Wednesday, October 30, 2013


WooHoo! Today is a big, big day for me. This is release day for THE MOST UNSUITABLE COURTSHIP, book three of the Kincaid series. I am super excited.

Thanks to readers who loved the first two books so much they requested Storm’s book. THE MOST UNSUITABLE WIFE, book one, is about Pearl Parker and her marriage to Drake Kincaid. She is the eldest sister who cares for her two half-siblings, Storm and Sarah. Drake needs a wife to inherit the ranch he's run since his parents death. Pearl needs to leave Piper's Hollow, Tennessee as soon as possible. But trouble follows the group to Texas.

THE MOST UNSUITABLE HUSBAND, book two, is about sweet, shy Sarah, who goes to see her dying natural mother in St. Louis and settle the estate. There she encounters Nate, a gambler and con man who believes Sarah owes him the proceeds from the saloon she sold. He vows to get that and more from her. But he doesn't count on falling in love with Sarah. And he is surprised at his reaction to the three children they rescue on the way back to Texas.

And now, the trilogy is complete. Life intervened and it’s two months late, but here it is. You might ask what delayed me? What didn’t happen? 

We’re getting a handle on the new place now, but we had a rough move coupled with other major distractions. Today, all is well. 

Don't think this is the end of books about the Kincaid family, though. It's a big family and second cousin Gabe's story is next.
In the meantime, today on Facebook, I’m hosting a Launch Party with giveaways of print and ebooks, Amazon gift cards, and swag. Come on over and join in. 

Monday, October 28, 2013


by T. J. Brown


Reminiscent of Downton Abbey, this first novel in a new series follows two sisters and their maid as they are suddenly separated by the rigid class divisions within a sprawling aristocratic estate and thrust into an uncertain world on the brink of WWI...

Rowena and Victoria, daughters to the second son of the Earl of Summerset, have always treated their governess’s daughter, Prudence, like a sister. But when their father dies and they move in with their uncle’s family in a much more traditional household, Prudence is relegated to the maids’ quarters, much to the girls’ shock and dismay. The impending war offers each girl hope for a more modern future, but the ever-present specter of class expectations makes it difficult for Prudence to maintain a foot in both worlds.

Vividly evoking both time and place and filled with authentic dialogue and richly detailed atmosphere, Summerset Abbey is a charming and timeless historical debut.

EXCERPT:  A lump rose in her throat as she caught sight of the ornate casket, draped with a full spray of lilies, carnations, and palm fronds. The only reason she was here, clutching Rowena’s and Victoria’s hands in hers instead of shrinking into the background with the other servants, was the kindness of the man who lay inside. After Prudence’s father had died, her mother, who had worked at Sir Philip’s estate as a girl, had been sent to attend to Rowena and Victoria’s ailing mother. When his wife died, Sir Philip asked her to stay on to help raise the girls, and Prudence, exactly between his daughters in age, became part of the family. Prudence, who volunteered her time at several different poorhouses in the city, knew exactly what happened to young girls left alone in the world. She would forever be grateful to Sir Philip for not allowing that to happen to her.

She blinked away her tears and occupied herself by looking at the rest of the congregation. Only a few looked familiar. Among them were Rupert Brooke, the high-strung and handsome young poet; Ben Tillett, the iron-jawed union leader; and Roger Fry, the controversial artist responsible for bringing London’s shocked attention to postimpressionism some years prior. These were some of Sir Philip’s friends, a motley collection of artists, intellectuals, and misfits.

Because the Earl had arranged the funeral, most of the people in attendance were his peers, men from the House of Lords and others from the cream of London society.

Sir Philip would have hated it.

The beautiful gold arches and polished marble of St. Bride’s Church gleamed, just as they had the few times the family had attended church. Sir Philip had chosen St. Bride’s because, as he used to say, “Sir Christopher Wren built the kind of church that God might actually enjoy.”

Gradually, Prudence became aware of a young man staring at her from across the aisle. Her eyes darted in his direction, then away. Moments later, unable to help herself, she glanced back to see whether he was still looking at her. He was. She turned slightly and stared fixedly at the bronze candelabra to the left of him, her cheeks burning.

Victoria leaned around her to whisper to Rowena. “Look, Lord Billingsly has noticed our Prudence.”

“I’m right here,” Prudence whispered, and gave both their hands a hard squeeze for emphasis.

She didn’t look his way again.

Once the service started, Prudence sank into a well of grief that threatened to drown her. The waves of it lapped at her from all sides, covered her head, and made sight almost impossible. Inside, her heart broke and a waterfall of sorrow poured from the cracks. On one side, Victoria sobbed quietly, while Rowena’s stiff resolve buoyed her from the other. She clung to their hands as the service passed in a blur of speeches.

