TO CATCH A THIEF

To Catch A Thief

by Nan Dixon

GENRE: Contemporary

Nan Dixon has a Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of this post.

TO CATCH A THIEF Blurb:

What would you do for your family?

When Carolina Castillo’s once vivacious mother becomes ill, she gives up her singing dreams and comes home to Savannah. She’d do anything for her Mamá, even work at Fitzgerald House for the family she should have been part of. She’d even steal.

Carolina’s decisions make perfect sense until she comes up against the immovable rock that is gorgeous FBI agent Sage Cornell. The honorable cop sees the world in black-and-white. He would never understand the difficult choices she’s had to make, the secrets she’s been forced to keep close. And he could never love a woman like her. Or could he?

TO CATCH A THIEF Excerpt:

“I really appreciate you coming to the hospital.” How many times had Carolina said that already?

Sage slid closer. “I want to see you again.”

She could see the kiss coming.

He stopped inches from her face and asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” Her single word was a whisper.

His lips were gentle. Sweet. Light pressure with a little scrape from his stubble.

“Nice,” he murmured, brushing kisses on her cheeks and eyes.

Her hands rested against his chest. “Really nice.”

Sage leaned in. His tongue licked the seam of her lips, seeking entrance.

She opened and stroked his tongue with hers. He tasted of coffee and mint and something dark and sexy. His chocolate-citrus scent made her want to sip at his lips, kiss his eyelids and nibble on his collarbone. She gripped his shoulders, the muscles hot under her hands.

He tipped her head and buried his fingers in her hair.

She fell hard into their kiss, wanting to explore the firm body beneath her fingers. “Sage.”

He pulled her closer.

Pain slashed her chest as her seat belt locked in place. "Ooh."

They laughed.

He cupped her cheek. “I guess your car is trying to tell us something.”

That she should take him up on his offer to come up to his apartment?

“I can meet you at the hospital in the morning,” Sage suggested. “Maybe we could have breakfast nearby?”

Guilt had her sitting back behind the wheel. While kissing Sage, she’d forgotten about her mother. “I’ll have to see what’s happening.”

“Sure. Sure.” He brushed another kiss on her lips, this one sweet and soft. “Will you let me know when you get home? I don’t want to worry that you didn’t make it.”

Had anyone ever cared if she got home safely? “I’ll call.”

INTERVIEW WITH NAN DIXON

Where did you grow up? Siblings? Locale? Were you considered a “bookworm” or a jock? Married, single? Children?

I was born in Minneapolis, but we moved to Sioux Falls before I went to kindergarten. I grew up in a family of five kids, right in the middle. My mother was British and I thought everyone had teatime until I was in sixth grade.

My family owned a cabin near Brainerd, MN which is lake country in the state. (My sisters and I now own it.)  My paternal grandparents had the cabin next to us and four uncles and one aunt had places on the lake. There were always tons of cousins to play with when we were there. I was both a bookworm and a jock, reflecting both my parents’ interests. Mother was a journalist, poet and playwright, but she could walk on her hands! We were a skiing family, both snow and water and took a yearly trip to Colorado. And we had a trampoline in our backyard, so there were lots of kids at the house. I also played golf and I was captain on the University of Minnesota golf team for three years. (We had a lot of fun!)

Even though I was a finance executive in healthcare and then a pharmaceutical company, I somehow survived having five kids. (1 set of twins.) If you can’t guess, I love the chaos of being around lots of people!

Who are your favorite authors and favorite genres?

I read Romance—all the time. I’ve already started to read the 2018 RITA finalists and I started with HelenKay Dimond a double RITA finalists. My agent also represents her and we end up signing next to each other at RWA book signings.

My auto-buys are Nora Roberts, JR Ward, Kristan Higgins, Jill Shalvis, Pintip Dunn, Amy Patrick, AE Jones, Cat Schield and so many more authors I call my friends.

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

Like I said, I read all the time. But I also knit. I’m making tea cozies right now for a reader’s event. I thought the idea of afternoon tea complete with tea pots, tea and cozies fit my B&B series. I also love to cook and have all the kids over for a meal. And that means prosecco will be poured.

Do you have a favorite quote that sums up how you feel about life?

I have two:

Variety is the spice of life.

