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Showing posts with label A Taste of Friday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Taste of Friday. Show all posts

Friday, November 14, 2014

A Taste of Friday - Alice Wisler and a recipe

Welcome Back to Alice Wisler, who shares about her new book Under the Silk Hibiscus and shares a recipe for a literal "Taste" of Friday.


Book releases November 19 and is available for pre-order on Amazon.

During World War Two Nathan and his family are sent to Heart Mountain, an internment camp in Wyoming for Japanese-Americans. Nathan's one desire is to protect the family's gold pocket watch, a family heirloom brought over from Japan. He fails; the watch is stolen. Struggling to make sense of his life in a bleak camp as the only responsible man of the household, Nathan discovers truths 
about his family, God, and the girl he loves.

Alice says:
This novel takes place in an internment camp in Wyoming where many Japanese-Americans were sent after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. There's upheaval, frustration, pain, and sorrow.  Families are separated.  Some members are accused of being spies, like Nathan Mori's father.

To balance the discrimination that evolved during this time period, I had to rely on humor and romance.

One of the most fun relationships I enjoyed crafting was between the main character, Nathan, and his aunt Kazuko. Even though she's single and has no children of her own, Aunt Kazuko knows how to keep Nathan and his brothers in line.  But even she knows a body can't live on hard work alone.  Cookies are her friends! She keeps morsels in her sweater sleeves, taking them out when she needs “a pep".

And of course, there's young romance. Nathan dreams of the lovely singer, Lucy, and wants her to notice him, but she seems more interested in his older brother, Ken.

There are two characters which are not people---one is Heart Mountain, the mountain viewed every day from those in the barracks at the camp.  Then there is the Mori family's coveted gold watch, a family heirloom from Japan.

So the questions form:  Will Nathan get the girl?  What happens to the family heirloom during the war and after the war ends? Does Nathan's father return?  How does war and discrimination change hearts?  How does God's love prevail?


Recipe from Under the Silk Hibiscus:
My character, Aunt Kazuko, is all about eating a cookie . . . or two.  She often says she needs “a pep” to pep her up.  Here is her cookie recipe for raisin cookies, sure to add fun to anyone’s day.

Recipe for Aunt Kazuko’s Oatmeal Raisin Cookies (1946)

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ cup shortening
1 cup sugar
1 egg
 1 ½ cups rolled oats
2/3 cup buttermilk
½ cup chopped nuts
1 cup seedless raisins
Cream shortening, blend in sugar and add egg. Beat until smooth and light.  Sift flour with salt, soda and cinnamon.  Stir half the flour in with egg mixture; add milk, the rest of flour, and then oats, nuts and raisins.  Stir till well mixed.  Drop from a teaspoon onto a buttered baking sheet and bake at 400 degrees F. for 10 minutes or until nicely browned.  Yields about 36 cookies.

About Alice:

Alice has authored four contemporary novels published by Bethany House:  Rain Song (Christy Finalist), How Sweet It Is (Christy Finalist), Hatteras Girl and A Wedding Invitation, and Still Life in Shadows by River North/Moody. Her newest novel, Under the Silk Hibiscus (Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas) is her first historical romance. 

Since the death of her four-year-old son, Alice teaches grief-writing workshops and her devotional, Getting out of Bed in the Morning:  Reflections of Comfort in Heartache (Leafwood), covers the many losses we face and how God sustains us through each one.  In 2012, Alice and her husband started a business, Carved By Heart, where they carve memorial plaques/remembrances, house number signs, bird feeders, rustic clocks, and other home décor.  

Links:



Alice’s Patchwork Quilt Blog:  http://www.alicewisler.blogspot.com/

Friday, October 17, 2014

A Taste of Friday with Tracy Krauss and NEIGHBORS

NEIGHBORS – A Series



Forward
I love people watching. Airports, waiting rooms, shopping malls –these are ripe fields for the student of human nature. It was during one of these ‘research’ sessions that I started a list of possible characters that might make an appearance in one of my novels. As I began to flesh some of these people out, it dawned on me that I had an entire community. What if they lived in the same neighbourhood, or even an apartment building, where they could interact? I soon realized that several characters had their own unique story to tell, perhaps not long enough for a full-length novel, but perfect for a series. Thus NEIGHBORS took shape. I hope you enjoy meeting this varied, sometimes quirky, cast. Welcome to the neighborhood.

NEIGHBORS - Volume 1 - New in the Neighborhood
Lester Tibbett has to leave his farm in Southern Alberta for the big city. It means starting over in an unfamiliar environment - a heavy burden for the guardian of a teenage sister full of angst. The apartment complex to which they relocate is a far cry from their spacious farmhouse and offers little anonymity for a man used to doing things his own way. During the process, he pushes his own loneliness aside in favor of looking after his sister. As Lester struggles to find a church that will meet both their spiritual needs, he quickly learns that neighbors come in many forms, some of them quite meddlesome. Still, he is happy to accept help from an overtly friendly neighbor named Jed who also happens to work for the same construction company. The two soon become friends, despite Jed’s habit of trying to set Lester up with every available single female, and end up frequenting a local pub where Lester is surprised to discover an ‘old school’ mechanical bull just waiting to be ridden. The former rodeo cowboy in him rises up, but not before he meets a mysterious woman who is out of his reach. 

