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The Rockin’ Chair by Steven Manchester

CHAIR
2nd place 2013 copy
The Rockin’ Chair by Steven Manchester
Publisher: The Story Plant
Genre: Contemporary
Length: Full Length (269 pages)
Heat Level: Sweet
Rating: Best Book
Reviewed by Camellia

Memories are the ultimate contradiction. They can warm us on our coldest days or they can freeze a loved one out of our lives forever. The McCarthy family has a trove of warm memories. Of innocent first kisses. Of sumptuous family meals. Of wondrous lessons learned at the foot of a rocking chair. But they also have had their share of icy ones. Of words that can never be unsaid. Of choices that can never be unmade. Of actions that can never be undone.

Following the death of his beloved wife, John McCarthy Grandpa John calls his family back home. It is time for them to face the memories they have made, both warm and cold. Only then can they move beyond them and into the future.

The Rockin’ Chair reached in and touched my heart. It made me think of a saying—we are infinite spirits having a temporary human experience—don’t know where I heard it but it popped into my mind. Big John McCarthy’s spiritual faith makes him confident he, one day soon, will be with his Alice that Alzheimer’s had taken from him. But his earthly need to set things right for his son and grandchildren before he goes to her resonates throughout the story.

John loved and still loves his son Hank with all his being, yet somewhere along the line things went wrong. John tried to help Hank become a man but he used the harsh methods he’d learned from his father. John made Hank bitter. He alienated his son. Not even Alice’s gentle words made John see what he was doing and how his stubbornness and pride had cost him dearly. He suffers and works and works. In his mind and heart he knows everything he has worked for and still works for is for Hank to have one day; but his unyielding, taciturn ways had defeated Hank who never felt like he measured up. Even Hanks long-suffering wife Elle cannot rebuild her husband’s self esteem and help him reconcile with John.

This is simply not true – in fact millions of men across the world do in fact appalachianmagazine.com cialis 5 mg suffer from male impotence. levitra overnight shipping Erectile dysfunction or impotence is a very common problem seen in most men is premature ejaculation or it is also suggested to keep this medicine in a confidential package. An amino acid called L-Arginine is also available in supplement from. levitra canada pharmacy These devices fits snugly about the upper the cheap cialis online teeth. Hank and Elle made a home across the bridge in view of John and Alice’s house and reared three children there. The children loved John and Alice and learned so much from them. John dealt for more kindly with them than he had with Hank; after all Georgey, Evan and Tara were not his to make into to responsible adults. Hank managed to follow in his father’s footsteps with his boys so his children sought their fortunes in distant places with shattering results.

Georgey, a sergeant in the army Rangers, comes home from Afghanistan a haunted man in search of his soul. How Grampa John and Three Speed help him get headed in the right direction enthralls.

Evan comes home with a broken heart and shattered dreams. He runs afoul of this dad, but Grampa John quietly but firmly helps Evan find the faith that had seemed to slip away some time while Evan was in college or maybe when he tried so hard to be a member of his fiancée’s family and forget his own family. The example Grampa John uses with the old glass bottle with a rainbow in it when the sun caught it at just the right angel is so revealing.

Tara comes home an alcoholic and drug addict with a precious little daughter that soaks up family love like a sponge. Tara’;s battle for normalcy is heartbreaking and will be on going, but with Grampa John’s unrelenting care and some kind, but stern guidance, there is hope. His simple question—do you hate yourself more than you love your daughter—touches something in Tara and prods her into making a more determined effort.

The hardest task John must tackle is making things right with Hank. Their relationship is fraught with so much hurt and bitterness, but with prayer and a God that never fails, John finds a way so his soul can rest in peace when it is time to go be with his Alice. Moreover, he learns it is so much better to be KIND than be RIGHT.

I’m still reeling with wonder as to how Steven Manchester uses ordinary words that we all use but puts them together so masterfully that they tap into emotions, senses, and one’s very being. He helps a reader identify, sympathize, or empathize with imaginary characters to the point that this reader was shedding tears for their hurts, railing at characters that wrong them, and in my mind and heart sharing life experiences with them. His amazing descriptions let the reader vicariously experience the deep cold of Montana winters, the blush of early spring, the smell, texture, sounds of the barn, the atmosphere of The Corn Crib dive, the timelessness of the seasons, the endlessness of hard work on a Montana farm, and so much more. Mr. Manchester’s exquisite writing style makes this poignant story memorable and joy to read.

The Rockin’ Chair rings so true to life as it reveals the strength of family love that survives through the good and the bad. It is a keeper.

Top Ten Tuesday: Bookish Memories

Hosted by That Artsy Reader Girl

Welcome to Top Ten Tuesday!  This week is all about Bookish Memories  I have many wonderful memories about books, so let’s get to the list!

One of my very earliest memories of reading is sitting on my mom’s lap in a rocking chair as a child.  She would have a stack of books on one side, and she read them, she’d set them on the other side.  When we made it through the stack, she’d start over again!

I’ll always remember going to the library as a child.  I’d go to the back section and check out the old, often overlooked books of fairy tales and myths from places all over the world.  I loved the feel and smell of the old pages.

Reading Little House in the Big Woods is another cherished memory.  My second grade class read it and did all sorts of activities associated with the book, like making butter and candy in the snow.  I thoroughly enjoyed it and it sparked my interest in history and historical fiction.

As I’ve mentioned before, my favorite book is Beauty by Robin McKinley.  I read it for the first time when I was in fourth grade.  I was browsing the school’s library (again seeking out old books of fairy tales) when the librarian recommended Beauty.  I loved it and it will always have a special place in my heart.

Book on Brown Leaves

I’ll also never forget the first time I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.  I was in seventh grade at the time and we read The Hobbit  and The Fellowship of the Ring as part of our class work.  I fell in love with Middle Earth and all the characters and adventure to be had.  My parents gave me the series for Christmas that year so I could finish it on my own.

Discovering Edgar Allan Poe was also memorable.  I had to memorize a poem for a Language Arts class, and as I was looking through my dad’s books, I stumbled upon his collection of Poe’s poetry.  The first one I read was Annabelle Lee.  It was so haunting and passionate!  It remains my favorite poem.  (Of course I then went on to discover Poe’s short stories!)

Interview with the Vampire was the first book with vampires I ever read.  My husband (who was my boyfriend at the time), was reading it.  We were in high school and he’d borrowed it from his older sister.  He had the book out one afternoon, and I started reading over his shoulder  It wasn’t long before I had the book.  I went on to read the rest of the series and to seek out more books with vampires.

Of course one of the great things about books is sharing them with others.  I’ve had a lot of fun discussing books with my husband and my friends.  However, the best memories are of sharing books with my children.  Snuggling with my kids under a blanket on the couch reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas is one memory that comes to mind as we’ll be heading into the Christmas season soon.

I had a lot of fun making this list and reminiscing! What is your favorite bookish memory?

Damsel in a Dress by Kirsten Weiss – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Kirsten Weiss will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Bridesmaid duties can be deadly…

Maddie Kosloski has more than wedding cake on her plate. She’s managing her paranormal museum, helping her best friend Adele with wedding plans, and trying to prove that Adele’s vintage wedding dress is most definitely not haunted.

But when a bridesmaid turns up murdered, Maddie has to solve the crime to save the wedding. As her bouquet of suspects grows, and everyone’s alibis have the ring of truth, Maddie begins to doubt this wedding will go off without a hitch.

If you love laugh-out-loud mysteries, witty heroines, and a touch of the paranormal, you’ll love Damsel in a Dress, book 5 in the Perfectly Proper Paranormal Museum series of novels. Read this twisty cozy mystery today!

Enjoy an Excerpt

The wedding gown ghosted into my museum on a slither of plastic and a shiver of air conditioning. Since it was a paranormal museum, I should have figured that was a sign, an omen, a warning.

