Wednesday, November 13, 2019


We've done it! We've released our box set titled CHRISTMAS WISHES; Wishes Do Come True that takes place in Hopeful, Colorado. The 15 stories revolve around the wishing well in the center of town. The set is filled with love, miracles, and wishes. Some stories are historical and some are contemporary. Some are sweet and some are a little spicier (nothing erotic). There is something for everyone in this box set that is available for a limited time and is only 99 cents! How could you resist, right? We hope you'll give into a craving for Christmas stories and get your copy at Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, or Apple.

***All day on Wednesday, November 13, we'll be giving away prizes on our Facebook group page at Come join the fun! 

Here are a couple of the purchase links:

My story in the boxed set is the sweet historical WINTER WISH that takes place in 1880 and is the first story in the boxed set.

Here's the blurb for WINTER WISH:

None of the men in Hopeful, Colorado appeals to Serena Winters. Working at the mercantile owned by her aunt and uncle, she meets everyone in town. Her aunt warns her against falling for a prospector as they always leave town in spring—and seldom return. One full moon at Hopeful’s well, Serena wishes she could attract an interesting man.  She should have been more careful about wording her wish.

Brent Adams has filed on his claim and brought gold with him to the assay office in Hopeful. He fears taking it closer to his claim will draw claim jumpers and robbers. He’s immediately charmed by Serena. He fears incurring her anger when she learns the secret he’s withheld.

When Serena is lost in freezing weather, Brent saves her.  Will she overlook his omissions and find lasting happiness with Brent?

Here’s an excerpt of Serena and Brent’s first meeting:

Serena Winters stocked cans of peaches on a shelf at Casey’s Mercantile. She wished her Aunt Esther would get busy and stop lecturing her. Why didn’t her aunt go help Uncle Willard in the back stock room?
Her aunt straightened the men’s shirts. “Stop wasting your time wishing on a well that will give you nothing but water. Instead, you should choose one of the acceptable men in Hopeful. You’ve become too picky. Serena, you have to realize you’re not a girl any longer. High time you made a choice and settled down.”
“You may think so, but I don’t know any interesting men.”
Aunt Esther paused and gaped at her. “How can you say that? Tom Lawson is a handsome man and well-respected. Moses Riley has a nice home. Both have shown interest in you and you’d do well to latch on to either man.”
She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “Tom Lawson uses too much pomade. He’s controlling and says ‘reading novels gives women the wrong ideas about life’. Moses Riley is a generation too old for me. Besides, all he talks about is himself. I want someone closer to my age who values my opinion.”
Aunt Esther laid the shirt she’d refolded on the stack she had straightened. “Harrumph, no man wants to listen to his wife’s opinion on anything but curtains and menus. Your husband will guide you to have the right beliefs and outlook on important things.”
As if she were too stupid to form her own. Serena vowed that would not be the case. “I’d rather be an old maid than be treated as a puppet.”
Her aunt sent her a sorrowful glance. “Spinsterhood is looming—or already here. At twenty-two, many in Hopeful consider you on the shelf.”
“I’d rather be on the shelf than married to the wrong man.”
She finished restocking the grocery section shelves and started dusting further away from her aunt. The bell on the door dinged and she looked up to see who had entered. Not someone she recognized but he looked… interesting.
He was tall with broad shoulders and dark hair that was a little too long. He scanned the store and caught her staring. His blue eyes lit up and he dipped his head in a nod.
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment. No doubt she’d hear about her gawking from Aunt Esther.
Her aunt stared at the newcomer. “May I help you with something in particular?”
“Do you have books in stock?”
Her aunt’s nose pointed in the air and her mouth puckered as if she’d just eaten a lemon. There was no doubt about her opinion of those who read books—especially men. “They’re near the corner on your right at the back of the store.” Her aunt strode to the front counter.
Good. The books were near where Serena worked. She dusted closer to them.
The newcomer ambled her way, appearing to scan the merchandise. Once at the books, he picked up a copy of Les Miserables but returned it to the shelf.
She tapped her feather duster against a book. “We have the new Jules Verne book if you’re interested. Also the latest of Mark Twain’s work.”
“Great.” He selected the Verne volume and opened to the title page. “I’ve read Tom Sawyer. Somehow I missed this copy of Verne’s The Mysterious Island.”
“Nothing here is recently published. By the time we receive books they’ve been released for some time. In fact, you’ll see some are used copies we’ve purchased or traded with customers.”
“At least you stock books while many places don’t or only have badly worn copies with missing pages or torn covers. I’ll be in town for a few weeks and need reading material to help pass the time.” He chose a copy of Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Maddening Crowd and kept The Mysterious Island.
“Would you like for me to put those at the counter so you can look around the store unencumbered?”
He handed the two tomes to her. “Thank you, that would be of help. I need a few more things. By the way, I’m Brent Adams.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Adams. I’m Serena Winters, niece of the owners.” She caught her aunt glaring and hurried to the store’s counter.
Her aunt whispered, “No need to be so friendly to a strange man.”
She laid the two books for her aunt to handle. Leaning forward, she whispered, “He’s not half as strange as Tom Lawson or Moses Riley.”