They remained that way until it was time to get into the ornate black and gold funeral carriages that would take them back to their home in Mayfair for the reception. Behind the carriages stood a line of motorcars; most of the wealthy guests had long given up their carriages for the convenience and speed of automobiles. The Earl himself had several, and Sir Philip’s sleek Eton-blue Belsize sat idle in the carriage house, but the Earl insisted on traditional horse-drawn carriages.

“Miss Tate will ride in the staff carriage.” The Earl’s voice brooked no opposition and his square jaw firmed. Prudence knew that look. Rowena’s pretty face held the same expression when she got all stubborn about something.

Victoria’s eyes widened. “Prudence rides with us.”

“Nonsense. The Duke of Plymouth wishes to join us and there isn’t enough room.”

Prudence placed her hands on Victoria’s shoulders. Tension vibrated through the young girl’s slender body and Prudence’s stomach knotted, sure that Victoria was going to throw a fit, the kind she used to throw when the family still called her baby and she wanted the biggest sweet in the shop. Even at eighteen, Victoria wasn’t above a tantrum or two if she thought the situation warranted it. But her waiflike face suddenly fell and her lower lip trembled.

“It’ll be all right,” Prudence whispered. “I’ll go back with the staff and meet you at home.”

SUMMERSET ABBEY has been chosen for a Nook Daily Find and will be on sale for 2.99 for one day on October 28th

T J Brown, Author

TJ Brown is proud of her two children but coming in a close second is the fact that she parachuted out of a plane and beat the original Legend of Zelda video game. Her young adult historical about Harry Houdini’s illegitimate daughter came out in June from Balzer+Bray. She also writes adult historicals under TJ Brown. She resides with her husband and way too many pets in Portlandia.


The author will be awarding autographed copies of books two and three of the series, A Bloom in Winter and Spring Awakening to two randomly drawn commenters during the tour (open internationally). 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thanks for stopping by!

Friday, October 25, 2013


Today, I’m inviting you to meet the hero of my upcoming release, THE MOST UNSUITABLE COURTSHIP. Those who read the first two Kincaid books have already met Storm Kincaid, brother of Pearl and Sarah.  Now this half-Cherokee/half-Caucasian man has his own story.

Tell us about your childhood.

I lived in Pipers Hollow, Tennessee until I was fourteen, and my half-sister Pearl married Drake Kincaid. That was a lucky day for me. Drake took us to Kincaid Springs, Texas and eventually adopted Sarah and me. As a child, my grandfather, Tom Black Bear, taught me about tracking and hunting food. Drake took over and taught me how to get along in the white world. I’m sure lucky to have both men in my life.

What do you do for a living now?

I have a ranch near that of Drake and Pearl. Our sister Sarah and her husband live in town. Ours is a large family.

How did you meet Rena?

Killers murdered my best friend and his pregnant wife. I wanted to take off and kill them, but Drake and Grandpa Kincaid stopped me. Grandpa secured a temporary appointment as a Federal Marshal so I could round up those killers legally. Waiting was hard, but Grandpa works fast as a telegraph, and I only lost a day.

When I saw smoke, I rode in. I found the barn and house burning with all the livestock slaughtered.  An elderly man lay dead in the dirt. He’d been beaten and tortured, but I didn’t see a woman. I sensed one, though. Sure enough, she was hiding in the durndest place you ever saw.  She spoke good English but with a thick German accent. She had come from Bavaria, imagine that. And she alternated between sad and angry, and said she was going to kill at least one of the men responsible.

Is that how she came to be riding with you?

I tried to talk her out of it. Figured I’d leave her in town until I regained her valuables. Planned to give her some money and a letter to my family—you know, in case I couldn’t come back. They’d have welcomed her. But that Rena is one stubborn woman. Said she was going after those men whether I let her come with me or not. I reckoned she’d be safer with me than riding all alone.

 We had us quite a ride, let me tell you.  We battled flooded rivers, dust storms, killers, and each other. We rescued three orphans along the way. If you have kids, you know how much they change your life. Getting back to the ranch was pure relief. Ranch work is hard, but seemed like a vacation after our ride across Central and North Central Texas.

I believe you’ll enjoy our story. That is, if you enjoy western historical romance with plenty of action and adventure thrown in. 

