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.

Amazon

Apple

Barnes&Noble

Google

Pelican

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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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Excerpt from THE KEEPER'S SECRET

I've visited many lighthouses, both here in NJ and elsewhere. Symbolically, lighthouses are a beacon of hope but until the advent of GPS, they were important navigational aids. In 1789, our Congress approved the Lighthouse Act, which was the first public works program in our country. 

When I wrote THE KEEPER'S SECRET, I intended for the lighthouse to be that symbolic beacon of hope for the hero and heroine. Below is a short excerpt from Chapter 7.

    Evie set the tray on a small table and poured the tea. After handing one mug to Bryce, she settled into the swing beside him.

    He rocked gently back and forth. "I’ll go slow so we won’t spill the tea," he reassured her.

    She closed her eyes, welcoming the warmth of the mug in her hands. The swing swayed rhythmically with the slight tap of Bryce’s feet. She sipped her tea, listened to the night sounds of the quiet street and tingled in awareness of the man beside her.

    "I’ll toss out some ideas." The rumble of his deep bass vibrated through her body.

    She assumed she would hear one of Bryce’s lectures. He harangued her on a regular basis during that last year of high school. A pang of regret pierced her. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t turn her from her wild ways.

    "Does the Lord test people?" he asked. "And if He does, am I getting an F?"

    Feeling uncertain and inadequate when it came to issues of faith, Evie wished Jessica hadn’t gone to sleep. "Life isn’t like school."

    "All right, let’s say it’s based on the point system and I’m getting close to the maximum number."

    "No. The Lord doesn’t hand out parking and speeding tickets. He doesn’t take away your license."

    "He puts you in everlasting pain."

    Evie winced. She’d questioned Jessica on almost that identical point. At least she knew the response to that one. "He loves you. He made you and wants you to spend eternity with Him. He’ll forgive you. He’ll never abandon you."

    "What if you lose your faith in Him?"

    "Because of your father?"

    "Not just my father." He put his feet down and stopped the swing. He lowered his head. "There’s more to it."

    She waited, but in the tense silence he didn’t seem to want to lay his soul bare. That might be a good thing because she didn’t know how she would handle it. Perhaps the tension of his job weighed on him.

    "Everyone doubts," she said after a few moments. "You must simply go on trusting the Lord and praying."

    "That doesn’t work." A touch of sorrow welled in his deep brown eyes as he leaned back, sliding one hand along the top edge of the swing. Warmth radiated off his skin, just inches from hers. "I thought, since I was a Christian, the Lord would make things easier for me. He hasn’t."

    "Sometimes the Lord has other plans. Better plans," Evie stumbled through an explanation.

    "I haven’t read the Bible in a long time, but last night I went through the Beatitudes. It didn’t help. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers’...I thought that’s what I was...but I’m not...not by any stretch of the imagination."

    "You’re trying to be a peacemaker. That’s what counts." Evie’s throat ached. In doing his job, he’d put her in jail. She swallowed hard, but though her eyes grew misty, she must be brave. "The whole point of the Beatitudes is that the Lord promises a great reward in heaven, even if we have a tough time here on earth." Evie wished Bryce took his problem to Pastor Strauss. The pastor knew so much more about being a Christian than she ever would. "The Lord never promised that everything would be easy, but He did promise to be with us, each one of us, all the time."

    "The Lord does not send replies," Bryce muttered.

    "He does, but you have to listen."

    "I’ve dealt with people who claim to hear the Lord. They are always mentally unstable."

    Evie’s courage failed her.

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You can find  THE KEEPER'S SECRET at all the major ebook distributors. 

Amazon
Barnes&Noble
Kobo
Pelican Book Group

A Christmas Excerpt from SEA OF HOPE

     SEA OF HOPE was my first published book and a 2002 EPIC Award Winner for Best Inspirational Novel. It is set in a small New Jersey fishing community. The heroine's father passed away and his fishing trawler, the Merrichase, has been willed to a stranger. The heroine's uncle is the pastor of the local church in that community where she grew up. Below is her uncle's Christmas homily.

