Guest Post: THE SECRET INGREDIENT by Kirsten Clark

My guest today is Kirsten Clark. She developed a deep and abiding love for stories at a young age, and has been plotting how to become an author ever since. When not writing sweet romances, she can be found in the classroom teaching at her local college, curled up with a cup of coffee and a good book, or baking chocolate cake while listening to podcasts. A graduate of the Universities of Alberta and British Columbia, she lives in Alberta, Canada with her husband and two children, who keep her on her toes.

     Kirsten's latest release is The Secret Ingredient. It's about the Holy Grounds shop which runs on two things: the nutty, caramel scent of coffee and Sebastien Davenport's beloved cranberry-gingerbread muffins.

     When the pastry chef collapses days before Christmas, owner Bridgette Calloway faces an impossible morning rush and an even harder truth: the beloved chef she's leaned on may need her more than ever.
     When a frightening diagnosis upends Seb's independence and he's at his lowest, it's his boss he finds himself calling. Perhaps she's more than a boss after all… Bridgette shows up with a Bible, Chinese takeout, and the solid courage he didn't know he needed. In the hush of winter and a kitchen dusted with flour and light, their friendship warms into something deeper. But fear, pride, and new limitations could cost them more than a holiday menu.
     As carols ring and candlelight glows, Bridgette and Seb are thrust into uncharted territory and must make a choice. Will they retreat into safety, or put their trust in the God who writes love stories in unexpected places like a coffee sleeve, a baker's bench, and prayer whispered over racks of cooling pastries?

Now for an excerpt! Enjoy!

     Bridgette pulled a pan of muffins from the oven before silencing a blaring alarm. “Iris, the tops are pointy. Again.”

     Iris didn't speak but wrinkled her nose as she joined Bridgette in the kitchen, inspecting the latest batch.

     “I must’ve overmixed the batter.” Bridgette sucked in a breath in a futile attempt to hold back the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “I, I...I made sure to weigh the flour and to set the oven properly to temperature, and I even used a timer for the stand mixer and these darn muffin tops still came out looking like mountains!”

     “I see that,” Iris said mildly, knotting a forest green apron around her hips before turning to wash her hands in the shiny industrial sink. “Sebastien never overmixes the batter,” she shot over her shoulder.

     Bridgette swallowed a sigh, resigning herself to the incoming tears. Iris was...Iris. A cosmetology student with purple hair. Chunky silver necklaces. Thick eyeliner. And she was also right. Seb’s muffins always came out perfect. What was she going to do?

     Bridgette pulled up the bottom of her apron, wiping her eyes. Crying was OK. She was only human after all. But, she thought, clacking a perfectly manicured nail on the shiny metal counter, she also had a job to do. Bridgette allowed a pause, holding up a hand to admire the sparkles in her latest manicure. The garnet has been a good choice this time. Very Christmassy. She shook her head as if to clear cobwebs. No, no time for pretty things. Focus.

     Because even without Sebastien, Bridgette had to have baking to offer her customers. When the usual crowd walked through her front door they expected to be greeted with the nutty, caramel scent of coffee and—in December—the warm spiciness of Seb’s famous cranberry gingerbread muffins, just as much as they expected catchy worship music playing over the speakers and Bible verses on their drink sleeves. The muffins were an integral part of what made Holy Grounds, well, Holy Grounds.

One reviewer called this story, "...an enjoyable and heartwarming story that proves God still answers prayer."

Visit Kirsten's website at: https://www.kirstenclarkauthor.com/

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Guest Post: Crocuses For Christmas by Carol James

 

      My guest today is Carol James, an Air Force brat. The longest Carol ever lived in one place was a year and a half. Maybe that’s why, when she and her husband bought their first home forty-two years ago, they stayed put. She lives in Lilburn, GA with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell Terrier, Zoe.

     Loving intriguing stories with happy endings, she writes Redemptive Romance. She has had five full length novels and five Christmas novellas published. Her debut novel, Rescuing Faith, was an Amazon number one best-seller. Visit her website to sign up for her newsletter and get a free short story: https://www.carol-james.com
     When she’s not walking Zoe, Carol enjoys spending time with her husband, children, and grandchildren, as well as traveling. On Sundays, she loves serving in the production department at her church. And most days, in the late hours of the night, you’ll find her bringing her newest novel to life.

Carol's latest release is CROCUSES FOR CHRISTMAS. What's it about? Read this: 

     When Matthew Dawson loses his wife in an automobile accident, he struggles to raise his three-year-old daughter, Emma, alone. He decides to hire a live-in nanny to take care of Emma, when he returns to work.

      Matt asks the principal of Emma’s school for recommendations, and she suggests Hannah Collins. Hannah is a highly-experienced nanny who has recently moved to Crescent Bluff from the United Kingdom.

