#RomanceSunday #TheTalisman

The Talisman by Christine Young

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level:

Buy at Amazon

This is a wonderful tale, full of action, emotion and a bit mystical at times. Enjoy this one.

Maura
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More 4 Cups

Blurb: The Talisman

The Talisman

Running from a marriage that lasted one night, Dr. Moriah McKeown discovers the land she has settled on is coveted by determined and lawless men. Yet the proud young woman who once vowed never to abandon her home has second thoughts when her adopted children are threatened. Her only recourse is to enlist the aid of a dark, dangerous gun for hire. 

Haunted by the past and a betrayal he will never forgive, Ian Civanovich uses his fast gun and his reckless courage to forget the faithlessness of a woman in his past. He will trust no female--nor will he rest until the threat hovering over Moriah McKeown is put to rest.

EXCERPT: The Talisman

Buffalo Creek, 

South Dakota 

1895

Hot, dry air scorched the prairie grass. Sweat slid along his spine. Danger clung to every whisper; seemed to swirl and grow with each passing second. Ivan Civanovich watched the woman below. With deadly purpose, he studied the lady who had hired him--the woman who had bought his gun and perhaps death.

"Reckless courage," Ivan mused. 

"Si Senor, she does have what you call a great courage, but I don’t know about the reckless part. She is always so very careful," Pedro said. 

"I’m a dangerous man, Pedro." 

"This is why she hired you."

"The lady has no business hiring men like me. She’s a woman. She is supposed to nurture lives."

"She needs you to keep the bad men from taking the land away--our home," Pedro said.

Ivan pushed the tip of his hat back from his brows. From his vantage point, he considered the woman while she hung the freshly laundered white sheets on the line. A strange shudder swept through him, his muscles tensing with the sudden feeling he knew this woman, had known her forever. The sensations were too strong, the feelings too acute, and it troubled him because knowing her was impossible.

Her hair, a wild mop of red curls, battled with the stiff, hot wind rising off the prairie. The breeze and her hair flowed in undulating currents between the lines, threatening to tangle themselves in the wire. She bent over at the waist, giving him a perfect view of her backside while she toyed with something on the ground. Seconds later she picked up the object of her curiosity, turned it over in her hands then tossed it aside.

He didn’t like to think about what could happen to her in the next few weeks. She’d advertised for a gun for a hire. She didn’t know what she bargained for, and he’d bet his inheritance she didn’t have any idea what kind of trouble she’d purchased. 

When she looked up the hill, his grin widened. She couldn’t see him, but her shoulders tensed and she sucked air. Her hand touched her forehead, shielding her eyes from the blinding sunlight. She scanned the horizon, turning a complete circle before she stopped.

"Good," he said, "she is cautious." 

"She knows someone is up here," Pedro announced. 

"She’s got more starch in her drawers and the stiffest backbone of any woman I’ve ever seen." Ivan whistled through his teeth, his eyes intent and focused upon the woman.

"Si." Pedro agreed. "She sure enough does but her heart is made of spun gold."

Ivan wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Beads of sweat dripped down his back. His gaze swept across the barren landscape then followed the line of trees that bordered the creek. He lifted the glasses to his eyes and turned his attention to a spot about a mile north of her ranch. The railroad wanted easement rights. So why wouldn’t she sell to them. "Spun gold, huh." He dropped the binoculars, letting them dangle from their strap around his neck.

"Si, boss."

"I see." Ivan leaned forward, resting his forearm on the saddle horn.

Ivan wasn’t sure he understood. Women had a lot of fine qualities, many of which he didn’t want to live without but a soft, feminine heart shouldn’t be deciding life and death matters. 

Spun gold.No, he’d never met a female with a heart of gold, spun or otherwise. He’d never known a woman who wouldn’t betray a man for a piece of gold. Save one, he amended, and his best friend had married her. Alexi Popov had his trials too. He had kidnapped Angela and spirited her away to his home in the Crimea. In the end though, he gave up his title, his land, and most of his wealth for Angela. He followed her back to America and married her.

This is a wonderful tale, full of action, emotion and a bit mystical at times. Enjoy this one.