NEIGHBORS – Volume 2 – Stuck In the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 3 – Sneaking Around the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 4 – Working the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 5 – Back In the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 6 – Navigating the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 7 – Skeletons In the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 8 – Leaving the Neighborhood
NEIGHBORS – Volume 9 – There Goes the Neighborhood
               
Tracy Krauss is a multi-published author, playwright, artist and teacher, with several best selling and award winning novels to her credit. Originally from a small prairie town, Tracy received her Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Saskatchewan with majors in Art, and minors in History and English. Apart from her many creative pursuits, she directs an amateur theater group and leads worship at her local church. She and her husband, an ordained minister, have lived in many remote and unique places in Canada's north, and currently live in northern British Columbia. For more visit her website: http://tracykrauss.com

Links:




Friday, September 19, 2014

A Taste of Friday with Shoshana Rhodes and One Lamb Redeemed

One Lamb Redeemed
by Shoshana Goldberg



About the Book:

Have you ever wondered why you were born, what life is all about, what your destiny might be or if you even have one? Are you facing a giant such as cancer or betrayal in your life and wonder if you will survive? Do you have a call of God on your life and don’t know how to get from where you are to where you need to be? Have you ever asked yourself “What if”? “What if I had done that instead of this?” “Do I really have a future and a hope?” Even if you’ve given up on yourself, God has not! This book might just hold some answers especially for YOU!

This is the story of my life- really my journey with a supernatural God who was never put off by my faults and failures. It might answer some of the burning questions you have in your own life, or it may simply point you in the direction of your own journey with God. Either way, it is my prayer that you, the reader, will learn to walk with the most loving, powerful being in the universe, Adonai, the Lord of hosts, and find hope for your future!

Chapter excerpt:


Cancer

Cancer. It’s an ominous word filled with dread and fear, lots of fear. I’d heard this word spoken in times past over others. I knew from reading nursing journals and text books that one’s survival depended on the stage of the cancer and the rate of growth of the tumor(s). I read that once a person was cancer-free for 5 years they were considered to be “cured”. I also read that many persons were official “cancer survivors”.

Personally, I didn’t know anyone who had survived cancer. It didn’t seem to matter if they were young or old, male or female, rich or poor. They had all died. My Dad made it 10 months. His 36 year old sister was dying from cancer. In the years to come my Mom, another uncle, my sister-in-law, and many friends would succumb to this horrible plague.

I also knew that the available treatments for cancer in 1988 were as bad as the disease leaving its victims weak, nauseated, and debilitated. Many people I had talked to were so sick from the side effects they simply lost the will to live. They just wanted it to be over with.

My own story began before the actual diagnosis. I like to get alone with God in January of each year to hear from Him about the upcoming year. Some friends of mine had a retreat center that was snowed in. It was a perfect place to “hibernate” for the week! I spent that week in fasting and prayer. The Lord said nothing about the upheaval that was about to descend upon me.

He talked about faith. I looked out the window to the beautiful view of the mountains where I was. There were pine trees, snow and a small building on the adjacent mountainside. Suddenly, fog began to move in. It covered the mountain like a thick blanket within a matter of minutes. Then the Lord began to talk to me. He said “Daughter, what do you see”? I replied “Nothing but fog”. Then He inquired “What is really there”? I answered “A mountainside with trees, snow, and a small building”. He then said to me in that still, small, gentle voice that I’d grown to love: “Faith is like that. What you see is fog, but there is so much more that is really there. When I ask you to believe for something, you can’t see it yet, but I know what is real- what’s really there. If you can simply agree with My reality, when the time is right, I will clear the fog. Many times My people believe there is nothing there, so they go on their way and miss what I have for them.”

I was having some “female symptoms.” Nothing significant--I’d had female symptoms before. I usually went to the MD, got a prescription, and no more symptoms! This time was different. I went to the doctor and he referred me to a specialist. That’s when I got the dreaded diagnosis. It was no longer something that happened to other people. It had happened to me.

Visit the website for more information.

Shoshana would like to give print copies of her book to those who would review it for her. You can connect through the comment section on her website at this link.

About the Author:
Shoshana Rhodes has been a Prophetic Intercessor for almost 30 years and a Messianic Jewish believer in Yeshua (Jesus) for much longer! She has traveled the globe as a missionary and intercessor (well, at least the parts of the globe that contain Russia, Jamaica, and the Navajo Nation). She is a Registered Nurse, speaker, and teacher of intercession and spiritual warfare. She has also overcome cancer, financial hardship, and betrayal. She is now the author of the book One Lamb Redeemed (Pen name: Shoshana Goldberg) and is soon to release her second book The Quest for the Lost Foundation. To G-d be all the glory!

Friday, July 25, 2014

A Taste of Friday with Kara Howell's In the Presence of Shadows


In the Presence of Shadows
Kara Howell

ebook with profile pic


Print: $9.45
ISBN: 978-0615980911

E-book: $3.99

Buy on Amazon

In the land of Flasha Mura, a teenaged Gisbon boy is plagued by a monster he can’t see. No one knows what this beast is, but its ferocious appetite threatens to consume Brehane and his father’s herd, effectively ending his future before it has a chance to begin.
He wants to face this menace on his own, but he knows he needs help. Who will he trust? A new friend sent to protect him, or Melek, the God he believes in and thought he trusted. Will he let go of his dream so that he can find it?
Brehane’s uncle brings history alive as he recounts the dramatic lives of the kings and dragons of Yisra’el. In the histories wars are lost and won, trolls taunt, evil relentlessly pursues, dragons speak, friendships are forged, fear grips hearts, kings become sorcerers, love is found, and miracles happen.
Excerpt from a reviewer: 5.0 out of 5 stars A story within the story, April 10, 2014
By 
K Payne (Ontario, Canada) - See all my reviews
I love when an author can take a story from the Bible and add details to create a novel. Kara Howell does just this with the stories from 1 and 2 Samuel to create her first novel in the Chronicles of Dragons and Kings series.

