuxk6hqeZXvWxTqzMLsVO/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHFg4RhK7oU-79dQ_rEUFCraZY0gAQHMZZtEt_3hpzavdUMJmhGqJyIFI-9hNpMKgGEB_CVK__VyMb_Lp7pLwkGFB7M6y4fv-M9tmkNLroMniQc2xNrNYxaRpuxk6hqeZXvWxTqzMLsVO/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Pettersen_Garth/the-cold-hearth.htm" target="_blank">THE COLD HEARTH</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Aetheling Chronicles, #3</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Pettersen_Garth" target="_blank">Garth Pettersen</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">"The sons of Cnute are dead men.": The dying words of his brother's assailant. Harald receives this warning while rebuilding a hall where he hopes to farm and lead a peaceful life with Selia. But as the hall nears completion, they learn the family who lived there before all perished in a single night of bloodshed. And now the threat of unknown enemies casts a long shadow. Who can they trust?<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>MAY</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQrBB8osPH9m2k9s8GDEfNXkW5Dngy7mgIFXbl-Jfg73g_T6DHy8D8ilsicItdJPS5t31vlhY5KOjW5GBlh9iRKUzIqh9dbxJGp56Ncr1bNF-7ohcUF-KNdIcNrqjAh5iMrr-LDoxRvOd/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQrBB8osPH9m2k9s8GDEfNXkW5Dngy7mgIFXbl-Jfg73g_T6DHy8D8ilsicItdJPS5t31vlhY5KOjW5GBlh9iRKUzIqh9dbxJGp56Ncr1bNF-7ohcUF-KNdIcNrqjAh5iMrr-LDoxRvOd/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ranew_WF/blue-magnolia.htm">BLUE MAGNOLIA</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Red Farlow Mysteries, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ranew_WF" target="_blank">W.F. Ranew</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">While playing in a Georgia bar, Hank "Cowboy" Tillman stumbles into trouble when his song, Redneck Devil, attracts the attention of a violent group called the Blue Magnolia who want him to perform at their next rally. An elderly patient in a Florida insane asylum reveals a decades-long secret. Can Farlow root out the truth? The PI has his own problems as he confronts a hired killer face-to-face.<br /><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>JUNE</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJe-Mzqg_Hyt0ODX-oJXfiMGeQxz8kQTVWl8jzvomv96lsnPhtmNcK2ONl5Uh6XsNcFU9FLX2aGNAKFMVbbfP66lOY8Qz_uVA2H4AfTb7BtuOVY-3ThKV9E010dD7qWtGAxwnjv1_U87o/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJe-Mzqg_Hyt0ODX-oJXfiMGeQxz8kQTVWl8jzvomv96lsnPhtmNcK2ONl5Uh6XsNcFU9FLX2aGNAKFMVbbfP66lOY8Qz_uVA2H4AfTb7BtuOVY-3ThKV9E010dD7qWtGAxwnjv1_U87o/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Brae_Addison/dark-energy.htm" target="_blank">DARK ENERGY</a></b><br />Becker Circle series, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Brae_Addison" target="_blank">Addison Brae</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Gillian had just started over with a new career, boyfriend, and confidence after escaping a vicious murder investigation. When Pinkie’s arrest leaves her struggling to run his two bars, she vows not let her mentor and friend go down for something he didn’t do. Gillian forces herself to trust the cops, people who hurt her, and known criminals, but will it be enough to free Pinkie and save her life?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoCGiZSGZoqm8T1QMGn2zociyRmkQklapHrMBI_ENdOKBgfKKdMIxCSiMjQGpAfMghCqBe04lKrBFZiCoLAuw6IrGOgBf7fITU9gfYtJLzchECLI58xlFlMCad6MLUVlsDh9TiYjG1YwK/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCoCGiZSGZoqm8T1QMGn2zociyRmkQklapHrMBI_ENdOKBgfKKdMIxCSiMjQGpAfMghCqBe04lKrBFZiCoLAuw6IrGOgBf7fITU9gfYtJLzchECLI58xlFlMCad6MLUVlsDh9TiYjG1YwK/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK/fall.htm" target="_blank">FALL</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Ragnarök Prophesies, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK" target="_blank">A.K. Morgen</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Those called to stand guard against the end are broken, and Sköll and Hati run free. Now Arionna and Dace face a new threat. Ragnarök is coming and they aren't strong enough to stop it. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, and Dace is hurtling toward self-destruction. Can she convince him to let the past go, or must she sacrifice her heart in exchange for the lives of those she loves?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>JULY</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEebii36-c6ej9G38bSnPl7I2jou5erEz2robu7LcEBhVtiElC7JZHPZt5S4rFNrwSxETZfK0v_rIpxIX6-Z2ELU78qvjhdxfKahyiyVjKNWz8t6tKdYMqodeONvJJLQ4biNmppYRZczDq/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEebii36-c6ej9G38bSnPl7I2jou5erEz2robu7LcEBhVtiElC7JZHPZt5S4rFNrwSxETZfK0v_rIpxIX6-Z2ELU78qvjhdxfKahyiyVjKNWz8t6tKdYMqodeONvJJLQ4biNmppYRZczDq/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/lake-of-bad-dreams.htm" target="_blank">LAKE OF BAD DREAMS</a></b></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #8<br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan">Susan Clayton-Goldner</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">'Shots fired at Mountain View High School’ – Not waiting for SWAT to clear the building, Radhauser enters, fearing more injuries and loss of life. In one of the classrooms, he kneels beside a girl’s body. In her childlike right hand, she holds a Glock 9mm semi-automatic handgun, her fingers still curl around it. It’s easy to believe fifteen-year-old Kristina Sterling is the shooter. Everyone does.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>AUGUST</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NUwFpcR5Ks5w5dMDiswl3lykkXhysF9GzlCSRj-KHeuwRsUqKQw9W_4Y34EFoMPOKh40FwhoA67J_8P8vYOwQjNCp27POtOH-j4jqiSKqf_-19cdFSs1A_AEH-MlZ8DzcUTTl1Hnizx4/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NUwFpcR5Ks5w5dMDiswl3lykkXhysF9GzlCSRj-KHeuwRsUqKQw9W_4Y34EFoMPOKh40FwhoA67J_8P8vYOwQjNCp27POtOH-j4jqiSKqf_-19cdFSs1A_AEH-MlZ8DzcUTTl1Hnizx4/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky/fated-always.htm" target="_blank">FATED ALWAYS</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Fated Series, #4</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky" target="_blank">Becky Flade</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">A wild child who grew into a woman dedicated to protecting the wild, Tala Gael must choose between a man she doesn’t love and a man whose love she’s afraid to lose. Sawyer Gavin knows he’s fated to love Tala forever and is done waiting for their always to begin. Neither would know, until it’s too late, the evil their love would nurture.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEx2KzfvTMvB89qMF-q0G1Lfc08bxhy57tcYOdDVboHlN-Inkh8qc5OZeSD04_IYWNWjIAJbPg0pwlecZ4sgxpMHU072B_1DKivVu4KG6pYUv_Ij435bA94M3Kg__c-SCbdNwU_0BZuQJR/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEx2KzfvTMvB89qMF-q0G1Lfc08bxhy57tcYOdDVboHlN-Inkh8qc5OZeSD04_IYWNWjIAJbPg0pwlecZ4sgxpMHU072B_1DKivVu4KG6pYUv_Ij435bA94M3Kg__c-SCbdNwU_0BZuQJR/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div>ONE NIGHT IN SEOUL</span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">City Nights series, #39</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique" target="_blank">Angelique Migliore</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">US close-protection agent Stormy Smith is assigned to protect US government hacker, Jordan Black, who happens to be her former lover. His arrival into Seoul, South Korea rather than Tokyo, Japan angered him, but when he finds someone has taken out a hit on him and Stormy is tasked with his protection, a power struggle ensues. Will they learn to work together? One more time. For old time’s sake.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>SEPTEMBER</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwGdFB_E5GObTFh82lS6wrB-FhhoVLA2DC4vWKpANCEGkDDWcyk0xaEGZgwSe5kzefqKyhz8dCGlPCe6KAHoLOg1U3XdMRrM9L4fA8ur5uKEruinLt5QYJngAA9LJ617TuPybRTopt-cl/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwGdFB_E5GObTFh82lS6wrB-FhhoVLA2DC4vWKpANCEGkDDWcyk0xaEGZgwSe5kzefqKyhz8dCGlPCe6KAHoLOg1U3XdMRrM9L4fA8ur5uKEruinLt5QYJngAA9LJ617TuPybRTopt-cl/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></span></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey/dating-a-vampire.htm" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">DATING A VAMPIRE</span></a></b></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals series, #1</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey" target="_blank">Abbey MacMunn</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When witch Harper Clarke, owner of Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals, can’t find a match for her latest vampire client, Damon Vertefeuille, she agrees to date him herself. But one look at his witchy date and he has a sudden desire to sink his fangs into her. Thing is, she wants it. When Damon’s brother threatens to tear them apart, the lines blur between loyalty, love, and dark desires.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3_IvRDcGkVWiUTZN2xfx0i8ilGz_p5VekN-ToVD2qxPL1vfMqZOJx6vY0DGBlvhD8Tl52seGcAvqE0R0ymI7wmLT6hzTTvKSuQQIo9MprGu9dnpXgCDle5AvFJ7Cm2kYWJ6z3dKi5oka/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3_IvRDcGkVWiUTZN2xfx0i8ilGz_p5VekN-ToVD2qxPL1vfMqZOJx6vY0DGBlvhD8Tl52seGcAvqE0R0ymI7wmLT6hzTTvKSuQQIo9MprGu9dnpXgCDle5AvFJ7Cm2kYWJ6z3dKi5oka/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div>EAST BEACH</span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Red Farlow Mysteries, #3</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Ranew_WF" target="_blank">W.F. Ranew</a></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">PI Red Farlow finds FBI Agent Joseph Trammell shot four times and dying in a pool of his own blood. Five casings are on the floor. Did the local drug and arms smuggler hire a hit? And who caught the fifth bullet? Farlow wades into the murky water of intrigue, conflicting love affairs, and danger as he tracks down the killer. It’s not exactly a relaxing day at the beach.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>OCTOBER</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2S6zzjXJp55-XSc-X8o7CBNiMej7O8-QdzFs6vJwJQIwFLeaVEtMZ-79_mOb5pe-QfOoUIEtiG8SwaiL3Zz1e-53PvmjFiaBeY1vj6JHJVe23FIFhyOT1lzxI26CXce-48CfCPYVyosM/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2S6zzjXJp55-XSc-X8o7CBNiMej7O8-QdzFs6vJwJQIwFLeaVEtMZ-79_mOb5pe-QfOoUIEtiG8SwaiL3Zz1e-53PvmjFiaBeY1vj6JHJVe23FIFhyOT1lzxI26CXce-48CfCPYVyosM/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy/age-of-druids.htm" target="_blank">AGE OF DRUIDS</a></b></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Druid's Brooch series, #9</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy" target="_blank">Christy Nicholas</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Clíodhna has three children and a missing husband, and now she finds herself in the middle of growing quarrels between her teacher and a friend in the new church. A few rash decisions mean she must now change her own fate. That means choosing between her happiness—perhaps even her life—and her family. Can she flee a bad situation, or does she have the power and ability to face the danger herself?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDRZeyiIzjqMOQDDSp_3EntMztQGR9OGUUovpk9vB5Tdy3QDCUDckCD-re3sXWkawD5pJLUbz3ZUlV4nvesvEEiIYGMP4cLcv8QT2e_tt4OwFUqWSozCZldt83v8bT8bcjyzeHp2EFFKf/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDRZeyiIzjqMOQDDSp_3EntMztQGR9OGUUovpk9vB5Tdy3QDCUDckCD-re3sXWkawD5pJLUbz3ZUlV4nvesvEEiIYGMP4cLcv8QT2e_tt4OwFUqWSozCZldt83v8bT8bcjyzeHp2EFFKf/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK/flame.htm" target="_blank">FLAME</a></b></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">The Ragnarök Prophesies, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK" target="_blank">A.K. Morgen</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When Arionna Jacobs fled town in a desperate bid to save Dace Matthews, she never expected the chaos she would leave in her wake. Even as her bond with Dace grows stronger, Arionna finds herself weakening when Freki's cage shatters. Fighting the wolf for control is tearing her apart piece by piece. Arionna must face her greatest fear: losing herself to the fierce wolf within.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK7GtMbBn6Fc2wNImJncdZED2AI57Y-Bg2Zoutj7Xltli4uQktD9RCzGj7gNx0pQAICQgiH5j-Bbx3V07i5vHJNHdRCgn5pTdPp2E-P_b1oFKk6DQLdSkVowQK-yHa0tAyxDujjWcuztjp/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK7GtMbBn6Fc2wNImJncdZED2AI57Y-Bg2Zoutj7Xltli4uQktD9RCzGj7gNx0pQAICQgiH5j-Bbx3V07i5vHJNHdRCgn5pTdPp2E-P_b1oFKk6DQLdSkVowQK-yHa0tAyxDujjWcuztjp/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey/dating-a-werewolf.htm">DATING A WEREWOLF</a></b></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Love Bites: A Dating Agency for Paranormals series, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey" target="_blank">Abbey MacMunn</a></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Alpha werewolf, Grayson Beckett, thinks money can buy anything—including a wife. But when he joins Love Bites, finding a mate proves harder than he thought. Dating agency coach, Jamie Osborne, reluctantly agrees to go on the date. Tensions run high, but things go better than expected when Grayson turns out to be a doting dad with a tragic past. But can the alpha win her trust and melt her heart?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>NOVEMBER</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEyJOvkMAE_A97cJN5MUf87h6oGpzTgKy5voqPjQ5U2q6Yp3ya9WRyySzEe-lyz-A3n0aOGMKqfawsuBHnf93yGdZdv4ZYj9ut0MibDfDXv98dpikLY3pF6L1hlOnIIX4pEpc7njMDQul/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEyJOvkMAE_A97cJN5MUf87h6oGpzTgKy5voqPjQ5U2q6Yp3ya9WRyySzEe-lyz-A3n0aOGMKqfawsuBHnf93yGdZdv4ZYj9ut0MibDfDXv98dpikLY3pF6L1hlOnIIX4pEpc7njMDQul/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/river-running-backwards.htm">RIVER RUNNING BACKWARDS</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Winston Radhauser Mysteries, #9<br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan">Susan Clayton-Goldner</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">During a deathbed confession, Winston Radhauser learns his parents are still alive and his mother is in a psychiatric facility having confessed to the murder of his three-month-old sister. Torn between grief for his uncle and anger at the lies he’s been told, Radhauser sets out to discover the truth about his family. Can he vindicate his mother?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><u>DECEMBER</u></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOLiNDXtd-v7Fzfm6tZWLcempreq1diOWgjoXHgRHE8ERZZ8myaxIdVV8qx6iTAx2OiHjOe3j7WHpIt5gISKZxjQp1aKJx260QejsNoo7F5epGnAuFoUpI9sgD2z3nPmgCDr174zb9UKFO/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOLiNDXtd-v7Fzfm6tZWLcempreq1diOWgjoXHgRHE8ERZZ8myaxIdVV8qx6iTAx2OiHjOe3j7WHpIt5gISKZxjQp1aKJx260QejsNoo7F5epGnAuFoUpI9sgD2z3nPmgCDr174zb9UKFO/w133-h200/image.png" width="133" /></a></div><b><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lugo_KA/witness-to-slaughter.htm" target="_blank">WITNESS TO SLAUGHTER</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Jack Slaughter Thrillers, #2</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lugo_KA" target="_blank">K.A. Lugo</a></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">How can Jack refuse a case when he's offered double his fee to follow a cheating husband? Jack is led across the city to the Majestic Lounge, the city's hottest gay nightclub. Owner Chad Lucas hires Jack for added security for the club's drag queen event. Police say deaths of Lucas' friends are suicides, but he convinces Jack something else is going on. Does the city have another serial killer on its hands?</span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Thank you for supporting our authors during this troubling time. Many are still laid off or working much shorter hours, so your purchases help. <span style="color: red;">♥</span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: red;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-61388575985617341582020-03-23T10:22:00.000+00:002020-03-23T10:22:32.946+00:00City Nights/Knights Promotion 23 March the 3 April<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Just because you're isolating doesn't mean you can't travel!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Join us on a journey around the world, all from the comfort of your favorite reading place in the</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">FEED YOUR READER PROMO</span></div>
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(<i>organized and hosted by <a href="http://www.goddessfish.com/" target="_blank">Goddess Fish Promotions</a></i>)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExnkWmrFjtwnolyBvNLEh8onXx4xQZ-tdLpgHeCv8oeHnBw92VEf4zgZ6JxRf7axUGrSq7v-towmcTGnEJEDlwEgziJsM-mxcT6zJ_DOBhw0qyl_bPcYJ3WPpNhR2hTJ7y3mGSvnm3AKR/s1600/feed+your+reader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="700" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgExnkWmrFjtwnolyBvNLEh8onXx4xQZ-tdLpgHeCv8oeHnBw92VEf4zgZ6JxRf7axUGrSq7v-towmcTGnEJEDlwEgziJsM-mxcT6zJ_DOBhw0qyl_bPcYJ3WPpNhR2hTJ7y3mGSvnm3AKR/s640/feed+your+reader.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The City Nights series </b>of contemporary stories are set in some of your favorite cities around the world. Taking place over the course of a full day and night, can our couples find their happily ever after? Love at first site, friends to lovers, or love rekindled...love is guaranteed!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABJRBvt9rF9Ps4-nCunDvUak5LEPY-6uSGvDKi9to1TUCgqfl2EMpSrVkNfAzOLjc49UOQBRdA3CkgCTH6Ztr2-dkDgj_BK7Bz9MCUxut0DGJioSeRq65ErMtqx-pGjvRh68C5oTW8-5a/s1600/CityNightsbannerTP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="900" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABJRBvt9rF9Ps4-nCunDvUak5LEPY-6uSGvDKi9to1TUCgqfl2EMpSrVkNfAzOLjc49UOQBRdA3CkgCTH6Ztr2-dkDgj_BK7Bz9MCUxut0DGJioSeRq65ErMtqx-pGjvRh68C5oTW8-5a/s640/CityNightsbannerTP.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The City Knights series</b> is our newest addition to our list. Step back in time and follow our knights of the city as they find their forever love. Bold, brazen, heroic...and that's just the heroines! It will take a strong knight to capture their lady's heart.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKj96CYkrZRR94TsuVxFOBugjPMF3LaVebJCEmXr7G2MvIG9o2DpGQHL2srbfQKHU_PFW5XiOLEPRKpO4-lvdT7CI3paZMoc5YF7pIZMFlHjXtjuq5A7CPmcKOOfr80M7gxrDp16aRMfDv/s1600/CityKnightsbannerTP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="900" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKj96CYkrZRR94TsuVxFOBugjPMF3LaVebJCEmXr7G2MvIG9o2DpGQHL2srbfQKHU_PFW5XiOLEPRKpO4-lvdT7CI3paZMoc5YF7pIZMFlHjXtjuq5A7CPmcKOOfr80M7gxrDp16aRMfDv/s640/CityKnightsbannerTP.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;">Each book always just 99c and are available at all major ebook vendor sites.</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">WAIT! There's more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Would you like the chance to win prizes?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Visit the Goddess Fish Promotions website to enter your name in the Rafflecopter giveaway!</span></div>
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<i>(no purchase necessary to enter)</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.goddessfish.com/promo/feed-your-reader-bargain-books"><span style="font-size: x-large;">http://www.goddessfish.com/promo/feed-your-reader-bargain-books</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Good luck, everyone!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Happy reading!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>And don't forget your review. Authors value your opinion, so let them know how they're doing. Reviews are the best way. Post your comments wherever you bought your ebook, or on Goodreads. If you post on your social sites, be sure to tag the author's name so they'll see it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Follow the tour here:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 23</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://thereadingaddict-elf.blogspot.com/2020/03/feed-your-reader-vbb-stay-home-and-read.html" style="color: blue;">The
Reading Addict</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="https://dawnsreadingnook.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Dawn's Reading Nook</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="http://mythicalbooks.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Mythical Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="http://shelleensmusing.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Shelleen's Musings</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="http://denagarson.net/" style="color: blue;">Dena Garson-Real... Hot... Romance</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://lisahaseltonsreviewsandinterviews.blogspot.com/2020/03/special-promotional-virtual-book-blast.html" style="color: blue;">Lisa
Haselton's Reviews and Interviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="https://phoebesrandoms.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Phoebe's Randoms</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 24</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://archaeolibrarian.wixsite.com/website" style="color: blue;">Archaeolibrarian - I Dig
Good Books!</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="https://jaceyholbrand.wordpress.com/blog/" style="color: blue;">Blog of author Jacey Holbrand</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="https://jenniferfaye.com/hearts-scribbles" style="color: blue;">Hearts and Scribbles</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="https://anjedah.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Bookriot</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="https://booksinthehall.blogspot.com/2020/03/feed-your-reader.html" style="color: blue;">Books
in the Hall</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://shejustlovesbooks.com/" style="color: blue;">She Just Loves Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="http://searosetouk.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Sea's Nod</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 25</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://cassidysalem.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Cassidy's Bookshelves</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="http://thebookconnectionccm.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">The Book Connection</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="https://booknook2020.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">BookNook2020</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="http://www.longandshortreviews.com/guest-blogs/feed-your-reader-spotlight-and-giveaway/" style="color: blue;">Long
and Short Reviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="http://dbaileycoach.com/brightbooks" style="color: blue;">Author Deborah A Bailey</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://its-raining-books.blogspot.com/2020/03/feed-your-reader.html" style="color: blue;">It's
Raining Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 26</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://ytothepowerof1.org/" style="color: blue;">Fire Dancing for Fun and Profit</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="http://fuonlyknew.com/" style="color: blue;">FUONLYKNEW</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="http://kitnkabookle.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Kit 'N Kabookle</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="https://wp.me/p4DFd6-aLJ" style="color: blue;">Angel's Guilty Pleasures</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="https://gimmethescoopreviews.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Gimme The Scoop Reviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="http://jlynnrowanliterature.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">J. Lynn Rowan - Author of
Romance and Historical Fiction</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="https://indieauthorsblog.wordpress.com/?p=13243" style="color: blue;">Independent Authors</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 27</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://caseymscorner.com/blog/" style="color: blue;">Casey's Corner</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="http://www.emandmbooks.com/" style="color: blue;">Em and M Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="https://the-avidreader.blogspot.com/2020/03/27-book-blast-feed-your-reader-GF.html" style="color: blue;">The
Avid Reader</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="https://www.kristalharris.com/blog" style="color: blue;">kristaldawnharris</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="https://jhthomas.blogspot.com/2020/03/win-25-gc-feed-your-reader.html" style="color: blue;">Welcome
