TELL TALE TUESDAY: Kaizen! That’s what Caitlin, JJ, Paul, and Tommy need--to change for the better. TEN YEN TRUE BY AMANDA ARMSTRONG AND CHRISTINA ST. CLAIR

Title: Ten Yen True

Author: Amanda Armstrong and Christina St. Clair

Email: mandyy@btinternet.com; christinastclair55@yahoo.com

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: www.roguephoenixpress.com

Amazon: Barnes & Noble

Kaizen! That’s what Caitlin, JJ, Paul, and Tommy need--to change for the better. When they each mysteriously receive one of four ten yen coins, none of them know or understand why or where their journey is about to take them.

Ten Yen True intertwines the lives of four people, all of whom have need of one another to bring about healing and wholeness and are being mysteriously helped by a Japanese monk. It is a story of hope, love, forgiveness and miracles, exploring the spiritual and psychological underpinnings of the main characters, demonstrating the interconnectedness of human beings.

EXCERPT

For many years the Monk sat beside the Ajiike pond in the early morning, as he did today, breathing in the peaceful settings of the Pure Land gardens. He inhaled deeply the fragrance of jasmine and lotus. The cool morning air refreshed him, soon the sun would rise in the sky and the day would become increasingly hot and humid.

Sometimes his meditation took an hour, maybe more, but always he sat here away from the others. Ordinarily he felt at peace with nature and with the world. Today, however, was different. Something churned inside him, causing his usual calm to be replaced by sorrow, making him feel restless and helpless.

He was angry at the awful atrocities of nature so recently bestowed upon his people. The tsunami, that powerful wave from a sea gone wild, was not so unusual here in Japan. This one had snatched away thousands of people, young and old, innocent babies and little creatures alike, leaving whole villages crushed. It seemed incomprehensible to him. The wave had severely damaged the nuclear power plants, but the damage from leaking radiation could not even be seen. No wonder he found himself questioning the unknown and unpredictable forces of the world.

In spite of his balanced spiritual state of mind, there was something more he did not understand about this latest tragedy. His wisdom and experience had taught him long ago the gods have a purpose and it must be accepted. However awful, it must never be challenged. This unrest in him refused to go away today though. He felt as if he were being confronted with an obligation to discover the reasons why the gods had become so angry.

Was this a test, a task? Desperately, the Monk tried to calm himself, struggling with the angry thoughts swirling around in his brain threatening to cut his conscious mind into shreds. What did the gods want of him?

A sudden breeze blew across the pond, startling the Monk. He smoothed his grey robes around his legs, wishing he could help even a few of the people in more tangible ways than merely through prayer and funeral rites. His eyelids closed. He resumed his steady breathing, trying to focus his mind within the chamber of his heart, trying to still the darts of anger. The sun's warmth upon his face belied a bone chilling cold creeping up his spine. Shivering, fearful, he looked skywards at rolling black clouds.

Hearing the swishing of robes, he turned to see a small dark boy standing behind him. He looked deep into those young black eyes and breathed in sharply, giving a slight nod to the child, indicating permission to communicate.

The boy knelt before the Monk, his head bowed, hands together in respectful prayer.

The Monk put out a gentle hand and placed it on the shaven head of the youngster. He closed his eyes, concentrating on giving spiritual energy and wisdom to this young one, but he felt power emanating from the child into his soul as well.

A roar of thunder came from the darkened skies and seemed to vibrate through his mind and his body. Lightning flashed striking the pond, igniting his awareness. At once, the Monk understood. He knew what he must do. He held out his hand to the boy, who wordlessly reached into the obi around his waist and handed the monk a silk pouch. The Monk knew without looking what was inside. Coins. Lucky ten yen pieces for those who received them. The recipients, though, would not understand or appreciate the gift they were going to receive.

The monk lowered his head, watching the boy slowly backing away, bowing until he disappeared behind sheets of rain splashing into the pond.

The Monk ignored the droplets streaming down his face and soaking through his robes. He carefully untied the drawstring of the pouch, emptying its contents into his hand: one, two, three, four coins. The Monk sighed. There would be four people he must select. He looked towards heaven and nodded to the gods. He slowly rose to his feet and waded through the pond's lapping waters on his way to Phoenix Hall. His feet hardly caused a ripple in the puddles, but his robes, like wicks, sopped up moisture, making him aware of his weighty responsibility. Amida, he knew, sitting calmly on his dais, his golden face shining expectantly awaited him.