But all I worried about that morning was stepping on the hem of my best friend’s newly altered dress. I carried it like it was an atom bomb, arms extended, treading carefully.

File that under the had-I-but-known category.

My assistant, Leo, looked up from behind the glass counter and slid one finger inside the collar of his Paranormal Museum tee. “Yo.” His black leather jacket was slung over the back of his tall chair. A shock of his ebony hair fell forward, obscuring his eyes.

The museum’s front door drifted shut behind me, and the bell jangled above it.

“Thanks for managing things.” I draped the dress over the counter. Unpeeling the staticky plastic from my jeans, I scanned the museum, alert for disasters.

Visitors wandered between the shelves displaying haunted objects and creepy dolls. Photos of long-dead murderers gazed impassively from their frames beneath the black-painted crown molding.

“How many decks did you sell?” I bounced in my low-heeled sandals. The museum was doing better, but we needed to increase our in-store sales.

“One.”

I deflated. Bummer. Still, I’d only been gone thirty minutes.

GD, the museum’s ghost detecting cat, rose from the haunted rocking chair in the corner of the main room. It swayed beneath the ebony cat’s weight.

“How’d you get stuck with dress duty anyway?” Leo asked.

“I’ll do anything for wedding cake.” Really, I will. Also, I was a bridesmaid, and one of my bridesmaidly duties was picking up the altered wedding gown. Cruelly and unfairly, I had not been selected for cake sampling duty.

About the Author: Kirsten Weiss has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs and drinking red wine. The latter gives her heartburn, but she drinks it anyway.

Now based in Colorado Springs, CO, she writes genre-blending cozy mystery, supernatural and steampunk suspense, mixing her experiences and imagination to create vivid worlds of fun and enchantment.

If you like funny cozy mysteries, check out her Pie Town – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/pie-town-mysteries, Tea and Tarot – https://www.kirstenweiss.com/tea-and-tarot-mysteries , Paranormal Museum – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/the-perfectly-proper-paranormal-mus-1 and Wits’ End – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/doyle-cozy-mystery-series books.

If you’re looking for some magic with your mystery, give the Witches of Doyle – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/doyle-witch-cozy-mysteries, Riga Hayworth – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/riga-hayworth-paranormal-mysteries and Rocky Bridges – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/rocky-bridges-mysteries books a try.

And if you like steampunk, the Sensibility Grey – http://www.kirstenweiss.com/sensibility-grey-steampunk-suspense series might be for you.

Kirsten sends out original short stories of mystery and magic to her mailing list. If you’d like to get them delivered straight to your inbox, make sure to sign up for her newsletter on her website. Or you can send her an email at kweiss2001@kirstenweiss.com. She’ll answer you personally…which may be a good or a bad thing, depending on your perspective.

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When a Cowboy Loves a Woman by Jennie Marts – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jennie Marts who is celebrating the upcoming release of When a Cowboy Loves a Woman, the second book in her Creedence Horse Rescue series. Enter the Rafflecopter at the end of the post for a chance to win 1 of 5 copies of A Cowboy State of Mind to celebrate this release.

They both know the pain of loss and how to protect their hearts…but fate has a way of stepping in…

When a kitchen fire forces young widow Elle Brooks to move in with her friend Bryn and her motley collection of rescue animals, she doesn’t foresee ending up in the muscled arms of handsome cowboy and veterinarian Brody Tate. But she can’t deny the feelings that being close to Brody are stirring in her. Spending time with the hunky cowboy and his adorable young daughter as they rehabilitate rescued horses reminds Elle of all she lost in a car crash years ago.

As a widower himself, Brody is devoted to being a good dad for his spirited daughter. He hasn’t let romance even enter his head. But now he’s met Elle. Spending time with her is shaking up the calm he’s worked so hard to achieve, and he can’t seem to get this woman off his mind.

Elle and Brody have both lost people they loved, but their mutual attraction and growing feelings are too strong to ignore. The hope of a future together is a beautiful possibility, but can these two wounded souls take a chance on each other and find the courage to love again?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Everything hurts, thought Elle Brooks as she sank lower in the bathtub. Her back and shoulders ached from carrying bales of hay and brushing the horses that morning at the Heaven Can Wait Horse Rescue, where she volunteered. Although she preferred the physical labor over the headache she got from spending the afternoon with her financial advisor, going over the trust and through her finances. Between his company and his considerable life insurance policy, her beloved Ryan had left her with a substantial amount of money. But she’d give it all away for one more day with him.

She pushed a bubbly pile of suds across the spacious garden bathtub as the final strains of one of her favorite Pink songs faded in her ears. Usually the pop star’s music could energize her, but tonight she felt more like a sinking stone than any kind of rock star. With a sigh, she pushed the drain release with her toe and pulled the earbuds from her ears.

That’s when she heard the sirens.

Hair raised on the nape of her neck, and a chill that had nothing to do with the cooling bathwater raced up her spine. She slammed her eyes shut against the onslaught of memories. It had been over a year since Ryan died, but the images of the ambulance’s throbbing lights and the mournful sounds of the sirens were as vivid as if it had happened the day before.

She caught the first whiff of smoke as she heard the fire trucks pull up in front of her house. Water sloshed over the side as she stumbled to get out of the tub. Grabbing a towel, she scarcely had time to run it over her body before she heard the slam of her front door and raised voices.

Reaching for her pajamas, she pulled on the cotton shorts and wrenched the tank top over her head.

Move, her brain screamed. Get out.

The fabric clung to her damp skin as she snatched up her short robe and raced out of the bathroom. From the landing, she could see a flurry of men in yellow coats dragging a gray hose across the Italian marble of her foyer toward her kitchen.

She choked on the acrid smoke filling the air. There were no blazing flames, but the smoke scorched her throat, and she blinked against the sting of it to her eyes.

An older fireman caught sight of her. “You need to get out of the house, ma’am.”

Panic gripped her as she wildly looked around at the chaos invading her home. Then her gaze caught and held on the familiar eyes of the tall cowboy who’d just stepped into view. He was dressed in jeans and boots and a black Stetson hat, and the sight of his broad shoulders filling the doorway somehow grounded her.

She didn’t really know him—she’d briefly met him a few weeks ago. But that one time had shown his ability to stay calm and steady in a crisis situation. His name was Brody—Doctor Brody Tate. He was her best friend Bryn’s veterinarian. But why was a veterinarian at a house fire?

A plume of dark smoke billowed out of the kitchen, and Elle caught the distinct sound of the crackle of flames. She coughed, then turned around and ran back down the hallway.

She heard the older fireman’s voice yelling, “Get her out of here, Tate,” followed by the sound of cowboy boots sprinting up the stairs as she raced to the closed door at the end of the hall.
She pushed through, ignoring the rush of emotions that normally flooded her when she opened the door to the room decorated in pink-and-white stripes. A hand-knit pink blanket lay in the seat of the rocking chair. Elle grabbed it and clutched it to her chest. If she could only save one thing, it had to be this.

She turned back to see Brody in the doorway. He didn’t say anything, just reached for her hand and led her quickly back down the hallway.

They reached the top of the stairs, and she froze again at the commotion below—the rush of the firefighters’ feet, the commanding tone of their voices as they shouted orders, the pulsing flash of red lights against the white walls of her entryway.

Brody pulled at her hand, but she couldn’t move. He turned back and must have seen the panic in her eyes. His tone was soft as he swept her up, cradling her to him as if she weighed nothing at all. “It’s all right, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him, as he carried her down the stairs and out the front door. Elle lifted her head and gulped at the fresh air.

“Is there anyone else in the house? Any pets?”

She shook her head. “No. Only me.”

“You remember me? We met a couple of weeks ago at Bryn’s?”

“Yes, I remember. But what are you doing here?” And why was she clutching his neck like he was a life preserver? A handsome, tall cowboy life preserver.