And – Moderation in all things. (My mother said these all the time.)

How long have you been writing?

I toyed with a middle grade book almost thirty years but never finished it, or learned anything about the craft of writing. Then maybe twenty years ago I started to write at night after the kids were in bed. Again I knew nothing about craft. Finally, I took classes and joined my local RWA chapter. And then ten years ago the pharmaceutical company I worked for was sold and all my stock options had to be cashed in. I decided to write full-time. BEST DECISION EVER!

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

I have an office in the house. (Used to be a bedroom.) I write on my desk treadmill so I can get my steps in. It is easier in solitude, but I think because I can handle chaos, I can write anywhere. I don’t usually have music playing if I am drafting, unless it is classical music, but when I am revising I have my iPod playing.

Are you a plotter or a panzer?

I used to be a pantser, but now plot using archetypes, GMC, and Save the Cat steps. (See I finally learned craft!)

Do you use real events or persons in your stories or as an inspiration for stories?

Real events are usually an idea generator for me. The book I am working on right now was conceived after I dropped my daughter off at college and was driving home. I was listening to the BBC and they were talking about genetic modifications. I plotted what is now a four-book series from Ohio to Minnesota.

Do you set daily writing goals? Word count? Number of chapters? Do you get a chance to write every day?

Since this is my job, I treat it like a job. When I’m drafting I set word count goals—usually 1500 to 3000 per day. When I am revising, depending on whether it is revising a first draft or revisions from my editor, I know what I have to accomplish to meet my deadlines. There is still a lot of financial executive in me, so I log in and out of a spreadsheet all day long to see where I am spending my time.

What do you hope your writing brings to readers?

A smile, a laugh, a few tears and a sigh when the hero and heroine find their happily-ever-after.

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

I would like to publish three books a year. And it sure would be fun to make a list!

Would you like to tell us what you’re working on now?

I’m working on THE PERFECT CHILDREN a romantic suspense. It’s the book I dreamed up after dropping my daughter off at college. I had drafted book 1 before I sold my debut, but never got back to it. Now that I have finished the FITZGERALD HOUSE series, I’ve returned to it.

Premise is: Three men find out they are almost genetically identical, but they all have different mothers. The secret group now using the genetic modifications does not want the truth behind how the three men were created to be discovered. Trouble ensues!

What advice would you give to unpublished authors?

Learn your craft! I spent years and wrote five books without knowing what I was doing. And read. I remember taking an online class from Mary Buckham and her saying to read books published in the last five years. And read best-sellers. 

Share a fun fact readers wouldn’t know about you.

My sisters and I have been taking long weekend sister trips for over twenty-five years. (Our mother used to come with us.) A trip to sister trip to Savannah is how this series started.

Share something about you that would surprise or shock readers.

Maybe not so shocking, but this book originally had ghost in it. The B and B was going to be haunted. And I believe that after my brother died—he stopped by to say goodbye.

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

TO CATCH A THIEF is Book 6 of the FITZGERALD HOUSE series. Fitzgerald House is a B and B in the historic district of Savannah run by the three Fitzgerald series. You can read them as stand-alone.

Can you give readers a blurb about your book?

What would you do for your family?

When Carolina Castillo’s once vivacious mother becomes ill, she gives up her singing dreams and comes home to Savannah. She’d do anything for her Mamá, even work at Fitzgerald House for the family she should have been part of. She’d even steal.

Carolina’s decisions make perfect sense until she comes up against the immovable rock that is gorgeous FBI agent Sage Cornell. The honorable cop sees the world in black-and-white. He would never understand the difficult choices she’s had to make, the secrets she’s been forced to keep close. And he could never love a woman like her. Or could he?

How about a PG excerpt from TO CATCH A THIEF:

Sage boosted his butt onto the stool, moaning like he was Gramps after being in the saddle for a day.

Two women worked behind the counter drawing beers. He closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Sage?”

His eyes blinked open. “Carolina?”

The napkin slipped out of her fingers and floated to the floor.

“You got the job.” Did that make him feel better or worse since she hadn’t called?

“First day.” Her deep blue eyes had that stunned look, like a white-tailed deer caught in a four-wheeler’s lights at dusk.