      When Matt interviews Hannah, he knows she’s perfect for the position. But he’s concerned about Emma’s reaction. After Hannah and Emma meet each other, Matt makes Hannah an offer. Not only does Hannah immediately fall in love with Emma, she’s attracted to Matt and hopes to help this sweet family heal from their loss.

     The more Matt and Hannah are around each other, the more they become attracted to one another and must make some difficult choices for their futures. When Christmas nears, the crocuses in Matt’s yard bloom early as a sign of hope, new life, joy, and new beginnings.

 

Now for an excerpt from this wonderful story!

     Matthew Dawson held his wife in his arms and tickled her face and neck with kisses. If he didn’t have to work today, he’d stay here in their haven with the love of his life beside him. The only woman he’d ever loved. The only woman he ever would. He groaned. Any second now, the alarm on his phone would play their song, the singer declaring she would always love her sweetheart. As he would always love his sweet Natalie.

      Their song floated from the radio on his nightstand and filled their room. He slipped his hand to the other side of the bed. The smooth, cool fabric of the sheets met his touch. As reality set in, he opened his eyes and jerked himself up. He’d been dreaming. The space beside him was empty. The sheets unruffled. The pillow smooth. No Natalie. Not today…not last night…not ever again.

      “Matt.” Mom’s voice crept up the stairs, piercing his mournful solitude, reminding him this was not a dream. “Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes.” He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life in bed. 

      After easing back the covers, he struggled to sit up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, ready to perform his morning ritual, and then trudged to her closet and opened the door. He stepped inside, turned on the light, and buried his face in her pink dress. Her scent still lingered, but as each day passed, its strength faded a little more. Before long, it would be gone. Just like she was.

      He left the closet and padded down the hallway. He paused at Emma’s door and eased it closed until only a crack remained. Large enough to hear her if she cried out, but small enough to muffle most of the morning noise…although she’d never had a problem sleeping. She might look like her mother, but she slept like him. Or at least, the way he used to.

      The bottom stair creaked as he stepped into the entry hall. He’d promised Nat he’d fix it. But he never had. He’d always assumed he’d have time. Later. But time wasn’t a bank account where he could deposit more funds to increase his balance and withdraw some to use when his cache ran low.

      If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have taken advantage of every moment. He’d have worked less and played more. He’d have travelled less and worked from the office or from home more. He’d learned the hard way that life was about where you invested your time…not your money.

You can find Carol's website at: https://www.carol-james.com/

Crocuses for Christmas can be found at: 

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Guest Post: CHESTER'S MIRACLE by M. Jean Pike

My guest today is a New York girl who fell in love with Ohio, M. Jean Pike writes about love and life in small town America. The author of twelve Christian romance and inspirational women’s fiction novels, Jean combines an insatiable curiosity about human nature with her Christian faith to bring readers unforgettable tales of life, love, and the inner workings of the human heart. 

Her latest release is a Christmas novella, CHESTER'S MIRACLE. Here's the blurb: 

What if the wrong turn leads to the love you've always prayed for? Aimee dreams of love, but her small Ohio town offers little hope. Until she meets Max online. His charm sweeps her off her feet, and she agrees to meet him for a Christmas Eve service in the West Virginia mountains. But before she leaves, she rescues Chester, a senior service dog facing euthanasia, and brings him along for the ride. When a blizzard strands her on a mountain road, Aimee's fairytale date turns into a nightmare: Max's number is disconnected, his profile deleted, and her car is buried in snow. Cold, scared, and alone, she prays for a miracle—only to be found by Marty, a kind-hearted mountain man with a heart as warm as the fire in his cabin. Marty's been praying for love. But Aimee's been burned, and trust doesn't come easy, even when Chester works his own kind of magic. As Christmas unfolds, Aimee must decide: Is Marty the answer to prayer, or is she too afraid to take a leap of faith? A heartwarming Christian romance about trust, divine timing, and miracles that find us when we least expect them. Perfect for fans of holiday love stories, rescue dogs, and mountain men who believe in second chances.

 

That sounds wonderful! Now read an excerpt.

She inched up the slippery hill, up and up and up. Dusk had given way to winter dark, and Aimee’s hands and feet felt frozen solid. Removing one hand from the wheel, she nudged up the heat. When her glance returned to the road, she gasped. An animal stood by the shoulder, poised to dart in front of her. A large dog or a small deer. It was too dark to tell. Detecting motion in her headlights, she pressed the brakes. 

It turned out it was neither a dog or a deer, but by the time she made out the outline of the rotted tree, what she’d thought were ears were just small, jagged limbs. Her car was spinning again, sliding off the road and down the side of the hill. She braced for a crash, but heard only a dull thunk, as the car bumped to a stop. 

Chester slid to the floor. 

“Oh, Chester!” She groped for him and pulled him into her lap, cradling him close. “I’m so sorry. Are you OK?” 

He answered with a slobbery kiss on her cheek. 

“I got us stuck, but I know a trick,” Aimee told him. She put the car in reverse and pressed the gas, then eased it into drive. Forward and back, forward and back as she’d been taught in Driver’s Ed class years before. The wheels spun, tossing snow like confetti as the car burrowed deeper into the ground.

