Children and Young Adult Author | Official Website
Author: Ellwyn
I live with my loving husband, two children and dog in Philadelphia, PA. I discovered my passion for writing in second grade when I had to write a book report for school. I was so excited to write the report, until my mother told me that I had to write about someone else's book and not my own story. I became indignant and decided that once I finished the book report I would most certainly write my own original story. I have been writing ever since!
My self-published book Chris Kringle's Cops was a Finalist in The Reader's Favorite Book Contest for 2016. I am so happy to share this story with you.
My picture book Kamyla Chung and the Creepy Crawlies was given a 5 Star rating by Reader's Favorite Book Reviews in 2017.
Would you rather be an amazing artist or a brilliant mathematician?
Would you rather lose your mother or your father?
Would you rather roast to death or freeze to death?
It’s a silly game hosted by a substitute teacher, an exercise in exploring the workings of the teenage mind.
Twenty-three students make their choices, and the game is forgotten—until the chosen scenarios start coming true. Classmates Ava, Blake, and Charlie are determined to track down the mysterious teacher and persuade him to end the curse.
But the clock is ticking, lives hang in the balance, and the foe they seek is more menacing than they could imagine.
Kimberly Baer is an author and professional editor who was born and raised in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, a town marginally famous for having endured three major floods.
She even lived there during one of them. She enjoys power-walking on days when it’s not too hot, too cold, too rainy, too snowy, or too windy. On indoor days, you’re likely to find her hard at work on her next novel or binge-watching old episodes of Survivor, her favorite guilty pleasure.
Kim has had her nose in a book practically since birth. Her first story, written at age six, was about a baby chick that hatched out of a little girl’s Easter egg after somehow surviving the hard-boiling process.
These days she writes in a variety of genres, including young adult, middle-grade, and adult romantic suspense. Her books are published by The Wild Rose Press and have won several awards.
Behind Closed Words: Exploring the impact of miscommunications and misperceptions within families, delving into the chaos that ensues, even when driven by love.
White Picket Fences
Behind Closed Words Collection #1
by Kyle Ann Robertson
Genre: Women’s Fiction
White Picket Fences is a heartfelt family drama fueled by an honest story of motherhood, written for those of us caught up in our own self-searching journeys.
The one thing Julie Cahill knows because of her transitory upbringing as a military brat is that she never had a hometown. So she has made sure her kids would grow up in one forever home, in a forever neighborhood, with lots of forever friends. Yet her dream of a permanent hometown has her feeling fenced in.
Set in the Delaware Bay area, Julie has achieved her dreams but struggles with having to accept invisibility, underappreciation, and being taken for granted by her family in trade for her unconditional love.
Her guilt over not being available for her family on that one fateful day has her challenging karma by tightening her grip on her daughters and husband, ultimately pushing them away.
My father’s voice echoed in every movement of the second hand from the vintage desk clock he had passed down to his grandson. “Time. Heals. All. Wounds. Give. It. Time.” I was pretty sure there was not enough time in the universe to surmount the death of my son.
I summoned strength by running my hand over the collage of superhero posters: Captain America, Spider-Man, the Hulk. After today, the walls would be bare. The slight leathery, sport-locker smell of the light-blue room elicited visions of my darling son. And so, between therapy sessions, grief groups, and the several books I’d read on loss over the past year and a half, I digested my pain in a void forever in my heart. If it wasn’t going to get any better, then I had to learn to live in the now with my grief and help my family heal. I could understand that Curtis would never come home, but I couldn’t accept that he was gone forever. I called the incident an accident. Surely, an eleven-year-old dying from a brain aneurysm could be nothing but a mistake.
Curtis’s dearest possession, a team-signed baseball, rolled between my fingers and brought a smile to my face. On the hottest afternoon of his last summer, Curtis hit a home run in the ninth inning of his Majors All-Star Game. He tied up the longest, most boring, 1–0 game. He single-handedly brought a small stadium of zombies back to life. The echo of his laughter above the awakening crowd and his smile as he slept that night were forever locked inside my heart.
Draped over his karate trophy at just the right angle, I could easily read “Most Valuable Player” on the medal Curtis received from that game. The tears I had been holding back fell as our eight-year-old golden retriever entered the room, wanting his morning walk.