“How’s your mother?” He schooled his voice, hoping she couldn’t catch his disappointment.

Her shoulders moved up and down with her sigh. His eyes dropped to her chest. Even in the modest polo, he didn’t need much imagination to remember how she’d pressed against him as they’d kissed.

So why in blazes hadn’t she called?

“They can’t get her seizures under control.” Her fingers crushed the second napkin she pulled for him. “She’s still in the hospital.”

He caught her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” She stared into his eyes.

The noise of the room slipped away. He wanted to make the pain in her deep blue eyes disappear, too.

She shook her head. “Um, what can I get you?”

“What’s on tap?”

“First day.” She winced. “Lots of Southbound.”

“I’ll have their seasonal.” He could have one beer and make it last through dinner.

“I’ll get that.” But she stayed right in front of him.

He smiled. Maybe she hadn’t been blowing him off. Warmth flooded through him.

“Sage?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“I need my hand back.”

Cripes. He let go and the warmth faded like a leaking balloon. He was an idiot. “Sorry.”

Over her shoulder, she quipped, “I didn’t mind.”

 “Like I said, I’m available for dinner or just a shoulder to cry on.” Preferably in bed, but even he wasn’t crass enough to suggest that to her. He wanted to help any way he could. It was the Cornell way.

Where can readers find your books? 

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074ZBWZHC

B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/to-catch-a-thief-nan-dixon/1126998940?ean=9781335449177

KOBO: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/to-catch-a-thief-23

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Nan_Dixon_To_Catch_a_Thief?id=ZREyDwAAQBAJ

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/to-catch-a-thief/id1273618840?mt=11

How can readers learn more about you?

Website/Blog: www.nandixon.com

Facebook: https://business.facebook.com/nandixonauthor/?business_id=1291653574295276

Twitter: @nandixonauthor

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/NanDixonauthor/pins/

Instagram: nandixonauthor

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

I fell in love with prosecco while I was in Venice and there is prosecco in every book. See if you can find them. Cheers!

Author Nan Dixon

Award winning author Nan Dixon spent her formative years as an actress, singer, dancer and competitive golfer. But the need to eat had her studying accounting in college. Unfortunately, being a successful financial executive didn’t feed her passion to perform. When the pharmaceutical company she worked for was purchased, Nan got the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity to pursue a writing career. She’s a five-time Golden Heart® finalist, lives in the Midwest and is active in her local RWA chapter and on the board of a dance company. She has five children, three sons-in-law, two granddaughters, one grandson and one neurotic cat.

www.NanDixon.com
https://www.facebook.com/nandixonauthor/
https://www.pinterest.com/NanDixonauthor/
Buy Links - http://www.nandixon.com/category/books/

GIVEAWAY

Nan Dixon will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.


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WHITCOMB SPRINGS -- MONTANA TERRITORY

For a complete listing of all currently available and upcoming Whitcomb Springs stories, visit http://www.mkmcclintock.com/whitcomb-springs-series.

Rafflecopter giveaway at end of post.

Grab a FREE copy of Whitcomb Springs

April 13th & 14th

“RETRIBUTION ROAD” BY CHRISTI CORBETT


Montana Territory, 1867

Graham Patterson, an accomplished veterinarian, is leaving Seattle and heading east to start a new life for himself. Opportunities abound for men who understand how to make the land work for them, rather than work the land. But after he overhears two scoundrels plotting to take advantage of a lonely spinster, his well-laid plans go awry.

Willow Bennet lives just outside the town of Whitcomb Springs with only her beloved dog to keep her company. It’s a predictable life, until late one night when she foils an attack and her dog is wounded as revenge.

Can she trust the mysterious stranger who insists he can help?





