Historical Fiction Feature: Masquerade Marriage by Anne Greene

A SECRET LIST

He was born to a clan of noted warriors and musicians. Yet to protect his loved ones and escape the dark fate of his brothers, he abandons his identity. Hiding from relentless soldiers who want him dead, he vows to protect the woman he loves more than life, more than freedom, more than Scotland. But his presence throws her into danger.

A VOW HONORED

She weds a stranger to save his life. But do vows make a marriage? When does a marriage become a marriage? What if she holds a different love inside her heart?

A SACRIFICE MADE

Steeling himself against the pain, he condemns himself to a life of heartbreak without her. Wanting her desperately, knowing he can’t have her, he surrenders her and heads alone to certain death. Outlawed, with a price on his head, does she love him enough to give up castle, lands, and family, and risk the agony of surrendering her heart a second time?

Read an excerpt!

Like a determined hero, the fugitive warrior strode through the door at the far end of the tiny stone kirk.


Megan’s eyes widened. Her clenched jaw relaxed. Some of her dread dissolved.

“Impressive.” Molly, Megan’s Irish maid, whispered from where they stood together in the vestibule.

He stopped in front of the hand-carved altar and half-turned toward her. Megan pulled in an uneven breath. This Highlander, wearing formal kilts, was no scrawny lad grown older, nor was he a big, hairy Scot with a bushy beard. The tall, strapping soldier stood with legs braced as if about to do battle.

Her heart skipped. Though she’d known Brody when she wore short skirts, this blond warrior was far more than she expected. Her pulse throbbed in her temples. Doubt niggled her brain. Brody was too tall, too obviously a Highlander. How could she hope to pass him off as a Lowland Laird? He appeared to have too big a chip on his shoulder to let her command him.

Brody’s thick sandy hair swept the collar of his linen shirt. Lace-trimmed cuffs matched the white jabot at his muscular throat. A silver broach clapsed his crimson and black tartan to his wide right shoulder. His Claymore, dirk, and thick sword belt startled her.

Megan suppressed a shudder. The English outlawed kilts. With his dress, Brody spat in the face of the English and further imperiled his life. Why?

His intense sapphire stare blazed a trail across the empty wooden pews toward her. His eyes made her feel dizzy as if she just danced a fast reel with a lively partner.


Molly grinned and handed Megan the bridal flowers.
What had she gotten herself into?

Read the reviews!

"This talented author wove not only a beautiful romance, but also showed us a warming faith of both Megan and Brody."

--JoAnn Carter, author of Daniella

"Anne Greene brings a well-written tale of an unexpected love born amidst the chaos of war and political instability. Kudos to the author for a tale well told..."

--Delia Latham, author of Destiny's Dream

PURCHASE A COPY OF MASQUERADE MARRIAGE FROM WHITEROSEPUBLISHING.COM OR A KINDLE VERSION FROM AMAZON! 

ANNE GREENE delights in writing about wounded heroes and gutsy heroines. She writes both historical and suspense novels. After falling in love with several countries and their people, Anne set a number of her books in exotic locations. She and her hero husband, Army Special Forces Colonel Larry Greene, have visited twenty-five countries, including three communist countries. A visit to Scotland resulted in her newest book release, Masquerade Marriage, published by White Rose Publishing. When she’s not deployed with her husband, Anne makes her home in McKinney, Texas. Two of her four children live nearby. Tim LaHaye led her to the Lord when she was twenty-one and Chuck Swindoll is her Pastor. In 1990, Anne graduated summa cum laude with a Bachelor’s degree in Literary Studies from the University of Texas, Dallas. Her highest hope is that her stories transport the reader to an awesome new world and touch hearts to seek a deeper spiritual relationship with the Lord Jesus.

To learn more of Anne and to view pictures from her extensive travel, visit her at AnneGreeneAuthor.com . You'll find her blog on her website. You can also catch up with her on Facebook at  http://www.facebook.com/#!/annewgreene.