MYSTERY MONDAY: As an old monk comes to the end of his life, Amida bestows one final task upon him. TEN YEN FOREVER BY AMANDA ARMSTRONG

Title: Ten Yen Forever

Author: Amanda Armstrong

ISBN: 978-1-62420-189-9

Genre: Spiritual Thriller

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 4

Buy at: Rogue Phoenix Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble

As an old monk comes to the end of his life, Amida bestows one final task upon him.

Too weak to perform this himself, the monk enlists the help of his little apprentice, Akira, passing four miraculous ten yen coins on to him. Though confused and uncertain of what he must do, this task takes Akira across the Pacific to help those that need saving and those that didn't even know they needed saving. As dark forces threaten them, Holly, Paul and Tommy must once again trust in the miracle of the ten yen coins. This is the sequel to Ten Yen True where the monk brings healing to westerners he has never met.

EXCERPT

He stopped by the Uji River, gazing out at the little fishing boats bobbing gently atop the water. The sky, so recently filled with dark storms was now clear and calm and the light from the full moon created silver ripples in the water and shone off the nets cast out. He saw the distant figures of fishermen hauling their catch in.

He felt inside his jeans, carefully taking out the money that he began to count with shaking hands. He felt shame he had taken a stash of money from the old monk's wardrobe, but he assured himself it was the right thing to do if he were to help his friend and mentor.

"Anata wa otokonoko nē!" Hey, you boy! The sudden shout from the river made him jump. He gasped, his heart in his chest, preparing to run.

"Matsu!" Wait! A slight figure waved from a fishing boat.

The young boy stuffed the money back inside his pocket and began to run. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed the man had given chase and was climbing the banks. The boy picked up his pace, panting for breath as adrenalin and fear surged through his body. I must get away! Determination made him run faster still. If I'm caught, I'll surely be taken back to the temple, they'll find out I took the money and send me to prison! And without me, my master will die!

As his mind raced, he failed to notice the little tree stump in his path and he fell to the ground awkwardly, his heart sinking and tears stinging his eyes.

He looked up at the man approaching him who was heavily gasping for breath.

"Anata wa bujidesu ka?" Are you ok? The man wheezed, his hands on his knees as he tried to regain his breath.

The boy sat up, hanging his head between his knees and began to cry, desperation weighting his body, yet strangely, no more fear.

"Chotto, sore wa daijōbuda, nakanaide." Hey, it's ok, don't cry. The man crouched down beside him and gently patted his shoulder. "My name is Haruo."

Sudden warmth crept through the boy's body as if just this human touch had ignited his heart. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his jacket and tentatively turned his face toward the man, blinking in the darkness. The crinkly eyes and wizened face that smiled reassuringly at him reminded him of his master, albeit a younger version, and the boy felt relief flood through his body -- a feeling of safety suddenly overcame him.

"Why are you out so late?" the man asked.

The boy, suddenly realizing his task and the essence of time, began to cry again.

"Come." The man pulled him to his feet and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders.

The boy shrugged him away. "No, there is no time!" he shouted.

Confused, the man raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

The young boy realized he might as well tell this man. After all, he may be able to help him; if not, he was going to take him back to the temple anyway. What had he to lose?

He began telling him the story from the beginning. Of how the old monk had saved him from the Tsunami. How he had waded out to him and dragged the door with him clinging on top into the shore…

He took me back to the Temple in Uji, clothed me, fed me and healed my physical wounds. He tried to comfort me through my grief at the loss of my family, but I was angry and, I feel, so was he. He taught me meditation, explained that whilst I may never understand, I should try and accept.

Each day we would go together to the Ajiike pond and meditate. Eventually a sort of peace did settle within me. My master then told me to pray to Amida for my family, gone, but not forgotten and for the other poor souls, dead and living after this awful disaster.

"And now my master is dying!" The boy looked up at the man, anguish in his eyes.

"But he is an old man," the man explained gently. "It is his time."

"No, no! You don't understand!" The boy was agitated now, scrabbling in his pockets for the coins. "He gave me these coins. They are special."