Was he looking for Curtis too? Plopping on the corner of the twin bed, I ruffled the puffs of fur behind Roger’s ears as he settled at my feet. “I know, Rog. I know.” Together we shared the loss, which was no less today than it had been yesterday or all the yesterdays before then.
I picked up book number eight of Darren Shan’s CirqueDuFreak, making sure the bookmark was secure where Curtis had left it. I smoothed out the wrinkles I had created in the superhero duvet cover and flipped the matching pillow, exposing the lump of Curtis’s hidden “Doggie.”
From inside the pillowcase, I pulled out the threadbare stuffed Doggie Curtis never slept without. But after one embarrassing sleepover with a few baseball buddies, I found Doggie tucked deep inside the pillowcase. Close by but hidden. Had everything not happened so fast in the days after Curtis’s incident, had I time to think about it, if I could have thought at all, I would have placed Doggie in the casket with Curtis.
“Come on, Rog. Let’s go for your walk.”
Roger sauntered in front of me down the long hallway. I paused at the door to my art studio as the early morning light illuminated the painted canvas on my easel. I would get back to my latest com- mission as soon as I cleared my thoughts and got through this first step toward my family’s new normal.
Silence came from behind the twins’ closed bedroom door across the hall. The twins were either still asleep or understandably tucked under their weighted comforters to delay the start of their day.
By the time Roger and I made it to the sidewalk, pink and purple light seeped through the grays, but the sun hadn’t quite snuck above the horizon. I now walked Roger every morning and under- stood why Curtis never complained about this one chore.
The boost of energy from the brisk stroll, the silent moments for clear thought, and the apparent joy it brought Roger was a great way to start every day.
Although Roger stopped and smelled every yard, his tail never failed to wag. If only it were that easy. Stop and sniff and move on. I needed to move on, but not back to where I was before Curtis’s incident. Life had gotten stale, and as good as Michael was to me, I thought I wanted more, but I was wrong.
The day of Curtis’s passing, I had taken some time, just a few meaningless hours, for myself. Time to catch up with an old friend, one visit. It wasn’t intended to be a secret. It just wasn’t anybody’s business.
Curtis’s death pushed me closer to my empty nest sooner than I’d ever wished and was not what I imagined when I said I was tired of being Mom and Mrs. just for an afternoon. Would things be different if it weren’t for my selfishness and for not appreciating what I already had? I’d apologized to the universe every which way since then.
I kicked a stone. It bounced and rolled down the sidewalk in front of me. Roger chased it down, sniffed, then snorted, not pleased with his discovery. As we walked, the neighborhood came alive. Lights switched on. People brewed coffee and brushed their teeth. Across the street, Mrs. Amberly rocked on her front porch, sipped coffee, and watched me with consideration. Old Mr. Pender stepped out in his bathrobe, shot up a quick wave, then searched the ground as if the newspaper at his feet had disappeared before his eyes.
Mary Simon herded her three small children into her minivan. I caught her eye, but she looked away, overreacting to her oldest child climbing into the back seat. It had been more than eighteen months, and still, people felt the need to avoid me. But I understood. How many times could a person say, “Sorry you lost your son”?
Not So Little Things
Behind Closed Words Collection #2
Tina Edwards loved her childhood and creating fairy houses, a passion shared with her father, a world-renowned architect. But at nine years old, she found him dead at his desk and is haunted by this memory.
Tina’s mother abruptly moved away leaving Tina with feelings of abandonment and suspicion. Raised by her loving, wheelchair-bound Aunt Liddy, her father’s sister, 33 year old Tina has become a miniature room artist and cherishes the control she has over her life in Northeast Georgia as she works hard to please her beloved dead father’s wishes of following in his footsteps in art and history.
At the same time Mr. Jake Martin, all six-foot three of him, with a heavy southern drawl and winsome dimple, hires Tina to build replicas of the original rooms of his own family’s Victorian mansion purchased to turn into a B&B, Tina’s estranged, dying mother re-enters her life with family secrets that must be told.
Amid their research for Jake, Tina and her assistant find out that stories from his past were unfounded and prove that miscommunications and misperceptions passed down through families create unwarranted, painful separations, echoing Tina’s life story.
In the split second the door was open, I locked eyes with the thin woman, her hair wrapped helmet-like in a scarf. Even with dark circles around her sunken eyes, the tube in her nose leading to a white box hanging off her shoulder, and the ridiculous-looking floral housecoat-type dress, I recognized Mary Jane Edwards instantly.