Historical Fiction Feature: Taconi & Claude -Double Trouble by M.E. Finke

Taconi and Claude - Double Trouble - a mid-grade adventure for boys set in the Aussie outback of the 1950’s. Taconi is an aboriginal boy with big Dad problems, a chatty cockatoo as his only friend, and Dreamtime Spirits planning his future.  The magic feather he desperately needs eludes him, while fierv=ce green ats and Fun, danger, and enough yabbies, snake and witchetty grubs to feed any boy.

Read an excerpt!

CHAPTER ONE

Australia, sometime in the 1950’s


The full moon cast a cold light on Taconi’s naked body as four wizened elders pinned him on the ground close to a blazing fire. Sweat rolled off him, and his heart raced the thump, thump, thump of the feather drums: faster and faster.

The Medicine Man slid out of the shadows, a ceremonial spear in his hand. Firelight flashed across the wrinkles on his painted face. His bony old limbs ducked and bobbed to the ancient rhythm of the drums. Eagle, kingfisher, and cockatoo feathers swayed on his headdress. The Old Man plunged the tip of his spear into the flames, holding it there while he mumbled an age-old mantra.

When the tip of the spear glowed red, Taconi’s arms and legs dissolved into mush. There was no escape. The man ceremony was about to claim him. His insides threatened betrayal. N-o-o-o . . . mustn’t pee, mustn’t pee. . .

The Medicine Man thrust the glowing tip of the spear under his nose. Taconi felt the heat, sniffed its acrid smell. The tip sizzled, hovering over his reluctant flesh, poised, ready to burn him into manhood.

The singsong voice of the Medicine Man grew faint. The Old Man’s eyes stared into his, blazing with the power of timeless ritual. The stars—a billion sparkling eyes—whirled overhead, cold and uncaring. Taconi shut his eyes, waiting for his flesh to sear—waiting for the pain.

CHAPTER TWO (beginning)

Taconi held his breath. He waited . . .

When the pain didn’t come, he risked a quick peek. Smoke from the fire blotted out everything except the eyes of the Medicine Man. His burning stare hung over Taconi for a moment, before the smoke claimed him.


Bathed in sweat, Taconi jolted upright. “By Cripes, what’s happenin’?” Relief flooded through him. He was safe in his bed.

Outside in the cool pre-dawn air, Coorparoo Cattle Station’s feathered alarm clock, a sulfur crested Cockatoo named Claude, rasped, “Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine!”

“Crikey,” he muttered. “That man ceremony dream would scare the hide off a croc!” Ever since he found out about his upcoming man ceremony, the recurring dream had haunted his sleep. He glanced at the other bed and frowned. “Bed’s Empty. Dad musta left early for the homestead kitchen.”

He couldn’t understand what drove his dad to cook white folk’s muck for the Boss and the Missus. This was an outback size worry. If his dad got the cookie job, permanent like, there’d be no time for hunting together or throwing the spear. If he was to become a man of his tribe, Dad must teach him these things. The idea of his dad as cookie sat on Taconi’s shoulders like a giant termite mound.

He stared out the small window of the hut he shared with his dad. The vast expanse of Coorparoo Cattle Station waited for the day’s first sunlight. “Coor-par-oo,” he murmured, liking the feel of the word on his tongue. The soft sounds mimicked the gentle call of doves.

Read the reviews!

"Margot Finke has done it again! Her witty sense of humor, unbridled passion and talent to write stories for children and teens shine through like a beacon in the night...I highly recommend this book for both girls and boys. I believe, students can learn a lot about what it means to be loyal and the benefits one can reap from hard work."

--Nicole Weaver, Reviewed for Blogcritics Magazine

"This story weaves Aussie language and vivid details of the 1950's folk tales of Medicine men and primitive tribal living with an adventure that readers will not be able to put down. This story will interest both boys and girls with it's humor, adventure, and the actions of one awesome bird named Claude.


Ms Finke includes a glossary of Aussie terms adding to the overall feel of an adventure in the Australian outback. Wonderful coming of age story with spirit and adventure that no child should miss. I would definitely recommend this for students, teachers, and librarians as a great book."