to My World of Dreams</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://www.literaryau.com/2020/03/feed-your-reader-special-promotion.html" style="color: blue;">Literary
Gold</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="http://thepenmuse.net/" style="color: blue;">The Pen and Muse Book Reviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 30</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://journeyinbookland.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Journey in Bookland</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="https://www.ourtownbookreviews.com/" style="color: blue;">Our Town Book Reviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="https://ironcanuckreviews.home.blog/" style="color: blue;">Iron Canuck Reviews and More</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="http://www.viviana-mackade.blog/" style="color: blue;">Viviana MacKade</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="http://bookreviewsbyjasmine.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Jazzy Book Reviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://www.onehouseschoolroom.com/" style="color: blue;">One House Schoolroom</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="http://www.thebookgardenreviews.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">The Book Garden</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">March 31</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="http://www.amybooksy.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Locks, Hooks and Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="https://www.darkntwistybooks.com/" style="color: blue;">Dark 'N Twisty Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="http://theresastillwagon.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">So Many Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="https://jennifermacaire.blogspot.fr/" style="color: blue;">Let Me tell You a Story</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="https://thephantomparagrapher.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">The Phantom Paragrapher</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://readeropolis.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Readeropolis</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="http://straightfromlibrary.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Straight From the Library</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">April 1</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://galestanley.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Wake Up Your Wild Side</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Beyond Romance</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="http://www.lindanightingale.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Linda Nightingale,
Author...Musings</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="http://www.fundinmental.com/?p=25801" style="color: blue;">fundinmental</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="http://www.wendizwaduk.net/2020/03/feed-your-reader-books-at-99-or-free.html" style="color: blue;">Wendi
Zwaduk - Romance to Make Your Heart Race</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="http://achickwhoreads.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">A Chick Who Reads</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="https://www.romancenovelgiveaways.com/2020/04/feed-your-reader-book-blast-presented.html" style="color: blue;">Romance
Novel Giveaways</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">8: <a href="https://hurnpublications.com/" style="color: blue;">Hurn Publications</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">9: <a href="https://bookschatter.blogspot.co.uk/" style="color: blue;">BooksChatter</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">April 2</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="https://alltheupsandowns.blogspot.com/2020/04/book-blast-and-giveaway-feed-your.html" style="color: blue;">All
the Ups and Downs</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="http://christineyoungromancewriter.com/" style="color: blue;">Christine Young</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="http://authorcamilson.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Author C.A.Milson</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="https://bookjunkiemom.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Rainy Day Reviews</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="https://reneewildes1.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Reneewildes1 Weblog</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="https://eileentroemel.com/category/book-tour/" style="color: blue;">Dragon's Den</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="http://www.readbookrepeat.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Read book. Repeat.</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">8: <a href="https://stormynightsreviewingandbloggind.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Stormy Nights
Reviewing & Bloggin'</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">9: <a href="https://thehiddenbookshelfclub.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">The Hidden Bookshelf Club</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">April 3</span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">1: <a href="http://www.dog-eareddaysofsummer.com/" style="color: blue;">Dog-Eared Days of Summer</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">2: <a href="https://fabulousandbrunette.blogspot.com/2020/04/feed-your-reader-book-blast-event-099.html" style="color: blue;">Fabulous
and Brunette</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">3: <a href="http://www.elainepcantrell.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Hope. Dreams. Life... Love</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">4: <a href="https://musingsfromanaddictedreader.wordpress.com/" style="color: blue;">Musings From An
Addicted Reader</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">5: <a href="https://pirategrl1014.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Our Families Adventure</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">6: <a href="http://www.harliesbooks.com/" style="color: blue;">Harlie's Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">7: <a href="https://saphsbooks.blogspot.com/2020/04/feed-your-reader-free-or-99cents-books.html" style="color: blue;">Sapphyria's
Books</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">8: <a href="https://tinadonahuebooks.blogspot.com/" style="color: blue;">Tina Donahue Books - Heat with
Heart</a></span><span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"></span></div>
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</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-89078513754825403252020-03-11T14:00:00.000+00:002020-03-11T14:00:03.763+00:00Available now: Age of Secrets by Christy Nicholas<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickBJ_I2OS-_lMGD4aQvnAxUfOfAc_S4Oe8m9MJ93WGUC8Tob_wmR0uLN9ezVsh7aqGuc0c9Y5zK5qd5H4IvuBIxBcOowCDqvL8NQ_mh9w3gPRPDAK0llHaQonB92Ys0fMR40N4cm75K0l/s1600/AgeofSecretsbyChristyNicholas500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickBJ_I2OS-_lMGD4aQvnAxUfOfAc_S4Oe8m9MJ93WGUC8Tob_wmR0uLN9ezVsh7aqGuc0c9Y5zK5qd5H4IvuBIxBcOowCDqvL8NQ_mh9w3gPRPDAK0llHaQonB92Ys0fMR40N4cm75K0l/s320/AgeofSecretsbyChristyNicholas500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AGE OF SECRETS<br />Druid's Brooch series, #8<br />Christy Nicholas<br /><br />$4.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy/age-of-secrets.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />just 99c/p through Sunday 15 March</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>Fingin had no drive in his life until he finds a half-drowned dog who becomes his best friend. That friend leads him to a cottage where a powerful woman sends him on a quest to find his grandmother. With his dog, Bran, and a donkey, Sean, they embark upon their journey. The problem is, his grandmother no longer seems to exist in this world.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Between falling in with a band of Fianna, nearly drowning in a river, and climbing to the rocky top of Skellig Michael, Fingin had just about had enough of this quest when some magical creatures sent him in the correct direction.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Once he finds his grandmother, he realizes nothing works out as it should have. She is far from what he remembers and even further from what he’d expected. And she entangled in a power struggle of her own and has little time to attend her wayward grandson.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Soon, a battle ensues, and Fingin is caught in the middle. He decisions will have long-term consequences for himself and those he loves.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Fingin flung the fishing net with all his might. The circular sieve spun wide and nestled onto the surface of the gently flowing An Ruirthech River. Slowly, the weights on the edge sank to the rocky floor. With gentle tugs, Fingin pulled the handline and tightened his snare. A few times the net caught on stones, but a slight twitch freed the twine. He frowned when he hauled the whole thing to shore; only three small salmon and a young pike.<br />
<br />
Typically, he did much better at this time of the evening, as the sun kissed the edge of the dusky horizon. Still, he had plenty to eat and more for the market in the morning. Since he left home seven winters before, he’d learned to balance his work and his needs pretty well.<br />
<br />
Perhaps just one more cast would be wise. He cleaned his catch, sniffed the fresh wind for a hint of rain, and finding none, waded back into the river.<br />
<br />
The river narrowed here at the sharp bend, making the current run swift and strong. It also corralled the fish into a smaller area. Fingin whispered, urging the fish to come closer. His voice flowed out through the air and into the water.<br />
<br />
Sometimes they listened. More often, they fled. Fish grew naturally wary of any fisherman, despite his unique ability to talk to them. Just because they understood him didn’t mean he had command over their actions.<br />
<br />
He avoided speaking with fish, especially since his voice, even with magic, got distorted through the water. He preferred talking with larger animals, as they had more grasp of conversation. But sometimes he persuaded the fish to swim closer toward his net.<br />
<br />
A ripple upriver caught his eye, glinting in the setting sun. Fingin squinted as the disturbance grew closer. Something large swam beneath the surface, something he wouldn’t want in his net. Hastily, he tried to pull the net in, but it caught on a rock and refused to budge. With frantic hands, he attempted to untie the handline from his wrist, but the water-soaked knot stuck fast.<br />
<br />
“No, no, no! Go away! Go around!”<br />
<br />
The salmon ignored his imprecations and hummed a sprightly tune as he leapt, cutting the river’s surface with a glint of silver and pink, before barreling into Fingin’s net. He held on for dear life as the fish plowed through, snapping the bits of braided horsehair and vine like a rotten bit of thatch, but the main part of the net held. The force pulled Fingin well into the center of the river, spluttering and gasping for breath like the fish he often tossed on shore.<br />
<br />
The water roared above him and into his lungs, forcing the breath from him. His panic rose as the current slammed him into a jagged rock. Pain shot through his midriff. He gasped when his face found air for a moment. The water snatched him away from blessed air. He gasped again, but water flooded his mouth. His lungs burned from lack of breath.<br />
<br />
The handline cut deep into his wrist, digging through his soaked skin. He clawed at it as the water swept him downriver, but it remained tight. The raging current and the power of the large fish pulled him with surprising ease. The salmon wriggled through two more bends in the bank as Fingin’s sight dimmed. Gray surrounded him, and he faded.<br />
<br />
A wrench to his arms signaled the huge salmon tearing through the net. Fingin scrabbled back to the surface. He rasped a huge breath, drawing sweet, fresh air into his lungs. He continued to drift down the river, the destroyed net trailing behind him.<br />
<br />
With a set jaw and an angry step, Fingin retrieved the shredded remains of his net and slogged back to the shore.<br />
<br />
He pulled the now useless net to the banks, squelching through the river mud and reeds to dry land. He wrapped it into a ball and considered throwing it back into the river—a just reward for the betrayal it caused.<br />
<br />
With a deep sigh, Fingin tucked the awkward, sopping bundle under his arm and walked upriver. The net hadn’t been at fault. A salmon that size had no business being this far up An Ruirthech. He lived leagues away from the sea, and only the smaller salmon made it this far past the weirs and the rapids.<br />
<br />
The hike to his small hut didn’t take too long, despite his adventure in the river. The river wound through the countryside, but walking overland got him there much more directly.<br />
<br />
He didn’t live in high style. The rough hut wouldn’t last more than a winter or two. He never bothered with the hard work anything more permanent would require. Not anymore.<br />
<br />
Not after the last time.<br />
<br />
His current home stood next to a large open area in the woods, nestled within a tight bend of the river. A small beach allowed easy access to the water, and a large, flat rock lay next to the hut. This rock allowed Fingin to spread out his net when it needed repairs, like today. It also made a great place to clean his catch.<br />
<br />
Fingin lived a simple life, but he liked it simple. He craved human companionship, but daren’t seek it out. He spoke to birds and squirrels, but they only spoke of sweet, simple things. They had no deep philosophies.<br />
<br />
From his net-repairing rock, he glanced up to watch the river as it meandered, wiggling his hands to keep them from aching. He bent back to his task with industry, determined to fix at least half the damage while the light of the day remained strong. Occasionally, he’d glance up at a sound or to stretch his back.<br />
It must have been a cursed fish, or maybe some faerie conjuration. Regardless, his net had no chance against such a thing. Still, he jerked the strands with frustration as he repaired the net out on the big stone.<br />
<br />
He rose to go into his hut and retrieved his supply of thin rope. He’d need to make more. Although the ball of rope seemed hefty, repairs on this scale would use most of it up.<br />
<br />
When Fingin sat again, he let out a deep sigh. He’d forgotten to stoke the fire. It remained banked from the morning, and if he didn’t start it now, the night would fall before he had time to cook his meal.<br />
<br />
He stood again, peering at the river. A large log swung lazily along with the current, with something round and furry in the middle. Fingin squinted to make out the object between the glints of the setting sun.<br />
<br />
The object lifted its head, and Fingin recognized it to be a scraggly wolfhound, soaked and scrambling to stay on the branch.<br />
<br />
Without a thought, Fingin rushed to the far end of the river bend, to cut off the path of the log. He scurried down to the small beach and dove into the water, swimming with powerful strokes to reach the log before it floated away. He almost got a handhold before it spun away.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kMOl1WqTl-28U9D0Ta_CmznkGYsTWXVBBcOX8kf8_6vgY_H72oIhjBWL5oQpSJhNi6DjbqdG5XBnq5FPkdtxgGDIASqOqAd-n3n9-ROsq0PQXcibPWzJLoVxTbJI7vV5NADQyhG5E4su/s1600/christy+nicholas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9kMOl1WqTl-28U9D0Ta_CmznkGYsTWXVBBcOX8kf8_6vgY_H72oIhjBWL5oQpSJhNi6DjbqdG5XBnq5FPkdtxgGDIASqOqAd-n3n9-ROsq0PQXcibPWzJLoVxTbJI7vV5NADQyhG5E4su/s1600/christy+nicholas.jpg" /></a>Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She loves to draw and to create things. She says it's more of an obsession than a hobby. She likes looking up into the sky and seeing a beautiful sunset, or seeing a fragrant blossom or a dramatic seaside. She takes a picture or creates a piece of jewelry as her way of sharing this serenity, this joy, this beauty with others. Sometimes this sharing requires explanation – and thus she writes. Combine this love of beauty with a bit of financial sense and you get an art business. She does local art and craft shows, as well as sending her art to various science fiction conventions throughout the country and abroad.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Find Christy Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.greendragonartist.com/">http://www.greendragonartist.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9">https://www.facebook.com/greendragon9</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor">https://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthor</a><br />
Blog - <a href="http://www.greendragonartist.net/">http://www.greendragonartist.net</a><br />
Amazon - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Christy-Nicholas/e/B00E3ENH7C">http://www.amazon.com/Christy-Nicholas/e/B00E3ENH7C</a><br />
LinkedIn - <a href="http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9">http://www.linkedin.com/in/greendragon9</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-48121946826589064192020-02-19T14:00:00.000+00:002020-02-19T14:00:08.621+00:00Available now: Mamory Magic by C.V. Leigh<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmILsFSXUW71rvMYvQii4IZop8bfcLEqi1NtF88JtPKh6aF-B12jTUg_6dZ-jEMUf3tTkSNsol4KnhSYpschGJ42viNdiC7iHoSyha0GX10lBaEzT7e4zepNu8Iw1YHZaYwiBfmQOaph4v/s1600/MemoryMagicbyCVLeigh500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmILsFSXUW71rvMYvQii4IZop8bfcLEqi1NtF88JtPKh6aF-B12jTUg_6dZ-jEMUf3tTkSNsol4KnhSYpschGJ42viNdiC7iHoSyha0GX10lBaEzT7e4zepNu8Iw1YHZaYwiBfmQOaph4v/s320/MemoryMagicbyCVLeigh500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b>MEMORY MAGIC</b><br />The Wolves of Faol Hall, #2<br />C.V. Leigh<br /><br />$3.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV/memory-magic.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />just 99c/p through Sunday 23 February</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><b>The Kincaid family is still recovering. Betrayal and secrets have ripped them apart.</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Alistair Kincaid sends his lycanthrope brother, Jacob, to America to track down the witches who can help save his sister-in-law, Megan. On his flight, he meets Lauren Summers, who he learns is a witch, and might be the key to undoing Megan’s curse, as well as his way back into the family fold.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>When Lauren takes Jacob to Salem, it becomes apparent that she has her own reasons for helping him. She introduces him to the strange world of magic, revealing the truths behind myths and legend.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>However, not all secrets have been revealed, and when someone from Jacob’s past makes an appearance, he’s left with difficult decisions to make.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Can Jacob control his growing feelings for Lauren, and keep his mind on saving his family? The battle has been won, but a war is brewing...</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Lauren Summers sucked the lemon juice from the jet-black polish on her nails, never once letting her green gaze stray from the foreboding figure of Jacob Kincaid. He sat on the other side of the aisle, his blue eyes closed. She grazed her teeth over her thumb, before licking it clean, and savoured the acidic citrus sliding down her throat. Picking up the little plastic cup, she then drained what was left of the gin and tonic and dropped the naked peel onto the remaining ice cubes yet to melt.<br />
“Can I get another?” she asked when an air hostess passed by, picking up empty cups and cans, and dropping them into a black bag hanging off the end of her trolley.<br />
<br />
“Of course,” the hostess replied with a fake smile. She took tins from the cart, snapped them open, then placed them on the cream tray in front of Lauren, along with a clean cup. “Ice and lemon?”<br />
<br />
“Thanks,” Lauren said, peering at the man opposite. He fascinated her. He had since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him.<br />
<br />
She’d been following the Kincaid family for weeks. Well… Nathan Trevell, actually. When he left the safety of the pack assigned to him, the Council of American Paranormal Activity had sent her to track him down. It didn’t take him long to find the youngest Kincaid boys, then follow them up to Faol Hall, hidden away in the Cairngorms of Scotland. Lauren had kept on his tail, but not closely enough. And now he was dead—killed by Tess Lowry, girlfriend of Zane Kincaid.<br />
<br />
Unable to retrieve the magic Nathan had stolen from the witches, Lauren had thought she might be able to return to Boston, but CAPA, and her mother, had other ideas.<br />
<br />
“Mr. Kincaid?” The air hostess gave him a genuine smile.<br />
<br />
Lauren thought most women must smile at Jacob. He was one of those men who was perpetually brooding, with an air of mystery worn around him like a superhero’s cape. He was also incredibly attractive, with piercing blue eyes she could have drowned in, and wavy red-brown hair that fell to just above his shoulders, she wanted to run her fingers through.<br />
<br />
Lauren caught her breath and put her hormones in check. He was just another job—nothing more. He was also a werewolf; a huge no-no. Witches and werewolves were forbidden to be friends, let alone have an intimate relationship. They were incompatible, genetically.<br />
<br />
“Whisky,” Jacob grunted, and the woman poured another drink into a clean cup before handing it to him.<br />
<br />
Despite their spacious business class seats, Jacob still managed to fill his with his broad frame; his body rippled with muscle a weightlifter would have envied, threatening to tear his shirt if he moved awkwardly. His strong jaw was covered in a short brown beard, a shade darker than his hair, which he had a habit of raking his fingers through when he thought.<br />
<br />
“Would either of you like a final snack before we land?” the air hostess asked.<br />
<br />
“No thanks,” Lauren said graciously. Jacob shook his head, and the air hostess continued down the aisle, asking the same question to other passengers.<br />
<br />
“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Jacob grumbled, not looking at her. He picked up his drink and took a swig, hissing when the golden liquid hit the back of his throat. She’d been listening to him speak with that delicious accent for several hours now. The soft Scottish lilt of his deep tone was soothing, and she hadn’t grown bored of it. She didn’t think she ever would.<br />
<br />
His elbow hung over the armrest, vibrating in time with the plane’s engines. They’d entered American airspace and had begun their descent.<br />
<br />
“Tell me more about yourself.” She relaxed into her seat and adjusted the seatbelt’s buckle. Quickly, she glanced around the rest of the compartment. Were there were any other members of the paranormal community onboard—anyone she needed to be concerned about? It was part of her training to always be alert, although she figured Jacob’s heightened senses would probably identify a possible threat before she could.<br />
<br />
“You seem to know enough already.” He pressed back into the headrest. The muscle that lined his cheekbone ticced.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, about your company and family, but not about you. Not anything personal, anyway. We’ve been sat on each other’s laps for almost half a day, and I still don’t know anything about you.”<br />
<br />
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• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRm3VVFjDiwDXjEZhP51vhyphenhyphenoln9KD-VpR8GLsJYxCOTFDi3RprWqRHFWmQDthd4YNZ7ey8yXdOvMr3rxV1viWGM-Ucn8U2rXoG2OzBA-_fwfAhOfnlR3Z4hV3qhV9tXexwiC7a6cT8NLYW/s1600/cvleigh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="232" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRm3VVFjDiwDXjEZhP51vhyphenhyphenoln9KD-VpR8GLsJYxCOTFDi3RprWqRHFWmQDthd4YNZ7ey8yXdOvMr3rxV1viWGM-Ucn8U2rXoG2OzBA-_fwfAhOfnlR3Z4hV3qhV9tXexwiC7a6cT8NLYW/s1600/cvleigh.jpg" /></a>Originally from the Nottingham/Lincoln borders, C.V. Leigh now lives in Somerset with her family and pets. She comes from a long line of natural witches, and spent her childhood learning to read tea leaves from her grandmother and Tarot from her mother, so it's no surprise that she has a love for the fantastical and paranormal.<br />