I’ll give a $5 Amazon gift card to one person who comments on this post.

Monday, November 11, 2019


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Geoffrey Saign will be awarding a $25 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.

Serve justice. Discover a secret. Find his daughter. Repay betrayal.

Jack Steel trains for the impossible, and it looks like it found him.

On a black op to neutralize terrorists, elite specialist Steel puts honor and integrity ahead of orders when he spares a monk. He just never expected his decision to put crosshairs on his back.

Hunted by a twisted killer, a vengeful billionaire, and the highest levels of government, Steel races to discover who’s behind a conspiracy that will decide the fate of two countries—and why one monk is the key to it all.

Aching from a missing daughter, Steel finds it easy to fall for Christie, a beautiful counter-terrorism analyst who offers to help. But he isn’t sure he can trust anyone.

To have a chance at love and a new life, and to serve justice, Steel just needs to stay one step ahead of a bullet…

Revenge. Love. Family.

To protect their families, Jack Steel and Christie Thorton must become assassins.

Deadly Blackhood Ops specialist Jack Steel has moved on from his bloody past, but his past won’t let him go. He has it all; his partner Christie, his daughter Rachel, a protection agency he’s proud of, and his head on straight.

But it’s all torn apart when a madman blackmails him and Christy. Their skills are pushed to the limit as they are forced to become assassins to save those they love. The Mexican cartel, terrorists, and people from Steel’s past force them into a non-stop fight that they can’t walk away from.

To protect his country, and everyone important to him, Steel will be forced to trust the very people he swore to kill.

And he might have to walk away from those he loves…

Read an Excerpt from Book 1: Steel Force

The sounds became louder. Christie resisted the urge to sit up. Eighteen inches long, the stunbrella gave her a four-foot reach. But since the rocks rose a foot and a half above her, even if the man stood a foot away from them she might not be able to angle her arm to strike him.

A whimper was trapped in her throat. She didn’t want to die like this. In the middle of the woods, cold, wet, dirty. Injured like a sick animal. Not even knowing why. All alone.

The noise stopped.

She sensed he was close. From her earlier glimpse she guessed five-foot-eight, one-seventy pounds, mid-forties. Small for a Hawaiian. He might be easy to knock down.

Her choice was to either sit up and try to strike him or remain motionless for him to come closer. Unable to guess which was better, she didn’t move. Her lips twisted when the man’s dark-skinned face appeared above the rocks near her feet. Too far from her motionless arm. As he looked down at her, the barrel of his gun swung into view.

About the Author

Award-winning author Geoffrey Saign has spent many years studying kung fu and sailed all over the South Pacific and Caribbean. He uses that experience and sense of adventure to write the Jack Steel and Alex Sight thriller action series.