For a free read of chapter one, visit the author's website.


Image of Kara Howell
About the Author: Kara Howell lives in Aurora, Colorado with her husband and four children. She homeschools three of her children. Her love for youth, the Bible, learning, and teaching are what prompted her to write The Chronicles of Kings and Dragons. She also enjoys playing the drums, riding horses, playing video games, photography, and reading. She is also a huge Doctor Who fan. No, seriously, with the help of her dad, she turned a kitchen cabinet into the Tardis and hung it in her bathroom, right above the toilet.


Friday, June 20, 2014

A Taste of Vanished by Barbara Derksen


Vanished, Barbara Ann Derksen, Createspace, May 2009

Prologue
The intruder shoved her up the stairs. Diane Michner stumbled. She grabbed the stair treads for support. Tears of fright blurred her vision.
“Hurry or I hurt the kid.” His rumbling threat released hot breath across her neck. She scurried faster. An arm, covered in monstrous tattoos that bulged beneath the sleeve of his dirty t-shirt, circled the tiny wiggling torso of her three year old son. Jeffrey whimpered. The thug pushed her again.
“Mommy!” Jeffrey screamed, large droplets of tears coursing down his pudgy cheeks.
“Quiet.” The man gripped the boy’s arm and squeezed. He shot a glance at the woman. She bowed her head in submission and headed toward her little boy’s bedroom.
“H-h-how long will we be g-gone?” Her eyes traveled over the little blue train stenciled on three walls of her son’s dream room.
“Never mind. Get the clothes.” He motioned with the boy’s body, whipping him toward the folded doors of the closet. Jeffrey whimpered.
She yanked the door open and snatched a large suitcase from the top shelf. Her tears dampened pieces of clothing from her son’s chest of drawers as she threw them into the case. With downcast eyes, Diane glanced toward her son and then back to the task at hand. In a haphazard fashion, she added some of the outfits hanging inside the closet door and seized his fluffy brown teddy bear from the bed. Jeffrey whimpered again.
Obediently she turned toward the doorway where the intruder fought to retain hold of her struggling child.
“P-please. Don’t hold him so tight,” she pleaded. “You’ll hurt him.” Her arms ached to hold her frightened son, to protect him from this man who didn’t care if he injured a small child. “It’s okay, Jeffrey. Please don’t cry.”
The man used his elbow to point her toward the next room. “Get a move on.” His grip on the child’s body enticed her to hurry.
The trio moved quickly down the hall towards the bedroom she shared with her husband of five years. She sucked in an anguished breath as she stumbled against the doorframe of the closet. She seized another suitcase and shoved in pants, shirts, and undergarments for both of them, then closed that case and looked at the man. Her eyes begged as her arms reached to hold the tiny boy.
The man thrust Jeffrey at her and grabbed the suitcase, as she wrapped grateful arms around her son’s trembling body. She could feel his terror. The thug pushed Diane toward the hallway. She shifted the boy’s weight to one arm but stumbled, almost losing her footing. She reached out with her free hand to steady herself against the wall.
Moving toward the staircase, the villain picked up the other suitcase standing just inside the boy’s bedroom. “Get going.” He motioned for her to descend the staircase toward the living room.
When she reached the first floor, Diane gasped. Two large men twisted a rope looped tightly around her husband’s neck. Another coarse length of rope tied Trent’s hands and wrists together, behind his back. The muscles of his upper arms stretched painfully beneath the sleeve of his cotton shirt. He grimaced, pain written on his face. Bright red oozed from a cut above his eye, the evidence of a battle lost. Blood congealed in his eyebrow and then trickled down his face to drip onto his collarbone. A jagged piece of cartilage stuck out from the bridge of his nose, blood coagulating near his upper lip.
A tormented groan escaped Diane’s lips, as if from the depths of her heart. She shuddered and cuddled Jeffrey, trying to shield him from the sight of his father. Her body churned with unfamiliar hatred as she looked on the three men who had invaded their peaceful home. She watched as they laughed. The one nearest caressed her cheek. Her skin crawled in revulsion. She yanked her face out of reach. The intruders laughed harder.
****
Trent struggled toward his wife. He watched anguish seep from her eyes, a torment that matched his own. Had he brought this to their home? What did they want? The thugs yanked him back as viciously as they would a dog on a leash. He twisted, desperate to reach her side. Jeffrey’s eyes seemed so large that Trent could almost feel his fright from across the room. His own eyes cautioned his wife not to arouse their anger. By the look on Diane’s face, he knew she wanted to scratch their eyes out, to inflict as much damage on them as they had on her family. He watched tears fall unchecked as Diane turned accusing eyes on him and then turn her head towards their son.
****
Diane glanced up again at her husband and saw a tear slide past the corner of one eye. His helplessness was evident in the slump of his shoulders. The men were too strong. “Diane...” His voice croaked. The rope strangling him ended further communication. He saw the slight nod of her head. She offered him understanding. He had tried to protect his family but failed.
Diane glanced around at the destruction of her tidy home, a sanctuary they had built together. Two plants dripped black dirt onto the carpet, evidence of her husband’s struggle. The coffee table lay at an awkward angle in splinters, and two sofa cushions exploded with feathers everywhere. She ached to have control over her life again as evening shadows crept from the corners of the room and the smell of overcooked food lingered in the air.
“Did anyone think to turn off the stove?” She made a move toward the kitchen but a large beefy hand stopped her.
Her subjugator grunted beside her. His nod told one of the others to check it out.
Diane’s focus switched. She watched the thug drop the bulky suitcases and then flex his muscles. His grin, when he caught her watching, caused her stomach juices to curdle.
“Now, we go outside to your car. I will hurt you and your son if you make a fuss or attract any attention. Understand?”
Diane nodded once. “Why are you doing this?”
“Not your business.” He pushed.
“Not my…” She stopped in her tracks but her captor raised his arm as if to strike her. Diane used her free arm to swipe at tears betraying her fright. Her eyes traveled down the sidewalk toward the SUV. Her husband groaned, loud enough for the neighbors to hear if they’d been home, as the butt of a gun connected with his right shoulder. She saw his knees buckle. They were defenseless against these men. Her husband stumbled against the side of the van but no longer labored to free himself.
Diane cried in anguish, not caring this time who heard. She stared as they grabbed her husband’s shoulder and squeezed. They lifted him bodily into the backseat.
“We take your car.” Diane jumped. Her escort’s hot breath drifted across her neck as he thrust her through the door. The thug let the front door slam behind them. He threw the suitcases into the backseat of the station wagon parked near the front entry of the house. He motioned for her to secure the little boy into his car seat.
“You drive. Follow them, and nothing will happen to you or your man. Make a wrong turn, and you won’t live to see him shot.” The brute spoke the last word as if a gunshot erupted from his mouth and then he sneered. He plunked himself in the passenger seat.
Diane’s eyes looked, maybe for the last time, towards the home she had come to love. She searched for any means of escape and then slumped in the driver’s seat. Her instincts told her they would carry out their threats. Her hands trembled as she inserted the key into the ignition. The motor roared.
She placed the car in reverse and swiveled her head to linger on the tear-stained face of her little boy. Her heart felt as if someone had punched a hole in it and all the blood drained away. Her mind filled with black hatred, hatred so strong that she knew if she’d had a gun in her hand, she’d use it. Instead, she backed out of the driveway and followed the SUV containing her husband. She made a quick study of the home her family had occupied for the last five years, longing to wake from her nightmare. Will we ever come home again?
*********
About the author:  Canadian born, and with 19 books to her credit, Barbara Ann Derksen works hard to give her readers the ride of their life when they pick up one of her books. Her favorite genre is murder mystery, but each book brings forth characters who rely on God as they solve the puzzle in their life. She also writes devotionals and children’s stories.