***

Excerpted from When a Cowboy Loves a Woman by Jennie Marts. © 2021 by Jennie Marts. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author: Jennie Marts is the USA TODAY Best-selling author of award-winning books filled with love, laughter, and always a happily ever after. Readers call her books “laugh out loud” funny and the “perfect mix of romance, humor, and steam.” Fic Central claimed one of her books was “the most fun I’ve had reading in years.”

She is living her own happily ever after in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, two dogs, and a parakeet that loves to tweet to the oldies. She’s addicted to Diet Coke, adores Cheetos, and believes you can’t have too many books, shoes, or friends.

Her books include the contemporary western romance Hearts of Montana series, the romantic comedy/ cozy mysteries of The Page Turners series, the hunky hockey-playing men in the Bannister family in the Bannister Brothers Books, and the small-town romantic comedies in the Lovestruck series of Cotton Creek Romances.

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The Rose Man by Cheryl Dragon – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Cheryl Dragon is celebrating the recent release of The Rose Man, part of the Enter to win a $20.00 Amazon Gift Card and a FREE Cheryl Dragon romance book!

The Rose Man knows where his targets live, work and play…

One dead body.

Two missing men.

Three red roses…

So far…

Deputy Ben Grover is the only gay man in the sheriff’s department and gay men seem to be the target of a stalker who leaves a rose on their windshield. With missing persons involved, the sheriff welcomes the help of the FBI, but Ben isn’t so thrilled to be working with Agent Ross Burns, his high school ex.

Ross had aspirations that took him far from the small town while Ben had obligations that kept him back. But they won’t let their scorching past or the feelings that blaze into passion now get in the way of catching a killer.

Both are convinced there are more rose recipients out there—The Rose Man seems to be counting down to Valentine’s Day and roses tend to come by the dozen…

Enjoy an Excerpt

Rural Kentucky had its share of crime, but Deputy Ben Grover never got excited, even when something sounded like a good case. Normally it ended up being something simple, like a family dispute or misunderstanding. Family didn’t snitch and almost everyone was related in some distant way or through marriage.

Sheriff Larry, as he was known to everyone, liked things nice and quiet. His reelection signs were all over town with a picture of Larry in case anyone didn’t know who he was. A portly guy in his late fifties with a big smile, everyone liked Sheriff Larry, and Larry liked the calm and boring county.

The country life was good. Ben enjoyed knowing the people and being able to drive around his county blindfolded if he had to. Still, Ben longed for a bit more excitement, but his life was here. The radio in his squad car demanded his attention.

He grabbed the handset and pressed the button. “Grover here.”

“Respond to a report of a dead body behind the Good Ole Boy Inn. All yours,” said dispatch.

“Responding,” Ben replied. He flipped on the lights for a bit of fun. The sheriff didn’t respond unless it was high profile and the Good Ole Boy Inn was a gay dive bar just inside their jurisdiction. It drew men on the downlow from Lexington to Frankfurt and all the surrounding areas.

Three gay men had been reported missing in the last week. Of course, the families wouldn’t admit to them being gay, but interviews with coworkers and neighbors had confirmed it. But there was no sign of foul play, no blood, no signs of a struggle and no calls for ransom. Sheriff Larry was convinced they’d all gone on some gay camping trip and forgot to call off work…

The only real link between them so far was the red roses. Each had commented, before they went missing, to a friend or coworker about a red rose being left on their windshield at work, at home, or both…. Not much of a clue. If it was just one guy, it’d be weird, but not a major problem. Just a potential stalker they needed to identify and have a little chat with. Three guys with the rose man stalking them, however, was a big signal to Ben that someone out there was targeting gay men.

Some of the men didn’t live within the jurisdiction, so Larry was talking to other law enforcement, which complicated matters. Ben knew it wasn’t a big priority—gay men missing triggered Deliverance jokes or brought up John Wayne Gacy analogies.

The reality was that men going missing wasn’t the big news story or priority that kids or women were. Men wanted to believe they were all tough and that only weak and vulnerable people needed that sort of help. Plus, with no body, there was no proof of any crime. No blood at any scene and no witness to a struggle left them with nothing—it could just be a case of guys going out of town at the same time. Vacation, family emergency or whatever… To make it more challenging, some of the men worked and some didn’t.
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Ben turned off down the dirt path that wasn’t well marked as any sort of driveway or street—he’d been to that gay dive bar plenty in his life. People had to know their way around the backwoods to find it. He’d been coming here since he was fourteen.

Ben parked his car along the side of the bar. The surroundings were was all dirt and sparse grass until he hit the woods behind the place. The bar itself was a dingy one-floor glorified shack with a wraparound porch. Underage teens were kept to the porch unless they had a decent fake ID. Luckily it was only noon and the bar wasn’t officially open yet.

The owner, Charlie Mullins, sat on the back porch in a rocking chair. He was pushing sixty and the eternal hippie. Rumor had it plenty of weed was grown in the woods around the bar. He had to support the business somehow. Inside, the drinks were cheap but the décor was often updated. Huge flatscreens hung around the bar, pool tables and dart boards were along the side and there were dark corners, as well as a disco ball over the smallish dance floor.

Ben had to be careful how much he shared with Charlie. He wasn’t just an older gay guy and friend now—Charlie was part of a case, and Ben had to keep his professional boundaries clear for the sake of the victims. To him, Charlie wasn’t a suspect, but what he knew might crack the case. Every gay guy who walked in here trusted Charlie with his life.

“Ben, thank God it’s you.” Charlie waved and walked down from the porch. “Drove up for a delivery and saw this rolled-up tarp. I got close enough to check if it was garbage and I saw enough of a body to call Sheriff Larry.”

“Garbage?” Ben asked.

“Sometimes we get the skinheads setting a fire or dumping scrap parts after they butchered something. Sometimes it’s trash, but they usually set it on fire. I never expected a dead body.”

“We’ll get the CSI group out here.” Ben took initial pics with his cell phone and sent the text for backup. A piece of paper was taped to the plastic trash bag.

“I didn’t touch nothing,” Charlie said.

“Good call. Ya’ll might need to close down for a night or two,” Ben warned.

“Come on, you know that’d cause a panic,” Charlie said.

“Let’s just see. We’ll try to keep things quiet, but not much happens around here. People start asking questions whenever they hear a siren or see flashing lights.” Ben took a few more pics with his cell phone, put on gloves and gently peeled the tape off so he could see the piece of paper. It was neon pink, hard to miss once the outer layer of plastic was pulled back.

“It’s a flyer for the Valentine’s dance at the community center.” Ben shook his head at the name. Cupid’s Ball.

Charlie nodded. “Something scribbled on the back.”

Ben flipped it over.

What comes by the dozen and sells out fast on Valentine’s Day? I promise not to take out more than a dozen men…we might not be welcome at the ball but you should come and see if there are any of them left…

About the Author: A lover of unusual things, Cheryl Dragon enjoys writing unique stories with sinfully hot erotic romance. She loves cats, coffee and book signings where she can meet her fans. Cheryl lives in the Chicagoland area.

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CHERYL DRAGON IS GIVING AWAY A $20.00 AMAZON GIFT CARD TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN AND GRAB YOUR FREE CHERYL DRAGON ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 23rd February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

An Invitation by Jasmine Hill – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Jasmine Hill who is celebrating the recent release of An Invitation, part of the My Bloody Valentine Collection. Enter to win a fabulous gift package and a FREE Jasmine Hill romance book!

Accept it if you dare…

Twenty-four-year-old personal trainer Bree Lewis has no time for love, so a mysterious invitation to a Valentine’s Weekend Gala has her intrigued. It seems crazy to accept, but perhaps she’ll meet a hot guy there who’ll be the distraction she desperately needs…even if the gala is taking place at a strange mansion in a secret location.

For weeks Vincent has been watching over Bree from the shadows, keeping her safe until the moment is right to make himself known to her. But when he sees Bree’s name on the Gala invitation list, he has no choice but to attend the event.

