Life's Adventures: Truth is Funnier Than Fiction

Years ago, when my brother was in his tile laying days and working for someone else, he spent one awful night in a cheap motel. He had me in tears...the laughing kind...as he told the story of his misery. I knew I'd have to use it someday in a book. And I did eventually. In the book, I added my guy to a band and a struggle with sobriety, but the night was directly taken from my brother's mirserable night in the motel from hell. This is the fictional scene resulting from a true-life adventure.

At room number four, he unlocked the door and wrinkled his nose at the smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke.

What do I expect for $44.95?

His boot sole caught on the carpet, bunched and torn at the doorjamb, and sent him on a stutter-step to keep his balance. “Damn.” The genuine fake leather upper had pulled away from the sole on his left boot.

He felt around on the wall and flipped on the overhead light. The bulb flickered for a moment, long enough to see the bedside table lamp, and went dark. He threw his bag on the mattress, switched on the lamp, and plopped down on the lumpy, squeaky bed. His stomach growled. After turning on the wall heater, he settled down to eat his fast food burger.

The TV sat lopsided on the scarred bureau. When a glance around the room didn’t give up a remote, he stretched forward without rising from the foot of the bed, and punched the on button. Static greeted him on the three local channels available. Maybe he should change rooms.

“Bugger that.”

It probably wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d read. What he needed was a good night’s sleep. A full stomach and a shower should help secure one. He vowed not to look at the bedding too closely when he pulled back the cover.

In a half-hour, naked, he slipped into bed, opened his book, and closed his mind to money woes as he began his ten-minute meditation. Relaxed, he focused on the book.

Sometime later, he jerked awake and knocked the book from his chest. He was freezing. Pulling the sheet and blanket over his head didn’t stop the chill that reached all the way to his toes. Silence. No click, click, bonk noise of the heater. He slid one arm out, brought his cell under the covers, and pushed a button. Four twelve a.m.

Reluctantly, he switched on the lamp, shivered out of bed, and padded three feet to the heater. He leaned over and shut it off, then turned it on. Punched low, high, and fan-only buttons over and over, then pounded on the plastic top.

“Son of a…”

Switching off and on once more got no results. His toes were iced by the outside air flowing under the door. He grabbed his jeans off the chair and stuffed them along the bottom of the door then climbed back under the covers.

The thin blanket and sheet were no match for the drop in temperature. After fifteen minutes of trying to think warm, he had an idea. Out of bed, he jogged to the bathroom and turned the shower to hot, full blast. Immediately, the air around him warmed. The chill on his skin subsided before he headed back to bed and yanked off the sheet, blanket, and pillow. He slipped on his shirt and underwear and carried the bedding back to the bathroom. The floor looked kind of nasty, but the sheet, doubled over next to the shower, covered the old linoleum. Wrapping the blanket around him, he settled on top, bumped his knees on the wall, and hunched his shoulders to fit. Good thing he wasn’t a particularly big man. His legs were long on his five-foot ten frame and difficult to fold small enough, like a stork squeezing into a wren’s nest. Hopefully, the running, hot water would keep him warm enough to get a few more hours of sleep.

“Ass wipe.” The curse, directed at his shyster boss, muffled into his pillow.

Another curse at himself for all the wrong decisions he’d made that landed him in this position didn’t fully form on his lips. Instead, he recited Step Ten. Continue the personal inventory. What the hell…this might be a crummy hotel, and he was cold and tired, but he felt every shivering, crappy moment of it. Not that a shot of Chopin Vodka to warm him didn’t cross his mind. He would’ve had several and a few snorts this time last year. And wouldn’t have felt the cold…or the hard floor…or much of anything else.

Thoughts of a few nights in crummy hotels when his band, Flash Theory, struggled to make a name for themselves played in his head. That brought him wondering about Ian, the English drummer who shared his arrest date.

“Bugger you, Ian.” The profanity he’d adopted from the Englishman rolled over his tongue with a smile. He hadn’t contacted his favorite band mate and best friend since sobriety. They weren’t a good influence on each other. Maybe one of these days…

About an hour and a half later, Jake woke, cold again and his legs cramping. He pulled his knees to his chest and rolled toward the bathroom door, glancing at the ceiling.

