Iskra lives in a small village with an abundance of laws to keep her safe, but do they keep her from happiness too?
Award-winning author Evelyn Puerto has given us a gift: Flight of the Spark Book One of the Outlawed Myth Fantasy Series. Like many authors, she spent years writing her first novel, but as you’ll see below, those years were well spent.
A lover of borscht and liberty, Puerto presumably also loves her psychotic cat.
My Thoughts on Flight of the Spark
Most fantasy takes a few chapters for me to settle into as I get used to the world the author creates and work to pronounce the names of the characters (perhaps the one thing I’d change about the genre). Flight of the Spark starts with Iskra, the main character, traveling from her little village of Gishin to Shinroo with a friend and the traders. Because Puerto took the time to introduce the world in a way I could process as I read, the story of this 15-year-old traveling a dangerous path wasn’t hard to grasp. It opened up my ability to savor the story without worry of forgetting some worldly law.
At first, I expected my review to discuss how Flight of the Spark shows the vast differences between communism and capitalism. People burdened by the laws forced on them in the name of safety, and the people who soar because few laws keep them from their dreams–aka the riskers.
But the more I read, the more I realized that while the story does have similarities to communism with leaders who live lavish lives while commoners live in cookie-cutter hovels, it focuses more on one emotion everyone experiences: fear. The villagers surrounding Iskra may be burdened by laws and aspects of communism, but fear keeps them in bondage.
Fear kept Iskra in bondage. Then Xico, a risker, saves her from a bandit, and a new world opens up to her. With that new world fear crashes down, and she has to decide what matters most in life.
The story, alone, intrigued and later amazed me, but the writing and characterization reaches levels every author wishes to attain. The years Puerto spent perfecting this novel shines through, brightening her talent for all to see.
Flight of the Spark falls under the YA fantasy genre. However, it does have closed-door sex between a married man and a prostitute, which is shown later in a negative light through his grief. There is also closed-door sex between husband and wife.
The Official Blurb
Iskra doesn’t question the rules. The rules are there to keep her safe from those who are deemed unsafe or unfair. Anyone who breaks the rules is taken, never to be heard from again. But that’s the price everyone gladly pays for peace and safety. And no one wants to live like the Riskers–barbarians who reject order and justice, and could kill or be killed at any moment.
When a friend is taken because of Iskra, the guilt forces her to do the unthinkable: seek out the Riskers. Iskra’s quest to save her friend quickly entangles her fate with a cryptic prophecy and a young Risker named Xico, who ensnares her heart and is willing to put it all on the line to win her.
With every risk Iskra takes, the closer she gets to true freedom. But every choice carries a consequence. The choices she makes set events she never imagined into motion, and the price of her freedom could very well be her life and the life of the man she loves.
Purchase your copy of Flight of the Spark on Amazon
When Ace spends her summer vacation in Cherokee, the last thing she’s looking for is a relationship, then she meets John.
Winner of the Missouri Romance Writers of America “Gateway to the Best” contest, Cherokee Summer, written by author Susan Anthony, brings some real-life problems and attitudes forward while characters Ace and John refuse to give up on love.
My Thoughts on Cherokee Summer
Alcoholic and dependent parents, racism, and questionable acquaintances are problems Ace and John face in Cherokee Summer. Co-dependent Ace struggles to find her independence from an alcoholic mother and a professional-gambling father while still caring for her autistic brother. Certainly not easy, she refuses to seek help because she doesn’t want to lose her brother, whom she loves deeply.
John lives a relatively stable life, but yearns for the love of his alcoholic mother, who left him when he was four and only visits when she needs money. Some of the friends he once associated with use and sell drugs, and participate in underage drinking.
I have mixed emotions about Cherokee Summer. Anthony knows how to write a story. Her word choice, structure, and ability to pull the reader in has many authors strapped over the proverbial barrel. As I read, I didn’t want to put the book down, despite my eye rolls at young love and concern that certain content might evolve to something I won’t read.
The situations the main characters find themselves in with family and friends are real for a lot of people. Alcohol, drug use, and nonacceptance of race, regardless of whether they are a minority or not. These affect the lives of millions. And I don’t shy away from stories where such factors play a part–as long as they aren’t shown in a positive light. And they’re not in Cherokee Summer.
Before moving on with my concerns, I want to explain some of my background. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which teaches that what we read, watch, and experience in our lives affects us greatly. We learn to choose our entertainment carefully because of this. Morally, we believe in appropriate affection toward the opposite gender. This absolutely allows for appropriate kissing, but we teach our children to focus less on physical desires and more on getting to know each other. The Church also teaches that sex is a sacred gift, the power to create life, and is given to us to enjoy only within the bounds of marriage.