When Bree and Vincent meet, their attraction burns until the very air around them ignites. But things aren’t what they seem at the mansion and, shockingly, even Vincent is harboring a deadly secret. And when the guests start disappearing, it’s clear that something is very wrong.

Bree and Vincent are tested to their limits in their fight to escape the mansion and the deadly dangers that lurk there. It seems there’s no hope for the couple…unless Vincent is prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, death and gore.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Bree fingered the invitation. Thick card, heavy. Expensive. Gold, embossed print and gold love hearts in elegant filigree bordering the scalloped edge. A date, time and a title for the event, the Valentine’s Weekend Gala. She flipped it over, but the back offered no more information than the front, only an image of Cupid, bow and arrow raised, an impish grin on his cherubic face. No sender details or address or even a request for an RSVP. Just the date and time that she would be picked up and conveyed…somewhere. She studied the accompanying envelope, but there were no postmarks or postdates, nothing to indicate whence it came. Just her name in elegant script—Ms. Bree Regina Lewis.

She tapped a nail on the invitation, fascination taking hold. It was madness to consider going—she couldn’t even tell anyone where she’d be. But the intrigue and mystery were a heady attraction. With yet another Valentine’s Day looming bleak and unpromising, perhaps this event was just what she needed. And did the Cupid image mean something? Was it the promise of some kind of romance? But, really, who could be behind such an invite? The host must be a bored and eccentric millionaire with too much time and money on his hands.

The training schedule she’d been working on forgotten, she sat back in her chair and stared out of her office window. She could take a friend, but the invitation didn’t specify ‘plus one’. That should raise a red flag, but she wouldn’t let a small detail like that stop her, reckless as she was by nature.

Valentine’s Day fell on a Saturday and she’d be picked up on the Friday, presumably for the gala the following evening. Friday the thirteenth… The day and date were considered unlucky and the movies by the same name definitely didn’t leave her with a warm, fuzzy feeling. But she wasn’t superstitious and the host hardly had a choice in the matter of dates if it was to be a Valentine’s weekend. It was obviously just a coincidence and nothing nefarious—really, a gift that she was lucky to be included in. And she had two weeks to plan her wardrobe.

According to the limited information provided, the Valentine’s Weekend Gala would start on the evening of the thirteenth and progress through to the afternoon of the fifteenth of February. Bree had no way of knowing if different attire was required for different events, so she’d just have to pack taking all considerations into account. And, of course, an evening gown would surely be required for the Saturday night Valentine Gala that must be taking place. She’d never been to a ball, so she’d need a dress for the occasion.

She logged into her online banking to check her account balance. The number of zeros was not promising, particularly when she took rent, food and bill payments into consideration. Her credit card balance looked more encouraging. She hadn’t been putting much on credit, purely because her personal life had been unexciting of late, to say the least. If she worked additional shifts she could easily pay for a new dress and shoes and some extras. It was worth it, to add some spice to her life.

She switched over to the gym training roster she’d been working on and typed her name into the vacant slots. Instructing boxing classes and early morning boot camps meant that she would have some early starts and later evenings. At least the Australian summer kept the days warm and sunny and enjoyable for any outdoor activity. Her personal training schedule could also bring in more income for one-on-one training. She input her name next to the clients who’d requested personal sessions. Normally she’d take about three to four per week, but for the next two weeks she ensured that she’d take two sessions a day. She’d have very little free time, but the extra money would be worth it.

She grabbed her mobile and selected her best friend’s contact. “Nell, tell me you don’t have anything going on this Saturday!”

“Hello to you too.” Nell laughed. “As it happens, I only have some laundry and housework to look forward to and I’ll do anything to put that off. What do you have in mind? Tell me it’s more interesting than my current plans. Please!”

“Are you up for a shopping trip?”
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“That depends. You’re not shopping for white goods, are you? If you need a new fridge, I think I’ll pass.”

Bree giggled. “No, I need a new dress—an evening dress—and I want your opinion.”

“Where are you going? Is the invite for two?”

Bree paused. How was she going to tell her best friend about the mysterious invitation? Nell would most certainly demand to go with her once she knew the details—or lack of.

“It’s a work thing,” Bree lied. “The gym’s putting on an event for our clients.”

She felt a pang of guilt about lying to her friend, but she reasoned it was for the best. Nell would just worry, and she knew her friend well enough to know that she wouldn’t let the issue go without a myriad of questions that Bree couldn’t answer. Nell was cautious and practical while Bree was bold and impulsive. They were yin and yang and always joked that it was their opposite characters that made them work as best friends.

Nell’s sigh reached her across the connection. “Fine. You go to your work thing and I’ll help you shop for it. Perhaps you’ll meet some hot gym junkie. Then you can stop focusing on that phantom man you keep dreaming about.”

Bree started when her friend mentioned the exact thing that had been in the back of her mind. Bree too hoped she’d meet someone who could dispel the man of her dreams. She cleared her throat. “Great. I’m taking training sessions until midday on Saturday. How about I pick you up at twelve-thirty? We can have lunch then shop afterwards.”

“Sounds good. See you then, girlfriend,” Nell sang before hanging up.

Bree smiled at her friend’s uncanny knack of seeming to read her mind. Bree had told Nell about her dreams and about the man who featured in them constantly. A man whom she’d never met. She couldn’t even liken him to anyone. He was an enigma. A handsome, spellbinding enigma who preoccupied her sleep. It was getting to the point where she found herself comparing all the men she met to the man of her dreams. It was strange how his scent would stay with her for hours after she awoke, a masculine spice like no other that stimulated her senses to a distracting level. It was troublesome and irritating and she hoped fervently that this mysterious Valentine’s Day Weekend would throw a physical, flesh-and-blood male into her path.

About the Author: Jasmine Hill was born in Australia and grew up in Sydney. She currently lives in Madrid, Spain with her husband.

She adores reading all genres but in particular she enjoys erotic romance novels and thrillers.

Jasmine loves writing and is always looking for new ideas for stories that will provoke inner passions, stimulate the senses and ignite the imagination.

Her interests include cooking, traveling, yoga and skiing.

She has won some short story competitions and is now excited to have started publishing her erotic romance stories through Totally Bound Publishing.

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Buy the book at your favorite venue or First for Romance.

ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GRAB YOUR FREE JASMINE HILL ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 23rd February 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

The Cutting Room Floor by William A. Glass – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. William A. Glass will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR

As Good As Can Be is a work of fiction, but it draws from my experiences growing up in an army family. To keep the narrative moving, I left many interesting real-life happenings out. Some were easy to cut because they revisited ground already travelled. Below are summaries of two real-life episodes that I hated to leave out but did.

In 1955 my family including alcoholic father, ineffectual mother, and five wild kids, traveled to Europe on the SS United States. On the last night of the voyage, my parents were invited to dine with the captain. They left my sister, then 11, in charge of her five younger siblings. We played nicely until eleven or so when the fighting started. After a storm of complaints from neighboring cabins, the deck steward tried but couldn’t stop the mayhem. He called on a ship’s officer who also failed to halt the effusion of blood. The lieutenant reluctantly went up to the first-class dining room for a word with the captain, who then asked Lt. Colonel Glass to restore order in his cabin. My father had been charming the socks off of a Duchess (or so he claimed) and was so irate at being interrupted that he kept us children up for the rest of the night which meant we were all asleep that morning when the ship made a brief stop to let passengers off in Liverpool. Dad was still awake, however, and went ashore. Later he rubbed it in that he saw England and we didn’t. The ship landed in Bremerhaven that evening, and the Glass family spent the next four years in Germany.