<br />
When she's not creating new worlds, C.V. enjoys reading with a hot cup of tea, or exploring the beautiful countryside that Somerset has to offer.<br />
<br />
C.V. Leigh's favourite authors include Kelley Armstrong, George R.R. Martin, Douglas Adams, Grant Naylor, Terry Pratchett, and Roald Dahl.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Find C.V. Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="https://cvleigh.charlottehoward.co.uk/">https://cvleigh.charlottehoward.co.uk</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/CVLeighAuthor">https://www.facebook.com/CVLeighAuthor</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/CVLeighAuthor">https://twitter.com/CVLeighAuthor</a><br />
Amazon - <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/l/B07Q5JNXTJ">https://www.amazon.co.uk/l/B07Q5JNXTJ</a><br />
Instagram - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/cvleighauthor">https://www.instagram.com/cvleighauthor</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Leigh_CV</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-29793142015731049602020-02-12T14:00:00.000+00:002020-02-12T14:00:06.053+00:00Available Now: Violet Spirit by Abbey MacMunn<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>VIOLET SPIRIT</b><br />
The Evoxian Legacies<br />
Abbey MacMunn<br />
<br />
$4.99<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey/violet-spirit.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
just 99c through Sunday 16 February</td></tr>
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<i><b>A half human, half alien.</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>A violet-eyed shapeshifter.</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Their destinies bound by magic from a disappearing world.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Ever since free-spirited Lexie Mills learned she was half human, half alien, her life has been far from ordinary. But living a privileged life in a Cotswold manor with her over-protective family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and not helped by her confusing feelings for her best friend, Drew.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Evoxian shapeshifter, Drew Morgan, longs to tell Lexie he’s her destined soulmate, but until she embraces her alien heritage, he must wait. Trouble is, staying in the friend zone proves harder than he thought.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Tensions sizzle and chemistry sparks between them, but as their friendship blossoms into something magical, Lexie uncovers a heart-breaking truth about Drew and she must make a choice…</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Forgive Drew and accept her destiny, or decide her own Fate?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Good little Lexie Mills always did as she was told, right?<br />
<br />
Wrong. Not anymore.<br />
<br />
Her stomach churned, but there was no going back now. She had to do this for her own sanity.<br />
<br />
Three sets of violet eyes stared expectantly at her.<br />
<br />
Lexie’s gaze flitted around the opulent sitting room of Hawton Hall, the eighteenth-century Cotswold manor she felt privileged to call home, but it was also a gilded cage.<br />
<br />
She blurted it out before she lost her nerve. “I want to get a job.” Now for the repercussions.<br />
<br />
The room fell silent, as she’d predicted.<br />
<br />
Scents of beeswax and decades-old fabrics mingled with the aromatic, seasoned oakwood that burned inside the huge Georgian fireplace. The antique clock ticked monotonously on the mantlepiece, like the calm before the storm.<br />
<br />
“Over my dead body,” Drew declared, his sudden hostility taking her by surprise.<br />
<br />
Her heart sank. She’d expected more from him, at least hoped he would be on her side.<br />
<br />
From the moment she’d met Drew—when her mum learned of her alien heritage—he’d impressed her with his shape-shifting abilities. He’d become like a big brother and a best friend wrapped into one, her confidant, the person who made her laugh when everything had changed so rapidly, and he was usually so amicable. But not today, it seemed.<br />
<br />
Drew folded his giant arms, drawing her attention to the striking tattoo of the naghari that snaked around his forearm, a fearsome creature he could morph into in three seconds if he wanted to. His jaw tightened, and his expression took on an arrogant stubbornness, evoking a sudden urge within to slap him across his handsome face.<br />
<br />
What right does he have to tell me what I can and can’t do?<br />
<br />
She looked to her parents, pleading they would understand her need for independence.<br />
<br />
“You don’t need a job, love,” her mum, Bree, told her. “It’s not as if we need the money anymore.”<br />
<br />
Yeah right, because her Evoxian royal heritage, and the numerous properties and land on Earth her family owned, meant she could buy anything and everything she could ever want.<br />
<br />
Everything except her freedom.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9KPtJODPR1ff8CVXMOf6Cqi-4PVCJ7qLWfVLNp4Ia4Uvg3FjJUCmKkHjcVelQHrPy6nl_fmZb8UDjmS8HufIm6JnSAAEZCPHoGkXuKVHb-SkhRrQOyjprkqdO-KVtzMigxIHfR0emhY7v/s1600/abbeymacmunn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="255" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9KPtJODPR1ff8CVXMOf6Cqi-4PVCJ7qLWfVLNp4Ia4Uvg3FjJUCmKkHjcVelQHrPy6nl_fmZb8UDjmS8HufIm6JnSAAEZCPHoGkXuKVHb-SkhRrQOyjprkqdO-KVtzMigxIHfR0emhY7v/s1600/abbeymacmunn.jpg" /></a>Abbey MacMunn writes paranormal and fantasy romances. She lives in Hampshire, UK, with her husband and their four children.<br />
<br />
When she’s not writing, she likes to watch films and TV shows – anything from rom-coms to superheroes to science fiction movies.<br />
<br />
She is a proud member of the Romantic Novelists' Assocation.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Find Abbey Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://abbeymacmunn.com/">http://abbeymacmunn.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AbbeyMacMunnAuthor1">https://www.facebook.com/AbbeyMacMunnAuthor1</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/abbeymacmunn">https://twitter.com/abbeymacmunn</a><br />
Pinterest - <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/abbeymacmunn">https://www.pinterest.com/abbeymacmunn</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMunn_Abbey</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-15366600137763134502020-01-29T14:00:00.000+00:002020-01-29T14:00:00.935+00:00Available Now: One Night in Tampa by Angelique Migliore<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5ipUKwiZrp6l6kZjrZ1UYTNGyMjVNWvNRV2GdIjN8udARvqx55d1CLyS91R5Sk942q8TZAZepEe_ezugmZWa5MUITSVjrc18vEUJaolm4OTnIB8gmK-QGorGATSUCXOphN-U_7Z_DxQQ/s1600/OneNightinTampabyAngeliqueMigliore500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx5ipUKwiZrp6l6kZjrZ1UYTNGyMjVNWvNRV2GdIjN8udARvqx55d1CLyS91R5Sk942q8TZAZepEe_ezugmZWa5MUITSVjrc18vEUJaolm4OTnIB8gmK-QGorGATSUCXOphN-U_7Z_DxQQ/s320/OneNightinTampabyAngeliqueMigliore500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ONE NIGHT IN TAMPA</b><br />City Nights: #38<br />Angelique Migliore<br /><br />99c/p<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique/one-night-in-tampa.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a></td></tr>
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<i><b>Blended Worlds Are Better Worlds</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Mari Fuentes is running her first 5K race—dreaming about the grant she hopes to win for her next documentary—when she discovers Convivio "Viv" Ricco—former ordnance soldier, wounded warrior with deadly Italian sex appeal, and notorious smartass—is keeping up with her. Finishing the race together is just the start to her day.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Viv is new to the Tampa area, and even though he's hotter than the sand on a Florida beach in August and doesn’t need any distractions, Mari agrees to spend the day with him to show him around.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Viv thinks Mari is the most determined woman he's ever met. But even as her passion bubbles to the surface, he can’t convince her to stay with him. She has an exclusive community event to attend that he isn't allowed to attend. Nevertheless, Viv embarks on a new mission to become the most import celebrity Tampa has ever embraced.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>If Viv can’t steal Mari away for one night, how will he ever steal her heart?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Mariposa del Pilar Fuentes</i><br />
<br />
I smiled at myself and inhaled a deep breath of pride as I ran along with the thinning masses. Being a slow runner had its advantages as the route along Bayshore Boulevard wasn’t nearly as crowded now as in the beginning. And running my first 5K proved doable as long as I focused on something else—like something other than the sweat tickling its way down in between my tetas. I gave my modest bosom a quick, hopefully inconspicuous, shake to dislodge any other would-be travelers, and I said a quick “thank you” to Santa Maria del Pilar for my no more than B cups. My big ass required enough attention—from care to clothes. I didn’t know how the bigger-breasted girls managed boob sweat in the Tampa Bay humidity. I crossed myself on their behalf. Dios las bendiga, señoritas.<br />
<br />
I ran to finish this race, but the excitement of finishing grad school also spurred me on. How much dinero did I need, exactly? I mentally ticked off a list in my brain of everything left to schedule for my final documentary project. Cinematographer. Sound recordist. Van, plus driver. Luckily, I would be the scriptwriter and the editor, so I still had a choice to pay myself a stipend or not. It wasn’t as if I lacked my own money, but that negated the skills required to successfully budget for a documentary.<br />
<br />
The stipend decision could wait until after the fundraiser tonight. I already had the production management software, and I would use the university’s studio to edit. The marketing dollars and cents still required calculations, but that part of my graduate project and thesis challenged me the most. More time, however, couldn’t be bought at any price. Grad school completion hung in the cool morning air in front of my face like a fat, juicy carrot.<br />
<br />
My first documentary on the homeless population of Tampa Bay exceeded my benchmark for success last year, and I intended to further my investigations this year with an expanded project.<br />
<br />
A refreshingly cool early-spring breeze blew over me from the gulf. The sun barely broke the horizon and was peeking through the ‘land of the flowers.’ Foot races around here had to start super early, else the runners dropped like flies when it got too hot. My reward for all this early-morning training and running: tickets to the Strawberry Festival with unlimited strawberries and whipped cream! Also, the beautiful Spanish-tiled houses, towering waterfront palms, and skyline of downtown Tampa painted a picture-perfect running route.<br />
<br />
If I weren’t running, I wouldn’t be breaking a sweat, but the weather would change soon. The homeless who were forced to live in the elements would get uncomfortable before long, and it would be harder for me to find them when the weather increased to sweltering. I needed the money to make the documentary sooner rather than later. I swallowed hard and swallowed my pride even harder at the idea of the ball tonight and what I had signed myself up for to make sure I had the money sooner.<br />
<br />
I erased thoughts of my impending humiliation out of my mind and took in my surroundings. With Davis Islands and the water on my right and the convention center’s bright blue columns in sight down the boulevard, I heard the finish line nearing as the music and celebrations pounded their way to me. It was time to get my head out of the clouds and back into this race.<br />
<br />
Even at my fastest, I still ran pretty slow compared to everyone else, so I stayed to the far-right side of the lane. I adjusted my sunglasses, glanced down at the track, and jumped as if I had been assaulted in a B-rated horror movie.<br />
<br />
“¡Mierda!” I screamed at the sneaker as I jumped over it, and as if the sneaker didn’t scare me bad enough, something hung out of the shoe. A foot? Without a leg attached to it? “¡Dios Mio!”<br />
<br />
I changed direction, screamed again, and flailed my hands in front of my face in the most pathetic attempt to rid my eyes of the sight. Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.<br />
<br />
An evil laugh—no, a hysterical laugh—belted out beside me. I found the owner of said laugh, and all I could see was a neon green racing shirt which, not coincidentally, matched the one I wore. The race shirt spread taut over a chest as wide as Cuba with a thick arm on either side, and its owner leaned up against a streetlight pole with one hand and held his gut with the other, as he all but pointed and laughed at me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSFCDQ9q9yo0ycAa9qcTc-hY4M-1Mi__nTaDfiOZoSclFiBp3x5-3BIpY6-PY62hptgb1wG7uvAlLLJc3EnD8SiW5TgRhe5hlrBZri6CB0FA5muYvJcxhrOjvVVAmGI1m7LuMwwr846pC/s1600/angeliquemigliore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSSFCDQ9q9yo0ycAa9qcTc-hY4M-1Mi__nTaDfiOZoSclFiBp3x5-3BIpY6-PY62hptgb1wG7uvAlLLJc3EnD8SiW5TgRhe5hlrBZri6CB0FA5muYvJcxhrOjvVVAmGI1m7LuMwwr846pC/s1600/angeliquemigliore.jpg" /></a>While in her third year of French at high school, Angelique was forced to journal every day. Never the lover of her own personal diaries, she instead rewrote Romeo and Juliet, en Françias. Except that Romeo was a duck-billed platypus, and Juliet was a strawberry. It was a doomed, albeit deliciously sweet, relationship from the start.<br />
<br />
Long before that, Angelique wrote and performed ridiculously caddy commercials in grade school with her best friend Shannon. Ever the optimist, she believes the best is yet to come, sharing a meal is the quickest route to peace, and love conquers all. Although she was born and raised in the paradise that is the Emerald Coast of the Florida Panhandle, not traveling has never been an option for Angelique.<br />
<br />
Today, Angelique writes character-driven love stories of various heat levels in settings from Earth to the nearest Black Hole which range from the Cosmic past to the Inter-galactic future. She also loves rugby. And champagne. With fresh raspberries, if you please.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Find Angelique Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.angeliquemigliore.com/">http://www.angeliquemigliore.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AngeliqueJots">https://www.facebook.com/AngeliqueJots</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/AngeliqueJots">https://twitter.com/AngeliqueJots</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-78775166233447270032020-01-22T14:00:00.000+00:002020-01-22T14:00:00.215+00:00Available Now: Lacey Goes to Tokyo by C.H. Lyn<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzw3xDWdkXuWeNM9ucBGYIzEOP5l2DFw0wSei391JgJgQRA8V7J1D8rsObuWtm4igFK2tGG0hW9v06yoDvKu2-bY0q1-6xQcTR34KfVcQCLeEwI9zBb1RQDplc0iUQH-D1zxuw2uWRKkc/s1600/LaceyGoestoTokyobyCHLyn500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUzw3xDWdkXuWeNM9ucBGYIzEOP5l2DFw0wSei391JgJgQRA8V7J1D8rsObuWtm4igFK2tGG0hW9v06yoDvKu2-bY0q1-6xQcTR34KfVcQCLeEwI9zBb1RQDplc0iUQH-D1zxuw2uWRKkc/s320/LaceyGoestoTokyobyCHLyn500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>LACEY GOES TO TOKYO</b><br />
Miss Belle's Travel Guides: #1<br />
C.H. Lyn<br />
<br />
$4.99<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lyn_CH/lacey-goes-to-tokyo.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
just 99c/p through Sunday 26 January</td></tr>
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<i><b>International travel means international danger.</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Lacey Devaine is a four-year veteran of a spy ring which fronts as an exclusive escort service, Miss Belle's Travel Guides. Maintaining her cover is Lacey's number one priority to protect the integrity of the operation she works for.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>While on assignment in Tokyo, a nosy newspaper reporter threatens to blow the lid off a scandal that will put dozens of innocent lives at risk. To protect her cover, Miss Belle is called in to act on intelligence Lacey has uncovered.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Can these beautiful, intelligent, and deadly women complete this assignment in time and emerge unscathed? Or will this mission be their last?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Lacey</i><br />
<i>Layovers are a Hassle</i><br />
<br />
I hurry through the massive food court, focusing on the coffee shop ahead of me, rather than the dozen or so different scents forcing their way into my nose. The sweetness of sugary glaze you can almost taste on the back of your tongue; the thick, salty, warmth in the air from the multitude of fryers; the weird, cold smell that accompanies cheap sandwich meat… I march through them all to order my drink and then sink into a plush armchair in the far corner.<br />
<br />
My fingers curl automatically around the small blue and green orb dangling from a silver chain around my neck. I lean back, take a deep breath, cross my short legs, and sigh. Four hours. There are now four hours to burn in Heathrow, one of England’s largest airports.<br />
<br />
Miss Belle is a mess. The poor woman’s been working for weeks with no break. She set up my assignment in record time. When the congresswoman called, we only had a week to get things together. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be placed on this assignment. It’s one of the more important ones I’ve done lately, and I get to see Nathan again. It’s been a long time.<br />
<br />
I haven’t seen him since my old life.<br />
<br />
The barista brings me a small Americano. I flash her a smile and take a sip before pulling out my little black book.<br />
<br />
I need to call Chang and have him set up the room. The Park Hyatt isn’t my favorite hotel in Tokyo (it’s a little far from any of the national gardens for my taste), but the Auto Manufacturing Leaders conference takes place there this week. It makes sense that the CFO of the second most productive car manufacturing company in the United States is staying in the same hotel.<br />
<br />
The phone rings once, twice, three times. I glance at the round silver watch on my wrist and realize it’s three in the morning in Tokyo. I wince and go to hang up when a sleepy voice barks, “Who the fuck is this?” in Japanese.<br />
<br />
“I’m so sorry, Chang,” I respond in the same language. “I didn’t realize what time it is there. It’s Lacey.”<br />
<br />
His tone immediately changes, and it’s clear he’s woken up at hearing my name. It’s been that way since high school. Men try to be charming around me.<br />
<br />
“Lacey!” Heavily accented English this time. “How wonderful to hear from you. What can I do for you?”<br />
<br />
“I’m headed out your way for some business. I planned on getting there four hours before my appointment, but I got stuck with a delay and won’t be leaving London for a while.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, no.”<br />
<br />
I hear the grin in his voice. He didn’t know I was heading to Tokyo. Miss Belle must have been serious about cutting him out after the last Japan trip.<br />
<br />
“What can I do to help? You know I’d do anything to help one of Miss Belle’s girls.”<br />
<br />
I let out a silent chuckle. Miss Belle is the only one allowed to call us “girls.” I’m fairly sure it’s one of the reasons for the cutting out. “I need you to set up my staging room. I’ll email you the details. It’s a normal set up, but no video this time. Just audio and emergency equipment. Do you still have my bag?”<br />
<br />
“Of course!” There is a shuffle on the other end of the phone. “I’ll have it all taken care of before you arrive. I’ll be waiting for your email.”<br />
<br />
“Thanks, Chang. I owe you one.”<br />
<br />
“Yes.” His tone goes dry. “Perhaps you will speak to Miss Belle on my behalf? I notice I do not get a call from her as often as I used to.”<br />
<br />
This time my chuckle is loud. “I’ll see what I can do. And I’ll call you when I fly in.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you, Lacey. It is always wonderful to hear from you.”<br />
<br />
I hang up and set down my phone. I sip my Americano and gaze around the bustling airport. A row of fluffy teddy bears with Britain’s flag line the edge of the coffee counter. Twin little boys keep pulling one down while their mother (I assume) exasperatedly tries to order a drink.<br />
<br />
Men in suits, women in heels, and tourists with their camera phones clicking away furiously pass me in a sea of faces.<br />
<br />
Miss Belle always says I sit too still. She says I have too much patience. She and I were in line at Starbucks, and the people in front of us took about five minutes ordering. By our turn, she was cursing under her breath and stamping her foot hard enough to break a heel.<br />
<br />
My gran always said we need to have patience and understanding for those around us. She taught my foster siblings and me the meaning of a deep breath and the value of a calm mind. Those lessons helped a lot after she died. I learned to be still, at peace when fire raged around me.<br />
<br />
It’s not a lesson any sixteen-year-old should have to learn. But it was Amanda or me, and she was only ten. I told Miss Belle when she found me, I knew what I was doing. I’d have done it again.<br />
<br />
I shake my head and focus on something else. Gran passed a long time ago, but it still burns to remember she is gone.<br />
<br />
I buy a New York Times from the barista, offering a smile to the twins as I sit back down. Their mother glares.<br />
<br />
It’s probably the shirt. Or the pants. Or the belly ring. Or the whole combination. I used to mind when people looked at me that way. Now it barely grabs my attention.<br />
<br />
I settle back into my chair and flip open the paper. I should do some research on Nathan’s security team, and on the other guests at this week’s event, but I’ll have time for that on the flight. Now, to catch up on current events. Another chuckle escapes my lips. If the paper knew half the current events I know about, a lot more people would be reading it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimoa1gkz9kfsQsyMOF3E_LImjdvvMWAG57OdPpRvMl_7KxwL6PurjBq984NRDnB1RiE7RBYeJq8wmkofmQacueybPqxOj8CEgyZPbZVOTv-aQf9AqGQH_AMWNwBBaIPihSMlF_Pbh5tVbz/s1600/chlyn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimoa1gkz9kfsQsyMOF3E_LImjdvvMWAG57OdPpRvMl_7KxwL6PurjBq984NRDnB1RiE7RBYeJq8wmkofmQacueybPqxOj8CEgyZPbZVOTv-aQf9AqGQH_AMWNwBBaIPihSMlF_Pbh5tVbz/s1600/chlyn.jpg" /></a>C.H. Lyn grew up in a small town in Northern California and still loves visiting her hometown. Her obsession with books cannot be overstated. She grew up reading on the playground, writing during her classes, and sneaking that next chapter with a flashlight underneath the covers, long after she was supposed be asleep. Now, she works part time at a bookstore while following her husband around the world during his time in the U.S. Air Force. With a beautiful little girl, and a giant German Shepard, their family looks forward to experiencing new people, places, and cultures.<br />
<br />
C.H. Lyn has been lucky enough to have friend and family who constantly provide all the support she could ask for. It is her hope that the strong and diverse female characters she writes will have a positive impact, and help to motivate young women to do everything they want with their lives.<br />
<br />
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• • •</div>
<br />
Find C.H. Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="https://www.chlyn.com/">https://www.chlyn.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/CHLyn8">https://www.facebook.com/CHLyn8</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/CHLyn8">https://twitter.com/CHLyn8</a><br />
Blog - <a href="https://www.chlyn.com/news-notes">https://www.chlyn.com/news-notes</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lyn_CH">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Lyn_CH</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-25154374094141229612020-01-15T14:00:00.000+00:002020-01-15T14:00:04.116+00:00Available Now: Earthbound by Melora Johnson<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr3PCiC-7HR9BLnGXoRrSqevEhjnLupop5iisClf1x5FO0-TIFujOxgAZwtoVCHDb3HiNed1mHTd2tXxJqOiX7OowRPcuqdp5DXuvZlDqAe8Vrab9DOn95w_JsUW-PiUbH4c2V8sRKgaY/s1600/EarthboundbyMeloraJohnson500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr3PCiC-7HR9BLnGXoRrSqevEhjnLupop5iisClf1x5FO0-TIFujOxgAZwtoVCHDb3HiNed1mHTd2tXxJqOiX7OowRPcuqdp5DXuvZlDqAe8Vrab9DOn95w_JsUW-PiUbH4c2V8sRKgaY/s320/EarthboundbyMeloraJohnson500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>EARTHBOUND</b><br />