  

Friday, April 18, 2014

A Taste of Friday First Chapters with Cheryl Colwell and The Secrets of the Montebellis


The
Secrets
of the
Montebellis

  
Cheryl Colwell


 INSPIRED FICTION BOOKS
November 2013



Chapter 1

Tension permeated the elegant living room and solidified between them like a rock wall. Smoldering anger darkened Thomas’ expression. Heart pounding, Lisa Richards forced herself to ignore the familiar warning signs and lifted her chin. “Thomas, I need this. I need to do something that’s important to me.”

He rushed at her. She stumbled back, bumping against the wall. The scornful words he spat burned with intimidation. “I provide all of this.” He backhanded the air, just missing her face. “And this is how you repay me?”

She flinched. Repay you? She wanted to scream the words but his glare withered her courage. Dropping her tearing eyes to the plush carpet, she pretended acquiescence. Why? She wondered if her question was why he acted this way or why she put up with his threats.

A quick glance upward caught a smug smile tugging at his lips. He was enjoying this? Heat advanced up her neck and something snapped. She sensed a deep, internal shift in a place she rarely went. Enough. Her hands clenched in unspoken determination. Right or wrong, she would build her dreams. Secretly. Away from his scrutiny.

***

After six years, echoes of that encounter still gripped Lisa’s emotions. A power struggle polluted their life together, invisible as long as she complied. Or appeared to comply. Her fingers absently massaged the tightness behind her breastbone. Even now, this time in the mountain town of Mont Castello should be enjoyable to a married couple, but her heart harbored twenty-nine years of resentment.

She studied the architecture of the restaurant they were approaching as she and Thomas walked in silence. A thin smile of appreciation softened her lips, relaxing the relentless tension. Hand-chiseled stonework gave the building the authentic look of Italy. She climbed the stairs and touched one of the rough timbers that had supported the structure for a century of winters. Embedded in the earth, it claimed as much permanence as the surrounding fir trees, whose roots stretched deep into the rich, dark soil.

A crowd hovered on the porch. Thomas grabbed her hand, pushed in past the waiting customers, and jerked the heavy wooden door open. Avoiding the sea of indignant frowns, Lisa tried to focus on the massive tapestries of Italian street scenes that adorned the amber-toned plaster of the walls.

“I’m Dr. Richards,” Thomas announced, loud enough to turn heads. “I have a reservation. Now.” 

The distracted young hostess recoiled from his expression, checked her list, and rushed them through the dining room.

As she followed Thomas, an unexpected sight caught Lisa off-guard. Ahead of her sat an extraordinarily attractive man with dark hair and eyes. Intelligent lines distinguished his confident face. He set his glass down and turned to look in her direction. Embarrassed, she closed her mouth and flitted her eyes away.

The hostess seated them at a table situated three feet from the booth of the striking man. Thomas sat down in the chair on the far side, leaving Lisa with the intriguing stranger to her left. Suddenly self-conscious, she was glad when the waitress arrived at their table.

“Would you like to order a drink while you decide?” A lazy southern drawl tinged the woman’s voice.

Lisa opened her mouth to decline, but Thomas cut in. “Sweetheart, bring us a bottle of your best Merlot.”

