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Ladd Springs by Dianne Venetta

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★★★★★ – IndieReader Discovery Awards

Ladd Springs

by Dianne Venetta

Ladd Springs
4.1 stars – 261 Reviews
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Delaney Wilkins finds herself at odds with hotel developer Nick Harris over a deathbed promise and a mysterious find in the Tennessee forest. Both are after title to Ladd Springs, a mecca of natural springs, streams and trails in the eastern Tennessee mountains, a tract of land worth millions. But Ernie Ladd, current owner of the property and uncle to Delaney, is adamantly opposed to them both.

Felicity Wilkins, Delaney’s daughter, deserves to inherit her family’s legacy, but neighbor Clem Sweeney is working against her, ingratiating himself with Ernie Ladd. Clem is also harboring a secret that will make him a very wealthy man—unless the others stop him before he can bring it to fruition.

Complicating matters is Annie Owens. Ex-girlfriend to Jeremiah Ladd, Ernie’s estranged son lining in Atlanta, she declares her daughter Casey is Jeremiah’s, making Casey every bit as entitled to the property as Felicity—only Annie hasn’t proven this claim. Yet.

All are fighting to get the property, but only one will walk away with the gold.

Reviews

“LADD SPRINGS isn’t a hardcore mystery, but appealing nonetheless for those who enjoy a good, solid story.”~ IndieReader

“If you love a good mystery with a bit of action and romance, this is the perfect book for you. It jumps right into the story from the first page and before you get even halfway through you can’t put it down. Definitely a must read this summer!” ~ Amazon review

“Good Book, I enjoyed it very much. Glad to read a quality book that’s not all about sex and filth!!” ~ Dot

Click Here to Visit Dianne Venetta’s Amazon Author Page

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Free Excerpt! Irina Shapiro’s Time-Travel Romance The Hands of Time – 94 Rave Reviews

Last week we announced that Irina Shapiro’s The Hands of Time is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

Now we’re back to offer our weekly free Romance excerpt, and if you aren’t among those who have downloaded The Hands of Time, you’re in for a real treat:

The Hands of Time (The Hands of Time: Book 1)

by Irina Shapiro

The Hands of Time  (The Hands of Time: Book 1)
4.1 stars – 120 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:
On Sale! Kindle Countdown Deal! Everyday Price: $2.99

When a young woman vanishes without a trace from a quaint fishing village on the coast of England, only one person knows the truth, but he remains silent allowing the authorities to search for her in vain.

Meanwhile, Valerie Crane finds herself transported to the year 1605. Terrified and confused, she turns for help to the Whitfield brothers, who take her in and offer her a home. Both Alexander and Finlay Whitfield fall in love with the mysterious woman, who shows up on their doorstep, creating a love triangle that threatens to consume them all. Valerie must make her choice, deciding between the brother who will lead her down the path of destruction, or one who will give her a love she couldn’t find in her own time.

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

Chapter 1

June 2010

 

The trip had been Louisa’s idea. She thought it would be best to be away when it happened, and I didn’t bother to argue. What did it matter where I was? Either way, things would never be the same, and I would have to deal with the knowledge that whether I was in England with her, or on the couch in my lonely apartment looking at the clock, the love of my life was marrying his pregnant girlfriend at that precise moment. I still thought of him as my husband, despite the fact that the divorce came through two months ago.

Michael and I had been high school sweethearts and got married at twenty, when most of our friends were just beginning to experiment with relationships. We always knew we wanted to be together forever and there seemed no point in waiting. Our marriage was easy, fun and full of love, as marriage should be when you’re married to your lover and best friend. We had a plan. We would finish college, find good jobs that would allow us to buy a house in the suburbs within a few years and then start a family. It seemed simple enough. Millions of people do it every day, but it wasn’t meant for us. We did finish college and get the jobs. We even bought our dream house in Connecticut and allocated the nicest bedroom with a view of the meadow for a nursery. Now all we had to do was fill it with a baby, who would make our happiness complete.

I threw away the birth control pills, and we began to try officially. We even told our parents and siblings, preparing them for their new roles. When nothing happened the first few months, we weren’t overly concerned. It was normal, everyone said. These things take time. We were young and healthy and had plenty of time. Nothing to worry about. By the time we’d been trying for a year, various tests were mentioned, appointments had been scheduled, and doctors had been consulted.

Another year had gone by and still I wasn’t pregnant. None of the tests showed anything wrong with either of us, but nature wasn’t on our side. By the time we’d been trying for three years, options were put forward and discussed. We could do in-vitro and if that didn’t work, we could always adopt.

We started the process. I was taking hormone shots; Michael was filling plastic cups with his specimen, we became tense and anxious, and increasingly strapped for cash, but still nothing happened. The embryos never took hold, and after five attempts, it was either sell the house or stop trying until we could afford another round. We began to gather information on adoption, but I knew Michael’s heart wasn’t in it. He wanted his own baby, a child who would be a combination of us; one who might have my eyes or his smile, or inherit his aptitude for numbers or my love of art.

He didn’t want a stranger’s child who would never remind him of himself at that age, or hold the promise of everything we had to offer encoded in its DNA.

We argued bitterly for months. I wanted a baby — any baby. I had a lot of love to give, and if I couldn’t have a child of my own, I was happy to give it to a child who needed me, but Michael didn’t feel the same. Our house became filled with resentful silences and angry pauses, and the future nursery began to function as Mike’s office. What was the point of wasting a perfectly good room, after all? We still slept in the same bed, but nothing much happened. We didn’t make love because we didn’t feel love, and there was no chance of getting pregnant, so why bother?

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that Mike was having an affair when he began to come home later and later claiming work overload. It was all so cliché. I wanted to confront him, but I was afraid of where the confrontation would lead. I wasn’t ready to let go of the life I’d been planning since high school, and I was still holding on to the dream that we could work things out, and maybe find our way to adopting a baby, which would ultimately bring us closer together.

Mike found his way to a baby long before I did. His girlfriend became pregnant a few months into the relationship, and my husband informed me that he was filing for divorce. She could give him something I couldn’t, and he wouldn’t pass up on a chance to be a father to his own child. He was sorry, of course, remorseful and sad, but firm in his resolve. He offered to buy out my share of the house, and I gladly sold it to him. I didn’t want any part of that house if he wasn’t in it with me. The divorce was finalized a lot quicker than I expected since Mike didn’t contest anything, and two months ago I became a divorcee at twenty-six. Some of my friends hadn’t even gotten around to getting married yet, and I was already divorced. I rented an apartment in my sister’s building, since one became miraculously available, and spent most of my time at Lou’s crying on her shoulder and watching sappy movies.

I might have gone on like that much longer, except that Lou was offered an opportunity to travel to England to value an art collection at an old manor house near Plymouth as part of her job as restorer at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She would be away right around the time of the dreaded wedding, and begged me to come along. I suspect that she would much rather have gone alone than drag me with her and deal with my grief, but Lou wouldn’t dream of it. She was going to get me through this, and if she couldn’t do it on the Upper West Side, she would do it in England. I was conveniently off for the summer from my job as an art teacher at an elementary school, she argued, and had no good reason not to join her, so I did. Lou booked us rooms at a charming old inn in a village outside of Plymouth, which would be close to Compton Hall where she would be doing her work, and so here I was, running away from my misery.

 

Chapter 2

 

I had to admit that the village of Newton Ferrers was charming. Situated just ten miles outside of Plymouth, it was a perfect example of a picturesque fishing village that hadn’t changed too much over time; with most of the buildings clinging to the sides of Main Street and the heart of Main Street, being the Dolphin Inn and Pub. All life spread out from there. Dozens of quaint shops catered to the locals as well as to the tourists, and the narrow, winding streets all led either to the river or to the center of town. The Bradford Inn, where we would be staying for the next several weeks, was located on the outskirts of the village and could have easily passed for an eighteenth century house if one chose not to notice the modern light fixtures or the desk with a computer on it in the parlor boasting Wi-Fi. There were no TV’s in the rooms and the décor was strictly authentic, with sturdy four-poster beds and elegant wooden dressers and tables in mahogany and walnut.

Our rooms were wallpapered in old-fashioned patterns, and clashed hideously with the bedspreads and matching drapes so lovingly picked out by Mrs. Bradford, who claimed to have had them replaced just last year. She was a sweet old lady who provided a full English breakfast in the mornings and supper, only if ordered no later than noon. She needed time to prepare. Lou and I ate breakfast at the inn, dinner at the Dolphin and lunch wherever. She was working at the manor most afternoons, and I spent time exploring the village and trying not to think of Michael. I had to admit that coming had been a good idea. I felt strangely removed from reality, and the charm of my surroundings helped to cushion me from the acute pain I felt when in the vicinity of my former husband. Lou congratulated herself on being right, and we did our best to enjoy the trip.

My room was directly across the hall from Louisa’s and faced the rear of the building. It was decorated in shades of mauve, and was actually rather cozy if one ignored the multitude of colors and patterns crammed into one small space. I liked to leave the windows uncurtained at night so I could see the ruin of the castle rising mournfully on the hill in the distance. It was just a husk of a tower jutting against the sky, but it fueled my fantasies and helped me get to sleep.

I woke up early one morning and watched the sun rising behind the crumbling edifice, the empty windows momentarily flooded with a blaze of crimson light, turning the gray stones to just a black outline against the rising sun. I decided to ask Mrs. Bradford about it. My guidebook didn’t say anything, and I was curious as to the history of the place. I came downstairs and poured myself a cup of tea, since the coffee Mrs. Bradford made was virtually undrinkable. She erupted from the kitchen with a tray of bacon and eggs and a rack of toast already smothered with butter.

“You’re up early today, lovey. Is your sister still asleep then?” She deposited my cholesterol-fest on the table and stood with her head to one side, clearly expecting a nice chat.

“She’s still sleeping, I think. Mrs. Bradford, I was wondering about that castle on the hill. Who did it belong to?”

“Oh, that. It belonged to a local family called Whitfield, I believe. They were quite wealthy, but not titled. Made their money in trade. Not much is known about them, except that one of them was a traitor and met with a gruesome end. No one has lived there since the seventeenth century and the castle fell to ruin.”