She emerged from the brush straightening her trousers and shoving her pistol back into her waistband. “Where do you think those men are going?”
“Indian Territory. They’ll steal all they can before they reach the Red River and leave no survivors to identify them. They’re selling off the stolen stock along the way, so that will slow them some.” He wondered if she knew how to use the gun.
“But I saw their faces.”
He sent her what he hoped was a frightening stare. “If they knew that, you’d be dead for sure.”
She shivered, but glared at him. “Do not think to frighten me. I will do everything I can to kill these men and reclaim my gold and my mother’s locket. It is not that I care about the jewelry that once belonged to Abram’s wife. But to him, it meant a great deal, and I want it because he gave it to me.”
Storm wanted to shake her. Not that he hadn’t lived all his life with stubborn women. At least his oldest sister Pearl made sense. He’d worried about shy Sarah, especially when she’d appeared head over heels with a con man. Now that Sarah and Nate were married, she had life figured out. Nate had surprised everyone, even himself. Storm suppressed a smile and worked up his anger again at his traveling companion.
“We can be in Llano by nightfall. We’ll get a couple of rooms there and you can rest.”
She shot him a suspicious glare. “You think to abandon me in that town. If we stay somewhere, we will be in the same room so I can watch you.”
Shocked, Storm wondered what he could do with this woman. “We wouldn’t be allowed to stay in a decent hotel. You want to sleep over a saloon? Besides that, folks will be shocked when they see you in those trousers. You want people to think you’re a fallen woman?”
With her chin raised, she placed her hands on her hips. “I am a good woman. You can tell them we are married and I wear britches to ride more easily.” She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers. “I have a wedding band, see?”
He raised his hands and backed up a step. “Oh, no. I’m not even pretending to be married. If I were ready to marry, which I’m not, I’d pick a woman who knew when to let a man do his job.”
“Ha, and when I recover my dowry, I will marry a man who knows a woman can do as much as a man.”
He swept a formal bow. “And when you marry, will you be wearing the lovely gown you now wear?”
She appeared angry enough to use that Colt on him. “You are wrong to…to talk so. I do not have the English words to tell you what I think, but do not try to leave me behind. If you do, I will go after the men alone.”
Disgusted, Storm stomped over and retrieved the horses. “Then let’s go.”
They rode into Llano in late afternoon. Since they arrived mid week, the town appeared peaceful and quiet. Storm spotted a hotel by the livery he remembered.
“If you’re determined to stick to me like glue, let’s stable the horses.”
At the stable, she staggered when she dismounted and he thought she might fall. He grabbed her arms. “Steady. You’re not used to riding so long.”
“Ja, my legs do not work so well. Do not worry, I will be fine in a minute.”
She remained quiet while he dealt with the hostler and insured his rifle and saddle would be safe. He threw his saddlebags over his shoulder and retrieved the two pillowcases and box he’d tied to the saddle pommel. They ambled the block toward the hotel.
 He indicated a mercantile. “Just what we need. After we get our room, let’s head for that store before it closes. You probably need to replace a few things that burned.” When she glared at him. “I’ll give you the money, all right? I don’t want folks thinking my wife runs around in men’s clothes. If anyone gets nosy, tell them you lost your bag crossing a river.”
She sniffed and sashayed as if she wore a ball gown instead of ill-fitting men’s trousers. “I will keep track and repay you when I kill those men.”

THE MOST UNSUITABLE COURTSHIP will be released on October 30th in print and ebook. A Facebook Launch Party will be held at from 10:00 am until at least 8:00 pm with prizes at random times all day.  You don’t have to be present to win, but winners will be drawn from those who comment during the day at some time.

Thanks for stopping by!

Wednesday, October 23, 2013


Before I launch into the interview, please let me tell you that pm will be awarding a Celtic bracelet (US only) to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.

You can follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: 

Celtic knot bracelet pm will give away to one
commenter on the tour

Now, for our interview:
Caroline: Tell readers about yourself. Where did you grow up? Siblings? Locale? Were you considered a “bookworm” or a jock?  Married, single? Children?

PM: I am most definitely a bookworm. The only time I came close to being a jock was when I was in fourth grade and we were playing ball during gym class. I was stationed in the outfield and saw the ball coming straight for me. I held out my hands, knowing it was going to land right in my palms, and I waited… and waited… and waited… And then the ball hit my chest and bounced off like I was made of rubber. Spectators said it flew nearly the length of the field. I lost the game but most importantly, it took two years to live it down; every time I was spotted, I got the same incredulous look at my breasts. It took two more years of me walking around campus with my arms crossed in front of me before I got over it.

I have two sisters, one older and one younger (neither of whom is any more athletic than me, though not quite so flamboyant about it) and two brothers, one older and one younger (and they are athletic; I guess someone has to be).

I spent most of my life in Washington, DC but my father worked for the FBI so we were transferred around a bit when I was younger.

Caroline: Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

PM: I don’t have favorite authors but I do have favorite books. I absolutely love romantic suspense, especially when it involves time travel and locations like Ireland and Scotland. I love Erin Quinn’s Haunting series, and I am currently reading L.L.Muir’s Muir Witch series and loving it.

Caroline: What’s your favorite way to relax and recharge? Hobbies?