“What the…”

Strips of paint hung like confetti from a New Year’s Eve party. Had the ceiling looked like that last night? He scrambled to his feet, tangled in the blanket, and tripped on the sheet bunching on the floor. Catching himself on the back of the toilet, his hip hit the bar on the shower door. “Ow!”

After shutting off the now cold shower water, he extricated his legs from the bedding and surveyed the ceiling again.

“Ah, man.”

Surely he hadn’t caused that. The place was a dump. Yeah, probably already peeling long before he turned on the shower.

The time had come to flee the motel from hell.

After throwing the blanket and sheet on the bed, he brushed his teeth, and smoothed his beard with a comb. He ran a brush through his hair as he squinted into the cloudy mirror above the sink. Dark curls fell onto his forehead in spite of his effort. He stuffed his toiletries in the duffle, then loped to the door and retrieved his jeans from the floor. His frozen jeans. Damp air combined with below freezing wind from under the door had rendered his pants stiff.

He slumped back on the bed and laughed. “You know, Winters, if you weren’t so pitiful, you’d be amusing.”

You can find this story in full in either The Power of Love and Murder (A Wild Horse Peaks Book)

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BPVTDH7B

 or in Wild Horse Peaks: The Complete Series.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DD4Z1V6P

In the Book

Blogging about life's adventures and books...

Adventures past, present, or future. And my books--then and now. 

RELEASE DAY OCTOBER 15, 2024

It took me three years to get around to it, but I finally compiled the short stories with a Christmas theme into a book, Have Yourself a Quirky Little Christmas. I've been so busy writing full length books in my series, I kept putting off getting the Christmas stories edited and polished. At last!

I had fun with these. They aren't typical, hence the name of the book. These stories are not meant for children, but adults and young adults can enjoy the quirky tales.

Six quirky Christmas stories sure to brighten your holiday lights. 

An Elfin Secret

Candy Cane has never actually seen her father. Could he be Santa Claus? Did her mother have an elf romance? What happens if she’s right? 

On the Way to the Snow Ball

Nicholas Claus could be delusional, or he might be the sanest person in the elevator. Christmas miracles come when you least expect. 

Never Alone on Christmas

After decades of dancing his way from woman to woman, Jonathan Jay Somefun now finds variety-is-the-spice-of-life tasteless. Will this be the Christmas he finds his new style and ends his lonely days? 

Love in the Vault

A kiss under the mistletoe, a gun in her ribs, and a lockup in the company vault. If her best friend Cricket arranged this joke, Eleanor will never speak to her again. Or is it a joke? 

A Tropical Holiday

Fresh off divorce, Yuma Camry is winging it alone in unreasonably cold Mexico. Whether she’s wandering through ghostly Mayan ruins under a cloudy sky or lying on a chilly beach in the bikini she paid too much for, can a stranger with even stranger ideas help her reconnect with herself this Christmas? 

No Room at the Inn

Sadi Anne hates Christmas. Volunteering to work through the holiday season is the only way to keep her mind off that heartbreak Christmas three years earlier. But when the hotel loses her reservation, a truck smashes her parked car, and three wisemen come to the rescue, this may be one Christmas she won’t want to forget. And neither will the man who broke her heart.

Available in eBook and print:

CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

In the Book

 Blogging about life's adventures and books...

Adventures past, present, or future. And my books--then and now. 

Last month, I published the complete set of the series, Wild Horse Peaks. This compilation, this series has had quite an evolutionary journey. I'm often asked where I get my ideas or how does a book or story come about. Authors talk like books are their babies. They even celebrate book birthdays. Sounds silly, I suppose, but we don't just write a book, set it free, and then forget about it. I find myself thinking about certain characters as if their life has continued without me looking in. I think about how I might have written their stories differently.

What are today known as the Wild Horse Peaks books have had a journey. In 2012, I had a concept for a series that would eventually become five books. I called the series, Love and Murder. It was my first venture into Romantic Suspense. I intended to weave my love of coffee, my Indian heritage, and Minneapolis into the first book. As it progressed, I moved the setting to Arizona, I incorporated Hopi heritage not my own, but I was able to keep coffee love the same. My heroine owned a coffee shop.

I was able to pitch my concept to an agent and gained representation. I had the first two books written at the time. I wanted her to pitch the series to publishers I couldn't get into on my own. But she worked too slow for my comfort, and we parted ways. In 2013, I submitted the first book to a publisher who had several of my books, and it was accepted with an agreement to publish the whole series. The five books in the Love and Murder Series were published between 2014 and 2018.