     Then Uncle Walter reminded his congregation of the joy everyone should have in their hearts at the celebration of the birth of their Savior. “Christmas is not about who gets the biggest and best toys,” he whispered close into the microphone and then paused again. “It’s about eternal life, God’s great gift to us all,” his voice grew in intensity. “And it is about forgiveness. You are saved by the grace of God who sent His Son to wash away your sins with His blood.” 
     Uncle Walter’s words thundered through the speakers and filled the church. For a moment, her uncle stopped speaking. Total silence reigned in the nave. Then, slowly, he drew in a great breath, an act made more dramatic by the amplification. “Thank Him,” Uncle Walter spoke softly. “Thank Him with all your heart.” 

     Doria dared to glance up in time to see him turn and walk heavily back to his chair to sit. A hush gathered over the people as Uncle Walter’s words sank into their usually cluttered minds. With bowed heads they mulled over their pastor’s message. The tightness grew in Doria’s throat. Her uncle’s words had touched everyone, even her. How could she have stayed away from church for so long? How could she have ignored the truth? She needed the Lord in her life. He was her only hope. Especially now.

     I've heard many, many Christmas homilies over the years and while the one in Sea Of Hope is brief, I hoped to convey in it the conversion of the heroine's heart. 

     Christmas is over in the minds of many people. The gifts have been opened, the cookies eaten, and the family visits are completed. But Christ can always be in our hearts all year long. The true gift of Christmas is His love for us. 

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Guest Post: CHRISTMAS LIGHTS & MOONLIT NIGHTS by Carol James

     My guest today is Carol James, an author of inspirational fiction. She loves creating Redemptive Romance. She lives in a small town outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell Terrier, Zoe.
     Carol enjoys spending time with her husband, children, and grandchildren, traveling with friends, and serving in the production department at her church. She’s a Frappuccino and soccer aficionado.
     Her father was a career Air Force officer, and she grew up sitting on the arm of his recliner, watching old military and war movies, reading military fiction. So there’s a special place in her heart for “guy stories.”
     And from those moments, Christmas Lights and Moonlit Nights was born. It’s a second-chance story about two people who met as teenagers, but meet again years later when she’s a successful business woman, and he’s a handsome Navy SEAL. Who wouldn’t like that?

What's it about?

     All Leah Davidson wants is to spend a quiet Christmas with her parents on Palm Island. Her father’s recovering from surgery, so she’s volunteered to take over his decorating responsibilities. Plus, it’s a good excuse to get away from her ex-boyfriend. But then she discovers her neighbors have a Christmas visitor, too. One she has a history with.

     Navy SEAL Jed  Price is spending Christmas with his aunt and uncle on Palm Island. He wants a relaxing time away from the pressures of his work, and the secluded island seems like the perfect escape. Until he sees his aunt and uncle’s neighbor.

     Jed remembers Leah as the snobby girl next door. And Leah remembers Jed as the immature boy who was afraid of the water. But they’ve both changed.

     Can Leah and Jed move past their earlier issues and work together to make Christmas a joyous time of love and forgiveness?

Read the excerpt!
(Leah is returning home to spend a quiet Christmas with her parents. Their neighbors have come for dinner, and they’re bringing their nephew, Jed, whom Leah hasn’t seen since they were kids.)
 