PM: I raise freshwater angelfish, which I find incredibly serene. It began when I was writing Vicki’s Key. I’d purchased some angelfish, and every time I mentioned my fish I could see people’s eyes glaze over. So I thought it would be the perfect front for CIA operatives; everyone would think they were boring and introverted when they were actually leading exciting clandestine lives. Anyway, as I wrote that they were tending to their angelfish breeding business, my own angels began to spawn. I now raise them regularly and sell them to a local pet shop. They’re known as Vicki’s Angelfish, and they became so popular I started a blog about them:

Caroline: What a great story. Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?

PM: I have two. The first is from Wallace Stevens: “After the final no there comes a yes, and on that yes the future world depends.”

The second is from Margaret Thatcher: “Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It’s not a day when you lounge around doing nothing; it’s when you’ve had everything to do and you’ve done it.”

Caroline: Both good quotes. How long have you been writing?

PM: I started writing in 1968 or ’69. My first book was published in 1984. Now I feel really ancient, like my bones should creak when I stand up.

Caroline: I know the feeling. Where do you prefer to write? Do you need quiet, music, solitude? PC or laptop?

PM: I need solitude so I can focus. I have an office in a building separate from my house, where I know I can go to be away from distractions. When there, I work on a desktop. I prefer to write in the living room in front of my angelfish aquariums (I have nine tanks) but that isn’t always possible. When I write there, I use my laptop and a flash drive to take my story from one computer to the other.

Caroline: What long-term plans do you have for your career?

PM: To stay in the game. Sometimes, that’s all that matters.

Caroline: Yes, sometimes that is all that matters. Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

PM: I am currently finishing up the fifth book in the Black Swamp Mysteries series, THE PENDULUM FILES, which is due to be released in 2014. Once that is off my desk, I’ll be writing the sequel to THE TEMPEST MURDERS.

Caroline: What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

PM: Take your ego out of your work. It’s great to demand perfectionism from yourself but don’t demand it from others—publishers and editors have a way of sharing that tidbit and you don’t end up on their A list. Listen to any and all constructive criticism, and always, always seek to hone your craft.

Caroline: What’s a fun fact readers wouldn’t know about you?

PM: I lift weights and I am a roller coaster fanatic.

Caroline: Share something about you that would surprise or shock readers.

PM: Nothing I do seems to shock people anymore. It seems they always expect the unexpected from me.

Caroline: Is your book a series? If so, how long? Family saga, other?

The Tempest Murders is currently a stand-alone book but since its release, I’ve contracted to do a sequel. We’ll see how that turns out, and whether to make it a full-blown series. It would be similar to Robert B. Parker’s Jesse Stone series, but with a Nicholas Sparks type of romantic twist. And then there’s the little subject of the paranormal…

Caroline: Is there anything else you’d like readers to know about you?

PM: I am the founder of Book ‘Em North Carolina, which is a one-day event that raises money for literacy campaigns. Our next event is scheduled for February 22, 2014 in Lumberton, North Carolina. We’re bringing together more than 75 authors, including New York Times bestsellers Bob Mayer and Haywood Smith, Hollywood producer Adam Cushman, and legendary drummer Jamie Oldaker, who plays with Eric Clapton, Leon Russell, Peter Frampton and more—and John Regan, who plays bass guitar for Peter Frampton, Mick Jagger, David Bowie, and more. The event is completely free and open to the public, and for every book that is purchased, money goes toward increasing literacy. All the details are at

Caroline: What a great event. Thanks for sharing with us today.

PM: Thank you for having me here today!

An now here’s a blurb from THE TEMPEST MURDERS:

A provocative story of a love that spans centuries, of soul mates found, lost and reunited… and the lengths to which one man will go to change their destiny.

Irish Detective Ryan O’Clery is working a series of homicides in America when he discovers a journal written by an uncle, Constable Rian Kelly, five generations earlier. The journal detailed the same type of murders as the worst storm in Ireland’s history slammed into the island in 1839.

As Hurricane Irene barrels toward the North Carolina coastline, Ryan discovers even the killer’s description matches his cases exactly. And as he falls in love with television reporter Cathleen Reilly, he begins to wonder if she is the reincarnation of Caitlin O’Conor, Rian Kelly’s lover—the woman who was lost to the killer as the storm raged in Ireland—and if he is the reincarnation of Constable Rian Kelly.

Now he’s in a race to rescue Cathleen before the killer finds her—or is history destined to repeat itself?


They were bites away from finishing their meal when the sky opened up. There might have been a warning, had he been by himself and able to observe his surroundings; but by the time he noticed the trees bending deeply and the gray clouds roiling, the rain had descended on them in a torrent. Within seconds, their food was floating.

A tiny shriek escaped Cathleen’s lips as she vainly tried to keep the rain off her head.