Melora Johnson<br />
<br />
$3.99<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Johnson_Melora/earthbound.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
just 99c/p through Sunday, 19 January</td></tr>
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<i>Ally Reynolds is a veterinarian specializing in raptor rehabilitation in New Hampshire. Other than one horrific incident in her childhood and a little extra “spark” for healing in her hands, both of which she has kept secret from even her best friend, her life has been singularly boring. It has also been extremely lonely. Ally longs for someone to share her life with, but how can she trust someone with her secret?</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>Matthew Blake, an ornithologist at Cornell University, calls Ally, asking for her help with an injured raptor. Matthew grew up in New Zealand and has lived around the world. He has read about Ally’s high success rates in raptor rehabilitation and suspects there is more to it than is generally known.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>Matthew has some secrets of his own; he is a demon hunter. He suspects Ally’s healing powers could benefit him. He wants her to join him and thinks they’d make a great team.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> <i>Can Ally trust him or is he just using her? Matthew definitely has more secrets, and some of them are about her.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
“Doctor Reynolds,” a male voice called out from across the room, pulling me back to the present. It sounded somewhat familiar.<br />
<br />
I looked up, shielding my eyes from the afternoon sun shining in the front window as a male figure strode toward me, blond hair haloed by the light. He stopped in front of me.<br />
<br />
Startled, I rose to my feet and looked into a chiseled face, his eyes the indeterminate blue green of sea glass like I’d collected along the shoreline once as a teenager. His dark golden blond hair was short and spiky, his lopsided grin pure perfection. He was gorgeous.<br />
<br />
In my experience, gorgeous men were not to be trusted. Well, no men really were. Oh, all right, no one was, period.<br />
“Doctor Allyson Reynolds? I’m Doctor Matthew Scott Blake. I’m honored to have you join us. I’ve read your articles in the Raptor Rehab Newsletter.”<br />
<br />
He held out a hand, but when I put out mine to shake it, he simply captured mine in his and placed his other hand over it. His eyes flashed green with golden flecks in the sunlight.<br />
<br />
“I’m glad to be here,” I said, not at all sure I was anymore, as my pulse sped up. “Please, call me Ally.”<br />
<br />
“All right, Ally it is.”<br />
<br />
I want to climb him like a tree. I swallowed, aghast at my own thoughts. I’d only known him a few minutes.<br />
<br />
His hands were so warm. My mother’s voice played in my head, Gorgeous men are dangerous, arrogant, and being involved with them will lead to no good. I frowned.<br />
<br />
“It’s so good to see you…” he said. At my expression, he faltered and cleared his throat. The wattage of his smile dimmed significantly. “I mean, to meet you. I’ve been following your work since I arrived in the States, in the newsletter.”<br />
<br />
He turned, drawing my hand through his arm. “Please, let me show you around the facilities here.”<br />
<br />
“Uh, thank you,” I murmured, wondering how to tactfully withdraw my arm. My attraction to him was overwhelming. At the same time, his overly familiar attitude seemed a little odd.<br />
<br />
A tall woman, her long, brown hair in a ponytail, appeared at the doorway through which Matt had arrived. She positively glowered at my arm through Matthew’s. She wore work boots, khaki shorts, and a sand colored polo shirt with the university logo, so I assumed she worked there as well. She approached us and stopped several feet away, then turned a bright smile on Matthew. “Hi, Matt. What brings you down from the Ornithology Lab?”<br />
<br />
“This is Doctor Allyson Reynolds, the veterinarian and raptor rehabilitation specialist I suggested to Rick we bring in to help with the injured eagle from Sapsucker Woods.”<br />
<br />
Shelly took one more look at my arm entwined with Matthew’s then smiled again at him. “Would you like me to show her around?”<br />
<br />
He paused a moment before replying. “That’s okay, Shelly. I can handle it, I know my way. No need to take time out of your busy schedule. I’ll just show Doctor Reynolds around, then bring her to meet Rick. He’s the one overseeing the care of the eagle. Oh…” He turned to me. “This is Doctor Shelly Madison, she’s a clinical associate professor in zoo medicine.”<br />
<br />
I saw my chance and pulled my arm out of his, ostensibly to shake Shelly’s hand. I murmured hello. She responded stiffly. Her behavior made more sense to me than his. Why treat me like an honored guest? I was just a vet who specialized in raptor rehab. I had been so anxious to get out of town I’d jumped at the chance, but now there was one question paramount in my mind—why had he called me? They were the experts here.<br />
<br />
“Now, let’s show you around the animal hospital here.” His hands clenched, his bicep bulging under his short sleeve as he tugged the inner door to the offices open for me.<br />
<br />
I fought the urge to retreat a step. Here stood a warrior from medieval legend. It would have been more appropriate for him to be dressed in leather armor than a button-down, short-sleeved khaki shirt, but he grabbed my hand and drew me around Shelly. “We’ll start in the library.”<br />
<br />
As we walked, I had a stern conversation with my subconscious. <i>Go to Ithaca, you said. You’ll get away from anyone Jen wants to set you up with, you said</i>.<br />
<br />
Matthew squeezed my hand. I looked up to see him beaming at me. My stomach lurched. I was out of the nest and free falling.<br />
<br />
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• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFFcfvXv4Qc7zSAtfz6aUMMXDHdKZ8S-OEJ50SPSjW7Yd385jtC-bfJCjeGy-EhEFxhI7iDG_8zPekMuA7yRjCqNSPwkcECQZDHRp-WkgLqivuKY10RIIsuMgGyHp4H_eLJu9HxabpN7W/s1600/melorajohnson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFFFcfvXv4Qc7zSAtfz6aUMMXDHdKZ8S-OEJ50SPSjW7Yd385jtC-bfJCjeGy-EhEFxhI7iDG_8zPekMuA7yRjCqNSPwkcECQZDHRp-WkgLqivuKY10RIIsuMgGyHp4H_eLJu9HxabpN7W/s1600/melorajohnson.jpg" /></a>Melora Johnson grew up in a small town in Upstate New York, and still lives in the state with her husband, daughter, a black cat, and quite a few chickens. She writes poetry, horror, science-fiction & fantasy but dabbles in other genres and daylights as a librarian because that is where she hears the best stories. She also runs a thriving writers group. Of course, into every life a little rain must fall, as well as the occasional tornado, but you'll find that amply covered in her writing.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
Find Melora Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.melorajohnson.com/">http://www.melorajohnson.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="http://www.facebook.com/MeloraJohnson.Writer">http://www.facebook.com/MeloraJohnson.Writer</a><br />
Goodreads - <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18209725.melora_johnson">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18209725.melora_johnson</a><br />
Instagram - <a href="http://www.instagram.com/melorajohnson">http://www.instagram.com/melorajohnson</a><br />
Pinterest - <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/melorajohnson">http://www.pinterest.com/melorajohnson</a><br />
Blog - <a href="http://melorajohnson.wordpress.com/">http://melorajohnson.wordpress.com</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Johnson_Melora">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Johnson_Melora</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-60372096456479101462020-01-13T13:22:00.002+00:002020-01-13T13:23:25.807+00:00ABOUT TIRGEARR PUBLISHING<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">ABOUT TIRGEARR PUBLISHING</span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-48068794111225530712020-01-08T11:24:00.001+00:002020-01-08T11:24:41.860+00:00Happy New Year from Tirgearr Publishing!<div style="text-align: center;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-60861291462270803792019-11-06T14:00:00.000+00:002019-11-06T14:00:11.941+00:00Available Now: Fade by AK Morgen<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>FADE</b><br />The Ragnarök Prophesies, #1<br />A.K. Morgen<br /><br />$4.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK/fade.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />99c/p through Sunday10 November</td></tr>
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<i>What do you do when you realize nothing in your life is what you’ve believed it to be?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Arionna Jacobs' world is turned upside down when she loses her mother in a tragic accident. She’s forced to leave her old life behind and move in with her father.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Dace Matthews, a teaching assistant at Arionna's new college, is torn in two, unable to communicate with the feral wolf caged inside him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>When they meet, everything they thought they knew about life unravels. Dace has intimate access to Arionna’s mind, and something deep within her fights to rise to the surface. They don’t understand what’s happening to them or why, and they’re running out of time to sort out the strange occurrences around them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Their meeting sets an ancient Norse prophesy of destruction in motion, and what destiny has in store for them is bigger than either could have ever imagined. Unless they learn to trust themselves and one another, they may never resolve the mystery surrounding who they are to one another, and what that means for the world.</i><br />
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• • •</div>
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<i>December 9, 2009</i><br />
<br />
The wind howled around me, flinging cold rain this way and that. Frigid drops stung my face and hands. The vinyl awning overhead shook and rattled in time to the thunderclaps echoing from every direction. Energy crackled in the air as lightning splintered trees miles away. The resulting clamor forced Reverend Don to shout just to be heard above the fury of the storm. Even so, I only caught every third or fourth word of the prayer he offered.<br />
<br />
I didn't need to hear what he said anyway. There were no prayers for raising the dead. I knew because I'd tried. I'd begged, pleaded, and prayed to every god I could think of over the last four days, and none of my efforts changed a single thing.<br />
<br />
My mom still lay in the gleaming wood casket in front of me. And I still couldn't breathe. I'd tried that for the last four days, too, but my breath remained lodged in my throat. It burned when I inhaled. It burned when I exhaled.<br />
<br />
Was that normal?<br />
<br />
I wasn't sure.<br />
<br />
I lifted my unblinking gaze from my waterlogged black shoes as Reverend Don continued shouting. He bowed his gray head over his Bible, his shoulders hunching against the driving rain pummeling us from all sides. The few mourners who'd braved the storm alongside my dad and me to attend the graveside service huddled in groups beneath useless umbrellas, soggy tissues clutched in their shaking fists. Mascara ran in rivulets down more than one face, but whether from the rain or tears, I didn't know.<br />
<br />
I couldn't remember if I'd put on mascara before leaving the house, but any smudges beneath my eyes were from rain. I hadn't cried yet, and I didn't know if that was normal either.<br />
<br />
I didn't think it mattered one way or another though. My life stopped making sense the moment I'd opened the door to the state trooper on Saturday, and every hour since had flung me further and further from normal. Who cared if I cried now or later?<br />
<br />
My mom was dead, and tears wouldn't change that.<br />
<br />
Besides, if I let myself cry now, I wouldn't stop. I'd keep on until I ran out of tears, and I couldn't do that. I needed to keep moving forward. One step at a time. Sprinkle dirt over her coffin. Thank her friends for coming. Pack my things. Transfer colleges.<br />
<br />
The list seemed endless, but if I stopped long enough to think now, I'd fall apart. Eventually, I'd run out of things to do, I knew that, but I didn't know what to expect when I did. When I had nothing left to plan or store or do…is that when I cracked? When I shattered like Humpty Dumpty?<br />
<br />
As a murmur of "amen" went up from Mom's friends and co-workers, I almost hoped I did get to fall apart then. Being strong and brave hurt. Especially when I just wanted to hit my knees and scream until I passed out.<br />
<br />
But when do we ever really get what we want, anyway?<br />
<br />
Dad's hand tightened around mine, and I glanced in his direction. He stared straight ahead, his brown eyes fixed on Mom's casket. I followed the path his gaze had taken, only to realize he wasn't looking at her casket at all. His eyes locked on the far side of the cemetery, at the line where the plots stopped and the trees started.<br />
<br />
I squinted through the rain, trying to pinpoint what held his attention.<br />
<br />
A lone wolf hunkered beneath the trees.<br />
<br />
A wolf?<br />
<br />
I blinked, certain I hadn't seen an animal at all, but I had. A wolf, or the domestic relation anyway, sat in the shadows of the trees, staring in our direction. Even from a distance, he looked as sad as I felt, and I wondered if he'd lost a loved one too.<br />
<br />
Do animals feel loss like us? Do they grieve, too?<br />
<br />
I hoped not.<br />
<br />
As the wind picked up around us, the animal's eyes met mine. He didn't move for a moment. He just sat there with his sad, wolfy eyes locked on mine. And then he lifted his muzzle skyward and howled.<br />
<br />
Goose bumps broke out along my skin as his mournful wail ripped through the cemetery. Reverend Don's voice, the sniffles and muffled sobs of Mom's friends, even the crash and clatter of thunder and lightning faded.<br />
<br />
The lump in my throat dissolved, and I could breathe.<br />
<br />
I didn't feel peaceful or better or anything remotely close to unburdened. I felt…wrecked. As if listening to his call shook loose a little grief that had been building for the last few days. Everything inside, all of the grief and fear I hadn't allowed myself to think about, expanded. Grief swept through me like a tsunami, leaving nothing untouched.<br />
<br />
A tear slipped down my cheek, followed by another.<br />
<br />
The wolf's howl lingered in the air around us for long moments before the storm renewed its assault. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the sound of his howl faded into the screeching wind.<br />
<br />
The animal turned his head in my direction, looking right at me again. Yellow eyes locked on mine, burning through me, speaking to me.<br />
<br />
My heart twisted painfully in my chest, the truth hitting me like a ton of bricks.<br />
<br />
My mom was never coming back. Not ever.<br />
<br />
My vision blurred until the wolf looked like little more than a watery spot far off in the distance. "I love you, Mama," I whispered, hoping she'd heard me.<br />
<br />
The animal sat there for another moment, watching me, and then he slipped back beneath the shadows of the tree. I watched him go through tear-filled eyes, my heart aching in ways I couldn't even begin to describe.<br />
<br />
Reverend Don loomed in front of me as I reached up to wipe my eyes, his wrinkled face a mask of sympathy and support. He extended one of his hands in my direction, his Bible clutched to his chest with the other.<br />
<br />
I glanced over at my dad, but he had his eyes closed and his head bowed. A line of moisture worked its way down his cheek, and I knew that even if Mom hadn't heard me, he had.<br />
<br />
"Arionna?"<br />
<br />
I hesitated, not ready for what came next. I was only nineteen…why did I have to say goodbye to her now? How was this fair? I looked back at her coffin, and then at the broken expression on my dad's face. My hands trembled in my lap.<br />
<br />
Dad reached over to squeeze my fingers. "Love you, Ari," he whispered.<br />
<br />
I rose from my seat, a sob building in my throat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_yCsAd5EwqkCUTKm2O9RlOUZuirViCIzbbGEd4vWHRV6eBB1JGwr_q0LZfwNlQdQ_seO4c9hQ4HxPEuisuHGvbmllL2facXRIyIN27R4Sef05Gcd4wDZPuYLnT_SlQBmel-g9YErPgkt/s1600/akmorgan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="239" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP_yCsAd5EwqkCUTKm2O9RlOUZuirViCIzbbGEd4vWHRV6eBB1JGwr_q0LZfwNlQdQ_seO4c9hQ4HxPEuisuHGvbmllL2facXRIyIN27R4Sef05Gcd4wDZPuYLnT_SlQBmel-g9YErPgkt/s1600/akmorgan.jpg" /></a>A.K. Morgen lives in the heart of Arkansas with her childhood sweetheart/husband of fifteen years, and their furry minions. When not writing, she spends her time hiking, reading, volunteering, causing mischief, and building a Spork army.<br />
<br />
She graduated summa cum laude with her Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice and Forensic Psychology in 2009 before going on to complete her graduate degree in CJ and Law.<br />
<br />
She puts her education to use as a 911 Dispatch Supervisor, where she's responsible for leading a team of dispatchers as they watch over police, EMS, and firefighters for her county.<br />
<br />
In addition to writing fantasy, she also writes steamy contemporary romance as Ayden K. Morgen.<br />
<br />
Find A.K. online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://facebook.com/akmorgen1">http://facebook.com/akmorgen1</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="http://facebook.com/akmorgen1">http://facebook.com/akmorgen1</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="http://twitter.com/akmorgen">http://twitter.com/akmorgen</a><br />
Amazon - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/A.K.-Morgen/e/B0097AUQAS">https://www.amazon.com/A.K.-Morgen/e/B0097AUQAS</a><br />
BookBub - <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ayden-k-morgen">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/ayden-k-morgen</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Morgen_AK</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-55794843168343816892019-10-30T14:00:00.000+00:002019-10-30T14:00:00.818+00:00Available Now: The Power of Love by Kemberlee Shortland<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBajCqqbsjDnppj5V5ilS4H4lfgBMFuOsMXQE_rMSbgbmYETXoMdlIMzP8sfpOxTqay9PeEOQDnjZSY46N80pQNXvkdIVNv1LHuxQxQ7DAQiX1kghuxdIh4njp30R9WVjAQ4Q8fLUyPoKF/s1600/ThePowerofLovebyKemberleeShortland500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBajCqqbsjDnppj5V5ilS4H4lfgBMFuOsMXQE_rMSbgbmYETXoMdlIMzP8sfpOxTqay9PeEOQDnjZSY46N80pQNXvkdIVNv1LHuxQxQ7DAQiX1kghuxdIh4njp30R9WVjAQ4Q8fLUyPoKF/s320/ThePowerofLovebyKemberleeShortland500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE POWER OF LOVE</b><br />Kemberlee Shortland<br /><br />99c/p<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Shortland_Kemberlee/the-power-of-love.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /></td></tr>
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<i>When Elaine discovers she's pregnant, she hesitates telling her husband, Ethan. They're newlyweds and want to wait until they're ready to start a family. Ethan surprised her by accepting early parenthood, embracing the idea more fully than either of them expected. But when they receive bad news after a prenatal exam, both must face that their charmed lives were about to come crashing down around them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Do Christmas wishes really come true? Elaine would stake her life on it!</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Limerick City, Ireland - June</i><br />
<br />
The best feeling in the world had to be lying in a lover’s arms, completely exhausted after a night of lovemaking, totally and absolutely sated.<br />
<br />
Elaine went with Ethan as he fell back onto the mattress and snuggled close to him, weaving her legs with his and grinning at how his leg hairs tickled her.<br />
<br />
The warm, masculine scent of his body—the lingering hint of his cologne, the smell of his skin damp with fine perspiration, the heady aroma of sex—permeated her senses and made that place deep inside her long for him once more.<br />
<br />
In a word, he smelled delicious. So much so, she had practically gobbled him up over the last several hours. Perhaps she would again, she thought, trailing her fingertips across the ridges of his broad chest and boldly circling his nipples.<br />
<br />
His strong hand grasped hers and brought it to lips framed with dark stubble, kissing the backs of her fingers. “Please, love. I can barely move.”<br />
<br />
Elaine glanced down the solid length of him to the twitch beneath the sheet just covering his hips. “Could have fooled me.”<br />
<br />
Leaning over, he propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at her. He nestled her head in the crook of his arm.<br />
<br />
“Isn’t it enough you kept me <i>up </i>all night,” winking at the double meaning, “but you want to make me late for work, as well?”<br />
<br />
“You weren’t complaining an hour ago.”<br />
<br />
His lips against hers echoed the passion they had shared through the night.<br />
<br />
When he leaned away, his deep voice was soft, his blue-eyed gaze intense. “And I never will, Lany. I love you to the depths of my soul and will always be here for you.”<br />
<br />
Tears welled and threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Will you?”<br />
<br />
Nodding, he said, “Aye. Always.”<br />
<br />
“You truly want this baby.” It wasn’t a question. She rubbed her belly without breaking her gaze with him. When he nodded again, his grin answering more than his voice could, she added, “Oh, Ethan! You make me so happy.” She slid her arms around his shoulders. He came to her instantly, burying his face in the curve of her neck, kissing her there. Familiar tingles shivered up her body and threatened to rekindle the passion she felt hovering just beneath the surface.<br />
<br />
All too soon, he pulled away. “I still need to go to work. Now let me go or we’ll be raising our child on the Dole.” He winked again before placing a quick peck on her lips then rose from the bed.<br />
<br />
Elaine laughed lightly. "As if you'd accept unemployment money."<br />
<br />
When the sheet fell away as he left the bed, she leaned up on her elbow and watched his firm ass flex as he strode out of the room. Something inside her swelled with admiration. Yes, no matter how exhausted she was, she could eat him up over and over again.<br />
<br />
A moment later she heard the shower go on then splashing and she imagined the water sluicing over him, wishing she could be in there with him.<br />
<br />
She cocked her head at another sound. He was actually singing! <i>He must be really happy</i>. She considered joining him, but he was right. He had to get to work—so did she—or they would both be raising their baby on the Dole.<br />
<br />
As she rose and threw on a robe, she laughed at her feelings of dread last night. She had been so afraid to tell Ethan she was pregnant. They had only been married a few short months and were trying to plan their future and keep to an agenda. That included birth control—at least for a while. But nothing was one hundred percent effective, as her current condition proved.<br />
<br />
She could barely contain her joy at how Ethan welcomed the baby much sooner than they had planned that she felt she was floating down the stairs.<br />
<br />
In the kitchen, Elaine put on the coffee then turned her gaze out the kitchen window to their back garden. She tried imagining a swing set, sand box, and a Wendy house rather than the clothesline, spotty lawn, and falling down tool shed. She wrapped her arms around her waist, wondering how they were going to give their child the life he or she deserved. If money was tight now, it would only get tighter once their child was born.<br />
<br />
A moment later, strong arms encircled her, pulling her against a broad chest. Ethan kissed the curve of her neck and she melted against him.<br />
<br />
“You okay?” He turned her to face him. “You’ve been standing there for a while just staring outside.”<br />
<br />