By 2021, I grew dissatisfied with lackluster sales. Publishers do very little to promote books. I had done some promotion, but I was busy writing other books too. I had dipped my toes into self-publication with another series and found the waters quite warm and welcoming. 

I asked for my rights back for all five books. I was excited. I could dig in, re-edit, make the books better. And I think I did. I wanted a more western flavor, so I changed the setting names. The San Francisco Peaks became Wild Horse Peaks. I updated some of the verbiage and cleaned up any mistakes that had been missed first time around. I was super excited to change the covers to reflect more of the suspense and the story. I also turned it into a four book series with a sequel, which it should've been all along.

Last month, I got another idea...bundle the four books into a complete works set. It's been well received!

If you haven't read all of the books in the series, or if only one, then now is the time to dig into the four book series, Wild Horse Peaks. It's available in eBook and Kindle Unlimited:

Wild Horse Peaks, The Complete Series

The sequel, A Legacy of Love and Murder, is available for eBook purchase separately here:

A Legacy of Love and Murder

OR you can receive the sequel FREE if you're a member of BNG (Brenda's Newsletter Group):

Brenda's Newsletter Group

Life's Adventures with Jimmy Buffett

Blogging about life's adventures and books...

Adventures past, present, or future. And my books--then and now. 

The world recently marked the first anniversary of the death of an important man in my life—a man who influenced my lifestyle for many years, who was the reason FDW and I had a wide circle of friends, and a man who brought me great joy with his music—Jimmy Buffett, December 25, 1946 – September 1, 2023. Born December 25, and in my opinion, a great gift to the world. 

My brother, who is twelve years younger than I am, introduced me to Parrothead mania in the seventies. It was instant love at first listen. The thing with Jimmy’s music is, it wasn’t widely played on the radio stations (which for you youngins’ is the way we found music 

back then). He charted only 13 top 100 hits in his career. His first top 40 hit was Come Monday in 1974. It’s one of the most beautiful love songs, in my opinion. And even if you aren’t a Buffett Parrothead, I’m guessing you can sing at least a few lines of Margaritaville, the ultimate Parrothead party song. In fact, it’s known as the Parrothead National Anthem.

I can’t begin to count how many Jimmy Buffett concerts I’ve enjoyed in Phoenix, Tucson, Las Vegas, Minneapolis, Alpine Valley (WI), Los Angeles, and Atlanta. But I’ve seen a bunch. They aren’t just concerts. If you never experienced a Parrothead gathering for a Buffett concert, I can’t begin to explain what they are. That would be a whole post in itself. 

When FDW and I left Arizona for Minnesota, we were entrenched in Parrotheadism, but had no idea how much deeper we would dive. After nearly a year in Minnesota, we were still without friends. We were both in management positions, so mingling with office staff was touchy. We’d never been regular church-going people, so we didn’t have that way to meet people. We really didn’t want to do the bar scene which we’d never been

into. But I did suggest maybe we should and start “picking-up” friends in random bars. We thought about joining some sort of club. FDW did some research and discovered St. Minnesomeplace in Paradise, a Parrothead club.

And life got so much better. We gained a circle of friends that have

lasted decades even though we left Minnesota and are back in Arizona. While in Minnesota, we raised tons of money for charity,

true to the Buffett philosophy. And we partied with a purpose, which was charity, but wow did we party. Jimmy Buffett promoted a lifestyle, and we Parrotheads were on board. 

It's been a year since his passing. When he passed, part of my past went with him, part of my heart went with him, my soul ached. Because he was so much more than a singer, than a man. He inspired generations of Parrotheads.

I haven’t listened to his music since he died. I know I should find joy in his legacy, and I should dance like no one is watching. But not yet. Each and every one of his songs sparks a memory. Yes, they are happy memories, but without him, I just get sad.

That said, thank you, Jimmy Buffett, for being you. Your message is one of joy and heartfelt soulful philosophy. I’ll find a way to tune in, to listen, again. In time.

Death By Jellybeans is Easter Fun by Susie Black

 MUSE MONDAY Easter Fun

 “Brings a whole new meaning to the rabbit died.”