Ryan jumped up, grabbed her wrist and in one fluid movement, had her on her feet. They raced for the back door, managing to rush inside just as a wicked clap of thunder sounded, followed almost instantly by a white streak of lightning.

Once inside, he closed the door, plunging them both into relative silence. He turned around, an offer to get her a towel on his lips. But when he laid eyes on her, the words froze. She was completely drenched. Her hair was hanging in folds from which water streamed until it formed a puddle on the hardwood floor. Her thin blouse was plastered to her body and seemed to highlight the black lace bra beneath. It further accentuated a slender waist before giving way to jeans that she now appeared to have been poured into. Her feet were soaked and as he took in the petite toes peeking out, he found himself staring at the pink polish and a Celtic toe ring before his eyes moved back up her body.

By the time they reached her eyes, he felt as if he was on automatic pilot. His mind was completely blank, his emotions swept away. He stepped toward her at the exact moment he reached out and pulled her to him, the wet blouse teasing his chest. He didn’t look in her eyes but closed his as his lips locked onto hers.

They were everything he’d dreamed about; full and moist and soft. But she wasn’t kissing him.

He stopped and took a step backward, separating them. She stood perfectly still and stared at him with eyes that had grown round and huge. Her face had lost its color and as she continued staring at him, he realized she was in shock.

Horrified with his own boorish behavior, he stumbled over his words. “I am so sorry. I’ve never done anything like that in my life—”

She rushed at him and for the briefest of moments, he didn’t know if she planned to slap him or pummel him or push him to the side to rush out the door. He staggered backward to get out of her way but when she descended on him her arms encircled his neck, pulling his head down to hers. When their lips met again, hers were slightly open and she met his mouth with a passion he had only dreamed about but had never fully experienced.

Ryan’s arms wrapped around her; pulling her to him so tightly he had to contain himself to keep from bruising her. She tasted sweet and fresh, the raindrops mingling with perspiration and a fragrance that was both soothing and wild and which seemed to envelop them both in a sensual cocoon.

His large hand found her face, the palm cupping her chin while his fingers stroked her jaw. Her skin was as soft as silk and moist from the rain; and as her lips parted further to allow him in, he thought he could never get enough of her. As one hand wandered to her hair, weaving his fingers through the long tresses, a mingled scent of citrus and florals wafted upward, growing in intensity as he fondled her locks.

He pressed his body against her, tightening his hold on her as his other hand explored her back, kneading her skin through the thin, wet blouse. Her breath was coming in short shallow bursts now and he could feel her heart quickening as he pressed ever closer. When she sighed softly, he opened his eyes and when she moaned, he reluctantly drew back from her, his muscled chest rising and falling and yearning.

Her face was flushed, the heat rising in her cheeks in a way that tantalized him. Her plump lips remained slightly parted and as he gazed at them, he realized he might have bruised them despite his efforts to control his passion. As his eyes found hers, he discovered them staring at him in a way that disarmed him. The gold flecks he had seen earlier appeared to have grown and now they nearly glowed as she looked at him. They were tumultuous, the colors dancing under her long, curved black lashes. But it was the raw emotion in them that gripped his soul; he’d seen desire before and had witnessed passion but there was something more—something deeper. It was trust, he realized with a start. As if she was standing before him, naked to the soul and she was entrusting herself to his care.

In his peripheral vision, he could see her chest rising and falling with her jagged breath and each rise threatened to take him closer to the peak of desire.
pm terrell, author

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

p.m.terrell is the pen name for Patricia McClelland Terrell, the award-winning, internationally acclaimed author of more than eighteen books in four genres: contemporary suspense, historical suspense, computer how-to and non-fiction.

Prior to writing full-time, she founded two computer companies in the Washington, DC Metropolitan Area: McClelland Enterprises, Inc. and Continental Software Development Corporation. Among her clients were the Central Intelligence Agency, United States Secret Service, U.S. Information Agency, and Department of Defense. Her specialties were in white collar computer crimes and computer intelligence.

VICKI’S KEY was a top five finalist in the 2012 International Book Awards and 2012 USA Book Awards nominee and her historical suspense, RIVER PASSAGE, was a 2010 Best Fiction and Drama Winner. It was determined to be so historically accurate that a copy of the book resides at the Nashville Government Metropolitan Archives in Nashville, Tennessee.

She is also the co-founder of The Book ‘Em Foundation, an organization committed to raising public awareness of the correlation between high crime rates and high illiteracy rates. She is the organizer of Book ‘Em North Carolina, an annual event held in Lumberton, North Carolina, to raise funds to increase literacy and reduce crime. For more information on this event and the literacy campaigns funded by it, visit 

She sits on the boards of the Friends of the Robeson County Public Library and the Robeson County Arts Council. She has also served on the boards of Crime Stoppers and Crime Solvers and became the first female president of the Chesterfield County-Colonial Heights Crime Solvers in Virginia.