“Tina, come on, open up.” She pounded with more strength than I thought possible. “Is this any way to treat your mother?”
“Go away. You’re good at that. Just go away,” I said under my breath and leaned on my side of the door. The battle line was drawn. I refused to let the woman who abandoned me when I was nine years old walk into my life like no time had passed.
“Tina, I’m not leaving until we talk,” Mary Jane said as she wiggled the door handle.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Stretching and loosening my jaw, I backed away from her insistence. What on earth could she want from me after all this time? I stared at the door, shaking my head as if the action itself would send the woman away.
“Come on, Christina, we need to talk,” she said with a crack in her voice as she wiggled the door handle and tried to force the door open.
With deep breaths in through my nose and then eased out through my mouth, I slowed my hammering heart, a technique I’d learned through years of therapy. But the long-buried memory of being dropped off at Aunt Liddy’s house for an hour, only for it to turn into forever, ached all over again.
“You haven’t had a word to say in over twenty years, and I certainly have nothing to say to you… and don’t break my frickin’ doorknob.” I yanked open the door.
Holding on to the doorframe, Mary Jane took a step forward. “Thank you.”
Squeezing my eyes to expel visions from the last time I saw her, I allowed one word to exit my mouth. “Speak.”
“I’m not going to talk to you in this hallway.” She gripped the hanging white box as if using it for balance. “May I come in? Please?”
Still, the nine-year-old in me refused to budge.
Mary Jane took a breath. With her attempt at more words, she wheezed, which led to chesty coughing.
I winced as this woman, who was practically a stranger, dug a tissue from the purse hanging off her arm. She hiked up the strap on her shoulder, swung the white box to the front of her hip and adjusted a knob. After several deep inhales, she relaxed.
Aunt Liddy would have been horrified had she seen me treat anyone like this, let alone my own mother. Truth be told, my behavior was appalling, even embarrassing, but what was I to do?
With my aunt’s loving parenting, strategies from a knowledgeable therapist, and emotional support from my bestie, Nissa, I had painstakingly put in place a life that honored my late father, blocked out my estranged mother, and propelled me into an existence all my own, one I thoroughly enjoyed. I owed it to all of us not to go down this rabbit hole.
But I had already stepped on the trigger. The steel jaws had snapped, trapping me between head and heart. With thoughts of hashing things out and never having to see her again, I resigned myself.
“Just this once.” I lowered my shoulders and prayed I wouldn’t regret letting her into my home. L’Air du Temps, the scent of my youth, passed by ever so slightly as Mary Jane entered.
With my forehead pressed against the closed door, I took two deep breaths and got ready for battle. I pulled a rubber band off my wrist, piled my long brunette curls into a bun on the top of my head, and reminded myself that my difficult childhood had very little to do with me and a lot to do with the woman sitting on my couch.
I peeked at the clock: 9:30 a.m. Was it too early to open a bottle of wine? Whipping around, ready to face my past, a loose curl fell down the side of my face. So much for being Miss Tough Guy.
Mary Jane seemed out of place, sitting slumped and focused on her breathing in my living room, which reflected the mid- century home my father had built for her where she always dressed picture-perfect, behaving like royalty.
Seeing her now, in her unbecoming pink floral housedress in contrast to my sleek, custom-built, 1920s-inspired, fluted-back, Art Deco couch bewildered me. Who was this woman interrupting the ethos of my condo?
Even with a mildly warming heart, I couldn’t let go of my veil of protection. “Talk.”
She began. “I know it’s been a long time, and we have a few things to work out.”
“Will you sit? Please? I need to explain a few things I thought Liddy had told you long ago. I’m surprised she never…” Mary Jane’s cough snuck up on her again, but I still refused to sit.
Aunt Liddy? I paced, waiting for Mary Jane to get her cough under control. She had no business bringing Aunt Liddy into this. Liddy was like a mother to me. She had raised me from the age of nine.
Liddy took me to buy my first bra. She listened when I lost my first crush and cheered me on when I graduated from high school and college, then moved into my own apartment as I attempted to enter adulthood.