 Forward and back, forward and back. The headlights dimmed and went dark. The radio fell silent as the car sputtered and died.

 “I think we’re out of gas.” Tears fell again. “Lord, I’m in a jam, and I don’t know what to do.” 

She fumbled for the phone. Even without a signal she should be able to call 911, wasn’t that how it worked? “OK, Chester. I’m calling for help. Someone will be here any minute.” 

Except the call did not go through. She checked her phone again for signal strength. Not even one bar. Great. 

Lord please help me. You’re the only one who can…

She sat there in the dark, desperately trying to think through her situation. She could get out and walk, but to where? She hadn’t seen civilization in miles. And besides that, it was bitter out and she had no socks or gloves. She and Chester would freeze to death. Or they could freeze in the comfort of the car. 

Lord, I need a miracle. I need an angel…

She’d heard of people dying of hypothermia in situations like this. Simply falling asleep and not waking up. She sang every Christmas carol she could recall, anything to stay awake for just a moment more. After some time had passed, her throat was raw and her teeth chattered nonstop. She felt the calm of sleep overtaking her.

 The whine of an engine broke the silence, and the soft glow of approaching light flashed across her windshield. A pair of snowmobiles slowed, and then stopped on the ridge above her. Two figures disembarked, one very large, the other, very small.

In the light of their headlamps, the larger of the two scrambled down the incline, coming fast toward Aimee’s car. After a moment, the beam of a flashlight lit his path. A man. He was enormous, with a dark beard, his hair dark and wild where it sprang from the sides of his hat. He looked like a mountain man and in her dazed state, Aimee didn’t know whether to be terrified or relieved. His muffled shout drifted to her through the closed window. Her frozen fingers couldn’t manage the door handle. 

Chester growled a warning deep in his throat. 

Aimee wanted to reassure the dog, but her teeth were chattering so hard, she couldn’t speak. 

The man’s face appeared outside her driver’s side window. 

Three things happened simultaneously. 

The man yanked open the door. 

Aimee screamed. 

And Chester bared his teeth, his growl becoming a ferocious bark as he sank his teeth into the man’s outstretched hand.

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

This is a story you must read! It's on sale, too, for only $0.99! 

Warm up your holiday with this sweet read. 

Buy it at: 

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Health Care for All

Love is a beautiful thing. As Paul said in 1 Corinthians 13:7, "It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." 

This past weekend, I saw a newly married couple. They were so sweet. They didn't have a big wedding, though they might hold a gathering in the future. However, for now, the handsome groom is basically saving his bride's life because her medications are very expensive. 

I know of another couple who were in similar circumstances. She had cancer. He married her. They are living happily ever after. 

In this country, you don't have to be a knight in shining armor but you do need a decent health care plan. I pray our representatives will work toward getting health care for all in this country. 

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What Were the Old Days Like?

All the Cousins on Grandma and Grandpa's Hill

I must be looking my age--at least on some days. Recently, one much younger woman asked me what it was like in the old days. I gave her a quick one word answer. I told her it was different. She thought it must have been nice. Truthfully, it was nice--sometimes. However, it most definitely was different. 

In the photo above are my cousins on my mother's side of the family along with my sisters, my brother, and me. I'm the tall girl with the dark hair. My brother is the other tall kid. We are all in my grandparents yard in Pennsylvania. My parents drove out to Pennsylvania once a year so my mother could see all her relatives. Sometimes, we went into Ohio to see more of the relatives. We drove in the summertime and we did not have air conditioning in the car. My father had a two-week vacation, so we had a time limit. 

The rest of the year, my mother wrote to her family. Only in the most extreme cases did anyone ever talk on the phone because long-distance calls were expensive. So, unlike today, communication in the old days with distant relatives was limited. 

We didn't travel by plane because that was too expensive as well. Once, when my grandfather had a heart attack, I went out to Pennsylvania with my mother on a bus. Fortunately, my grandfather recuperated. But I learned that I didn't particularly like long bus rides. 

There was television but the channels were quite limited. There was radio, but when we were driving through the mountains of Pennsylvania we couldn't always pull in any stations. So, we sang. 

Nevertheless, it was great fun seeing my cousins, my grandparents, aunts, and uncles. They all had wonderful stories to tell. Listening to everyone talk was the best part of the trip. It was as if they made up for a year of not seeing each other for all the time they spent talking. 

For my family, that was our vacation. We didn't go to any amusement parks. We simply spent time with the relatives. That was good enough and we were happy to see them. We weren't bored either. 

Things were different, but it was fine with us. 

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Longer Nights and More Reading!

We'll be going back to Eastern Standard Time very soon. The sun goes down earlier every night and the nights grow longer. My antidote to the gathering gloom is to read more books. I like to get cozy on the couch with a blanket, a hot cup of herbal tea, and a book. I don't care if the book is an ebook or a paper book. The words tell the story. I am one of those people who likes to see the words and savor every one of them. I rarely listen to audiobooks. But listening to a book is good for those who enjoy getting the story that way. 