For more information visit the author’s website at, follow her on Twitter at @pmterrell, her blog at, and on Facebook under author.p.m.terrell.

Buy Links:

Thanks for stopping by! 

Monday, October 21, 2013


**Cristin will be awarding a $25 GC to Victoria’s Secret, and gifted e-copies of the five titles in the series (starting with WINTER’S HEAT. Three novels and two novellas) to one randomly drawn commenter during this tour Follow the tour and comment; the more you comment, the better your chances of winning. The tour dates can be found here: 

Winter’s Heat
by Cristin Harber


After putting her life on the line to protect classified intelligence, military psychologist Mia Kensington is on a cross-country road trip from hell with an intrusive save-the-day hero. Uninterested in his white knight act, she’d rather take her chances without the ruggedly handsome, cold-blooded operative who boasts an alpha complex and too many guns.

Colby Winters, an elite member of The Titan Group, has a single objective on his black ops mission: recover a document important to national security. It was supposed to be an easy in-and-out operation. But now, by any means necessary becomes a survival mantra when he faces off with a stunning woman he can’t leave behind.

When Titan’s safe houses are compromised, Colby stashes Mia at his home, exposing his secret—he’s the adoptive father of an orphaned baby girl. Too soon, danger arrives and Mia lands in the hands of a sadistic cartel king with a taste for torture. As hours bleed into fear-drenched days, Colby races across the globe and through a firestorm of bullets to save the woman he can’t live without.

Excerpt from WINTER’S HEAT:

Setup- Colby Winters is running out of a cartel kingpin’s mansion during a gunfight to a waiting Titan team member. Mia is behind him.

Gunfire surrounded her. Coming for them, shooting away from them. They fired. He fired back. The burnt gunpowder floated behind him, blazing into her nose and eyes. Still, she pushed, moving as he moved, tracing his cross-hatched steps, ducking when he ducked. A shadow behind the man.

She heard a thump. He growled and missed a step but didn’t stop moving. Brilliant red blood sprayed onto her. He didn’t slow. Her legs burned keeping the pace.

They rounded the corner, and he pressed her against the stucco wall. His blood stained her. It painted the wall and covered his hands. Vehicles came their way. Armed men poured from a hole in the perimeter fence like ants from an anthill. Fireballs from the jungle hit the vehicles. Violent explosions sent deadly fireworks into the sky. Rubber and diesel burned hot. Black smoke billowed around the armed men running toward them.

The heat, humidity, and smoke would have slowed a lesser man. So would a gunshot wound. He scanned the vast lawn.

“We have to make it past that hole in the fence. There’s a vehicle waiting for us. We’ve got a sniper in the trees, and two more men on the ground. When you see someone dressed like me, you run like hell toward him. Got it?”

“You’re hurt.” She wanted to run her hands across his skin and stop the bleeding.

He ignored her. “Say it, Mia. Can you do this?”

“I can.” She gave him a strong nod, exacerbating her headache. She didn’t care. Colby was here, and she’d do whatever he needed her to do.

“You got this. Let’s go.”

He gave her a small push in the right direction. Bullets sounded around her. Men ran toward them, guns pointed their way. The shots hit the grass, spitting up dirt, and slapping her face. She tasted blood and grit, and felt the filth in her mouth, which caked her lips and teeth.

White-hot pain rocketed through her. A dizzying flash made her stumble. He grabbed her upright.

“Flesh wound. Keep going,” he shouted above the noise. His teeth were gritted together. He huddled beside her, pulling her. “There’s Jared. Run!”

Another thump. He was hit again, as he shielded her from the rain of artillery. One by one, men advanced toward them and were dropped by a sniper. But as one went down, another appeared.

She heard another bullet hit. Winters dropped to his knee, pulled Mia under him, and cursed violent threats. His sweat and blood coated her. She felt it through the layers of clothing and vests. He scooped her with one arm and crawled behind a statue.

“How bad are you hurt, Colby?”

“Doesn’t matter.” His labored breaths worsened with each passing moment.

“How bad, damn it?”

Winters stopped laboring and laughed. “You’re unreal, you know that?”

Mia glared at him.

“Bad. But I think Kevlar got most of it. Everything heals. I’m not worried. Jared’s twenty yards ahead, picking them off. We have to go for it right now. Or we don’t have a chance. You got it, babe?”

“I can do this.”

“I know you can. Run, baby, run.” He took off at a limped sprint, acting as a barrier from the fire again.

His leg went out from under him. The whiz of bullets went to slow motion, the sound ceased. Mia dropped on bent knees, watching him on the ground.

“Run, goddamn it,” he shouted. His veins popped out of his neck as he fired into the distance.