“Can I go explore?” I loved ruins and the prospect of wandering around an old castle perched on a hill overlooking the vista of village, river and the Celtic Sea held great appeal.

Mrs. Bradford gave me a disapproving look. “I wouldn’t recommend it, dear. That place is not safe.”

“You mean it’s a hazard because it’s crumbling?” I was curious to see it and wouldn’t be easily dissuaded.

“No. The stones are not going anywhere. It’s the kids. They hang about the ruins after school, drinking and doing Lord only knows what. The place is full of syringes and worse. Those hooligans like to pick on tourists too, give them a fright, if you know what I mean. Stay away. If you long to see a nice castle, take a day trip to Windsor or Leeds. They’re lovely, with furnished rooms and gift shops. Perfect for Americans.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bradford, I’ll certainly mention that to my sister. I’m sure she’d love to take a little trip on the weekend. May I have more tea?” Mrs. Bradford waddled back into the kitchen to make another pot of tea, and I tucked into my breakfast disappointed. I wanted to see the castle, but not if I were stepping on syringes and looking over my shoulder for hoodlums waiting to give me a scare. I would have to find something else to do today since Lou would be gone for most of the day. I would certainly mention the idea of going to see the places Mrs. Bradford suggested. I would really enjoy that, and anything that would take my mind off my problems would be a welcome distraction. I would just take a walk down Main Street today and look for some souvenirs for mom and dad.

I was just turning the corner to reach my room when Louisa burst out of her room looking flustered and annoyed.

“Totally overslept. Can you believe it? Why didn’t you wake me?” She gave me that accusing older sister look and swept past me down the hall. “Meet me at the Dolphin at 6pm,” she called over her shoulder as I heard her feet thundering down the carpeted wooden stairs, the front door slamming behind her.

“Will do,” I mumbled to myself and entered my room. I looked around until I spotted my sketch pad and a box of charcoal. I wouldn’t go explore the castle, but no one said I couldn’t draw it. I hadn’t drawn anything in months due to lack of inspiration and desire, but at this moment my fingers were itching to hold a piece of charcoal and capture the sinister beauty of the jutting walls of the ruin, outlined against the pristine background of a cloudless June sky. I took my supplies and left by the back door, finding a nice, shady spot in the garden where I had an unobstructed view of my subject. I sat down on a comfortable wicker chair, positioned my pad in my lap and began to sketch. My fingers flew over the page, first outlining the ruin and then filling in the texture of the stone, the narrow slits in the tower that offered glimpses of the sky, and the jagged chunks of what remained of the wall.

I made several different drawings, one in charcoal and two in pastels, trying to capture the desolate, yet mysterious aura of the place. I liked the charcoal drawing better. It was more dramatic, and made the castle look more sinister than the colored drawings. Satisfied with my efforts, I went back to my room and deposited the drawings on the dresser, before putting away the charcoal and pastels and getting ready to leave. I’d grab a light lunch at the café by the wharf and then stop into a few shops along Main Street in search of the perfect gift for my parents. I’d spotted an antique shop tucked away on a narrow side street, and would stop there along the way. My mom would love some Victorian trinket, and dad would probably appreciate something on the history of smuggling in the area. He was always fascinated by anything that had to do with getting over on the tax man.

As I walked toward the river, I tried not to think about Michael’s wedding tomorrow. I knew that some of our friends were attending, and felt an irrational resentment toward them for accepting the invitation. Of course, they had no reason to decline. It wasn’t them he left. I had no right to ask them to choose between us, but I knew they would choose anyway. A few of my friends had remained loyal and steadfast, but some of the couples that we associated with were already choosing to invite Michael and Kimberly and leave me off the list. I was no longer part of a couple, and therefore, not a desirable guest at a gathering where everyone was conveniently paired off. Soon they would be throwing Kimberly a baby shower and giving her advice on nannies and nursery schools, forgetting that it was supposed to be me that they did those things for.

“Stop that right now, Valerie,” I admonished myself. “You’re becoming bitter and angry, and I don’t like you that way.” With that, I put Michael out of my mind and walked into the café. I took a table on the wooden patio overlooking the wharf and ordered a bowl of soup. I loved watching the boats moored by the piers, their wooden hulls rocking gently on the ever-shifting surface of the sparkling river that wound like a ribbon through the hills in the distance. The seagulls screamed to each other and fought over the crumbs left by careless patrons, while fishermen who came back early unloaded their catch, calling out greetings to each other and bragging about their haul. It was a peaceful scene and I stayed longer than I intended, just enjoying the feeling of being a tourist.

Finally, I picked up my bag and left the café heading toward Main Street. I walked slowly down the cobblestone street, looking into shop windows and admiring their wares, as the gentle sunshine of the late afternoon bathed everything in its golden haze. I purchased a few postcards with pictures of the marina and a magnet for my fridge, before coming to the shop I’d been looking for. It was small and dim, cluttered with tiffany lamps, end tables with spindly legs and inlaid surfaces and lacquer boxes depicting oriental scenes of snow-covered pagodas and parasol shaded geishas. I wandered around, careful not to touch anything.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, I caught a glimpse of a china figurine on a shelf in the far corner. My mom always mentioned a Dresden shepherdess her grandmother used to have that she loved as a little girl, and this reminded me of it. I stopped in front of the shelf and picked up the statuette. It was made in Dresden as I suspected, but two fingers of the smiling, rose-cheeked shepherdess were chipped off.   I put the statue back disappointed. It would have been the perfect thing to get for mom. On a shelf above the statuette, I noticed an ormolu clock tucked between a carved jewelry box and a pair of large brass binoculars.   The sheer gaudiness of it caught my eye, and I took it down to examine it more closely.

The clock was heavier than I expected, made of brass, with porcelain panels painted with pink and blue flowers around the base. The round face of the clock had a pattern of the same flowers encircling the spindly hands, which pointed to golden roman numerals that were so large they barely left any space for the minutes in-between. The “best” part of the clock was the hugely fat cupid perched on top, holding a loaded bow ready to shoot some unsuspecting victim in desperate need of romance. The clock was ticking loudly, but was set to 8:10, which was almost four hours ahead of time. I’m not sure what possessed me to do it, but I opened the glass panel covering the face of the clock and carefully moved the hands to the correct time, which was 4:05pm. Suddenly, it’s as if all the air had been sucked out of the shop, and I felt like a fish that finds itself out of water, breathing but not drawing in any air. I’d just enough time to put the clock back on the shelf as all sounds faded into silence and I felt momentarily dizzy before everything in front of my eyes went dark.

Chapter 3

 

I heard the sounds of birdsong and the chirping of crickets before I actually opened my eyes. A light breeze was caressing my face and I felt the warm rays of the sun through my closed eyelids, blades of grass beneath my fingers and the smell of earth and pine filling my nostrils. I slowly opened my eyes and looked up at the cloudless blue sky above the treetops. I was lying in tall grass, dotted with wildflowers and warm from the summer sun. I just lay there for a few moments enjoying the peaceful feeling of floating, before suddenly realizing that this was somehow all wrong.

I sat up and looked around puzzled. There was no sign of the shop I’d been in or even the village. Sparse trees surrounded the meadow I was lying in, and I could see the river flowing to my left through the gap in the trees.   There were two fishing boats tied up to posts rising out of the muddy bank, but no sign of the marina or the shops that were there just a few moments ago. I turned to my right, and my blood ran cold. I could see the castle perched on the hill above me, except it was no longer a sinister relic of another time. The castle stood intact and proud, the honey-colored stones warmed by the sun, and its leaded windows reflecting the afternoon light. The wall encircling the castle rose high and impregnable, broken only by the arched wooden doors studded with iron nails and partially opened. I could hear distant voices, and the barking of dogs carried on the wind.

What was going on? One minute I was in the shop looking at the cupid clock, and now I was lying in a meadow not too far from the castle; that up until five minutes ago was just a sad ruin. I looked at my watch. It was 4:10pm. Only five minutes had passed since I turned the hands on the ormolu clock. How did I get here? I looked around again. In relation to the river and the castle, I was sitting in about the spot where the shop would have been, except there was no shop and no street. I could see some fishermen’s huts off in the distance, where there were holiday cottages just a few minutes ago. I closed my eyes, shook my head and opened them again. I was still in the same spot. Reluctantly, I got to my feet and looked around again.

There didn’t seem anywhere to go except in the direction of the castle. I had no idea what I would do when I got there, but at least it was something to do. My purse was nowhere in sight, so I just dusted myself off and began to walk up the hill, my mind spinning out of control. I had no idea what to think, and try as I might, I couldn’t find a logical explanation for what just happened. People didn’t just faint and wake up in a different place and a different time, if that’s what it was. Maybe I was still asleep and I was dreaming all of this. I pinched myself hard and yelped, acknowledging my state of wakefulness. Not asleep then.

As I got closer to the castle I became more and more anxious. What was I to do once I got there? What could I say to whoever was there? What if they turned me away? Where would I go then? There seemed nothing in the vicinity except a few derelict huts and two fishing boats. I took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy, studded door walking into the yard. I was immediately spotted by two large dogs, who bounded over to me and started barking madly, nipping at my feet. I stepped back involuntarily, and found myself bumping into a man who I didn’t realize had come up just behind me. He caught me by the arms and steadied me before yelling at the dogs.

“Shut ye traps, ye fiends. Can’t ye see it’s a lady come to call? Away with ye, then.” The dogs seemed to accept this command and slinked off, leaving me with the man. He was wearing a leather doublet in a muddy shade of brown that could use a good cleaning as it was covered with dust and bits of straw, and his dark pants were tucked into boots covered with muck. The man’s hair was pulled back into a messy tail, and an old hat perched on his head. He looked like something out of a period movie, and I suddenly realized that he was just as curious about my attire as I was about his. I was wearing a sleeveless summer dress in the lightest shade of lilac with a pair of tan leather sandals. The man gaped at me and turned away embarrassed.

“Are ye here to see the Master?” he asked without really looking at me.

“I guess so.” I answered his back as he walked toward the castle implying that I should follow.