So where did I struggle? This book is filled with teenage hormones. Perhaps normal, considering the main characters are 18. But the friendship they build focuses first on physical touch, then actual friendship. It isn’t until after they’ve kissed several times and had a good make-out session that they focus on learning about each other. Hormones are real… Still, I wouldn’t let my teenage daughters read this book, and I’m not likely to recommend it to other adults without a strong disclaimer.
Within the pages, readers find regular ogling of both male and female bodies, French kissing, a girl lifting her top so her belly can touch her male counterpart’s while making out, mention of clothed grinding hips, and behind-the-scenes premarital sex between two consenting 18-year-olds. There is also underage drinking, once by a main character, and drug use by other characters. In terms of swearing, a biblical word is said several times, and the Lord’s name is used in vain.
If none of the above bothers you, then Cherokee Summer has a wonderful story line of a girl who loves her autistic brother and worries about his well-being. True to life, some characters pick on him and others adore him. I LOVED this part of the story, especially when able to mark the differences between characters. Anthony also includes a great suspense within the story that kept me reading. The love story shows two characters choosing their own paths in life and refusing to give up on each other, something I can appreciate as well.
As I said, I have mixed feelings. I don’t regret reading Cherokee Summer, but struggle to recommend it because of its more questionable content. If you decide to read it with the knowledge of what it includes, I have no doubt you will enjoy it.
The Official Blurb
When Ace leaves home to spend the summer in Cherokee, North Carolina the last thing she expects to find is a boyfriend—until she meets Cherokee Tribe member John Spears. As Ace and John’s friendship blossoms, they find their life experiences mirror each other and they fall in love. Despite hurdles thrown by well-meaning family members and jealous frenemies, the star-crossed lovers remain committed to their mutual belief that the universe has drawn them together. However, when Ace sends John a strange text and then suddenly disappears, the two must rely on their trust in each other to save both their lives and their love.
When grannies June and Ellie open their clandestine match-making business, nothing can prepare them for their first client.
While some people think grannies have turned in all their flavor in lieu of dust and mustiness, it’s hard to argue with Granny June’s sweet pie and salty attitude in the Granny Pact Books. And Jessica Marie Holt knew it when she wrote Accidentally Yours, the second book of the collection. Musty or not, June and Ellie still manage to poke their heads around and find plenty of trouble you’re sure to get caught up in too.
My Thoughts on Accidentally Yours
There’s nothing more fun than watching grannies get involved in their family and friends’ relationships. If you’ve ready Reluctantly Yours, then you know June and Ellie have a knack when it comes to matchmaking. So there shouldn’t be much question as to whether or not their new business, the Match Mavens, can take off. You also know they’ll do just about anything to make sure the right match is made.
This time Maddie is the subject of their affection-making collusion. But Maddie’s mom, who hires them, has clear desires for her daughter: stability and success–anything but some creative working a low-paying, dead-end job. As you can guess, mavens set the fireworks off, and not all of them are romantic.
Accidentally Yours grabs everyone’s attention, keeping characters and readers on their toes. Holt adds one or two more grannies to the mix. Each one with their own flavor of craftiness, and I don’t mean hot glue and Popsicle sticks.
The book is filled with humor, cats, fun, and love–best of all the grannies. No one can go wrong with this sweet romance.
The official blurb
“Love, By Any Means Necessary. “
That’s the new motto of old friends Ellie and June.
Fresh off the success of their first matchmaking endeavor, these two feisty grannies are ready to take their skills to the next level. They’ll do whatever it takes to help Maddie–their next target–find true love, including hijinks, shenanigans, and good old-fashioned subterfuge. Unfortunately, Maddie’s meddling mom makes their task more problematic than they imagined, and they soon find themselves in over their heads. Can they engineer the right outcome? Or, will their schemes all come to nothing this time around?
Aryen has her life planned: attend the most prestigious conservatory, then marry the man of her dreams. But Grandfather has other plans in Love Is a Wistful Song.
Ava S. Quill calls herself an aspiring author, claiming there is always plenty more to learn. If that’s the case, and it usually is, I can’t wait to read her ‘professional works,’ because her most recent book, Love Is a Wistful Song, captured my heart the same way How to Train Your Dragon’s and Band of Brother’s soundtracks sent blissful shivers up my spine.
Before meeting my husband, music was my life. My parents loved me a lot. I know because they rarely asked me to stop singing or playing the piano as I worked on whatever I’d chosen for that day. They also rarely complained when I sang as we walked in public places or on the boat or in the tent or on a peaceful trail.
