An Excerpt from LOVE'S GIFT

 Love's Gift is now available with Kindle Unlimited! Go to Amazon and read the reviews. Then enjoy this excerpt. 

    

    As they wandered along the path through the garden, they came upon a bench beneath an arbor.
Pink roses climbed up the wooden framework, forming a shady haven from the hot sun overhead.
    "If you don’t mind, I would like to sit for a while," William said.

    "The sun is quite intense today.‛ Amaranth sat on the opposite site of the bench.
    "Why didn’t you like the escargot at lunch?" William asked. "It is a delicacy and quite delicious."
    "It was like eating rubber." Amaranth admitted. "The garlic butter sauce was very tasty, but it would be
nicer served on noodles."
    "Noodles are ordinary."
    Amaranth thought she heard a touch of arrogance in his tone. "I like them very much."
    You seemed to like the pudding more than anything." William noted.

    "I adore pudding." Amaranth clasped her hands together and drew in a great breath. "I helped Mrs.

Devine make pudding many times, and I never let the pudding burn on the bottom of the pot."
    "A very specific talent, I’m sure."
    Amaranth frowned. Was he being sarcastic? But due to the tilt of his chin and his exasperated sigh, he
was undoubtedly bored. "Have you ever cooked anything?"
    He turned his head and frowned at her. "My grandfather and I pan fried the fish we caught."
    She nodded. "I am glad to know you haven’t always been waited on."
    He gave her a fierce glare.
    "Frying fish is different from making pudding." She explained. "It takes a great deal of care to be sure
the pudding doesn’t burn on the bottom of the pot. Patience is needed for you must stir the pudding as it
thickens."
    "And you have that kind of patience." He lifted one eyebrow in speculation.
    "For pudding, yes." Amaranth’s stomach remained quite full after that meal. Perhaps she overindulged. She put a hand on her stomach. Maybe she would not need to eat for several days.
     "You do seem to possess in infinite amount of persistence in typing my mother’s endless letters." He
crossed his arms and leaned back as a cooling breeze rustled the leaves surrounding them in the arbor.
    "Typing is not difficult for me." She remained proficient in avoiding errors, an important distinction
when it came to skill. However, in life, when she let her emotions and dreams get in the way, she made
mistakes. Like picking the hydrangea and longing to put her feet into the ocean. Regrets assailed her. She
hated making mistakes.
    "Is there anything you find challenging?" he asked.
    Amaranth’s pulse sped up. Had he read her mind? She couldn’t tell him about her emotions and foolish
ideas. She swallowed hard. 

    "I am tempted to eat all of Mrs. Herpin’s cookies." That was true enough.
    William let out a hearty laugh. "What? And not slip a few to Tulip?"
    Amaranth’s heart lifted hearing the joy in his voice. "I most certainly would share some with Tulip.
After all, our friendship is based on Mrs. Herpin’s cookies."
    "What is our friendship based on?" he asked.
    Amaranth froze for several seconds before she stuttered. "Y-You’re the son of my employer."
    "That sounds rather dull." He twisted up one side of his mouth.
    "It…it is true though." Momentary panic washed through her, and she twisted her hands. All the sweet
residue of pudding in her mouth turned sour. "We can’t be friends after all."
    "Yes, best to keep things cut and dry." He stood. "We should be getting back soon." He went off in
search of his mother.
    Amaranth stayed in the arbor. A cold chill gripped her when William walked away, and it wasn’t due to
the shady interior. She didn’t want to make William mad, but he acted as if he were. She didn’t think he
liked her much at all. Sometimes, he seemed kind and concerned, but often his moods were mercurial. Also, it bothered her that he wouldn’t forgive his father as he should.
    Sister Felicia would have been very upset with his attitude on that score.

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Guest Post: PROTECTING ANNIE by Jodie Wolfe

My guest today is Jodie Wolfe who creates novels where hope and quirky meet. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW), Faith, Hope & Love Christian Writers, and COMPEL Training. She's been a semi-finalist and finalist in various writing contests. A former columnist for Home School Enrichment magazine, her articles can be found online at: Crosswalk, Christian Devotions, and Heirloom Audio. When not writing she enjoys spending time with her husband in Pennsylvania, reading, walking, and being a Grammie. Learn more at www.jodiewolfe.com.

Her latest release is PROTECTING ANNIE. It sounds terrific. Here's the blurb:

After twenty years of living along the trail as a deputy U.S. Marshal, Joshua Walker takes a job as sheriff in Burrton Springs, Kansas so he can be closer to his sister. Only problem, she no longer requires his protecting so he's unsure of his next step.
 
Annie McPherson needs a change after the death of her father. She accepts a position as schoolmarm, hoping her past won't catch up with her. Life is good, except for the pesky sheriff who continues to question her ability to adjust to life in the west and creates confrontations at every turn.
 
When the irritating schoolteacher's past and present collide, dragging him into the turmoil, Josh has to decide who he's willing to defend.

Enjoy the excerpt! 

Burrton Springs, Kansas

August 1, 1876

Death paced close enough for Annie McPherson to smell its rotted breath. A menacing growl rumbled in the beast's throat. The animal bared his teeth when she attempted a tiny step. Perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades. She cocked her head a fraction of an inch, hoping to spot a bystander, but only a small glimpse of a barren street stretched between the tight alleyway. Her heart hammered beneath her polonaise.

Not a single soul in sight. “Where’s help when you need it?”

Her movement and words caused the monstrosity to circle closer. If Annie’d been on speaking terms with God, it would’ve been a good time to send a plea for someone to come to her rescue. But she’d fallen out of practice of praying over the past years, ever since—

She released a silent breath, shifting her foot in the dirt. The deranged creature snarled and snapped, just short of capturing her wrist in his jaws. Annie tried to swallow but her throat muscles refused to contract.