EXCERPT FROM “RETRIBUTION ROAD”

Chapter One
Friday, November 1, 1867

GRAHAM HID IN the shadows, his hand resting on his pistol while he considered the rising flames. Normally he’d take a wide path around a stranger’s camp, but the glowing coals promised warmth and the pot the two men had hanging over the fire smelled of beans. Eating nothing for three days made a man consider a lot of things.
Even worse, he was lost.
In Seattle, taking a wrong turn had meant simply backtracking or trying another street. Deep within the wooded and ankle-busting terrain of Montana Territory, it meant he could die.
His stomach growled again, and he took another swig of icy water from his canteen to quiet the rumbling. Graham’s numb fingers fumbled with the metal cap and a clang broke the silence.
The younger man leapt to his feet. “Pa, did you hear something?”
The older man rose and swung a Henry rifle into firing position. “Who’s out there?” he demanded, his voice raspy from years of hard liquor and harder living.
Graham sighed. Unless he wanted to start a fight with strangers, he’d best answer. “No need to get riled up. I’m just passing through.”
“You alone?” shouted the younger man, planting his legs wide while shucking off his coat.
“Yes,” Graham replied, his fingers lowering to test the knot securing his holster to his leg.
They exchanged whispers, then the older man called out, “You cold?”
“Yes.” Graham grimaced. Late fall out here was a lot colder than his brother’s letters had led him to believe. The frigid winds seemed to blow right through his clothes—a blanket-lined coat, flannel shirt, wool pants, long socks, and high boots—and settle deep in his bones. He’d been cold for the past month.
“Better come in then. Keep your hands where we can see them.”














“FORSAKEN TRAIL” BY MK MCCLINTOCK

Montana Territory, 1865

Cooper McCord enjoyed a solitary life. When he first showed Daniel and Evelyn Whitcomb the beautiful mountain valley in Montana, he didn’t expect to stay. After the War Between the States began, Cooper remained close and helped build the town, not realizing he was building a home for himself. When an unexpected arrival to Whitcomb Springs makes him question his reclusive life, will Cooper retreat to his wilderness or allow himself to take a chance and risk happiness?





EXCERPT FROM “FORSAKEN TRAIL”
Whitcomb Springs, Montana Territory
May 30, 1865

SHE NEVER imagined dying at the hands—or paws—of a bear. Either she’d end up dead like the poor driver she hired in Bozeman or find a way to escape unscathed. Considering the layers of skirts and petticoats she wore, Abigail wasn’t going to bet on her ability to outrun the great animal.
She remained still in the low branches of a tree. Unable to climb higher unless she removed her skirts, Abigail controlled her breathing so as not to alert the animal. The past few years of her life had been in pursuit of an education. Her work in the war relief had kept her busy for four long years, but she found time in the evening hours to consume knowledge. The more she learned, the more she wanted to know.
Abigail read most of the leather-bound volumes of work in her family’s library, from philosophy to geography to history, and everything in between. Unfortunately, not a single text had explained what to do when confronted by five hundred pounds of bear. Magnificent though the animal was, Abigail didn’t want to become dinner.
Poor Mr. Tuttle had fallen from the wagon and broken his neck when the horses spooked and ran off. She’d been unable to drag him away, let alone pull him up a tree. Even now, she watched as the massive brown bear sniffed around the body. She dispelled a deep breath when she realized it wasn’t going to eat Mr. Tuttle. It looked around instead, smelling the air.
Abigail swore it stared directly at her. Too late, she recalled that bears climb trees. Her first thought had been to escape, and unable to outrun the creature, she went up. She calculated if the bear stood on its back legs, it could reach the low-hanging branches where she hid and knock her from the tree with one swipe. She grabbed the nearest branch above her head and pulled herself up. Abigail ignored the loud rip in her skirt and the sudden gush of cool air that hit her legs and climbed higher. Two more branches put her out of swiping distance.
The grizzly sauntered toward her and stood, staring and studying. She imagined it thinking of all the ways it could rip her apart and savor her like a delicious meal. The stays on her corset would be no match for those great claws, and the teeth . . . Abigail shuddered and reminded herself that most living creatures weren’t vicious by nature.
Abigail knew the animal was aware of her location. It landed back on all fours and approached the base of the tree. The heavy breathing and snorting filled the silence.















“TRACKING AMY” BY SAMANTHA ST. CLAIRE


Riley Buchanan knew he’d been in the mining camps too long when he mistook the pretty Amy Sutton for a boy. Why she kept her gender disguised puzzled Riley. Curiosity put him on her trail. Destiny placed him in her life. Would Riley become the missing piece to the puzzle that was Amy?