I had all kinds of little things I did to take care of my voice. For instance, I didn’t eat or drink dairy before a performance so I wouldn’t coat my throat. I also refused to make certain noises in order to avoid voice nodules, something I really wasn’t in any danger of getting in the first place.
It wasn’t that I wanted to be famous. Not at all. To this day, I love the feel of the keys under my fingers and the delight I get from singing. And in case you are wondering, yes, I still sing under my breath as I walk through public places, and I am not bothered by it in the least. My kids, on the other hand, are.
in Love Is a Wistful Song, none of Aryen’s family is embarrassed by her skill on the violin. After all, she takes an old, inexpensive violin and makes it sing in a way most people can’t make the most precious of instruments trill. In fact, even though most girls in their family get married by eighteen, often through arranged marriages, they support her dream of attending the most prestigious conservatory.
When she’s ripped away from the man she privately dreams about, her music turns upside down. Being promised to his cousin twists her strings into knots until they snap.
Saying Love Is a Wistful Song kept my attention would be a bit of an understatement. I found myself wanting extra time to read and stealing it from those precious hours of sleep that I beg for every night.
The story takes the hearts of two people and wraps their melodies together as their world tries to rip them apart. The well-rounded characters made me happy and angry. I found myself with flared nostrils as anger flitted through my veins several times. That is not something I’ve experienced in a long time. The editing, grammar, storyline, and excellent writing took this indie book to a professional level every indie author should reach before publishing.
Some books we treasure because they are entertaining reads that we can finish on the beach without worry of the underlying melodies. Other literary treasures require us to make it through the heavy ballad before we can appreciate the harmonies, while only a few treasures, like Love Is a Wistful Song, entwine melody and counter-melody with harmonies to create a beautiful concerto we want to listen to again and again.
Clean, beautiful, and thought-provoking. I absolutely recommend Love Is a Wistful Song.
The Official Blurb:
Music-obsessed Aryen dreams of attending a prestigious conservatory and, sometimes, about her childhood friend Ryan. But when her dream to study with the masters comes true, it demands a high price—Aryen must agree to an arranged marriage with Ryan’s popular cousin Blaine. When she protests the arrangement, her grandfather threatens to destroy Ryan’s already challenging prospects, forcing Aryen to choose whether to pursue her feelings and sacrifice her lifelong dream or give up Ryan in order to protect him.
Purchase your copy of Love Is a Wistful Song on Amazon
Many have died traversing the King’s trial, but Yosyph has only one chance to save his people from the Queen’s wrath.
Many have died traversing the King’s trial, but Yosyph has only one chance to save his people from the Queen’s wrath.
After years of staying up at night and telling stories to her sister, M.L. Farb enters the world of fantasy with her newest book The King’s Trial. A story filled with adventure, royalty, heroes, and a smidgen of romance, this is a tale lovers of fantasy won’t want to miss.
My Thoughts about The King’s Trial
Though I write women’s fiction and read several genres, fantasy stands as one of my favorites. Don’t spend a second longer wondering why; it’s because I can’t fathom the amount of talent it takes to create worlds and abilities, let alone understand the finer points of swordplay. I’ve enjoyed it for several decades, and still do, when it’s written well.
Amazon is riddled with poorly written fantasy. In fact, as a past product review blogger, I eventually refused indie books in the genre. However, having read a few other stories of Farb’s and knowing her writing ability, I decided to give The King’s Trial a chance, and I’m glad I did.
Farb clearly paints a picture of the kingdoms where this story takes place. The abilities given to characters are not overdone and there are no ridiculous monsters. Swords, honor, courageous fair maidens, and a clearly stated evil exists. The main character fights his way through personal demons while exerting himself physically. The characters are well-rounded and easy to like – or not.
As in many fantasy stories, the main character in The King’s Trial has to trust a higher power. Obviously based on Christianity and the idea of faith, The King’s Trial is perfect for all ages. Those who are not Christian will find the same integral standard we all desire in ourselves and for our children: honesty, kindness, and selflessness.
Written in first person, from the perspective of two characters, readers enjoy two adventures and are rewarded with the desired suspense as they wind together. Plenty of twists and turns exist, and at no point will one become bored. I sure didn’t.
The official blurb
In a land where stories of the Shadow Demon keep children shivering in bed and tales of the Yorel bring hope to the commoner, Yosyph is both the reason for their fear and their hope.
By day Yosyph appears nothing more than a mute tavern-hand. By night he plans a revolution and slips through shadow, rescuing those marked for death by the xenophobic queen.