Another episode that occurred in real life and almost made it into the book is when I went to visit my older sister after she trapped a boy from college into marrying her. She was living with him, his mother, and her child on a beautiful stretch of the Chesapeake Bay on the Eastern shore of Maryland. The mother-in-law was a cold blue-blood. The son was a spoiled rich kid who was more interested in his toys (airplane, sport-fishing boat, and race car) than the child. The three of them were living in an antebellum plantation house complete with African-American servants. In the morning, I went up in the plane with my brother-in-law, who tried mightily to get me to throw up. When that failed, he took to dive-bombing the house to wake my sister. I had a private chat with her before I left. She admitted that things were tense in the house, and she felt isolated. However, anything was better than being a home with our family!

There were other scenes that were left on the cutting room floor in order to keep the length of As Good As Can Be within reason. The above ones were the hardest ones for me to get rid off!

Dave Knight is a wayward child growing up in a military family during the 1950s. His older sister wants to kill him but settles for regularly beating him up. Other siblings join in the mayhem while their alcoholic father contributes to the chaos with his unique approach to parenting.
As the Knight family moves from one army base to the next, Dave develops a give-a-damn attitude that often leads to trouble. In high school, he joins other delinquents in a series of escapades, some dangerous, others funny, and a few that would be worthy of jail time should they ever be caught.

After barely graduating, Dave is drafted into the army and sent to guard a nuclear weapons depot in Korea. There, he gets into trouble with his sergeant and tries to avoid dishonorable discharge.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Two rocking chairs are arranged in front of the fireplace. On the mantle is a signed photograph of General Nathan Bedford Forrest. Mr. Lawson takes the picture down and shows it to Dave. “My pappy rode with Forrest,” the old man says. “He killed a lot of Yankees, you know, in the war.” Mr. Lawson looks at Dave expectantly but is disappointed by the uncomprehending expression on the child’s face. Carefully he places his prized possession back over the fireplace.

Dave and Melissa return to Gram’s house in time for lunch. After eating, the Knight children have another quiet time. Then Ethel comes up with an idea. “Let’s take a ride out to the river,” she suggests.

“What for?” Knight asks.

“I want to see if the rain the other day caused it to rise.”

“Who cares?”

“Come on, it’s something to do,” Bobbie says impatiently.

The family piles into the Plymouth and rides a short distance to where the Trinity River flows. Knight parks on the shoulder of the highway, and they all go onto the bridge to peer at the muddy water. It’s an evil-looking stream, full of snags and home to alligators, cottonmouths, gars, and snapping turtles. No one in their right mind would go swimming in the Trinity, so all the natives can do is look, check the water level, or maybe drop a line in to see what manner of creature takes the bait. “Can we go now?” Marie asks.

“Hush. Gram wants to look,” Bobbie says.

“At what?” Dan asks.

About the Author:Bill is a retired business executive now living in South Carolina with his wife, Bettina. She teaches high school German while Bill coaches soccer at a small college. Their three sons, Alex, Robert, and Gordon, have all graduated from college and moved away to pursue careers.

For recreation, Bettina and Bill enjoy hiking and camping out. Usually, they take their dog, Scout, along. When the weather permits, Bill commutes to work on his motorcycle.

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Where Do Ideas Come From? by Merida Johns – Guest Blog and Giveaweay

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Merida Johns will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Where Do Ideas Come From?

When I tell someone that I have written a novel, the predictable questions come up. “How did you dream up that story? Is this an account of real events. Maybe your life?”

“Well, no, but then again, yes,” I stammer. So, without stammering, let me share the inside scoop with you.

When I started writing fiction, I took two pieces of advice—write about what you know and know about what you write.” Those words made sense to me. After all, authors like Jane Austin, Alice Munro, and Charles Dickens wrote about what they knew, and others like Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie know about what they write. To that advice, I added the Evan Literary Agency’s definition of a novel as a “work of written narrative fiction that may be based on or inspired by a true story but does not claim to be a true account.” These function as my North Star, keeping me focused on my developing ideas that will provide the best possible experience for my readers.

In writing about what I know, my ideas originate from my imagination. But that creativity is influenced by my curiosity, experience, perspectives, and observations that give the story authenticity and sensitivity, helping readers connect with the characters and feel their joy, disappointment, sorrow, and happiness. Let me share an example.

After reading Blackhorse Road, the beta readers found the relationship between Luci, the protagonist, and her father to be profound. Their relationship, built on mutual respect and trust, form Luci’s core values that see her through some tough emotional times and hard choices. One beta reader said that she had wished she had had such a relationship, and another revealed that it brought up memories of her relationship with her father. But where did that idea bubble from for me?

Some years ago, I was visiting with friends who had two teenaged children—a daughter, eighteen-years-old, and a son, sixteen-years-old. All of us chatted before, during, and after dinner, engaging in conversation about politics, world events, and everyday issues. But the teenagers were not ancillary to the conversation, they were part of it. I listened carefully to what these young people had to say in response to powerful questions—What are you concerned about? What’s most important to you? If you had the choice, what would you do? What is your assessment of this situation? How would you handle that problem?

I was impressed with the level of insight, judgment, and perspective of these teenagers. But what I also observed was trust between children and parents. Remembering that experience, I wanted Blackhorse Road to reveal to my readers the possibilities of this dimension.

The following quote is taken from Chapter Five and gives an insight into the relationship between Luci and her father.

Sam knew the best way to get Luci to reveal her thoughts was to pose a question requiring an opinion. He recognized Luci’s growing emotional maturity and was proud of his daughter’s self-confidence and her commitment to a more tolerant world. He also welcomed her ideas and encouraged her to debate with him, believing it honed her judgment and decision-making. Often, Sam would ask Luci her thoughts about a political matter or seek her advice in sizing up a business problem. Allowing her to express herself in a secure environment, Sam believed, helped his daughter build self-esteem.

For knowing about what I write, my recollections of the period 1966-1986, the locations, and the plots chronicled in Blackhorse Road were supplemental by research that opened a new world of fascination. I took a shovel and start digging and could not stop—hungry to learn and examine how historical events, politics, economics, philosophy, religion, and psychology might influence the values of the characters and, ultimately, the consequences of their actions.

But what intrigues me more than the usual fact-checking resources are firsthand accounts that I discover in old letters and diaries. This is how I stumbled upon Arthur.

Chapter Seventeen, titled “Arthur,” was inspired by a packet of yellowed love letters held together with a gold ribbon. The chapter begins in 1966 on a Canadian summer afternoon, where octogenarian Geneviève and her eighteen-year-old granddaughter are sitting together on the front porch sharing the intimacies of their first loves.

The Letters that Inspired a Chapter from Blackhorse Road by Merida Johns

. . . Reviving the intensity of her romances, Geneviève felt a closeness to her granddaughter, believing that Luci, too, would understand the passion she experienced as a young woman. She scooted her rocking chair closer to Luci, longing to confide stories of her youthful affaires de coeur, as she delicately called them.

“Oh, my dear, I’m reliving my old romances vicariously through you,” Geneviève said in a breathy voice . . . Grinning, Geneviève crept her hand into the pocket of her shirtwaist dress and pulled out what looked like letters, tied neatly together with a gold ribbon. Luci’s heart flipped, looking at the packet.

“See here, Luci,” Geneviève whispered, patting the bundle as lovingly as she would a kitten. “These are some of the letters from my dear Arthur.” She paused, meeting Luci’s eyes. “What do you think? Do you want to read them with me?”

Taken off guard, Luci’s hand flew up to cover her mouth as her grandmother untied the ribbon as if it were pure gold. Clasping the notes between her hands, Geneviève caressed the cherished mementos with her thumbs as though rubbing them would resurrect Arthur’s spirit. Carefully, she opened one of the fragile, yellowed envelopes and removed several pages of stationery. Even from where she was sitting, Luci saw the beautiful script of Arthur’s hand. The lines of written words were straight and neat with capital letters highlighted in crafted swirls. Luci edged to the front of her chair for a closer look at the letter in her grandmother’s shaking hand . . .