The man opened a wooden door and led me up a flight of stairs to the second floor, where he called out for someone named Betty. A plump young woman dressed in a long dress with an apron over it and a cap over her dark, curly hair came out of a room and froze at the sight of me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“This young lady is here to see the Master. Will ye inform him he has a visitor?” The girl mutely nodded and disappeared through another door leaving me with the man.

“I am John Dobbs, the overseer,” he informed me, tipping his hat before turning on his heel and leaving me to await the Master, whoever he was. I tried to take deep breaths in order to calm myself, but found myself shaking like a leaf by the time Betty came back into the hall and gave me a little curtsey.

“If ye would follow me, Miss. The Master will see ye in the library.” She led me through a few well-appointed rooms, before opening the door to what must have been the library and motioning me inside. She didn’t go in after me, and I walked in toward the man sitting in an armchair with his feet propped up on the empty grate and a book in his hands. He turned at the sound of my footsteps and rose, putting down the book on top of the mantel of the unlit marble fireplace. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in dark pants tucked into a pair of riding boots, a white linen shirt and a velvet doublet in rich brown. His coat was slung over a nearby chair, and he reached for it as I walked in, about to put in on, but became distracted by my appearance. He let the coat fall back onto the back of the chair and looked me up and down discreetly.

“Alexander Whitfield at your service, Madame.” He gave a slight bow of his head and looked at me expectantly.

“Valerie Crane,” I said simply. We stood in silence for a few moments just taking stock of each other. If I wasn’t so scared, I would have noticed that he was very handsome, in a period movie kind of way, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes the color of caramel, accentuated by his long lashes. His full lips stretched into something resembling a welcoming smile.

“How can I help you, Mistress Crane?”

I was about to say something as a way of explanation, but I suddenly burst into tears, overcome by my fear and confusion. The man instantly sprang into action, leading me to a comfortable chair, pouring me brandy from a crystal decanter and offering me his handkerchief.

“I am terribly sorry. I did not mean to upset you. Are you all right?”

I nodded miserably, taking a large gulp of the brandy, and letting it warm its way down my gullet before trying to speak again.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Whitfield. I have no idea how I got here. I found myself in the meadow at the bottom of the hill and saw your home. I thought I’d come here and ask for help.” I realized at that moment that pretending I had no idea what happened would probably be safer, not that I actually did have any idea. All I could do was hope that he was a gentleman and wouldn’t just turn me away.

He looked at me, and I could see a hundred questions racing through his mind, but he didn’t ask any of them. “I will do everything in my power to assist you. You can stay here for as long as you like. I will ask Betty to find you a suitable gown and show you to your room. I think you can do with a rest.” He looked at me waiting for me to agree and then called out to Betty, who appeared about half a second later confirming my suspicions that she had been listening at the door.

“Betty, please find a gown for Mistress Crane, I think one of Rose’s will do nicely, and show her to the yellow room. Mistress Crane would like to rest. And bring her some refreshment,” he added as an afterthought and turned to me, giving me an encouraging smile. “I am afraid I am expecting a dinner guest tonight for a private meeting,” he informed me apologetically, “Have some rest and we will talk more tomorrow. Please let Betty know if there is anything you require.” I thanked him and followed Betty out of the library toward the stairs to the upper floor. I could see that she was burning with curiosity, but she didn’t ask anything, just led me up the stairs and down the carpeted hallway to a door at the very end. She opened the door for me to enter and turned to leave.

“I will be back shortly, Miss, with some garments, and I will bring hot water should ye wish to wash.” She curtsied again and left me alone in the room. I sat down on the four-poster bed and took in my surroundings. The room was done in shades of saffron and cream with a matching coverlet, bed hangings and drapes at the two windows. Being a corner room, one window looked out over the yard and the road leading to the castle, and the other over woods and the distant river, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. There was a painting of a beautiful woman with eyes the same color as Alexander Whitfield, her arms around a pink-cheeked young boy, hanging over the dresser, but otherwise there were no personal objects in the room. It must have been reserved for guests.

There was a quick knock at the door before Betty came in, a gown slung over her arm and a pitcher of water in her right hand. She set the pitcher on a table by the bed next to the painted ewer, then lay the gown on the bed along with some other garments.

“I do hope ye like these,” she said showing me what she brought. “Here is a chemise, a petticoat and I thought this gown might suit ye. There is also a nightdress.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and drew out a handful of pins. “I brought these so ye can dress yer hair. Do ye require help dressing?”

“Thank you, Betty, I think I can manage.”

“All right, then. I will ask Cook to send up a tray for ye at supper time. If ye need me, just pull this rope.” She showed me the thick cord by the bed and turned to leave, but couldn’t stop herself from asking at least one question. “Were ye accosted on the road, Miss?” she whispered looking at my summer dress. She assumed that someone had torn off my gown and left me in my underclothes.

“I can’t recall.” Betty nodded her head as if I confirmed her worst suspicions. She believed that I must have been through some terrible trauma to show up in a state of undress, and with no recollection of what happened, and gave me a sympathetic look, closing the door behind her.

I decided to try and concentrate on more practical things rather than dwelling on my predicament, and poured some water into the ewer, washing my face and hands before trying to figure out how to put on the gown. I took off my dress, but defiantly left my bra and underwear on, before pulling the chemise over my head. It felt soft and light against my skin and I picked up the petticoat. I assumed it went on under the skirt, so I put it on and looked in the mirror. I was beginning to resemble the Dresden shepherdess I saw in the shop. I carefully put on the gown over my head and tied the laces of the bodice. The dress was the color of bluebells and brought out the color of my eyes. I picked up my hair and held it up, examining my image in the oval cheval glass. I looked like a completely different person. Maybe I was. I let down my hair and sat back down on the bed feeling lonelier than I ever had, even after Michael left me. What was I supposed to do now?

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The Hands of Time (The Hands of Time: Book 1)

by Irina Shapiro

The Hands of Time  (The Hands of Time: Book 1)
4.1 stars – 120 Reviews
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When a young woman vanishes without a trace from a quaint fishing village on the coast of England, only one person knows the truth, but he remains silent allowing the authorities to search for her in vain.

Meanwhile, Valerie Crane finds herself transported to the year 1605. Terrified and confused, she turns for help to the Whitfield brothers, who take her in and offer her a home. Both Alexander and Finlay Whitfield fall in love with the mysterious woman, who shows up on their doorstep, creating a love triangle that threatens to consume them all. Valerie must make her choice, deciding between the brother who will lead her down the path of destruction, or one who will give her a love she couldn’t find in her own time.

5-Star Amazon Reviews

“… Wonderful 17th century romance. I enjoyed the love triangle and could feel the energized desire between the characters. Total page turner, I could not wait to see how the story would end and was disappointed when it did…”

“This book is well written and hard to put down. I love time travels and this author wrote a truly amazing time travel romance. I give this book the highest rank in Historical Romance. I loved it!!!!”

“Time travel, romance, history…What more could you ask for. A very enjoyable read…”

About The Author

There is nothing I enjoy more than a good book that takes me away from my everyday stresses and problems. I particularly like books that are set in the past, where the characters must navigate the volatile political climates of their time, while still managing to live, love, and cause mischief.

I’ve always had a particular fascination with the paranormal, and I explore some of these themes in my books. I believe that nothing is truly impossible. A true love can transcend space and time, and live on forever.

Please visit me at www.irinashapiro.com.

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**Warning** This Free Excerpt Contains Hot Romance, Humor and Adventure – Sample Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2 by Becky Wicks – Unanimous Rave Reviews!

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Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2

by Becky Wicks

Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2
4.8 stars – 32 Reviews
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Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
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Standalone sequel to Amazon bestseller Before He Was Famous

Sometimes, you have to get lost to find yourself…

When her rock star boyfriend breaks things off out of the blue, Alyssa applies to hit reality TV show Deserted and to her shock she gets through. Abandoned on a remote island with a bunch of strangers and none of the luxuries she’s become accustomed to, it’s not long before an undeniable attraction to the mysterious Joshua starts complicating things even further.

Joshua’s different to everyone she’s ever known – a traveller, a man with no plan, a world away from the celebrity life she’s left behind. As a series of challenges test their wits and weaknesses, things start heating up in paradise, but in a game designed to break people down, it soon becomes clear that Joshua is hiding a painful secret – one he won’t risk anyone finding out.

Struggling to know where she belongs, Alyssa will have to choose – a life she once loved that wants her back, or a brand new reality that heartbreakingly may just have its limits.

***Warning: this book contains graphic language, sex, and mature situations. Not intended for young adult readers.***

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

1

Alyssa

The wooden doors swing open and the collective gasp from the crowd makes my head turn. In a second I’m taking in her dress. I’m looking at her shoes, the painted toenails under glittering straps as the lacy, cream-colored fabric sweeps the floor. The song The Knot by Jill Barber fills the room. Wow. She looks amazing. We all knew she’d choose vintage.

I grin at her as she glides past and flashes me a scarlet smile, just as a hand reaches for my arm and squeezes it hard.

‘She looks stunning,’ Chloe whispers in my ear, and I cover her hand with mine as we watch Dani reach the front with her two bridesmaids and take her place beside Jack.

He’s every inch the gorgeous groom. He looks so proud and my heart melts. I can’t actually believe today is real – a Lockton wedding day. It’s so surreal. It feels like yesterday we all camped out in the mountains after Chloe and I graduated high school; no cell phones, no nothing, just each other. That was way before things got crazy… way before Noah won Show Us What U’ve Got and people started camping out outside theirhouses, wearing his face on their clothes.

Noah’s on Jack’s right side now, grinning. From behind it’s sometimes hard to tell the Lockton brothers apart. They have the same wild, curly hair, though Jack’s managed to tame his today somehow. They have the same confident air about them, too, standing tall. From the front they both have those piercing gray eyes.

I guess the easiest way to differentiate the Locktons from a distance these days is to check who the paparazzi’s chasing. Noah’s the one they want, seeing as he’s pretty much the most famous singer on the planet, but I had the hugest crush on Jack for about a year when I was thirteen. That’s something I’ve never actually told Chloe. I think every girl in Boulder’s had a crush on one of the Lockton brothers at some point though – even before the fame thing.