When he learns that thousands of his people will be sent as slaves to the mines, he must choose—fight the royal army with an ill-prepared rebellion or journey to the land of his ancestors through the deadly King’s Trial. If he succeeds, he’ll win his kins’ loyalty and their help.
His journey grows complicated when he rescues a maiden and enrages a prince, but if he doesn’t return with help in time, the people he’s loved and secretly served will be gone.
The King’s Trial is available on Amazon beginning July 16, 2019. Enjoy your free e-copy if you pick it up July 16-17, 2019. Enjoy it for $0.99 July 18-22, 2019
After Noelle loses her husband to war, Gran takes her on a picnic.
Noelle held the flag to her chest, pleading with herself to not cry. Not again. Months had passed since Dave had returned home in a box draped by the flag in her arms. His dream of serving the nation through military service had been realized. So had her greatest fear. Now she spent her days wishing his arms still wrapped around her.
A knock on her bedroom door brought her glassy-eyed gaze into focus. “Come in.”
As the door swung toward the wall, Gran peeked from behind it. “I thought I’d find you in here.”
Noelle pulled her knees to her chest and folded her arms around them—the flag ensconced by her body.
“Why don’t we go visit our men?”
Eyeing her grandmother, Noelle shook her head.
“Come on, I’ve got a special day planned.”
Gran held out her hand, and Noelle eased hers into it. “Can we pick up some flowers?”
“They’re waiting for us in the car.”
Shuffling outside, Noelle slipped into the passenger’s seat and stared out the window. She’d knelt at Dave’s grave several times, but words always refused to come. Why would they? It wasn’t like Dave listened. What purpose was there in visiting a grave and whispering to someone who couldn’t hear? Still, she kept trying. Hoping.
“What a beautiful day to remember our husbands,” Gran said as they drove to the cemetery. “I married your grandfather before Vietnam started. A private first class in the army. He was so proud of his enlistment, wanted to serve the country he loved.” Gran smiled wanly. “We had two children by the time the conflict bubbled over. Vietnam brought nothing but ugliness. And the day they told me he’d died, I did too.”
Noelle turned toward Gran without making a sound.
“Dave joined for the same reason, didn’t he?” Gran asked.
“Except the business in the Middle East was already full-blown.” Gran raised a brow. “Not much of a question he’d end up there.”
Noelle looked at Gran. “None.”
Gran nodded. “They both protected us and this nation. Same as all the others.
“My father spent his time in France after being drafted during World War II.” Gran tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“Why do people do this?” Noelle asked as she glared Gran. “Join the military to die?”
“They never join to die. They join to serve and protect.”
“I’m not sure that’s what’s going on now.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t change their sacrifice.”
Noelle took a deep breath as they pulled up to the cemetery. Clasping her hands together, she begged her heart to quiet and the pins to stop pricking her lungs. Neither did.
As she stepped out of the car, she turned to help Gran, who shoved a blanket into her arms.
“What’s this for?”
Noelle’s eyes widened.
“It’s an old tradition my mother taught me, used to be a fairly common practice. Some cemeteries don’t allow it anymore.”
“Wonder why?” Noelle’s voice dripped with sarcasm, and she tried again. “So, we go sit on the graves and eat?”
“Something like that,” Gran said with a smile as she smelled the flowers.
The walk from the car to the gravesites invited the sun to burn Noelle’s shoulders. A picnic on a grave in the heat—fun. At least Grandpa had a tree next to him that shaded both headstones.
As Gran set the flowers on top of Grandpa’s tall marker, Noelle dropped the blanket to the ground.
“Spread it out, would you?” the older woman asked.
Gran started dividing the flowers between the two graves. Red, white, and blue carnations. The blanket flicked to the ground with a flourish, just in time for Noelle to see her grandmother post a small flag next to each of their loved ones’ graves. The older woman whispered soft words Noelle couldn’t hear as she traced the edge of Grandpa’s headstone with her fingers. Tears gathered at the edges of her creased eyes, worn from years as a single woman. Noelle startled as Gran broke out into a peal of laughter.
How could she laugh? Pain like this never subsides, it couldn’t, could it?
A moment later, Gran lowered herself to the blanket, her knees popping on the way down. “I can get down, but you might have to help me up later.”
Gran studied her husband’s headstone, then patted her knees and faced Noelle. “Your grandpa wasn’t one of those poster-child soldiers. ”
She paused and smiled at what must have been a memory.
I remember one day he showed up at home with his uniform ripped in several places, buttons missing, mud covering him from the top of his head to the end of his boots, and the biggest dumb grin on his face I’d ever seen. After I pushed him into the backyard and told him to strip down before coming in my house again, he took the hose and sprayed it right at my backside.