The world came back, loud and furious. Her legs moved, even though her mind was numb. Jared appeared out of nowhere. He jumped from his perch and snared her with an arm, dragging her into the vehicle.

“Wait. Colby.”

Jared threw the vehicle into gear and spun tires as he tore down the makeshift road. Branches and jungle leaves scratched at the windshield.

Mia launched at Jared, hitting his shoulder.

“Colby’s hurt.” Tears and terror filled her throat. The very depths of her soul ached. Her screech turned to a pleading whisper. “Please. Help him.”

“They were right on your tail. They’ve got him by now.”

Dread ricocheted through her head. All the pain and loss pressed onto her. Suffocating despair ripped her apart. Tears streamed down. Rapid breaths came fast. Too fast. She tried to cut them off but failed. All went black.

All Romance:

                               About the Author

Cristin Harber
Romantic Suspense Author
Higher Stakes. Hotter Action

Lover of all things sexy and happily ever after.

I live outside Washington, DC with my family: my husband (who doesn’t mind my collection of book boyfriends), an independent toddler, and an English bulldog named Britta who loves to be a conversation piece. Oh, we have a baby on the way—arriving about the same time as WINTERS HEAT debuts!

I love southern food, listen to country music, am always too hot or too cold, and spend hours reading and writing. I cheer on my University of Louisville Cardinals-GO CARDS! When I’m not pregnant (or nursing), I like a little bourbon or sweet wine. Pregnant or not, I love a lot of chocolate.

I can’t save the world, so instead, I write about those that do. There’s a special place in my heart for those who keep us safe. My Titan series debuts this fall with five titles available in 2013: WINTERS HEAT, GARRISON’S CREED, WESTIN’S CHASE, CHASED, and GAMBLED.

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 Thanks for stopping by!

Friday, October 18, 2013


When I was a kid, the Christmas catalogs came about the middle of September and coincided with my birthday. That was the first clue that fall was here. We wouldn't see decorations up until the Friday after Thanksgiving.

Being a kid, it never occurred to me that a lot of people worked while I was overeating turkey and dessert at my aunt and uncle's house. Nope, the stores just magically had Christmas displays the day after Thanksgiving. Oh, I did see men hanging the street decorations, but the lighted ones were never turned on until the day we now call Black Friday.

Whew, how times have changed. As soon as school classes are in session, out comes the Hallowe'en and Christmas decorations. Poor Thanksgiving doesn't warrant much space.

Don't think I mind. Fall is my favorite time of year and the holidays are a joy for me. For many years we lived in a rural area and had no trick or treaters. I look forward to having them this year. Have my wreath and plan to get a pumpkin or two this weekend.

We have a small family now, so our celebrations are laid back.

Except for Christmas!

I am a certifiable nut about Christmas. Not the day.
The preparation.
The decorations.
The gifts.
The cards.
On the day, there's a let down. All the fun is in the anticipation.

Yes, I know it's a religious holiday. I get all that. We observe the meaning as well as the secular traditions. We read the Christmas story from the Bible before we open gifts to remind us of why we give them. We give thanks for our many blessings. And I am grateful for all the true meaning of Christmas. Truly I am.

But giving gifts is so much fun. Choosing the perfect gift for each person is important. Not just a gift card, although those are nice. No, a gift I picked out because I knew the person who received it would love that particular thing. A gift I receive that proves the giver knows me and planned for my gift.

And I shop all year, of course. (Sadly, I usually forget where I've stashed a few gifts and find them about February. )

So, when I ask "Is it here yet?" I mean the Christmas season.
Can I decorate the tree?
Put out the yard decorations?
Hang the stockings?

Just for you, I'll wait until after Thanksgiving.

Thanks for stopping by!

Wednesday, October 16, 2013


By Guest Author Paisley Kirkpatrick

Have you ever wondered where your story ideas come from? It is the one question people ask me the most. Until a very strange and quite remarkable occurrence happened while I wrote FOREVER AFTER, I had no idea I might have someone living in my head helping me.

One of my great, great grandparents might just be the answer. Charles Kirkpatrick was a doctor who left Illinois and traveled across country on a wagon train in 1849. He kept a journal which is now kept under glass in the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley, in California. I can understand why it's considered five-star quality. He was quite literate and wrote a lot of what he saw and what happened around him. I am lucky enough to have a copy of the journal and was able to share a lot of what he put on the pages in my second story, Marriage Bargain. At the time I felt blessed to have help from one of my ancestors.

His wife, Mary Kirkpatrick, wrote seven stories under the name of Mary Kirke. She is supposedly the first woman to have stories published in a magazine. When I finally settled down and read through one of the five 3-inch thick binders of genealogy my Mother assembled, I was about halfway through writing FOREVER AFTER. My heroine traveled to San Francisco on a ship without luggage and she suffered greatly from nausea. 