His dark hair was damp and hanging over the dark brows and lashes framing his crystal blue eyes. His gaze was both concerned and sexy. She wanted to rip his shirt from his shoulders and . . .<br />
<br />
Instead, she just finger-combed the curls back from his face. “Aye. I’m trying to imagine a swing set in the garden instead of the clothesline.”<br />
<br />
Ethan chuckled. “Everything is going to be grand. We’ve a perfect life. Nothing’s going to change that.” He kissed her on the forehead before releasing her to pour himself a cup of coffee.<br />
<br />
Even as she watched the man she loved more than anything move about the kitchen, she could not quell the feeling of dread suddenly eating at her.<br />
<br />
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• • •</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDpJKyV17SpTObDhK0ETB7TY8jDStZNSdVJ86XzdpBXd55rnkQVdvrWZesGEQMB0JskbSvgnMWvyW5Kqhf0f9ad-xL6EKMycQS6p1NqJN4aACc46BB8y126mpJdCx6wZnoSQy095DsxOMy/s1600/me5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="350" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDpJKyV17SpTObDhK0ETB7TY8jDStZNSdVJ86XzdpBXd55rnkQVdvrWZesGEQMB0JskbSvgnMWvyW5Kqhf0f9ad-xL6EKMycQS6p1NqJN4aACc46BB8y126mpJdCx6wZnoSQy095DsxOMy/s200/me5.jpg" width="200" /></a>Kemberlee Shortland is a native Northern Californian who grew up in Carmel, a community founded by artists and writers, including John Steinbeck, George Sterling, and Jack London. Over the years, Kemberlee has worked with several Carmel notables, including Doris Day, Kim Novak, and Joan Fontaine. It was in 1997, she left the employ of Clint Eastwood to live in Ireland for six months. It was during this time she met the man she would marry, and permanently relocated to live in Ireland.<br />
<br />
While always writing since a very young age, Kemberlee earned her keep for fifteen years as one of Ireland's foremost travel consultants, and also wrote travel articles about Ireland. In 2005, she saw her first romance sell, and to date, she has thirteen published titles to her name, including the best-selling Irish Pride Series, and her new thriller series, Jack Slaughter Thrillers, as K.A. Lugo.<br />
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Find Kemberlee online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.kemberlee.com/">http://www.kemberlee.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKemberleeShortland">https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKemberleeShortland</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="http://www.twitter.com/kemberlee">http://www.twitter.com/kemberlee</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-67141158532481825502019-10-23T14:00:00.000+01:002019-10-23T14:00:06.980+01:00Available Now: The Viking's Cursed Bride by Mairibeth MacMillan<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YBqi41G2gLjWnl0cvU6D2l8DPkqvVXcUjFZT7vACjCnFcbO-rjTKZSRfuJ94Fs1vyjvW9ipVVmttol6qDKur2zbOT4ZM00zMUw5DT-ubf534_7GpecHX2lu0IjhedU0l6WuzjmH4Oe5H/s1600/TheVikingsCursedBridebyMairibethMacMillan500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YBqi41G2gLjWnl0cvU6D2l8DPkqvVXcUjFZT7vACjCnFcbO-rjTKZSRfuJ94Fs1vyjvW9ipVVmttol6qDKur2zbOT4ZM00zMUw5DT-ubf534_7GpecHX2lu0IjhedU0l6WuzjmH4Oe5H/s320/TheVikingsCursedBridebyMairibethMacMillan500.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>THE VIKING'S CURSED BRIDE</b><br />
The Brothers of Thunder Series, #1<br />
Mairbeth MacMillan<br />
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$4.99<br />
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<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMillan_Mairibeth/the-vikings-cursed-bride.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
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99c/p through Sunday, 27 October</td></tr>
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<i>Half Briton, half Pict, Aoife has been an outsider all her life. Rejected by her family, despite saving them from the Norse raid on Alt Clut, she is forced to marry one of the invaders to ensure her family’s safety and rid them of a cursed daughter, while putting her own life at risk.</i><br />
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<i>Jarl Tormod intends to settle on the Clyde and to marry a Briton. One as high-born as Aoife ought to ensure the safety and prosperity of the Norse settlement. When their relationship grows beyond convenience, loving one another may prove to be disastrous.</i><br />
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<i>All Aoife wants is a place to belong, but when her family’s deception is revealed, a near-fatal betrayal in Tormod’s past threatens to destroy all hope for a peaceful and prosperous future.</i><br />
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• • •</div>
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<i>Alt Clut, Kingdom of Ystrad Clud, 870 AD</i><br />
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“Smile,” Aoife’s stepmother, Ula, hissed at her. “You don’t want King Artgal to think you are ungrateful you were invited, do you? He has been known to punish even his most loyal subjects for less. And for one such as you...” Ula’s cruel laughter made Aoife want to run far from here. Not that she had anywhere truly safe to go. She glanced towards the dais and managed to force her lips into some semblance of a smile, then returned her attention to the plateful in front of her.<br />
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All around her, the families of the richest, most important nobles of the kingdom of Ystrad Clud feasted. Every one of the long wooden tables was full, and the room was too warm for the fire burning in the grate, more to demonstrate the wealth of the king than from necessity on a summer night such as this one. The gathered nobles were richly dressed in heavy woollen kirtles, and with the excessive heat, the stench of their sweat only grew stronger as the feast wore on, making Aoife’s stomach churn. Not even the smell of roasted meats and vegetables could mask it.<br />
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Aoife pulled at the neck of her dress. She’d grown over the past winter and Ula had not yet instructed the servants to make a new summer dress for her. Ula’s four natural-born daughters always came first. There was also the fact she knew Ula did not wish her to look too attractive tonight — at least not in comparison to her half-sisters. Any suitor found at a gathering such as this one was of a higher status than Ula would ever allow Aoife to marry.<br />
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“Eat,” demanded Ula, nudging her elbow and smiling beatifically towards the king.<br />
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Aoife lifted a mouthful to her lips. Obediently she chewed and choked it down as fast as possible under her stepmother’s wrathful glare. It tasted like ashes. The noise of the revelry around her was giving her a headache, the smoke from the fire stung her eyes and the heat made her queasy. The room swayed around her. She closed her eyes, then felt a sharp elbow in her ribs. Her eyes flew open.<br />
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“If you bring dishonour to our family...” her stepmother whispered urgently, her cold expression and hands clasped as if in prayer making it clear where Aoife would be headed. A prisoner forever behind the bare stone walls of the abbey, with no family, no hope for a home, nor a husband and children.<br />
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Not that she was sure why she yearned for those things. Her own childhood had been far from idyllic. And there was little chance of any of them before Ula had secured decent marriages for Aoife’s half-sisters. But she wished for them nonetheless.<br />
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Across the room a gentleman caught her eye and inclined his head towards her. She thought she recognised him but couldn’t remember his name. She nodded at him.<br />
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“Keep your eyes down,” Ula said. “And if you have any ideas in your head about Lord Aethelfred, then forget them. He will not be for you.”<br />
“And what if I am his choice?” Aoife replied before she could stop herself. Sometimes she found it hard not to answer her stepmother back, despite knowing it only ever made her life more difficult.<br />
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“Your father will give him short shrift,” Ula promised, hatred etched on her features. “Your father always does what I tell him.”<br />
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It was true and becoming more true as each year passed. Ula’s influence over her father’s decisions was not a good thing. Not for the first time, she wished her own mother was still alive to care for her and protect her. What Aoife would have given for her to have lived through her brother’s birth. But they had both died, and her father, Lord Cadell, had remarried. And now she had Ula as a stepmother. Most of Cadell’s people had been happy to see him marry another Briton rather than a Pict. Aoife had often regretted that her father had not sent her back to her mother’s family in Pictland, but Cadell wasn’t willing to give up anything belonging to him – even an unwanted daughter.<br />
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Aoife picked up her cup of wine and took a sip. A wave of dizziness swept through her. The cup clattered onto the table, wine spilling like blood and seeping into the wood. She clutched at the edge, trying to keep her balance. She glared at her stepmother. Had the woman finally poisoned her, hoping she could blame another?<br />
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“What are you doing?” Ula demanded, talon-like fingers gripping Aoife’s elbow. “Stop this at once.”<br />
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But Aoife’s eyes no longer saw the woman, nor the room, nor the walls of the hall at Alt Clut. At first, she didn’t know what she did see. She smelt the salt tang of the sea and heard the whoosh of waves and the cry of gulls. It was night, dark out on the water, and yet in front of her were the heads of hundreds of serpents. They approached Alt Clut in the darkness just before the dawn and swept onto the land, slithering up the walls of the rock and on into the fort. Above them, two ravens circled, watching the progress of the serpents, their frantic screeching serving to encourage the invaders. Blood-curdling screams sounded and she realised they were her own.<br />
“They’re coming! The sea serpents are coming!”<br />
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A slap from her stepmother was hard enough to jar her neck and her head hit the back of the wooden chair, sending her down into darkness.<br />
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• • •</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWtsdAfClK_0H7mgaFe_vN0DWdlCvA6ukJ0exEX55Yw7UW1IZ_zFTRJ66Kw2mGeDvWIp1cjtPmV_U2HFsZcr0Bpn8xwMqN4yMupLL_6FrD9Q-wFElYrWJMxXJ_LQOhbro4VLrbzfM2wMJ/s1600/mairibethmacillan.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="244" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWtsdAfClK_0H7mgaFe_vN0DWdlCvA6ukJ0exEX55Yw7UW1IZ_zFTRJ66Kw2mGeDvWIp1cjtPmV_U2HFsZcr0Bpn8xwMqN4yMupLL_6FrD9Q-wFElYrWJMxXJ_LQOhbro4VLrbzfM2wMJ/s1600/mairibethmacillan.jpeg" /></a>Mairibeth MacMillan lives on the shores of Loch Long on the edge of Argyll and Bute. While very picturesque, living there seems to involve endless driving and family life currently involves running a taxi service.<br />
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She was a drama teacher for many years until, during a career break, she studied for a Creative Writing degree through the Open University followed by a Masters degree in Playwriting and Dramaturgy. Over the years she has had some success with short stories and flash fictions in various competitions, magazines and anthologies. In 2014 she was shortlisted for the New Writer’s Award at the Festival of Romance.<br />
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Inspired by the discovery of a Viking fort marked on the Ordnance Survey map in a friend’s garden she started working on a series of Viking Romances set in the Kingdom of Strathclyde at the end of the Ninth century. The Viking’s Cursed Bride is the first in a series of books about four Norse cousins as they build new lives far from home.<br />
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Find Mairibeth online:<br />
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Website - <a href="http://www.mairibethmacmillan.com/">http://www.mairibethmacmillan.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/mairibeth.macmillan">https://www.facebook.com/mairibeth.macmillan</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://www.twitter.com/MairibethM">https://www.twitter.com/MairibethM</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMillan_Mairibeth">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/MacMillan_Mairibeth</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-36080026337922271692019-10-17T12:28:00.002+01:002019-10-17T12:28:53.727+01:00Congratuations to Susan Clayton-Goldner!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R6JdiEuip8aY-rAgcgRvSVe_GSfOrWbDTVHJVBiT_HoGvswMHUhX3mgRDdgb1sjny0pQE-emZljo3SZF1QZlJ4I-ti33Rr4mjrEWYgXp6-JYdt9Q0XWYrdXP5Whxrw8Apztv5mnwSMTj/s1600/TormentedbySusanClaytonGoldnerTWITTERbannerRONE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1500" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R6JdiEuip8aY-rAgcgRvSVe_GSfOrWbDTVHJVBiT_HoGvswMHUhX3mgRDdgb1sjny0pQE-emZljo3SZF1QZlJ4I-ti33Rr4mjrEWYgXp6-JYdt9Q0XWYrdXP5Whxrw8Apztv5mnwSMTj/s640/TormentedbySusanClaytonGoldnerTWITTERbannerRONE.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Please help us congratulate our </span><a href="http://www.tirpub.com/scgoldner" style="font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">Susan Clayton-Goldner</a><span style="font-size: large;">. Her book, </span><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/tormented.htm" style="font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">TORMENTED</a><span style="font-size: large;">, has just won <b>Best Thriller of 2019</b> in the </span><a href="http://www.indtale.com/" style="font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">InD'Tale RONE Awards</a><span style="font-size: large;">!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">To celebrate the win, <i>we've discounted Tormented to <b>99c/p</b> through 20 October</i>. If you haven't read Tormented yet, or aren't familiar with Susan's body of work, this is a great opportunity to dive in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Fr. Anthony's devotion to God begins to unravel the moment Rita Wittier steps inside his church and struggles to control his feelings. After 60 Minutes’ special on the Shepherd Academy, a school for disadvantaged children, Anthony becomes a national hero. But he can’t get Rita out of his mind. Just hours after telling her how he feels, she’s found dead in her car. Is it suicide, or is it murder?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For more info and to download your copy:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/tormented.htm">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/tormented.htm</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">* Listen to the author read the first chapter of her book on her page too!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you <i>have</i> read Tormented, please be sure to share your feelings of the story via your review where you bought the book, share the link with your friends and family who you think would enjoy the book, share your comments on your socials. Your comments help authors know how they're doing with you, the reader, and learn where they may need improvement. And they aid in their ability to market their books more effectively. If you have reviewed already, thank you!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some reviewer comments:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"Boy was I totally blindsided! First of all this was nothing of what I expected..."</i> ~M. Rondeau</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"You will not see the end coming."</i> ~ Simatsu</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"...truly a story of mental and emotional torment."</i> ~ S. Lynn</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-9587905471837571932019-10-11T14:00:00.000+01:002019-10-11T14:00:17.619+01:00Available Now: Fated Desires by Becky Flade<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Join us for FATED WEEK</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This week, our Becky Flade is releasing each book in her fabulous Fated Series.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Monday, we featured Fated Souls, #1.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wed 9 Oct - Fated Hearts, #2.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Today - Fated Desires, #3.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">All books will remain at that price through the weekend. No better time to grab a full series for just $2.97!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>FATED DESIRES</b><br />
The Fated Series, #3<br />
Becky Flade<br />
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<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky/fated-desires.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
$3.99<br />
<br />
99c/p through Sunday, 13 October</td></tr>
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<i>Jenna Gavin is searching for a fresh start, but more importantly, balance. Her heart, and perhaps the hands of fate, has led her and her young son to Trappers' Cove, Minnesota. Settling in the small, quirky town, she's not in the market for a casual relationship yet finds herself in one with the young widower next door.</i></div>
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<i>Former shortstop, Gabriel Foxx, is drawn to his difficult new neighbor. The more the prickly divorcee attempts to keep him at arm's length, the more determined he is to break down her walls. He can't avoid the passion she inspires but he won't allow himself to feel more.</i></div>
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<i>When friendship grows complicated by stronger emotions and mutual desire, it just isn't enough. Will love be worth the risk?</i></div>
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Gabriel accepted the two frozen margaritas the nearly naked waiter offered and set them on a small, glass table. Drops of water slid down the sides of the glasses. Even condensation was lazy here. The sun was warm, and the surf crashed against the beach only yards away from his toes. The scent of suntan lotion infused the air with coconut.</div>
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“Hmm,” he murmured. He loved Cancun.</div>
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“You always choose this memory,” Cass said.</div>
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He squinted at his wife. Her bikini strained the bounds of propriety and desire tugged at him, swirling through a flash of pride she was his. He knew other men stared at his wife, as she knew other women stared at him. They laughed about it, secure in their mutual affection.</div>
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“It’s my favorite.”</div>
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“You know this is only a recollection of a moment in time.”</div>
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“Stop trying to ruin this for me. Sip your margarita, drip the condensation on my stomach, and I’ll chase you to the water’s edge, okay?”</div>
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“Sorry, handsome, not going to happen. It’s time for you to wake up.”</div>
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“Do you know how much snow is out there?”</div>
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She smiled at him. The expression that had once lit him from inside instead caused an ache, a bereft pain like he’d lost a part of himself. Melancholy didn’t belong in this memory, damn it. He hated it when she screwed with his dreams.</div>
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She laughed this time—a treasured sound he’d never again hear while awake. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. She looked different. Not like she did on the beach in Cancun. But closer to the age she was when she…when she left him.</div>
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“I have to wake up, don’t I?”</div>
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“Always, my love. But today, your future waits for you.”</div>
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Gabriel Foxx’s arm shot out to silence the bleating alarm. He rubbed sore eye sockets with the heels of his hands; they were gritty, as though the beach he’d dreamt of had thrown sand in his face. When he dropped his hands, sunlight bounced off his wedding band. He sighed while rubbing it with the pad of his thumb in a familiar habit. He should take it off. But he couldn’t bring himself to remove the ring, even though he knew how far away its delicate mate rested.</div>
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He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stretched. He was too sore for his age. The inches upon inches of frozen precipitation had caused his knee to ache for days now. He rubbed the offending joint, cursing one bad slide into home base as he did each morning. He had no reason to hide his nakedness; he lived alone despite his mother’s constant nagging to hire a live-in housekeeper. She couldn’t understand that between the cleaning woman that came by twice a week, the groundskeeper’s crew, the team working his crops, and the handful of reliable friends Gabriel had made in Trappers’ Cove, he was far from lonely.</div>
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After relieving himself and brushing his teeth, he wandered through the house, aiming for the kitchen. Second only to his home gym, this was his favorite room. The entire outside wall was enclosed in specially treated glass. He had an amazing view of the forest that buffeted his land, and he could just make out the edges of farmland he’d cleared for his crop. He stood in his kitchen, his back against the island, admiring his largesse as he swallowed down the first blessed hit of caffeine with a silent salute to the creator of the timing mechanism on his coffee pot. It may be cold outside, but the inside was cozy, the coffee was hot, and the snow dazzled. The view reminded him of a scene from an old Bing Crosby movie.</div>
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Gabe exchanged coffee for a cold bottle of water and headed to his gym. He preferred to start his days with a workout and a swim before he showered. He found the exercise particularly cathartic following one of his special “dreams.” When he got to the basement, he threw on a pair of shorts; he had no reason to cover himself, but he wasn’t comfortable lifting weights bare-assed. By the third rep of thirty deadlifts, he had worked up a sweat and put the visit from Cassidy behind him.</div>
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• • •</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0inKEs8QFSSSdUvDkj3m0P-HZiBBabsObTIA_46CzYV7O4kfDOPO1iDFCz67bmyg5RhRVKD9gXNWZpo5sNi0r5rXvAf08WYk7bRYyqFhZgsTQ1eSnbMWMLWhAjtME0sC4pRQTmez5erW/s1600/beckyflade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0inKEs8QFSSSdUvDkj3m0P-HZiBBabsObTIA_46CzYV7O4kfDOPO1iDFCz67bmyg5RhRVKD9gXNWZpo5sNi0r5rXvAf08WYk7bRYyqFhZgsTQ1eSnbMWMLWhAjtME0sC4pRQTmez5erW/s1600/beckyflade.jpg" /></a>Becky has been writing stories since kindergarten. But it wasn’t until she found her very own knight in slightly tarnished armor that she took the leap in to publishing. And hasn’t looked back once. In addition to being a wife, mother and grandmother, she works as a legal professional when she’s not writing, reading or dancing. And Becky’s proud to tell people she’s making her own dreams come true one happily ever after at a time.<br />
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Find Becky Online:<br />
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Website - <a href="http://www.beckyfladeauthor.com/">http://www.beckyfladeauthor.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BeckyFlade">https://www.facebook.com/BeckyFlade</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/beckyflade">https://twitter.com/beckyflade</a><br />
Amazon - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Flade/e/B00BPAP2AC">https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Flade/e/B00BPAP2AC</a><br />