The premise of Death by Jelly Beans, my latest cozy mystery, is that a department store Easter Bunny dies when he accidentally consumes tainted jelly beans meant for another victim. I am the curious sort and delved into the history of the Easter Bunny. As it turns out, the Easter Bunny has quite an interesting story with roots going back to ancient times.

While legend has told us that the Easter Bunny is a long-eared, cotton-tailed creature who hops from house to house to deliver festive baskets, there's more about his history that you might not be familiar with. The Easter Bunny's connection to this special Christian holiday goes back to pagan traditions.

The Bible makes no mention of a mythical hare who delivers eggs to children on Easter day. So, why exactly has a rabbit become a prominent part of one of Christianity's most important celebrations? One theory, according to Time Magazine, is that the symbol of the rabbit stems from the ancient pagan tradition on which many of our Easter traditions are based —the festival of Eostre, which honored the goddess of fertility and spring. The goddess's animal symbol was a rabbit, which has long traditionally stood for fertility due to their high reproduction rates.

As for how the character of the Easter Bunny made its way to America, History.com reports that it was first introduced in the 1700s by German immigrants to Pennsylvania, who reportedly brought over their tradition of an egg-laying hare named "Osterhase" or "Oschter Haws" from the Old Country. Legend has it, that the rabbit would lay colorful eggs as gifts to good children, so kids would make nests in which the bunny could leave his eggs and even sometimes set out carrots in case the hare got hungry. Remind you of any other holiday traditions? Eventually, the custom spread across America until it was a widespread Easter tradition. Over time, the fabled bunny's delivery expanded from eggs to other treats such as chocolate and toys. Easter baskets have only gotten more and more elaborate over the years.

Today, the Easter Bunny is usually depicted as a white rabbit with long ears, often wearing colorful human clothes. You'll typically find one at Easter parades, mall kiosks, and other celebratory events for the holiday, often carrying a basket filled with colorful eggs, chocolate, candy, and other treats to give out to kids. You can even get their picture taken with the rabbit in some places.

Despite the prevalence of the bunny, it's not always a rabbit that brings the Easter eggs in countries outside of the U.S. In Australia, for example, the spring holiday is greeted with the Easter Bilby, an endangered rabbit-like marsupial native to that country. Other gift-bearing animals include the Easter Cuckoo in Switzerland and, in some parts of Germany, the Easter Fox or the Easter Rooster.

CREDIT: Good Housekeeping Magazine

Blurb:

Mermaid Swimwear President Holly Schlivnik discovers the Bainbridge Department Store Easter Bunny slumped over dead and obnoxious swimwear buyer Sue Ellen Magee is arrested for the crime. Despite her differences with the nasty buyer, Holly is convinced the Queen of Mean didn’t do it. The wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to nail the real killer. But the trail has more twists than a pretzel and more turns than a rollercoaster. And nothing turns out the way Holly thinks it will as she tangles with a clever killer hellbent on revenge.

Excerpt:

The door to Sue Ellen’s office flew open and a six-foot tall rabbit I’d later learn named Pedro Conejo, President of Rent a Rabbit Characters, stalked out and bowled me over as I tried vainly to get out of his way. 

The messenger bag containing samples and the presentation information fell off my shoulder and bounced across the room. The flap of the unzipped messenger bag flipped open, scattering everything inside it from one end of the room to the other. 

The rabbit gripped the two ears atop the head with his paws. He ripped the headpiece straight up and off with a furious jerk and shoved it under his right armpit. He turned, faced Sue Ellen’s open door, and screamed loud enough for anyone at the mart three blocks away to hear. “You can’t prove a damned thing. Think you’ll get away with this? We have a contract. I’ll get you fired for this; you bitch!” 

Then the rabbit removed the left paw of his costume with his teeth and gave Sue Ellen the middle finger salute. He hurdled over my prone body splayed out on the floor and stomped out of the office without so much as an apology for knocking me over, let alone an offer to help me up. 

I sat up and poked my extremities to make sure nothing more than my pride had been injured. Satisfied my body, if not my self-respect, remained in one piece, I shook myself to get out the kinks the way my standard poodle Siggie does after a bath. I stretched as far as possible and grabbed the messenger bag. I spent the next five minutes crawling on all fours around the room, stuffing everything back inside the case. Note to self: Next time, zip the damned bag closed.

As I shoved the last sample back in the messenger bag, Sue Ellen’s assistant came out of the buyer’s office and observed me sprawled across the floor. I bit the inside of my cheek not to laugh as Abby deadpanned. “Sue Ellen will see you now.”