“Aunt Liddy?” I questioned once Mary Jane’s cough subsided. “You, Mom. Let’s talk about you. I saw you last year at Liddy’s funeral. You didn’t stick around long enough to talk to me.”
I paced, unclasped my tense hands, and glued my arms to my sides to keep them from flailing in anger. “You know what? This isn’t going to go anywhere. You need to leave. I can’t do this. I don’t need you to tell me we have to talk because I know there’s nothing to say.” I marched to the door and yanked it open.
“Tina, I know showing up like this is a shock, but I don’t know how much time I have left to straighten things out with you. I have lung cancer. I’ve quit my job and would like to be with you during the experimental treatment I’ve signed up for.”
I froze. Oh, no. No way. No way will my mother do this to me. Mary Jane could not come into my home and drop a bomb of this caliber. The walls of my carefully assembled life began to crumble.
“Shut the door, Tina. We really need to talk.” She pulled a large folded manilla envelope out of her purse and laid it on the coffee table.
About the Author
Since achieving her Creative Writing Certificate from Emory University, Kyle Ann has authored the children’s book series ” Nissa The Woodland Fairy.” as writer BB Walsh. is the CWO (Chief Writing Officer) of the blog IF CORKS COULD TALK. And now her first novel WHITE PICKET FENCES with more to come.
Kyle Ann’s a retired Physical Therapist Assistant with most of her education coming from raising four children who are all out of college, happy in their own space, and paying their own bills! She spends as much time as possible reading, writing, golfing, gardening, and enjoying a glass of wine with friends and family. KyleAnnRobertson.com
Empress Nehel must navigate the complexities of ruling a Jyistereerk at war — the Deken Karsaker — while facing personal struggles and unforeseen circumstances.
The balance, once restored, shatters again with the loss of the continent of Ryza, all while a lost realm to the Gesha revives. Yet, a conspiracy within the Kingdom of Fenn ignites doubt as Nehel faces harsh decisions in the tragedy’s aftermath.
A story of coming of age, first love, and personal growth. This gripping tale will leave readers on the edge of their seats as they journey through a world of magic, intrigue and unexpected twists.
Disclaimer: The Ebook version is intentionally simplified for easy access on different devices and doesn’t have interior designs. The contents remain unchanged from the printed version.
Four years ago, Empress Nehel’s coronation marked the establishment of the Jyistereerk. The Deken Karsaker had not yet gained control, as the Korbas continued to resist the imperial forces and taint the land. Thus, a war without war. The current was the Tikl the Second of Nehel.
The sound of the doors being kicked open by the hooded man echoed through the tavern, halting the music and conversation, and plunging the room into a tense stillness. As a storm raged in the background, all eyes remained fixed on him.
Droplets of water fell on the wooden floor from his soaked black cloak. The mysterious male began walking across the tables. He seemed to search for something, or someone, with a rough brow.
The commensals from different races and genders assumed he was heading to the counter to order a drink, but he roamed around the tavern, disrupting the waitresses’ work as they balanced brew mugs on their trays. In the end, they saw him come to a halt at a particular table tucked away in a corner.
He stood at that exact spot, the sound of a cane hitting the floor reverberated, causing him to turn his gaze towards its holder—an elder with a disfigured face that revealed the effects of his corrupted soul. “So long time, and so far, yet, you have persisted in the search, Master,” accompanied by a nod and a menacing grin, he spoke in a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of a cavern.
Alessandro Eskar, Pillar of the Jyistereerk, lowered his hood and fixed him with a suspicious gaze. “I would keep searching for you until the last corners of Sankaris, Lord Rim,” a hoarse voice emerged from him as he replied, his words were with distrust. “Ever since our last meeting in the Dri, I have been determined to make amends for my failure with the treaty, as I promised the Divine Empress.”
Kong Rim’s eerie grin vanished as he scrutinized Alessandro, examining every part of him. “Youhave grown into a mature man,” the old man pointed at him with his cane, emphasizing each word. “I could not help but notice how much more determined and confident you have become since our time in the villa, in stark contrast to your insecure past.”
“Do not speak about me,” he warned, “as I request your presence. The Divine Empress will ensure justice is served!” Some commensals left the tavern in fear as they heard the Master’s firm and authoritarian voice, feeling a chilling tension.
“The only justice in this land is Ardek Korba! Lord of the Netherworld!” His grin appeared again, but more malevolent than before. “I must warn that the death of me will cause the utter ruin of your niece’s existence!”