It is so easy to get books nowadays for almost nothing or free. In addition to public libraries, there are the library apps--like Hoopla and Libby--where you can download books instantly for free. Thrift shops still have plenty of books, too. Our local AAUW runs a book shop in the basement of a local church. I've gotten plenty of books there. 

As an author at Pelican Book Group, I have read many books published by other authors in that group. However, if one of my daughters hands me a book, I'll read it. If I'm at a book sale and a cover grabs my attention, I'm likely to pick it up and buy it. The world is full of wonderful stories. 😀

I post the books I've read along with my reviews on Goodreads, BookBub, and Librarything. I usually give high ratings because I really like the stories. There are very few books I haven't liked. If I don't like a book, I don't give it a review. As an author, I know how important book reviews are. 

So, my advice is to stock up on books for the longer nights. After all, as Madeleine L'Engle said, "A book, too, can be a star, a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe.” 

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The Gift of Laughter

When I became pregnant with my first daughter, I was delighted. I believed I knew all about babies since I had two much younger sisters. I learned at a young age how to care for little ones. What I didn't realize was how exhausted I would be after giving birth.  I didn't have to go right back to work, but breast-feeding my baby--even at night, changing her diapers, bathing her, doing tons of laundry, and still making dinner left me worn out. In addition, my adorable daughter would cry for about two hours every evening due to a bit of colic. Then I would sing to her, rock her, and pray I would get a few solid hours of sleep. 

Slowly, she started to sleep longer each night and so did I. That helped. She grew more adorable, too. Not long after she went beyond the two month mark, I placed her on an old bed in the spare room for a moment. That bed had ancient springs which made it very bouncy. I tapped it a few times and my daughter bounced a little. She smiled. I pressed a bit harder and she bounced a bit more. Then, something miraculous happened. She laughed. A real laugh. I was so impressed, I bounced her a bit more and she laughed again. I laughed, too. It was if in that moment she became a genuine human. 

I didn't want to make all the milk slosh around in her tummy, so I stopped bouncing her. But when hubby came home from work, he tried bouncing her, too. It was a memorable joyous moment. 

Laughter is a gift and it's good for everyone's health. There's a page on the Mayo Clinic's website where you can find all the benefits that come from laughter:  https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/stress-management/in-depth/stress-relief/art-20044456  On that page one of the points made is to find a way to laugh about your own situations. I can look back at several situations in my life which were stressful at the time, but now when I recall those moments with other family members who were there, we laugh. Sometimes, we laugh so hard tears come out of our eyes. 

It's a good feeling.

So, look for the silly stuff and have a good laugh. It's good for your health.

Guest Post: SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING by O.R. Sykora

My guest for today is Olivia Sykora. She has always been fascinated by allegorical stories. C.S. Lewis sits on the top of her favorite authors list, and then George MacDonald with his glorious fairytales. Hannah Hurnard’s classic story, Hinds’ Feet on High Places, became a significant allegory in Olivia’s life and faith journey, and she searched for further books that could communicate spiritual truths through accessible, exciting stories. Now, Olivia has crafted a new allegorical fantasy for modern readers to enjoy. Son of the Mountain King, the first book in the Mountain King trilogy tells the greatest love and adventure story: the story of God’s love for His people. 

Check out Olivia's website at www.orsykora.com

Here is the back cover blurb for her new book, SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING.

     When an invasion threatens the land of the Mountain King, the fate of the people rests on the shoulders of young governor Judah. She has sworn to prove herself a skillful leader by protecting her kingdom from foes, but difficulty and danger surround her.

     Then Judah’s life is saved by two different men who divide her loyalty. One, a fascinating healer, captures the hearts of Judah and her people. The other, a mysterious shepherd, forces Judah to question what she believes to be true.

     When a conspiracy comes to light that could destroy Judah and her kingdom, a single choice might cost her people everything. Will the headstrong leader prove herself—or find herself trapped?

Now read an excerpt from the book!

That night, the familiar squeak of wood rent the air as Mesda shoved closed the old oak door. A shaft of light poured through a gap at the bottom. As this part of the castle was rarely visited after dark, she did not worry about being seen.  

        This story had begun long before.  

That night, an old woman spread a large piece of parchment on the rough table, unaware at that time of how many lives would be affected by what she was to record. A sense of urgency bade Mesda hurry the work that must be finished in the coming hours. Dragging the other two pieces of furniture in what she liked to call her “cell,” the woman arranged the tools of her trade on a plain cot and turned the three-legged stool until its worn seat faced the table. Time was short. She grumbled as the parchment persisted in rolling like a potato bug. Stones which had chipped from the crumbling walls finally solved the problem. Mesda then placed her two most important objects alongside the parchment: a stained, worn pot of black ink and a graceful quill. With one final critical look at the tip, she sighed and closed her eyes.  