Geoff loves to sail big boats, hike, and cook—and he infuses all his writing with his passion for nature. As a swimmer he considers himself fortunate to live in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, Minnesota. See what he’s up to at his website.





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AMAZON STEEL FORCE Buy Link: -- on sale during the week of the tour for $0.99

AMAZON STEEL ASSASSIN Buy Link: -- on sale during the week of the tour for $2.99

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Friday, November 08, 2019


I’m celebrating the release of MELODY, Angel Creek Christmas Brides book 7 today! This book was so much fun to research and write. It is quite a bit different but I like it. I hope you will. MELODY is available at the Universal Amazon link of and it’s also in KU and is available in print.

Angel Creek is in Montana but all the brides in this series are from Charleston, South Carolina. In the Civil War, Charleston was one of the hardest hit cities in the South. Many homes were destroyed—including Melody’s—and finances were in a mess. If the young soldiers even tried to return home, they found nothing was left for them. Most of the single men set out for the West. As a result, no marriageable men were available for the women in the South. Those who'd held onto their home and land during the war were faced with high taxes and no money to pay them. 

In 2018 releases, five of those women answered an advertisement for mail-order brides for one town, Angel Creek, Montana. That meant they could marry and still have friends near, an irresistible opportunity. Fortunately, their unions were successful.  Julia, one of last year’s brides, wrote her friends in Charleston that more men wanted wives. She invited her friends to come to Angel Creek. Six of them accepted the invitation for the 2019 releases: Caroline, Melody, Elizabeth, Emma, Viola, and Ginger.

What would you have done? There were few options for a woman of middle to upper classes. Remain at home and become a spinster? The only acceptable jobs were to become a governess or a lady’s companion (nice term for a fancy maid) or possibly a schoolteacher. The alternative was to take a chance and marry a man you didn’t know. I think I’d have taken the chance, especially on the second group. After all, their friends in Montana would help them choose nice men.

Melody cared for her Nana Fraser, who suffered from dementia and madness. Nana thought Melody was trying to poison her and announced that suspicion to anyone who'd listen. As a result, Melody is accused by many of murdering her grandmother once Nana has passed. Rumors abound and Melody fears prosecution even though she's innocent.

Once she's in Angel Creek, Melody goes head to head with a Blackfoot chief in order to protect his injured daughter. Melody and her doctor husband Nick Walker work together to save the girl's life in spite of interference--then cooperation--from the girl's father. How would you react if you opened your door and met this man with five of his braves in war paint?

Blackfoot Chief

Melody presents a brave face as she welcomes the six men to her home. Inside, she is anything but calm! She and her husband, Doctor Nick Walker, handle the situation with the help of their friend, Sheriff Quinn Cassidy. Fortunately, Quinn speaks the Blackfoot language well enough to communicate.

After years of deprivation, Melody is pleased to have a home with plenty of food and secure locks on the doors. She has almost everything she wants. Her husband is still in love with his late wife who died in the war. How can Melody compete with a memory? 

Each of the Angel Creek Christmas Brides is a stand-alone book and all are sweet romances. Once you’ve read one, I believe (hope) you’ll want to read the entire series. CAROLINE and MELODY have been released and the other four are available for preorder. I love preorder because you select it and then later—poof!—it pops up on your e-reader as if by magic! 

Preorders are like magic!

So you don’t miss any of this series, here are all of the buy links:

CAROLINE, by Lily Graison was released on November 1.

MELODY, by Caroline Clemmons or the universal link and is released today. Hooray!

ELIZABETH, by Jo Grafford, will be released on November 15

EMMA, by Peggy McKenzie will be released on November 22.

VIOLA, by Cyndi Raye will be released on November 29.

GINGER, by Sylvia McDaniel will be released on December 6.

Wednesday, November 06, 2019


Don't miss the Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of the post!