Susie Black biography

Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. Like the protagonist in her Holly Swimsuit Mystery Series, Susie is a successful apparel sales executive. Susie began telling stories as soon as she learned to talk. Now she’s telling all the stories from her garment industry experiences in humorous mysteries. 

She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and has one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect. 

Looking for more? Contact Susie at:

E-mail: mysteries_@authorsusieblack.com

Website: www.authorsusieblack.com

Book Bub: www.bookbub.com/authors/susie-black

Facebook:    https://facebook.com/TheHollySwimsuitMysterySeries

Good Reads: Search results for "Susie Black" (showing 1-9 of 82 books) | Goodreads

Instagram:   Susie Black (@hollyswimsuit) • Instagram photos and videos

Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/authorsusieblack-61941011

Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/hollysusie1_saved/

Twitter:    http://twitter.com/@hollyswimsuit

Reading and Reviews (Heistand and Gallant)

I'm an author, but I'm also a reader. From time to time, I'll share my reviews of present and past reads. My available time to read is limited because I write, but I love to curl up with a paperback or an eBook at night for the last hour of my day. 

I tend to read what I write, but not exclusively. Besides Romantic Suspense and mystery, I read crime and law novels, once in a while a true story, WWII historicals, romance, and mainstream character driven books.

Here are some of the books I've read recently or in the not-too-distant past. Maybe you'll discover a new book or author.

Crumbs of Defeat (A Cookies and Kilts Mystery Book 4) by Jo A. Heistand 

April first. The annual bake-off contest in Beaudin Trace, Missouri. Oven temperatures and entrants' tempers are hot enough to bake most anything. And everyone there thinks if one particular participant would leave, things would cool off.

Evidently, someone's wish is overheard, for the contentious contestant is found post-contest, sprinkled with cupcakes and ready for her postmortem.

The death yields a mix of suspects, all capable of cooking up the murder. The problem is, who was stirred up enough to do it?

To prove herself innocent of killing Tiffany, bakery shop owner Kate Dunbar investigates. But she quickly wonders if the bake-off was the conclusion in a series of risky events, and if her own elimination is just around the corner.

 MY REVIEW: 

This is a cozy with a cast of characters who make it fun for Kate to investigate the murder of Tiffany, an obnoxious wannabe chef. Reg was my personal favorite. The setting is fun too. The Mississippi River, a dog bakery, and a culinary school all play roles. Unfortunately, Kate is among the list of possible murderers for the police. Her amateur sleuthing is a quest to prove her innocence. 

This was my first read of this series, although it is the fourth book. I feel if I’d read the prior books, a couple of the characters would be more complete. Kate’s relationship to the sheriff was vague. But the read was entertaining. Lovers of cozy mysteries will enjoy the story. 

 

Final Witness (Truth and Lies Book 2) by Jannine Gallant 

The face of a killer could be the final picture he takes…

As a photojournalist, Nash Quintrell travels the world, capturing striking images of ordinary people in extraordinary situations. He certainly never expected to snap a photo of the assassin who shot the nation’s first woman president on her Inauguration Day. Discovering his pictures hold important clues to identifying the men behind the attacks on several high-profile figures is a shock. But they also provide the key to rekindling a relationship with the woman he once loved and pushed away.

When FBI Special Agent Tempest English sees Nash in the inauguration crowd, camera in hand, she has no choice but to approach him. Her mission is to catch a killer, and she’ll take whatever help she can get, even if the last thing she wants is to work with the man who dumped her years before. Nash may have broken her heart, but fate throws them together again, and his photos are the best lead she has.

In an effort to unmask the powerful players behind the conspiracy, Nash and Tempest must track a ruthless band of homegrown terrorists. Infiltrating their circle risks not only their lives, but a future together neither imagined was possible. 

MY REVIEW:

I’m like a broken record when it comes to Jannine Gallant’s books. Just plug in a different title and the praises are the same. Isn’t this a timely read too, with political intrigue and a female president? There’s a story of intrigue and conspiracy with homegrown terrorists. And then there is the romance. Photojournalist Nash and FBI Agent Tempest make a fiery couple solving the crime and revisiting their love story. Romantic Suspense readers are sure to flip the pages of this satisfying book with a smile on their faces.

