French, Love, and J. Arlene Culiner

Join me in welcoming back J. Arlene Culiner to Discover... Her book sounds fascinating. Enjoy!      

French artist Nicholas Trier is gorgeous. And successful. And sexy. He’s a golden god who lights up any room. He’s also arrogant, although the cluster of women surrounding him don’t seem to mind — aren’t all famous men vain and impossible?

Despite the competition, artist Callie Patterson has decided that Nicholas is the key to her own fame and success, and she signs up for his two-week artists’ retreat in a French château. If she manages to charm Nicholas, who knows what will happen next?

From the moment she arrives in France, things don’t go according to plan. The château is magnificent, the countryside is splendid, but it never stops raining, and daily life also means battling with the French language.

Callie is grateful for a growing friendship with the château’s gardener, Michel Alexander, but even if she finds him captivating — and far more interesting than Nicholas — she can’t consider him a potential lover. Michel is probably as poor as she is.

Set in rural France, this light-hearted romance touches on the contemporary art world and French history.

Callie Patterson, an unsuccessful artist, hopes that a relationship with the irresistible and magnetic Nicholas Trier will pave the way to success. She follows him to France where, in a magnificent château, he holds his artists' retreats. But famous men surround themselves with hangers-on and demand complete loyalty.

Callie soon finds herself far more attracted to Michel Alexandre, the estate gardener, who loves and protects trees and every living creature. But if she wants to make a name for herself, she’ll have to choose Nicholas and his world.

Except nothing is quite the way it seems, and perhaps success isn’t the most important thing, after all.

Excerpt:
            Callie dropped her backpack and, uninvited, sat down on the soggy ground not far from where he was digging. She didn’t even own a houseplant, but a banal conversation about twigs and saplings, was what she craved at the moment. “Okay, tell me why isn’t there a hedge here now.”
            “Because, years ago, the farmer ripped out all the hedges to have larger fields for his agricultural machinery. Now we’re bringing back a balanced environment.”
            “You’re not planning to replace every single hedge on your own, are you?”
            “Of course not,” he scoffed. Picking up a small spade, he loosened another patch of earth. “There are thousands of trees and shrubs to replant, and that would be an impossible task for only one person.”
            With gentle fingers, he spread the delicate roots of a tiny shrub, tucked it into place in the little hole, then tamped down the moist soil with his palm. Reached for another, and then another.
            She watched silently as he planted, and strangely enough, it was almost a sensual sight. His hands were broad, strong, and deeply tanned from working outdoors; his long fingers were beautifully shaped. And under that denim shirt of his, there was the alluring suggestion of tight sinew and warm, fragrant skin. Bear like? No, not exactly. Something more, something…
            “A penny for your thoughts.” Michel was watching her with those disconcerting eyes of his, very dark, with heavy lids and thick lashes.
            She felt the blush as it traveled upward, flooding her neck, her face. He hadn’t caught what she had been thinking, had he? Perhaps he had. Surely, he’d seen how her gaze had slipped over his hands, his arms, his chest, and shoulders. How incredibly humiliating! What vaguely plausible answer could she give? “Oh…just remembering something.”
            “Ah.” Eyebrows raised in overt amusement, he smirked—rather cockily—then went back to working on the next hole, the next shrub.

The Unpredictable Colors of Love published by the Wild Rose Press
Purchase Links: https://books2read.com/TheUnpredictableColorsOfLove
Trailer: https://youtu.be/27nE-cCHNqM

What people are saying about The Unpredictable Colors of Love

As always the author creates characters who are not always perfect, have enjoyed full lives up to the point where she brings them together, and who are on a journey of discovery. The story is set within in the luxurious and lovingly renovated chateau and in the glorious countryside where its ancient fields and hedgerows are also being brought back to life. The perfect setting for two people who might have given up hope on finding a soul mate to explore the possibility there might just be a chance for them after all. Sally Cronin, Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

The charming setting of rural France is an excellent backdrop to the book, which explores the dichotomy between urban and countryside environments. It also examines the contrast between two vastly different types of men: the arrogant and popular Nicolas, and humble, caring Michel. Indeed, the unfolding romance between headstrong Callie and the down-to-earth gardener is delightful to behold, as is Callie’s transformation from urbanite to country-dweller. Michel supports and validates her, which is in stark contrast to Nicolas’s superior attitude and vanity.
A sweet, tender romance, with well-developed characters I could root for, this is an immersive story, with its unique and picturesque setting. Whispering Stories

