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Honorable Profession by Andy Kutler – Q&A and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Have you ever had an imaginary friend?
No, but I was a huge fan of Calvin & Hobbes when I was a kid!

Do you have any phobias?
Lakes, not oceans. Shery Crow music. Tomatoes.

Do you listen to music when you’re writing?
No, I need complete silence. I’m too easily distracted. And if there is music on, my awful singing along is not far behind.

Do you ever read your stories out loud?
No. I think I have a terrible voice and will never narrate my own audio books. You’re welcome, listeners!

Tell us about your main character and who inspired him/her.
He’s a middle-aged, former Secret Service agent. Still a very capable man, but he’s put on a few pounds and is otherwise showing every one of his forty-six years. In other words, he’s an authentic person. We are roughly the same age, and his simmering cynicism towards our political system is not unlike my own. We also have the same dry sense of humor and passion for sarcasm!

Honorable Profession: A Novel of American Politics is a compelling, hopeful story of a cynical former Secret Service agent and his idealistic daughter as they follow a longshot candidate into the perilous arena of presidential politics.

After resigning from his agency under an ethical cloud, 46-year-old Dan Cahill commits himself to rebuilding his relationship with Megan, the college-aged daughter in Las Vegas he has long neglected. She persuades a reluctant Cahill to join the student-led campaign of a popular professor competing in the Nevada presidential primary against impossible odds. As they face powerful forces conspiring to clear the field, Cahill’s deep-seated disdain for electoral politics collides with Megan’s higher ideals. Each of their faiths are tested by political allies and adversaries, all desperate for victory, no matter the costs.

Crafted by award-winning author Andy Kutler, Honorable Profession is an absorbing, modern-day political drama filled with authentic and indelible characters, each struggling with their own loyalties and principles as they duel with unscrupulous rivals and the meaning of public service.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Her eyes were pleading. “You have to win next week. Let me help you.”

“You are helping me, Hope. And I appreciate your good intentions. Your passion to fix what ails your brother, desperate for any solution, I’ve been there. I know what that pain in your heart feels like. But I didn’t get into this race to destroy others. I never wanted to be in a competition among rivals and enemies. I wanted to be in a competition of ideas. Ours are better, that I am certain of. And if this election proves I’m the wrong messenger, I want to see an army of others, like you, who will carry our movement forward. And make the Cure Initiative a reality.”

Hope stood, unenthusiastic, but at least offering a grudging nod as she lifted her tripod again.

Walter smiled at her. “Your integrity, my dear, and my conscience, will remain intact. But fear not, the Vice President will one day learn the same inescapable lesson I am now experiencing.”

“What’s that?”

“As the Buddhists say, there are three things that cannot long stay hidden. The sun, the moon, and the truth.”

About the Author: Andy Kutler is a writer and author of two award-winning novels, The Batter’s Box and The Other Side of Life. Andy has also written extensively for The Huffington Post and The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. Over a 28-year professional career, he has worked in the United States Senate, the U.S. Secret Service, and the national security community. A Wisconsin native, Andy lives with his wife and two children in Arlington, Virginia.

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No Easy Catch by Jaqueline Snowe – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jaqueline Snowe who is celebrating the recent release of No Easy Catch, book 4 in the Cleat Chasers series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

A jock and a party girl teaming up—makes total sense, right? Actually, maybe…

Ambar Henderson is a senior communications major who has no idea what she wants to do in life. She spends most of her time working on her blog after gaining a lot of readers with a story she wrote junior year and…never followed up on. The last thing she expects is an angry jock accusing her of involvement in a scam that could shake the college to its foundations.

Jeff Maddow should be focused on his senior season of baseball and not the suspicious activity happening on the team. It’s his time to shine and get drafted, but after seeing incriminating evidence, he can’t not investigate. And his first lead is the campus blogger…who’s related to a name in the document he saw.

Ambar’s been coasting, writing about campus fashion and hook-ups rather than politics and economics, but when Jeff shows up at her place spouting wild accusations, she agrees to help him just to prove the stubborn athlete wrong.

Long nights, impassioned arguments, close quarters…both Jeff and Ambar find opposites more than attract when things heat up.

Publisher’s note: This book was previously released by Finch Books.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Convincing the hostess to let me into the second semester sports fundraiser was easier than it should’ve been. With one little promise of featuring her on my blog and bam, the young girl ushered me into the ballroom where the school’s biggest and best athletes mingled with coaches, alumni and the press.

Ah, the things people do for attention.

I tapped my pen against my lip while I took in the surroundings. It wasn’t black tie, but it was fancier than a casual get-together and I sent a prayer of thanks to my roommate who’d convinced me to wear a sleek black dress. It was a little tight and I kept running my hand down to the side to make sure my love-handles weren’t bulging out. My coordination was abysmal and I tripped over my own two feet sometimes, but at least I didn’t stand out—which was the goal.

I needed a new story to boost views on my blog or I would be shit outta luck. No views meant no affiliates, which equaled less money, and with my less-than-stellar first two years at school, I had no internships or job opportunities waiting for me at the end of the semester. The real world was knocking with graduation looming and I hadn’t a clue what I wanted to or could actually do.

But, I did have a clue about what the student body loved to gossip about more than any other topic—the latest on the hot jocks. Girls, guys, scholarships and walk-ons. Readers loved hearing about the latest flings or scandals and this fundraiser was hot-jock central.

“Ambar Henderson?” A familiar voice caught my attention and I glanced at my left to see Peyton Gentry smiling at me. “What are you here for? Sneak in for the free booze?”

“Ha ha.” I plastered on a fake smile despite the flash of hurt. Peyton and I had become friends freshman year—right in the smack of my party days—and he always brought it up no matter how much I had changed since then. “I’m here for a story, not the booze.”

“Right.” He smirked and lowered his voice. “Is it a juicy one?” He slung an arm over my shoulder in a quick hug and, while I didn’t dislike Peyton, I was glad when he removed his arm. “Heard there’s something weird going on with the volleyball team with one of their new freshmen.”

“Yeah?” I waited for him to respond, but his attention drifted elsewhere and he gave me a weak wave before heading off. “Great to see you too, Peyton,” I mumbled to myself. He was an average player on the soccer team but always managed to make himself seem bigger, better, more handsome. I snorted to myself at the headlines I would love to write someday.

Athletes and their egos—size does really matter

The bigger and not better—egos exposed

I took a deep breath, gathered as much courage as I could and walked about the event searching for anything that could be of interest. There were a couple of girls I recognized from the volleyball team, but they seemed normal, laid-back even. Each table had a large tented sign with the sport listed and it amazed me to see how much attention was given to athletes at our Division I school. Were there events like this for scholars? For those who made the Dean’s List year after year? Doubtful.

Schools spend money on sports, not smarts

Yeah, that headline wouldn’t sell shit. I derailed those thoughts and tried to ignore the tinge of jealousy weaving its way through my body. All these athletes had futures after college. They had tutors, scholarships, teams that supported them and, as someone who came from the opposite end of the spectrum, it was easy to envy them.

A loud cackle exploded near the front where the baseball players sat talking to what I assumed to be the coaches. They wore polos with the school logo, were significantly older than them and had the whole coaching vibe with the hard face and knowing eyes. Zade Willows, Tanner Johnson and Aaron Hill all wore suits and smiles and a part of my stomach fluttered. They were so handsome and such decent human beings I wished I could’ve written a million stories on them. Their faces alone would get readers. But I’d already done a story on Aaron and his girlfriend, so that well was dry. Plus, they were my friends and I refused to cross that boundary.

Moving on to another sport, I weaved through tables, trying to listen to conversations for something to spark motivation. Fifteen minutes passed without any luck and the familiar sensation of failure washed over me. How can I pass my senior classes when I can’t even write a stupid blog post without getting writer’s block?

God, I wish I could drink.