Stitching a Dream by Ellen Parker

TODAY'S GUEST: ELLEN PARKER

I'm so happy to welcome Ellen Parker back to Discover... Enjoy!

A Visit to the Bakery

In May of 1851, ten days after I arrived in the village of Elm Ridge, Illinois, I gathered my courage and set out for the Deutsch bakery on Walnut Street. I found the business easy enough, the location on a corner and the painted sign with a loaf of bread guided me to the front door.

My son, Joseph, limped beside me, his hand wrapped around three of my fingers. Sunlight highlighted his straight, copper-red hair—the only outward gift from his father. “Who are we going to see?”

Good question. The previous time I’d seen the man I hoped to find was in the autumn of 1845—mere hours before my brother forced the Deutsch baker to leave St. Louis. I glanced into my son’s wide, brown eyes. “A friend from a long time ago—before you were born.”

A moment later, I opened the shop door. Mouth-watering scents of sugar, nutmeg, and cherry enveloped the both of us. I was tempted to remain still, quiet, and savor the air. But my sense of purpose returned and after a quick assessment of the tall, middle-aged woman behind the counter holding an embroidery hoop and a blonde girl-flirting-with-womanhood in an apron, I found my voice. “Good afternoon.”

Both women turned friendly, curious gazes on me as I closed the shop door. “Is this the bakery of Mr. Bernard Keil?”

“Ja. Herr Keil is not here.” The older women set her embroidery aside. “I am Frau. Have you come to buy a treat for your son?”

 “My business is with your husband. Will he return soon?” A wife. I should not be surprised. I lifted my gaze toward the top of the wall and searched for enough Deutsch words to remain polite.

The older woman gripped the rim of the sales counter and leaned forward. “Who are you?”

“Yes, I suppose you have a right to know.” I released Joseph’s hand and smoothed my best dress’ green skirts. I can say this—I have whispered the words every night for weeks before I fall asleep. “Tell Bernard…tell Herr Keil…Polly Black from St. Louis recently arrived in Elm Ridge and works at Mrs. Clark’s dress shop.”

The baker’s wife paled to match fine muslin.

For one instant, I feared the woman would faint. However, the blonde woman grasped her elbow and steadied her.

“Frau Keil, are you ill?” Stepping forward, I glimpsed my son approaching the glass case of cookies and turnovers.

The baker’s wife shook her head, looked toward the floor, and gathered a deep breath.

“It is the surprise of the thing.” The older woman found her voice. “Herr Keil has spoken of you. I will tell my husband where you may be found.” She glanced toward the boy. “What is the name of your son?”

I reached out and touched Frau Keil’s hand. “Joseph—my son’s name is Joseph. I do not mean to cause you trouble.”

“Not trouble.”

What does she see as she inspects me? I checked my gown and bonnet before I left the dress shop. She will not find stains or tears. Does she see the foolish girt? Or the practical woman I pray I have become? One of my mother’s favorite sayings crept into my brain and lingered.

Reputation is a woman’s fragile cloak—she best keep it mended.

****

Blurb:

Prepare for consequences when you love your neighbor. 

In 1851, Polly Black arrives in Elm Ridge, Illinois with little more than her sewing skills, her young son, and the persona of a widow. To preserve her reputation, she needs to tread lightly when a recent widower, a powerful man who knows she never married, courts her. A new shop opens across the way, and the owner’s friendly face is a welcome sight for both Polly and her son. 

Born and raised in a Pennsylvania Deutsch community, Kurt Tafel moves to Illinois for adventure and an opportunity to run his own cobbler shop. He’s not an immigrant, but is he American enough to act on his feelings for the intelligent and pretty seamstress? 

Bio for Ellen Parker:

Raised in a household filled with books, it was natural that Ellen Parker grew into an avid reader. Writing is her second career and she enjoys spinning of story which appeals to multiple generations. She encourages her readers to share her work with mother or daughter – or both.

Ellen currently lives in St. Louis. When not guiding characters to “happily ever after” she’s apt to be reading, walking, or gardening. You can find her on the web at www.ellen-parker-writes.com. Or:   https://www.facebook.com/ellen.parker 

Links for Stitching a Dream: 

Kindle: https://amzn.to/3VwoeFh 

Nook: https://bit.ly/3Ri8RNX 

Goodreads: https://bit.ly/4ec8PRB