            When the bell rang right at six, Leah opened the front door. The Cobbs stood there smiling. Leah peeked around the doorjamb. No Jed. Mrs. Cobb clasped Leah’s hand and winked. “Jed’ll be along in a minute. His flight got in late, and he’s just about finished cleaning up.”
            As the Cobbs made their way inside, Leah was left to be the welcoming committee of one. She dropped into one of the wicker chairs on the porch and waited. Eventually, footsteps crunched against the gravel roadway, and then she saw him. Her breath caught. He looked nothing like he had fifteen years ago. Certainly, taller than she was. His orange hair had morphed into a rich auburn color, and he sported a scruffy beard. Normally, she wasn’t a beard-girl, but something about his attracted her. It enhanced his jawline and gave his boyish face an air of maturity and mystery. He might have been forty. He might have been eighteen. He would have made a good spy.
            She stood and offered her hand. “You must be Jed. I’m Leah Davidson. Welcome.”
            “Jed Price.” He shook her hand. “I think we’ve met before…maybe in an earlier life?” He grinned.
            “If you consider childhood an earlier life, then, yes.” 
            Jed nodded. “Well, it sure feels like a different life. A lot can change after those years.”
            That was true, especially in his case. “Well, it’s good to see you again.”
            “Good to see you, too.”
            She doubted he truly meant that…unless he’d forgotten how nasty she and her girlfriends had been to him that summer. How they’d teased him about not being able to swim or even enjoy wading out into the water. Kids could be so cruel. An apology loomed in their near future. But now wasn’t the time.
            She sat, and he followed suit. She watched him out of the corners of her eyes.
            He placed his hands behind his head and, leaning back in the rocker, eased backward and forward.  “Nice evening. Hard to believe it’s December.”
            “I know. It feels more like spring.”
            He nodded. “One thing I love about this part of Texas.”
            “Me, too.” She turned to face him. “So where do you live now?”
            “Virginia.”
            “Does it get cold up there? Get any snow in the winter?”
            “Pretty moderate where I am. We might get a dusting of snow in January or February, but it doesn’t usually last. Melts, and then it’s warm again.”
            “And what is it you do in Virginia?”
            Avoiding her eyes, he stared over her shoulder. “I’m in the Navy.”
            “On a ship?”
            He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
            She nodded. “Sounds interesting. Travel much?”
            “All the time.” He jumped up and held out a hand. “Hey, I’ll bet the others are wondering where we are. Better not hold up dinner any longer.”
            As she grasped his hand and stood, she studied his face. Definitely boy-down-the-block cute, but his broad shoulders and muscled arms confirmed he was no longer a boy. His eyes were the rich, golden brown of maple syrup, but instead of being warm and enticing, they were walled off. Distant. Despite his relaxed manner and easy conversation, his words seemed to be carefully chosen. Rehearsed. Almost as if he’d practiced what to say. And his face was unreadable. If he didn’t want to be a spy, he’d make a great actor.

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Purchase Links:
Amazon:  https://amzn.to/3BKHaIB

Pelican Book Group:  https://bit.ly/3NxBqEL

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/christmas-lights-and-moonlit-nights-carol-james/1146222910?ean=9781522304883

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/christmas-lights-and-moonlit-nights

 

Sunday Scenes: A RUSH OF LIGHT

A RUSH OF LIGHT is the story of Callie Turner. When she was sixteen her father was murdered but the crime was never solved. Callie became a cop with a mistrust of lawyers. Due to an accident, she is on a disability leave from her job, and trying to start a new career at her father's old inn. Nick Messina saved Callie's life the day her father was murdered. A devout Christian, but a burned out lawyer, Nick has plenty of reasons not to trust cops. Filling in at his uncle's service station, Nick walks into the old inn and is surprised to discover Callie is managing the old inn across the street. 

Her customer regarded her with a measure of surprise, which made her feel as though he could look right through her. Putting one hand up to touch the buttons of her white shirt, she reassured herself that none had come undone. Her gaze wandered to his lips and lingered there. Few men had a mouth so generous. 

What am I thinking? The room warmed—as if she stood in the middle of a street during a July heat wave directing traffic. She grabbed an icy bottle of water and went in search of the broom. Everything about him puzzled her. Why did she have a nagging sense that she had met him before this? 

Two months ago she returned to town. Very little changed in the area during the eight years of her absence. Her customer may have grown up here as she had, though she judged him to be slightly older. It could be possible he knew her sister. 

She cooled down, located the broom and the dustpan, and heard the front door open again. Another customer joined Mr. Dirty Fingernails. The two appeared acquainted with each other and moved to a booth in the corner. Leaning the broom up against the bar, Callie stepped on plenty of peanuts as she made her way to the table. 

Her newest customer wore a vested suit. Judging from his leather attaché, she guessed he was either a lawyer or a securities broker, but since he was talking to Mr. Dirty Fingernails, the lawyer idea seemed more plausible.

“May I get you something?” she asked. 

“Dewars on the rocks.” He hurled the order at her with words clipped, cold and exact. 

When she announced the price, he slid a credit card onto the table. He didn’t even give her a glance—as if she were less than human. A spark of anger ignited deep down inside her. 