‘That dress is so gorgeous,’ Chloe says dreamily to my side.

‘You can always borrow it when it’s your turn,’ I tell her and her cheeks actually flush as she flashes her eyes at Noah.

‘Maybe you’ll be needing it before me,’ she says, motioning to Sebastian standing to my other side. I turn to him.

He’s looking stupidly hot in his suit, with his hair all combed back, staring into space, tapping his foot. As a drummer, my boyfriend hears rhythms in his head that he says his body has to move to, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. He’s half-Colombian and has better eyelashes than me. He doesn’t speak all that much in public – not like Noah – but he has a crazy fire inside him – a South American passion, which he says he recognized in me too, from across the room on day one… even though I’m half-Greek. He calls us soul mates. He also calls me his Greek Goddess, which makes Chloe cringe, but the rest of the world calls me that too now, so it’s kind of had to grow on me.

It’s been a year since Sebastian walked into the Lockton’s house and changed my life. I’ve had to get used to the so-called-friends who crawl from the bowels of Facebook when they see photos of us together; writing me things like ‘hey Alyssa, it’s been a while since school, hope you’re good. So, listen, my cousin’s friend has this demo CD…’

Some of them sell stories about me. I feel like I have to delete friends as fast as I can make them sometimes and to be honest it’s hard to know who to trust. But still, downsides aside, it still makes my head spin when Sebastian acknowledges me and our relationship in public. What girl wouldn’t want a rock star – a member of Noah Lockton’s band, no less, expressing his love for her to the world?

‘Friends and loved ones, we thank you all for coming to witness the marriage of Jack David Lockton and Daniela Marie Whitehouse,’ the priest is saying now. My heart speeds up. Jack takes Dani’s hands and I nudge Chloe as Noah turns and winks at her. He’s such a charmer.

A flash goes off at the front – another shot the world won’t get to see. Posting anything from inside this church to social media is a no-no, obviously.

Chloe doesn’t think it’s a good idea for me to be on Facebook, or any social media for that matter. She and Noah deleted their private accounts months ago, but they have their reasons. I refuse to let my real friendships suffer just because I’m dating someone famous. Not much else has changed, really. I mean, when I’m not at movie premieres in borrowed designer gowns I still shop in Safeway, even though I get followed sometimes. I still hang out with the same people… even though they get followed sometimes. I still do social media for the phone company in Denver, for Kenneth Lane, or K-Lame as Chloe calls him because, well… he’s a little lame.

I think my manager hates that I have a ticket to a different life. He’s never really liked me. He has permanent coffee-breath, too, and the other day he posted a hideous photo onto the staff kitchen wall that some photog caught of me climbing out of a limo. My red lace panties were on full display. Kenneth claimed he didn’t notice my panties were on display but we both know he’s lying.

That shot was taken in Vegas. Sebastian flew me there a few weeks ago so we could all watch Celine Dion. Their label HotFlush got us all backstage passes and it was kind of an out-of-body experience when Celine looked at Noah like an old friend.

I still remember singing that Beauty and the Beast song she did, with Chloe – me dressed in my puffy yellow princess dress while she waved the teapot around me in my living room. We made Noah play guitar for us while we danced. I almost told Celine that story actually, but Chloe stopped me.

We took a helicopter over the Grand Canyon on that trip. We landed as the sky was turning from purple to pink; sat on the dusty rocks and drank coffee from plastic cups, huddled in blankets. We could see the curve of the earth and lightning coming at us from a million miles away. Amazing! Sebastian drummed a beat on the rocks with his fingers. I watched the way Noah and Chloe wandered off to the edge, sat on their own, took selfies and kissed and laughed like the whole canyon couldn’t even contain their love.

‘Is there cake after this?’ Sebastian says now. I put a finger to my lips. He shuffles awkwardly in his fancy shoes and I can’t help smiling. He always hates dressing smart, in spite of all the red carpet events he’s expected to attend. I love the idea of these things, and being flown away at the last minute, but honestly, the part about being slapped in every magazine and scrutinized in every comment box afterwards gets old fast.

I look down at my dress. Is it good enough for USA Today? Doesn’t matter. I’ll be in it anyway, soon as the photogs outside get a look-in.

‘We are gathered together here in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy Matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in Paradise…’ the priest recites from the centre of what looks like the world’s entire supply of white lilies. Chloe squeezes my arm, pointing at The Commander, her mom, who’s already soaking a Kleenex.

‘If any man can show any just cause why this pair may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’

The church is silent, obviously, except for the sniffing. Jack and Dani are perfect for each other. Just like Chloe and Noah. Just like me and Sebastian. I’m a damn lucky girl and I know it.

‘I do,’ Jack says, looking into Dani’s eyes.

‘I do,’ Dani says moments later, wiping her tears.

And just like that they’re bound to each other. Stitched and tied and stuck like glue, as any one of Noah’s fans, the Lockette’s would sing. My heart’s a drum. So surreal.

I smile at Chloe, join in her happy little dance on the spot, glance at Sebastian again. He’s fiddling with his cufflinks, staring at the scene. But is he… is he shaking his head?

He catches me looking at him and for a second the drum in my chest beats harder. I know he’s moody sometimes and a little unpredictable. But there’s a look in his eyes now that I’ve never seen before and it almost knocks me off my heels.

 

2

Joshua

Imagine yourself a hundred feet from the floor. You’re sweating like crazy. Your fingers are grasping a barely-there ledge and your feet are balanced precariously on platforms the size of pennies. You know the holds will get better if you can get a little higher, but if you fall, you fall hard. And you fail.

‘Are you OK?’ I call down to Harri. I’m relying on the knot I just tied between a rope that’s half an inch thick and my climbing harness, and of course, Harri, who I can hear grunting behind me as she fumbles for the next place to put her fingers. I’m not normally concerned about her. She can pull her own weight like a pro, but today she’s hung over. ‘Stop if you can’t do it,’ I tell her, reaching for another hold.

‘I’m OK, Joshua,’ she snaps and I’m sure I hear her mumble the wordasshole under her breath. I ignore it. She’s always moody when she’s tired.

Most people think rock climbing is all about strength. It does help to be strong but having a proper technique is what really matters. You need to be flexible, balanced, and you need to keep your shit together mentally. If your legs are wobbling like jello when you’re making your way up a vertical wall, the strength of your body won’t mean anything. It’s the fear that will land you in trouble.

‘You don’t look OK,’ I call down as she falters and almost falls. We’re just top-roping today, which means the rope is already fixed through the safety gear at the top of the climb, but falling is always as tough on the pride as it is on the body. It would be worse today, especially with Mitchell heckling us from the bottom.

‘Come on Team Potter!’ he’s yelling now. ‘What’s taking so long?’

‘Fuck off, Mitchell,’ Harri yells back at him, re-finding her balance. He snorts.

‘Just ignore him. Stay focused,’ I tell her.

‘Seriously, Joshua, he needs to cut the stupid Harry Potter jokes or I’ll…’

‘Forget him. Focus!’ I wish she’d just focus before she gets us both into shit. I finally reach the top, pull myself up and look down at the climbing center, catching my breath. I reach down to help her top out beside me. She’s panting, breathless and her green gym shirt is a shade darker with perspiration as she reaches for my hand, swiping at the escaped strands from her ponytail.

For a moment her hands are on my chest and she flashes me a look. ‘We shouldn’t still be doing this, Joshua,’ she says. My pulse quickens. I know she means a number of things.

‘Then why are we?’ I say.

Her eyes cloud over before she looks away. ‘Some people are summer,’ she says on an exhale and my heart pangs. I bite my cheeks. She’s said this before – just after we met and sat making out, dripping our ice-creams all over the Pennybacker Bridge overlook: Some people are summer and some people are winter. You’re definitely summer, Joshua. I’m glad you’re here.

Harri’s been relatively cool since we agreed to stop sleeping together and go back to being climbing buddies. We were never official and being English with a crazy hot body to boot, Harriet McKinsey has a string of suitors after her. I guess I should’ve known she wasn’t as OK about us ending as she said she was, though.

She reaches for my harness and we do the obligatory equipment check to prepare for our descent. ‘You still do this every day?’ she asks, adjusting her sports bra under her shirt.

‘When I’m in town.’

‘Which is only when there’s something in town worth your time, right?’

She’s not meeting my eyes, tugging at my ropes a little too hard. I say nothing. She’s in the mood to pick a fight, I can tell and I can’t get into things with her again right now. Don’t get me wrong, I like Harri a lot and yes, we met here. But I never joined this place to meet girls the way some guys do. The truth is I climb because it helps me focus; keeps me sharp.

When I’m thinking about where to put my hands and feet, my other thoughts seem to categorize somehow and slot themselves into all the right places. I like the rush of pain when it roars through my limbs; the urgency that comes with having to find the perfect placement. It’s something I don’t feel in the real world. I feel no desire to find a place, or make a plan.

‘Where’ve you been this time?’ she asks, as she crosses to the other side of the wall and goes to start her descent.

‘Just spending some valuable time with mother nature,’ I say, checking the ropes as they stretch with her weight.

‘I think mother nature gets more of you than your own mother,’ she replies as she sits back on her harness and lowers herself further towards the full-moon grin on Mitchell’s face. Mitchell doesn’t even hide the fact that he’s staring at her approaching ass.

She’s right about my mom. I need to go see her, but the thought of going back home, where everyone knows me and asks even more questions than Harri is something I can’t even consider. Whereas most people act like they’re fascinated by my lifestyle, they all start to look at me like I’m a freak before too long. Why don’t I have a home? Why don’t I have a cell phone? Why don’t I have a regular job?

‘I’m right behind you,’ I call down to Harri, stepping over the edge.

Before my last expedition I was in New England for two months, learning and then teaching the healing powers of medicinal plants with a guy called Rainbow, who ate a few too many cactuses when he was a teenager and thinks the plants all talk to us. I never heard them; although I’ve seen some pretty crazy stuff these past few years. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before one yells at me.