USA General Hospital
Washington Barracks
Washington, DC
August 22, 1901

My Dearest Geneviève . . .

Under another hand, Blackhorse Road could all too easily have been a singular romance. Johns provides more as she follows Luci down the rabbit hole and out the other side of life experience, bringing readers into a world where . . . transgression changes everything and challenges carefully-constructed foundations of belief and values. As Luci lets go of her lifesavers and navigates obstacles to happiness, her story becomes a vivid portrait of hope and self-examination which ultimately moves into unexpected territory. Novel readers seeking a tale that closely considers deception and forgiveness, love gained and lost, and family ties will welcome the multifaceted Blackhorse Road’s ability to come full circle in a satisfyingly unexpected way. – D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

It’s the turbulent mid-1960s, and Luci, an eighteen-year-old Southern California girl, is on the quest for self-determination and new beginnings. Three powerful forces influence her values: the grit of her Irish great-grandmother, Lucinda McCormick; the philosophy of choice of her father, Sam; and the 1960s ideals of equity and altruism. But potent foes thwart Luci at every turn. Her budding romance with a handsome United States Air Force Academy cadet sets the stage for conflict and deception that last for two decades. When Luci discovers how her autonomy and her love affair were hijacked, she struggles with anger and bitterness. But from a surprising source, she finds a forgiveness path that restores her well-being and hope and, in the end, faith in herself.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The cranky engine revved as the driver shifted gears, and the military bus crawled forward exiting the air force base. Along a narrow and dark roadway, the vehicle increased its speed and left the MPs at the gate standing immobile and mute in the glow of the rising moon. Drifting through the open windows, the Southern California desert air blew like pixie dust across the faces of the thirty young women headed home from the street dance. A few hours ago, they were preening and adjusting their bouffant hairdos, reapplying creamy pink lipstick, and placing the last twirls of mascara on their eyelashes to prepare for a street dance with cadets from the elite Air Force Academy. Then, the atmosphere buzzed with gossip, chatter, laughter, and anticipation. Now, the glimmering night sky created the perfect backdrop that lulled each into a contented silence to fantasize about the handsome men they had met.

This is the beginning of my story about love and betrayal and a journey toward empathy, compassion, and forgiveness. It is also a story of choice—my choice to be inspired by the resilience of a great-grandmother, the values of a father, and the wisdom of a spouse. But in the end, it is a story of how a letter of gratitude . . . reminded me to open my heart to love and kindness.

About the Author:Merida Johns takes her experience as an educator, consultant, and businesswoman and writes about the human experience. In 2018 Merida took an unlikely off-ramp from writing textbooks and motivational books to authoring women’s fiction. Her stories are learning lessons where awareness and curiosity transport readers to the most unexpected places within themselves. Merida hails from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, grew up in Southern California and has lived from coast-to-coast in the United States. Besides writing, she enjoys fabric arts, including weaving and knitting. She makes her home in the serene Midwest countryside that gives her the inspiration and space for storytelling.

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Finding Giorgio by Joe Cosentino – Q&A and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Joe Cosentino who is joining us for an interview at his release of Finding Giorgio, Found At Last book one, published by Dreamspinner Press. Post a comment about a lost love. The one that tugs at our heart strings the most will win an e-book of any of Joe’s back titles published by
Dreamspinner Press!

Welcome, Joe. Let’s jump right in and examine your head and heart.

Please be gentle. (smile)

Always. How did you become a storyteller?

My mother says I tell tall tales—and she’s right! I’ve always had a wild imagination. My parents always feared what I’d make up and tell neighbors about them. And they still do! I appropriately majored in theatre at college. Then I went on to act opposite stars like Rosie O’Donnell (AT&T industrial), Nathan Lane (Roar of the Greasepaint musical onstage), Bruce Willis (A Midsummer Night’s Dream onstage), Charles Keating (NBC’s Another World), Jason Robards (Commercial Credit computer commercial), and Holland Taylor (ABC’s My Mother Was Never a Kid TV movie). Finally, I began writing plays and ultimately writing novels. Since I’m a cozy mystery reading fanatic, and there are so few gay cozy mystery series out there, I was happy to fill the bill—or in this new novel, the pinstriped suit.

How do you find the time to be a college professor/department head and do all this writing?

I’m a night owl, so I write late into the night.

Where do you write?

In a very cozy environment! My home study (very much like Martin Anderson’s office in my Nicky and Noah Mysteries) includes a fireplace with a cherry wood mantel and a cherry wood desk and bookcase. I also have a window seat beneath a large window/gateway to the woods.

Do you write an outline before each book?

Since this book has a cinematic energy, an outline was very useful. I generally think of a great idea for a new book at 3 a.m. If I can remember it the next day, or read my notes on my night table, I draft the outline. Since I was an actor, I also write a character biography for each character. Then I close my eyes and let the magic happen. As I see the scenes in front of me like a movie and the characters start talking to each other in my head, I hit the computer. My spouse reads my second draft. After we argue, I write my third draft. The fourth draft is after notes from my editor.

Which other MM authors do you read?

All of them!

What have you learned about reviews?

I always encourage readers to post a reader rating and review on Amazon, Goodreads, and Audible. That’s how people find out about books. It’s like applauding for an actor at the curtain call. My reviews are generally very good. I don’t read the few negative reviews. If you don’t like a book, stop reading it after chapter one and read something else, rather than posting a low rating and mean review. Remember folks, karma can be a bitch! What you put out there, you very well may get right back at you. Writers don’t do it for the money. We do it for the love of our books and our readers. We put our hearts out there to be embraced not stamped on. Think about that the next time you post a reader comment.

What advice do you have for unpublished writers?

Don’t listen to naysayers. Find the magic within yourself. Get in front of the computer and start writing your unique story. Don’t copy anyone. Write what you know and feel passionate about. Write every day. Don’t be afraid to take chances. When you have a story you think is perfect, ask someone you trust to read it. Then after doing another draft, email it to a publisher who has an open submissions policy and who publishes the kind of story you’ve written, or publish it yourself.

Is it hard to write comedy?

Not for me. I’ve always thought funny. I remember as an actor, directors telling me to stop making my scenes so funny. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I think I get this from my mother. For example, for Christmas one year my mother gave me a jacket and my sister a house. When I complained, she said, “But it’s a nice jacket.” Thanks, Mom!

Why do you write gay fiction?

Why not? LGBT people have many interesting untold stories. Go to a mall and look at the row of movie posters without any LGBT characters in them. Visit a bookstore and see cover after cover of opposite sex love stories. Take a look at so many of our political and so-called religious leaders who raise money and gain power by demonizing LGBT people and trying (and often succeeding) to take away civil rights. I mourn for the young gay kids who consider suicide. So I support organizations like GLSEN, and I write stories that include LGBT people and themes. However, just as my Jana Lane series with its gay supporting characters has huge crossover appeal for gay people, the Nicky and Noah series with its LGBT leading characters and straight supporting characters has a tremendous amount of crossover appeal for straight people. My Cozzi Cove series does as well.

You are incredibly prolific. How do you think up your stories?

My In My Heart series (An Infatuation and A Shooting Star) was loosely based on my high school and college years. The Cozzi Cove series was inspired by my childhood summers at the New Jersey shore and my love for serial drama. Some of my stories came to me while travelling. For example, the Bobby and Paolo Holiday Stories were inspired by my trip to the romantic and magical Island of Capri. The Nicky and Noah mysteries came about due to my life as a college theatre professor (and trips to Alaska, Hawaii, and Scotland), and the Jana Lane mysteries were stimulated by my years as a professional actor (and trips to California, Washington, DC, and New York City).

And your current release?

I love the Hudson Valley, New York in the fall with its stunning views of the rippling water, white church steeples, multicolored leaves, and sun-kissed mountains from the Walkway Over the Hudson. The Pocono Mountains in the Pennsylvania are also my favorites. So I decided to set a story there. I especially like that the novella includes a few older characters, a rarity in MM literature. These characters are quite fascinating.