EXCERPT FROM “TRACKING AMY”

WITH A SATISFYING “clunk,” the can flew up from the fence rail. Amy lowered the carbine and turned to smile at her daughter. “I think we may yet have some venison on the table.”
Rose grinned at her mother and asked, “Do you want me to set them up again?”
“No, I think that’s enough practice. Tomorrow, I’ll head back and see if I can find the deer I wounded. I’ll try find him before some cat or bear tracks him down.”
“Can I come this time?”
Amy looked down into her daughter’s imploring eyes. “Rose, you know the livestock need someone to care for them.”
Rose’s face fell into a sullen pout. “I’m a good shot, too.”
With a finger, Amy lifted her daughter’s chin and waited for Rose to meet her gaze. “I know you are, even better than me. But until we can hire another hand to help us, we are all we have—you and me. Besides, when you are older, I’ll send you out hunting. Agreed?”
Her countenance lifting, Rose nodded. “Agreed.”

Author Bios

MK McClintock is an award-winning author devoted to giving her readers books laced with adventure, romance, and a touch of mystery. Her novels and short stories take you from the rugged mountains of Montana to the Victorian British Isles, all with good helpings of daring exploits and endearing love stories. She enjoys a peaceful life in the Rocky Mountains where she is writing her next book.


If you'd like to know when MK's next book will be out, please visit her website at www.mkmcclintock.com, where you can sign up to receive new release updates.

Website &Blog ~ Amazon ~ Pinterest ~ Instagram

Samantha St. Claire was born in 2016, the alter-ego and pen name of an author of historical fiction born a few decades earlier. She may have found her niche in western historical fiction, served up sweet. Never faint of heart, her signature protagonists face the hazards of the frontier with courage, wit, and a healthy pinch of humor. She divides her time between her homes in Idaho and the Olympic Peninsula.


Follow www.samanthastclaire.com to read more about the research that has helped develop the characters, towns, and stories of the Sawtooth Range Series.

Website& Blog ~ Amazon ~ Facebook

Christi Corbett had an early love for the written word. As a child she could often be seen leaving the library with a stack of books so tall she used her chin to balance them in her arms.

Over the years she’s put her love of writing to good use; in addition to writing over three hundred television commercials, she earned the position as head writer for a weekly television show. She left her television career when she and her husband found out they were expecting twins, but she couldn’t leave writing altogether.

She’s now an award-winning author, writing stories of brave men and spirited women settling the American west.

Website & Blog ~ Amazon ~ Facebook ~ Instagram

$50 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash Giveaway


Ends 4/30/18


Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.


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MURDER SHE KNIT

Murder, She Knit

A
Knit & Nibble Mystery Book 1

by
Peggy Ehrhart

Genre:
Cozy Mystery

Since her only daughter left for college, widow Pamela Paterson has kept
busy as associate editor of a craft magazine and founder of the Knit
and Nibble knitting club in quaint Arborville, New Jersey. Now, she’s
trying out a new hobby—solving murders!

Pamela is hosting the next Knit and Nibble meeting and can’t wait to liven
up her otherwise empty home with colorful yarn, baking, and a little
harmless gossip. She even recruits Amy Morgan, an old friend who
recently moved to town, as the group’s newest member. But on the
night of the gathering, Amy doesn’t show. Not until Pamela finds
the woman dead outside—a knitting needle stabbed through the front
of her handmade sweater . . .

Someone committed murder before taking off with Amy’s knitting bag, and
Pamela realizes that only she can spot the deadly details hidden in
mysterious skeins. But when another murder occurs, naming the
culprit—and living to spin the tale—will be more difficult than
Pamela ever imagined . . . 

Knitting tips and delicious recipe included!

MURDER SHE KNIT Excerpt:

“What if selling the yarn by mistake was just a cover story?”

“A cover story for what?” Bettina asked, surprised enough to take her eyes off the road for a second and glance at Pamela.

“What if the yarn has something to do with Amy’s murder? She was supposed to deliver it somewhere and the killer intercepted her.”

Bettina glanced at Pamela again, a disbelieving smile twisting her lips. “The murderer thought she’d be carrying it around with her?”

Pamela shrugged. “The police never found the knitting bag.”

“But you have the yarn now.” “Maybe the murderer’s next stop, after discovering the yarn wasn’t in the knitting bag, was Amy’s apartment. But Dorrie had already cleaned everything out.”