‘Team Potter, you’re lagging today,’ Mitchell booms as Harri reaches the bottom and tells him to ‘sod off’ again. I laugh to myself at her British scorn – it’s cuter when she’s pissed. His screwed up way of flirting works with a few of the women here but it hasn’t with her, yet. He is pretty much what Harri would define as winter. The thought of him finally getting his way when I’m gone makes my insides twinge involuntarily, but I push the thought from my head as I reach the bottom and start undoing my harness.

She has hers off in seconds and stands looking at me expectantly as I do the same. ‘Lunch?’ she asks, wiping her forehead with a towel and then gulping thirstily from her water bottle. ‘You can tell me all about your adventures. How long are you sticking around for this time?’

‘Weren’t you just shooting up zombies, someplace?’ Mitchell interrupts, strapping himself up for the climb and looking between us in amusement. ‘When exactly can we expect you to save us from the apocalypse, Brenner?’

Harri’s looking at me in confusion as she drinks. Mitchell knows a guy I was just loading guns with at Zombie Survival Camp – a special place for super rich rednecks, basically. He was bound to bring it up. I’m not on Facebook, never have been, but I know some of the guys were uploading photos the whole damn time.

The camp had us holed up in some New Jersey location in the middle of nowhere, where a team of us pretended the world was about to end at the hands and foaming mouths of the un-dead. They pay good money to help train people up for an apocalypse – I couldn’t exactly turn it down. There weren’t too many other people for the job.

For twelve days straight I’ve been focusing on nothing but helping middle-aged men and their tattooed sons master basic firearms, aim crossbows, gather supplies from a series of above and below-ground locations without being eaten. They also learned to defend themselves with a form of hand-to-hand combat us gurus call Zombitsu. It was pretty hard going.

‘If there’s an apocalypse, Mitchell,’ I reply, ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. Cockroaches are first-class survivors.’

Harri laughs and almost chokes on her water. She pulls the bottle away from her mouth, swipes her lips with the back of her hand and for a second I consider taking her up on her offer; following her back to her apartment and spending the rest of the day with her naked, sweaty body wrapped around me in every way possible. That’s what ‘lunch’ used to be, back when things were simple.

She’s watching Mitchell climb the wall now. I’m about to suggest we go for a smoothie someplace safe with no beds in it, when a piece of paper falls from his back pocket and floats down towards us. Harri reaches up, catches it. I look over her shoulder as she unfolds it. A creepy skull faces stares back up at us, with two palm trees reaching around it in a circle. I recognize the logo.

Deserted?’ we say at the same time. It’s a print out of an application form.

‘Mitchell? You’re applying for the show?’ Harri calls up at him. He’s grappling for his next hand slot.

‘Thinking about it,’ he calls down. ‘Can’t argue with that million dollar prize right now. Wanna come with me, Potter? Think of all the magic we could make in paradise! I’ve got a wand you can use.’

She rolls her eyes, looks back to the application. It’s blank, like he only just printed it out. I take it from her hands, scan it. Filming starts in Indonesia in a month’s time. I didn’t even know they were doing another season. Wouldn’t surprise me if I’d heard and forgotten, but suddenly my mind is racing. I reach up to rake my hand automatically through the hair that’s no longer there – I shaved my head at camp.

‘I can’t do lunch, sorry,’ I say, picking up my bag and rummaging for my baseball hat. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, same time?’

Harri looks disappointed but I can’t think about it. Mitchell will be pissed but… screw him. Already the adrenaline is pulsing through me. I shove the hat on my head, head for the exit, run out into the haze of the warm Texas morning and sprint straight to my car.

3

Alyssa

Hey guys,

Some of you may have heard, but I’m going to be fulfilling a Proactive Community Management role for part of my time every day for the next few weeks. We’ll be defining what this role means in our meeting, but I will be reaching out to low hanging fruit (users trying to make a cell phone decision) and searching for opportunities to create fun, exciting engagement outside of our community…

I look away from the screen, where K-Lame’s latest email is hurting my head. I don’t even know what he’s talking about. What’s a Proactive Community Management role? The opposite of a lazy one?

Most of the time, Kenneth uses words and phrases he’s made up because he thinks they make him sound more knowledgeable and important. Our jobs are mostly pointless and he knows it. Social media for a phone company is basically just apologizing to people who are pissed that their phones don’t work and that no one out there gives a crap; including us. The pay’s pretty good though. I’m saving for my Le Cordon Bleu Culinary course, otherwise I’d have been out of here months ago, obviously.

I pick up my cell: what’s low hanging fruit got to do with anything? I type at Chloe, laughing.

It buzzes in my hand. Sebastian’s name is flashing on the screen. I look around the office. I’m not supposed to take personal calls but K-Lame’s out on a cigarette break. I dart to the kitchen.

‘Hey baby,’ he says when I answer. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just planning what to cook for you tonight,’ I say, looking down at the blue heels I’d never tell him came from Target. ‘I’m thinking moussaka, your favorite, then homemade baklava with…’

‘Look, about dinner,’ he starts. ‘Noah’s got the new single to run through and we’re behind with everything ‘cause of the wedding. We’re going to have to fly back to New York early. HotFlush have spoken.’

‘Oh. Really? When?’

‘I’m at the airport.’

My stomach knots. ‘What do you mean you’re at the airport? I thought we had tonight…’

‘I’m sorry, you know how they are, they sent the car and we had to leave. Denzel’s been on his back.’

‘You didn’t even say goodbye!’

‘I’m saying it now, aren’t I? Look,’ he sighs down the phone. ‘Alyssa, things have been so crazy lately. I don’t know if I can juggle all this.’

My throat dries up on the spot.

‘I don’t know if you can juggle all this,’ he adds and I freeze. My heart starts thudding as I hear muffled voices on the airport speakers in the background.

‘I have nothing to juggle,’ I tell him.

‘The wedding was great, Alyssa. Seeing your home, seeing your family, really, I had a great time. But, I feel like I’m ruining your real life sometimes? I feel like I’m always leaving you.’

‘You’re not,’ I say, struggling to keep my voice level while my brain is screaming no, no, no, no!  ‘And what do you mean my real life?’

‘Your life is in Colorado,’ he says. ‘I’ve been thinking…’

‘What have you been thinking? Seriously, Sebastian, what are you telling me right now?’

I wish I could pause time, fast forward through the next part, because as he sighs down the phone I already know what he’s telling me, don’t I? He’s telling me what the jealous fans have been telling me on Twitter since we were first pictured kissing on TMZ:

@AlyssaTheGreek It will never last. #sorry

I lean heavily against the bulletin board on the wall, feeling my knees start to give out from under me. I can picture Noah with the band in the departure lounge, probably listening to this playing out. None of them are telling him not to do this. Is this all it comes down to? A single moment? A blind slash to my heart like a freakin’ knife through a hunk of meat on a chopping board, after everything we’ve been through?

‘I was going to talk to you tonight,’ he says.

‘Bullshit.’ Anger flares through me, followed swiftly by total humiliation. I slam head against the bulletin board just as Megan from accounts wanders in and eyes me quizzically, filling up her coffee mug. ‘You must’ve been thinking this for a while,’ I say, lowering my voice into the phone and turning away. ‘How long have you wanted to break this off? Honestly.’

He sighs again. I clench my fingers round the hem of my skirt as I sink to the floor, bringing half the papers on the damn board down with me. I saw it at the wedding. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. ‘I just bought baklava ingredients,’ I hear myself say stupidly as the tears threaten my eyes again.

‘I’m sorry, baby. Let’s speak in a few weeks, OK? Maybe we just need some time out?’

I refuse to cry. ‘No,’ I say. ‘You need some time out. Don’t pretend you’re going to change your mind if you’re not. I thought we were making this work, Sebastian!’

‘We were,’ he replies, and there’s a shuffle as someone takes the phone from him.

‘Alyssa?’ It’s Noah. Just hearing my friend is enough to make me crumble.

‘What the hell, Lockton?’ I cry.

‘I’m sorry babe, look, I just wanted you to know that we’re here for you, all of us. This doesn’t change our friendship, OK? Things are just difficult, you know? We’re on the road so much…’

‘It’s not difficult for you and Chloe,’ I tell him, swiping at my face. ‘How long have you known?’ But the phone’s taken off him again and Sebastian starts up with an apology. I hang up. I don’t want to hear it.

Megan’s hovering over me. She crouches down, fixes me with a look of concern. I put my head on my arms as she squeezes my knee. ‘I just bought baklava ingredients,’ I say again in a voice that doesn’t even sound like my own and she makes a sympathetic aaaaw sound that makes it all real and makes me want to vomit.

My cell buzzes again. It’s Chloe. I pick up, willing my voice not to break as I take my headband off and shove a hand through my hair. ‘News travels fast.’

‘Noah just said I should call you, what’s happened? Are you OK?’

‘Sebastian broke things off.’

‘What? Why?!’

‘Because he’s an asshole,’ I say, and then I regret it. ‘Sorry. No he’s not. But I knew this would happen. I just… I knew it. What am I gonna do, Chloe? The media will be all over this in like, an hour.’

‘No they won’t,’ she says, but we both know they will. Anything Noah Lockton’s band does is front-page news. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a photog outside already, waiting for me, waving a press release from HotFlush itself. My fingers are trembling as I grip the phone.

‘You saw it coming, didn’t you?’ I say, and Chloe sighs.

‘You were saying he’s been distant. At the wedding you barely spoke.’

‘Susan Miller saw it too,’ I follow, remembering my horoscope with a pang. ‘She said the lunar full moon eclipse would create tension in relationships. But I thought he was just overwhelmed… he’d never met my mom before.’

‘True,’ she says. I know Chloe’s thinking the same as me. Not only do we devour our scopes on the first of every month because they’re always so damn right, my mom can be pretty overwhelming. Sebastian had barely shaken her hand before she was sizing him up for our wedding. The photog shot of my underwear didn’t help. I heard he got a ton of hassle from the label after that. They’re supposed to be all wholesome and clean.

‘Leave work early, I’ll come get you,’ Chloe says.

‘When’s your flight again?’ I ask. She’ll be leaving town soon, too, back to New York. Panic floods my body.