Maura
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More 4 Cups

#OnceUponAnAustinNight #Action #Adventure

Title: Once Upon an Austin Night

Author: Danile Lance Wright

Genre: Action/Adventure, Thriller, Romance

Book Heat Level: 3

Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble

Read first chapter

TAGLINE

Carlee Cayne has another chance at love, but a dangerous situation must be dealt with first.

BLURB: Once Upon an Austin Night

Carlee Cayne’s career in the U-S Marshal Service suddenly becomes fraught with more danger than she bargained for. Forced to shoot and kill a drug cartel leader’s brother puts a target on her by the vengeance seeking kingpin. The promise of another chance at love comes along with the appearance of Lincoln Bridger in her life. He shows her the way to a better, and safer, existence. But first, she and best friend Dixie Vega have dangerous business to tend to before that can be possible. She must stop the relentless stalking by the revenge-seeking drug lord, Rogelio Ortiz.

EXCERPT: Once Upon an Austin Nigght

Lincoln was already at his car with his keys out unlocking it. He saw Carlee abruptly stop beside her car, her eyes followed a dark colored SUV with blacked out windows driving into the hotel parking lot off the street very fast, screeching tires, driving directly for where Lincoln stood.

“Gun!” Carlee shouted as loud as she could. “Get down, Linc!”

Lincoln looked to the vehicle across the top of his car to see what she was yelling about. He saw a rear darkened window going down. The short barrel of a gun emerged into the illumination of the pinkish sodium vapor parking lot lights.

The rattling pops of automatic gunfire sounded off. Bullets ripped holes through the other side of his car.

His first panicked instinct was to run. He turned to do just that when he heard Carlee yell, “Damn it, Linc, get down!” He jerked his head around to see her sprinting high on her toes toward him.

Another staccato rant of gunfire came his direction.

He dropped to his stomach and looked across underneath his car. He saw Carlee carrying her gym bag, unzipping it on the run. She retrieved a pistol in a holster from it and dropped the bag on the fly. She then threw the holster off the pistol, racked the slide, chambering a shell, and fired three fast shots at the driver′s side of the windshield on the SUV. “Stay down, Linc! Don′t get up!”

The rattling trill of automatic gunfire again ripped through the night. This time, not at him, but from the opposite side of the offending vehicle toward Carlee. He saw her dive and roll out of the line of fire behind a parked car. Her head and gun arm emerged seconds later from behind the front end of another parked vehicle. She squeezed off three more quick shots. He heard a heavily accented voice from inside the SUV yell, “The bitch shot me! Let′s get out of here! Drive! Drive!”

The vehicle smoked its rear tires on the way out of the parking lot. Carlee sprang up from the safety of the vehicle she had crouched behind. She squeezed off three more parting shots, hitting the rear window with all three, as the vehicle screamed off down the street at high speed. She immediately spun around and ran for where Lincoln lay beside his car.

“Linc, are you okay!” she was shouting as she rounded the rear of his car.

Lincoln pushed himself to a sitting position and scooted back to lean against the car. “I think so,” he replied and then held both hands out. They were shaking. “But, I may need to change my underwear.”

Carlee drew a breath and blew it out as her body slumped forward, adrenaline charge leaving her in a sudden rush. She stepped next to him, backed up to his car, and oozed down to sit beside him. She pulled a cell phone from the side pocket of her jeans and dialed 911.

As she offered as many details as she could to the dispatcher, Lincoln thought about what had just happened. It occurred to him, for better or worse, the two of them had quite suddenly become more than friends. The thought came heavily tinged with fear. They were now bound by circumstances, lives inexorably linked for the foreseeable future. It did not take Sherlock Holmes to see this was likely a retaliatory thing for the shooting of Manuel Ortiz. Lincoln wondered if they would soon make another attempt. It seemed likely. It also seemed obvious to him, whoever was in that black SUV was going after someone she cared for, and that happened to be him on this night. It spoke to the cartel’s ruthlessness. They wanted her to see a friend or relative killed. Whoever they were had no way of knowing he and Carlee were mere acquaintances.