Goodreads - <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/Becky_Flade">http://www.goodreads.com/Becky_Flade</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky">http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-86217553712697095472019-10-09T14:00:00.000+01:002019-10-09T14:00:02.354+01:00Available Now: Fated Hearts by Becky Flade<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Join us for FATED WEEK</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIETjxVqFg1H5xwOaHmOCvwWF9foFB1JjYviSyDQyGX0dFOCKjoqvb90RuENDgbHUdNLyCETA2-4lveF-mOog-QNIWcX9P1VQaElLXgr-pJV-1XGP8z_Hix9WphRZY3maJVm-v2uCKQTJ2/s1600/FatedSeriesbyBeckyFladeCG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIETjxVqFg1H5xwOaHmOCvwWF9foFB1JjYviSyDQyGX0dFOCKjoqvb90RuENDgbHUdNLyCETA2-4lveF-mOog-QNIWcX9P1VQaElLXgr-pJV-1XGP8z_Hix9WphRZY3maJVm-v2uCKQTJ2/s400/FatedSeriesbyBeckyFladeCG.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This week, our Becky Flade is releasing each book in her fabulous Fated Series.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Monday, we feature Fated Souls, #1.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Today - Fated Hearts, #2.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friday - Fated Desires, #3.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Books #3 is still on preorder for just 99c/p, and all books will remain at that price through the weekend. No better time to grab a full series for just $2.97!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>FATED HEARTS</b><br />
The Fated Series, #2<br />
Becky Flade<br />
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<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky/fated-hearts.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
$3.99<br />
<br />
99c/p through Sunday, 13 October</td></tr>
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<i>Psychiatrist Henley Elliott fled her quiet life in Cleveland for a gypsy lifestyle, trying to stay one step ahead of her painful memories. When she breaks down in quirky little Trappers' Cove, Minnesota, she meets Sheriff Carter McAlister - a man healing from his own share of hidden heartbreaks.</i></div>
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<i>At the request of a friend, Carter offers Henley a job to help her get back on her feet . . . but soon he can't resist trying to sweep the intriguing woman off them. Breaking through her carefully built shell proves to be a near-impossible task, and to make matters worse, a dangerous new presence in the Cove seems to be targeting Henley. They must learn to trust in each other in order to keep her safe.</i></div>
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<i>Can Henley and Carter leave their secrets and scars in the past to get a second chance at happily ever after?</i></div>
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“Come on, baby. You can do it.” Henley Elliott petted the dash of her twenty-year-old Grand Prix and coaxed it over the hill. She loved the old green car, her first and only since getting her driver’s license her senior year of high school, but it was on its last leg, and Henley knew it. As the car chugged over the peak, she took her foot off the gas and coasted down the other side. She enjoyed the speed, and the view as the valley opened.</div>
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She didn’t blame the car for wanting to quit. She was tired too. She was exhausted from constantly running, always looking over her shoulder, jumping from town to town. She hoped she’d gone far enough to be safe. She had almost convinced herself she would be, that it would be okay to settle for a few weeks in the next town. She’d done preliminary research online at a public-access computer in the library a few miles back. Though a small and rural community, the next town appeared metropolitan enough to provide lodging and work for a while. She had too much dust on her shoes and needed to call somewhere home. Trappers’ Cove was as good a place as any.</div>
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As gravity pulled the limping car downhill, farms gave way to a residential area that must’ve bordered the town proper. The houses, small and large alike, were old but well maintained; they showed tradition, respect, and pride. Henley glanced at her dashboard clock—it was noon on a Wednesday in late April. Kids were in school, but she imagined later they would play in their yards and ride bikes in the street. Young women chatted over fences as they hung laundry on clotheslines. It resembled a scene out of a television show from her childhood or the Lifetime movie she’d caught in a motel last month. Henley smiled. It was charming. She loved it.</div>
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Her smile faded as the road leveled, and her car slowed.</div>
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“No, no, no, baby, just a little bit farther,” she pled. She pulled the car off the side of the road in time for it to roll to a stop, shudder, cough, and die. She laid her forehead against the steering wheel and sighed. She didn’t have much money and feared the car needed massive repairs. It was a miracle her baby had made it this far. Trappers’ Cove would be home for the next little bit—once she got there. Her immediate problem was getting herself into the main part of town, followed closely by locating a mechanic who would tow the vehicle in with only the promise of payment. Then she’d worry about securing lodging and employment. Henley grabbed her purse and the backpack she kept filled with a couple days’ worth of necessities, locked the Pontiac loaded with the rest of her meager belongings, and began walking west.</div>
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Late April in Minnesota wasn’t exactly balmy, so she’d dressed that morning in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. Always practical, Henley had also wrapped a sweatshirt around her waist in case she needed it. But after a few miles of walking in the afternoon sun, she began to perspire. Her hair clung to the back of her neck, and her shirt grew clammy. With practiced skill, she pulled the long, brown locks into a sloppy bun and secured the knot with a scrunchie she kept on her wrist. She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows and nudged her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose.</div>
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She heard the truck approach. It came around the bend in the road and into view, its appearance as dilapidated as it sounded. She kept her gaze on the horizon, but the truck slowed to a stop parallel to her regardless. She expected to see a grizzly old farmer behind the wheel, his teeth yellowed from tobacco, dressed in flannel and suspenders. She knew it was a snobby presumption, but she’d seen more than a few on her travels, and they drove similar trucks. Instead, the man behind the wheel of the once-blue jalopy appeared to be close to forty, and he was pretty.</div>
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She doubted he’d appreciate the description; in her experience, not many men would, but it was the first word that came to Henley’s mind. His dark brown hair needed a cut, the ends curling around his ears and nape. He had blue eyes framed in thick, black lashes, a day’s worth of stubble, though it wasn’t yet three o’clock, and a cleft chin. His full bottom lip curved seductively as he smiled at her in an amused but condescending fashion that suggested women tended to stare and he thought it funny. She realized her mouth hung open and snapped it shut. She tucked her hands in her back pockets. She wasn’t sure what else to do with them, but the move thrust her ample breasts forward, and the pretty man’s smile widened exponentially.</div>
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Sweet baby Jesus, some things in life aren’t just.</div>
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“Hi. Can I help you?”</div>
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“My car broke down. About three, maybe three and a half miles back.” Okay, she sounded like a functional human being. “I’m going to Trappers’ Cove.”</div>
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“Well, you’re heading the right way.” His smile warmed. “I’d be glad to give you a lift. My name is Carter. Carter McAlister.”</div>
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“I’m okay walking, but thanks.”</div>
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“Sure. I get it. Not safe, accepting rides from strangers.” He shrugged, but his eyes twinkled. “It’s not really safe offering a ride to a stranger. These days.” He creased his forehead in an exaggerated expression of suspicion. “Are you a crazed ax murderer?”</div>
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Henley tilted her head and considered him. “Recently reformed. I’ve adopted my own version of AA’s twelve-step program. You’d probably be okay.”</div>
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She enjoyed the full, throaty sound of his surprised laughter. He didn’t speak like a Midwesterner, yet she couldn’t place his distinctive accent. Her pulse thrummed in a delicious rhythm she hadn’t felt in a long time. He was probably harmless. But a frisson of sexual awareness and “probably harmless” weren’t good enough reasons to override basic caution.</div>
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“For both our sakes, I think I’ll walk. But thanks again.”</div>
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Becky has been writing stories since kindergarten. But it wasn’t until she found her very own knight in slightly tarnished armor that she took the leap in to publishing. And hasn’t looked back once. In addition to being a wife, mother and grandmother, she works as a legal professional when she’s not writing, reading or dancing. And Becky’s proud to tell people she’s making her own dreams come true one happily ever after at a time.</div>
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Find Becky Online:</div>
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Website - <a href="http://www.beckyfladeauthor.com/">http://www.beckyfladeauthor.com</a></div>
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Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BeckyFlade">https://www.facebook.com/BeckyFlade</a></div>
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Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/beckyflade">https://twitter.com/beckyflade</a></div>
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Amazon - <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Flade/e/B00BPAP2AC">https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Flade/e/B00BPAP2AC</a></div>
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Goodreads - <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/Becky_Flade">http://www.goodreads.com/Becky_Flade</a></div>
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Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky">http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-55341581824523443892019-10-07T15:18:00.001+01:002019-10-07T15:38:00.387+01:00Available Now: Fated Souls by Becky Flade<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Join us for FATED WEEK</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This week, our Becky Flade is releasing each book in her fabulous Fated Series.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Today, we feature Fated Souls, #1.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wed 9 Oct - Fated Hearts, #2</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Friday - Fated Desires, #3</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Books #2 and #3 are on preorder for just 99c/p, and all books will remain at that price through the weekend. No better time to grab a full series for just $2.97!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>FATED SOULS</b><br />
The Fated Series, #1<br />
Becky Flade<br />
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<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky/fated-souls.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
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$3.99<br />
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99c/p through Sunday, 13 October</td></tr>
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<i>Shamed investigative journalist turned tabloid scribe Maggie O’Connell convinces her editor to let her go to Minnesota to research alleged werewolf sightings. Her first night in the woods, she gets trapped in an old sleeping bag, unintentionally attracts the attention of a bear, and is saved by the most unlikely of heroes: the very wolf she had come to investigate!</i><br />
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</i> <i>When she meets horse rancher Aidan Gael in the town market days later, she recognizes his eyes as those belonging to her champion.</i><br />
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</i> <i>Aidan tries desperately to avoid her; he both fears Maggie and fears for her. Neither man nor beast can resist her curious mind and courageous heart. One kiss threatens to break Aidan’s tenuous self-control but furthers Maggie’s resolve.</i><br />
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</i> <i>Danger lurks at every turn. The curse Aidan fights to keep secret is only one of the obstacles that will test the strength of their bond. Together they will navigate the violence of both nature and of man in pursuit of their destiny.</i><br />
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The forest settled around her as the darkness deepened, and Maggie felt a sense of peace wash over her. Small, nocturnal animals went about their business as they became comfortable with her presence in their home. She’d always been comfortable with solitude and silence, two things that made tasks like this one pleasurable instead of a chore, and Maggie quickly lost track of time. Eventually, the sounds around her changed. The ambient noises of the small creatures moving through the brush hushed to a near whisper. The sudden, eerie, silence caught Maggie’s attention, and she listened closely for some indication of what had caused the change. Moments passed before she heard what had quieted the forest. Something large was lumbering through the trees. With an economy of motion, Maggie pulled out her camera and checked her speed and flash.<br />
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She saw the fur first, dark, nearly black in the muted moonlight. But it seemed too far above her line of sight to be a wolf. And the townspeople had said that the wolf was gray, not dark. Fear trickled up the back of her neck as the furry blur moved closer and became larger. It didn’t take long for the dark form to pass clearly into Maggie’s line of vision. A bear. Panic welled deep in her throat; she prayed the bear had neither seen her nor caught her scent. She moved her hand slowly toward her pack, toward her gun, when her elbow knocked over the Thermos of coffee. Its roll into the leaves sounded to Maggie like a cacophony of drums, and as she watched, horrified, the bear turned his head toward her. Forgetting to move stealthily, she scrambled for her gun with one hand and fought with the zipper on her sleeping bag with the other.<br />
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She cursed and prayed as she tugged at the sleeping bag, but the zipper didn’t budge. The bear advanced on her. She realized he wasn’t fully grown yet, but from her seated position on the forest floor, he looked huge. She raised the gun with trembling hands, afraid she’d only enrage the animal in her attempt to protect herself—but perhaps since he wasn’t fully grown, she might be able to inflict enough pain to scare him away. At least long enough to get this damn sleeping bag off and get to her car. Her hand steadied as she took aim, waiting for the bear to get close enough for the gun to be effective but also close enough to hurt her with one well-placed swipe of his massive paws.<br />
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“I’m so sorry.” She whispered as her finger flexed on the trigger. Without warning, a gray blur streaked into her path, and Maggie instinctively lowered the nose of the gun. A wolf had placed itself between her and the bear. He growled low and threateningly at the bear. The bear grumbled in a loud, grumpy tone. The wolf continued to growl, slowly pushing the bear back until, finally, the bear turned and disappeared back into the night. Though the entire episode had taken only minutes, for Maggie, time had slowed. Sweat puddled in the small of her back, and her mouth tasted like her palm often smelled after gripping copper pennies for too long.<br />
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The wolf was magnificent. His fur was a rich, dark gray. He was taller than any wolves she’d seen at the zoo, and the breadth of his shoulders was impressive. She didn’t wonder at the bear’s decision to find his meal elsewhere but sensed the wolf posed her no threat. Instead, she felt protected.<br />
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The wolf turned to her then, his head cocked as though asking a silent question. She had a crazy urge to explain what she was doing in the forest stuck in her ancient sleeping bag. But Maggie gasped instead as she looked into his moss-green eyes—eyes that possessed a breathtaking clarity and intelligence. Eyes that assessed her in an entirely too human manner, and, unless she was sorely mistaken, eyes filled with derision. He seemed to look her over dismissively before ambling into the bushes. She heard him settling down a few yards from her, out of sight but not out of reach. She imagined him preparing his bed much as her best friend’s dog did. Circling a favored spot over and over, primping it with the front paws before dropping down to rest. She wondered how long he’d stay there and suspected he’d be there as long as she was. That he’d appointed himself guardian of the woman foolish enough to venture into a bear’s domain.<br />
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Maggie knew her thoughts fantastical, wondered if they were the aftereffects of the terror and adrenaline that had left as quickly as they had surfaced. She wondered why she didn’t call it a night—hell, call it a trip, and just go home. But she knew that the wolf she’d heard so many stories of, the wolf she was here to write about, was the brave animal that had just faced off against a black bear and was, even now, nearby. She planned to be there come dawn to see if those moss green eyes looked any different, staring out at her from the face of a man.<br />
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“Shit!” Maggie swore as she shoved the gun back into her pack and picked up her forgotten camera. “Goddamn it! I can’t believe I didn’t get one single picture. Not one.” She heard what she could only describe as a soft, breathy chuckle from the area where she sensed the wolf had settled and, without thinking, furiously whispered back, “Go ahead and laugh, I’ll still be here at dawn, camera-ready.”<br />
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The forest slowly came back to life as Maggie calmed herself the only way she knew how. By writing. With quick strokes, she recalled in print the scene as it had unfolded before her. The absolute terror of watching the bear approach and waiting until he was close enough to hurt her before taking aim. The wolf leaping into the line of fire, both hers and the bear’s, then forcing back the hungry beast in a display of superiority. Even what she told herself she’d imagined seeing reflected in the canine’s eyes and the huff of breath she’d convinced herself was a chuckle.<br />
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The adrenaline-fueled writing slowed, and when she scribbled the last word, a weariness swept over Maggie. Before long, she was sound asleep, bundled into the threadbare sleeping bag that had nearly cost her life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0inKEs8QFSSSdUvDkj3m0P-HZiBBabsObTIA_46CzYV7O4kfDOPO1iDFCz67bmyg5RhRVKD9gXNWZpo5sNi0r5rXvAf08WYk7bRYyqFhZgsTQ1eSnbMWMLWhAjtME0sC4pRQTmez5erW/s1600/beckyflade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0inKEs8QFSSSdUvDkj3m0P-HZiBBabsObTIA_46CzYV7O4kfDOPO1iDFCz67bmyg5RhRVKD9gXNWZpo5sNi0r5rXvAf08WYk7bRYyqFhZgsTQ1eSnbMWMLWhAjtME0sC4pRQTmez5erW/s1600/beckyflade.jpg" /></a>Becky has been writing stories since kindergarten. But it wasn’t until she found her very own knight in slightly tarnished armor that she took the leap in to publishing. And hasn’t looked back once. In addition to being a wife, mother and grandmother, she works as a legal professional when she’s not writing, reading or dancing. And Becky’s proud to tell people she’s making her own dreams come true one happily ever after at a time.<br />
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Find Becky Online:<br />
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Website - http://www.beckyfladeauthor.com<br />
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/BeckyFlade<br />
Twitter - https://twitter.com/beckyflade<br />
Amazon - https://www.amazon.com/Becky-Flade/e/B00BPAP2AC<br />
Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/Becky_Flade<br />
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Flade_Becky<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-5652318636453119172019-09-04T18:15:00.000+01:002019-09-04T18:15:00.601+01:00Available Now: 13 Steps to the Cellar by Teresa Mathews<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXOf0gieFfWvwxMBWCA_d6nRsjhaWSiJ32T1x9YsFe2uTXNSvnuUaNUFXqb35ormEj4LHyeaY_IUT-aqQSIyf3Lkuirlr7ym0KlRFpI1AwBKt8q-nsaTdlCMV-uDEhuGFEJ02DEaW-ay4/s1600/ThirteenStepstotheCellarbyTeresaMathews500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizXOf0gieFfWvwxMBWCA_d6nRsjhaWSiJ32T1x9YsFe2uTXNSvnuUaNUFXqb35ormEj4LHyeaY_IUT-aqQSIyf3Lkuirlr7ym0KlRFpI1AwBKt8q-nsaTdlCMV-uDEhuGFEJ02DEaW-ay4/s400/ThirteenStepstotheCellarbyTeresaMathews500.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>13 STEPS TO THE CELLAR</b><br />Teresa Mathews<br /><br />$4.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Mathews_Teresa/13-steps-to-the-cellar.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />99c/p through Sunday the 8th</td></tr>
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<i>There were thirteen steps to the cellar. They were steep and they were narrow—but was a fall down them enough to have caused the twenty-seven deep lacerations to her aunt’s head?</i><br />
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<i>Callie Harris travels from her home in Alabama to her aunt’s former mansion in Maine to unravel the haunting forty-year-old mystery of Dr. Laverne Harris Doss’ brutal death.</i><br />
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<i>Why wasn’t a murder weapon found? Was her uncle justly convicted of the killing? Was his mistress involved? Or was the murderer the bearded stranger rumored to have arrived by train that night?</i><br />
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<i>In the charming town of Richmond, located on the banks of Maine’s historic Kennebec River, Callie uncovers the community’s darkest secrets—a botched police investigation, a betrayed widow’s lie, a dead woman’s blackmail, and a wealthy philanthropist’s shame. The web of intrigue extends far beyond Callie's suspicions and its connection to her personal story pierces her to the core.</i><br />
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<i>A man hovered over the crumpled body of the woman at the bottom of the cellar stairs. An awful, guttural sound forced its way up from deep in her lungs. A cavernous head gash bled profusely, the blood pooling, forming a red halo around her auburn hair. Her glassy, fixed eyes looked up at Callie, pleading for help. I must stop the bleeding, Callie cried. She hurried down the stairs, her feet heavy, her heart pounding. Why can’t I breathe? Why can’t I reach her? Why won’t my feet move faster? She was only steps from her aunt when the grimacing man turned toward her, then looked back to Laverne and raised his hand for a final blow.</i><br />
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Callie awoke with a start. Sitting on the side of the bed, she ran her hand across her forehead to feel the perspiration. Since the funeral, she’d endured recurring dreams about both her father and deceased aunt. It’d been two weeks, and still, she couldn’t shake the nightmares.<br />
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She looked at the bedside clock. In an hour, she had a scheduled meeting with her brothers. Wanting to arrive a few minutes early, she dressed, skipped breakfast, and drove to her vacant childhood home.<br />