ROMANCE SUNDAY: Miss Patricia Mayfair is a wealthy, orphaned Regency bluestocking. MISS MAYFAIR'S DILEMMA BY K. G. MCABEE

Title: Miss Mayfair's Dilemma

Author: K. G. McAbee

ISBN: 978-1-62420-060-1

Email: kgmcabee@gmail.com

Genre: Regency Suspense

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level:

Buy at: Rogue Phoenix Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble

Miss Patricia Mayfair is a wealthy, orphaned Regency bluestocking. While in London for the Season, Miss Mayfair spends more time buying books than ribbons, to the despair of her more conventional friend. Begrudgingly attending a dinner party, Miss Mayfair meets Lord Andrew Aragon, who fancies himself tired of London and the ton and never expects to fall instantly head-over-heels. But Lord Andrew is a notorious gambler, and Miss Mayfair has vowed she will never marry a man who indulges in such a vice. Can the leopard change his spots or the rake his habits?

EXCERPT

"My dearest Patricia, you must allow your hair to be done, I vow, or you will never be ready in time, and I don't know what Sir Everard will say," muttered Leticia Warren around a mouthful of hairpins that threatened to impale her plump cheeks with every word. A silver-backed brush hung from one delicate, rounded hand, shining bright against her pale green silk skirts.

            Patricia Mayfair looked up from the book that engrossed her to the exclusion of all else--a most common affair with Miss Mayfair, as any of her friends would swear--and gave a distracted smile in the general direction of her companion.

            "My dear Leticia," Patricia replied with a cheerful, mocking grin, "as I have been invited to the beautiful Lady Christabel Russell's house, no one will notice whether I have hair or not, much less how it is arranged. So settle yourself, do, Letty, and let me finish this chapter, I pray you."

            Leticia gave a sniff which spoke volumes then waited with exaggerated patience, tapping one tiny, slippered foot on the rosy Aubusson carpet. A cheerful fire burned in the grate, warming the high room, even though two windows were open to the fresh air. As fresh as one could expect, at least, in London, Leticia thought with another metaphorical sniff.

            As if hearing this unspoken comment, Patricia said, without lifting her eyes from her book, "Letty, we've only got another week in London. Do try to enjoy it, won't you? Why, any other girl your age would be in raptures over the experience."

            Leticia cast a glance out the open window, where the setting sun was casting its last benevolent glow upon the great capital city, and gave a slow, sad shake of her head. Her dark brown hair was smoothed back into a tidy bun, with no tendrils allowed to escape from their careful bondage, and her bright brown eyes suffused for an instant with unshed tears. She pulled a dainty lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at one moist eye in an irritated and peremptory fashion. The desired effect was somewhat ruined, sadly, by the cluster of hairpins still in her mouth. She removed them with what dignity she could manage.

            "He's probably missing you as much as you're missing him, you know, my dear," said Patricia, her eyes still on her book. "And he couldn't leave, not while the corn needs getting in, nor would you wish him to, so there now. Do dry your eyes, my dearest, do."

            Leticia Warren wandered across the room and plumped down on the low settee that stood before the window. She cast a wondering glance towards Patricia, still reading--how does she always manage to know what I'm thinking, she wondered idly--and gave herself up to thoughts of the stalwart young gentleman farmer who would soon claim her for his bride.

            Some moments passed in glorious silence, as each young lady was engrossed in that which pleased her most.

            At last, Patricia shut her book with a satisfied nod. "There now, Letty, chapter all done. My head is at your complete and total disposal, to do with as you will."

            Letty rose gracefully from the settee and pattered across the carpet to pounce on the proffered head. She spent some enjoyable moments running the horsehair bristles through the shining masses of dark auburn curls and twining them about each other, jabbing hairpins in place with a determination that would have graced a general.

            "It is a fascinating book, I take it?" Letty asked as she maneuvered a particularly recalcitrant curl into proper position with the ease of long practice.

            "Letty, you're as little interested in books as I am in having my hair done," Patricia laughed up at her companion and friend. "A good thing for your Thomas, no doubt, since you'll be a treasure for him about the house. Indeed, you'll be as useful as I would be a burden to a husband."

            Letty smiled at the mention of her betrothed, dropping a hairpin onto the thick carpet as an evidence of her delight. "Well, I do know a bit about running a house, and that will be of benefit for him," she simpered to herself and her friend in the silver-backed mirror. Then the expression on her pretty face changed to one of concern. "But I'm sure that you'll find a man who is reasonable about your books, truly, Patricia. Do not worry about it, my dearest."

            Patricia laughed as she regarded her friend's intent look in the dressing table mirror. "Do not let it put you into a pother, Letty, my dear. As you know, I have all the money I'll ever need, and a husband is the last thing on my list of bits and bobs to acquire."

            "But, Patricia," said Letty, stopping her ministrations in mid stroke, "of course you must marry. Why, what about children?"