Author Bio
Writer, social critical artist, and impenitent teller of tall tales, J. Arlene Culiner, was born in New York and raised in Toronto. She has crossed much of Europe on foot, has lived in a mud house on the Great Hungarian Plain, in a Bavarian castle, a Turkish cave dwelling, a haunted house on the English moors, and beside a Dutch canal. She now resides in a 400-year-old former inn in a French village of no interest where, much to local dismay, she protects spiders, snakes, and weeds. Observing people everywhere, she eavesdrops on all private conversations and delights in hearing any nasty, funny, ridiculous, sad, romantic, or boastful story. And when she can't uncover any salacious gossip, she makes it up.

Author Websites http://www.j-arleneculiner.com
Blog: http://j-arleneculiner.over-blog.com
Author links: https://linktr.ee/j.arleneculiner 

Vampires in the White Mountains by Kate Hill

Please join me in welcoming guest blogger, Kate Hill. I too love the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Kate adds a fun twist to the area.

It's not surprising that many of my stories are set in New England. I've lived there all my life. One of my favorite places is the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It's the location of a setting that appears in both the Darkness Therein (Ancient Blood 2) and the Immaculate (Ancient Blood 3). Jocelyn's house in the woods is a place where the characters, both vampire and human, go to meditate, practice magic, and train for important events like the battle against the First Father in the Immaculate. 

When the characters visit Jocelyn's house, it's a way for them to break away from their harried lives—usually they're in the middle of a crisis!— and focus on what they need to do. Surrounded by beauty and fewer distractions, they are able to

get in touch with their magic, their powers, and their connection to the wild parts of themselves. 

I've shared some photos of the White Mountains area and an excerpt from the Immaculate. I hope you enjoy them! 

What are some of your favorite settings in books?  

The Immaculate (Ancient Blood 3)

Heat Level: Steamy

Purchase Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DK2MCDF8

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-immaculate-kate-hill/1005704391

UBL: https://books2read.com/u/bzywNL 

Scarred in mind and body after a brutal attack, Mara travels to Spain in pursuit of an explanation for flashbacks that hint at supernatural evil. There she meets Adam, a gorgeous vampire fighting demons of his own. Bound by mutual attraction and suffering, it seems they can heal each other, until their romantic relationship turns potentially deadly for one of them. 

Note: The Immaculate was previously published. This re-edited version contains additional scenes. The Immaculate contains scenes with sex and violence. The story refers to past rape, past child abuse, and a past suicide attempt.                        

Excerpt:

“Good boy.” Vincent pointed a long, wiry finger at Adam. “Keep sharpening those telepathic skills. Someday, you’ll be a helluva psychic. But for now, we hunt.” 

The men fell silent. Leaving the vicinity of the house, they entered the dark woods. To vampires, especially Immaculates, everything was as clear as day. They traveled swiftly and quietly through the trees.

 The scent of a buck wafted on the air. The animal plodded through a nearby creek. 

Though this particular prey wasn’t his, Adam’s pulse still quickened with desire for the chase. He held back his animal instincts. It was Matthew they wanted to assess. 

Vincent caught Matthew’s eye and motioned with his head in the direction of the deer. 

For a moment, Adam thought Matthew might refuse, but his brother’s vampiric scent was strong. Pure, animal excitement rolled off the doctor. He fixed his unblinking gaze on the buck. Simultaneously, the antlered creature and the vampire bolted.

Matthew moved so swiftly through the trees that for several moments, Adam and Vincent nearly lost him. Matthew’s initial attack had taken them by surprise, but soon they fell into step and had him in sight. 

Adam bounded through the trees, branches lashing his face, and followed Matthew over a brook. The scent of trees, damp earth, and the buck’s fear hung on the air. Running wild and free through the forest was so exhilarating, yet they weren’t free. Not really. No one was free until the First Father was destroyed. 

About Kate: 

Kate Hill is a vegetarian New Englander who loves writing romantic fantasies. When she's not working on her books, Kate enjoys reading, working out, watching horror movies, and researching vampires and Viking history. She runs the Compelling Beasts Blog that is dedicated to antagonists, antiheroes, and paranormal creatures. Kate also writes as Saloni Quinby. 