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A heaviness surrounded Callie as she unlocked the front door and walked into the quiet house. Turning on lights, she paused in the family room. For a moment, she imagined she could hear pots rattling in the kitchen. She turned her head to one side to listen to the ghostly strains of her mother singing her favorite hymn. In her mind, Callie could see her father sitting in his recliner, reading the newspaper with his feet propped up. Her two brothers were roughhousing as they came through the door, all sweaty and dirty from playing football in the front yard. So many memories…<br />
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Walking down the hall, she opened the linen closet where years ago she’d found the newspaper article about her aunt. I didn’t know Laverne, yet I can’t seem to get her out of my head. Reaching under the sheets on the top shelf, she slid her hand side to side across the cedar boards. She checked the remaining shelves, then closed the door. Empty-handed, she wandered into her father’s bedroom.<br />
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On an impulse, she walked to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer to see several sets of folded pajamas. Beneath was a sheaf of papers. With her heart fluttering, she pulled out the stack and took a seat in the nearby chair.<br />
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Carefully unfolding the papers, she spread open a section of the Boston Globe. Front and center was her Aunt Laverne’s photo. With anticipation, she read the ensuing article. It confirmed her aunt’s body had been found in the cellar of her Richmond, Maine home. It established the brutality of her death. Otherwise, not many details were divulged. Sighing, Callie folded the newspaper back into its original four creases.<br />
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Sitting beside his empty bed, Callie attempted to remember every word her father had uttered about her Aunt Laverne.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSONs-xzhz0iEVXyH-QkzWfAJHKeZduOsKD6p71r3og2BXnf5QuuKCSoM7LXhjlqU056n6uJJ2H16VYSsKRLvqcpRmVSIkZbaufBDXut8z_wAdN1m45fYRcIjE3HaJpw_n-3ZbZzaFWWn/s1600/teresamathews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipSONs-xzhz0iEVXyH-QkzWfAJHKeZduOsKD6p71r3og2BXnf5QuuKCSoM7LXhjlqU056n6uJJ2H16VYSsKRLvqcpRmVSIkZbaufBDXut8z_wAdN1m45fYRcIjE3HaJpw_n-3ZbZzaFWWn/s1600/teresamathews.jpg" /></a>Teresa Mathews is a graduate of The University of South Alabama. She’s a member of the Mobile Writers Guild and serves on the Board of Directors for the Alabama Nursery and Landscape Association.<br />
<br />
An avid gardener and artist, she has multiple book covers to her credit. Several years ago after visiting the site of her real-life aunt’s murder, Teresa discovered another passion–storytelling. Although inspired by an actual tragedy, Thirteen Steps to the Cellar is fiction.<br />
<br />
Raised on the Gulf Coast, Teresa, her husband, and son now live on a farm with a second home on the sparkling white sands of Fort Morgan, Alabama.<br />
<br />
Find Angelique online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="https://www.teresamathews.com/">https://www.teresamathews.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TeresaMathewsAuthor">https://www.facebook.com/TeresaMathewsAuthor</a><br />
Goodreads - <a href="https://goodreads.com/TeresaMathews">https://goodreads.com/TeresaMathews</a><br />
Instagram - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/teresamathewsauthor">https://www.instagram.com/teresamathewsauthor</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Mathews_Teresa">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Mathews_Teresa</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-31385792103947028192019-08-21T14:00:00.000+01:002019-08-21T14:00:00.467+01:00Available Now: One Night in Portland by Angelique Migliore<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjZbDQYMq5VIhhS0HpJ-pTjANnNQLflDBU_oQgvMC6XX8Jn0n8j1Gs7diR1IEiz_VoyNrWaHwzzDFROfEHpmrfe_nuuzLztTdtkg7-0a1SuynXgzcbG-Uu4kJKrLN0_rUOQ6z-ihaPOdR/s1600/OneNightinPortlandbyAngeliqueMigliore500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjZbDQYMq5VIhhS0HpJ-pTjANnNQLflDBU_oQgvMC6XX8Jn0n8j1Gs7diR1IEiz_VoyNrWaHwzzDFROfEHpmrfe_nuuzLztTdtkg7-0a1SuynXgzcbG-Uu4kJKrLN0_rUOQ6z-ihaPOdR/s400/OneNightinPortlandbyAngeliqueMigliore500.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>ONE NIGHT IN PORTLAND</b><br />
City Nights, #37<br />
Angelique Migliore<br />
<br />
$2.99<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique/one-night-in-portland.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
99c/p through Sunday the 25th</td></tr>
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<i><b>Bridges traverse worlds</b>.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Army Captain and surgeon, Finn O’Grady, returns from a field training exercise exhausted and defeated; two soldiers were injured in an accident and one didn’t make it home.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Quilt artist, Lee-Lee Song, storms out of a date with yet another good Asian boy her parents have set up only to run smack into Finn.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Their worlds—which could not be further apart—collide on a street corner in downtown Portland, and neither is in a hurry to return to their own realities. Finn craves the distraction of Lee-Lee's creative and colorful world. Lee-Lee wants a man who is one hundred eighty degrees away from her parents’ choices.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As Lee-Lee and Finn venture together across the many bridges of Portland and share their favorite places around the city, they grow more attracted and closer.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Will this special day together force Lee-Lee and Finn back into their own worlds, or will they build one more bridge in Portland—one to each other?</i><br />
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• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Lee-Lee</i><br />
<br />
Swelling? Oh, I was swelling all right.<br />
<br />
In all the wrong places. Or the right places. As soon as this blue-eyed hottie’s large hand skimmed up the back of my bare thigh, my brain dropped straight down to the gutter. I couldn’t remember the last time a touch seared my skin with such electricity—if ever. My mind drew a complete blank, so naturally, my mouth filled the void with words.<br />
<br />
I kept my head down, pretending to look at my knee as I gathered my thoughts. The giant pack I had tripped over lay on the ground a few steps away. Camouflage: it matched his uniform. Since when did Portland have soldiers just standing out on the streets? That was the job of the hippies.<br />
<br />
Lifting my head, I smiled at the soldier. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”<br />
<br />
Confusion blanketed his face, and he slowly shook his head. “Why would you ask me that?”<br />
<br />
“You look a bit like someone just dumped you here. Can I take you somewhere?” His concern for my knee already told me he deserved better than to be abandoned on the sidewalk. Time alone with a hot stranger probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but after eight weeks of boring dates with Jae and a dry spell for over a year before that, my body said it wasn’t the worst idea, either.<br />
<br />
His rust-colored eyebrows furrowed as he considered my offer. His very handsome face grew thoughtful, and its intensity ramped up several notches. “How about I drive you home and properly examine your knee? Maybe even ice it for a little while and then check your patella?”<br />
<br />
“I think it’s only scraped; I’ll be fine. See?” I placed my foot back on the ground and put my weight on it. A small moan escaped my throat before I could capture it.<br />
<br />
“That’s what I thought.” He tossed his giant pack onto his back as if it weighed nothing and secured it on each shoulder. “Where’s your car, ma’am?” Done with my objections, his blue eyes bored into mine.<br />
<br />
Did I really want to argue with this man who was concerned over my scraped knee when guys like Jae weren’t even concerned for my future happiness? No, I didn’t. “Only a couple of spaces up, actually.”<br />
<br />
“Do you need me to carry you?” He held his arms out.<br />
<br />
“Ha!” I blurted. “You have no idea how much I weigh.”<br />
<br />
Not one of his muscles budged, but he visually pored over all of my curves thoroughly enough to make my cheeks warm. “Not a lot from the looks of things. Not to mention, you have no idea how much I can carry.”<br />
<br />
My cheeks grew even warmer as I stepped out of my comfort zone and boldly returned the investigation of this soldier: his outstretched arms, wide chest, rigid torso, and thighs the size of tree trunks. He was the farthest thing from my parents’ choices, and he looked delicious. “Tempting, but I’m not that hurt.”<br />
<br />
He dropped one arm and crooked the other for me to take.<br />
<br />
The caring gesture warmed me more than the sun did right then. I couldn’t argue with such a sweet display of gentlemanly affection, either.<br />
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• • •</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumjIGp95k9bKxKBmnvpqAIZ-8Ezd3C1NK0cewO0zUy7npWtpThG8LH_yefuD3M6VW3PR1wOVoaEAZ2ixs891MwIWrGADAZB8_UgVr25JwuPq6mTfQWNkLQSQXYOVU9u37V5f2d_tNA5G3/s1600/angeliquemigliore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgumjIGp95k9bKxKBmnvpqAIZ-8Ezd3C1NK0cewO0zUy7npWtpThG8LH_yefuD3M6VW3PR1wOVoaEAZ2ixs891MwIWrGADAZB8_UgVr25JwuPq6mTfQWNkLQSQXYOVU9u37V5f2d_tNA5G3/s1600/angeliquemigliore.jpg" /></a>While in her third year of French at high school, Angelique was forced to journal every day. Never the lover of her own personal diaries, she instead rewrote Romeo and Juliet, en Françias. Except that Romeo was a duck-billed platypus, and Juliet was a strawberry. It was a doomed, albeit deliciously sweet, relationship from the start.<br />
Long before that, Angelique wrote and performed ridiculously caddy commercials in grade school with her best friend Shannon. Ever the optimist, she believes the best is yet to come, sharing a meal is the quickest route to peace, and love conquers all. Although she was born and raised in the paradise that is the Emerald Coast of the Florida Panhandle, not traveling has never been an option for Angelique.<br />
<br />
Today, Angelique writes character-driven love stories of various heat levels in settings from Earth to the nearest Black Hole which range from the Cosmic past to the Inter-galactic future. She also loves rugby. And champagne. With fresh raspberries, if you please.<br />
<br />
Find Angelique online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.angeliquemigliore.com/">http://www.angeliquemigliore.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AngeliqueJots">https://www.facebook.com/AngeliqueJots</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/AngeliqueJots">https://twitter.com/AngeliqueJots</a><br />
Goodreads - <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/71617689-angelique-migliore">https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/71617689-angelique-migliore</a><br />
Pinterest - <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/angeliquemigliore">https://www.pinterest.com/angeliquemigliore</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Migliore_Angelique</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-75488607169711527852019-08-14T10:56:00.003+01:002019-08-14T10:56:41.446+01:00<span style="font-size: x-large;">THANK YOU to everyone who downloaded these books while on #KU / #KindleUnlimited. Your support and page reads are much appreciated.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">These books are now available platform-wide:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGUu9DTOJElH9LhiXke0rJp4HjheGXTOuBLGP1mHD_h80QaO2HO_JuxXyHLjTvmDqsmT-u7t5jwOmKkEldrbeQFcor23VnQoPji_g3i89FBzN6ckJMjG81CsqImIl3EzzCVhKcj6Dqlzi/s1600/LakeOfTheDeadbySusanClaytonGoldner500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGUu9DTOJElH9LhiXke0rJp4HjheGXTOuBLGP1mHD_h80QaO2HO_JuxXyHLjTvmDqsmT-u7t5jwOmKkEldrbeQFcor23VnQoPji_g3i89FBzN6ckJMjG81CsqImIl3EzzCVhKcj6Dqlzi/s200/LakeOfTheDeadbySusanClaytonGoldner500.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<b>LAKE OF THE DEAD</b><br />
A Winston Radhauser Mystery, #5<br />
Susan Clayton-Goldner<br />
<a href="http://www.tirpub.com/scgoldner">www.tirpub.com/scgoldner</a><br />
<br />
When Parker Collins goes missing, girlfriend, Rishima, files a missing person’s report, adamant something is wrong. Radhauser agrees to investigate, soon discovering something doesn't sit right with him. Elderly neighbor, Homer "Sully" Sullivan, finds a body floating in the lake near his cottage. Could it be the missing student? Will this missing person’s case become a murder investigation?<br />
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<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRbUMf6bcDkN-xpuFM7LIDTe1R2HyNYhemrlDbJHKR6OUv5RnNH6Ke0eIHDUujp3bkIZ5miRYdyosv9TBYrKpqdFnPu1mNJ4h1kGOcukq8N-XgkYjWMPcujBMLEMWdLHljY6v3xwJdERw/s1600/TheIllusionsInbetweenbyJMRobison500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRbUMf6bcDkN-xpuFM7LIDTe1R2HyNYhemrlDbJHKR6OUv5RnNH6Ke0eIHDUujp3bkIZ5miRYdyosv9TBYrKpqdFnPu1mNJ4h1kGOcukq8N-XgkYjWMPcujBMLEMWdLHljY6v3xwJdERw/s200/TheIllusionsInbetweenbyJMRobison500.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<b>THE ILLUSIONS IN BETWEEN</b><br />
The Last Wizard, #3<br />
JM Robison<br />
<a href="http://www.tirpub.com/jmrobison">www.tirpub.com/jmrobison</a><br />
<br />
Still hunted by the church, Zadicayn has remained in hiding with his family. But rumors of his location finally reach the Illuminati, a secret underground society of Black Magicians. Wanting his magic for themselves, the Illuminati lure Zadicayn to Rome where the last wizard is forced to fight, not only for his life and his family, but also for the world. Because his next death will be his last.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRGfGiTGMo2p71rZBAqnPiABXyzg32SDsNJJASljD1f-2I3ZSNQU5z4NMLjyWo1F_BJbV-K_KrZAWVe6zU-jgKE50J8BKZ0Hf9elGs0XJf-JLJE2vPkkht-4YvkaMmYiNZbhc9P2ypADr/s1600/MomentofTruthbyJoanFleming500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRGfGiTGMo2p71rZBAqnPiABXyzg32SDsNJJASljD1f-2I3ZSNQU5z4NMLjyWo1F_BJbV-K_KrZAWVe6zU-jgKE50J8BKZ0Hf9elGs0XJf-JLJE2vPkkht-4YvkaMmYiNZbhc9P2ypADr/s200/MomentofTruthbyJoanFleming500.jpg" width="133" /></a><b>THE MOMENT OF TRUTH</b><br />
The Rowanbrae Series, #1<br />
Joan Fleming<br />
<a href="http://www.tirpub.com/jfleming">www.tirpub.com/jfleming</a><br />
<br />
Local teacher and lady golf captain, Mandy Campbell strives for equal status in a male-dominated club. Despite their rivalry, she becomes attracted to gents' captain, Gavin Simpson, but does he return her affection? Troubles increase with her mother's drinking, and when a student's mother threatens legal action against the school. Will Mandy have to leave Rowanbrae to find the peace she craves?<br />
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<b>UNSPOKEN</b><br />
Dianne Noble - Author<br />
<a href="http://www.tirpub.com/dnoble">www.tirpub.com/dnoble</a><br />
<br />
After taking a room in Ruth's dilapidated Sri Lankan guesthouse, Sarah Latimer becomes aware of the brutality her friend suffers at the hands of her husband. Sarah decides to help, ignorant of the dark secrets in her own life. Receiving devastating news about her son, Tom, Sarah considers flying home, but a shocking act of violence eclipses everything and she finds herself driven to take action.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-33487400097088523312019-08-07T14:00:00.000+01:002019-08-07T14:00:00.726+01:00Available Now: Racked by Sue Coletta<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOE8Pcq-jjeAhPEyEzpQ0Sb7EgLXc_kEk6SztE_Pi717LfmBOWtBLK-Qz7eDdGn1PrHM_YvddFyNCganTXDvWuKIMd-UBxzLXhcK491JNCMyUwldGkjiL3XXRJfKH20eBncFi9Z6CW47SK/s1600/RackedbySueColetta500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOE8Pcq-jjeAhPEyEzpQ0Sb7EgLXc_kEk6SztE_Pi717LfmBOWtBLK-Qz7eDdGn1PrHM_YvddFyNCganTXDvWuKIMd-UBxzLXhcK491JNCMyUwldGkjiL3XXRJfKH20eBncFi9Z6CW47SK/s400/RackedbySueColetta500.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RACKED<br />
Grafton County Series, #4<br />
Sue Coletta<br />
<br />
$4.99<br />
<br />
<a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Coletta_Sue/racked.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br />
<br />
99c/p through Sunday the 11th</td></tr>
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<i>It starts with an innocent stuffed animal. It ends in mind-numbing terror.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Five missing boys and an adult corpse found in the town’s water shed was only the beginning for Sage and Niko Quintano. After a hooded-stranger gives their son, Noah, a stuffed animal—the exact Christmas moose given to all the missing boys days before their abductions—their lives spiral downward into uncertainty.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Could Noah be the next boy to go missing?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As they piece together each cryptic clue, the future looks more and more grim. But what they soon discover blows everyone’s mind, the truth teetering on the unfathomable.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>What does it all mean, and where do they go from here?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>December 19, 2008</i><br />
<i>Friday</i><br />
<i>7:30 p.m.</i><br />
<br />
In the vast openness of the snowmobile trails, solar-powered Christmas lights danced across pine needles on the branches I separated while the lanky silhouette of the serial predator tossed shovelfuls of dirty snow on a mound. Was he digging a fresh grave? My calf muscles jumping-jacked beneath my skin, begging me to run. But I couldn’t. Not yet.<br />
<br />
A row of thin birch trees bowed over the makeshift grave, thin branches curled like the skeletal fingers of a demon protecting its prey. The overcast sky blurred the hazy moon into non-compliance, its glow hastened by gathering storm clouds.<br />
<br />
Who did he plan to bury here? My gloved hand clawed at my throat.<br />
<br />
Sweet Jesus, please tell me Noah’s still with Mrs. Falanga. All the saliva in my mouth dried to dust, my insides squirming, screaming for release. What if Childs left his post long enough for the serial predator to sneak past him? What if he murdered everyone in the house? What if he abducted my child after Mrs. Falanga tucked him in bed? She might not realize he was missing till dawn.<br />
<br />
Beyond the tree, a flashlight balanced on its end, a smoldering yellow glow pointed toward the heavens. Cigarette smoke billowed through the haze. Hot ash tumbled into the darkness when he flicked the filter into the arctic December air.<br />
<br />
I backed away from the tree.<br />
<br />
Crunch.<br />
<br />
My right heel froze on the pinecone.<br />
<br />
The serial predator slung his portable spade over one shoulder and stalked toward me. “Hello?”<br />
<br />
Male voice. Almost familiar. Where had I heard it before? Holding my breath, cramps squeezed my calf muscle as I crouched behind the conifer, flames tunneling down my sciatic nerve to my partially-raised foot, bent at such an angle mind-numbing pain riddled the whole right side of my leg.<br />
<br />
The serial predator hustled back to the shallow grave, and I lowered my wet boot to the snow. The moment he turned his back, I nosedived toward the base of the tree trunk, slithering beneath the branches like a frightened garter snake. The snow piled around the bottom helped shield the top half of my body. I pulled my legs out of view. A glacial breeze swept across my wet hair, and I could not stop shivering, the icy snow soaking through my jeans and wool coat.<br />
<br />
With one smooth motion, he swiped his flashlight off the snow and aimed the beam toward the pine tree. “Hello?”<br />
<br />
After the blinding light struck my eyes, I would never be able to describe his face or any distinguishable features, the black hoodie masking his identity. He could be anyone. Or no one.<br />
<br />
With both gloves covering my nose and mouth, I held back icy breath that threatened to reveal my hiding spot.<br />
“Is someone there?”<br />
<br />
A cylindrical sphere lasered through the pine needles, and I ducked, my bare cheek trembling against a clustered mass of icicles. Snow boots clomped around the tree, then stopped—inches from my face.<br />
<br />
Dear God, don’t let him find me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4liudaLudjW28jgQ1sHp_zKVsgz7SJKRqv125kyDr7VTzr5BHm1S1VeMD1j_EfwzCrM5YXrQH71lTpiye7Lfl1k38kj80LI8gRaIsQmvsOu5r6UhdA1CZRldqucWwQL2ImbFbAJButTLf/s1600/suecoletta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4liudaLudjW28jgQ1sHp_zKVsgz7SJKRqv125kyDr7VTzr5BHm1S1VeMD1j_EfwzCrM5YXrQH71lTpiye7Lfl1k38kj80LI8gRaIsQmvsOu5r6UhdA1CZRldqucWwQL2ImbFbAJButTLf/s1600/suecoletta.jpg" /></a>Sue Coletta is a Member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She is the bestselling, award-winning author of the Grafton County Series and the Mayhem Series, which won the Best Mystery/Thriller/Heist Award and Readers’ Choice Award in Mystery/Thriller. Sue also writes in the Kindle Worlds, where she hit #1 in Mystery, Thrillers & Suspense. Sue’s had short stories and flash fiction published in Out of the Gutter Flash Fiction Offensive magazine and numerous anthologies, and InSinC Quarterly featured her forensic articles.<br />
<br />
In 2017 & 2018, her Murder Blog won Feedspot’s Top 50 Crime Blog Award. She’s also the communications manager for Forensic Science and the Serial Killer Project, both groups founded by cold case expert, Detective Sergeant (Ret.) Joe Giacalone. As a way to help fellow crime writers, Sue created a team of crime experts (detectives, coroners, police captains, etc.) and founded #ACrimeChat on Twitter.<br />
<br />
Sue lives in northern New Hampshire with her husband/best friend. When she’s not writing or reading, you might catch her feeding circus peanuts to her beloved pet crows, who live free.</div>
<br />
Find Sue Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.suecoletta.com/">http://www.suecoletta.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/SueColetta1">https://www.facebook.com/SueColetta1</a><br />
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Blog - <a href="https://suecoletta.com/murder-blog">https://suecoletta.com/murder-blog</a><br />
Blog - <a href="https://killzoneblog.com/">https://killzoneblog.com</a><br />
Goodreads - <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/SueColetta">http://www.goodreads.com/SueColetta</a><br />
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Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Coletta_Sue">http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Coletta_Sue</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-29819715414638687522019-07-31T14:00:00.000+01:002019-07-31T14:00:02.030+01:00Available Now: Bloody Creek Murder by Susan Clayton-Goldner<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJXnY67dToAjzr58FxSrTsxRstfBK6bFamWNDKrUaDgco7_EWbH0mjnKp-UkOoMWCWKXz3xR5EVCBJz42NV041m3lbcMNNliG7rxCqY9XOq4wakn7ZPExUKEcDLlfrnWRvCtUJI1dLIlZ/s1600/BloodyCreekMurderbySusanClaytonGoldner500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJXnY67dToAjzr58FxSrTsxRstfBK6bFamWNDKrUaDgco7_EWbH0mjnKp-UkOoMWCWKXz3xR5EVCBJz42NV041m3lbcMNNliG7rxCqY9XOq4wakn7ZPExUKEcDLlfrnWRvCtUJI1dLIlZ/s400/BloodyCreekMurderbySusanClaytonGoldner500.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>BLOODY CREEK MURDER</b><br />A Winston Radhauser Mystery, #6<br />Susan Clayton-Goldner<br /><br />$4.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan/bloody-creek-murder.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />99c/p through Sunday 4 August</td></tr>
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<i>Five days after a tragic fall kills her 10-year-old son, Blair Bradshaw, an actress with the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, is found dead. Her husband, Franklin Bradshaw, an esteemed criminal defense attorney, discovers her body. It is carefully displayed under her son's tree house, among the flowers and other memorabilia left at the site of his death.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Franklin insists her death is a suicide brought on by the loss of their son. But Detective Radhauser finds evidence at the scene—bloody shoe prints on one of the rocks in the nearby creek, the careful way the body is arranged, and the fact that no weapon is found near her body—leads him to believe otherwise.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Was it grief that killed her? Or was it murder?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Friday, May 4, 2001</i><br />
<br />