“I hope he doesn’t find out what Dorrie did with the yarn,” Bettina said, still smiling. “Or you’re next . . .”

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Peggy Ehrhart is a former English professor who lives in Leonia, New
Jersey, where she writes mysteries and plays blues guitar. She holds
a Ph.D. in medieval literature from the University of Illinois and
taught writing and literature at Queens College, CUNY, and Fairleigh
Dickinson University, where she was a tenured full professor. Her
short stories have appeared in Futures Mystery Anthology
Magazine, Crime and Suspense, Flashing in the Gutters, Spinetingler,
Crime Scene: New Jersey 2, and Murder New York Style. A longtime
member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, Peggy
served on the board of MWA New York as head of the Mentor Committee.
She was president of Sisters in Crime NY/TriState from 2013 to 2015.
Peggy regularly attends mystery writing conferences and participates
in conference panels and also gives talks on mystery fiction at
libraries in New York, Connecticut, and New Jersey.

Website
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the tour HERE
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MONTANA MOUNTAIN ROMANCES AND GIVEAWAY

Wild Passion

A Montana Mountain Romance #2

by
Dawn Luedecke

Genre:
Historical Romance

One of the last outposts of the American West, the Montana Territory is
filled with promise and adventure for those with brave souls—and
open hearts . . .

Leader of the Timberbeasts, logger Simon Sanders’ biggest problem a year
ago was deciding which willing woman to seduce. But since being
mauled by a cougar he’s become a pariah in Missoula’s social
circuit—and to himself. All he wants is to hide his scarred face
and disappear into the bottom of a whiskey bottle. His plan is going
well—until his sister’s best friend, Carrie Kerr, kidnaps him and
forces him to deal with his demons. If he didn’t know better, Simon
would swear the bossy beauty is a demon herself . . . 

Carrie doesn’t like to use the word kidnap. Unknowingly transport,
perhaps. In any case, she can no longer watch Simon destroy himself
in self-pity. Not since she lost her heart to him as she nursed him
back to health. Now, whatever happens between them, she’s
determined to bring him back to the one place he swore he’d never
return to, the place she’s sure will reignite his spirit. But if
things go awry, will she will she lose all hope for him to win back
his life—much less share it with her? . . .

“Well written, well researched. Like the river, this plot runs faster and
faster. Readers won’t be able to put it down.”

—New
York Times bestselling
author Jodi Thomas on White
Water Passion

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White Water Passion

A Montana Mountain Romance #1

The Montana Territory is one of the last outposts of the American
West—where adventure as grand as the wide-open plains is around
every corner, and passion as wild as the land itself beats in every heart . . .

Elizabeth Sanders isn’t afraid of anything, except what will happen to her
beloved town if the Big Mountain Lumber Mill is destroyed. When she
overhears a plot to do just that, she vows to put a stop to it, even
if it means dressing as a young lumberjack to expose the saboteur.
There’s only one problem with her plan—her brother’s handsome
friend and fellow logger Garrett Jones, who arouses a desire within
her soul as fierce as the river rapids.

When Garrett discovers that the odd new lad on the crew is in fact Beth,
he’s shocked. A logging camp is no place for a young
woman—especially the spirited beauty he’s admired for so long.
Keeping her safe is easier said than done, however, as the attraction
between them flares into true passion. As the danger mounts, Beth and
Garrett must work together to survive the last log run down the wild
rapids and claim any chance of saving the mill—and their chance at a future . . .

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A country girl born and bred, 
Dawn Luedecke 
has spent most of her life surrounded by horses, country folk, and the wild
terrain of Nevada, Idaho and Montana. She enjoys writing historical
and contemporary romance and spends as much time as she can working
on her current manuscript.

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SCARBOROUGH FAIR SERIES

Historical Mystery/Thriller

Date Published: 20 March 2016

Publisher:  Landmark Media

Scarborough Fair

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

1899: Alice isn’t mad. So why has she been put away in a Victorian lunatic asylum without any hope of escape?

2016: Rose is excited when Dan asks her to go to the fair with him. But an encounter with some dangerous men leads them to an abandoned lunatic asylum with dark secrets of its own.