Words came to the woman as they always did. Quietly, insistently. Her hand flew across the page. Strong, elegant, like a heron soaring over the Great River. Words poured out until precise black marks flooded the parchment. Her long braid brushed her back with furious rhythm. Hours slipped by, driven by the urgency within to complete the task given by the Master.  

The moon had risen high to send light through the tiny upper window before the woman finally paused. Only then did she lower her quill and allow her forehead to drop to the table as she listened.  

        It was complete.  

Mesda stretched her neck and shoulders slowly. Her hands were numb, but she knew pain would come soon, sharp and strong. Meanwhile, the moon gazed through the window, an ancient friend who surely would not tire of an old woman’s mumblings. “I am getting old.” She winced. Needlelike sensations were beginning at her fingertips. “I do not know why the Master thinks me still worthy of the work.” The cot groaned in harmony with her bones as she crawled onto it and lay with a grunt. Surely, her sister would tolerate waiting for a few minutes more.  

Her sister. 

Mesda stretched, watching the moon. Perhaps her sister was right to pursue a warrior’s life instead of a scholar’s path. She’d had her excitement, and now she gracefully doled out advice and justice like so many nuggets while the scholar-scribe had continued to work her neck into a spasm. Still. There was honor in all work assigned by the Master, warrior and scribe alike. 

Mesda smiled, grateful for her own part, awash with a moment of youth until a twinge in her shoulder brought her back. It was time to rise. By now, her sister would be impatiently waiting to receive the scroll and deliver it yet farther to the governors.

My Review of SON OF THE MOUNTAIN KING

     Judah, the governor of Marah, was betrothed to the son of the Mountain King before she was born. She never met him, but he sent her lovely gifts and wrote elegant letters to her. She is told that if she ever needs his aid, she has only to ask for it. But Judah is independent and believes she can handle her problems. When she becomes ill, she is reminded to ask for the help of the Mountain King, but instead she seeks out a healer who is called the Enlightened One. He cures her but she loses the hearing in one ear. It is Kiran, the Enlightened One, who tells her she is a princess and can become a queen by marriage. 

    Then one day shepherds arrive in Marah with wool. There had been no sheep or shepherds in Marah since the time of the Destruction before Judah was born. She befriends the shepherd, Abel, who teaches her the ways of a shepherd.

    Nevertheless, Judah has far more to learn in this story than the simple ways of a shepherd. She must realize who she can trust and who is a traitor. 

    This is a fascinating allegory which held my attention to the very end. 

This wonderful book is available at many book distributors.

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One Summer Long Ago

 The photo above shows my Uncle Robbie, my grandfather, my father, and my Uncle Gene--the baby my father is holding. In the summertime, my grandparents and, in fact, the entire Kierce clan who lived in Jersey City went to Belford, NJ, for the summer. That's where this picture was taken. They stayed in small bungalows, but it was better than being in the city. Those were the days of no air conditioning. From what my father said, my great-grandmother would serve up heaping mounds of potatoes with meat patties simmered in tomato sauce, which doesn't seem like an Irish dish, but that's what they ate. My father loved it and he asked my mother to make it frequently. Dad called it the "Belford Special." I still make it now and then, continuing to call it the "Belford Special." 😊

Last week, my Uncle Gene died. I will miss him. Everyone in that generation who stayed in the little bungalows during the summer in Belford has now passed away. The scary thought is that my sister, my cousins, and I are now the elders. We are the ones who are supposed to be wise. While our generation has experienced plenty of turmoil, I don't know whether any of us have all that much wisdom. We grew up in different times. But we have wonderful examples of fine folks to emulate and hopefully, that will help us. 

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UNCHAINED MELODY by Clare Revell

I've read several of Clare's books and enjoyed each of them. She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom she married in 1992, two of their three grown children, unfriendly mini-panther, aka Tilly the cat and newest member Ty the dog. Clare is half English and half Welsh, which makes watching rugby interesting at times as it doesn’t matter who wins.

Writing from an early childhood and encouraged by her teachers, she graduated from rewriting fairy stories through fan fiction to using her own original characters and enjoys writing an eclectic mix of romance, crime fiction and children's stories. When she's not writing, she can be found reading, crocheting or doing the many piles of laundry the occupants of her house manage to make.

Her books are based in the UK, with a couple of exceptions, thus, although the spelling may be American in some of them, the books contain British language and terminology and the more recent ones are written in UK English

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The first draft of every novel is hand written. By the way, she claims working from home is a myth and invented by someone who doesn't have a dog!