‘Not till tomorrow night,’ she says. ‘Stay there, I’m coming now.’

‘Wait. What will I tell K-Lame? We have a meeting about low hanging fruit.’

‘Tell him you have a personal emergency!’

‘OK,’ I say, scrambling up and motioning to Megan that I’m OK. ‘But, what will I tell him after that?’

‘What do you mean?’

I turn to the wall, swallow another lump that’s formed in my throat. Noah would never do this to Chloe. Noah can make this whole crazy double life-thing work with Chloe. ‘Can I just leave the planet, please?’

‘Don’t be so dramatic. Look, we’re wasting time. I’ll be there in ten.’ She hangs up and I turn back around to where Megan’s now sipping her coffee, reading a flier that must have fallen off the bulletin board.

She looks at me, looks back to the flier and shoves it at me. I rub my eyes, look down at the skull and palm trees bearing up at me. ‘Deserted?’ I read in surprise. My head is reeling.

She shrugs. ‘They want season twenty-three applicants now. I’d apply myself if it wasn’t for the three kids and the fact that I’d look terrifying in a bikini. You want to get out of here, isn’t that what you just said?’

I shake my head at her incredulously. ‘Do you really think I want more people looking at me like I’m a tool? Besides, people like me don’t apply for shows like this either, Megan.’

‘Alyssa,’ she squeezes my arm with a smile. ‘Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think people like you are made for shows like this.’

4

Joshua

Two weeks later

The pimply seventeen-year-old trailing my ass is getting on my nerves. He hasn’t left my side since he showed up in the car at L.A.X and accompanied me to the hotel. I found him parked outside my bathroom when I came out of the shower in just a towel and he jumped when I opened the door. He eyed up my tattoos and shaved head in suspicion, like we were already marooned on an island and I was about to cut his throat for some rice.

I’m not supposed to talk to anyone else here. They would’ve confiscated my cell phone on arrival if I had one, and if I didn’t know better I’d say the production team have bugged the room’s telephone, too. Call me paranoid, but it’s all a little more serious than I was expecting – this audition process.

The pimply kid barked that I should divert my eyes whenever we passed someone else in the hallway and I’ve heard other people being ordered around, too. But we’re halfway through the three-day interviews and so far, so good, I think. I hope. A production assistant called Lanie was very nice when they made me stand in front of them yesterday and fired some kind of verbal personality test at me:

‘A logical decision is always best, even if it hurts someone’s feelings. Agree or disagree?’

‘Agree.’

‘You need to retreat and spend some time alone after spending too much time with other people. Agree or disagree?’

‘Agree.’

‘You don’t mind being the center of attention. Agree or disagree?’

‘Disagree.’

They all said they loved my application video. ‘We’ve never actually seen anyone quite so dedicated to saving the human race before,’ Lanie grinned through glossed lips as she held up a photo of me shooting at three walking dead guys.

Seeing as I only had a week to pull the three-minute video together, I filmed myself talking over footage I thankfully already had from Zombie Survival Camp and a couple other trips I’ve done in the last year or so. My cousin Evan and I stitched it all together on iMovie. There I was on their big screen in the hotel’s boardroom on the first day, shooting up some cardboard cut outs, and in another shot, dressed in flowing linen pants and prayer beads, blowing smoke over hippies at the ayahuasca ceremony Rainbow and I did in his backyard.

That retreat, which saw twelve people drinking boiled up jungle roots imported from the Amazon and passing out for eight hours straight, was almost as intense as the zombie stuff. He paid me pretty good money to round up the recruits. There’s a surprising number of people in this world who are willing to pay to lose their minds.

I’m not one of them.

I’m sitting here now with the pimply kid beside me, waiting for my IQ test. I’m not particularly concerned about this one. It’s the ‘I’m not crazy’ test that bothers me but I decided before they flew me here that honesty was the best policy. Over the past two weeks I’ve watched countless hours of YouTube footage from contestants who’ve been on Deserted before. I read everything I could drag up on the Internet. For a night I tossed and turned, drove around the neighbourhood at three a.m, wondering if I was doing the right thing. This show has on average twenty million viewers per episode. That’s a lot of people looking at me.

But then… I’m not doing this for the fame, the glory, the recognition, am I? I’m doing it for that money, because if Evan is right and we’re going to have to pay out, I’ll do what it takes. No question.

‘Joshua Brenner? Ready?’

Lanie’s smiling at me again from the boardroom doorway. Today she’s in skinny jeans and a sky blue tank with a cloud on it. She’s so L.A – the perfect irony with her yoga-toned arms and green juice in a non-biodegradable plastic cup.

‘Yes ma’am, ready,’ I say, following her into the air-conditioned room, where three guys and one woman are sat behind a table with iPads and what I guess are our application forms in piles. I heard there were almost one hundred people at the interviews, all competing for just ten places on the show.

‘Welcome back, Mr Brenner,’ one of the guys beams, motioning for me to sit in the wooden chair right in front of them. ‘These questions are designed to test your intelligence and will take roughly two hours. Please feel free to request a break and help yourself to water.’

My instincts pique at his words as I take my seat and he appraises me through thick-lensed glasses. They haven’t given me any water, though I note the cooler at the other end of the room. I know my ability to handle intense situations is an asset in this case and if I get up for a drink I’ll be viewed as weak. Thank god I gulped an iced tea back just ten minutes ago in my room, though I may have to pretend I don’t need a bathroom break sometime soon.

‘Got it,’ I say with a salute and they all tap on their screens at once.

‘Joshua, there are twelve pens on the table. You took three. How many do you have?’

‘Three. I just took them.’

‘Take a thousand and add forty. Now add another thousand. Now add thirty. Add another thousand. Now add twenty. Now add another thousand. Now add ten. What is the total?

‘Four thousand, one hundred.’

‘You’re taking part in a race. You overtake the second person. What position are you in?’

‘First. No, wait. Second. Sorry. I’m second.’

More tapping on the iPads. There are over three hundred multiple choice questions, some of which are more difficult than others and some of which they tell me are worth more points. Roughly forty minutes into their interrogation my head starts pounding and I wish I’d drunk more water instead of just the iced tea. Damn. I keep my face neutral until the buzzing in my ears makes me miss some of what Lanie’s saying and I’m forced to ask her to repeat herself.

‘Are you feeling OK, Joshua?’ she asks, cocking her head and making her ponytail flop comically.

‘I’m feeling great,’ I lie.

‘Good. So, how many animals of each sex did Moses take on the ark? Three, five, fifteen or zero?’

‘Zero. Moses didn’t have an ark, Noah did.’

‘Excellent. We’re almost halfway through. You’re flying through these! Tina’s father has five daughters. Lana, Lene, Lini, Lono. What is the name of the fifth daughter?’

‘Tina,’ I say, but the cloud on Lanie’s shirt looks like it’s moving. The A/C feels like it’s sucking out my soul. I shut my mouth, bite the insides of my cheeks as the nerves block everything else out. It’s time.

‘Actually,’ I continue, leaning forward in my chair and making them all look up from their iPads, ‘there’s something I should probably say to you all before we go any further.’

“What is it?’ Lanie asks, raising perfectly waxed brows, and as I explain I watch as their faces work through a range of emotions. They’ll never know how many are raging through me, but I keep my face straight, my mission clear, and when we’re done Lanie’s smile isn’t any less bright.

’We appreciate you sharing, Joshua,’ she says, sincerely. ‘We’ll see you soon, I’m sure.’

I nod, stand, keep my back straight, adrenaline still pulsing through my veins.

On the way out of the boardroom, right before the pimply kid gets up in front of me and orders me to keep my eyes forward, I see a girl. Her brown eyes lock onto mine as I step over the threshold and in the space of a millisecond I take in her short black hair, pushed back with a green band; her knee-length purple dress bunched in at her small waist. I recognize her.

Time slows for a second as my sidekick closes in and I nod surreptitiously in her direction as I pass, keeping my face straight. A look of amusement crosses her features; the kind of animated expression that would usually make me turn back out of intrigue, but I’m frogmarched back down the hallway just as she’s called into the boardroom. Where have I seen her before?

I can still see her face in my head as I’m led back to my room. I shut the door on the kid, head to my backpack for some Advil. I’m already picturing her on an island with the turquoise sea behind her, standing there in some bikini and vine leaves, holding a spear. It’s stupid, but the vision makes my pulse throb and my palms sweat. She bothers me.

I down two pills with a mouthful of water, study my face in the mirror as I grip the basin. I’ve had no one else to bring this dream to life with so far. I’ve told no one I’m applying for Deserted; not Harri, not Mitchell, not even my mother. Out of nowhere now though, the way is clear but there’s another human standing in my path.

Maybe it’s the pimply kid; maybe it’s the intensity of everything I just had to go through, but as I stare at my reflection, survival mode kicks in. From out of nowhere an indelible line is drawn between myself and a girl I haven’t even met.

Click here to download the entire book: Becky Wicks’s Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2>>>

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JUST RELEASED! Before He Was Gone by Becky Wicks – the standalone sequel to the Amazon bestseller Before He Was Famous
**Plus links to hundreds of free & bargain romance titles!

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Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2

by Becky Wicks

Before He Was Gone: Starstruck Book 2
4.8 stars – 29 Reviews
Or FREE with Learn More
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
Here’s the set-up:

Standalone sequel to Amazon bestseller Before He Was Famous

Sometimes, you have to get lost to find yourself…

When her rock star boyfriend breaks things off out of the blue, Alyssa applies to hit reality TV show Deserted and to her shock she gets through. Abandoned on a remote island with a bunch of strangers and none of the luxuries she’s become accustomed to, it’s not long before an undeniable attraction to the mysterious Joshua starts complicating things even further.

Joshua’s different to everyone she’s ever known – a traveller, a man with no plan, a world away from the celebrity life she’s left behind. As a series of challenges test their wits and weaknesses, things start heating up in paradise, but in a game designed to break people down, it soon becomes clear that Joshua is hiding a painful secret – one he won’t risk anyone finding out.

Struggling to know where she belongs, Alyssa will have to choose – a life she once loved that wants her back, or a brand new reality that heartbreakingly may just have its limits.