Another thought quickly moved in. It would now be impossible to keep Carlee a secret from Jeannine or her parents. It would be on every local news channel all day tomorrow and, possibly, a couple of network news sequences. There could be live bulletins going out tonight, due to the use of fully automatic weapons within the city limits. Television stations may determine it to be a public safety issue. It made him uneasy to think his wife and her parents would easily learn of the attack and that he and Carlee had been together. After a few seconds, his mind eased, when he considered Jeannine′s likely tryst Fitz told him about. He became conflicted. Should he even care what they thought? He and Carlee escaped harm. That′s what was important. He assumed Jeannine would be relieved that he was safe. What the hell am I thinking? I can′t assume that at all.

Blog URL:

daniellancewright.blogspot.com

Facebook page: www.facebook.com/DanielLanceWright

Twitter handle: twitter.com/dlw1150 

#Friday'sFeaturedTitle #FragmentsUnderGlass

Title: Fragments Under Glass

ISBN: 978-1-62420-256-8

Author: C. Rebecca Siegel

Genre: Historical/Holocaust

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble

TAGLINE

Fragments Under Glasstells in a moving way the experiences of a young, teenage 

Girl—her life before, during and after the Holocaust.

BLURB

Living among corpses…a death train destined for the Elbe River…bodies covered with lice…the murder of almost all close relatives…life in the Netherlands before, during, and after the Holocaust is perceptively written by Rebecca Siegel. She not only describes her experiences, but also delves into the effects of that period in time on children, grandchildren and mainly herself. The book touches on her years in the Montessori School in the same class with Anne Frank and her survival in the same concentration camp where Anne died. Interspersed with the prose and at the end of the book are Rebecca’s poems which she wrote not long after the war and which are relative to her narrative. This book is highly recommended reading for adults as well as teens, giving a deeper understanding of that horrendous time period and its after-effects. 

EXCERPT

Slowly, the evening was getting colder and darker. During this part of the day, surroundings seemed alien, losing the proper size and shape necessary for recognition, and faded into one, ominous-looking shadow.

I concentrated on trying to get some sleep, making myself as small as possible in an attempt to fit on the narrow, slatted luggage shelf suspended over the seats of the passenger compartment. This ledge had been my wooden perch for the past week. No, it had only been six days and five nights of riding and standing still.

Ours was just one car within a train made up of cattle and passenger cars, a long, slow-moving snake containing its wretched load of about twenty-five hundredprisoners.

Time had lost all meaning. We had left the camp on April 6, and now it was April 11, but my body felt as if it had always been twisted in this strange position, contorted in an effort to fit the narrow ledge. I attempted to stretch and look down. On the wooden bench below sat my mother, quiet and unmoving, next to my brother. Eddie, just eighteen, was very ill and seemed to have a high fever. His weight had dwindled down to about eightypounds.

Many years later I would remember this moment very clearly, standing out in my memory as the last part of a nightmare that had finally, necessarily, given way to the relief of waking.

The very last car of the train was filled with explosives, anti-aircraft artillery, and the German guards who had been with us sine we left the Bergen-Belsen camp. They were no longer yelling and cursing, and their relative silence was unusual, even though we could hear from far away the faint noises of artillery fire. We realized we were caught between two fronts: The Russians were coming from the east, while the Allies were advancing from the west. Suddenly, the German army was desperately fighting on both battle grounds but seemed unable to contain the advancing armies.

Looking out of the window, I strained to see the vast, empty grassland at my right. At my left, at the bottom of a hill, was a lake. We had been standing still here for at least two days, the last forty-eight hours of a journey which had taken us through a devastated Germany. The train was static during the day and traveled mainly during the darkness of night. German pride did not allow us to observe their bombed-out railroad stations and devastated cities in the stark light of day. As usual, the Germans had an indisputable method to their madness.

This night, though, was different from the previous ones. I remember the time as a night during which I was more petrified than ever before in my fifteenyears of life. Clearly, the train with its pitiful human cargo had been doomed from the start. Our final destination was to be the bottom of the Elbe River in East Germany. However, the Russian forces had crossed the river and, with the Allies advancing from the west, we had been brought to a standstill.