Rim’s eyes turned fiery red as he shifted into a menacing black dragon, prepared to launch an attack on Alessandro, while the witnesses shrieked in terror. Determined to end him, the grotesque Korbeen jumped from his chair.
Kopel, Joseph. The Empress’ Palace: Tikl the Second of Nehel (The Nehel Series Book 2) (p. 4-6). Kindle Edition.
The Empress’ Journey
The Nehel Series Book 1
Amid turmoil and despair, a new hope arises as a young empress.
The Gesha obliterated the once thriving but ailing Kingdom of Aranka, triggering an imbalance in Sankaris. Epidemics, wars, pollution, and madness plague the land as the protagonists pursue for answers.
A glimmer of faith spreads throughout the maimed world as the Promise. Her rise to power brings a much-needed balance, ensuring a fresh start and the dawning of a new era.
Will she unravel the mysteries behind these afflictions and restore the balance to Sankaris?
Join this captivating tale of humanity, resilience, determination, and the search for truths in a world gripped by darkness.
Disclaimer: The Ebook version is intentionally simplified for easy access on different devices and doesn’t have interior designs. The contents remain unchanged from the printed version.
“I am just a small girl with all the burden of an empire.”
Beings of pure evilness.
“I had an encounter with a wraith of nightmarish malevolence!”
Tests of loyalty.
“Do not ya see, indeed, the Promise is with this knight?”
The Gesha (Prologue)
So many stories about the Gesha spread throughout Sankaris. Unfolded in different accounts, but the same culmination.
Though restricted to half a continent, the influence reached all over the world.
None of the four moons were visible that night as dark clouds gathered over the ailing Kingdom of Aranka.
A realm so cursed by the plague and the sudden death of two monarchs in a short time.
The thunderstorm came afterward.
A massive roar echoed from the clouds, even in distant places on three continents.
The sound was too bizarre to be a rumble of thunder.
The blazing white lightning impossible to see fell to the ground somewhere in Aranka. A burning reverberation resonated, shrieking.
The powerful earthquake trembled the underground.
Twisted and massive, rapid winds danced along with the fire. It lasted a moment in time but seemed an eternity.
Then, void. Silence, darkness. Without a trace, the clouds vanished, unveiling the night sky with the imposing moons of No Sak and No Nunn.
By the morning, when the sun arose, Aranka was no more.
Nothing.
All existence of a realm gone.
Life became dead. Sand only sand. Desert.
A kingdom obliterated.
Everyone knew the morning sensed strange.
A severed balance immutably maimed Sankaris.
Excerpt from: Kopel, Joseph. The Empress’ Journey: Tikl the First of Nehel (pp. 7-8). Joseph Kopel. Kindle Edition.
“I have a feeling there is more you wish to reveal. Have you forgotten?” she said with a fixed stare. “What is my life stance?”
“Aye, Lakia,” he smiled with apprehension. “You were born as the Promise of the Jyistereerk, an empress entrusted with bringing balance to this ill world.”
The girl, feeling a sense of tranquility, turned her gaze towards the majestic Karekall Mountains. She understood what dwelt beyond the formidable mountains and knew her purpose. Still, an essence of chilling mystery hid behind.
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Joseph Kopel is an imaginative author who has transitioned from Sci-Fi to Space Opera and now ventures into the realm of Fantasy with his debut in the genre.
What began as a hobby has grown into thirty-five years of writing. Being bilingual, he switched between English and Spanish. The greatest influences on him were the Latin American literature in Mexico City’s libraries and the most famous American Sci-Fi authors.
When he is out of any fantastic realm to be in the world of reality, he enjoys his time with his wife, three kids, and his two pets.
Currently, he lives in Northwest Missouri, in a small peaceful country town of only 250 people.
An elf afraid of opening his heart, and a human who is heir to an awesome power: Only by embracing their shared destiny can they save Iceland…and each other.
Falcon Saga
by Robert Winter
Genre: Epic Fantasy
In modern-day Iceland, a place of glaciers, volcanoes, and legends, the Norns have foretold a sorcerous invasion that could destroy everything.
Magnús, an elf of the huldufólk, is driven by the murder of his human lover a century ago to save those humans he can, and to figure out what is behind recent troll attacks on tourists. But the Norns have spoken.