Definitely a lawyer. She hated them all.

“Cash only,” she said, unable to eliminate the contempt from her voice.

The man turned, narrowed his eyes and gave her a sharp look. “I don’t carry cash.”

Mr. Dirty Fingernails hurriedly reached for his wallet again. 

“I’ll get it.” He handed her the money. 

Deliberately stomping the peanuts under her feet, Callie went back behind the bar, finding it nearly impossible to stifle her hostility. She should have taken the lawyer’s credit card and shredded it into slivers. 

She chose a glass, scooped up the ice, poured the Scotch, snatched up a cocktail napkin, and started back to the table. 

She discovered crushed peanuts are far more slippery than whole peanuts. As she rounded the end of the bar, her feet slid out from under her. The drink went flying and crashed against the gleaming brass bar rail. She snatched at the broom, hoping to break her fall. The long handle landed on a chair and prevented her from breaking the same arm she mangled last year. Her bottom landed with a resounding thud on the floor, miraculously missing the busted glass by inches. 

Mortified, she winced as the heat blazed in her cheeks. This whole entrepreneurial experiment could turn out to be a disaster if she made pratfalls the regularly scheduled entertainment. 

The two men rushed over to her.

“I know a great workers' comp lawyer...”

“Cut it out, John.” Mr. Dirty Fingernails reached out to her with one of his contaminated paws. “Can you get up?”

She glanced up into his face and found concern gentling his rugged jaw. A crazy flutter tingled inside her chest. She held out her hand, completely ignoring his unwashed state, and that’s when he gave her a genuine smile—one that deepened a dimple in his cheek. Once again, an odd sense of déjà vu came over her. 

She had seen him before. Yet, for some reason, she could not recall where or when, which for her seemed very strange. 

The calluses on his warm hand rubbed against her skin. That summertime heat wave-on-the-asphalt feeling came over her once more and she could barely breathe as the man who remained an enigma in her memory helped her to her feet. 

“Nick, I’ve told you a million times. Don’t be so ready to lend a hand. One of these days, you’re going to get sued,” the vested lawyer grumbled.

“Have you forgotten the good Samaritan?” Nick—or Mr. Dirty Fingernails—asked the lawyer. 

Callie could have sworn something magnetic kept her hand in his. She had to force herself to draw away from him, to edge away from his potent attraction, one millimeter at a time. Once she broke away, she leaned against the bar with her mind racing, searching for some scrap of recollection. The lawyer called him Nick, and though that did not help her memory, she easily envisioned meeting him in some dark alley in the city where she used to work. She wondered which crime he committed. She wondered if he recognized her. 

“A good Samaritan would be taking a deposition,” the lawyer insisted. 

“Please tell me that someday you are going to turn into a human.” Nick sighed. 

The lawyer aimed a look at Nick capable of slicing flesh. 

Unfazed, Nick threw a glare right back at John. “The courts cannot solve everything, as you well know.” 

Callie tried to surreptitiously dust off her derriere. Men like Nick and his friend could smile at you as they pointed a gun at your heart. She did not trust either of them. 

The animosity between the two men charged the room with tension and Callie’s anxiety increased. She believed by moving back home she would leave all the dark alleys behind her, but here in her father’s old inn she sensed danger. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nick laid his hand on her good arm and the impression of menace diminished while soothing warmth shimmered up from his touch. If someone zapped her with a Taser, she would not be more surprised. 

“I landed where there’s plenty of padding. No problem.” She wanted to sound flippant and tough—like the hard-bitten cop she once was. However, her voice came out a little wavery—which was his fault, not hers. 

“What padding? You could use some of my Aunt Bella’s pasta.” He gave her hand a tender squeeze before letting it go. Callie found ice creeping back into her soul. 

Buy it at any of the distributors below! 

The ebook is on currently on sale for $0.99!

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/.../a-rush.../1017485468...

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1110920

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-rush-of-light-1

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/a-rush-of-light/id1591966909

A Kiss from SEA OF HOPE

SEA OF HOPE was my first published book and an 2002 EPIC Award Winner for Best Inspirational Novel! Originally published by AweStruck Publishing, I reissued it along with a new cover by the incomparable Taria Reed. 