Next thing I knew, we were wrestling for control of the hose. In the end, he wrapped his arms around me, his shirt off and his pants dripping with water, and told me he’d fought the grizzly and won.
“What do you mean, you fought the grizzly?” I asked.
His deep voice thundered next to my ear. “You don’t know about the grizzly?”
I’d heard about a lot a different antics with the boys, but nothing about fighting a grizzly, so I shook my head.
“Well, let me tell you, it’s the scariest bear you’ve never seen. The boys took me up the mountain, blindfolded me, and set me in the middle of a field. Next thing I knew, a claw swiped across my back. Tore my shirt, right there.”
He held up his shirt, his fingers wiggling through four sharp-cut slits in the back. I whipped him around fast, but he just threw his head back and hooted, “It doesn’t hurt.”
Four shallow scratches lined his back. I searched the rest of his torso and arms. Little pricks appeared on his forearms, and he had a decent scratch along one of his hands.
“No bear did this.” I eyed him until he slowly shook his head.
“Not a bear. Three men with razors attached to broom handles.”
“What?” The scream left my mouth before I could reign it in. I smacked his arm. “How do you get involved with this stupidity?”
“There was no harm. Only I was blindfolded, and they were careful.”
“Careful?” I huffed. “Those scratches and your sliced uniform say different.”
“Nah, it’s just an initiation of sorts.”
“The squad. I’m the new guy, remember?”
“Hazing or not,” he said as he sidled back up to me, “I took that grizzly down faster than anyone else. Beat the record.”
Gran shook her head, laughing as she stared at the headstone. “Crazy coot!”
Noelle leaned her head back. The sunlight spread over her face as her body filled with laughter too.
“Dave’s squad dropped him two miles from base with a gallon of water and a pink camo T-shirt they’d picked up from who knows where.” Noelle rubbed her hand across her husband’s headstone. “Luckily, he ran into a 24-hour-fast-food joint and talked some soldier-smitten girl into letting him call me. When I picked him up, he turned my angry glare into a fit of giggles.”
She turned and patted the grass below her. “You always knew how to make me smile.”
Tears ran down her face, and she rolled to her belly, facing his headstone, but away from Gran. “I miss you. You whisked me off my feet and then left me alone. I love you for who you were and hate you for dying.” She brushed the dirt away from his name. “I’ll get over that last part.”
She sniffed and let out a little giggle. “I found all those notes you left me. The one behind the toilet—it’s a good thing I love you.”
Her words continued, and as they did, the tension that had roiled through her muscles and stiffened her joints eased.
She picked up the sandwich Gran had set next to her and ate it as she talked about her life. The way people at work looked at her and stopped talking when she walked by. The old women at church who took her hand and held it while studying her with sad eyes before shuffling away in silence. She mentioned crying herself to sleep. Then she told him how his squad members stopped by one at a time.
“They loved you.”
Stories of their past together slipped from her lips as she ate the apple pie Gran had packed. These she shared with Gran, and Gran shared others with her.
Decades that had once divided the two widows collided. Styles changed, technology advanced, but grief and loss seemed to transcend time.
The day slipped by, as they walked, cried, hugged, and shared. Soon, the sun dipped in the western sky, and Noelle exhaled peacefully, a smile reflecting nothing but tranquility on her face. “Thanks, Gran.”
Gran clutched her hand. “It won’t go away—the pain. Tears return. But holding it inside yourself only hurts more.” She nodded toward Dave’s grave. “He’s stronger now than he ever was. Let him carry it with Christ. You can do that, right?”
Noelle wrapped her arms around Gran. “Next time I’ll pack the lunch.”
When Dad died. Maria, Lauren, and Avery figured they’d never see each other again. Why would they? They hadn’t spoken to each other in two years. But even from the grave, Dad plans to see them become a family again, in The Rift Between Us.
Rebecca L. Marsh, author of When the Storm Ends, now gives fans a second novel: The Rift Between Us. Another wonderful women’s fiction piece, none of my followers will want to miss this great story, filled with life-like characters and real-life problems.
My Thoughts on The Rift Between Us
We look across the auditoriums, restaurants, and church pews at all the people who have life figured out and wonder what’s wrong with us. We’ve gained so much weight our shoes don’t fit, our kids fight nonstop, and the dog has yet to find the patch of grass in the backyard. When is it our turn? When do we get to live a perfect life? And with each question we ask, we refuse to let anyone in on our secrets. After all, what would they think if they knew the truth?
The preface isn’t new. If anything it’s timeless. We listen and enjoy stories with such themes because no matter how much we try to remind ourselves that no one has a perfect life, we forget.