When I read my great, great grandmother's first story published in a magazine, I was caught off guard when I found two of her sentences were written verbatim to mine. Also, the scene was under the same circumstances as mine -- on a ship to San Francisco, no luggage, and constantly plagued with nausea. Eerie, spooky, unbelievable - these were the words running through my head. How could this have happen? In all fairness, I couldn't leave my story similar to hers so I ultimately did change the scene somewhat so we can 
both take credit for what we've written.

At my next Sacramento Valley Rose chapter meeting our guest speaker spoke about past lives. I told her what had happened to me and asked if I could have inherited my great, great grandmother's memories. She agreed it was possible, but thought it was more than likely I inherited Mary Kirke.

On one other note, when I read the last two sentences of my great, great grandmother's story I cried and I still get emotional telling you about them. She was standing on the wharf at San Francisco Harbor. She had just arrived after sailing from the east coast to San Francisco and was waiting for the man she was to marry to meet her. She felt his hand on her shoulder and knew she was home. I have tears telling it again.

I have no idea how her words got in my head, but if it is true and she is living in there giving me plots, I am not complaining. I have no idea where my ideas come from or why this time period and the gold country has always been important to me, but it's a gift and I intend to always nurture it.   


Abandoned by her sisters, her father in jail, Marinda Benjamin takes on the care of her ailing mother the best way possible -- working for an unscrupulous man with the power to crush her.  Forced to spy on a decent man, Marinda's honesty saves her virtue and revenge restores her self-respect.

When Ethan Braddock discovers his brother's poker pot cleaning his private office, he jumps to the right conclusion -- she's there to spy for his nemesis. Ethan can't help but find her irresistible. In spite of what his heart tells him, his brain reserves judgment on her character. Until he unravels the mystery of her connection to Danforth, trust is the one thing he can't allow himself. For that, she'll have to prove herself.


Dr. Braddock's office held an air of authority. Bookshelves crammed with medical volumes covered two walls while the massive oak desk was positioned to take full advantage of a rock fireplace. Two brown, cushioned armchairs placed invitingly near the bookshelves drew her attention. She loved to read. More than six months had passed since she'd enjoyed the luxury. Curling up in one of those chairs with a good book would be heaven.

The files Danforth mentioned must be stored in the row of locked drawers running across the bottom shelf of the bookcase. She knelt and fingered one of the unique locks. How would she ever get the information? He had each drawer secured separately.

Disturbed by what she'd found, she stood and observed a couple of country farm prints positioned above the mantel. A framed copy of the doctor's medical license hung between the two windows on the opposite side of the room. His name sounded quite proper -- Ethan Andrew Braddock. It suits him.

Running the duster over the furniture and emptying the trash didn't take long. Marinda grabbed the shovel from its stand on the hearth and began scooping ashes from the fireplace into a bucket. Warm sunshine poured through the two large windows. She slipped the latch and threw one windowpane open, letting in fresh air and the melodic sounds of birds chirping in the nearby cornfield. Contentment stole over her as she worked.

Done, she picked up the bucket and stood back admiring her topnotch job. Now everything in the room appeared clean and ready for the doctor's return.

The office door slammed behind her.

"What the hell?"

She spun at the raised voice. Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Anger radiated from Ethan Braddock's penetrating gaze. His tidy brown hair curled in gentle waves, giving him a boyish look, but the set to his jaw soon banished that idea. Dr. Braddock was nobody's fool. His height placed her at an immediate disadvantage, and for a reason she didn't want to analyze, she did not wish to be at a disadvantage with the formidable doctor.

"This is my private office. Who let you in here?"

The bucket slipped from her hand, hitting against the corner of the desk. Ashes fluttered into the air, settling across the top of the doctor's orderly desk.

She clasped her hands behind her back, staring speechless at the mess.


Desert Breeze

Author Paisley Kirkpatrick
Discovering that riding off into the sunset was a lot easier on a computer screen than in real life, not to mention those saddle burns, Paisley Kirkpatrick began her career as an author. Hiding in the Sierra Mountain Range of California with her husband of 44 years, Paisley spends her time roping in the cowpoke of her dreams, or can be found wandering the streets of California's gold rush towns to find inspiration for her books. She might not have found gold in them there hills, but she did find a love for the old west and the prickling of the stories that make up her Paradise Pines series.

Drawing on family history and a healthy imagination, Paisley kicks off her wild ride on a dusty trail with NIGHT ANGEL. Don't worry your little heads, though. It's the first of many adventures in a time when men were men, and women knew how to put them in their place. If you love your cowboys rugged with a sensitive side, and your heroines with enough fire to light up the western sky, you've got a home waiting in Paradise Pines. Just be sure to bring a six-shooter because the Lady Paisley aims for the heart, and when she fires, she never misses.

Thanks for stopping by!