Article 15
M.T. Bass

GENRE: Mystery


“She was one in a million…and the day I met her I should have bought a lottery ticket instead.”


Griffith Crowe, the "fixer" for a Chicago law firm, falls for his current assignment, Helena Nicholson, the beautiful heir of a Tech Sector venture capitalist who perished in a helicopter crash leaving her half a billion dollars, a Learjet 31, and unsavory suspicions about her father's death. As he investigates, the ex-Navy SEAL crosses swords with Helena’s step-brother, the Pentagon’s Highlands Forum, and an All-Star bad guy somebody has hired to stop him. When Griff finds himself on the wrong side of an arrest warrant he wonders: Is he a player or being played?

Lawyers and Lovers and Guns…Oh, my!


The conference room was small—smaller, at least by “Big Firm” standards, than the huge public conference room up front used to intimidate clients, adversaries, witnesses, and opposing counsel by swallowing them up whole like Jonahs lost in the belly of a legal whale. Tucked away in a back corner among the partner offices, it was extremely well appointed, though darkly so, in oak furniture and paneling. The quiet confines served as a war room of sorts, a place where grand strategies and hair-brained schemes were incubated, hatched and sometimes celebrated, sometimes autopsied. He knew because Griffith Crowe was sometimes part of them.

There were no windows, which was fine with him. He didn’t need to be seen, and, besides, he was just there to get paid and be quickly on his way. Even in the dim, indirect lighting, he found a shadow where he sat and sipped coffee from a massive, dark mug with Stein, Baylor & Stein gilded on the side, patiently waiting for Lance Baylor to come back with his check.

Lance was a master of entering and exiting rooms. So, when he burst into the room like a starlight artillery shell, wearing his white phosphorous rain-maker smile, followed by two junior associates and a young, very attractive Asian waitress pushing a serving cart with no doubt a sumptuous lunch, he knew his escape would be neither clean nor quick.

“Miss me?” teased Lance, baring his canines. “I couldn’t send you back to…to…where was it you were you off to, Griff?”


“Right, send you home hungry after a job well done. Pull up a chair, and we’ll feast before you depart.”

Lance naturally took the head of the table with Griff to his right. The two junior associates, veritable bookends with their young, already balding pates, red ties, pin-striped suits, expanding waistlines, and leather portfolios, sat on the opposite side of the table.

They all politely smiled at one another as the waitress set their places and served what turned out to be Beef Wellington. After pouring drinks—Cabernet for Lance, iced teas for the empty bookends and black coffee for Griff—she quietly left them and closed the door.

Like an orchestra conductor, with cutlery for a baton, Lance silently cued the quartet to begin eating.

Lance smiled broadly and looked to his right. “Good. No?”

“Excellent. My compliments to Cookie.”

“You know, our friend here was busy freeing Iraq before there actually was an Operation Iraqi Freedom,” Lance said, turning to the two associate attorneys, who frowned at the apparent contradiction. As if to explain, he continued, “Special Forces, of course. What was it you did there in the desert?”

Griff watched Lance watch himself surgically cut his Wellington.

“Nothing really so special,” Griff said, turning his attention to his own lunch plate.

“I suspect much the same sort of things as you may have done here to get your name on the marquee. You know, all’s fair in love and war.”


Please tell us about growing up. 

Early on my family moved around quite a bit: Athens (Ohio), Columbus, Racine, and Milwaukee until we finally settled in St. Louis for the long haul when I was in the third grade. It was pretty normal—for back then, anyway. In the summer, Mom kicked us out of the house after breakfast and told us to be back by dinner time. So, me and the guys from the neighborhood rode our bikes all over creation (without helmets); played sandlot baseball and football (and kept score), and stomped through the woods, creeks and ravines at the very edge of suburban civilization (no cell phones or beepers or electronic leashes). It was glorious. Kids being kids.

Were you the shy kid or all boy? Married, single?