It wouldn’t hurt anyone if I snuck one bottled water and I blended in with the crowd as I approached the refreshment table. That was the good thing about being average-looking. No one really noticed me like they did my beautiful and tall roommates. I undid the cap and took a huge gulp when I felt someone staring at me.

Water spilled down my mouth and onto my dress when I found cold, unamused gray eyes narrowing at me. Jeff Maddow. He defined my perfect male specimen with his honey-brown hair styled just enough to be cool, his massive broad shoulders that went well with his defined pecs—perfectly showcased in the dark-gray dress shirt plastered across his chest. Good lord.

Shit, did he say something?

Did I?

His light gray eyes were framed by perfectly dark eyelashes and, God damn, those cheekbones were enough to make me forget my own name. He blinked and tilted his head to the side with impatience as he approached me. “Ambar Henderson, how the hell did you get into this event? You are neither an athlete nor a sponsor.”

“I have my ways.” I jutted out my chin and ignored the sweat pooling down my back.

“Did you sneak in? No, wait, let me guess. You bribed someone.” He smiled like it was a joke, but his tone made it clear he was not happy. “I should call security.”

“Really, Jeff? Come on.” I hated how my fingers shook when I ran them through my hair, trying to act nonchalant. “I didn’t bribe anyone.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” He brought up a glass of champagne to his mouth and held my gaze as he took a sip. It was annoying to be attracted to someone who thought so little of me, but, alas, that was life.

“What do you care if I’m here? I’m not bothering you or anyone for that matter.”

“False.” He finished the glass and took a step closer to me. For one stupid second, I wondered what it would be like to feel his full lips against mine, but the look on his face sobered that thought. “You are a known campus blogger who finds out information about people to get views. You’re no better than a tabloid magazine for a college. Athletes have enough to worry about with how hard we have to work. They should feel safe here, celebrating and networking, not worrying about being featured on a girl’s pathetic blog to get attention.”

“You know that’s not what I do, Jeff,” I defended myself but my voice lost its gusto. “I’m here for ideas…more like motivation. Nothing more.”

“Right.” He shook his head and tensed his jaw as he scanned the room. “Motivation to find out who’s sleeping with who? Who has a better batting average when they’re in a relationship versus being single?”

I gritted my teeth and willed my skin to not turn red. My cheeks burned when I attempted to defend my reasoning for writing those blogs. “It was for entertainment, Jeff. Plus, the stats didn’t lie.”

He gave me a look like many of my professors had. Disappointment. “Do you ever think about writing something credible or for a good cause?”

“The story about Hilly and Greta was—”

“Fine, sure.” He waved a hand in dismissal and gave me a look that made me feel even smaller than my just-over-five-feet frame. “But you could actually spend time writing stories that matter. Not dumbass pieces that exploit athletes and encourage cleat chasers to come after us.” He pressed his lips together and let out an aggravated sigh. “Stay away from my team, Ambar.”

Then he stalked away to the front of the room, his stiff shoulders telling me everything I needed to know. He wasn’t a fan of what I did or who I was. It wasn’t news, but his words hit one of my deepest insecurities. What am I even doing with my blog? My life?

God damn it. Find a story! I finished the water and tossed the bottle into a trash can when a familiar deep, masculine laugh caught my attention. That’s my Uncle Martin. My mood lifted instantly and I headed toward him. He was dressed in a three-piece suit and had his hand on a shoulder of a middle-aged man I didn’t recognize. He finished telling a joke—a specialty of my favorite family member—before he noticed me and ushered me over. “Ambar Henderson.”

“Martin Rhett,” I replied, mirroring his hugging stance and smiling into his chest when he wrapped me in a bear hug like he had since I was a child. “I don’t even know why you’re here, but I’m so glad.”

“Business partners in the community. We love supporting athletes!” He kept his arm around me and introduced me to the gentlemen around us. “This is my favorite niece, fellas. She’s a senior this year and is a hell of a writer.”

Various hellos and greetings echoed around me and I relished my uncle’s words. A hell of a writer. He never made me feel stupid or unremarkable. He’d encouraged me my entire life and seeing him at the event gave me the necessary boost of confidence.

“Nice to meet you all,” I said, looking all five of them in the eye and shaking their hands. There was a brief moment where I faced the direction of the baseball table and met Jeff’s gaze, but I forced myself to not stare or think about why he was watching me. “Anyone have a good story for me? I’m looking for a topic on my senior project and could use some ideas.”

“Ah, my girl is always working.” Uncle Martin laughed and led me away from the group with a smile that had taken years to practice. Once we were out of earshot, he changed his expression. “How did you get into the event, Ambar? I thought this was for athletes only.”

“See, the thing is… I was on my way out.” I gave him a cheesy smile. “Lunch next time you’re in town?”

“Of course.” He pulled me into another hug. “Stay out of trouble, okay? You have four more months of college and I don’t want anything more to happen. You know?”

Like my little drug and drinking binge freshman year?

Or my academic probation?

“I know, I know.” I frowned and felt every ounce of shame in my bones. “I’ll head out. I really did come for ideas. Nothing more.”

“I believe you. Now go through the side door. I’ll cover for you.” He indicated the large black double-doors and winked. “While I can’t condone you sneaking into an event, it does bring me joy to know you do have a little Rhett in your blood.”

“See you later, Uncle.” I smiled and snuck one more glance around the ballroom before leaving. It didn’t mean anything when Jeff continued to stare at me with an unreadable expression on his face. If anything, he should’ve been happy I was leaving his precious party. Ugh.

New headline.

Jeff Maddow should pull the stick out of his own ass to get a better batting average.

About the Author Jaqueline Snowe lives in Arizona where the ‘dry heat’ really isn’t that bad. She enjoys making lists with colorful Post-it notes and sipping coffee all day. She has been a custodian, a waitress, a landscaper, a coach and a teacher. Her life revolves around binge-watching Netflix, her two dogs who don’t realize they aren’t humans and her wonderful baseball-loving husband.

You can take a look at Jaqueline’s Website and Blog and you can also follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

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What Would I Tell a New Author? by Mariëlle S. Smith – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Mariëlle S. Smith will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What would I tell a new author?
That there’s nothing more important than knowing what you want from your writing.

Writing is such a personal journey and we’re all on it for different reasons. Some of us dream of becoming full-time authors, while others simply use writing to let off steam and deal with their everyday life. Some write to entertain their friends, and yet others dream to be published in this or that magazine.

None of these goals are better than any of the others. We all have different dreams and that’s exactly as it should be. However, as new writers, we tend to be extra impressionable. Having figured out for yourself what you want from your writing both helps you find the right path for you and stick with it. It provides clarity on what opportunities are right for you and which aren’t, who makes sense as a role model for you and who doesn’t, what you need to be focusing your energy towards and what you should leave be.

Perhaps the best way to figure out what you want from your writing is by asking yourself what kind of writing life you want to look back on once your time here on this earth is over. Again, there are no wrong answers, and your answer might be different a few years from now, but knowing what your answer is right now will help you steer clear of anything that doesn’t serve the writing life you’re envisioning and align yourself with all that does.

I’ve answered this question for myself in 2016, after reading Joanna Penn’s The Successful Author Mindset, a book I highly recommend to anyone who’s in it for the long haul. My answer was: to leave a legacy I’m proud of.

Over the years, this short, simple phrase has helped me say ‘No’ to multiple projects and collaborations that I was considering for the wrong reasons, be that to impress someone or not disappoint them, to make a quick buck, what have you. It has also made it easier to prioritise certain projects over others, and it has pushed me towards things that scare me terribly, like starting the Doing Diversity in Writing podcast for fiction authors.

Isn’t it funny how something so simple can be so effective?

Whether you’re a seasoned or new author, are you clear on what you want from your writing? On what you want to look back on when your time comes? If not, I’d suggest you start digging for some answers.