After watching her husband’s attention follow the curvy waitress, Lisa’s lips tightened and she fixated on the menu. Only once had she expressed her anger at his wandering eyes. He’d twisted her words, leaving her humiliated for imagining he would be unfaithful. She refused to repeat her mistake.

***

Steven Taylor was waiting in a comfortable booth when a loud voice jerked his attention toward the front door of Varano’s restaurant. A pompous man announced himself as Dr. Richards and demanded his table. A lovely woman followed him, looking extremely uncomfortable. Her striking blue eyes caught Taylor’s and darted away. 

He studied her. The summer sun had darkened her olive skin, creating a contrast to the white and orange flowers of her sleeveless blouse. Soft black hair, cut short, accentuated the brightness of her lips. He watched the hostess lead them to a near table. After years of covering news stories and writing investigative reports, Taylor possessed an uncanny insight for reading people. These two seemed at opposite ends of the spectrum.

From his seat, he observed the woman’s profile and the couple’s peculiar interactions. Their waitress asked for a drink order. The woman was about to reply, but the doctor interrupted. Her lips closed without protest and she worked to cover a frown as he gawked at the waitress.

Was this her husband? They appeared to be of similar age—fiftyish. He was clean-cut with salt and pepper hair and an angular jaw. From his sleeveless bicycle jersey, it was obvious he was in town for the three-day bike ride. His small, lean stature and muscled thighs resembled the European riders in the Tour de France.

The doctor downed his first glass of wine and became talkative. He refilled his glass and raised it, “To a great day, Lisa.” She gave him a thin smile, clinked his glass, and sat hers down. Untouched.

So, her name is Lisa and she doesn’t like Merlot, Taylor mused. The name, smart and feminine, fit her looks. The doctor started to describe his ride earlier that day. She nodded at all the right times, but her eyes wandered elsewhere and her delicate fingers toyed with the condensation fogging the outside of her water glass. Taylor shook his head. Relationships were trouble. It was a mystery why people endured them in the first place.

He glanced at a text message on his phone. “First story is where???” His new owner/editor couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle him. They had tangled on the man’s first day, when he ranted for twenty minutes that Taylor was late for their meeting. By two minutes.

Taking another drink, Taylor lowered his glass and swirled the liquid, replicating the circular motion of bicycle tires. He frowned. Sportswriting for USA Cycle Magazine was his dream job, but with the change in ownership he wasn’t certain what the future held. So far, his manager took the brunt of the insults, encouraging their team of writers that things would eventually settle down. It would be a shame to see the magazine deteriorate.

Since the fiasco with his ex-wife, his job had afforded the diversion he needed, providing great backdrops of cities and towns from which to compose his articles. His first assignment had been the New York Tour. It had been fascinating to watch the cyclists fly past landmark buildings, through streets that were normally jammed with cars.

There had also been trips to the New England countryside when autumn brandished its fiery foliage, and far to the northwest for the Portland Bridge Ride in Oregon. He always took a photographer from the magazine to capture the zest of the events. The portraits of the colorful cyclists crossing the bridges in Portland were extraordinary.

He bit into a piece of garlic bread and glimpsed the pine trees through the front window. Holed up here for the last two days had given him time to explore Mont Castello. He knew that the photographs taken of this area would be even more dramatic.

“No, no, no!” A stern female voice caught Taylor’s attention. By the front door, two red-faced cyclists worked to remove their clipped shoes. Holding onto each other’s shoulders for support, they laughed and swayed precariously until they accomplished their task and walked in socks through the restaurant on the oak floor.

“Hope you have better balance in the saddle,” a friend shouted and slapped one man’s hand with a high five. Laughter rose again while they seated themselves.

Taylor began a draft of his article while he waited at his table:
The Summit Challenge comprises three steep ascents, climbing a total of 22,000 feet. The cyclists will reach heights packed with snow, even in August.

He thumped his pen and recounted the day’s ride, then scribbled:
On day one, riders streaked down, reaching speeds above 40 miles per hour as they navigated the curving road on their descent to the verdant valley below. The sharp, majestic crags rising above the trees were breathtaking, while wide spans of concrete bridges lunged out over whitewater rapids in the giant rivers. The green of the pine forest and red bark of the madrone trees hung behind the circus of colors emblazoned on the rider’s jerseys.

Rereading his notes, he grinned. Not bad.

Varano’s Italian Restaurant was packed. Taylor watched the hungry cyclists devouring pasta, salad, bread—anything to help replace the 3,000 or so calories burned since 5:30 this morning.

His eyes followed Signora Varano, the owner of the restaurant. She stood like an anchor amid the teaming bustle and clanging of heavy china and glass. She had dark but graying hair, thick and wiry. Her straight back exuded authority, but her graciousness extended to her guests. Even now, a frown on her lips deepened while her ebony eyes watched the youthful hostess ignoring new customers and rushing others in an attempt to get her job done.

“Maria,” the signora whispered at the frantic girl. “Slow down. Smile. Be courteous.”

The young woman halted and exhaled. “Thank you, Grand Anna.” Then she moved toward the new guests at a slower pace. Giving them a welcoming smile, she invited them to follow her past Taylor’s table to the back of the room. He recognized the pride in the woman’s eyes as she watched her granddaughter learn the ways of the family.

“Taylor.” An auburn-haired beauty waved a hand in front of his face in an attempt to capture his attention. He spun his head back around and focused on the young woman’s perfectly formed features.

A broad grin covered his face and he stood to embrace his most precious treasure. He covered her hands with his. “Asia, you look beautiful.” He continued to hold her hand as she sat opposite him in the red leather booth. “When did you get in?”