Visit her online at https://www.kate-hill.com. Join her newsletter at https://kate-hill.com/index.php/newsletter. 

Contact Links: 

Website: https://www.kate-hill.com

Blog: https://kate-hill.com/blog/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kate-hill

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16157.Kate_Hill

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/katehillromance/

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

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/katehillromancewritingandmore

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KateHillRomance

Reading and Reviews (Jackson and Hart)

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.

Born to Die (An Alvarez & Pescoli Novel) by Lisa Jackson 

A sad, strange coincidence. . .that's Dr. Kacey Lambert's initial response to the deaths of two women who bear an uncanny resemblance to herself. It's not like there was any real connection between Kacey and the B-movie actress or the elementary school teacher. But Detective Selena Alvarez suspects otherwise.

Can Be. . .

One of the bodies contained traces of poison at the time of death. Selena and her partner, Detective Regan Pescoli, can find no motive for murder. But Kacey has started to notice ties between the dead women's lives and her own--all close in age, born within miles of each other. And all have links to Trace O'Halleran, the man Kacey just started dating.

Deadly. . .

The deeper Kacey digs, the more reason she has to fear. More look-alikes are dying, and the killer is getting bolder and more brutal. And Kacey knows it's only a matter of time before hers is the next name on a list of those who were born to die. . .

 MY REVIEW:

I waited too long to review this book. My memory… But I do remember that I enjoyed it. I refuse to finish books that aren’t entertaining me. The only thing that made me scratch my head was there were so many women. Not that I have anything against women, I am one. But the lack of diversity was noticeable. The cops are women, the detective is female, the doctor is a woman. I was beginning to think it was an all-female book. But there is a hero, Trace O’Halleran, and his characterization is appealing. It’s a suspenseful read I can recommend.

 

Dirty Little Secrets (A J.J. Graves Mystery) by Liliana Hart 

J.J. Graves has seen a lot of dead bodies in her line of work...She's not only in the mortuary business, but she's also the coroner for King George County, Virginia. When a grisly murder is discovered in the small town of Bloody Mary, it's up to J.J. and her best friend, Detective Jack Lawson, to bring the victim justice. The murders are piling up...When a popular mystery writer shows up on J.J.'s doorstep with plans of writing his new book about the Bloody Mary Serial Killer, J.J. has to decide if he might be going above and beyond the call of duty to create the spine tinglers he's so well known for. Passions are rising...J.J and Jack discover each victim had a shocking secret, and the very foundation of J.J.'s life is in danger of crumbling when it turns out she’s harboring secrets of her own—secrets that make her a perfect target in a deadly game. 

 MY REVIEW:

J.J. is actually in a bad financial way, in a tiny town where not enough people die, and trying to hold on to the mortuary that her parents left her. J.J. is a great character and so is her cop friend Jack. The story is clever, but the characters in the story are what I enjoyed the most. Her fast-fall relationship with Brody rubbed me wrong. There were holes here and there in the plot. But all in all, I enjoyed it for the most part.

Guest Author Spotlight with Tina Donahue

Let's welcome Tina Donahue to Discover... Her newest release sounds pretty spicy, Erotic Urban Fantasy Romance. Read on for a PG introduction and a sample of a hot new offering from Tina.

She can heal the dying…

Two men—enemies of her people—will stop at nothing to have her gift, her desire and love 

The Prophecy, Book 1 

Trapped in a blood feud, Liz uses her healing power to bring Zeke Neekoma from the brink of death so her clan can exploit his prophecies. During the ceremony, she drapes her nudity over his, experiencing his building strength, the stunning pleasure of his caress as he takes her without warning, using her as he wills. 

His hunger for a woman he’s supposed to hate isn’t what Zeke expected, nor does he intend to deny himself. Kidnapping Liz, he’s resolved that she heal his brother Jacob ambushed by her people. At his stronghold, Zeke keeps Liz captive to his and Jacob’s desires. The brothers pleasure her without restraint and in ways she’s never known. Before, her life was filled with loneliness and wanting. Now… 

Used by two powerful men, threatened by her clan’s determination to get her back, Liz risks all as she surrenders to Zeke’s and Jacob’s lust, the ecstasy of their touch and her most traitorous needs.