Marsh takes this simple theme and builds her story around it. A widowed father of three daughters raised them into adulthood. Unfortunately, as adults, the secrets they keep from each other are too heavy for any one of them to carry alone. They need sisters, but only Dad knows it.
When trying to bring his girls back together in life fails, this dad gives it one more shot after death. If they want their lofty inheritances, they have to fulfill a difficult task.
The climax of The Rift Between Us comes earlier than in most books, and Marsh spends a good amount of time wrapping up the resolution. In most stories, I find a long resolution boring. However, this wasn’t the case this time around. It’s during the resolution that the characters grow, similar to how we grow in real life. And considering the genre, I find this acceptable and even necessary for this story.
Readers of The Rift Between Us follows the points of view of sisters Maria, Lauren, and Avery. Marsh’s exceptional writing brings depth to each woman, as we experience their anger, fears, and passions. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself with tears in your eyes searching for a box of tissues. These characters are sure to touch your heart. They sure touched mine.
After a family dinner turns into a bitter fight, sisters Maria, Lauren, and Avery decide to go their separate ways. Their father warns them that someday they will need one another. When he dies suddenly, they learn that he intends to make sure that they do. He’s left them a substantial inheritance, far more than any of them ever imagined.
There’s just one catch. If they want the money, they will have to spend two weeks together at a secluded lake house and follow all of their father’s instructions—no matter how strange.
Their task seems simple enough, but each one is holding onto painful secrets and old grudges the others know nothing about. But if they can learn to trust each other again, they might be able to mend the rift between them and give their father his dying wish.
Watch Amazon for The Rift Between Us. Coming July 2019
After losing her husband to PTSD, Cambria Henshaw searches for a way to start over in Love From Left Field: A Billionaire Romance by Jenny Rabe.
Jenny Rabe, author of three sweet romance novels, has a knack for bringing love to life, especially in the beginning stages. Perhaps that’s because she experienced 150 first dates before getting married. Either way, Love From Left Field will cause your skin to tingle and your heart to flutter, just like when you first met the love of your life.
My Thoughts on Love From Left Field
While I often explore love in my writing, I’m not always so keen on reading romance novels that don’t delve deeper into the raw parts of the experience. And love is an experience. We feel it, yearn for it, seek it, and revel in it once we have it. It’s no wonder so many books are filled with it. But it takes an understanding, a connection to oneself and others, to create a romance story that doesn’t come off as ridiculously cheesy. Rabe has that understanding.
Love From Left Field explores love after loss, love after betrayal, PTSD, and grief. It honors those who have served and those who are serving in the military. The characters come across as real human beings, albeit, one is incredibly rich. It’s the kind of book you read on the beach because it’s easy to follow, and the kind you read in the library because you want to digest the whys and what fors.
This incredibly clean read won’t drag you down, but it will help you better appreciate your life and the lives given to keep you free. Enjoy splatters of paint, dusty baseball fields, good looking people, and dutiful dogs.
The Official Blurb
After losing her husband to PTSD, Cambria Henshaw desperately needs to start over, so she packs up her paints and moves to Harker Heights, Texas. Inspired by welcoming surroundings and friendly people, Cambria begins to paint one portrait after another, with one small problem: haunted by survivor’s guilt that keeps everyone at a distance—and her heart safely guarded—she can’t bring herself to finish any of them.
Brian Davidson thinks he’s finally put his past behind him. As an anonymous CEO billionaire, he’s sure this small Texas town will be his refuge from the spiteful ex who smeared his name through the mud in the national papers. But when someone starts stalking his baseball practices, threatening to expose his identity, he worries his ex is back for more revenge.
When Cambria and Brian are thrown together during a service opportunity through their grief group, the attraction is undeniable, but so is their hesitation. As the two of them battle their inner demons and their real-life enemies, they must both decide what they’re willing to risk for a 9th-inning chance at “home-run” love.
Purchase your e-book or print copy of Love From Left Field on Amazon.
Ella lived a normal, happy, single life. But all that changed the day her car refused to start, and she found herself inches from death.
Ella lived a normal, happy, single life. But all that changed the day her car refused to start, and she found herself inches from death.
Author of several books, Rimmy London keeps us entertained with sweet romance and romantic suspense novels. Pulled Under, book one of her romantic suspense duology, sends your heart reeling as you fight the urge to look over your shoulder. I discovered Pulled Under through a Facebook group and purchased it for $.99.
My Thoughts on Pulled Under:
It’s been a few books since I’ve struggled to put one down. Some of my recent choices begged me to stop reading. In fact, I’ve contacted a couple of authors and explained my decision to not publish a review.