“My plane landed on time, but there was a wait at the car-rental agency.” She leaned over the table and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you.” She smiled and sat back, tucking a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear.

Taylor gazed at her. Asia was 26, beautiful and brilliant. She had achieved her master’s degree in architecture and worked for a major architectural firm in Portland. “Who would have thought our careers would land us in the same area,” he said.

“I know. You are usually on the other side of the world. Now we get to spend a few days together.” She grinned with pleasure.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“An urban renewal program. It’s a great career boost.”

***

Lisa followed her husband’s stare to the attractive young woman who had just arrived and now spoke with the equally arresting man standing to greet her. She called him Taylor.

A quick glance upward revealed that he was a massive man, nearing 6'4", with silver-streaked dark hair and a vibrant grin. Glimpsing their affectionate embrace, Lisa’s heart caught in her throat. Why should that bother me? The answer pierced her. Life was a constant reminder that Thomas’ interest had faded years ago, along with any tenderness he might have had. Pleasing him was impossible.

Stifling a sigh, she grasped for gratitude. Her dreams were coming true, her vision taking shape. Yet, every inch of forward movement had cost her. For years, she had endured heated disputes with Thomas to let her take a part-time job. Only his vanity allowed her to succeed. After a colleague remarked about his control problem, Thomas began to flaunt her, “freedom do whatever she pleases.”

Working as a receptionist at the Verina Fields Real Estate Agency had given her a start. Soon, an opportunity had presented itself, allowing her to participate in a much grander scheme than she could have imagined. However, it was a high-risk proposition and the businessman she dealt with caused her stomach to twist in knots. Hoping for the best, she continued to ignore the red flags. 

She gulped her water, eyes darting toward Thomas. Like a mother bear hiding her cub from its murderous father, she remained vigilant in keeping her activities concealed. He monitored her time, scrutinized her comments. Across the table, his eyes studied her. She hid a nervous swallow and smiled at the waitress heading their way.

Their server placed Varano’s famous pasta in front of her, creating the diversion she needed to push away her dark thoughts. She dipped into the lasagna, bringing the hot, stringy cheese to her mouth. The scent of warm garlic butter wafted up from the breadbasket and filled the air.

While Thomas recapped his day, Lisa caught glimpses of Taylor holding the hand of the beautiful woman. Thomas’ voice hindered Lisa from hearing the whole of the conversation drifting from the next table, but her heart quickened when she heard fragments of Asia talking about the work she was doing. This young professional enjoyed the liberty to share her inspiring work with no pretense. Envy gripped Lisa.

So what? I’m doing what I want. Still, frustration tugged at her lips. She acted behind the scenes, away from the opportunity for others to know her mind and talents. Through the years, Thomas had painted a demeaning portrait of her with their friends. His comments chipped at her self-confidence, but she was proving her worth, week by week.

The blond waitress refilled their water glasses while Thomas related the vivid details of a crash. “We were streaking down the mountain, hit a hairpin turn and, bang, right in front of us lay a downed rider. The guy must have skidded on the gravel. He was in a world of hurt. Our whole group braked, slid our tails back and dodged any way we could.”

Lisa’s head jerked upward as Taylor stepped to their table. “Please excuse my interruption. I’m Steven Taylor from USA Cycle Magazine.” He held out his hand to Thomas.

Lisa studied the face of the stranger. He was attractive—not pretty like a GQ guy, but strong and solid. His manner suggested sophistication, yet he was casual and disarming. Dark lashes highlighted his deep brown eyes, while his large bone structure accentuated his broad nose and ample lips. He glanced at her and she concealed her eyes with a tilt of her head.

Taylor continued. “I overheard your reference to the crash today and am very interested in interviewing you. Could we set up a time to talk?”

Thomas was exuberant as he shook the big man’s hand. “I am Dr. Thomas Richard. I’ll be riding during the day, but we’ll be back here tomorrow night for dinner. Will that work for you?”

“Tomorrow night would be great, if it’s not too imposing on your company.” Taylor’s eyes moved to Lisa.
Her mouth opened to respond, but Thomas cut in. “Not at all. This is my wife, she’ll be fine with it.”

Taylor didn’t acknowledge him. Realizing he was waiting for her response, Lisa answered with a hasty smile, “I’d be pleased to have you and your guest join us.” She glanced over at Asia.

“I’m sorry,” Asia spoke to the group, “but tomorrow I have business to manage, so he’s on his own.”

Thomas looked back at Taylor, “Well then, does 6:00 suit you, Steven?”

“I’ll be here and, please, call me Taylor.” He sat back down with Asia and continued their conversation.
Thomas finished his meal and headed outside to recount the day’s events with his friend and two flirtatious women riders. Lisa glared at him and finished eating alone.

Twenty minutes later, the server brought the check to the table. Lisa glanced out the front window, took out her credit card, and paid the bill. Catching Taylor’s stare, her face reddened. None of this had missed his notice. His eyes searched her face, threatening to expose the mixture of emotions lodged there.

She bristled. What was he looking for? She didn’t need anyone exploring the complexities of her life. Jerking her eyes downward, she left the restaurant, but could feel his gaze follow her. Instantly, she regretted tomorrow’s dinner arrangements.

She drove their tan truck the twenty miles down to the valley with Thomas’ expensive road bike anchored in the back. His animated talk died down as the effects of an eighty-mile ride at altitude drained his body of its last bit of energy.

The curving mountain road soothed her tension. In the distance beyond Bella Vista, she recognized the small cluster of lights that belonged to the town of Tangle Grove. Her heart lifted.