Clare's latest book is UNCHAINED MELODY.  The setting is Candlewick Lodge, the only home Raven Faulkner has ever known—one her family has run since 1820. When the bell—which according to legend, rings to warn of danger—chimes just before a tree falls on the lodge, Raven tells herself it’s a coincidence. Just as well, because Raven doesn’t have time to decipher supernatural messages. Her biggest worry is keeping her family’s legacy alive.
Fame and fortune are not all they’re cracked up to be. Just as well, after Isaiah Beringer’s meteoric music career nosedives. He’s sure God wants him on the mission field, but every mission society he’s applied to thinks otherwise. Needing someplace secluded and peaceful to lick his wounds and figure out what God wants of him, he books into Candlewick. The problem? The woman who runs the lodge turns out to be his biggest fan.
Rising repair costs and failing health make the future uncertain. Unless Raven and Isaiah can work together to write a new ending to the unchained melody of the Lodge.

I received an advanced copy of Unchained Melody. Read my review below.  

Raven Faulkner is saved by the bell—literally.  There’s a superstition about the old bell on the archway at the Candlewick Lodge, but when it rings one night during a thunderstorm, Raven gets out of bed before a tree falls on the roof.  The damage from the tree is extensive, but that’s not Raven’s only worry. Her grandfather wants to sell the lodge, which has been in the family for generations. 
Isaiah Beringer gave up his successful music career because it clashed with his faith. Despite his number one rock  hits, when he tried gospel music none of his fans liked it. He decides to hide out at the Candlewick Lodge. What he doesn’t know is that Raven is a huge fan. 
Though Raven is beset with enormous trouble, she switches rooms for her guests to a different wing in the lodge. While she is a fan of Isaiah, she acts professionally toward him. However, he is willing to help her. Her grandparents said guests should never do any work at the lodge, but she  is overwhelmed and accepts his aid. She has another guest at the lodge who is decidedly obnoxious, but she manages to deal politely with him.
Raven’s burdens mount. The family discussions about the lodge prove interesting but when Raven’s grandfather turns ill, things go from bad to worse. The twisted trail of clues that lead to why Raven’s grandfather is so intent on selling the historical property is complex and an intriguing part of the story. The gentle relationship that blooms between Raven and Isaiah is charming as this compelling tale winds through the history of the old lodge and the people who have called it home for so long.  

You can find Unchained Melody at:

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Check out Clare Revell's website at: https://clarerevell.com/

THE COMPANY YOU KEEP for $0.99

Halloween is coming! THE COMPANY YOU KEEP is at the rock bottom price of $0.99. It is now available as an audio book, too. This book features a ghost, a billionaire, plenty of evil entities, and a terrible secret. 

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It’s the perfect story for a dark, cold night in the month of October.

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Here are snippets of reviews from the past:

A reader on Goodreads said, "This book surprised me. I though it was just a romantic novel, but I was wrong. Besides romance, includes other genres like suspense , paranormal and crime. I couldn't put it down until I finished it. I really enjoyed the story!"

Diane Tugman of The Romance Studio said, "With each chapter you'll be drawn into a tangled web of the supernatural."

Anastasia Castella-Young of Mind Fog Reviews said, "I highly recommend this paranormal romance to those interested in demons, spirits, adventure and love. Penelope Marzec hits the mark dead on!"

The book tells the story of Jennifer Brant. She is focused on protecting the world from a cursed spirit who guards a deadly portal located on her farm. When a billionaire developer, haunted by the sins of his past, wants to buy her farm, she refuses, knowing the spirit will be released. When someone intent on controlling the demon kidnaps her brother in order to use the farm for his own evil deeds, Jennifer and the billionaire must unite to save her brother and destroy the portal. Can their union grow into a loving and safe lifetime for them and their future generations?

The following scene is in Nathan's point of view--he's the billionaire. While Jennifer sleeps after being involved in an accident, Michael, her brother, offers Nathan the land he wants. This comes as quite a surprise to the billionaire...

Nathan placed another log on the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Jennifer lay on the couch, bundled in a wealth of quilts. Her chest rose and fell softly in a steady rhythm. He sat in the chair and took a calming breath. Despite a variety of bruises and a mild concussion, she should be fine, especially since he had volunteered to watch her for the rest of the night.

Michael walked into the room with two brandy glasses. “Here, McDugan. It’s been a long night.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the glass.

Michael paced around the room with his brow deeply furrowed. The younger man was still revved up and running on adrenaline.

 “I want to thank you. I really panicked when I saw Jen’s truck up against that tree,” he admitted. “I’m usually cool on a call but it’s different when it’s one of your own...” After a pause, Michael continued in a raspy tone. “You see, our parents died in a car accident.”

He nodded. He’d felt the twist in his gut when he had heard the metal crumple in the crash, but when he saw Jennifer in that wreck it was as if his heart slipped out of gear. He sipped some of the brandy. The warmth of peaches tingled on his tongue and his control nearly crumbled. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he dared another taste. The sample reminded him so vividly of the flavor of Jennifer’s lips that he felt nearly possessed.

He drew in a great breath. For a moment tonight, he thought he had lost her. In that brief flash, raw grief sliced into him. Thinking about it later, he was stunned at his violent reaction. He told himself that simply visiting a wreck stirred up the old horror.