***Warning: this book contains graphic language, sex, and mature situations. Not intended for young adult readers.***

Reviews

“Becky does it again, delivering a searingly hot, emotionally intense and brilliantly written book. I loved it.” – Sarah Alderson (author of Hunting Lila, Fated, The Sound)

“… a fabulous romance with a bit of adventure, a bit humor and lots of emotions.” 5-star Amazon review

About the author

Becky Wicks lives in Bali and scribbles books, and she’s mostly powered by coffee. She had three travel memoirs published by HarperCollins before going the indie route. Her first book in the Starstruck Series, Before He Was Famous recently reached #1 in Amazon’s Coming of Age and New Adult & College categories. The next in the series, Before He Was Gone is out now and she’s currently working on the third. She blogs most days at beckywicks.com and always welcomes distractions on Twitter: @bex_wicks

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Behind every member of the Sisterhood, there’s a man who knows better than to get in her way….
Upside Down (The Men of the Sisterhood) by Fern Michaels

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Upside Down (The Men of the Sisterhood)

by Fern Michaels

Upside Down (The Men of the Sisterhood)
70 Rave Reviews
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Behind every member of the Sisterhood, there’s a man who knows better than to get in her way. Now the guys are bonding together, in the first in a thrilling new series from New York Times bestselling author Fern Michaels. Through public triumphs and private sorrows, the men in the Sisters’ lives—husbands, friends, colleagues, and lovers—have offered invaluable aid and support. In the process, they’ve become an informal brotherhood of their own, able to relate to the unique challenges and rewards of life among the vigilantes.

But after years of bit parts, the Sisterhood’s significant others are itching to take center stage. Frustrated with the limits of the criminal justice system, Nikki’s husband Jack Emery has recruited his friends Ted, Joe, Harry, Bert, Jay, and Abner. They have brand-new headquarters with state-of-the-art equipment, an unlimited bankroll, and a plaque on the door that reads BOLO Consultants. Their first case: toppling ruthless slum landlord Tyler Sandford—also lieutenant governor of Virginia. Sandford may have friends in very high places, but that’s no match for BOLO—or the women who’ve got their backs…

30,000 Words

5-Star Amazon Reviews

“Fern Michaels has done it again, this is a great start to the Men of the Sisterhood. I couldn’t stop reading…”

“This was a great read…”

“As always, Fern Michaels leaves me on the edge of my seat waiting for the next volume to come out!”

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Over 375 rave reviews! Don’t miss this Free excerpt from KND Romance of The Week: Dogs Aren’t Men By Billi Tiner

Last week we announced that Billi Tiner’s Dogs Aren’t Men is our Romance of the Week and the sponsor of thousands of great bargains in the Romance category: over 200 free titles, over 600 quality 99-centers, and thousands more that you can read for free through the Kindle Lending Library if you have Amazon Prime!

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Dogs Aren’t Men

by Billi Tiner

Dogs Aren
4.5 stars – 422 Reviews
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Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled

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On Sale! Kindle Countdown Deal!

A contemporary romance.

Rebecca Miller is a gifted veterinarian with an extraordinary understanding of animal behavior. She is leading a fulfilling life as the owner and operator of the Animal Friends Veterinary Clinic. Ever since her 30th birthday, her mother has made it her mission to help Rebecca find a man, get married, and give her grandchildren. But Rebecca doesn’t see the need for a man in her life. She has her dog, Captain, and that’s all the companionship she needs. However, her world changes the day she literally runs into Derrick Peterson, a gorgeously handsome ER doctor.

Derrick’s experiences with women have taught him that they are vain, silly, and untrustworthy. He keeps his relationships with them brief and superficial. However, he finds himself being irresistibly drawn to Rebecca. She’s smart, witty, compassionate, and very different from the women he usually encounters. Will Rebecca be the one to break down the wall he’s spent a lifetime building around his heart?

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  And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

 

“Good morning, kids,” Dr. Rebecca Miller said in greeting to the two dogs and three cats who were currently residing in the intensive care unit of the Animal Friends Veterinary Clinic. Dr. Miller was the clinic’s owner and its only veterinarian. She typically arrived at the clinic about an hour before the rest of her staff to check on her patients.

Rebecca stood a little over five feet tall. She had an athletic build that attested to her active lifestyle. She kept her medium-length brown hair pulled away from her face more from necessity than preference. She was all about practicality and keeping her hair pulled back prevented it from getting in her way while she worked. On more than one occasion, she had thought about cutting it all off, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.

“How’s everyone feeling this morning?” Dr. Miller’s habit of talking to the animals, as if they understood every word she said, was a constant source of amusement to her staff as well as her patients’ owners. It was also one of the reasons she had a reputation for being an excellent veterinarian. Dr. Miller loved animals, and it showed. In fact, she felt much more comfortable talking to them than she did their owners. She had never been much of a people person. Oftentimes, she barely even noticed the person standing in the exam room. Instead, her focus was centered entirely on her patient. Occasionally, a client would approach her at a public place, and Rebecca would have no idea who they were until they mentioned their pet.

“Looks like you got your IV all twisted up again, Harvey,” she said reproachfully, addressing the red and white Boxer who sat in the wire cage at the far end of the small room that served as the ICU. Harvey looked up at her through large brown eyes, the wrinkles on his face adding to his guilty expression. He wagged his stubbed tail enthusiastically as she approached him. Rebecca opened the cage door and crawled part way inside. She reached for Harvey’s leg and pulled it toward her in order to flush the catheter with heparinized saline. Harvey bumped his muzzle into Rebecca’s shoulder, knocking her to one side.

“Hey, watch it, you big oaf,” she chided as she righted herself.

Harvey let out an apologetic whimper.

“I forgive you,” Rebecca chuckled, reaching out to rub Harvey on the ears. He moaned softly and leaned into her hand. “Like that, do ya?” she asked as she continued to massage his ear. “I think you’re looking good enough to go home this morning, big guy. How about you don’t eat any more of your mom’s clothes, okay?”

To the embarrassment of Harvey’s owner, Rebecca had removed three socks and two pairs of lacy underwear from Harvey’s stomach two days previously. Rebecca had been relieved that the underwear had indeed belonged to Mrs. Johnston. The last time she had removed underwear from one of her patient’s digestive tracts it had turned out not to belong to the dog’s owner, but instead had belonged to her husband’s mistress. That was a scene Rebecca was happy not to repeat.

She backed out of Harvey’s cage and went to check on her other patients. They occupied the bank of stainless steel cages that were pushed up against the room’s north wall. The bank was arranged so that four small cages rested on top of two larger ones. Rebecca’s short frame made it difficult for her to reach the patients in the top cages. She pulled up a step ladder and climbed onto it, raising herself up high enough to peer into one of the upper cages.

A low growl emanated from the cage. Rebecca smiled at the gray tomcat who sat hunched in the back corner of the cage. The strong ammonia-laced scent of cat urine filled her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and said, “It smells awful in there, but I’m glad to see you’re urinating, Mr. Jenkins.”

He was brought into the clinic two days previously with a blocked urethra. Dr. Miller passed a urinary catheter to clear the blockage. She had pulled the catheter the night before in the hope that Mr. Jenkins would be able to urinate on his own.

The cat glared at her and let out another low, threatening growl. He twitched his tail in agitation. “I don’t blame you. I’d be upset too, if I’d been put through the indignities you’ve had to suffer for the last two days,” Rebecca said in a soft soothing tone. “Easy does it, I’m just gonna reach in there and pull out that stinky towel. You know, it would’ve been more pleasant for everyone, if you had used the litter box.”

Mr. Jenkins continued to growl threateningly as Rebecca gingerly reached into his cage and pulled out the urine soaked towel. “You are a contrary one, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’m sending you home today. You won’t have to spend another night in a room full of dogs.”

Just then, Rebecca heard someone knocking on the front door. She stood and hurried toward the front of the clinic. She knew that someone banging on the door at that time in the morning meant they had an emergency, or at least they thought they did. Pet owners were funny. There were the owners who completely overreacted to a mild symptom and rushed their pet in to see her, and then there were the owners who would wait until it was too late for her to help the pet before they brought it in. She really never knew which one she was going to get.

As she entered the waiting room, she saw a woman with a panicked look on her face peering through the window. Rebecca pulled the door open. Before she could say anything, the woman blurted out, “I just ran over my dog. He’s in the car. He’s bleeding. Please help him.”

“How big is he? Do I need to get a stretcher?” Rebecca asked.

“He’s only about 20 pounds. I was afraid to move him, so I left him in the car,” the woman answered, casting a worried glance toward the Jeep that was parked in front of the clinic.

“Okay, let me take a look at him,” Rebecca said as she walked toward the woman’s vehicle.

The woman hurried ahead of her and opened the left rear door. Rebecca leaned inside. A brown and white mixed breed with wiry hair was lying on a blanket. He was taking quick, shallow breaths. Rebecca could see blood oozing out of his nose. His right rear leg hung at an awkward angle. Rebecca wrapped the blanket around the dog and gently lifted him into her arms. As she turned to move toward the clinic, she asked, “What’s his name?”

“Benson,” answered the woman.

Rebecca took Benson into one of the exam rooms. When she placed him on the stainless steel table that took up the center of the small room, he lifted his head and wagged his tail at her.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” Rebecca cooed. “I know you’re hurting and yet you still managed a tail wag for me.”

She continued to talk to him while she performed her examination. She listened to his heart and lungs, palpated his abdomen, and looked for any external injuries. Benson’s owner stood on the opposite side of the table nervously wringing her hands. When Rebecca finished, she looked up and said, “His lungs sound like he has a contusion on the right side. He is also showing signs of shock, and his right rear leg is broken. I need to get him started on an IV to stabilize him. Then I’d like to take some radiographs to see how badly the leg is broken and to look for any other broken bones.”

“All right,” the woman answered. “Please do whatever he needs. I feel terrible. I didn’t even know he was outside. My husband let him out of the front door right as I was backing out of the garage.”

The bell over the front door jingled as someone entered the clinic. “Good morning, Rebecca,” the new arrival called.