Her thoughts were her own now and she reflected on how far her dream had come. Her family had helped settle this area and played a major part in the history of Tangle Grove. She wanted to be a part of the town’s development into the charming place that befitted its heritage. Thanks to the involvement of the Montebelli Corporation, she could participate in an important way—if the corporation lived up to its promises.

Thomas snorted in his sleep and she jumped. Resentment swelled. He hated anything to do with her family heritage or Tangle Grove. “Just wait,” she whispered under her breath. Tomorrow would be a landmark day in her career. At 9:00 a.m., she would see a miniature model of her dreams—the embodiment of six years of hard work.


Through careful plotting, secrecy, and, unfortunately, lies, she had succeeded in concealing her involvement from Thomas. She gripped the wheel tighter. Even thinking about her ventures this close to him felt precarious. This project was all she had. At any moment, his discovery could lead to her emotional, and financial, sabotage.

About the Author:
Cheryl Colwell began writing fiction in 2007. True to her tagline, "Stunning Suspense," her characters visit stunning locations while they pursue adventurous quests peppered with mystery, suspense, and romance. Cheryl likes to think of her stories as "cozy" suspense - less thriller and more relational.

Passionate about all things creative, Cheryl finds inspiration in the countryside of Ashland, Oregon - the perfect venue for her interests in writing, gardening, and art.

John, her husband, best friend, and chiropractor, keeps her in shape for gardening and writing long into the night. They are delighted to have four unique and talented children and three grandchildren. A smart and playful English Shepherd makes their empty nest a happy place.

Books:
The Proof, published 2014 by Inspired Fiction Books
The Secrets of the Montebellis, published 2013 by Inspired Fiction Books

Friday, February 14, 2014

A Taste of Friday with Janis Cox and Tadeo Turtle


Tadeo Turtle
by Janix Cox

Tadeo Turtle longs to be different. Through an exciting adventure he learns to accept how God has created him.
ISBN: 978-1-77069-695-2
Published: October 2012


Psalm 139:13-14
“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous – how well I know it.”
(New Living Translation)


THE STORY

TADEO loved to laugh and play…

…until he met SAM SQUIRREL one day.

SAMMY loved to climb the trees,
cross the lawns and jump in leaves.

TADEO couldn’t run like that
because a shell was on his back.


His carapace* helped him hide
when he stuck his head inside.

·         Carapace – A hard outer covering or shell


One day TADEO had a dream.

To read the rest of the story please visit Janis’ website, He Cares for Us.

Notes:

This book was an inspiration from our Lord. During one of my daily devotionals the first draft of this story flowed. After edits and re-edits, drawing the pictures and finding a publisher – Tadeo was ready to roll. The name Tadeo has a story behind it.

When I first created Tadeo Turtle his name was Leroy. Then I tried Tommy as I liked the alliteration. However, on my husband’s prompting I searched the Net for possible problems with this name – a conflict occurred. After praying and searching again I checked baby names and found Tadeo – short form of Thaddeus, a disciple of Jesus. It means “praise”. And I did – praise the Lord.



Janis Cox is a faithful follower of Jesus. She is a wife, mother, grandmother, a sister and friend. Married to a wonderful husband they have three grown children who are married; they have six grandchildren and a new one on the way.

She is a writer, watercolour artist and person who always is involved in doing something. She has her fingers in many pies – but all of them are delicious. A friend once told her that she saw a vision of her – with a whole bunch of coloured balloons and she tried to capture each one of them.

As a former public school teacher she loved to write poems for her kids. With this background she has now published her first illustrated children’s book, Tadeo Turtle.

A blogger since 2008, Janis runs a group blog called Under the Cover of Prayer. She is a member of The Word Guild, Inscribe WritersJohn 316 Network and American Christian Writers. Her website is http://www.janiscox.com.

Friday, February 7, 2014

A Taste of Friday with Cheryl Colwell and The Secrets of the Montebellis

Cheryl Colwell












Passionately interested in all things creative, I thrive in Ashland, Oregon. My stories are filled with heart- 
stunning suspense, as ordinary people find supernatural help when plunged into insurmountable circumstances.





The Secrets of the Montebellis
Cheryl Colwell
Inspired Fiction Books
August 30, 2013


Chapter 1

Tension permeated the elegant living room and solidified between them like a rock wall. Smoldering anger darkened Thomas’ expression. Heart pounding, Lisa Richards forced herself to ignore the familiar warning signs and lifted her chin. “Thomas, I need this. I need to do something that’s important to me.”
He rushed at her. She stumbled back, bumping against the wall. The scornful words he spat burned with intimidation. “I provide all of this.” He backhanded the air, just missing her face. “And this is how you repay me?”

She flinched. Repay you? She wanted to scream the words but his glare withered her courage. Dropping her tearing eyes to the plush carpet, she pretended acquiescence. Why? She wondered if her question was why he acted this way or why she put up with his threats.

A quick glance upward caught a smug smile tugging at his lips. He was enjoying this? Heat advanced up her neck and something snapped. She sensed a deep, internal shift in a place she rarely went. Enough. Her hands clenched in unspoken determination. Right or wrong, she would build her dreams. Secretly. Away from his scrutiny.
##
After six years, echoes of that encounter still gripped Lisa’s emotions. A power struggle polluted their life together, invisible as long as she complied. Or appeared to comply. Her fingers absently massaged the tightness behind her breastbone. Even now, this time in the mountain town of Mont Castello should be enjoyable to a married couple, but her heart harbored twenty-nine years of resentment.