“The police said someone tampered with the brake hoses,” Michael blurted out. “But that’s ridiculous. I know it’s an old truck. But George—” He stopped his restless pacing and paled. “George always fixed it.”

“She said the brakes didn’t work.” He kept his voice low. He did not want to disturb her. She needed to rest.

“Yeah. Yeah. I know.” Michael downed a good portion of the brandy in one gulp. “How much land do you really need?”

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he had heard correctly.

“Your absolute minimum,” Michael reiterated.

Momentarily speechless with surprise, he nearly dropped the glass in his hand. Did he see desperation in the hard lines around Michael’s mouth? “Your sister has led the fight and worked the hardest to keep me out of Marlpit. Won’t she consider you a traitor?”

“Everything has changed in the last few months. Everything.” Michael swore softly. “My wife is ill. We had another dry summer so we didn’t grow much produce.” He gave a small snort. “Except for peaches. We had plenty of peaches. Now with Jennifer’s truck destroyed, I don’t think there’s any way—” He didn’t finish the thought. A deep scowl creased his forehead and he balled up his fists.

Nathan cleared his throat. Warning gongs sounded in his brain but he ignored them. He had no reason to trust Michael Brant. However, after tonight, it seemed worth the gamble. “Forty acres.”

Michael sniffed. “Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”

“I padded my original proposal figuring it would get whittled down to nothing anyway.” Despite the heady liquor, his nerves seemed ready to snap. He’d wanted this for so long.

Michael set his glass on the mantle and stared into the fire, his back to Nathan. “What price?”

He realized he was about ready to crush the glass in his hand. He forced himself to relax. Leaning back in the chair, he tried to look casual. He didn’t want to get roped into a ridiculous deal.

“This is an unusual liqueur,” he said, taking another sip from his glass. “Do you make your own brew?”

Michael’s shoulders sagged. “Nah. That stuff is something Jen mixes up. Peach juice and vodka, I think.”

He glanced at her, still sound asleep on the couch. Wispy tendrils framed her serene face. She looked fragile—and enchanting. A pang of something like loneliness stabbed at his heart. Clearing his throat, he added. “Your sister is quite talented.”

“Yeah. Well, you have to do something with all those peaches before they rot,” Michael commented. He plopped down in the wingback chair and hung his head. He looked beaten.

Despite the smell of victory, a hollow space seemed to widen in Nathan’s heart. This had all become more than a simple business deal. While he had spent months arguing with Jennifer and the people of Marlpit, he would win only because fate and some crazed maniac had lent him a hand.

“Which forty acres are you willing to part with?” He stared into the sweet but potent liquor in his glass.

Silence hung in the air for several tense minutes before Michael answered. “You can have a portion of Abigail’s woods.”

He lifted his head and frowned. “It would take extra labor to clear it.”

Michael stood again as he spoke louder than before. “It’s well up on the ridge so you won’t have any drainage problems. In addition, it’s out of the DEP’s designated area.”

Then something sparked in Michael’s eyes as his voice reached a new crescendo. “Aside from that, the visitors to your fancy theater will have a sweeping view of feudal serfs living as they did in the dark ages! You should be able to raise the price of the tickets for that privilege!”

Jennifer moaned and stirred on the couch. Without conscious thought, Nathan sprang to her side. He touched her forehead. His hand shook. He wasn’t sure if she felt warm or hot. Dammit. She looked too pale.

“Should I wake her like the doctor said and ask her some questions? Do you think she’s all right? How does her forehead feel to you?” His heart hammered in his chest.

Michael rubbed the back of his callused hand on his sister’s cheek. “She’s okay. I should just keep my big mouth shut.”

Relief flowed through him. “She always tries to act so tough but she isn’t,” he mumbled, almost to himself. Then he glanced back at Michael, catching an odd puzzled look as it flitted across the younger man’s features.

“Yeah. Well. She’s flesh and blood, McDugan. Two hundred year old maple trees are a lot tougher,” he whispered hoarsely. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll get a calculator. Let’s talk numbers.”

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You can find the book at many ebook distributors. 

Amazon

Kobo

 Barnes&Noble

Why I Get My Flu Shot

      

     Enjoy listening to some madrigals. Whenever I think of madrigals, I think of my first year in college and the reason I always get my flu shot. I'm old and I'm supposed to get a flu shot, but having had the flu once, I never want to suffer through it again. The flu is a nasty virus--even for young people. I got the flu in my freshman year. I was in the prime of my life. But I got sick.

     The day I realized I was getting sick was the day I sang at the Jersey City Woman's Club with our college madrigal choir. I had signed up for the choir because I needed one more credit and I figured it would be fun to sing. We sang songs from the 1500s--all a cappella--in parts. There were lots of fa la la la la's. Our choir sounded great. 