The wolf settled on his haunches, two feet in front of her. A glistening tongue protruded from his face. His beady eyes stared at her, unmoving. Was the beast contemplating how she would taste, like the one in the tale of Little Red Cap she’d read as a child? A shiver ran down Annie’s spine. She had no desire to be wolf chow.

“Easy, fellow. Don’t eat me. I’m sure I’m not very appetizing.”

It was time to take charge of her fate since no assistance was coming. Annie took a step sideways. Her back scraped against the rough boards of the building.

Why had she chosen to saunter through the narrow passageway and follow the jumbled directions the blacksmith had given her after she’d exited the conveyance? The other townsperson she’d asked had stared at her as if she’d spoken a different language, as if the man didn’t understand English when he heard it. Annie hoped he wasn’t an indication of what type of people lived in town. She’d have to make the best of it since returning to New York wasn’t feasible, not after that louse—

An ominous snarl snapped her back to her current situation. How many times had Mama warned her about focusing on the situation at hand? While she’d been woolgathering, the wild animal inched his way closer. He leapt.

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Guest Post: THE TIME FOR HEALING by Ramona K. Cecil

My guest today is Ramona K. Cecil who lives in southern Indiana. A wife, mother, grandmother, and author, she writes historical romance novels for the Christian market. She and her husband have been married for forty-seven years and are now empty-nesters with two grown daughters and three young-adult grandchildren. Their home in Seymour, Indiana, is the “small town” made famous in rocker John Mellencamp’s song of the same name. Ramona has always loved history, especially the history of her Hoosier state. Like The Time for Healing, many of her stories are set in Indiana’s past. When not writing, her hobbies include reading, gardening, and visiting places of historical interest.

Her latest novel, The Time for Healing, releases August 7^th with Pelican Book Group. This award-winning story is inspired by a real life event—The Pigeon Roost Massacre—that happened in 1812 about thirty miles south of her home.  

 

Winner - Best in Fiction 

Indiana Faith and Writing Contest 2014

Ginny Red Fawn McLain, a Shawnee medicine woman, is thrust back into the world of her birth family twelve years after her abduction. While she eschews the Christianity preached by her birth uncle who found her, Ginny's heart refuses to shun his friend and fellow Christian minister, Jeremiah Dunbar. Jeremiah is immediately smitten with his friend's long-lost niece. But unless Ginny Red Fawn joins Christ's fold—something she adamantly resists—any future with the woman he loves is impossible.

Now for a real treat! An excerpt from the book. Sit back and enjoy. 

A soft, moist touch against his lips jerked Jeremiah awake. At the sight of the white Indian girl kneeling over him, myriad emotions darted around his chest like a bevy of barn swallows. Surely she had not… 

Red Fawn dipped her finger into a little wooden bowl then touched it to his lips, moistening them with an oily salve. “I am sorry to wake you, but the sun is rising in the sky, and your friend asked me to bring you medicines.” 

Jeremiah pushed up to a sitting position on his woolen-blanket cot. Heat suffused his neck and face at his initial mistaken impression of her actions. He poked out the tip of his tongue to taste the oil she’d spread over his cracked lips. The sweet, light taste told him it must be either plant or mineral based. 

“It is sweet birch oil,” she said, answering his silent question. “It will heal your lips and make the skin soft again.” Her smile transformed her features from comely to breathtakingly beautiful. 

“You speak English well.” He found it surprising that she hadn’t lost the language of her childhood during her years with the Shawnee. 

She set the bowl aside. “My father wanted me to keep the white man’s language and to teach it to him and my mother. He said it would be good for our family and our tribe when dealing with the whites, so we spoke it often in our home.” 

“Where is Zeb?” Jeremiah cleared his burning throat and glanced around the longhouse. He needed to direct his thoughts away from this girl who made his heart hammer like a woodpecker’s beak on a dead log.

            “He has gone to Chief Great Hawk’s lodge to tell him what is written in the book you brought,” she said, her voice turning harder. She walked to the fire, bent over a steaming iron pot, and stirred its contents with a shaved stick. 

She spoke as if the Bible was new to her, but Zeb said the Shawnee had taken her at the age of six. Jeremiah recalled his own sixth year vividly. That year, his family had traveled from Kentucky to Indiana, and his mother gave birth to his brother Joel in the Conestoga along the way. He and his seven-year-old sister, Dorcas, had kept three-year-old Lydia occupied by fishing for crawdads on a creek bank during Mother’s travails. It seemed inconceivable that this girl, who remembered her given name as Ginny McLain, had no memory of her parents or Zeb and his wife, Ruth, setting her on their laps and telling her stories from the Scriptures. 

“Surely, you remember the Bible. I remember the Bible stories my ma and pa told me and my sisters when I was six.”

She stopped stirring the sweet-smelling contents of the pot and became still. At her silence, hope leapt in Jeremiah that perhaps he’d jogged a long-buried memory in her.

Without answering him, she grasped the pot handle with a scrap of wool material to protect her hand, lifted the pot from the fire, and set it on a flat rock. She dipped an earthen bowl into the pot and then carried the vessel to him. She set the bowl on the ground in front of him. “When it is cool enough, drink it. It will heal your sore throat.”

As she walked out of the longhouse, an ache not associated with his illness throbbed in Jeremiah’s chest. Regret filled him. God had given him an opportunity to share Christ with Red Fawn, and he had squandered it.

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The book is available now as a pre-order at Amazon.

You can also find it at Barnes & Noble.

The paperback is at Thrift Books and the Book Depository.