--Terri Forehand, Reviewed for Stories for Children Magazing and Blogcritics


PURCHASE TACONI & CLAUDE: DOUBLE TROUBLE AT:

Guardian Angel Publishing - http://www.guardianangelpublishing.com/double-trouble.htm

Barnes and Noble - http://preview.tinyurl.com/4fvxtun

Powell’s Books – http://www.powells.com/biblio?isbn=1616331305

Amazon - http://preview.tinyurl.com/4o2bmyk

+ available as an eBook and soon on Kindle


Autographed copies:

http://mysite.ncnetwork.net/mfinke/Margot%27s%20Books.htm#Taconi

Margot’s Magic Carpet - all her books on one page

http://perfectmagiccarpet.blogspot.com/

Margot Finke is an Aussie transplant who writes midgrade adventure fiction and rhyming picture books. For many years she has lived in Oregon with her husband and family.

Gardening, travel, and reading fill in the cracks between writing. Her husband is very supportive, though not interested in children's books . Their three children are now grown and doing very well.

Margot didn't begin serious writing until the day their youngest left for college. This late start drives her writing, and pushes her to work at it every day. Margot said, "I really envy those who began young, and managed to slip into writing mode between kid fights, diaper changes, household disasters, and outside jobs."

"You are my heroes! "

Historical Fiction Feature: The King of Silk by Joe Douglas Trent

Michael reaches for the light switch and chides himself, again. There’s no electricity in the 15th century. But there could be.

A midnight attack on a Manhattan street transports rising corporate finance star, Michael Patriate, to the backwoods of Renaissance Italy. Fearing the brand "witch," he conceals his identity and his understanding of 21st century business and technology. But he can’t check his ambition, the drive which cost him love in the past and threatens to do it again.

He goes from laborer to successful provincial merchant, even moves down the coast to military and trade powerhouse Venice. And the knowledge in his head keeps nagging him.

When he takes shortcuts by introducing new concepts into the silk industry, he hits opposition from powerful elements of a culture which ruthlessly guards the status quo. And when he faces the ultimate adversary, he just may see himself.

Read an excerpt!

The thought came unprovoked.

Wilson.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. Wes “The Weasel” Wilson. Yes, it had to be. With the offer deadline for the PharmaCent-Nussbaum buyout looming, Wilson had moved himself and the Ransel Group into contention through a series of maneuvers Michael gave grudging admiration. Still, the deal was his own to lose.
What had Wilson done? He didn’t seem like a kidnapper, but one never knew how far some people might go to make this kind of money.

Well, the Weasel won’t beat Michael Patriate out of this deal. When I get to a phone, I’ll...

A bird chirped in the branches overhead. Michael eyed the sparrow for a moment and forced himself back to his situation.

How long before dark? He pulled back a grimy white sleeve with “MXP” monogrammed in gold on the cuff. Midnight, the watch said. Late afternoon, the sun contradicted.

Had only twenty-four hours elapsed since he remembered leaving the office? And if this was September, why did the trees and grass boast of new growth? Nothing made sense. What, who brought him this desolate place devoid of people? Why can’t I remember?
Michael sighed. Sitting and thinking wouldn’t get him a drink. He wiped a gritty palm across his sunburned forehead, then held out his hand and stared. He had stopped sweating.
Move.

He forced himself up from the tree root seat and tried to ignore the complaints from his aching joints and sore feet. A squishy twinge on the back of his left heel announced the beginning of a blister. Even at five hundred dollars a pair, these wingtips weren’t hiking shoes.

He limped back into sunlight, onto the clumpy grass growing beside the road. After a few paces his legs worked a little better. Then his situation intruded again.

What happened? Did he get disoriented and drive a hundred miles out in the sticks to run out of gas?

No, you don’t get Alzheimer’s before you’re thirty-five.

Michael realized he had stopped walking and forced his feet back into action.

“This is nuts,” he said aloud. “I’m going nuts.” He raised his head and shook his fists at a raptor soaring high overhead. “Where is everybody?” he screamed at the solitary hunter. Only a buzzing insect answered. He dropped his arms in defeat.

He plodded on, passing a patch of dead grass and weeds left from the previous season. Something exploded out of the brush at his feet.

“No!” He jumped back, heart pounding. The furry creature halted behind a stone twenty feet away and watched him with a sideways, one-eyed look only a rabbit can give.