            "Children! Why, what about them, Letty? Useless, puling, distracting things, and besides, they'd get in the way of my studies," said her friend then relented at the expression this remark drew on the rosy face above hers in the mirror. "Now, Letty, don't frown at your old school chum so, pray. Why, look at what it does to your pretty brows, dragging them together like a witch's. Thomas will give me a sound thrashing for vexing you, you know, and more importantly, you'll get wrinkles."

            Letty allowed herself to be cozened out of her frown. Then, finishing her hairdressing in record time, she stood back to admire her work. "There, Patricia, I'd vow you couldn't have received better from a professional hairdresser, be he French at that."

            Patricia eyed herself in the wavy glass. She knew herself to be no beauty in the current fashion, which was all for slender elegance, golden curls, trailing draperies and pink cheeks. Still, the dark reddish tints in her thick hair brought out answering tints in her deep brown eyes, and her olive complexion looked well against her simple, white, Empire-style dress, with its low cut neck, short, puffy sleeves and long, narrow skirt.

            "Well, Letty, once again you've worked your miracle. I shan't make anyone run screaming in terror, at the least, though I would far rather be wearing my riding habit or some comfortable dressing gown. And perhaps I'll be lucky enough to have someone to talk to at a private dinner such as this, instead of these endless balls full of vapid young lords or bluff army men with ruddy faces and thick hands, all talking at the tops of their lungs about horses and shooting."

           

           

           

            

SCI/FI FANTASY SATURDAY: From the instant Lyn saw Deacon McClain across a black jack table in a crowed Las Vegas casino the unmistakable attraction sent Lyn’s senses flying into overdrive. SWEET TALKIN SUGAR BY CHRISTINE YOUNG

Title: Sweet Talkin' Sugar

Author: Christine Young

ISBN: 978-1-62420-243-8

Email: achristay@aol.com

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 4

Buy at: www.roguephoenixpress.com, Amazon

Barnes & Noble, All Romance ebooks

Lyonesse McKenna, was dreaming or was she? From the instant Lyn saw Deacon McClain across a black jack table in a crowed Las Vegas casino the unmistakable attraction sent Lyn’s senses flying into overdrive. Her family of shapeshiters believed in soul mates. She’d always been sceptical yet she couldn’t help but question the way her heart sped when he looked at her.

When Deacon appeared in Las Vegas he knew his first job was to save Lyn from a Sea Demon, but the next order of business was to convince her he would someday mean more to her than she’d ever expected. But her stubborn nature and unbendable spirit consumed Deacon...and he had to chase away all the demons real and imagined in order to win her heart.

EXCERPT

In observation mode, he walked through the casino, hands in his pockets, listening and watching, his heart racing. Before the blackjack table at the end of the row, he paused to reflect and decide on a course of action. The air inside was sultry, hot and smoke-filled. He swept one hand through his damp hair, fresh from a summer rain. He forced his mind from the heat and the rancid smell of cigarettes, and with single-minded focus, stared at the table and the cards lying innocuously on the green felt.

The picture of cool calmness, she sat on a bar stool, a drink in hand and cards in the other, her legs crossed provocatively. Her daringly cut emerald V-neck dress didn't leave much to the imagination, but he forced his gaze to the man beyond who stared at her as if he owned her. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end and a chill slivered down his spine, nerves on edge, muscles tensed. His brows furrowed when the man turned his attention, for one brief moment, his way.

The dealer gave her another card and she tipped one corner up to look at it then let it go. Her body language spoke volumes to him and he wondered if the dealer noticed too. The poker face she so obviously tried for was something she'd never possess.

Deacon McClain paused before settling on a bar stool across the table from her. He waited for the last hand to finish before placing his chips in front of him and nodding to the dealer he was ready to play. His fingers closed around his glass of whiskey as his heart thundered in his chest. She glanced his way, inquisitively cocking her head to one side before slanting him a sexy-as-hell-grin.

The grin sent a message that nearly catapulted him from his seat. Inhaling a deep breath to calm his splintering nerves, he turned his attention back to the cards he'd just been dealt. Not good, not good at all, he motioned for another, then sat back and gazed at Lyonesse. Lyn McKenna, the woman he'd been sent to find and bring home. He'd never believed this gig to be an easy one, but now he felt sure this might be his most difficult assignment of all. Her easy grin sent his heart into a tailspin and her long shapely legs were hard to ignore. What would happen if she gave him her full attention?

He'd lose all sense of perspective and balance.