The German soldiers on guard had made desperate attempts to destroy us at any cost. They had activated the explosives at the back of the train, setting them to go off in the middle of the night, thereby blowing up the train and passengers. Our night was filled with overpowering fear. We were waiting and waiting and expecting every second to be our last. Hours and minutes did not pass by, only one terrifying moment after another. We prayed silently, thought about what might happen, and reached a point where a kind of numbness set in. Then, we thought about nothing at all.

There's no more shadow I can see.

Only my thoughts I hear

The daylight slipped away from me

And suddenly there's fear.

I'm sure my life will stay this way

My reaching out in air;

No easing up, no carefree day,

No one with whom to share.

Why so much night to stumble through?

Praying, praying, relief will come;

I'm more than tired, nothing else to do

Where did the morning go?

Slowly the morning dawned. I looked around at the skeletal forms of the somewhat healthy, the sick, the dying, and the dead, and experienced a burst of euphoria at the certain knowledge I was still alive and part of the community. No German guards were to be seen any longer. They had fled, and somehow the explosives had been deactivated.

At this point, we could have just walked away, but nobody moved. Most of us were too weak to walk any distance. Besides, where would we have gone in the middle of a country whose aim for the last decade had been to wipe us off the earth? Who would help us? So, we waited while listening to explosions in the distance.

We had no food, but after almost two years of constant hunger pains, starvation had become part of our existence. Medicine was not available to relieve the pain of the open, festering sores thatcovered our emaciated bodies. We felt no shame. Whenever the train had stopped, we (or at least those among us who could still walk) had used the outdoors to relieve ourselves. The sick and the dying had been continually denied a gulp of fresh air. They were still lying in their own excrement and did not realize their condition.

Hours passed, and nothing meaningful happened. To me, it seemed I had always lived this way: hungry, dirty, sick, and degraded. Maybe if I had been an adult when the war broke out in 1940, if I had been in possession of a mature value system, it would have been clear to me my situation was abnormal, that these conditions were inhumane. However, I had only been tenyears old in 1940, a mere child, receptive to the pervasive climate ofslow, persistent degradation. Just looking at myself, I felt so very inferior. Five years had passed, and I had not grown, mentally or physically. Whatever feelings of self-worth I might have had were gone. I had become wise beyond my years in the ways of cunning, cheating death, and maintaining the ability to look into hell with a blank mind and soul.

Suddenly, in the early afternoon, we heard sounds of nearby motors. In no time, we were surrounded by strange-looking square automobiles driven by black- and white-helmeted soldiers. Those of us who could, gingerly left the train to greet our American liberators. They had stumbled upon our train by chance, and to them we must have been a pitiful sight to behold. Mother and I talked to the first soldier close to us. Not being able to vent our thankfulness any other way, we asked him for his autograph. The only paper we had left was my father's photograph. The soldier wrote "C.Meeuw, Pennsylvania." I still have this photograph. Amazingly, I recently found out one of the American soldiers who liberated us was the father of my daughter-in-law.

The Americans immediately went to work to create some order out of the chaos they discovered. The ambulatory among us were put on trucks and driven to a nearby village. Each person or family was taken to a different German house. Mother, Eddie, and I wound up as the unwanted guests of the village baker. He was ordered, and grudgingly agreed, to put the largest bedroom at our disposal. That night, we slept peacefully. Our painful bodies were supported by a soft mattress and covered by eiderdown comforters. Even the omnipresent lice did not bother our sleep.

#Storm'sPassion #HistoricalRomance

Title: Storm's Passion

The fifth book in the Twelve Dancing Princesses Series

ISBN: 978-1-62420-143-1

Author: Christine Young

Email: aandcyoung@aol.com

Genre: Historical Romance

Excerpt Heat Level: 2

Book Heat Level: 3

Buy at: Amazon,

REVIEW: Storm's Passion

Reviewed by Kinky Vanilla

http://www.kinkyvanillaromance.blogspot.com/


By all accounts, Storm Graham is brazen, strong-willed, and beautiful. She despises her father and loves her horses. So when Storm discovers that her father has signed a contract that forces her (and her horses) into the hands of one of the region's wealthiest and most despicable bachelors, she does not take it lying down.