‘A brilliant, supportive, challenging workbook, highly recommend.’ Jamie Sands

You, too, can become the writer you’ve always wanted to be!

The 52 Weeks of Writing Author Journal and Planner:

• makes you plan, track, reflect on, and improve your progress and goals for an entire year long;

• invites you to dig deep through thought-provoking prompts and exercises; and

• helps you unravel the truth about why you aren’t where you want to be.

Two years after publishing the first volume of 52 Weeks of Writing, writing coach and writer Mariëlle S. Smith brings you the updated third volume. Similar in style but reflecting the tweaks made to her coaching practice during the pandemic, 52 Weeks of Writing Vol. III is even better equipped to help you get out of your own way and on to the path towards success.

Ready to start living your writing dream? Order your copy now.

Enjoy an Excerpt

About the Author:Mariëlle S. Smith is a writer, writing coach, and editor. She lives in Cyprus, where she organises private writer’s retreats, is inspired 24/7, and feeds more stray cats than she can count.

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Switching Genres (Mostly.) by Rebecca Lee Smith – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Rebecca Lee Smith will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour. Read our 5 star review here.

Switching Genres (Mostly.)

Cozy mystery fans have very strong opinions about what they like and don’t like. What makes them throw a book across the room, and what sends them rushing to their favorite bookstore or online retailer to find something that ticks all the boxes and leaves them feeling happy and satisfied. I get it. I do it myself.

Before jumping into the world of cozy mysteries (a genre I adore), I wrote romantic suspense. Typically, romantic suspense novels are by definition half romance and half suspense, with each element intertwining equally, and each one just as important as the other. I published two romantic suspense novels that I am exceedingly proud of, but juggling the love story and the mystery had become a tedious chore. The mystery was the fun part for me. The burgeoning romance with all its exhilarating highs and excruciating lows, not so much.

A couple of decades ago, when I first started writing, I wrote category romance. At least I tried to. I thought those kinds of books would be a breeze to write and just as easy to get published. (Wrong on both counts.) I should have figured out I was dabbling in the wrong genre when a dead body kept showing up or someone was framed for a murder they didn’t commit.

Eventually, I transitioned into romantic suspense. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, just something that evolved. And I did enjoy it, even though I was never very comfortable writing the requisite love scenes (which was probably obvious), and dreaded having to do it.

I’ve always liked my mysteries on the cozy side. Oh, I love a good thriller and a good solid romantic suspense can sweep me along and keep me up at night turning pages (I’m looking at you, J. D. Robb and Sandra Brown), and I do pound down some really wonderful women’s fiction, but when I’m reading strictly for pleasure and comfort, I devour books by Ann Cleeves and Sherry Harris and Sara Rosett. When I’m writing or reading, solving the puzzle is the fun part. I enjoy sifting through the clues to figure out which suspects are lying, and which ones are telling the truth. How many are hiding secrets? Which one is the killer and why? Then (if the book’s good) I kick myself for falling for the red herrings and missing the most obvious clues and guessing wrong.

My new book, The House on Crow Mountain, is a hybrid cozy. Cozy-ish, I like to call it. There are no scorching love scenes, and the murder takes place so far offstage, it could be in the next county. That being said, even though the mystery is on the front burner, I couldn’t resist adding a little romance and a few heart-pounding moments of suspense along the way. As it turns out, I like my heroine too much not to give her someone to love. Or at least make her laugh when she least expects it. I want her to have someone she can trade barbs with and witty repartee. Someone she’s attracted to, against her better judgment, but who is there for her while she’s trying to solve a murder and keep herself from getting killed. So that in the final few pages, when the murderer is revealed and the loose threads are all tied up, she can go back to her normal life feeling hopeful that that elusive happily-ever-after ending is finally within her reach.

Until next time.

When her aunt suffers a stroke, New York portrait artist Emory Austen returns home to the North Carolina mountains to mend fences and deal with the guilt over her husband’s senseless death. But that won’t be as easy as she hoped.

Someone in the quirky little town doesn’t like Emory. Is it the sexy architect who needs the Austen land to redeem himself? The untrustworthy matriarch? The grudge-bearing local bad boy? Or the teenage bombshell who has raised snooping to an art form? Even the local evangelist has something to hide. Who wrote the cryptic note warning her to “Give it back or you’ll be dead?” And what is ‘it’? As the clues pile up and secrets are exposed, Emory must discover what her family has that someone would kill for.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Could it be something of Kent’s they were after? Something he’d kept hidden? He was good at keeping secrets. In fact, he’d been a master at it. After his death, I’d packed the few possessions he hadn’t moved out of the apartment and sent them to his parents. I’d kept nothing except the gold wedding band he’d thrown at me from across the room and his cell phone.

Kent’s death.

Hard to even think those words, much less say them out loud. It was all still so surreal.

Maybe everything that had happened in Bitter Ridge was karma. Maybe the Universe was finally giving me exactly what I deserved. Kent’s death had been my fault. And no matter how much he had deceived me, or betrayed me, or reduced my sad little trusting heart to shrapnel, I could never forgive myself.

I laid my head on my knees and closed my eyes. I rocked my body back and forth, like a child trying to soothe itself when sleep will not come. Then at last, in the cool dark shadows of the night, I began to cry.

Oh, God, I was so sorry.

I hadn’t loved Kent for a long time. At the end of our marriage, I hadn’t even liked him. But I had never wished him dead.

About the Author:Rebecca lives with her husband and a dog named Wilbur in the beautiful, misty mountains of East Tennessee, where the people are charming, soulful, and just a little bit crazy. She’s been everything from a tax collector to a stay-at-home-mom to an award winning professional actor and director. She loves to travel the world (pre-pandemic) because it makes coming home so sweet. Her Southern roots and the affectionate appreciation she has for the rural towns she lives near inspire the settings and characters she writes about.

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Shift Into a Higher Gear: Better Your Best and Live Life to the Fullest by Delatorro McNeal


Shift Into a Higher Gear: Better Your Best and Live Life to the Fullest by Delatorro McNeal
Publisher: Berrett-Koehler Publishers
Genre: Contemporary, Non-Fiction, Self-Help
Rating: 5 stars
Reviewed by Ginger

Kick fear-based living to the curb and discover exactly how to manifest the life of your dreams!

Is there another level of life that you want to live? Are there goals you’ve been struggling to achieve? It’s time to stop settling for excuses and start achieving excellence!

With nearly two decades of experience working with high achievers globally, peak performance expert Delatorro McNeal II is passionate about teaching people how to live life full throttle. As a motorcycle enthusiast, McNeal uses powerful biking metaphors to vividly illustrate how to reject the monotony of living on cruise control. Packed with interactive exercises, compelling questions, and thought-provoking analogies, this book teaches you the methodology and the psychology to bring the best out of yourself! Each of the twelve chapters starts with the word Shift and invites you to make a simple but profound change that will accelerate your results and expand the horizons of your possibilities. You’ll discover how to

• Lean into the curves of life and business
• Sever your dependency on the “kickstands of life”
• Put your weight into the changes you desire most
• Steer the flow of your emotional states
• Shift your core relationships to invite the right posse to your biker club
• Drive defensively to avoid the potholes that stop most people from succeeding

From the introduction all the way through to the conclusion, this book is a transformational seminar on paper. Join Delatorro McNeal as he takes you on the personal development journey of a lifetime.

I don’t even know where to start so I’ll start by saying this is a book you will definitely want to not only read but study and keep handy. And to think this was a book that I picked at random with the preconceived notions that I wouldn’t enjoy it… Boy was I wrong. While reading I texted two friends to share the book’s title and told them that the author’s writing style and message are so inspiring and I also posted a comment on Facebook. I read the book in one sitting and was so thankful for no interruptions.

This book will be a staple for anyone…for business, finances, personal, relationships…just life in general. This is an amazing book that shares great pointers and thought provoking questions that will stick with you well after you finish reading.