Just a little aside: If you write a book, take the time and spend the money to have it edited professionally.
The minute I picked up Pulled Under, I was pulled in. The action and mystery start in the first chapter. And London’s writing entered my mind like a breath of fresh air. Easy to read, strong, and well-edited, this book never caused me to shake my head in despair. Thank you, Rimmy London.
Ella works for a company that uses her more like a secretary than the financial adviser she was hired to be. And it’s a bit frustrating, but as most of us would, she sticks it out, determined to show her boss she can handle anything thrown at her… including his car keys. That’s what he throws at her when her car doesn’t start.
It doesn’t take long for Ella to start wondering what kind of company she works for, especially when Givanni, her boss’s nephew and the company’s CEO, starts hanging around and saving her life.
In time, Ella ends up in Italy where she meets Givanni’s family and his ex-fiance, all while pretending she’s his.
This wild ride is one everyone can enjoy. Sauve Italians, supermodel-like ex-girlfriends, and a down-to-earth country girl. I enjoyed every minute of reading Pulled Under, and the proof is in my unfinished housework!
The official blurb:
Pretending to be in a fake engagement might fool his family, but it doesn’t convince others. And they’re coming…
Ella is left fighting to keep them together in a world that’s falling apart.
Givanni, the company CEO and nephew to President Ginetti, seemed the genuine good guy. But there was something hiding behind his emerald eyes.
When Loriel borrows her new boss’s car, it nearly costs her life. Now, she wants to know why. But her determination to uncover the truth only pulls her deeper into a world with a level of crime she didn’t believe existed. And she’s quickly in over her head.
But, suddenly bound for Italy pretending to be in a fake engagement is going to be hard. Everything quickly becomes tangled until her heart isn’t certain what’s real or fake. And even while pondering their relationship, it’s clear that Italy was less of an escape than they thought. Because facing a group as powerful as the Italian Mafia is impossible.
Bruised and defeated, they’re faced with a future where they might not make it out alive, let alone together.
Sarah daydreams about the Resurrected Christ and the multitude and discovers her own miracle.
Sarah, holding her mother’s hand, stared at the marble Christus. The hands spread wide, welcoming her closer, the facial expression gentle. Her tight curls bounced across her head as she leaned back and gazed at the large statue. She wondered at the shiny white surface. Sunday school stories of Jesus calling for the children, children like her, sowed a simple peace in her heart. Her mother squeezed her hand.
“I’m going to look at the pictures on that wall. Stay in this room.”
Sarah nodded, resting her hands at her side, careful not to touch the velvet rope that separated her from the Christ. Her focus landed on the soft hands, where carved marks of the nails rested, then to his feet and side. Her heart thrummed in her chest, soft but apparent, as she wondered what it was like for Thomas to feel the nail prints in his hands and the sword print in his side.
As she focused on the statue’s palm, the marble appeared to change, white darkened, a warm golden tone taking its place. Sarah’s eyes widened, but recognizing the signs of a daydream, she remained in place.
Seconds later, she discovered herself surrounded by people. Children rested on fathers’ shoulders. Babes cooed in mothers’ arms. Clothing of every color blurred as it pushed past her, yet happiness and peace filled her soul. Those around her fell to their knees, heads bowed. But she remained, staring into the soft eyes.
With his finger and a wink, he motioned Sarah toward him. Her slippered feet carried her closer. His strong arms ensconced her, bringing her face to his eye level. He smiled. After the gentle hug, he held his hand in front of her, and she reached her fingers toward it. Pulling back slightly, she eyed him from the side.
The mark swallowed her finger as she lightly caressed it. The softness of the skin nothing like the hardness of the nails that had pierced it.
“You could have stopped it, saved yourself?”
He nodded, a twinkle in his eye.
“But you didn’t.”
He leaned toward her ear and whispered more. A smile rushed across her face, and she wrapped her arms around his neck before he placed her back on the ground. Moments later, she joined the crowd, the cool ground contrasting the warm feeling coursing through her.
The Savior called for the people to come forward, and Sarah watched as, one by one, men and women, the young and old got to their feet and stepped forward. A warm smile and welcoming arms greeted each one as they received the personal time they desired with the Savior, just as she had. Their fingers touched his hands, feet, and side. Some women cried as they kissed his feet, wiping away tears with the hems of dresses. Men unabashedly wept as they embraced him.
Time passed slowly, but children never fought and babes never cried. Adults talked of miracles and knelt in prayer. No one pushed or shoved to the front. Patience and love intervened, the procession one of reverence.
When the last returned, the Savior called the sick, disabled, and those otherwise in need of healing. The man standing next to her lifted a woman in his arms and carried her forward. Standing with his arms outstretched, Jesus motioned all the afflicted forward.