After evaluating her options, she determines that her best bet is to convince the region's wealthiest bachelor to marry her. She believes that Hadden Johnston's money and power can protect her from the evil clutches of Charles Robertson (and his father). In return, she can offer her interest in the family's horse and brewery businesses. The problem? Hadden and Storm are merely business acquaintances and neither is really interested in getting married. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Storm has nothing to lose by proposing marriage. Well, maybe a little pride. And Hadden knows all too well the ugliness that lurks in Charles' mind. How could he not try to intervene on her behalf? Combine that with the sparks of attraction between Hadden and Storm, and you'll end up with a marriage of convenience that had me wanting my own Hadden. 

"This is an outrageous game you're playing Miss Graham. But I do understand how loathsome marrying Charles would be. I wouldn't wish it on my best friend and for some reason I've a need to protect you." -  Hadden Johnston

Rich, powerful, and cruel, Charles is also not one to take things lying down... 

Storm's Passion is a fast-paced, easy-to-read novel. I read it over a weekend. Luckily for us readers, the marriage turns out to be more than Hadden and Storm bargained for. They have a chemistry that is fun to read and watch grow. Storm isn't the stereotypical damsel in distress. She is a heroine that you really get behind and pull for as the story plays out.

I think that Storm's Passion is a great choice for people who enjoy historical romance stories. I must admit, I was a little thrown off by the book cover at first. It didn't really scream historical romance to me. But don't let all that hunkiness fool you. The book is set in England in 1818.

I look forward to reading more of Christine Young's work.

Blurb: Storm's Passion

SHE MADE A PROPOSAL...

Life strikes Storm Graham a shattering blow when she learns her father has bartered her to a man she detests. Storm is beautiful, self–assured and fiercely independent, and refuses to be a pawn in her father’s schemes, yet she can find no way out of this bargain made in hell. Going on the offensive she asks the wealthiest man on the eastern coast of England to marry her, never believing she might fall in love. 

HE TRIED TO REFUSE...

For Hadden Johnston life has provided everything he ever wanted, including a sanctuary for homeless children. He is wealthy, handsome and happily unencumbered...until stunning Storm Graham marches into his life and proposes a marriage of convenience. Yet this type of marriage to a woman who inflames his senses is far from acceptable. If he’s going to be tied down, he will move heaven and earth to have this woman warming his bed.

EXCERPT: Storm's Passion

“Did you or did you not set out to seduce me?” he queried, laughing a bit inside but relishing her innocence.

“Yes, yes I did,” she told him.

Her honesty might just be his undoing. “What if I told you your plan was a success? Consider me thoroughly seduced and ready for your next plot.”

“Oh, I don’t have one.” She lowered her lashes before looking back to him.

He bent over and kissed her, their lips melding together. Take it slow. Don’t scare her. You don’t want her to tell you to stop.He groaned, bloody hell that would be hard. For a moment, he wished she did have an agenda because he bloody well wasn’t sure about his.

His tongue traced the seam of her lips, parting them slightly. They’d been down this road before, and he hoped she remembered the other kisses, sweet poignant kisses but innocent as hell.

Smiling when he heard a tiny moan of pleasure, he deepened the kiss. His hands around her waist, he pulled her closer, and the feel of her breasts against his chest sent a funnel cloud of heat coursing through him.

Sensations so deep he’d never felt anything like these flowed inside. Spreading his hand on her back, he waited for another response as his tongue reached inside her mouth, tasting her, exploring.

She ran her fingers through his hair then tugged his head closer before releasing him and their first contact.

“Is this how seduction feels?” Her warm breath feathered across his cheek.

When he looked down, he saw breasts and shadowed, titillating cleavage. Deep evocative sensations pulsed through him. He moved his hand from her waist across her bared shoulder, the contrast mercuric. The urge to dip his finger into the valley between her breasts overpowered common sense. She’d purposely designed the dress for him, for his touch. She was lush and ripe, and he realized she was not protesting as he had expected.

.