I love the motorcycle riding to life concept. I’ve ridden motorcycles before but never would have compared riding a motorcycle in any way similar to having life goals and accomplishing them. I love the layout of the book, along with the thought provoking questions. The author didn’t just write for reading pleasure he wrote so that the readers can receive the message as well as making sure readers take action. I related his writing style to what I imagine it feels like being present at one of his conferences.

Each chapter starts off with a catchy sentence and then is followed by in depth details. The questions, examples and quotes made me pause and meditate on how I can put into action giving 1% more each day, and not just living life but experiencing it. I enjoyed every chapter! I can’t even pick a favorite because I took away a lot from the entire book. I like that he wasn’t wordy, his message is to the point and that he gives practical guidance and various learning exercises that opened my mind to reflect as a consequence I can see myself on the right track to reach my fullest. I love the conclusion at the end of the book and how it gives a snippet of the information included in each chapter. I’m sure I’ll be using this for a quick reference for now on.

I am thankful for the fresh pair of 3-D lenses. A collection of words that help me to live life actively, with intention and purposeful. There is so much I took from this book that I can implement into my life furthermore shifting into a higher gear. To name a few nuggets: no matter what I want it will require my best effort, to also recognize that small changes are just as potent as huge changes and each morning I’ll be asking myself “Will I be better today than I was yesterday?”.

I can’t recommend this book enough!

The Earl of Callander’s Secret Bride by Raven McAllan and Cassie O’Brien – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Raven McAllan and Cassie O’Brien who are celebrating the recent release of The Earl of Callander’s Secret Bride, the first book in their The Scots and the Sassenachs series. Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card!

A treasonable letter. Attempted blackmail. Can a secret marriage save the day?

Duncan, the Earl of Callander, loves his beautiful neighbour Lady Cairstine McColl but has held back from proposing until she has enjoyed her debut in Edinburgh. However, matters are taken out of his control when Cairstine discovers a plot to blackmail her father with her hand in marriage demanded as the ransom price.

A daring plan is hatched. To protect Cairstine, she and Duncan will wed under Scottish law, then travel to England incognito to find and destroy a letter that could see her father accused of treason and the family ruined.

But all is not straightforward once they arrive in Corbridge.

They must hide the passion they feel for each other from the blackmailer, and worse, there may not be just one blackmailer, but two.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Lady Cairstine McColl knew it was wrong to slip out from her family home unnoticed and go for a long tramp across the hills. Nevertheless, after the news her papa had just imparted, she’d had to get away. It was that or completely lose her temper. Shout, scream and be the termagant she didn’t want to be. She acknowledged it had been a close-run thing. Hence her escape. A pity she couldn’t escape the future as easily.

How could he?

She skirted the three large boulders that edged the head of the loch and jumped over the burn that flowed into it with a gurgle as it danced across the stony bottom. In winter, when it was in full spate, she would have had no chance. Now in June, when the nights were short and daylight hours long, the weather was sometimes drier and the burn no more than a trickle.

Cairstine strode up the slopes to where the forest began, her boots giving her purchase on the slippery rocks. It might not have rained recently, but these slopes were always damp and covered in moss. As she walked, she mulled over her papa’s words.

How, how could he?

He had promised her in marriage to an Englishman. An Englishman! Whom she had never met. How draconian. And how undoubtedly, in this so-called enlightened age, unacceptable. Surely she should at least have met the man and decided if this marriage of convenience was for her?

Sadly, her papa had been unmoved by her pleas. He’d simply told her she would leave for England in five days’ time.

England. Who on earth would want to go there? And to a place called Corbridge? Not even London, or Carlisle. Until she’d studied a book of maps in the library she’d had no idea where Corbridge was. Evidently between Newcastle and Carlisle. A market town, near the site of the wall built in Roman times to keep the Scots out of England. What a pity it was no longer used for the same purpose. That would have meant there was no way she could have been forced to head south.

According to a pamphlet she’d found on the desk—it seemed her papa had been investigating—this Corbridge was a pretty well set-up place with lots of new and imposing buildings sitting side by side with older, equally as imposing ones.

She couldn’t have cared less. It wouldn’t matter what it was like, it was not home.

George Armstrong, she thought in disgust. An Armstrong. One of those murdering, thieving Border Reivers of old who had thought nothing of riding from England into Scotland to steal the cattle of good honest Scotsmen—and women. The family names of the marauding bands were still notorious enough to put the fear of God into anyone who lived within a day’s ride of the border even in these modern times. Cairstine had been raised on stories of Scots venturing as far as Yorkshire, and the English to Edinburgh. All in retaliation for some real or imagined wrongdoing. You had to be thankful such days were over—but that made her papa’s demands even harder to fathom.

Worse though than the raids—if it was possible for anything to be worse—Armstrong was a Sassenach with, he was said to boast, not one jot of Scottish blood in him. Where was the common ground?

Why, oh why had her papa thought she’d be happy married to one of them?

If he had thought at all. These last couple of weeks he’d been preoccupied, less likely to chat or ask what she had been doing, and never sharing his day with her. Not at all the man she had adored for so many years.

How could he? Is he demented? When the name of her prospective husband was enough to put fear into even the bravest of people… She was no different.

She shuddered and gathered her breath for the final steep few yards to her favourite place on the estate. The lookout. Where in times gone by a sentry would have been placed to keep guard for enemies.

Now she was the only one who ever went there.

Or so she’d imagined.

Head down, deep in thought, she ploughed into a tree.

A very human tree, which swayed before it steadied again.

She scowled. Of all the people it could be it had to be Duncan Callander. Her neighbour, her…her what? She had no idea except that he was the one man who made her skin tighten in an arousing way and made her wonder…what if?

A child of the countryside, she was no stranger to the way animals mated and had on more than one occasion caught sight of a man and a woman in the undergrowth, the lady’s skirts kilted around her waist, his trews around his ankles. It wasn’t something she’d contemplated doing herself though—until recently.

“Where’s where the enemy? Who do I have to shoot?” Duncan grabbed her arm with one hand to rescue her from falling on her rump, put his other hand to his forehead and scanned the area with an extravagant movement. “Pistol or bow and arrow?”

Cairstine giggled. Trust Duncan to cheer her up. “The culprit is too far to reach with either,” she said glumly as she smoothed her skirts down and remembered what had sent her to the lookout in a rush. “In England, at a place called Corbridge.”

“Corbridge?” he said as he dropped his hand from his face. The confusion in his eyes mirrored the incredulous tone of his voice. “Why in hades Corbridge? What the hell’s going on?”

Cairstine sighed. “Hell just about sums it up. My papa says I am to marry the black-hearted devil that is George Armstrong.”

Duncan’s jaw clenched as she said the name. George Armstrong of Corbridge…the bastard! Not that he had ever met the man, but the fame—or infamy—of the Armstrong family was well known and noted in the annals of history. Around a hundred years earlier they had been given a baronetcy—under somewhat suspicious circumstances—and they revelled in their reputation.

Blood raced through his veins at the thought of Cairstine in the clutches of such a man. She stood close enough to kiss, her lips mere inches from his own. Another part of his anatomy stirred deep within his trews with an emotion other than anger. The heady scent of her teased his nostrils and he sniffed the air. Violets, he decided—sweet and seductively entrancing like the lady herself.

He dropped his hands to his sides against an urge to sweep her into his arms and assure her he would not allow the marriage to take place. He was powerless to prevent it—Cairstine’s father’s title being higher ranked in the natural order than his own. What was he, as an earl compared to a duke? Instead he concentrated on not curling his hands into fists and asked with a calmness he didn’t feel, “When and where is this event to take place?”