Visiting Scarborough over a century apart, Alice and Rose’s stories are nevertheless connected in mysterious ways.

Scarborough Fair is the first in a thrilling historical trilogy. Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Historical Mystery/Thriller

Date Published:  16 December 2016

Publisher: Landmark Media

Scarborough Ball

A party should be fun. Not a matter of life and death.

1923: A New Year's Eve Ball at Scarborough's Grand Hotel promises fun and excitement. But for Lilian it soon turns into a matter of life and death.

It was December 1923, about a week or so before the anniversary of Father’s death. He was blown to pieces in 1914 on his way to the lighthouse when the Germans bombarded Scarborough from their ships in the North Sea, but I’ll come to that later.

Ruby and I spent the evening watching A Woman of Paris: A Drama of Fate at the Futurist cinema where I worked in the box office. I loved the movie. The director was Charlie Chaplin and it starred the fabulous Edna Purviance as the feisty heroine, Marie St Clair. It was a story of love and loss, extravagant parties and tragic death, and finally hope for the future, and it had me smiling, weeping, laughing and sobbing by turns. I felt as if I had been on an emotional merry-go-round. And it awakened in me a desire to go to Paris, a city of fashion and excitement and glamour, unlike wet and windy Scarborough on the North Yorkshire coast. At the age of nineteen I hadn’t been further afield than York or Whitby. As the credits rolled and the orchestra played, I wanted to sit there and savour the memory of the characters on the screen, but the lights in the auditorium were coming up and the people in our row were standing and putting on their coats and shuffling along, politely indicating to Ruby and me that it was time to get up and leave. We always sat in the back row of the stalls, right next to the aisle. Because it was my job to sell the tickets, we could only take our seats after everyone else had arrived, so we used to slip in at the last minute, whilst the four-minute newsreel was showing before the main feature.

Oblivious to the people waiting to leave, Ruby snapped open a powder compact and dabbed her face with quick, deft strokes. Like me, she must have shed a tear or two, but Ruby was going to emerge from the cinema looking like a film star herself. That was just the way she was. Ruby slipped the powder compact back into her handbag and stood to put on her coat, a black wool one with a fur trim around the collar and the cuffs. Then she pulled her cloche hat down low over her brow. It was a new hat, dark burgundy in colour and decorated with a wide satin ribbon in black. It suited Ruby’s dark hair which she wore fashionably bobbed so that the ends curled around her cheeks.

“I just have to tidy the ticket office ready for tomorrow,” I said as we stepped out into the foyer. I’d left the place in a bit of a mess because I’d been selling tickets right up until just before the film started.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” said Ruby, reaching into her handbag for her cigarette case. “Don’t be long.” She turned up the fur collar on her coat and headed towards the double doors that opened onto the sea-front.

I let myself into the box office, a little glass-fronted booth in the foyer. In 1923 the Futurist was Scarborough’s new movie theatre, only three years old, a huge art-deco building prominently positioned on Foreshore Road, overlooking the South Bay. It seated over two thousand in the stalls and circle, and I was proud to work there. Its name alone expressed exactly what it represented: the future and all that was modern and forward-thinking. It was just what we all needed after the tragedy and gloom of the war and people flocked to see the latest films from America. Of course, they were black and white and silent in those days, but everyone loved them. There was something magical about the way the beam of light from the projection room shone through the darkened auditorium, bringing to life the characters on the screen. Mr Thompson, the cinema manager, was happy for me to slip into the auditorium and watch the films after I had served the last customer. Tragedies, comedies, romances, I saw them all. I knew all the famous actors and actresses from Hollywood, well not personally obviously.

I tidied the counter, rolling up the reel of tickets and putting them away in a drawer. Then I emptied the contents of the till into a metal money box, sorting the shillings from the coppers, so that Mr Thompson could count the evening’s takings. The foyer was gradually clearing as the last members of the audience came down from the more expensive seats in the circle and headed outside.

I heard the arrhythmic click of a walking stick on the shiny floor and looked up to see Mr Thompson limping across the foyer towards the ticket booth. He had been wounded in France sometime during early 1915, spent the remainder of the war on sick leave and always seemed to resent having missed out on most of the action. There were rumours around the town that he exaggerated his limp to make himself appear more of a hero than he really was. I just thought he should consider himself lucky to be alive when so many hadn’t survived, like my brother Frank. Despite his gammy leg, Mr Thompson had that military bearing that comes from having fought and survived a battle.