#StarCrossed #Fantasy #HistoricalRomance

Star Crossed

Christine Young

achristay@aol.com

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 2

Buy at Amazon: 

Ireland in 1817, when tensions are high between Protestants and Catholics, faey people guide the fate of villagers. A lovely Catholic lass stumbles upon the weakly ritual fisticuffing between Irish lads. She falls into the lap of a handsome young Protestant. Family ties, grudges, and two conniving faeries threaten their budding love. But the faeries outsmart themselves when they hijack a time machine that has mysteriously appeared in their forest.

EXCERPT: Star Crossed

The heat from the afternoon sun felt wonderful--enchanting--dreamy. When she tried to sit up, the earth whirled around her again. She wanted to feel indignant but she'd brought this on herself. She didn't quite understand why she wanted to convince this arrogant oaf she wasn't a little girl.

"You mind telling me why you tackled me?" he asked.

Casey turned her head to look at the young man. He leaned on one elbow, nonchalantly plucking a blade of grass and sticking it in his mouth. His dark black hair appeared rakishly windblown and his grin was bordered by dimples on both sides. She had the craziest urge to reach up and trace the line of his lips with her finger.

"I don't believe in fighting," she said. "It's absolutely stupid for the bunch of you to come out here on the Sabbath and fight when the rest of the week you are all bosom buddies."

"Stupid, you say?" he queried. "You dare to call me stupid?" he laughed and extended his hand. "Let me help you up. I don't think I'm ready to meet your dah with pistols on the dueling field. So I think I'd best be seeing you home."

An inferno swept through Casey. She didn't know if she still reeled from the impact or if the dizziness was something else--something magical--something supernatural. When he looked at her, she trembled and her face heated. She touched her hands to her cheeks. They felt cold and clammy. Afraid if he touched her again she might melt, she stared at a puffy cloud floating whimsically overhead.

He bent closer to her. The scent of mint filled the tiny space between them.

"You all right? Did you hear what I said?" he asked, touching a finger to the pulse throbbing at her neck. She tried to bat his hand away even while her heartbeat pounded faster, and she couldn't inhale a decent breath of air.

"Stop it," he said, and paused for a moment in his assessment of her health. "I think you will live."

"Of course I will and I can find my own way home. I'm eighteen. I turned two months ago."

"That old?" He laughed and she wanted to escape. Yet some little demon inside told her he was the last person she wanted to hide from. She felt as if her body had been taken over by something unearthly, something mysterious or filled with enchantment.

"You're going to have a black eye," she said and touched the bruise forming around his eye. "Does it hurt?"

"Come on, lass," he said still holding out his hand and sidestepping her question.

"You're ignoring me," she told him, getting up without accepting his hand and dusting off hers on her skirt.

"My apologies," he laughed, bowing slightly laugh lines crinkling his brow. "It only hurts when you remind me of it."

"Then I won't be reminding you," she said quickly.

"Casey," her brother said as he rounded the top of the hill. "You coming or do you mean to dawdle here all day?"

She jumped and pressed her fingers along her skirts to smooth them all the while feeling not a wee bit guilty, but a whole lot guilty. And I have nothing to feel ashamed of. "What are you doing here? I thought you left me to fend for myself," Casey said feeling a moment of loss at the thought her brother would be walking her home and not Kelly.

EXCERPT

Casey pushed on the green grass, trying to unwind herself from the man beneath her, but fell again. All right, Casey lass, you're in a heap of trouble right now with no way out. You are seeing the earth whirl and tumble around and you're on top of a brute of a man--a Protestant.

"All right, lads, we'll meet here next Sunday, same place, same time," her brother's voice filtered through the air as if it floated in the fog that surrounded Casey.

Once again she pushed on the damp grass and didn't seem to make headway, her arms feeling as if they'd changed to soggy twine. Don't you abandon me, Patrick O'Connell. You know I have the Devil's own luck. If you leave me here, I'll never forgive you.

"What about Casey?" one of her brother's friend asked. "She looks a little worse for the encounter."

"Do you think we should leave her here--with Kelly?"

"He's a right stand-up guy. Of course you can leave her here. We'll see her home," a Shaunasey said.