Detective Winston Radhauser lunged the roan stallion in the round pen on their ranch in Ashland, Oregon—a thirty-two-acre paradise they’d named Graceland. Ashland was a Renaissance village set in the foothills of the Siskiyou mountains. It was most renowned for its diversity and its world-class Shakespeare Festival. The picturesque university town had surroundings so beautiful, visitors often called it God’s Country. After nearly a decade, Radhauser and his family called it home.<br />
<br />
The bay stallion, Ameer, the Arabic name for prince, was a lean, spirited Arabian about fifteen hands high with four white feet and a blaze. Radhauser wanted to prove he’d learned a few things about horse training. He planned to saddle break the horse for Gracie. Ever since the cancer, diagnosed during her pregnancy with Jonathan, he was a bit over-protective of his wife and couldn’t imagine his world without Gracie and the kids. She’d come through chemo and radiation like the trooper she was. All signs pointed to a complete recovery. Still, he knew how fast his world could change, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down again.<br />
<br />
At first, Ameer had reared and kicked until he worked up a sweat. But over the last few weeks, the stallion became accustomed to the halter and bridle and had even allowed the saddle blanket to stay on his back for an extended period of time.<br />
<br />
Radhauser stopped lunging and draped the blanket over the subdued horse, added the saddle, then carefully tightened the cinch. The air around them was tinged with the smell of alfalfa from the dozens of bales he’d stored in the alcove behind the arena.<br />
<br />
With the coat of molasses he’d put on the bit, the horse took it without a fight. He led Ameer over to the fence surrounding the pen, then climbed up the rails until he was higher than the saddle.<br />
<br />
“Are you gonna ride him now, Daddy?” His six-year-old daughter, Lizzie, sat on the fence beside her mother. Just like Gracie, she wore a pair of denim jeans, red cowgirl boots, and a short-sleeved, red T-shirt with the Arabian Horse Association logo, a black sculptured horse head, on the front.<br />
<br />
Outside the round pen, seventeen-month-old Jonathan sat playing with bristle blocks in a playpen set up under the shade of a big leaf maple tree.<br />
<br />
“I suggest you lunge him with the saddle on for another ten minutes or so.” Gracie smiled and gave him one of her looks that said, Listen up. I know more about this than you.<br />
<br />
Radhauser ignored her advice and slowly lowered himself into the saddle until his full weight was resting on it. But before he was firmly seated or could grab the saddle horn, Ameer reared and bucked. With his ears pinned back, he snorted and jerked his head, his black mane flying. His front legs lashed out, and his dark eyes were wide open like he’d been spooked.<br />
<br />
The detective was tossed backward off the smooth leather saddle and landed with a thud on the sandy floor.<br />
<br />
Gracie laughed.<br />
<br />
Radhauser let out a sigh, stood and brushed off the seat of his jeans while Ameer bolted in circles around the fence line of the pen. His pride hurt more than his body.<br />
<br />
“Better stick to what you know,” Gracie said. “You’re not exactly Bill Shoemaker.”<br />
<br />
Shoemaker was one hell of a rider—an old-time jockey who held the world record of most professional wins for twenty-nine years. “I’m a foot and a half taller than he was and about a hundred pounds heavier. It puts me at a slight disadvantage.”<br />
<br />
She gave him a knowing look. “Believing yourself invincible can be a handicap.”<br />
<br />
“Daddy fell off the horse.” Lizzie covered her mouth and giggled. It came out in little bubbles, like water starting to boil.<br />
<br />
Gracie slipped from the fence and walked slowly toward Ameer. “It’s okay, boy. You’re okay now.”<br />
<br />
At the sound of her voice, the horse’s ears shot forward and he whinnied a greeting. Gracie Radhauser, the horse whisperer, took a carrot out of her back pocket.<br />
<br />
Ameer moved closer to her. While he nibbled, she removed the bit and bridle, replaced it with a halter and led him around the pen.<br />
<br />
When she passed Lizzie, still sitting on the fence, she squeezed the little girl’s leg. “Maybe Daddy needs a little more training.”<br />
<br />
Lizzie giggled again—a sound Radhauser loved more than any other.<br />
<br />
Even Jonathan got in on the fun. He scrambled to his feet, stood in his playpen, and clapped his hands. “Daddy go boom.”<br />
<br />
As if on cue, Radhauser’s cell phone rang. He answered, relieved to discover it was his new partner, Maxine McBride.<br />
<br />
“I know you’re on vacation. But any possibility you can help me out? Officer Corbin just called. He’s at a house over on Sand Creek Road. The husband suspects his wife committed suicide because of the recent death of their ten-year-old son, Tommy. But Corbin isn’t so sure and wants us to check things out. He thinks we may have a murder case. And from what I understand, it isn’t pretty. The victim is Blair Bradshaw. Apparently, she’s an actress with the Shakespeare Festival.”<br />
<br />
“Nothing I’d rather do.” Radhauser wrote down the address and gate code. “Meet you there in ten minutes. And call Heron. You know how he likes to investigate the scene himself.”<br />
<br />
Gracie continued to work Ameer, but glanced up at Radhauser and smiled. “Looks like you’ve been saved by the bell.”<br />
<br />
He lifted his hands, palm side up. “What can I say? Murder calls. So, I’m off to do something I’m actually good at. But you be careful. That’s a stubborn one.”<br />
<br />
She gave him a gratuitous smile. “Don’t worry. Ameer has met his match in me.”<br />
<br />
And Radhauser knew she was right. Gracie was a far more skilled horse trainer than he’d ever be.<br />
<br />
His daughter, always the diplomat, grinned. “You’re good at being my daddy.”<br />
<br />
He ruffled her dark hair, releasing the smell of apple shampoo and sunshine. “Thanks, Lizzie girl. That makes me feel a lot better.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •
</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gU2fY38XS027SCLnNd3FgHJ6JX_vR0paiesYy52wWwYpH4UkPTIOIbG8ba_R2utiKdQY2DbjH3M7QYS32SEk04AezVIqveJDIt3RlgqYdIipQA4FDJCST1MtNWHswYDb7gsP4orIdMNJ/s1600/susanclaytongoldner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8gU2fY38XS027SCLnNd3FgHJ6JX_vR0paiesYy52wWwYpH4UkPTIOIbG8ba_R2utiKdQY2DbjH3M7QYS32SEk04AezVIqveJDIt3RlgqYdIipQA4FDJCST1MtNWHswYDb7gsP4orIdMNJ/s1600/susanclaytongoldner.jpg" /></a>Susan Clayton-Goldner was born in New Castle, Delaware and grew up with four brothers along the banks of the Delaware River. She is a graduate of the University of Arizona's Creative Writing Program and has been writing most of her life. Her novels have been finalists for The Hemingway Award, the Heeken Foundation Fellowship, the Writers Foundation and the Publishing On-line Contest. Susan won the National Writers' Association Novel Award twice for unpublished novels and her poetry was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.<br />
<br />
Her work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Animals as Teachers and Healers, published by Ballantine Books, Our Mothers/Ourselves, by the Greenwood Publishing Group, The Hawaii Pacific Review-Best of a Decade, and New Millennium Writings. A collection of her poems, A Question of Mortality was released in 2014 by Wellstone Press. Prior to writing full time, Susan worked as the Director of Corporate Relations for University Medical Center in Tucson, Arizona.<br />
<br />
Susan shares a life in Grants Pass, Oregon with her husband, Andreas, her fictional characters, and more books than one person could count.<br />
<br />
Find Susan Online:<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://susanclaytongoldner.com/">http://susanclaytongoldner.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/susan.claytongoldner">https://www.facebook.com/susan.claytongoldner</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/SusanCGoldner">https://twitter.com/SusanCGoldner</a><br />
Blog - <a href="http://susanclaytongoldner.com/my-blog---writing-the-life.html">http://susanclaytongoldner.com/my-blog---writing-the-life.html</a><br />
Tirgearr Publishing - <a href="http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan">http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/ClaytonGoldner_Susan</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-59481996629387572382019-07-17T14:00:00.000+01:002019-07-17T14:00:04.578+01:00Available Now: A Wizard's Choice by Maya Tyler<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZvHhrCMogmzmQxvCCj0i7V_a2Wiyasc5A2rYvEO85fTOEjy5k084VS3_afVFU4dT6zYKh9yjrjcGv-T30qMlBidcNi7N0tMjBJKvKQib7hUlTtP7dsHYCUgV4ksPF3SnCzXpAJTQd8-a/s1600/AWizardsChoicebyMayaTyler500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYZvHhrCMogmzmQxvCCj0i7V_a2Wiyasc5A2rYvEO85fTOEjy5k084VS3_afVFU4dT6zYKh9yjrjcGv-T30qMlBidcNi7N0tMjBJKvKQib7hUlTtP7dsHYCUgV4ksPF3SnCzXpAJTQd8-a/s400/AWizardsChoicebyMayaTyler500.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A WIZARD'S CHOICE<br />The Magicals Series, #2<br />Maya Tyler<br /><br />$3.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Tyler_Maya/a-wizards-choice.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />99c/p through Sunday 21 July</td></tr>
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<i><b>Dreams or duty?</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Wizard apprentice Kurtis Warde doesn’t want to become a full-fledged wizard, but he feels obligated to his grandfather who raised him. Making The Choice, whether or not to become a wizard and join The Circle, doesn’t feel like a choice at all. Leaving The Circle would give Kurtis the freedom to follow his own dreams, and to pursue vampiress, Dee, who has always intrigued him. He knows there’s more to Dee than the icy being she portrays, but will she give him a chance to know the real her?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>There is unrest in the magical world. Fairies, a magical being thought to be long extinct, still exist. And the long-time feud between wizards and fairies threatens everyone Kurtis cares about, including his life coach, Alina, who has quickly become a close friend. And perhaps more. He discovers his connection to the ancient beings The Annunaki, the ancestors of wizards and fairies, may be key to the future. The more he uncovers, the more questions he has.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Will Kurtis choose to follow his heart or risk sacrificing his own happiness for peace in the magical world?</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Evanston, Illinois</i><br />
<i>Present Day</i><br />
<br />
It was an unspoken rule, among the many rules, in our house; we didn’t speak of my father. I wanted to please my grandfather, make him proud of me, and erase the pain my father caused. I knew the story of how I came to live with Waldor. But I didn’t know my father—beyond a hazy memory which was likely a dream and not a real memory at all. It would be fair to say I had no knowledge of him, no clue where he lived, no idea if he was even alive or dead. I knew even less of my mother. Waldor was my only parent, possibly the only person around with answers, and I couldn’t ask him any of my questions.<br />
<br />
Thick, dusty tomes covered the scarred wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. Kurtis Warde brushed off the thick layer of grime coating one book and opened it up. The musty smell of an old book assaulted his senses as the cover opened with a reluctant creak. He doubted these ancient texts would even be applicable to modern wizardry. The days of adding “toe of frog” to “hair of dog” were long gone. Yes, incantations and spells created magic, but it evolved with the times. Kurtis considered himself to be a modern wizard. He liked technology and all the possibilities and potential that came with it. The Circle kept peace among the supernaturals and guarded the fragile barrier between the magical and human worlds. But providing magical security services and conflict resolution wasn’t exactly a glamorous job.<br />
<br />
“How are you doing, my boy?”<br />
<br />
Kurtis sat up straight in his chair. “Waldor, you startled me.”<br />
<br />
“Which book are you reading?”<br />
<br />
“Uh.” Kurtis checked the cover of the book. The History of Spell Making.<br />
<br />
Waldor chuckled. “You might find The History of Wizardry more interesting.” He settled down into the chair next to Kurtis’. “It shows the development of the practice over the last three thousand years or so. You might be surprised to learn our ancient predecessors were actually quite advanced.”<br />
<br />
Kurtis responded with a non-committal shrug.<br />
<br />
“Even in the very beginning, wizards used the world, and elements around them, to create magic. Finding their strange abilities frightening, humans decided to hunt and destroy them, rather than seek understanding. We still encounter ignorance, but today’s humans see the ‘wizard’ as more of a fairy tale than a truth.”<br />
<br />
“If you’ve already covered the book, then I guess I don’t have to read it?” Kurtis scowled and closed the book in front of him.<br />
“You haven’t read any of these books yet, have you?” Waldor pointed to a book with a gilded cover, turning his palm up before raising his hand. The book levitated above the table and opened. The words, written in golden script, rose from the page and circled the room.<br />
<br />
Kurtis’ head swiveled from one side of the room to the other as the words lined up into neat rows, hanging in mid-air. “What’s going on, Waldor?” he demanded.<br />
<br />
“Magic, my boy, magic.” With a wave of his hands, Waldor released the book and set it down on the table. “Reach out and touch the words.”<br />
<br />
Kurtis’ eyes widened. He extended his hand toward the golden words. As soon as his fingertips made contact, the words surrounded him like the funnel of a tornado. Amazingly enough, he absorbed and comprehended the entire text in a matter of minutes. Once he finished reading, the words returned to the book. Kurtis found himself speechless, although hundreds of questions ran through his mind.<br />
<br />
“Magic, my boy.” Waldor nodded, his eyes filled with wisdom. “The answer you seek is magic.”<br />
<br />
“But what does this,” Kurtis gestured toward the books on the table. “have to do with my training?”<br />
<br />
“You must understand where we come from to know where we are going.”<br />
<br />
“I get the history part—”<br />
<br />
“Then you must continue.” Waldor stood. “And, in the meantime, be patient.”<br />
<br />
Kurtis stared at the little particles of dust floating in the air. This is impossible. I’m more behind now than ever, like my training is running in reverse. At this rate…How will I ever get ahead? Anger welled up inside of him. He pounded one fist on the table, disturbing the books. One slid from a precariously stacked pile and landed in front of him. He read the words The Modern Wizard from the new and, surprisingly, dust-free, cover. Now we’re talking. Kurtis flipped open the book. The white, crisp pages were empty. He riffled through the rest of the book and discovered the whole book was blank.<br />
<br />
As if by magic, a gold-tipped pen appeared on the table.<br />
<br />
Kurtis smiled. This is the lesson. He knew what to do now. One by one, he absorbed the information from each ancient tome.<br />
<br />
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• • •</div>
<br />
Maya Tyler writes paranormal romance with a twist. She believes in a happily-ever-after, but she likes to make her heroine and hero work for it. Mystery and action propel her stories forward.<br />
<br />
Writing a book was her lifelong dream, which came true with the publication of her debut Dream Hunter. The dream continues with the release of her second book A Vampire’s Tale.<br />
<br />
Maya is a testament that happily-ever-after doesn’t just exist in fiction. She loves life with her husband and two young sons in their little house in the country. There’s never a dull moment in a house full of boys! Life is good and writing is the cream cheese icing on the cake. It’s never too late to follow your heart and make your own dreams come true. We live in an era of infinite possibility.<br />
<br />
<br />
Find Maya Online<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.mayatylerauthor.com/">http://www.mayatylerauthor.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/maya.tyler.792">https://www.facebook.com/maya.tyler.792</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MayaTylerAuthor">https://www.facebook.com/MayaTylerAuthor</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/mayatylerauthor">https://twitter.com/mayatylerauthor</a><br />
Blog - <a href="http://mayatylerauthor.blogspot.com/">http://mayatylerauthor.blogspot.com</a><br />
Tirgearr Publshing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Tyler_Maya">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Tyler_Maya</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3525428101786772282.post-61077163767947863712019-07-03T14:00:00.000+01:002019-07-03T14:00:32.016+01:00Available Now: Sweet Redemption by Olivia Peters<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse_5KkgfOGhPoxpCjcrouMfNPFYKPRmkkjFuwGyMyZbCp8p2RcxxfaWt9xAZt1SNAKpj4gsz9rrykkCt8RxIbku_vk9dPr1QjEnWBY3FOY-GrD30wFjRJ5Ja9uV4uK5P83g72DMBU4O9Z/s1600/SweetRedemptionbyOliviaPeters500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhse_5KkgfOGhPoxpCjcrouMfNPFYKPRmkkjFuwGyMyZbCp8p2RcxxfaWt9xAZt1SNAKpj4gsz9rrykkCt8RxIbku_vk9dPr1QjEnWBY3FOY-GrD30wFjRJ5Ja9uV4uK5P83g72DMBU4O9Z/s400/SweetRedemptionbyOliviaPeters500.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>SWEET REDEMPTION</b><br />Twist of Fate Series, #1<br />Olivia Peters<br /><br />$4.99<br /><br /><a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Peters_Olivia/sweet-redemption.htm" target="_blank">BUY HERE</a><br /><br />99c/p through Sunday 7 July</td></tr>
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<i><b>Brooklyn</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Breaking off my marriage of convenience to start a smoldering affair turns my world upside down. Trevor was supposed to be worth it. He nearly made me spontaneously combust in bed while showing me a love I never thought possible outside of it.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Except it was all a lie. Happily ever after with a man who betrayed me? Not a chance.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Trevor</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I planned to destroy Brooklyn because someone had to pay for the sins of her father. Instead, her touch healed everything that was broken inside me, and I fell hopelessly in love with my enemy’s daughter.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Brooklyn thinks she can end us, but I’m not spending another day without her by my side. Give up on love? Never, even if it kills me.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<i>Trevor</i><br />
<br />
Always knowing I’d face off with Arch Winslow didn’t truly prepare me for a confrontation with him.<br />
<br />
His gaze circles the sprawling, expensively decorated office, focusing on anything but me. He shows the power he wields through arrogant displays of wealth and authority and hatred boils in my gut until it threatens to consume me.<br />
<br />
Everything from the Parnian desk to the van Gogh artwork to the Persian rugs announce to all who pass through the monochromatic corner office that Arch is an important man who can have the finer things in life. If this is how his office is decorated, I can only imagine his penthouse.<br />
<br />
His body language screams confrontation, making it clear he never wanted to see me again. Yet here I am, a common plebeian in his sacred kingdom. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me.”<br />
<br />
How can he look me in the eye and say that? “Restitution.”<br />
<br />
Arch stands behind his imposing desk while I sit before it, a power play if I’ve ever experienced one. Despite our massive class difference, or perhaps because of it, he’s uneasy, at least a little bit, which inflates my confidence.<br />
<br />
“It’s been years—” Arch starts.<br />
<br />
“And I can see you’ve done a fine job moving on, sir. Unfortunately, my family hasn’t had that luxury.” He bristles at the interruption and weaker men likely cower in his presence while defaulting to saying, ‘yes boss.’<br />
<br />
My eyes skirt to the photographs of Arch shaking hands with the who’s who of New York City and it’s clear he’s earned his place among the elite on the back of my family.<br />
<br />
Arch sighs. “Look, I paid your mother a fair market price, which was more than reasonable given the circumstances.” A vein in his jaw tics, another hint that he isn’t over the betrayal from the past either.<br />
<br />
“Fair market price?” Indignation has me half-rising to my feet and ready to pummel him senseless. Years of practice reining in my natural instincts allows me to breathe through the red haze consuming my vision. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”<br />
<br />
Arch makes a show of checking his Patek Philippe watch worth more than my house. “You showed up unannounced, and I made time for you, son, despite not having any to spare.”<br />
<br />
My teeth grit against the familiarity of the endearment. When I was still knee-high to a grasshopper, Arch could have called me son, but not now. Not after he took my father away from me and then destroyed what was left of my broken family.<br />
<br />
My eyes narrow, but Arch holds up a hand. “If you came for money, you won’t be leaving with any. If you came for an apology, remember it was your father who should have apologized to me. I’ve been more than generous, but my patience has run out.”<br />
<br />
I’m not looking for a handout, only justice. Arch screwed my family over at our weakest and most vulnerable, an unforgivable act. As a child, I couldn’t do a damn thing. Now, though, I can make it right. He can make it right so my kid brother, Brandon, doesn’t repeat my childhood.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
• • •</div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuC5eZdhF6u0FR5JfeFpTsKBl91f45YoXF9MVz4q2G3vgKY3joL76LQV5Ctkk2-24N4L6LC1ul0zXvjitEfoBUICMJqdkPZ1usunArJqmKHXXs83qBRPMiMd07V9WBkVrz-6OzW0ep7mBP/s1600/oliviapeters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuC5eZdhF6u0FR5JfeFpTsKBl91f45YoXF9MVz4q2G3vgKY3joL76LQV5Ctkk2-24N4L6LC1ul0zXvjitEfoBUICMJqdkPZ1usunArJqmKHXXs83qBRPMiMd07V9WBkVrz-6OzW0ep7mBP/s1600/oliviapeters.jpg" /></a>Olivia Peters is a Canadian girl who works as an executive ghostwriter by day and a romance novelist by night. While she has never mixed up her two roles, she sometimes thinks about it just to inject some fun into the boardroom.<br />
<br />
She writes unapologetically about hot, dirty talking alpha men and the strong, sexy women who bring them to their knees. Her writing style is accessible with stories readers can relate to and characters they can get emotionally invested in.<br />
<br />
Olivia’s erotic scenes will misfire your synapses. Don’t believe us? One of her friends forgot how to use her microwave after reading Olivia’s debut novel, Twist of Fate. Be warned that if you proceed, your Kindle may set on fire.<br />
<br />
She is a country girl and spends as much time as possible at her lakeside cottage dreaming up her next story. When she’s not writing, she’s outside doing something active, cooking up a storm in her cluttered kitchen, or spending time with her husband, James, and their boxer, Buster.<br />
<br />
Olivia is also a lifestyle blogger, sharing her passion for health and wellness with her followers. She is most active on Instagram, so head over and say hello—Olivia responds to every message she receives and would love to hear from you.<br />
<br />
<br />
Find Olivia Online<br />
<br />
Website - <a href="http://www.opwrites.com/">http://www.opwrites.com</a><br />
Facebook - <a href="https://www.facebook.com/oliviapetersbooks">https://www.facebook.com/oliviapetersbooks</a><br />
Twitter - <a href="https://twitter.com/opwrites">https://twitter.com/opwrites</a><br />
Goodreads - <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/86318912-olivia-peters">https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/86318912-olivia-peters</a><br />
Bookbub - <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/1183283011">https://www.bookbub.com/profile/1183283011</a><br />
Instagram - <a href="https://www.instagram.com/opwrites">https://www.instagram.com/opwrites</a><br />
Pinterest - <a href="https://www.pinterest.ca/opwrites">https://www.pinterest.ca/opwrites</a><br />
Tirgearr Publshing - <a href="http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Peters_Olivia">http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Peters_Olivia</a><br />
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