AMAZON: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DL3T3JBF

Excerpt:

He lay in the center of the king-sized bed. His breaths were quiet, his eyes closed, legs sprawled, one arm draped over his head as though he was sleeping.

The bullet holes in his muscular left pec contradicted that notion.

Forcing down a swallow, Liz pulled her attention from his wounds—three perfect black circles—to his face.

Her lips parted on a quiet sigh. Rarely had she seen a man wear such a look of serenity. So unlike the terror she’d witnessed on Carreon’s features or those of his men when they’d been so close to death.

Zeke Neekoma was different. The words boyish and innocent came to mind, which Liz dismissed quickly.

Looking to be in his early thirties, he was no boy. Nor was he innocent. His size, surely six-three, his sharp, masculine features and powerful form were perfect for battle against men and pleasure with women.

Heat suffused Liz, making her limbs feel heavy and weak. She recalled what Carreon and his men had told her about Zeke, no doubt a mixture of truth and lies. Not knowing which was which, she moved deeper into the dimly lit room. Spanish-style lamps created pools of honeyed light, giving the space a sacred feel one might experience in a church. The cherry-wood four-poster dominated the sparsely furnished chamber, while a series of leather wing chairs—reserved for observers—circled the bed.

The man who’d been guarding Zeke left the room. Carreon and his men went to their seats, their weight causing the chairs’ legs to scrape against the polished hardwood floor.

For one foolish moment, Liz thought the intrusive noise would cause Zeke to open his eyes and lose his blissful expression. That he’d ask why they’d pulled him from such blessed rest and what appeared to be happiness.

This man didn’t want to be healed. Liz knew it in her soul; saw it in the upward curve of his beautiful mouth. Was he the same as her father, tired of fighting? Or was he welcoming the end so he could reunite with someone he’d loved?

His parents and siblings, perhaps…or a wife.

A new rush of warmth stung Liz’s chest.

Disturbed by the sensation and her aching loneliness—the need for a powerful yet good man at her side—Liz recalled what Carreon’s lieutenants had claimed the first night she’d come here.

“He’ll murder our women and children so our line dies out, just as his kind have always wanted.”

If that was the truth, then Zeke was no different from Carreon, who hunted the weakest, eliminating them first. Once more, she examined Zeke’s face, lingering on his mouth. Instead of a sneer or a smirk, she imagined him smiling at her, his grin honest, reaching his eyes, his wanting of her obvious and—

Stop it.

What was the matter with her, indulging in a romantic fantasy when she was well aware of their people’s conflict and unending hatred for each other? Even if Zeke wasn’t a murdering psychopath, he wasn’t likely to be stirred by a woman from an enemy clan. So why was he affecting her like this? Was it a power he had…or something else. Perhaps the truth as to who he really was?

Ignoring her persistent longing, Liz replaced it with a healthy dose of distrust. “This is Zeke Neekoma?”

“You sound surprised,” Carreon said. “Why?”

About Tina: 

Tina’s an Amazon and international bestselling novelist who writes passionate romance for every taste – ‘heat with heart’ – for traditional publishers and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. She’s won Readers’ Choice Awards, was named a finalist in the EPIC competition, received a Book of the Year award, The Golden Nib Award, awards of merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competitions, and second place in the NEC RWA contests. She’s featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction. 

On a less serious note: she’s an admitted and unrepentant chocoholic, brakes for Mexican restaurants, and has been known to moan like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally while wolfing down tostadas. She’s flown a single-engine airplane (freaking scary), rewired an old house using an ‘electricity for dummies’ book, and is horribly shy despite the hot romances she writes. 

MeWe: https://mewe.com/i/tinadonahue

Website/Blog: https://tinadonahuebooks.blogspot.com/

Newsletter: https://tinadonahuebooks.blogspot.com/p/newsletter.html

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tina-donahue

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/146988.Tina_Donahue

Twitter: https://twitter.com/tinadonahue

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/tinadonahue

Amazon author page: https://amzn.to/1ChWFkO

Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas: https://sweetnsexydivas.blogspot.com/

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AuthorTinaDonahue 

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.