“I’ve nearly finished tidying up here,” I said, thinking that Mr Thompson had come in search of the money box. He was a stickler for punctuality.

He cleared his throat. “Miss Fairbright, could you go and fetch Mr Drinkwater from the projection room please and then come to my office? There’s someone I’d like you both to meet. You can bring the money box at the same time.”

“Yes, of course.” I watched him make his lopsided way back to his office, a small room off the main foyer. Then I picked up the money box and carried it up the narrow service stairs to the projection room at the top of the cinema.

I peered through the glass panel in the door. Billy Drinkwater, the projectionist, was carefully removing the reel of film from the projector and rolling the end into the protective metal case. He always worked with his shirt sleeves rolled up and I felt my pulse quicken at the sight of those bare arms with the fair hairs, and his strong hands with the long, slender fingers. He handled the reels of film with such nimble dexterity. We had been courting for five months, going to dances at the spa and for walks along the coast, and I knew in my heart that Billy was the one for me.

I tapped on the door and went inside. Billy had given me a tour of the projection room once, pointing out the fire equipment (apparently film reels were notoriously flammable) and showing me how to operate the projector, even saying, laughingly, that if he was ever off sick I’d have to stand in for him, but it had all seemed terribly complicated and my fingers had fumbled over the reel of film, trying to load it into the projector. There was a window overlooking the auditorium but I always felt slightly queasy when I looked down on the audience from such a height. I preferred to keep my feet on the ground selling the tickets.

Billy looked up and his face broke into a smile when he saw me. He was blessed with youthful good looks, his fair hair swept off his forehead and his eyes a deep blue, the colour of the sea on a sunny day. He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, a familiar gesture that I had come to love.

“Hello, Lil. How did you enjoy the film?”

“I loved it,” I told him truthfully. “I really felt for the characters in the story.”

He looked delighted. “I thought you’d like it,” he said. “It’s a masterpiece. One of Chaplin’s best.”

“Even though he’s not actually in it?”

“He’s a brilliant director,” said Billy. “He understands what makes a good story. And he was in the film actually.”

“Oh? I didn’t see him.”

“He has a walk-on part as the railway porter.”

“Really? I’ll have to watch it again and see if I can spot him.”

He came over to me and embraced me, kissing me on the lips.

I could have happily stayed there all evening, but Mr Thompson would be waiting for us. “Actually,” I said, laying a hand on Billy’s chest, “Mr Thompson sent me to come and get you. He wants to see us both in his office.”

Billy’s face fell. “What about?”

“I’ve no idea. He said there was someone he’d like us to meet.”

“Oh, well, better not keep the boss waiting,” said Billy, unrolling his shirt sleeves and picking up his jacket.

Scarborough Ball is the second in the Scarborough Fair series, a thrilling historical trilogy.

2016: At the start of term, Rose is keen to make new friends. Instead she makes an enemy. Someone is out for revenge. And Rose is the target.

Historical Mystery/Thriller

Date Published:  13 January 2018

Publisher:  Landmark Media

Scarborough Rock

The thrilling conclusion to the Scarborough Fair series.

1957: In post-war Britain, Rock ‘n Roll is sweeping the nation, but some forms of love are against the law and pre-marital sex is a taboo subject. Sandra and David find themselves in entirely different, yet comparable, circumstances. Is love ever enough?

2017: All Rose has to do is give evidence in court and her nemesis will be put behind bars for a very long time. But Max isn’t going to let a group of teenagers stand between him and freedom. He will fight till the end. No matter who gets hurt.

The events of the past come back to haunt the present. Nothing is without consequences.

Scarborough Rock is the final book in the Scarborough Fair series, a thrilling historical trilogy.

About the Author

Margarita Morris was born in Harrogate, North Yorkshire. She studied Modern Languages at Jesus College, Oxford and worked in computing for eleven years. She lives in Oxfordshire with her husband and two sons.

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Scarborough Fair

Scarborough Ball

Scarborough Rock