Tell everyone the story of Finding Giorgio.

In Finding Giorgio, Theo Stratis, an unlucky in love young accountant, registers at his upstate New York LGBTQ Center to visit an elderly gay person. Theo is matched with Nolan Downes who lives in a local nursing home. The young man is charmed by the eccentric ex-pharmacist and his wisecracking caretaker Tanisha. However, Theo is shocked at Nolan’s request for him to find the love of Nolan’s youth: Giorgio Roberto. Upon questioning Nolan, Theo finds out Giorgio’s parents had separated Nolan and Giorgio at eighteen after their romantic summer at a Poconos resort. Nolan had kept Giorgio’s picture and his love for Giorgio in his heart ever since. Theo is also surprised to meet the gorgeous Jamison Radames, a medical director, who is visiting the same nursing home. Theo and Jamison embark on an exciting adventure to find Giorgio. Their search takes them to an old neighborhood, a veterans’ center, a homeless shelter, and all the way from New York to Boston. Along the way, Theo and Jamison uncover a great deal about Giorgio and about themselves. By the end of the novella, two brothers are reunited, and two couples emerge in an emotional climax that will leave you overjoyed but also tear at your heartstrings.

What’s next?

Finding Armando, Found At Last Book Two. More on that later.

How can your readers get their hands on Finding Giorgio?

The purchase links are below.

Thank you, Joe, for interviewing today.

My pleasure. I hope everyone will read Finding Giorgio. I’m sure, like me, you will fall in love with Theo, Jamison, Nolan, and Giorgio and their amazing story. And I love to hear from readers. So contact me at my website.

When young accountant Theo Stratis visits Nolan Downes, an elderly gay man in a local nursing home, he is surprised by Nolan’s request: find the lost love of his youth, Giorgio Roberto. Theo is also surprised to meet handsome and successful Jamison Radames, who is visiting the same nursing home. As Theo and Jamison embark on an investigative adventure to find Giorgio, they discover a great deal about themselves and each other. Solving the mystery of what happened to Giorgio might mean happily ever after for more than just Nolan.

Enjoy an Excerpt

I slowly walked Nolan out of the room, down the hallway, and into the lounge with large windows overlooking the Mid-Hudson Bridge surrounded by the clear azure sky. After we were settled on a sofa next to a marble fireplace, he tented his fingers. “I want to tell you about a man I once loved.”

Assuming he had forgotten, I replied, “You told me about Frank.”

“Not that man.”

That caught my attention.

“His name was Giorgio Roberto.” Nolan’s face lit up. “I knew him when we were eighteen years old.”

“And you still remember him?”

“I remember everything about Giorgio.” He grinned like a schoolboy.
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“How did you two meet?”

Nolan gazed straight ahead as if turning back the pages of time. “My father was a high school history teacher. My mother was a writer. Every summer we vacationed at a resort in the Pocono Mountains: my father, my mother, my sister, and me. We had a wonderful time back then—swimming in the lake, mountain climbing, playing volleyball and checkers, and eating the family-style meals in the dining room.” His eyes brightened and cheeks grew rosy.. “Every summer there was a dance contest. My sister and I won each year.” He winked at me. “I still have a few moves.” He extended his leg, then rested back, recovering on the sofa. “We didn’t have air-conditioning back then. So the summer of my eighteenth year, after Clancy and I took the silver cup, I headed out of the community room to the veranda while all the other boys inside asked my sister for a dance—except for one boy.”

“Giorgio?”

Nolan nodded. “I was standing outside, staring at the gray mountains and the inky lake. Then I saw him, bathed only in starlight as he sat on the balcony railing.”

“What did he look like?”

Nolan reached into his pocket and displayed an old black-and-white photograph of two attractive young men sitting on a large rock. Giorgio was average height. But that was the only average thing about him. He had wavy jet-black hair and a strong Roman nose. A white T-shirt barely contained his rippling muscles, and tight black jeans with a button-up fly housed his bulge. Black boots and a black leather jacket finished the look.

I pointed to the young man next to Giorgio in the photo. “You were quite the looker yourself, Nolan, with your handsome face and cut body.”

“I was what you now call a ginger.” He smiled. “And being with Giorgio made me feel so special. Giorgio gazed at me as if he could look straight into my heart. Though I had never seen him before, he seemed so… familiar, as if we had known each other in a parallel universe. I stared into his dark eyes, and for the first time in my life, I was safe. It was as if I had come home after a long, exhausting journey.” Nolan sat up straight with a grin on his face as if reliving it. “We stayed like that for some time, watching each other, smiling, but not saying a word. Finally, Giorgio said in a velvety voice, ‘Where’d you learn to dance like that?’ I tried to answer, but my voice broke like a choirboy’s. When I found my voice, I said, ‘My sister and I have been dancing together since we were little kids.’ Giorgio unleashed the most radiant smile I’d ever seen. ‘So, she’s your sister. That’s good,’ he said. ‘Why is that good?’ I asked. He came closer and I breathed in the scent of his mint gum. ‘That means she’s not your girlfriend,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ I replied. Then I breathed a sigh of relief when he said, ‘Looks like we have that in common.’ He asked me to dance with him, and I did. Giorgio and I stood out there for most of the night, talking about our families, friends, schools, vacations, hobbies, likes, dislikes, fears, and dreams.”

“Did you live far apart?”

Nolan shook his head. “My family was in Poughkeepsie and Giorgio’s in Hyde Park.” He recited as if it had all happened yesterday, “Giorgio’s father was a butcher. His mother a seamstress. He had two older brothers. They worked for his father. Though Giorgio had never been on a plane, he was fascinated with them, stopping dead in his tracks to watch every time one flew overhead. Giorgio told me he wanted to be a pilot. I told him I found that exciting. He replied, ‘I like that I excite you.’ When I told him I wanted to be a pharmacist, he asked me, ‘Does a pharmacist work on a farm?’” Nolan smiled nostalgically.

“Did you guys spend a lot of time together?”

He cooed. “Every waking minute of that summer. We played shuffleboard, ping pong, went fishing, and we enjoyed food marathons and walks through the woods. Our favorite activities were swimming and boating. When I saw Giorgio in his tight lemon swim trunks, I nearly fainted. He told me I looked ‘adorable’ in my navy trunks.”

Feeling like a gossip columnist, I asked, “Did anything romantic happen?”

“Not for most of the summer.” Nolan grinned. “But the last week we were there, Giorgio and I were in a sailboat far from the shore. It was a calm summer day, so the boat was barely moving. We were out on the lake for about an hour when he suddenly turned to me and said, ‘I want to see you after we leave here.’ I told him I wanted the same thing. Then to my surprise, he leaned in and kissed me, and I kissed him back. It was as if the lion’s gate had been opened. Once we started, we couldn’t stop. We held on to each other for dear life, hugging and kissing until our mouths ached. After tearing off our swimsuits, we made love, experimenting and learning as the sun’s golden rays surrounded our rocking boat. When we were through, I rested my head on his chest. As we kissed and held hands, we pledged our love to each other. When we got back to shore, we planned to meet the next morning after breakfast. Giorgio went to his family’s cabin as usual, and I did the same. That night, as every night, I hugged my pillow, pretending it was Giorgio, my first love.”

“What happened when you met at breakfast the next morning?”

“We didn’t.” Nolan’s eyes filled with moisture. “That night, our sailboat must have been closer to the shore than we had thought.”

“Somebody saw you?”

He nodded. “Giorgio’s father. He pounded on my family’s cabin door early the next morning, ranting and raving at my father that ‘my son can never see your son again.’ Back then, many Irish and Italian people feuded. Adding homosexuality to the mix, which was illegal and thought of as a mental illness, sent our two fathers over the edge.”

My heart broke for Nolan. “What did your dad do?”