Cairstine gazed at him, a question written in her eyes as if she sensed the power of the emotions running through his body. “I leave for Corbridge in five days. Oh, Duncan, something is wrong, and I have no idea what it could be. I have asked Papa to explain his decision, but all he says it I have to do this thing. Why?” She whirled around and her skirts followed her, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of a well-turned ankle visible above her half boot. How he wished it showed more.

Callander, get your mind out of the gutters.

“What on earth could be going on?” Cairstine asked in a plaintive tone that hit him hard. “Duncan, I’m at my wit’s end. I cannot move him.”

Duncan nodded, his mind busy with possible plans, and he turned to one side, needing time to think of ways and means to execute them as well as considering the likely consequences. “Stay strong. I’m off to check my snares and have a think. Don’t worry, I will see you again before you go. Can you be here at the same time tomorrow?”

Cairstine nodded. “I will make sure I am.”

Duncan nodded. “Until then.” He spun on his heels and set off in the direction of his manor a mile or so distant on the opposite hill, his thoughts in a whirl.

What in hades is her father up to? To date, the Duke of Glenard, known as Lord Nathaniel McColl in these parts, had been a loving and somewhat protective father to his only daughter.

He strode on. The smell of pine resin carried on the warmth of the June breeze replaced the scent of violets in his nose, but Duncan hardly noticed as he began to gather his thoughts. A rescue plan was needed, one that would absolve Cairstine from all blame so as not to leave her in her parent’s bad graces. Or give any hint of collusion between the two of them. She should not guess his part in it, to allow her to answer with perfect honesty if questioned later by her father.

A bold idea occurred and he quickened his pace while contemplating the prospects and pitfalls of it. A disguise would be required so she didn’t immediately recognise him. It would ruin everything if she inadvertently gave his identity away to anyone with her. Plus, he needed to decide on a place of safety for her to pass the time until his plan achieved its aim.

About the Authors

Raven McAllan After 30 plus years in Scotland, Raven now lives near the east Yorkshire coast, with her long-suffering husband, who is used to rescuing the dinner, when she gets immersed in her writing, keeping her coffee pot warm and making sure the wine is chilled.

With a new home to decorate and a garden to plan, she’s never short of things to do, but writing is always at the top of her list.

Her other hobbies include walking along the coast and spotting the wildlife, reading, researching, cross stitch and trying not to drop stitches as she endeavours to knit.

Being left-handed, and knitting right-handed, that’s not always easy.

She loves hearing from her readers, either via her website, by email or social media.

Website | First for Romance

Cassie O’Brien I love:

Being with family and friends.

Writing and having the freedom to do so now child four of four has passed her driving test and is off to uni later this year.

I Like:

Any excuse to throw a party.

Any excuse to open a bottle of fizz.

Shoes in vast quantities – the higher the heel the better.

Ambitions:

To write many more books.

To own a pair of Louboutin’s.

To never go near an iron or a hoover again.

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Zandra: My Daughter, Diabetes, and Lessons in Love by Janet Hatch – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Janet Hatch will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

In this truly inspiring memoir, Janet Hatch shares her compelling story of raising her strong-willed daughter who, at age eleven, was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. From the beginning of her life, Zandra experienced being different as a result of dietary restrictions, but nothing would prepare her for the tumultuous feelings that Zandra’s diagnosis would bring. Janet’s story chronicles the day-to-day life of raising a child through the teen years and into young adulthood, while reconciling her own insecurities.

After experiencing complications and additional illnesses from diabetes, Zandra’s life became uncertain and bleak. When she learned of the death of her friend from diabetes, she began to spiral downward. This is a love story between a mother and daughter and demonstrates that although the bond may be challenged, it was created to endure. From travelling to Iceland in support of the Canadian Diabetes Association to receiving her beloved diabetic alert dog, Cinnamon, this story is one that will encourage all those who love a child, to look beyond fear and see beauty in every challenge.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“What’s the reason for your visit?” The admitting nurse at our tiny local hospital was staring at me impatiently while my eleven-year-old daughter, Zandra, shuffled nervously at my side.

“She’s showing signs of type 1 diabetes,” I explained, the words sounding unbelievable as I said them out loud.

“Well, we’ll see,” the nurse huffed in frustration. “We don’t appreciate people looking up “Doctor Google” before they get here; that’s the job of the actual doctor.” She tapped heavily on her keyboard while processing the paperwork. “We don’t have time for everyone who thinks something is wrong because they looked it up on the internet.”

Normally I would be upset at being administered a tongue-lashing, but this time I was too worried about Zandra. I wanted my theory to be wrong, and I’d take a curt retort any day over being right this time.

After spending what felt like several hours in the waiting room, the doctor finally appeared. He commented on Zandra’s appearance. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, her underweight frame and pallid colour. He immediately ordered a blood requisition, and within a half hour he returned to give us her diagnosis. “Her blood sugars are extremely elevated, and she has ketones in her urine,” he explained. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she has type 1 diabetes.”

About the Author: JANET HATCH is a mother of four who lives in Camrose, Alberta. She is passionate about using her experience of raising her diabetic daughter to support parents and caregivers through the emotional twists and turns of what can be a difficult journey of having a child with a serious illness. She is a lover of animals and enjoys spending time in nature with her dog, Axel.

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The Game Changer by Jaqueline Snowe – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jaqueline Snowe who is celebrating the recent release of The Game Changer, the second book in her Cleat Chasers series. Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card!

Pretending to date your best friend is always a good idea…right? Wrong.

Greta Aske has a lot on her mind, and a string of bad dates has her giving up on men, at least for the time being. Her life contains a little too much drama, meaning she needs a break and to save money and get good grades. The perfect solution presents itself—pretend to date the campus playboy. That’ll keep the guys away for sure.

Aaron Hill is desperate to save his baseball career because, with his dad fighting cancer, he damn well knows he can’t ask for a single penny from his parents. Baseball is his past, present and future, so when a scandal threatens his chance in the MLB, he turns to his best friend for help. A fake relationship will keep him out of trouble. It’s perfect, really. Greta’s taking a break from dating and Aaron needs to focus on training.

Nothing could go wrong…as long as neither falls for the other. But when lines are crossed, what’s real and fake blurs and the two are forced to face their fears. Could Greta be the game changer Aaron needs?

Reader advisory: This book was previously released by Finch Books.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Action movies are full of shit, feeding us fake information our entire lives. For instance, when a fight breaks out in a bar, there’s no Mark Wahlberg look-a-like to rescue the damsel in distress. Second the sound of flesh hitting flesh is repulsive and meaty. There are no wooshes or bangs or ka-pows. Nope. It’s just disgusting.

I cringed at the smack and crashing of a fist meeting the face of my date. That’s right. I always picked the best of the best when it came to dating and tonight was no different. Todd, who had blood dripping down his eye, chin and nose, had made the bold decision to ask me out. I’d accepted, like a fool, and would live to regret this night for all eternity.

“Where is my money, Todd?” The broad-shouldered man with a beard longer than my hair pummeled his meaty fists into my date’s face. “Where the feck you keepin’ it?”

No response. Burly Guy didn’t like that. He grunted, swung his arm back past the table and hit Todd square in the nose. What happened in my past life for me to witness this?

No one got up to help. No one moved. They all watched with half-smiles on their faces and I knew in the pit of my stomach I needed to get the hell out. Like, ten minutes ago. I slowly slid my trembling hand into my purse to find my phone, but Mr. Burly heard me. He whipped his face toward mine, the terrifying glint to his eyes making me gasp. I gulped, the fear suddenly very real.

“You know this fecking asshole?” he barked at me. Countless gazes followed his voice and now stared at me. They wanted a show and I was so not the person for the role. My chin trembled as I shook my head.

“N-n-no. I j-just met him tonight.” I clutched my phone to my chest. I would use it as a weapon if necessary, although I had no fucking clue what damage I could do on this beast of a man.