His muscles tensed. His clenched jaws threatened to pop under the pressure. “It’s...a...bunny.” He held himself in check for a moment, then scanned the landscape around him. What other creatures might rove about, especially after dark?
Launching up the slope with an eye out for movement around him, he felt again in an empty pocket. No Chapstick. No cigarettes. His two comfort habits denied, he licked his cracked lips and tried to ignore the craving in his bones.

Michael turned his thoughts to the coming night. He needed to find food and a safe place to sleep. Panic rose in his chest as acknowledged the absence of the basics of life he had taken for granted for so long.

Desperation returned with a paralyzing grip on his chest. Danger closed in on him from every side. He leaped off the path, toward a line of trees, but the back of his shoe landed wrong on a clump of grass. A searing pain shot through his left heel and robbed him of his alarm.

“Aahh!” Michael dropped to one knee.

He sucked in a breath through his nostrils and popped his foot partway out of the shoe. Careful of the tender spot, he pulled down the sock. The sore had burst and the shoe already worked on another layer of skin.

What else could go wrong? Slowly he let his lungs empty. Think.

He stared at the stinging, mutilated flesh for a moment and reached in a back pocket for the handkerchief that wasn’t there. What could he use for a bandage? He grabbed the pocket on his shirt with his thumbs to tear it loose, but stopped and cocked his head.

Sounds floated from the other side of the hill. Creaking, accompanied by the sound of hooves and a one-sided conversation. The thought of rescue revived him and he drew a breath to shout, but checked himself and decided to get a look first.

He jammed his foot back into the shoe and, ignoring the pain, jumped up and ran, squatted behind a bush and waited.

A horse pulling a crude wagon topped the rise. Four solid wooden wheels bounced along in the ruts, rocking their commander back and forth in his seat.
Michael’s jaw dropped. Was he on a movie set?

Dressed in period clothing from some ancient era, the driver engaged his long-eared companion in boisterous, incomprehensible, accented oratory. His free hand slashed through the air, punctuating his point.

Fear turned to amusement and Michael choked back laughter in spite of his predicament. The wagon clattered by on its way down the hill before he recovered.

“Hey!” He hopped up and chased the strange pair, favoring his sore left foot. “Hey, stop.”

The driver looked over his shoulder with wide eyes, then turned and slapped his reigns at the horse’s flanks. They shot away in a wake of racket of hooves, wheels, and cargo.

“No,” Michael screamed. “Come back.” He hobbled down the hill after the receding wagon, but sucked in a lungful of dust and stopped in a choking fit.

Come back.

Hands on his knees, he watched the wagon go. Then the world did a funny dance and the earth rushed up to meet him.

Read the reviews!

"THE KING OF SILK is a thriller with a sharp intelligence that blends history, mystery and romance adeptly. Joe Douglas Trent is a new voice in fiction to watch."

--DeWanna Pace, GIVE ME A TEXAS OUTLAW, July, 2011

"For anyone who loves time travel and Italian historical fiction, this book is definitely a well-researched winner."

--Historical Novel Review

PURCHASE A COPY OF THE KING OF SILK BY JOE TRENT AT MUSEITUPPUBLISHING.COM OR AT THE FOLLOWING ONLINE RETAILERS:

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004M18XEI

Barnes and Noble: http://tinyurl.com/4ph8b29

Sony: http://tinyurl.com/4t4rmz4

Smashwords: http://tinyurl.com/4maqrlu 

Joe Trent is a writer, just like a lot of others trying to figure this business out.

He's married to his first love, has a couple of great children and a trio of sweet grandkids. He goes to work at a day job and writes in the gaps. He recently celebrated the publication of his novel, THE KING OF SILK. He also amuses himself by home-recording original songs. And He's having the time of his life.


You can find more about him on his website: http://www.jdtrent.com/.

April Historical Fiction Feature: Celtic Knot by Tammy Doherty

When widow Abby Finnegan meets ranch hand Kyle Lachapelle, she figures he’s as deceitful as her family. But Kyle is a Secret Service operative working undercover, and Abby has a disturbing connection to his counterfeiting case. Abby’s protecting her heart while Kyle can’t afford the feelings stirring in his – love is out of the question…or is it the answer?