He must protect Altair, a young human from Boston, who is bringing a dangerous magical force to Iceland. If Magnús fails to keep Altair safe, the country will fall to a sorcerer called the Black Priest. Yet if Altair lives, Magnús will meet his doom.
For his part, Altair is a graduate student bullied to visit Iceland by mentors who seem to have their own agenda. He knows nothing of elves, sorcerers or prophecies. Suddenly, the handsome, mysterious Magnús is guiding Altair around Reykjavik and into danger.
A witch, a berserker, and more elves are along for the quest across Iceland’s forbidding landscape. And why does everyone keeps calling Altair “the Falcon”?
An elf and a human with a shared destiny. Will they solve the mystery linking their fates before it is too late for all Iceland?
Robert Winter is a recovering lawyer who likes writing about love and adventure much more than drafting a legal brief. Once upon a time, he went to Georgetown University law school.
Upon graduation, he moved to New York to work in a large law firm, but later returned to Washington, DC. The legal work was entertaining and Robert spent a lot of time in bankruptcy court, usually representing either groups of creditor or the debtors themselves.
But legal work didn’t satisfy the urge Robert felt to tell stories.
When he turned 50, Robert left behind the (allegedly) glamorous world of international law firms and bankruptcy court to pursue his real passion. Now he lives in Montreal with his husband, studying French between trips to exotic locations.
When Robert isn’t writing, he loves to cook Indian food. The aromas of the spice blends excite and challenge him. Although he’s never been to India, the food seems comforting and home-like. Add a trip to the Golden Triangle to the bucket list!
He’d fight mystic forces to be with her. She sees her future in his love.
Stone of Hope
Stones of Iona Book 4
by Margaret Izard
Genre: Time Travel, Paranormal Romance
In a twist of fate, Dominic DeVolt is shown archeologist Moira Joanna White’s beauty through the Eye of Ra. Trying to save his niece and nephew from evil Fae powers, he’s sucked into the past and dumped in the middle of her Egyptian archaeology dig.
Moira fears the attractive man who appears at her dig is partnering with her archnemesis. That is until the bold fighter distracts her with a kiss. His duty as uncle tugs her heart, but is he only after her precious artifacts?
He’d fight mystic forces to be with her. She sees her future in his love.
Previous books in the series, Stone of Love, book 1, Brielle and Colin’s 18th century Scottish story. Stone of Fear, Book 2, Marie and John’s 13th century Scottish story. Stone of Lust, Book 3, Ainslie and Rannick’s Viking tale. Thistle in the Mistletoe featuring a couple in the past from Stone of Love.
Next in the series: Stone of Doubt, book 5 coming 2025, Holly and Ivy, a Christmas companion book. Stone of Faith, book 6. Stone of Destiny, book 7. Evergreen Evermore, a Christmas companion book.
This series leads into another connected series, Dragons of Tantallon, a dragon-shapeshifter series revolving around the magic Iona Stones.
Margaret Izard is an award-winning author of historical fantasy and paranormal romance novels.
She spent her early years through college to adulthood dedicated to dance, theater, and performing. Over the years, she developed a love for great storytelling in different mediums.
She does not waste a good story, be it movement, the spoken, or the written word. She discovered historical romance novels in middle school, which combined her passion for romance, drama, and fantasy.
She writes exciting plot lines, steamy love scenes and always falls for a strong male with a soft heart. She lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and adult triplets and loves to hear from readers.
My name is Tess Reynolds, and I’ll admit few people would think I’m a badass Army sniper called the Scorpion.
Afterall, women snipers were unheard of in 1990. People look at me and see a petite blonde who is cute as a button. My father calls it my natural camouflage.
My time in the Middle East has been full of unforeseen complications. I have a rogue CIA agent trying to kill me and I caught the attention of a Force Recon Marine by the name of Alexander Stone.
Wowzer! He’s hot but he’s also the biggest jackass I have ever met. To make things even more interesting, I need the Jackass’s help to stay alive.
Excerpt:
“Turn around. You’re moving like a granny, and I need you in fighting form.” He pulled a tube of ointment out of his pocket.
The last thing I needed was Stone touching me, but he was right. I couldn’t fight like this. I turned around. I hoped I didn’t do something stupid, like kissing him.