He ran his fat tongue over his lips and studied me. I stood stock-still, my spine straight as a rod. “I think it’s time for you to go, doll. My boss ain’t gunna like me lettin’ ya leave, but your blonde hair don’t fit in here. Get the feck out and don’t come back.”

I nodded, glancing one more time at Todd. My gut screamed to get out, but I had been raised Catholic. Do I leave my epic failure of a date to get killed? Do I call the cops?

Mr. Burly thought I took too long and put his grimy fingers around my wrist. I squealed, yanking it out of his touch.

“Get gone, girl.” He kicked open the door and threw me outside. I stood on a rundown street with one streetlight working correctly. The others flashed and made a high-pitched buzzing sound that sent chills down my spine. “Fuck. Fucking. Fuck.”

I called my best friend with shaking fingers and snot running down my face. Oh, did I mention I had blood on me that wasn’t my own? I gagged, looking at the splatters. The phone rang and rang again. I loved Callie to death, but if that bitch didn’t answer right then, I would get her for it. Big-time. Because what the fuck? It appeared the downward spiral my life had begun a month ago still had a way to go before hitting pure rock bottom. Nothing topped this story, as long as I got home alive.

“Give me my fecking money!” A booming voice traveled through the closed door. My longtime sixth sense had sent warning after warning all day and I’d chosen to ignore it. This is my own damn fault.

I gripped my phone tighter and took a deep breath. Count to eight. Make a box with your breathing. It did me no good and my fingers still shook. After three failed calls to Callie, I called the other number I knew by heart. Aaron Hill answered after the first ring with his obnoxious and playful voice.

“G-spot, what’s crackin’? Finally calling me for a booty call?” His voice had the power to make me smile and roll my eyes simultaneously. This was not that time.

“I need you to come get me.” My voice shook as the shouting picked up. Why had I let Todd convince me this place was cool and a ‘real biker bar’? Standing alone on the dark country road made it feel more like a place where girls went missing than a legit biker hangout. I fell for it. Dumbass.

“Where the hell are you?” His good-natured tone shifted and I imagined his steel eyes going dark. “It’s past midnight. Shit, G, are you alone?”

“Uh, pretty much.” I sent him the address while still on the phone. “I texted you the place. I’m calling in my favor.”

“Jesus, Greta.” He let out a string of cuss words. “Why the fuck are you all the way out there?”

“A date gone bad.” Shame filled my chest, regret chasing it. The feelings had my throat closing. Tears weren’t far behind.

“Goddamn it. I’m on my way. Stay on the phone with me. I swear, I’m going to wring your neck. I hate this shit.” A door slammed—he’d just gotten into his car. After a minute of silence, he sucked in a breath. “Are you at Dirty Matt’s? Please say no. Tell me no, right now, Greta.”

The neon signed mocked me, Dirty Matt’s, blinking over and over. “I’m at Dirty Matt’s.”

“Jesus Christ.” His deep voice got so low, so calm, I made a vow to end all my plans for dating. His anger and disappointment in me were well deserved.

I gulped. Ever since my childhood best friend Callie had found love the year before, I’d wanted to try it. She’d fought it, but seeing how damn happy she had been all year and how she’d grown into herself had motivated me. I was damn happy for her and in no way jealous. I just yearned to have the closeness she had with her boyfriend, Zade.

Okay, so all the longing and searching had led me to a series of bad, awful and miserable dates. Not one had clicked. Not one had ended with the promise for more. And, not one has ended with a guy acting like a gentleman. Apparently, I had a stamp on my head that read, I tend to date losers. And, now, I could add I dated felons. It was the only explanation I could muster why Todd had brought me here, and why they’d beaten the shit out of him.

“I’m twenty minutes out and I’m beyond pissed at you. You know the rep this place has? Do you?” His deep voice held nothing but rage and worry. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I had known about the reputation, but I’d wanted an adventure. Todd rode a motorcycle. He had tattoos and looked as good as sin. I wanted, even an inkling if possible, of the happiness Callie felt. Is that so bad?

Yes. I shivered.

Aaron’s shaking voice pulled me from my self-pitying thoughts. “Greta! Did you know and still go there?”

Shit. He was past mad. “Yeah.”

“Why? Tell me why. I know shit hasn’t been great for you recently, but stop with this self-destruction crap. I can’t watch you do this.”

The squealing tires informed me he was close. His dark SUV sped down the road on a mission, the headlights showcasing how wretched this place looked. He pulled up to the spot right in front of Dirty Matt’s and threw open his door. He stormed out, his anger evident on his handsome face.

“Aaron, look—”

“You asshole,” he said, yanking me into his arms. “You worried the hell out of me. I lost ten pounds on the drive here.”

“Aaron,” I managed to squeak out before he pressed my face into his chest. “I’m okay.”

“Just, let me be.”

So, we stood like that for at least three minutes. His ridiculously large frame towered over me, but not in the way Mr. Burly back there had. Aaron was different. His body was sculpted from hours and hours in the gym. My arms barely fit around his middle, but I tried anyway. He squeezed me one last time and broke our hug. His gray eyes still held on to some anger, but relief took over. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, G.” His lips turned white while he glanced at the sign. “Now, get in the car.”

I obeyed, not foolish enough to piss him off even more. He opened the passenger door and glared at me until I buckled myself in. Without a word, he shut it and pinched his nose walking to the driver’s side. His cologne clouded the car, the pleasant aroma of wood and leather comforting my nerves.

My body shook, the adrenaline wearing off. Aaron must’ve seen, because he turned on the heat despite the high July temperatures. I understood him well enough to let him stew. We had been close for over two years, but last year things were different. His dad being diagnosed with cancer had made the Aaron we all knew and loved change and we had grown closer and closer. Callie was my girl for life, but I couldn’t envision a future without knowing Aaron would be there. He understood me, respected me and pushed me to be better. He was allergic to feelings and emotions while I was forever giving up on men. Our friendship worked.

He drove the silent, dark path back to campus, one hand on the wheel and the other repeatedly making a fist. I blamed myself for his anger. He had enough to worry about and now picking me up… Remorse filled my chest and my eyes stung. “I’m fucking sorry. I’m an idiot. I don’t know why I went there. I wanted to have an adventure or something.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip, keeping his expression blank. Shit. Instead of remaining silent and letting him deal with it, I’d decided to ramble. Rambling was a favorite sport of mine and I couldn’t stop.

“He had a motorcycle…”

“I thought he would be a winner…”

“I want what Callie and Zade have…”

“I didn’t realize he was a felon or something and would get the shit beat out of him…”

“I had no fucking clue I would get manhandled…”

“Excuse me. What did you just say?” His jaw tightened.

“I didn’t have a clue—”

“No. You said manhandled. Someone hurt you?” His grip on the wheel tightened and I swallowed, loudly.

“Not hurt, no.” I tucked my arms further into myself. A bruise had already formed and Aaron was in no state to know that. “Forget I said anything.”

“I swear to God, Greta.” He pulled off the road and stopped the car. He shook, his large frame tight with pent-up rage. I wanted to crawl into a hole. Pissed-off Aaron could scare the boogeyman into retirement. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Are you hurt?”

About the Author Jaqueline Snowe lives in Arizona where the ‘dry heat’ really isn’t that bad. She enjoys making lists with colorful Post-it notes and sipping coffee all day. She has been a custodian, a waitress, a landscaper, a coach and a teacher. Her life revolves around binge-watching Netflix, her two dogs who don’t realize they aren’t humans and her wonderful baseball-loving husband.

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Whisper by Ellen Mint – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Ellen Mint who is celebrating the recent release of Whisper, the third book in her Coven of Desire series. Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card!

Hot? Check. Romantic? Double check. Alive? Well…

Balancing school, work and two boyfriends is draining enough, but Layla is drowning in her witchcraft duties—literally. Monsters that she has to stop are flocking to her city and she thinks she knows why. But her impetuous incubus and winsome werewolf don’t believe her wild theory.