"Well, Kelly is a fine bloke. He won't hurt her. In fact with my feisty lil' sister involved, I fear for him--not her," Patrick said laughing. "She'll do as she pleases. She always does. How can I control her when father cannot? She does not need a second father." He shrugged his shoulder and looked behind him at his little sister as he strolled down the hill.

"She's hurt," another friend called after Patrick. "What kind of brother are you?"

"One who is tired of looking after an accident prone little lass. She has to take responsibility for herself sometime, does she not?"

"She is that," one commented. "You rescue her night and day."

~ * ~

"You should have blessed her with a wee bit o'Irish coordination," Oran said dryly as he flew to a hovering position near the girl.

"And you should remember what our blessed mother told us, 'if you cannot say anythin' nice, don't say anything at all'." Moya rose above the flower petal, her wings buzzing with her anger toward her brother.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't the truth." Oran whistled out of tune for a moment. "We could kidnap them."

"And that is your solution to everything?" Moya pointed one finger at him and shook it. "Why, Oran, I believe you may fancy the lass for yourself. I will not have it. Go play your tricks on someone else's charge. She is mine to see to safety and long life. And don't be forgettin' the lad is yours to watch over."

"You best stem your anger, Moya. You're wings have turned golden," Oran said with a hearty chuckle.

~ * ~

"Let Kelly handle her," Casey's brother said with a light chuckle. "He lost and so he must deal with the object of that loss and assume the consequences. It's only fair."

"Hey!" Kelly said, "Don't leave me here with your sister. It will be hell to pay. She's a little girl. What will your father say?"

The others laughed. "Just don't take too long to decide what to do with her. Little girl or not, father will come after you with his pistol."

I just turned eighteen years old--little girl--how dare he…

"Bloody hell, Patrick. What are you thinking?" Kelly cried out.

"I'm thinking the Catholics won this fight. What are you thinking?" Patrick turned his back on the pair and whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled down the hill.

"Revenge will be sweet. Next Sunday…" Kelly shook his fist at the departing back of Casey's brother.

From what seemed like a great distance Casey heard the moan emanating from inside her battered and bruised body. She squished her eyes together, wishing her head didn't pound so fiercely, and the ground spin so wildly. "Who are you?" she whispered next to the man's chest while a soft spring breeze whispered against her heated face.

"Who am I?" the man chuckled. "Lass, you are the one who landed atop me. I should be inquiring into who you are? Only I know." His hands rested around her waist and squeezed as if he were testing--perhaps exploring--entirely inappropriate. Yet for some strange reason, Casey didn't mind the supposed to be unwanted attention."And I don't think your brother should have left you here with the likes of me. I'm afraid I've landed myself in a dangerous predicament. And I'm thinkin' one that will be very hard to explain."

"Shame on you," Casey said. "You take liberties." The words stole her breath and she had to lean on Kelly once more in order to minimize the pounding of her head and the strange feelings emanating from where his hands were.

"I only want to remove you from--my--ah--person. And if I were taking liberties with you, lass, you'd be near swooning with passion."

"Ah, it seems you are a wee bit arrogant," she opened her eyes and gazed into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. "The color of a summer sky," she whispered to him, still feeling woozy and not quite sure what he'd just told her--but thinking at the moment something besides the fall caused the earth to spin and the sky to tilt with a crazy, wild abandon.

"What is, lass?"

"Your eyes," she said, struggling against him and finally rolling to the side so she lay sprawled on the grass, staring into the sky she'd referred to a moment earlier and watching a white billowy cloud float past. "I'm not a little girl," she told him. "Don't ever call me that again."

"Then you want me to tell lies?" he asked with a lazy half-smile that stole Casey's heart and left her floundering. "I dinna think I can do that."

"It isn't a lie," she said, trying to sound indignant, yet frustrated beyond anything she'd ever felt before.

#TellTaleTuesday #IWantToHaveTheHeartOfAdog

Title: I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog

ISBN: 978-1-62420-288-9

Author: Genie Gabriel

Genre: Metaphysical

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

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TAGLINE

An intriguingly different look at one woman’s recovery from several lifetimes of abuse, betrayal and violent deaths—guided by dogs whose hearts contain the simple and miraculous knowledge of the Universe.