I live on the shores of Lake Erie with my stunning, mystery companion, Lola. We first met at The Cleveland Grill. It was a regular night for our duo, Project Mojo. She came in with her girlfriend for dinner and we cajoled her into singing a few songs with us. To make a long story short, we had just lost our female singer and Chuck convinced her to join up with us. A couple hundred gigs later, she and I were celebrating the release of our CD, Operation Thunderclap, over Mac ‘n Cheese at Crazy Mac’s, which, really, was just a flimsy excuse for our first date. And the rest, as they say, is history.

When you’re not writing, what’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?

There’s really not a lot of relaxing that goes on for us. On a crazy whim we bought a really old newspaper building (like 1901 old) in downtown Lorain, Ohio, a couple of years ago when the Broadway riverfront was lined with mostly abandoned and decrepit properties.  The city had been trying to set the area up as an Arts & Entertainment District and we thought it would be a great place to expand Lola’s boutique and art gallery downstairs and be home for my publishing “empire” upstairs. While we’ve been chipping slowly away at renovations, the city has finally come through with the streetscape modernization and the time is ripe for us to get the shop open. And there’s a hell of a lot to be done. So anyway, when it comes to relaxing and recharging, we like to sit out back, look out to sea drinking wine and consuming mass quantities of Lola’s exquisitely fine food creations.

How long have you been writing?

Decades. I hate to admit it, but I’ve been scribbling out words since before laptops and Microsoft Word were even invented.  I used to use college-ruled yellow pads and a pencil. I’m a fossil.

Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

I’m not really particular about where I write. When I was still out in the real world (where they expect results), I filled the hours of downtime in hotels, airline concourses, and trapped inside the hollow tubes of Boeing airliners racing down jetways six or seven miles overhead, scribbling out my stories. 

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Definitely a pantser.  I work without a net. I get an idea and just start running with it. I did try, once, to outline one of my books and it was a fiasco. I was about halfway through In the Black and I had more characters than a Tolstoy novel milling about and it seems like eleven different storylines going on all at once, so I thought, “Hmmm…maybe I should get organized.” I had also just found a photo of Joseph Heller’s spreadsheet for writing Catch-22, and since this was my homage to that brilliant work, I thought, if it worked for him it should work for me, too. Well…not so much. I wasted a lot of time plotting out grand ideas that my characters took one look at and basically said, “Yeah, I don’t think so, Tim.”  Then they went and did their own things.

Tell us about your writing schedule. Do you set goals? Do you write daily?

I get up most every morning around 5-5:30 and write—before I check emails, or look at social media, or read the news, or allow myself to be distracted by any number of shiny objects beckoning to me. I tried setting specific goals, but that doesn’t always work out, because sometimes you’re puking out that first vomit-draft and other times you’re doing fine finish work on a pieces.  The point is to be writing. Period.

Tell us something about yourself that might surprise readers.

While I am a Commercial Pilot and Certified Flight Instructor, I’m afraid of heights. My brother-in-law, Tom, says it’s not the heights, but falling that I’m afraid of and he may be right. There’s a big difference between height and altitude. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Know your stuff and never give up.  “Persistance to the point of stupidity,” I always say, “but never beyond.”

What has helped you in your writing career?

I’ve been extremely fortunate to have met so many folks along the way who were really helpful as I stumbled along: professors, writers, readers, publishing pros, and marketing guys. I always seemed to get the right advice at about the right times.

What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

Every writer starts out as a reader. I just hope my stories bring a bit of the same excitement, revelations, and sense of discovery I experienced—and still experience—reading great books.

Tell us about your latest release.

This pot has been simmering for a long, long time. The first line came to me inspired by the movie Body Heat. Kathleen Turner’s character, Matty Walker, struck such lustful terror in me that I knew I was going to go down that dark path at some point. But I needed a more formidable foil than Ned Racine. I think Griff comes out scarred, maybe, but mostly intact. 