Spring break gives Layla time away from anatomy tests, but sends her to the public library in her quest to uncover the truth about the elusive Mr. White. She doesn’t know where to start until a mysterious stranger drops a book at her feet. Curious about the attractive man with a punk edge, Layla tries to chase after him, only for her hand to go straight through his shoulder.

Daniel Lu is not the drop-dead gorgeous librarian helping wayward students. He actually dropped dead five years before Layla was born. This wayward ghost forced to haunt the library needs her help to find his killer. Hunting down that man that shot Daniel thirty years ago leads Layla on a wild chase through the city and into the sights of a creature that could kill her with a snap of its claws.

She’s willing to risk it all to help the charming and well-read Daniel even while Ink laughs at her caring about a ghost. What kind of fool would fall for someone who’s little more than a whisper in the dark?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, the death of minor characters, injury to main characters, a scene of near-drowning and gun violence.

Enjoy an Excerpt

A cross March wind sheered through the air and straight up my skirt. I latched onto the hemline to keep from flashing the world and stumbled. The back of my ankle twisted, causing the side of my foot to touch the frozen, drink-splattered cement. Disgust crawled up my spine from who knew what was sprayed outside the club buzzing with college students about to flee town on spring break. I tried to contort my body to gain my balance, yank my foot off the ground, and somehow keep my foot as far from me as possible.

The neon lights of a dancing horse outside the Gallon Stallion blurred into warp lines. That vomit and urine-soaked ground I’d tried to avoid rushed up to meet me. I foresaw a broken nose in my future. Hands unnaturally warm in this unforgiving night’s chill wrapped around my waist.

I didn’t just stop falling—I righted onto my stilettos while blinking in surprise. The hands became arms winding around me and hot breath curled around my ear. “Beware the terrain, there is treachery in the air.”

My skin shivered from the heat of his body caressing mine. March’s unforgiving cold tried to break in between us but he rarely left any room. Shaking my head, I tried to fight off the sexual hunger of my personal incubus. It was like attempting to battle a ten-story lizard with a French fry.

Falling into a warm, clean bed with Ink brushing his fingertips over every inch of my skin sounded better with every frost-tipped breath. Heat finally wound its way down my thighs, and I turned to face him…when a car turned and slowed.

The jet-black Mustang was a few decades out of date but kept in great condition. It shone like an oil river as it stopped right beside me. The dancing neon horse galloped on the hood while the driver rolled down his window. A face eclipsed by shadow called out, “Layla Leeland?”

“That’s me,” I said, my heart racing. Was this one it? I glanced back at Ink, my partner in more than one sense.

While I was freezing in my dress that was too tight thanks to lots of study nights plus pizza, Ink showed no signs of the cold. He’d dressed in his usual crimson shirt and black slacks, but left the top three buttons undone. On his shirt. Not that it’d take much to get his pants opened.

As I leaned closer to Ink, the driver suddenly called out, “I only take one passenger!”

I nodded hard to my incubus. He clasped his hands around mine and tugged me closer to whisper, “Are you certain?”

Only one way to know. Taking my purse from Ink, I said to the driver, “No problem.” To Ink I added, “I’m certain you can find your own way.”

“I have been known to improvise a time or two.” His wavy black hair caught in the wind, aiding in the nonchalant air projecting off him. But in his eyes, fire flickered against the amber irises.

With a set in my shoulders, I opened the backdoor of the Mustang. Water dribbled from the upholstery, drops striking the dry blacktop. I slipped into the car and closed the door. It surprised me to find the dry leather caught my nearly exposed ass, but I was grateful to be out of the cold.

The Mustang roared to life. With the edge of my vision, I watched Ink pass by. For a moment, black wings of shadow trailed behind him.

Stop worrying, Layla. You’ve been through worse. Standing outside clubs until two in the morning for starters. I rubbed my legs to try to get some life back.

“Any chance you could turn the heat on back here?” I asked.

“Sorry, lass. Heater doesn’t work,” the driver called. In the rearview mirror, I could only see the lip of a cap tugged tight over his eyes. The rest of his face hugged the shadows even as streetlights buzzed past. “You use DriveDrop a lot?”

I checked my phone. The screen was fully cracked, not from attacking witch hunters or even werewolf claws but from my keys rattling around in the same pocket. A dozen other ride-share apps were open, all waiting for pickup. I quickly closed each one while smiling. “No. This is my first time.”

“Good. Good. You go to university?”

His accent flitted in and out like a brush fire he couldn’t quite stomp down. I moved to put my phone in my purse when a text message popped up from Calvin. He was worried. “Huh? Uh, yeah. I’m a nursing student.”

“Oh, so you like saving people?”

“As many as I can.” There wasn’t time to soothe my beast boyfriend. Slipping the phone into my purse, I glanced out of the window. I hadn’t been this far downtown in months, maybe years. In my younger days, I’d have thought nothing of staying up till two, four, even six in the morning.

God, I sounded like a decrepit crone at twenty-five.

A hair caught against my neck and I absently moved to scratch it, when the driver’s head snapped up. In an instant, I remembered what I’d hidden under my full hair and dropped my hands to my lap. Nothing pierced the shadows of his face but a tongue the driver drew across his open lips. They didn’t move as he asked, “You from here? Got a lot of family?”

The only family I knew of was six feet under in a random cemetery. I wound up in this city because it was where my life stopped, thanks to a reckless driver. Biting my lip to keep the roiling thoughts at bay, I glanced up at the shadows in the mirror. “No.”

Only the salivating tongue lashed through the air as an answer. A force rocketed me up out of my seat, the wheels striking something hard. It sent my purse tumbling, and the edge of my book poked from the folds. My spell book. Shit.

I raced to cram it back in to try to hide it. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Piercing through the shadows of the drawn hat, the driver’s eyes focused on me. Did he see the proof I’m a witch?

A low chuckle rose, his laugh matching the rumbling of the road under the tires. When did the car speed up? The city’s streetlights were a myopic blur. Instinctively, I locked my hand around my purse and held my breath.

“Wh…?” The architecture’s all wrong. My brain screamed that fact at me as I stared up not at the seventies cement apartment buildings that made up my neighborhood but at warehouses. The driver rammed the Mustang up a ramp. It sent me flying skyward again. “Where are we?”

“Packing district, I think. Lots of unloading and the like. Not an easy place to find,” the driver said.

Only the stretch of the half-moon reached through the cold March sky. The city lights faded to a blotchy gray behind us. A pounding began in my heart, one I’d come to recognize as my innate warning system. I had to get out of here. This was stupid. What was I thinking? I wasn’t ready to…

The car swung a turn and ahead of us rested the choppy, endless depths of blackest ink. A single buoy cast a red light from the tip, revealing the rolling waves of the great lake we were driving straight for. “What are you doing?” I shrieked, clamping onto my purse.

His laugh shifted into an unholy whinny. The engine roared, shooting us up a pile of pallets at fifty miles an hour. They crunched under the wheels like the bones of children in a cauldron. I gritted my teeth, my soul wrenching at the sound. A steel barrier wrapped around the dock, trying to keep the lake life away from dry land.

It didn’t even give the madman pause. Giggling in glee, he rammed straight into the barrier. The iron ripped in half as we flew into the air. I lashed a hand out to try to catch myself. The palm planted onto the back of his seat, my nails digging into the headrest, when the whole car splattered into the freezing water.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed and reached for the door handle. I heard the sound of the car being put into park, as if it mattered while we sank into the lake. Water seeped up through the floorboards, its icy grip stabbing into my bare toes. I tried to pull away, when I realized my feet were trapped. The soles of my shoes were glued to the floor. Every time I tugged, nothing happened. Not even the carpet would come up.

“Sit back, don’t struggle,” the madman said calmly.