Read an excerpt!

“Name’s Kyle Lachapelle,” he extended a hand in greeting.

Abby shook it without thought. “Abigail Finnigan, and this is . . . ”

“Your daughter, Millicent.” He interrupted with another grin. “We’ve met, though we hadn’t been formally introduced.”

“I’m called Millie.”

Again Kyle squatted to be at her eye level, and extended his hand to her. “Pleased to have made your acquaintance, Millie. I’m obliged to you for such good advice.”

Millie smiled warmly, liking the feel of her small hand in Kyle’s strong grip. His smile widened and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Millie could tell he laughed a lot by the lines around his eyes that were still there even after he stopped smiling and rose again to full height.

Before Abby could respond to her daughter’s obvious infatuation with this stranger, the front door banged open and heavy foot steps rapidly crossed the store. A small grimace crossed Abby’s face before she could stop it. With a pang of shame she saw that the stranger noticed her sour expression. He turned away without comment.

“Where’s my girls?” a deep voice boomed.

“Boone!” Millie squealed and threw herself at him.

Boone caught up Millie, twirling her about in the open space in front of the counter. He set her down carefully before turning his attention to Abby.

“Abby, I been looking for you this morning. Thought maybe you would like to join me for breakfast.”

“Good morning, Boone,” Abby forced herself to be cordial. It wasn’t as if she didn’t care for Boone, just not the way he obviously wanted her to. “I’m afraid Millie and I already had our morning meal.”

“Pshaw,” Boone dismissed this. “You couldn’t possibly have eaten yer fill.”

For a split second, Abby felt grateful to God. The feeling passed quickly, before she truly grasped it. “Oh, but we did eat our fill and then some. We shared breakfast with the Stantons.”

This time Boone frowned. “The preacher’s family? What you doing over there?”

“Jennifer and Millie are friends, if you must know.”

What she really wanted to say was that it was none of his business.

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw the stranger make his purchase and move to leave the store. He politely pretended not to hear the conversation even though he was less than three feet away. At the same time, Boone became aware of the man’s presence.

“You,” Boone pointed. “You new in town?”

“Could say that,” Kyle answered vaguely.

“Ya’ are, or ya’ could say that, which is it?”

“Both, I reckon.”

“Look, mister,” Boone stood toe to toe with Kyle, their eyes level with one another. “I’m the law in these here parts an’ it’s my job to know about newcomers to town. An’ I ain’t partial to your wiseacre answers.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even, ‘cause I’m not partial to your lewd, nosy attitude.” Kyle held Boone’s gaze, silently daring the other man to make something of his answer.

Boone stared back, unblinking. He wasn’t going to back down from a stare-off, though he was getting a real uneasy feeling in his gut about this hombre. Most cowpunchers either worked for Raymond Bigelow or were just passing through Prophecy. Bigelow hands generally knew their place when it came to Boone Warren. Rambling men were naturally intimidated by Boone’s large size and the way he carried himself. This man was quite obviously not intimidated nor impressed.

Tension thickened the air as each man silently dared the other to back down. Abby noticed that while Boone’s gun rested in its customary place at his hip, the stranger was unarmed. If Lachapelle had noted this fact, he made no sign that it mattered. And though Abby well knew how apt Boone was with his fists, she began to wonder if perhaps this newcomer might be able to best him in a fist fight. She wasn’t willing to find out the answers to any of these questions.

“That’s enough,” Abby scolded sharply. “I’ll not have such a show of childish violence in front of my daughter.”

Even the sharpness in her voice did not break the staring match. Abby frowned and forced herself between the two men, shoving Boone backwards. He broke eye contact with Lachapelle and turned his gaze to Abby.

“I’m ashamed of you, Boone Warren.” Her voice was quiet, yet forceful. “You really must learn your manners.”

He dipped his head as if apologizing, but only to Abby and only for a moment. His anger was barely veiled as he looked again at Lachapelle. “Better be on your best behavior when in my town. I don’t tolerate any hooliganism. Understood?”