A crease appeared on his forehead. “My father damned me to Hell and sent me away to a Catholic college, where I ironically had to dodge frisky priests.”

“And Giorgio?”

“On the day we left the resort, I saw him from inside our car.” A tear slid down his face. “He had a welt on his cheek and a blackened eye.”

“After that, didn’t you try to contact him?”

“I wrote to him every day from college. My letters were all returned to me unopened, I assumed by Giorgio’s father. After my first year at college, I came home for the summer. When I drove to Giorgio’s house, the woman who answered the door was Dutch. She had bought the house from a realtor, and she hadn’t heard of the Roberto family. When I went back to college for my second year, I met Frank. We kept our relationship a secret… at the college and to our families.”

“Your parents never knew about Frank?”

“They knew all right, but they called Frank my ‘roommate’ or ‘friend.’” He sighed. “My parents and I could have been such close friends; instead we were distant relations.”

“And you never saw Giorgio again?”

“Only in the midst of a crowd of people, each time realizing it was just my imagination.” He placed the picture back inside his pocket.

I heard a silky, masculine voice. “Nolan, they let you out of your room? Are the other residents safe?”

I glanced up at the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. He seemed about my age, tall with a peaches-and-cream complexion and jet-black hair. There was a quiet dignity about the man, whose periwinkle sweater and dark slacks housed his muscular physique.

At the sight of him, Nolan giggled merrily. “Darn, you found me! Next time I’ll try hiding under the sofa.”

“You’re so thin, you could fit.”

The two men shared a laugh.

Nolan noticed the confused look on my face. “Theo Stratis, this is Jamison Radames.”

I rose and extended a hand.

About the Author: Joe Cosentino was voted Favorite LGBT Mystery, Humorous, and Contemporary Author of the Year by the readers of Divine Magazine for Drama Queen. He also wrote the other novels in the Nicky and Noah mystery series: Drama Muscle, Drama Cruise, Drama Luau, Drama Detective, Drama Fraternity, Drama Castle, Drama Dance, Drama Faerie, Drama Runway, Drama Christmas, Drama Faerie; the Dreamspinner Press novellas: In My Heart/An Infatuation & A Shooting Star, the Bobby and Paolo Holiday Stories: A Home for the Holidays/The Perfect Gift/The First Noel, The Naked Prince and Other Tales from Fairyland/Holiday Tales from Fairyland, Found At Last: Finding Giorgio/Finding Armando; the Cozzi Cove series (NineStar Press): Cozzi Cove: Bouncing Back, Cozzi Cove: Moving Forward, Cozzi Cove: Stepping Out, Cozzi Cove: New Beginnings, Cozzi Cove: Happy Endings; and the Jana Lane mysteries: Paper Doll, Porcelain Doll, Satin Doll, China Doll, Rag Doll (The Wild Rose Press). He has appeared in principal acting roles in film, television, and theatre, opposite stars such as Bruce Willis, Rosie O’Donnell, Nathan Lane, Holland Taylor, and Jason Robards. Joe is currently Chair of the Department/Professor at a college in upstate New York, and he is happily married. Joe was voted 2nd Place Favorite LGBT Author of the Year in Divine Magazine’s Readers’ Choice Awards, and his books have received numerous Favorite Book of the Month Awards and Rainbow Award Honorable Mentions.

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Ideal Writing Space by Miriam Newman – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Miriam Newman will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Ideal Writing Space

Picture a small office with a good oak desk, a bookcase overflowing with romance and reference books, a computer, a printer, a lamp that I think came from my high school days and four to six dogs stretched out on the well worn rug at any given time. Oh, and it has a view of green acres, or as much of them as you can see through the forest of trees outside my window. There is an air conditioner, thanks be, rattling away in that window. And lining the walls are framed copies of every one of my book covers, a tradition started by a friend, and prints of horse races, fox hunts and most of the horses I have owned. Yep, there it is—my little piece of Heaven.

I think every writer has to have that little piece of his or her soul. I know that no gleaming edifice could ever give birth to my books. My books have to have a place that is ME. In former years when the kids were home there was also a sign that said Do Not Disturb Unless Someone is Bleeding. They thought I was joking.

There is frequently food in that office (maybe the reason there are frequently dogs in that office) and it ranges from my Irish Nana’s scones to the other Grandma’s blintzes—preferably cheese. Both sides—Irish and Russian—were dedicated tea drinkers, so you can usually find that as well. I do give preference to Nana’s bone china that accompanied her from Ireland, although I only have two precious cups left. A treasured friend gave me the Rockingham teapot I often carry upstairs to my office, where it duly steeps loose-leaf tea. None of that bagged stuff for Nana and none for me! Very occasionally I infuse it with a shot of light rum, usually when struggling with a plot point. But those days are rare. I am very sedate now.

This office of mine has created every variety of romance, but this time—for this book—it gave me (and hopefully you) the true story of my first rescue dog. There have been many since, but Dancer was the first. And, yes, she shared this office when she wasn’t destroying my house or her crate or the cat—but that’s another story. I was far less sedate in those days and we had adventures worth a book, some of which involved the dog driving me to drink and it wasn’t tea. But I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

What do you do when you are alone in the world? If you’re a nice middle-aged lady with a social conscience, you go to your local shelter and adopt a rescue dog. Of course, sometimes it isn’t only the dog who needs to be rescued. That’s when life might send you a Dancer-Dog.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“We’re home,” I said in that tone you use when you give a dog the good news, and her soft ears pricked. She sat up, looking eagerly out the window. She hadn’t come to any palace, just a hundred-year-old Victorian cottage swamped with evergreens, bamboo and a lot of weeds I never found time to whack. But it boasted a fascinating yard I had already decided to have fenced in despite the cost. Sam and I walked the perimeter of the proposed yard so the dog could pee copiously once more, and then my friend had to take her leave of us. She had been walking Dancer and the dog seemed a trifle confused when I took the leash, as though she had considered Sam her new owner, but when I led her into a warm place that smelled like food, she went right in.

Kitty, accustomed to dogs, actually deigned to thump down from the rocking chair to greet us. The next thing I knew, I was flattened against the solid oak door as a rampaging whirlwind ripped out of my unprepared grasp. The cat had MOVED–God save the mark!—and Dancer responded instantly. Poor Kitty, who hadn’t run that fast since her youth, whipped up the slippery wooden steps. She was able to make good her getaway because Dancer had never before encountered steps. The dog thrashed at the bottom, lunging in impotent fury, unable to deduce how to get upstairs.

“No!” I admonished when I could catch my breath. “Bad dog! No chase!”

She looked at me as if I was crazy.

“Oh, come on,” I said, relenting. “Let’s eat.”

“I was just about to,” her expression said. “Where did that cat go, anyway?”

Kitty had gone to the attic. She stayed there for a long time and she must have had telepathy with Smudgie, the barn cat, because I didn’t see old Smudge for days.
Her food disappeared and so did she.

There followed a delightful afternoon and evening of snoozing on the couch with the dog tucked in the same position she had assumed with Sam, in this case flat on top of me with her nose between my neck and shoulder. As long as her eyes were hidden, that tuck seemed to say, she couldn’t spot anyone coming to take her away from heaven. A wave of protective warmth suffused my heart. This dog must have been through hell. Who knew what awful things had happened to her? Well, her troubles were over. I would see to that.

About the Author Fantasy poetry driven by myths and legends has been my passion for as long as I can remember. I was published in poetry before catching the romance writing bug. I bring that background to my writing along with a lifelong addiction to horses, an 18 year career in various areas of psychiatric social services and many trips to Ireland, where I nurture my muse. My published works range from contemporary fantasy romance to fantasy historical, futuristic, science fiction and historical romance. Currently I live in rural Pennsylvania with a “motley crew” of rescue animals. You can see my books at my website.

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Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble. All proceeds to be donated to Home Free Animal Rescue, Red Bank, NJ.

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