No fucking way was I going to let him drown me. I moved to yank my foot out of my shoe when I realized the hand on his headrest was glued down too. An unnerving warmth pulsed against it, like a heartbeat inside a whale.

With only one hand left to me, I wrapped it around my wrist and tried to pull. All it got me was a slow laugh from the maniac. “I got a bad feeling about you. If’n we’d met in person, I’d ha’e sensed it. Technology. The great equalizer, eh?” He waved his phone in the rearview—which was when I realized the mirror dripped green slime. My reflection faded to a bubbling mass of mucus.

“Oh, god!” Water washed up to my knees. My skin ached from the cold, but I couldn’t do anything. My legs were trapped, my hand stuck, and freezing cold water was going to drown me.

“Told ya not to fight it. Makes the meat all tough.” He smiled, this time revealing his teeth below the hat. They were serrated like a shark’s. “Just let it go. Sit back and wait for the inevitable.”

“Fuck you!” I shouted and reached for my purse. Damn it. It too was glued to the sinking car. Water seeped up over the seat, waves rushing into my purse. I didn’t care about my phone, but focused on the only means of escape—my book.

“Whatcha doing there?”

“Ending you.” It wasn’t that great of a line, rendered toothless as the car buckled to the right. My book tumbled from my bag, the front page stuck to the gooey seat. Now I could feel the tendrils of the creature suckering to the whole of my back. Why did I wear a backless dress?

Straining, I tried to reach for my book even with my hand and feet trapped. The creature laughed, all semblance of his human shell fading away. A full whinny, high-pitched and squealing like nails on a chalkboard, erupted from the monster.

“What are you up to now, witch?”

What was I? I needed my book. It was the only way to… Water swept up my chest, the cold punching into me harder than a fist to my ribs. All breath fled my lungs in an instant and I blanched. Hold it. Hold it for as long as possible.

Sucking in air, I glared at the creature taunting me. It’d reformed to nothing more than a swiveling pillar of green goo, but that jaunty newsboy cap remained. “Do not fight the inevitable.”

“Why are you doing this?” I shouted, as if knowing why the monster wanted to kill me would help stop it.

The green blob split apart and elongated to a horse’s mouth. It opened wider, drawing me to the razor teeth bursting from inside. “To survive. You humans have such delectable organs. It’s cruel of you to keep them all to yourself.”

“I think my liver’s quite happy where it is,” I said, only for water to rush into my mouth. Straining, I tried to tip my head back, but it sent more waves up my nose. A choke burst from my lungs, spraying the swallowed lake water at the monster.

It shook its deformed horse head but didn’t let me go. Why couldn’t all these damn creatures die from the common cold? Not about to give up, I tugged on my seat one last time. But there was no escape.

Tipping my head back, I pulled in the last of the air I could and sank under. Sound dulled. The beating of my panicking heart overtook me. I’d hoped—once under—he’d let go, or his glue would dissolve, but no luck.

“Abandon your struggles, witch,” the creature taunted. His words didn’t slip from the horse’s mouth now submerged, but reverberated up my skin attached to the seat and into my brain. “The water will cascade down your lungs and I shall feast on your corpse.”

No!

About the Author: Ellen Mint adores the adorkable heroes who charm with their shy smiles and heroines that pack a punch. She recently won the Top Ten Handmaid’s Challenge on Wattpad where hers was chosen by Margaret Atwood. Her books, Undercover Siren and Fever are available at Amazon as well as a short story in the Lucky Between The Sheets anthology. Married, she lives in Nebraska with her dog named after Granny Weatherwax. Her hobbies include gaming, painting, and Halloween prop making. The basement is full of skeletons because they ran out of room in the closets.

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Justified by De’Nesha Diamond and Briana Cole


Justified by De’Nesha Diamond and Briana Cole
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp
Genre: Contemporary, Mystery/Suspense/Thriller, anthology
Rating: 4 stars
Reviewed by Ginger

BLACK AND BLUE by DE’NESHA DIAMOND
In one shattering night, Charlie Warren’s fiancé is killed, she is attacked—and then framed as part of a police cover-up. Five years later, with nothing to lose, Charlie is free and vengefully exposing their operation, provoking their enemies—and turning the officers against each other. But when a detective gets way too close, Charlie has to decide between getting ultimate justice . . . or going down in a brutal crossfire of betrayal.

PSEUDO by BRIANA COLE

To elude an abusive ex, Kennedy stole several other women’s identities. Many new—and luxurious—lives later, she’s one of the best con artists in the world. But now one of those women is dead—and Kennedy is in the crosshairs. She’ll need to pull off one crucial, flawless deception before a merciless adversary takes her, and her glamorous unreal life, out for good.

BLACK AND BLUE by DE’NESHA DIAMOND

Charlie Jean Warren, has lived a full life. She followed in her family’s footsteps in completing a military career and now she’s obtained her nursing degree. It’s finally time to settle down with her high school sweetheart Hennessey Rawlins. What could go wrong on the night that Hennessy proposes?

Everything. That night changed her life forever. Hennessey is killed and Charlie is attacked. Charlie can identify the attackers but instead Charlie is framed as part of a police cover-up and ends up doing five years in prison.

I finished this story in two settings. The action and shootout scenes I can visualize as they are played out. Readers will quickly find out the reason behind the feud between King Kong and Ramsey Holt. The author created an entertaining read as readers follow the drama and suspense to find out who was behind the hit on Charlie and Hennessey. It was hard for me not to feel for the character. After being helpless and feeling hopeless Charlie’s display of strength is courageous. I enjoyed how the author made the lead character so real. None of the things she did were planned but after knowing who she couldn’t trust I can understand her desire in taking the opportunity to find out the truth and also get revenge.

I appreciate the short scenes between Charlie and Hennessey’s look-a-like. The author gave just enough bedroom scene to make the character seem real and human keeping with the mission and not watering it down with romance. The bond between Charlie and her sisters was inspiring. They cared about their sister but didn’t truly understand the impact the loss of her fiancé and unborn child had on her. Charlie’s heartfelt words spoken to her sisters helped them understand her need for justice. ‘Our lives mean something. Hennessy’s life meant something even if he wasn’t perfect. Even if he was guilty of some of the things they accused him of in court. He didn’t deserve to be killed on the side of the road as if he was trash.’

In this compelling story that I enjoyed, Charlie’s justice was justified. The author wrapped it up nicely and explained who was behind the hit and exposed the dirty cops for their greed.

PSEUDO by BRIANA COLE

The excerpt says ‘To elude an abusive ex, Kennedy stole several other women’s identities.’ Sounds interesting enough for me to read. But the story is more about a greedy uncaring individual that wants what is not hers. She was not likable and as I was reading I was hoping she would find the error in her ways and correct her lifestyle. If the author’s attention was to get the reader to dislike Kennedy, it worked. I did not like her at all, not one bit. If you are looking for a book about a strong woman that has overcome her struggles this is not it. I didn’t understand her motive for stealing innocent women identities to take their money and mess up their credit. I can understand hiding from an ex but hiding in the same town you grew up in, just didn’t seem like the wises of places to hide. There are several loop holes and a lot going on in such a short amount of pages but I’ll focus on the overall story and what I think the author was trying to say.

The author did have an interesting plot in mind and I was able to follow along. I rated half a point higher because I do like the idea the author had in writing the book. I think I was so bothered by Kennedy’s actions that I didn’t give much attention to who was committing the murders. So the half a point for suspense and the author does have a talent for telling a story.

I’m still trying to piece together Benji’s part in the book and the family tree of Lewis, Kennedy’s first husband. Also, I’m not sure how this story fits in with the title Justified. I didn’t find anything justifiable about any of it.

Finally, even with those listed reservations I mentioned above, I found this was a well written story. I was still intrigued to see what lengths Kennedy would go to next, and the story kept my attention and managed to deliver an unpredictable ending.