The story is about Doria Hanrahan who returns to her hometown, jobless, paranoid, and expecting to cash in on her father's fishing trawler. When she discovers the trawler has been willed to Murray Santoro, who cared for her father during his final illness, she is filled with anger and guilt. Desperate for cash she joins the crew of the Merrichase. On the ocean, far from land, she learns Murray is not only a doctor, but suspected of murder and awaiting trial. She cannot comprehend how her father trusted Murray. She suspects Murray coerced her father to change his will. 

BUT it is also a romance. So, grab a cup of tea, and read one of the sweet parts of the book. 

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He had grown so fond of her that it hurt him now to think of them each going their separate ways. Yet, it had to be that way. He had no future.

A hollow emptiness spread inside him. Doria had come into his life like a hurricane, but at her center he found strength, loyalty, and true courage.

She stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, vague from slumber.

“Hey,” she said and lowered her eyelids again, fanning the dark brown lashes on her cheeks. She sighed and smiled.

“Hey,” he echoed softly.

Two creases formed between her brows, marring her smooth complexion. Then her eyes flew open.

“What?” She ran her hand through her wild ringlets and moved to sit up.

“Everything’s fine,” Murray assured her. “We’re docked in New York, waiting to unload the porgies. The storm decided to move up to New England.”

Doria flopped back down on the bunk. “You look good.”

“So do you,” Murray said. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could sleep for another decade,” she replied.

Murray lifted up his digital thermometer. “Do you mind?”

Doria looked at him suspiciously. “I’m not sick.”

“You were cold,” he said.

“So were you.” She pulled the covers up higher, under her chin. “And you nearly drowned.”

“I already checked my own temperature.” He grinned. “After a half dozen cups of hot coffee, I am almost normal.”

“Too much coffee is bad for you.” Her eyes narrowed.

“If you have hypothermia, it can work wonders,” he countered. He turned on the thermometer. “This is not an invasive procedure. I put this in your ear and it gives a readout in seconds.”

“I know how it works,” she huffed.

“Your fingers are still blue,” he mentioned.

When she looked down at her fingers, he placed the thermometer in her ear. She tensed.

“Can I talk?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

“I-I’m glad you didn’t drown,” she said softly.

Regret weighed down on him. He had misjudged her at first, and hurt her.

“I’m glad you didn’t let me drown.” He found himself straining to keep his voice level. He took the thermometer out of her ear and glanced at the readout.

“We have got to get some hot drinks in you,” he stated as he frowned at the numbers.

“What’s with this ‘we’ stuff?” she asked.

“Nurses talk like that all the time.” He shrugged. “I’m pretending I’m a nurse.”

Doria laughed. “You look so much more like a pirate.”

He bent his head and stared at the floor, letting her merriment warm him with waves of happiness. It felt good. Healing. He had wanted to see her smile, to make her laugh, and he finally had succeeded. But why did it leave him with a lump in his throat? With an effort, he lifted his head.

“You will always look like an angel to me, Doria Hanrahan.” He could barely hide the emotion in his voice. “Thanks for saving my life.”

She placed her hand on his. He tightened his fingers around hers.

“I would have saved anybody.” Sincerity rang through every word. “Even George.”

This time Murray had to laugh. “Should I let George know that?”

She gave him a puzzled expression and then pouted. “You know what I mean.”

The delicate moue formed by her lips drew him. He dropped the thermometer on the blanket and reached out to cup her chin in his hand. Her eyes, the color of bittersweet chocolate, widened in surprise.

His lips came down on hers, slow and gentle. The tender fullness of her mouth had him drowning again, but this time from the forgiveness he found in her response.

He pulled away. Though brief, the kiss left his heart ramming against his rib cage.

“Why-why did you do that?” she asked, her lips still moist and rosy.

He shrugged and traced the generous curve of her mouth. “It’s part of the prescription.”

Her cheeks flushed even as she glared at him. “You made that up.”

“I bet your temperature rose a few degrees.” He lifted up the thermometer again. “Shall I check?”

“No!” She threw the blankets over her head.

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You can read the entire first chapter at AMAZON! Check it out.