Abby snorted but kept quiet. She was relieved when Kyle said, “I don’t aim to spend much time in town any how,” and then moved out of the store. Unfortunately Boone remained, and his attention was once again on her.

“Now, I seem to recall something about school starting up soon. Reckon Miss Millie will be needing a new dress.”

“No, Boone,” Abby hissed. “I will make her a dress. You will not buy her one.”

Millie took in the conversation silently. Her heart leapt at the possibility of a store-bought dress, then fell again when her mother turned down the offer. For now, at least, there would be no store bought dresses. Maybe she could still have the lemon candy.

Boone scowled; Abby glared up at him. This was a new staring match, one they both were becoming increasingly accustomed to. Boone shook his head and moved around Abby.

“Millie, if it’s okay with your Ma, I would be honored to buy you a piece of candy.”

A bright smile split Millie’s face, her eyes bright with anticipation. Abby nodded approval. Millie went straight for the jar of lemon sticks. She took one out and hesitated.

“Would you like another?” Boone smiled warmly. “Go on, take two.” He tossed two pennies onto the counter.

Read the reviews!

"Tammy Doherty spins a western plot that surely rivals its name...I read the page-turning book in two delightful days. I plan to go back and read Tammy Doherty's two preceding novels in the series. If they equal the Celtic Knot, I'm sure I won't be disappointed."

--Melva J. Kinsey, Amazon Reviewer

Purchase Celtic Knot at Amazon or Barnes and Noble!

Tammy Doherty is the author of three inspirational Western romances,Celtic Cross, Claddaugh, and Celtic Knot. She lives on a small farm with her husband of 25+ years and their two children. Besides writing, she also manages the family perennial farm and works in customer service for a veterinary supply distributor. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and is Vice-Chair of the Grace Awards. Visit her online at http://tammydoherty.com/.

April Historical Fiction Feature: A Gallows Waited by Larion Wills

The whole thing was crazy! Tower tried to gun down a saddle tramp looking for work. Instead he lies dying, making Gus hear his confession, swear to care for the man he just wounded, and witness his will leaving half of his wealth to the man he just tried so hard to kill and half to his bride of only a few hours. If all that had not been bizarre enough, the man denies he is who Tower thought he was, and despite all Gus’ warnings, Elizabeth is drawn to the cold-hearted, hate-driven man, saying he is who Tower thought he was. But then no one listened to Elizabeth.

Read an excerpt!

Sitting beside her husband, Elizabeth Tower was staring at the hands folded limply in her lap. Her blond head, hair plaited and wrapped in a knot in the back, raised slightly as the buggy drew to a stop. For just an instant those huge blue eyes, the first thing Gus had noticed about her, touched his and slid away.

“Ma’am,” Gus said, tipping his hat politely and wondering again why she dressed so plain and puritan.

“What do you want, Temple?” Tower asked curtly, jumping to the ground.

“Won’t take a minute,” Gus said bristling at the man’s arrogant tone. “Got a man out back I’d like to put on to tame that filly.”

Tower helped his bride of only a few hours to the ground and then turned his back on her. “Does he have recommendations?” he queried.

“Only what he says he can do.”

“I’ll speak to him.”

“Sir, Mr. Tower, you don’t need to do that, not right away,” Gus said quickly, looking with embarrassment at Mrs. Tower. “Likely you’d want to see Mrs. Tower into the house.” At least that much, he thought, since they’d just come from being married. “He can wait a few minutes.”

“Nonsense. I’ll talk to him now. Elizabeth, go into the house,” he ordered, leaving her without a backward glance.

Gus ducked his head in embarrassment for her, mumbled an apology, then hurried to catch up. When Gus rounded the corner of the house, he was still five feet short of overtaking Tower. Bowman was still sitting on his horse at the corral fence, watching the prancing filly. What happened then happened so fast, Gus couldn’t do anything more than stare.

Tower took one look at Bowman, stopped dead in his tracks, and screamed, “You!” in a voice choked with horror. He clawed for the gun he carried on his hip, and as soon as he had the gun clumsily in his hands, he began to shoot.

His target looked puzzled, then shocked, and then Bowman shot back. Not in the crazy, wild, panicked way Tower emptied his gun but with cool calculation. Only one shot was returned while that nag of a horse stood solid with bullets whipping up dirt between her feet, and she only flinched once when one of them burned her rump.