“Good morning, June,” Rebecca responded. A moment later, a large-boned, older woman with short gray hair poked her head into the room. Her round face was smooth despite her age. Her blue eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humor.

“Who do you have there?” she asked.

“This is Benson. He’s been hit by a car and is in shock. Could you please give me a hand getting an IV started?”

“Sure thing. Let me just put my stuff away, and I’ll be right there.”

June Montgomery had been Rebecca’s receptionist since she had opened Animal Friends five years ago. Rebecca had hit the jackpot when she had hired June. She was friendly, efficient, and caring, all the qualities needed in a good receptionist. She and June had immediately bonded. She relied heavily on June to handle the duties of smoothing the ruffled feathers of unhappy clients as well as collecting overdue payments. Rebecca knew the place wouldn’t run nearly as efficiently without June there to handle the front office.

She nodded in response to June. Then she said to Benson’s owner, “Make sure he doesn’t decide to leap off the table while I go get the supplies I need to place the IV.”

A few minutes later, she had the IV running. She and June shot the radiographs. Then she carried them into the exam room to show Benson’s owner. “Benson’s right tibia and fibula are broken. Those are the bones in the lower half of the leg,” she said, pointing to the break on the radiograph. “The good news is that the break was clean. He’ll need to be in a cast for 4-6 weeks, but the leg will be good as new. Nothing else seems to be broken.” She pointed to the chest radiograph and said, “The lungs should be black. Air doesn’t show up on a radiograph. However, you can see all this cloudy, white stuff here.” She pointed to the spot on the radiograph. “That’s the contusion I was talking about. It will heal with the help of some medication. Bottom line, with a little TLC, Benson is going to be fine.”

The woman sighed with relief and said, “Thank you so much. When can I take him home?”

“He’ll need to stay here today to get more fluids. He should be able to go home tomorrow. It’ll just take me a few minutes to put a cast on that leg. Once we’ve got him all set up in a cage in the ICU, you’ll be welcome to go back and see him before you leave,” Rebecca answered.

June assisted Rebecca as she placed a cast on Benson’s leg. Then Rebecca took Benson’s owner back to visit him. Silent tears ran down her cheeks as she opened Benson’s cage door and gently ran her hands over his head. “I’m so sorry, Benson,” she whispered. “I love you. You’re such a wonderful dog.” Then she said to Rebecca, “I really need to get to work. I’ll call later this afternoon to check on him.” She closed the cage and hurried out of the room. Benson whimpered softly.

“Don’t worry, Benson. She’ll be back,” Rebecca soothed.

After the woman left, Rebecca finished checking on her other patients. Lobo, a young Blue Heeler mix, had broken his leg and had a large section of his skin torn off of his hip and thigh when he fell out of the back of his owner’s pickup. Rebecca had given Lobo’s owner an ear full on the importance of making sure his dog was secure when riding in the back of a truck. The man had been shocked, and a little angry, but Rebecca hadn’t cared. She was usually very even-tempered. However, dogs riding unsecured in the back of pickups was one issue that could get her fired up quickly. She had been embarrassed by her outburst after the man left, but whenever she looked at Lobo’s leg, her irritation returned. She would have to wait for Jimmy, her technician, to arrive to help her clean and dress his wounds.

The two kittens, one male and one female, in the other top cage were litter mates. They had been brought in to be neutered and spayed. Their owner had asked to leave them overnight due to her late work schedule. They would be going home first thing this morning.

A few minutes later, Jimmy sauntered into the clinic. “Morning, Doc,” he greeted. Just out of high school, Jimmy still had the acned face of a teenager. He was tall and lean with sandy blond hair that fell across his hazel eyes. He wore a faded T-shirt and jeans with rips in the knees.

Three months ago, Jillian, her previous technician, had suddenly eloped leaving Rebecca in a jam. Jimmy had walked in two days later asking for a job. Rebecca had been certain he wouldn’t last, but he had been very persuasive during his interview, and she had decided to give him a chance. Since that time, he had proven himself to be a hard worker and a fast learner. He had not given Rebecca any reason to regret her decision.

“Good morning, Jimmy,” Rebecca returned.

“Who’s the new arrival?” Jimmy asked.

“That’s Benson. His owner accidentally ran over him with her Jeep this morning.”

“Bummer for him,” Jimmy responded.

“Yeah,” Rebecca agreed, “Thankfully, he wasn’t hurt too badly. Grab Lobo while I get some bandaging material, and we’ll see how his wound looks today.”

A few moments later, Jimmy laid Lobo down on the grated table in the middle of the treatment area that ran behind the two exam rooms. “Man, you sure tore into that dude yesterday. I’ve never seen you so mad,” he said, grinning at Rebecca while she carefully removed Lobo’s bandage.

“Yeah, well, you can see what his negligence did to his dog,” grumbled Rebecca defensively.

“I didn’t say he didn’t deserve it,” replied Jimmy. “I just didn’t know you had it in you. The guy outweighed you by 100 pounds, and you intimidated him. It was fun to watch.”

Wanting to change the subject, Rebecca said, “It looks really good.” She ran warm water over the wound to clean it and to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Understanding Dr. Miller’s desire steer the subject away from what happened yesterday, Jimmy let it drop and replied, “Sure does. You think it’ll leave much of a scar?”

“No, once it’s all healed, it will barely be noticeable.”

The rest of the day passed like most days in a busy veterinary practice. Dr. Miller spent the morning performing spays, neuters, and other minor surgical procedures. She spent the afternoon seeing patients. She administered vaccines, treated ear infections, and gave several lectures on the importance of dental hygiene. By the end of the day, she was exhausted.

As Rebecca was locking up for the night, she felt a spurt of satisfaction. She loved being a veterinarian. It was all she had ever wanted to do. She had set her goal on becoming a vet while she was still in elementary school and had never wavered from it.

Rebecca drove the short distance to her home at the end of a cul-de-sac in an older subdivision. The house had belonged to her grandmother. Rebecca inherited it when her grandmother had passed away a year ago. It was a red-brick home built in the 1970s. It still had all the trimmings inside typical of houses from that era, including orange Formica countertops, wood-paneled walls, and green shag carpet. All of her savings had gone into building and starting up Animal Friends, so there hadn’t been any money left to remodel the house. Now that the clinic was finally making a profit, she intended to start fixing up the place. The green shag was definitely going to be the first thing to go.

Rebecca pulled her blue Camry into the driveway on the left side of the house and parked under the carport. It was early spring, and a light rain had begun to fall. She was grateful for the carport’s protective covering as she stepped out of her car. She hurried across the open space between the carport and her front door. As soon as she stepped inside the house, she was greeted by a large Golden Retriever holding a tennis ball in his mouth.

“Hi, Captain,” she greeted warmly as she came down to her knees to wrap her arms around the dog’s neck. “How’s my boy?” Captain leaned into her embrace. His feet danced beneath him as his enthusiastic tail wagging rocked his big body back and forth. Rebecca chuckled and said, “I missed you, too.”

She straightened and moved toward the back door. Captain padded softly along beside her. “Sorry, buddy, but you’re gonna get a little wet out there,” she said as she opened the door to let Captain outside. The big dog trotted across the porch and leaped off of it, bypassing the stairs. Her back yard was enclosed by a privacy fence, so she didn’t need to worry about Captain wandering out of the yard. Rebecca closed the door and moved toward the kitchen to see what she could rummage up to eat for dinner.

Half an hour later, she and Captain were curled up on the sofa watching television when her cell phone rang. Rebecca reached for the phone and saw that the call was from her mother, Barbara Miller.

“Hi, Mom,” she answered.

“Hello, Rebecca. How was work today?” her mother asked.

“Good,” Rebecca replied. “It was a pretty ordinary day.”

“Did you meet anyone interesting?”

Rebecca sighed. By ‘interesting’, her mother meant had she met anyone who would make prospective marriage material. Recently, getting Rebecca married had become Barbara’s number one priority. Ever since Rebecca had graduated veterinary school, Barbara had made sure to remind Rebecca about the need to find a good man. However, since Rebecca’s 30th birthday three months ago, Barbara had changed her game plan and made it an almost daily topic of conversation.

“No, Mom. I didn’t meet anyone interesting,” answered Rebecca in a ‘you’re stretching my patience’ tone.

“You’re not getting any younger, Rebecca. You need to start taking finding a husband more seriously. You need a man in your life, honey.”

“I have Captain. He’s good enough for me,” Rebecca said, reaching out to rub Captain’s shoulder as he lay snuggled against her.

“Dogs aren’t men, Rebecca,” Barbara said in exasperation. “And Captain certainly isn’t going to be able to give me any grandchildren.”

“Mom, we’ve been through all of this before,” Rebecca said, trying to hold on to her patience. “It’s not like men are lining up at my door, and I’m turning them away. Men just don’t seem to notice me.”

“Poppycock. Men notice you all the time. You’re the one who doesn’t notice them. You need to take off your blinders, Rebecca.”

Rebecca let out another big sigh and said tiredly, “Mom, it’s been a really long day, and I’m tired. Can we have this conversation some other time?”

“Will you at least promise me to try to be more open to the possibility of finding someone?” Barbara asked, a note of pleading in her voice.

“Yes, I promise,” Rebecca said reluctantly.

“All right. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll talk to you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Rebecca answered as she ended the call. Rebecca heaved another big sigh. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want a man in her life. She had dated a few times, but nothing serious. During veterinary school, she was too focused on her studies. Then, for the last few years, all her energy had been devoted to getting Animal Friends off the ground. When Rebecca added the knowledge that she wasn’t going to win any beauty contests to the fact that she was 30 years old, she concluded her chances of finding someone anytime soon were slim to none. She also knew that her mom didn’t see it that way and therefore, wouldn’t stop hounding her about finding a husband.

“Like I said to her, Captain, you’re the man in my life,” she said, giving him a good belly scratch. He moaned his pleasure. Her mother’s words echoed through her mind. ‘Dogs aren’t men, Rebecca.’ She’s right about that. Dogs are a lot easier to please. Captain doesn’t care that I’m plain and old.

Click here to download the entire book: Billi Tiner’s Dogs Aren’t Men>>>

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