Give us a PG excerpt:

She was one in a million…and the day I met her I should have bought a lottery ticket instead.
Blonde, slim and well-built, of course, her eyes were darkly blue which, when unsheathed from behind her Jackie Ohhs, glinted like gunmetal at twilight.
I noticed when we first met.
I ignored it after the first time we made love.
I caught it again as she testified against me.
I suppose, I’ll just never learn.


Lance pulled up to the security gate by Atlantic Aviation at the approach end of Runway 16. He rolled down his window and punched the security code into the keypad. When the chain link gate opened, he pulled onto the tarmac and parked next to Griff’s Cirrus S-22. “I had them pull it out of the hangar. All gassed up and ready to go. Thank you very much.”
“Thanks, pal.”
They got out of the Escalade. Griff loaded his duffel bag into the plane and started his pre-flight inspection.
Lance checked FlightAware on his iPhone, then scanned the approach to Runway 16. Soon landing lights glared down the glide path. A Learjet 31 quickly crossed the threshold and touched down with tiny puffs of blue-gray smoke off the mains. Lance watched it roll out, then taxi their way. He smiled.
Griff came around the left wing and stood next to Lance. They watched the Learjet turn onto the apron in front of the Atlantic Aviation hangars and get marshaled to a stop by a baton-waving line boy. Another stood by with a rolled up red carpet, which he placed by the cabin door as soon as the engines spooled down.
“I love the smell of kerosene on the tarmac,” Lance said.
Griff looked at Lance staring at the Learjet.
“Wait for it…”
The cabin door opened like a clamshell. The co-pilot scurried down the stairs and stood ready to assist the deplaning passenger.
A slender blonde in Ray-Ban Jackie-Ohh sunglasses, a skin-tight red dress frosted at the shoulders with a sheer white shawl, and stiletto heels took the co-pilot’s hand and stepped down onto the tarmac into the hungry stares of the line boys. Griff pulled off his sunglasses to watch her sashay across the apron, chased by the co-pilot who held the door to Atlantic Aviation open, then followed her in.
“Don’t tell me. The stubborn possessor of a priceless Jackson Pollack,” Griff said, looking at Lance.
“Now, who owes who?”
Griff put on his sunglasses again, then headed towards the fixed base operator’s lobby. “Guess I better go pay my fuel tab.”
“But I took care of that,” Lance called after him. Then said to himself, “Oh, you dog, you.”


Where can readers find more about you? (bio, social media links):

Book Listing on Website

Retail Author Pages

M. T. Bass, Author

M.T. Bass is a scribbler of fiction who holds fast to the notion that while victors may get to write history, novelists get to write/right reality. He lives, writes, flies and makes music in Mudcat Falls, USA.
Born in Athens, Ohio, M.T. Bass grew up in St. Louis, Missouri. He graduated from Ohio Wesleyan University, majoring in English and Philosophy, then worked in the private sector (where they expect “results”) mainly in the Aerospace & Defense manufacturing market. During those years, Bass continued to write fiction. He is the author of eight novels: My Brother’s Keeper, Crossroads, In the Black, Somethin’ for Nothin’, Murder by Munchausen, The Darknet (Murder by Munchausen Mystery #2), The Invisible Mind (Murder by Munchausen Mystery #3) and Article 15. His writing spans various genres, including Mystery, Adventure, Romance, Black Comedy and TechnoThrillers. A Commercial Pilot and Certified Flight Instructor, airplanes and pilots are featured in many of his stories. Bass currently lives on the shores of Lake Erie near Lorain, Ohio.

Amazon Author Page:

Article 15 Purchase Links

Author Web Site Info Page:


M.T. Bass will be awarding a $50 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, November 01, 2019


Don't miss the Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of this post!