REVIEW: I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog

I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog

Genie Gabriel

Reviewed by Jeffrey Ross 

Five Starsfor animal lovers! -- a must read about the indisputable connection between people and their dogs...

I want to have the Heart of a Dogis an amazing text. Perhaps it is a collection of significant life history vignettes, stories which show powerful and dramatic moments and events in the lives of the author, Genie Gabriel, and her loving fur babies. Perhaps Heart of a Dog isa powerful Reikie(an ancient method for channeling life force energy for relaxation and healing) manifesto, a calming book that celebrates the spiritual connections between humankind and dogs—and the complex journeys we share daily. This book will make readers smile, laugh, perhaps even weep-- but everyone will come away enlightened and joyful.  All the wisdom and positive influences of the author’s canine friends are "channeled" in each chapter. The emotional and spiritual power of this book is obvious-- and refreshing. Hopefully, each person who enjoys this lovely text will come away with “the heart of a dog”—and a new understanding of life’s ultimate and profound meanings.

BLURB: I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog

One woman's journey that started with murders of passion in an Egyptian-like civilization two thousand years ago. After suffering betrayal, abuse and violent deaths through lifetimes of atonement, she comes to the present day realization that dogs are much more than furry companions. They are protectors, comforters, and teachers whose hearts contain the simple and miraculous knowledge of the Universe—if only we listen and learn.

EXCERPT: I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog

Fur against my face and the soft smell of a dog curled protectively around me existed before my first memories of this life.

Mom used to tell stories of me as a toddler, sleeping with my head pillowed on our Collie's belly; of my brave furry protector forcing an uncle back into his car because I was outside without a parent. Never mind we lived out in the country where only relatives or nearby neighbors came to visit.

Tippy took his duties seriously, and executed them well. For ten years, he was a companion, a pillow, and a protector.

Under this seemingly idyllic existence, something dark was happening to me that my child-mind didn't understand. My ignorance allowed me to form loving memories of my early years with Tippy.

As our beautiful boy neared his transition over the Rainbow Bridge, I caught a glimpse of something I hadn't previously seen in my young life—a look of helpless grief on my stern, stoic father's face. I didn't completely understand it then, but I knew it was somehow momentous. Perhaps there was more to this man than he let us see.

Though I didn't realize it at the time, Tippy was the beginning of my life-long love of dogs, and set the standard for all the furbabies who would be part of my journey.

~ Wisdom from Tippy ~

We will always be with you—your furry angels who you can love and trust unconditionally and feel safe with. Though you won't put this together until well into this lifetime, Collies will carry a special message for you, as do I. You will feel drawn to them, and they will appear at critical times to guide and support you.

But don't overlook the other furries who appear in your life, for they also bring messages—to hope, to play, to love, and to look for the joy in this lifetime. For it is there, sometimes buried and forgotten in the angst of your self-punishment, but it is there. Good-bye for now, my beloved. I will always be available to you and now entrust you to another set of paws to share your journey.

REVIEW:

Title:  I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog

Author:  Genie Gabriel 

Publisher:  Rogue Phoenix Press

Genre:  Non-Fiction 

Length: 108 Pages 

Reviewer: Courtney Rene

Rating:  5 out of 5

I Want to Have the Heart of a Dog was a more emotional read that I expected.  If you have ever had a beloved pet you will want to read this story, but have the box of tissues ready.  When I started reading it, I thought it was fiction.  Imagine my surprise as I made my way through the book and realized no, it is a nonfiction piece about the author.  This book is wonderful in that it gives insight to many dogs and their breeds and maybe their personalities, but it also gives insight into humans and their own nature and needs and shortcomings.  

Aside from the fact that this book did make me a little sad, I was forced to recall my own furbabies that have passed on and how much they were a part of my life and my journey.  The book stuck with me even after I finished the last page.  I have a feeling it will be with me for many days to come.  I can’t say that about many books.  

I am giving this book 5 stars.  I’m usually a little grinchy with stars, but I could not give this one any less.  It was truly an inspiring read.