“You took a bad fall. You’re damn lucky you didn’t break a leg.”
I snorted. “That would have really messed up my father’s plans.”
“Your father needs killing.” Stone massaged ointment into my neck and back.
My knees almost buckled. That felt so damn good. “He was a great father until my mother was killed. Now all he lives for is vengeance.” Shit! My voice came out all breathy.
“What happened?” Stone’s hands slid down my left thigh as he worked the ointment into my colorful bruises.
My pussy pulsed and I fought back a moan. God, I loved the feel on his hands on my body. “She worked for Doctors Without Borders and was killed in a roadside bombing.” I balled my hands. Don’t touch him. Don’t touch him.
“That’s tough.” He switched to my other leg.
Oh, God. My panties were soaked, my nipples had hardened, and pure arousal thrummed in my veins. I wanted that bastard inside me.
“How does that feel?” He gave me a lewd wink.
“You know damn well how that feels.”
He grinned. “You’ve got the color back in your cheeks.”
“Gee, thanks.”
About the Author:
I was a 9-1-1 dispatcher for the Glendale Police Department and to keep from going totally bonkers – I mean people have no idea what a real emergency is.
Take this for example: I answered, “9-1-1 emergency, what’s your emergency?” And this hysterical woman yelled, “My bird is in a tree.” Sometimes I really couldn’t help myself, so I said, “Birds have a tendency to do that, ma’am.” The woman screeched, “No! You don’t understand. My pet parakeet is in the tree. I’ve just got to get him down.” Like I said, not a clue. “I’m sorry ma’am but we don’t get birds out of trees.” The woman then cried, “But… What about my husband? He’s up there, too.”
See what I had to deal with? To keep from hitting myself repeatedly in the head with my phone I took up writing.
Welcome to Spirit Lake in the dead of a Minnesota winter, where the brutally cold temp isn’t the only thing to fear.
Andie Rose Kaczmarek, a six-year sober life coach and owner of the haunted Spirit Lake Inn, has learned the hard way that the living are far more dangerous than anything in the spirit world.
When a controversial guest fails to return to her room on the same night a body is discovered in a fish house on Big Spirit Lake, Andie Rose teams up with her sponsor and sidekick, Sister Alice, and her emotional support red retriever, Aspen, to solve the case.
After Andie Rose discovers illegal activity on the inn’s property that ties to the murder, the investigation shifts into high gear. As she uncovers shocking secrets of those she thought she knew, someone is intent on keeping her quiet at any cost.
Can the inn’s resident ghost save her from impending harm when it seems the ones closest to her pose the greatest threat?
Excerpt:
Tootsie’s attitude hung between them, and I held my breath for a moment.
“Knock it off, Toots.” Simon’s voice was a low grumble.
“Knock what off?” She turned on him. “Showing the ladies how to live a little? That they’re not only a mom and a wife, but they’re also their own person?”
Simon grasped his wife’s upper arm. “Toots,” he warned. He turned his attention toward Bobby and Jerry. “You’ll have to excuse my wife, gentlemen. She’s become a bit too, shall we say, independent, as she gets older.”
She released a heavy sigh. “Lighten up, Simon. You say that like it’s a bad thing. I have always been independent. This isn’t the dark ages. Women have every right to be independent of men.”
Again, I agreed wholeheartedly with Tootsie, but swallowed my retort to Simon. A gift sobriety had given me. The ability to keep my mouth shut sometimes.
“Refreshments,” I said merrily as I could to lift the cloud that levitated in the room. Two guests had been smart and skittered from the room unnoticed from all except me.
“Aspen’s with Jade,” Sister Alice said as she came through the door. She quirked a brow as she scanned the guests and touched the crucifix that hung around her neck. “Do I sense tension in the room? What did I miss?”
Tootsie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “My husband emerging from a cave.”
About The Author:
Rhonda is an avid reader, writer, coffee and dark chocolate connoisseur, and certified life coach.
She has 10 independently published novels: The Inheritance, a contemporary fiction novel; seven books in the Melanie Hogan Mysteries; and Finding Abby and Abby’s Redemption in the Whispering Pines Romantic Suspense duology.
She was awarded the 2022 Master of Literary Arts Award from the Brighton Chamber.
Website: http://www.rhondablackhurst.com
Personal Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rhonda.blackhurst.1