     However, it was very, very hot in the Jersey City Woman's Club and I nearly fainted. The choir director led me to a chair and I sat through the rest of the performance. But I still had to get home, which meant taking a bus to Journal Square, then taking another bus to my hometown, and then walking a mile to the house. It wasn't difficult usually, but there was snow on the ground and it was cold. I was freezing. 

     By the next day, my entire body ached and eating wasn't particularly appealing. The one bright spot was that it was semester break, so I wouldn't miss any classes. 

     My mother mixed up a hot toddy for me, which consisted of some sort of alcohol, hot tea, lemon, and honey. She handed me her concoction every few hours. There wasn't much more she could do for me. I spent my entire semester break in bed and read Hawaii by James Michener whenever I felt like I could keep my eyes open.

     I recovered in time to begin the next semester and was fortunate that I didn't have any complications from the flu. 

    Vaccines are terrific. Doctors can't cure everything, but scientists are figuring out ways to prevent diseases. Get vaccinated!

Romance and the Frog Prince

 Yesterday I saw the Frog Prince sitting beside the koi pond. He didn’t move. I wondered if he was afraid of the large koi swimming around the pond, but he wasn’t a small frog. I doubted if he would fit in the mouth of the koi. Maybe he just needed to dry off for a while and take in the sights of the world. Or maybe he was hoping to catch a few tasty bugs. He sat there for quite a while but I didn’t see him eat any bugs. Eventually, he jumped back into the pond, which was a good thing because I was worried that someone would accidentally step on him. 

Once I returned home, I started thinking of that old Grimm fairytale about the Frog Prince. Grimm's tales are, for the most part, quite dark and simply the idea of kissing a frog is repulsive. But then I recalled those long ago boyfriends and the kisses I received from them. 😂 Those kisses weren’t much better than kissing a frog. (Hint: Hubby was much better at kissing than all the old boyfriends.)

In truth, the Frog Prince is a romance which also contains a moral about keeping promises. The princess was a spoiled brat but the biggest obstacle to the romance was the fact that the prince was a frog. Nevertheless, he was a persistent frog for he knew his own salvation relied on the princess keeping her promise, which she did reluctantly. At the climax she throws him against the wall, but the spell on him was broken and love reigned.

There are many, many people who disdain romances because they believe the happy endings are unrealistic. They say that in the beginning the hero and the heroine hate each other and then inexplicably at the end they fall madly in love. 

I disagree with that stereotyped idea of the romance genre. In the beginning of a romance there are always obstacles to the relationship of the two protagonists. That is not an absurd notion. It happens in real life. While your future husband or wife may not be a frog, they may have a job in a different state. The hero may be a police officer while the heroine's father was a mean police officer and so she doesn't trust someone with that occupation. That's just the way things work in the world. Nevertheless, the couple can work things out. The magic in a romance is love. And love can change the world--even the very broken one we live in. There can be happy endings if we keep our promises, just as the princess had to keep her promise to the Frog Prince. 

Best of all, romances offer hope and leave readers with a positive feeling.

Maybe the frog I saw at the pond finds true love and eventually fathers thousands of little tadpoles that look just like him who spend their lives eating lots of mosquitoes and other annoying bugs. Isn’t that a realistic happy ending?

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Working On Another Historical

This is a photo of a Butterick pattern from 1918, which I found on Pinterest. I always look up what was fashionable in any time period when I write a historical. I like writing historicals because I truly enjoy digging into the past. So, this time around, I chose 1918 as the year. The book is set in New Jersey, which means I've had to do quite  a bit of research of what it was like here in NJ 107 years ago. It is quite intriguing. One popular soda fountain drink at that time was an Orange Crush. 

Most people know about the Spanish Flu, which occurred at that time. According to the Pan American Health Organization, "The United States lost 675,000 people to the Spanish flu in 1918-more casualties than World War I, World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War combined." (Hint: The flu is real and dangerous.)

However, one of the most devastating disease of all times was tuberculosis. According to historyofvaccines.org, "...tuberculosis claims the highest death toll across history, with an estimated 1 billion lives lost..."  My mother's cousin had tuberculosis and spent some time in a sanitorium. In 1918, there were sanitoriums in New Jersey, but a specific surgery was being used for TB patients. It didn't cure the disease but sometimes it helped the patient. Fortunately, antibiotics have successfully been used to control that terrible disease. But it is still with us. It has not been eradicated. 

Aside from diseases of the era, there was much being done in the US to help with the war effort. One odd thing I discovered was that people saved peach pits, nuts shells, and such. The pits were used to create activated carbon, which was used in gas masks. 

Both of my grandfathers served in World War 1. My paternal grandfather went to France and my maternal grandfather served along the Mexican border, watching out for Pancho Villa. I wish I had asked them more about their time in the service. My paternal grandfather never said anything about his experience and my maternal grandfather said very little. Of course, my grandmothers were in this country as the war went on. So, learning about that time period in more depth is a little like being in their company again. Though I so much wish I could have asked all the questions and written it down while they were still here. 

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