Johnny Be Good
North Shore Stories Book 3
Bernadette Walsh

Genre: Women's Fiction, Light Romance 


Peggy Lynch has too many children and too much to do. Unlike the pampered
wives in her affluent Long Island suburb, Peggy’s not married to a
doctor or a lawyer. She’s married to an uneducated Irish immigrant
twelve years her junior, and has to work two jobs to help make ends
meet. In between the carpools, the laundry, and the food shopping,
she also has to make sure her youngest son takes his ADHD medicine so
he doesn’t flunk out of high school. Maybe if her lazy husband
would get off his ass and help around the house, she’d have time to
connect with her children and be the type of mother they deserve. But
Peggy lacks that luxury because if it wasn’t for her, the whole
family would fall to pieces.

Years have passed since Peggy ruled the house and Veronica is no longer her
mother’s obedient little girl. Moving into her childhood home with
her husband and infant twins, she’s starting a new life and should
finally be happy. Right? Wrong.

While cleaning out her old bedroom, Veronica finds a letter from her
deceased mother. If Veronica were smart she’d burn it and leave her
family secrets buried with the dead. But as her mother so often said,
Veronica’s never been that smart.

She rips open the envelope and proves her mother right...

But the road between myself and Sean had never been easy. From the day I went to his job site so many years earlier and told him I was expecting Marybeth and that I didn’t expect anything from him, really, I just thought he should know. When he said in an unsteady voice, “Sure, Peg, what kind of man do you take me for? Of course I’ll do the right thing,” from that moment, I knew I’d stolen Sean’s youth and his hopes and dreams. If I’d had any type of conscience I would have set that young man who surely didn’t love me free. Love me? He barely knew me, for heaven’s sake. Sean’s band was having some success and with his leather jacket and tight blue jeans and flashing black eyes it was only a matter of time before he had the young Mollys and Mauras and Kathleens of Long Island and Brooklyn throwing themselves at him backstage. But my McBride fecundity killed those dreams for Sean. My family, Auntie Mary, even my fellow teachers at St. Brendan’s, all thought I’d thrown myself away on a skinny uneducated nobody. But I knew, in the place in my heart I didn’t allow myself to dwell too often, that it was Sean with his passion and his talent who’d thrown himself away on me.

And I’d stolen Sean’s future away from him not once but twice. Of course once I had Marybeth and then the twins a year later, Sean’s singing and fiddling days were over. A father of three before he was old enough to vote, Sean was buried in Daddy duty when he wasn’t painting half of Long Island. He played the occasional wedding or bar gig when the band’s new fiddle player couldn’t make it, but for the most part Sean’s time was accounted for and he didn’t wander too far astray from the house on Rose Hill Road.

Although during those early years he didn’t really want to wander. The children adored him, although surrounded as he was by their tall sturdy bodies and blonde heads he looks less like their daddy and more like an older brother. But he cared for them and he’d come to feel something like love for me. Sean never said so—he wasn’t that kind of man—but I knew he was drawn to me. When the children were asleep and Auntie Mary was next door at Kitty’s, he’d seek me under the warm eiderdown that had been a wedding gift from his mother. He’d kiss my neck as I mashed potatoes for dinner. He’d slide his hands along my always ample bottom as I walked past him in the hallway. He felt something for me—of that I was sure. And for years that had been enough.

Of course a forty year old mother of three is not the same as a woman of thirty-one and cute blond babies are not the same as the grade schoolers with lives and interests of their own. Sean was a twenty-eight year old man with strong arms and jet black hair. The children didn’t need him as much, or at least I think that’s what it felt like to him. He was saddled with me and my sharp tongue and ever-widening hips. Of course there was a pretty little Irish nanny at one of his painting jobs. Of course she’d tossed her thick red hair whenever she brought Sean and his painting crew glasses of cool water. Of course she’d gone to school with one of his cousins and her soft lilting voice triggered a longing for home. Of course she was only in America for six months, saving up some money before she opened a cafe in Killarney with her sister. Of course there’d be plenty of work for Sean, a small apartment above the cafe was theirs for the asking. It was only a matter of time before a pretty Nuala entered Sean’s life. I should’ve been grateful one hadn’t entered it sooner.