Bowman’s one shot ended the shooting match, knocking Tower to the ground at Gus’s feet, though Tower’s gun discharged once more as he fell. With the biting smell of burnt black powder in the air, the echoes died away before Gus found his voice again.

“My Gawd,” was all he could say, and since it didn’t seem to be enough, he said it again. “My Gawd.”

“Why did he do that?” Bowman asked, sounding for all the world like he was asking no more than the time of day.

“I was going to ask you that. Don’t you know?”

“I never saw him before.”

“Boy, you better come down off that horse. We’ll have—”

“No,” Bowman said, still soft and low, but with finality. “You saw what happened. You make sure the marshal knows it straight.”

“He’ll want to talk to you,” Gus said, stepping over Tower.

“I don’t want any trouble, so don’t come after me.”

He obviously had said all he intended to say and backed his horse off. That was when Gus realized Bowman still had his gun in his right hand, and to back up his words, it was pointed at Gus. That was also when Gus saw the blood on Bowman’s leg, just above the top of his boot. One of Tower’s bullets hadn’t been wild enough; it had struck flesh and possibly bone.

Before Gus could argue with him, two things happened. First, he realized Tower wasn’t dead, and second, Sweet, whom he’d forgotten, opened up on Bowman. Then Sweet dove for cover and the safety afforded him by a solid barn wall between him and the return fire. A swift kick sent the bay horse into a run, with Bowmen seeking the quickest route out of there.

“You damn knothead, Sweet! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gus screamed in rage, which brought Sweet from behind his shelter with his mouth hanging open. “Put that damn gun away and get over here.”

“He’ll get away,” Sweet argued in bewilderment.

From the ground Tower cried frantically, “Don’t kill him. Let him go. Gus, help him.”

“You just take it easy. We’ll—”

Sweet ran up to them, shouting, “You gone crazy? He shot the boss.”

“He asked for it,” Gus growled.

Read the reviews!

"I couldn't put the book down. It drew me in from the beginning and was a pleasure to read."

--Readers Favorite

Purchase A Gallows Waited from Swimming Kangaroo Books or Amazon.com!


Larion Wills, a multi-genre author, also writes under the name of Larriane Wills. From science fiction to western romances she holds up to her tag of ‘two names, one author, thousands of stories.’ Be sure to read the Little Sam’s Angle, Twisted Wind, (Swimming Kangaroo Books) and watch for White Savage, Tarbet, and Mark of the Sire coming soon from Muse It Up Publishing.


Born in Oklahoma, but raised in Arizona she feels a native to the state and has settled in the high desert country. In a quiet, rural area with a family who tolerates her writer’s single-mindedness, she presents us with a series of unique westerns while still producing contemporary romances, many laced with paranormal settings, all with strong characterizations and suspenseful plots, capable of dragging you into a story in a genre you thought before you didn’t care for. At her website, http://www.larriane.com/ , you can keep abreast of releases under both pen names. You can also visit her online at: http://larionmusing.blogspot.com/ and http://www.Facebook.com/people/Larriane-Wills/1535007230.

April is Historical Fiction Month at Books, Products and More!

April is Historical Fiction Month at Books, Products and More!

In honor of one of my favorite genres, I am hosting a special event in April that features historical fiction books in a variety of sub-genres: romance, westerns, family saga, time travel, children's books, and more!

If you would like to see one of your historical books featured here, please email the following to me at cg20pm00(at)gmail(dot)com. Those are zeros, not Os.

* Book blurb - copied and pasted into an email or in Word format (.doc or .docx)

* Short excerpt (1000 words or less) - copied and pasted into an email or in Word format (.doc or .docx)

* cover art in jpeg format

* links to purchase the book

* author bio written in 3rd person - copied and pasted into an email or in Word format (.doc or .docx)

* author photo in jpeg format

* 2 or 3 review blurbs if you have them

* links to your website and/or blog, as well as to Facebook and/or Twitter

Please put "Historical Fiction Month" in the subject line of the email.

Thanks.

Cheryl