Pebbles poked at her knees as Sarah knelt on the ground, and she brushed them away. She suffered no ill but thought of her father, who lay in a hospital room ravaged by cancer. Even as young as she was, she knew the harsh treatment he received left him weak for days at a time. Just as he felt a little strength return, it was always time for another round. Prayer after prayer had been said on his behalf. Her mother wept every night for his relief. For her own, too. Tears came to her eyes as she watched the Savior lay his hands on the afflicted, healing them one by one.
As the last of the afflicted leaped from his bed, Jesus instructed the people to pray. Together, they bowed their heads and lifted their voices as he knelt a distance away.
“Hosanna, blessed be the name of the Most High God,” cried the people.
Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she joined them. Though people often assumed age affected one’s ability to recognize God, she knew the truth. She might not understand everything, but she understood he loved her. She understood he loved those who hung him on a cross. She even understood he loved that mean guy who lived down the street and shouted at her every time she stopped to look at his pretty flowers.
When the Savior returned, warmth from her heart rippled through her arms as he spoke to the crowd. The day had passed, and the people still focused on him, but their eyes appeared tired, and their shoulders drooped with similar strains. Tears filled his eyes as he scanned their faces.
“You’re tired. Rest.”
No one moved. Sarah’s own heartbeat strengthened. She didn’t want to leave either. It couldn’t be time.
Brushing a tear from his eye, Jesus called for the little children. Parents carrying babies and holding the hands of their little ones helped them forward. Boys and girls sat on his lap, and he held a babe in each arm. Sarah’s lip quivered when he called her to join the others.
As she stepped forward, a bright light opened above him. People dressed in white, as beautiful as the Savior, surrounded the children, blessing them. One took her by the hand and walked with her.
“Child, you do not have a wish for yourself, do you?”
Sarah shook her head, eyes wide.
“But Jesus whispered to you. What did he say?”
“Not to worry. That everything would be okay.”
“Have you been worrying?”
Sarah nodded, her lip quivering again. “My daddy’s sick.”
“Do you know who Jesus is?”
“Can you tell me what he did for you?”
“He helps my sins go away, and he died for me so I can return to Heavenly Father.”
“Do you think he can heal your daddy?”
Sarah bowed her head and studied her feet.
The angel squeezed her hand, then lifted her chin, encouraging her to answer.
“If it’s the best thing he can. Mama says it depends on God’s will.”
“That’s right. It’s time…”
The daydream faded at the sound of her mother’s voice.
“Sarah. It’s time to go.”
One more glance at the Christus in front of her and Sarah hurried to her mother.
“Where are we going?”
“To the hospital. Daddy had a scan today, and he wants us to hear the results with him.”
“What’s a scan?”
“The scan tells us whether or not the cancer is gone.”
She tugged on her mother’s arm, trying to run faster. “It is. It’s gone.”
Her mother pulled her back and crouched beside her. “We don’t know that Sarah. Most of the scans haven’t been great.”
“He’s better. I know it.”
“I hope you’re right, but if you’re not, it’s okay. God will take care of us and Daddy.”
“I know. He already has.”
Biting her lip, her mother rose from the ground and clasped Sarah’s hand. Tears floated in her eyes.
The quick drive to the hospital soon delivered Sarah and her mother, and they hurried to her father’s room.
“Where’s the doctor?” Sarah eased onto the foot of the bed with her mom’s help and stared at her dad.
“I’m right here.”
She turned in time to see the doctor walk into the room.
“My daddy’s better right?”
The doctor raised a brow, then quickly furrowed them. “Well. Let’s take a look. The last scan showed an increase, correct?”
Her parents both nodded.
A picture of her dad’s insides appeared on a lighted board, and the doctor pointed here and there, talking to her parents. Their faces crumpled, and Sarah stared from one to the other.
“He’s better, right?” A little butterfly entered her belly even though she’d been so sure.
Arms wrapped around her as her mother picked her up and swung her in a circle. “He’s better!”
She eyed her daddy. “You feel better, right?”
The room broke out with laughter.
“No, pretty, I don’t feel better yet. Cancer and my treatments hurt me a lot, but the doctor says my cancer has gone away.”
“I know that.”
Lifting her to stand next to her dad, Sarah’s mother met her gaze. “How did you know?”
“Jesus told me not to worry.”
“He did, did he?”
Her father poked her side, and she giggled.
“When did he tell you that?” her mother asked.
Sarah looked at her. “Today, at his statue.”
Tears swept into her mother’s eyes. “She stood by the Christus the whole time.”