But I wasn’t grateful. Not at all. When I’d smelt the perfume on his t-shirt, I knew something was going on. I took a day off from school and followed him. I nearly threw up when I saw him kiss a girl as slight and delicate as a fairy. I’d shut my mouth, of course. I stopped taking the pill and plied Sean with steak and wine one night when I sent the children to the neighbors for a sleepover. I went to St. Anne’s every morning and lit candles. By the time Sean and his love had gathered the nerve to tell me— together, wasn’t that admirable of them?—I had news of my own. I was four months pregnant and had waited to tell Sean until I got the all clear from the doctor and all the tests back. I was expecting a boy. A healthy baby boy. But of course I wouldn’t stand in their way. Sean had to follow his heart and if his three children, no four, if his now four children were not enough to keep him here on Long Island, then I would, of course, not object to a divorce. Don’t worry about me, I’d said. I’d manage. Somehow.

Seven months later Nuala was back home in Killarney selling scones and Sean was holding his son at the St. Anne’s baptismal font. And for good measure he was back a year and a half later with the black-haired baby girl who’d inherited his mother’s chin and his own black eyes and inky curls.
I did what I had to do. To keep my husband here at home with his family. Where—I told myself—he belonged.

There were other Nualas and Mollys and Kathleens over the years. But none of them lasted. I pretended not to know and Sean pretended not to know that I knew. Or may-be he didn’t pretend. Maybe he didn’t care whether I knew or not. But while I know—I know Goddamnit—that I stole something vital from Sean, I gave him the two younger children who needed him and loved him in a way the older three could not.

And that was not nothing.

The Girls on Rose Hill
North Shore Stories Book 2 


Ellen Murphy spent her childhood in an idyllic house by the sea. A house
surrounded by flower filled gardens and a white picket fence. A house
she fled at eighteen. A house full of secrets.

When Ellen’s mother Rose, an ex-nun, is diagnosed with terminal cancer,
Ellen reluctantly returns home to care for her and uncovers a clue to
the one secret that has haunted Ellen all her life: the identity of
her father. But that is just one of the many secrets hidden behind
the beautiful facade of the house on Rose Hill.

"The Girls on Rose Hill is a beautifully written story about the
complicated relationship between three generations of women. It will
touch you, make you laugh, and make you cry. Bernadette Walsh's
subtle use of language, traditions, and manners painted an authentic
portrait of an Irish Catholic family. I loved it."

Cold Spring
North Shore Stories Book 1 


Twenty years ago Maura Lenihan was the curvaceous red-haired teenager at the
center of a political sex scandal. Today, Maura is a thirty-five year
old hospice nurse who spends her days caring for the cancer-ridden
and comatose and her nights reading romance novels. Her life is
boring and safe and just the way she likes it.

However, Maura’s safe cocoon is now threatened both by the press’ renewed
interest in the twenty year old scandal and the attentions of her
most recent patient -- a thirty year old Wall Street investment
banker whose black hair and blue eyes are oddly familiar.

Bernadette Walsh, Author

I have always been a bookworm and had always meant to write a novel
“someday.” You know, when I won the lottery and could live in
beach house and feel inspired. Twelve years ago I decided to stop
waiting for my winning lottery ticket and sat down and started
writing. In between work and family obligations, I piled the words on
top of each other until they formed sentences, paragraphs, chapters
and eventually a book. While I’ve hopped around genres, all of my
books to date have a common theme: strong women handling what life
throws at them the best way they can.
My titles include: Gold Coast WivesThe Girls on Rose Hill,
The Devlin Witch (Books 1-4 of the Devlin Legacy Series),
Cold Spring, Johnny Be Good, See Me and Friends Forever.
Covers and other information about my books and my writing can be found on
my website
Follow the tour HERE
for special excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!