She studied the architecture of the restaurant they were approaching as she and Thomas walked in silence. A thin smile of appreciation softened her lips, relaxing the relentless tension. Hand-chiseled stonework gave the building the authentic look of Italy. She climbed the stairs and touched one of the rough timbers that had supported the structure for a century of winters. Embedded in the earth, it claimed as much permanence as the surrounding fir trees, whose roots stretched deep into the rich, dark soil.

A crowd hovered on the porch. Thomas grabbed her hand, pushed in past the waiting customers, and jerked the heavy wooden door open. Avoiding the sea of indignant frowns, Lisa tried to focus on the massive tapestries of Italian street scenes that adorned the amber-toned plaster of the walls.

“I’m Dr. Richards,” Thomas announced, loud enough to turn heads. “I have a reservation. Now.” The distracted young hostess recoiled from his expression, checked her list, and rushed them through the dining room.

As she followed Thomas, an unexpected sight caught Lisa off-guard. Ahead of her sat an extraordinarily attractive man with dark hair and eyes. Intelligent lines distinguished his confident face. He set his glass down and turned to look in her direction. Embarrassed, she closed her mouth and flitted her eyes away.
The hostess seated them at a table situated three feet from the booth of the striking man. Thomas sat down in the chair on the far side, leaving Lisa with the intriguing stranger to her left. Suddenly self-conscious, she was glad when the waitress arrived at their table.

“Would you like to order a drink while you decide?” A lazy southern drawl tinged the woman’s voice.
Lisa opened her mouth to decline, but Thomas cut in. “Sweetheart, bring us a bottle of your best Merlot.”

After watching her husband’s attention follow the curvy waitress, Lisa’s lips tightened and she fixated on the menu. Only once had she expressed her anger at his wandering eyes. He’d twisted her words, leaving her humiliated for imagining he would be unfaithful. She refused to repeat her mistake.
##
Steven Taylor was waiting in a comfortable booth when a loud voice jerked his attention toward the front door of Varano’s restaurant. A pompous man announced himself as Dr. Richards and demanded his table. A lovely woman followed him, looking extremely uncomfortable. Her striking blue eyes caught Taylor’s and darted away. 

He studied her. The summer sun had darkened her olive skin, creating a contrast to the white and orange flowers of her sleeveless blouse. Soft black hair, cut short, accentuated the brightness of her lips. He watched the hostess lead them to a near table. After years of covering news stories and writing investigative reports, Taylor possessed an uncanny insight for reading people. These two seemed at opposite ends of the spectrum.

From his seat, he observed the woman’s profile and the couple’s peculiar interactions. Their waitress asked for a drink order. The woman was about to reply, but the doctor interrupted. Her lips closed without protest and she worked to cover a frown as he gawked at the waitress.

Was this her husband? They appeared to be of similar age—fiftyish. He was clean-cut with salt and pepper hair and an angular jaw. From his sleeveless bicycle jersey, it was obvious he was in town for the three-day bike ride. His small, lean stature and muscled thighs resembled the European riders in the Tour de France.

The doctor downed his first glass of wine and became talkative. He refilled his glass and raised it, “To a great day, Lisa.” She gave him a thin smile, clinked his glass, and sat hers down. Untouched.

So, her name is Lisa and she doesn’t like Merlot, Taylor mused. The name, smart and feminine, fit her looks. The doctor started to describe his ride earlier that day. She nodded at all the right times, but her eyes wandered elsewhere and her delicate fingers toyed with the condensation fogging the outside of her water glass. Taylor shook his head. Relationships were trouble. It was a mystery why people endured them in the first place.

He glanced at a text message on his phone. “First story is where???” His new owner/editor couldn’t resist the opportunity to needle him. They’d tangled on the man’s first day, when he ranted for twenty minutes that Taylor was late for their meeting. By two minutes.

Taking another drink, Taylor lowered his glass and swirled the liquid, replicating the circular motion of bicycle tires. He frowned. Sportswriting for USA Cycle Magazine was his dream job, but with the change in ownership he wasn’t certain what the future held. So far, his manager took the brunt of the insults, encouraging their team of writers that things would eventually settle down. It would be a shame to see the magazine deteriorate.

Since the fiasco with his ex-wife, his job had afforded the diversion he needed, providing great backdrops of cities and towns from which to compose his articles. His first assignment had been the New York Tour. It had been fascinating to watch the cyclists fly past landmark buildings, through streets that were normally jammed with cars.

There had also been trips to the New England countryside when autumn brandished its fiery foliage, and far to the northwest for the Portland Bridge Ride in Oregon. He always took a photographer from the magazine to capture the zest of the events. The portraits of the colorful cyclists crossing the bridges in Portland were extraordinary.

He bit into a piece of garlic bread and glimpsed the pine trees through the front window. Holed up here for the last two days had given him time to explore Mont Castello. He knew that the photographs taken of this area would be even more dramatic.

“No, no, no!” A stern female voice caught Taylor’s attention. By the front door, two red-faced cyclists worked to remove their clipped shoes. Holding onto each other’s shoulders for support, they laughed and swayed precariously until they accomplished their task and walked in socks through the restaurant on the oak floor.

“Hope you have better balance in the saddle,” a friend shouted and slapped one man’s hand with a high five. Laughter rose again while they seated themselves.

Taylor began a draft of his article while he waited at his table:

The Summit Challenge comprises three steep ascents, climbing a total of 22,000 feet. The cyclists will reach heights packed with snow, even in August.

He thumped his pen and recounted the day’s ride, then scribbled:

On day one, riders streaked down, reaching speeds above 40 miles per hour as they navigated the curving road on their descent to the verdant valley below. The sharp, majestic crags rising above the trees were breathtaking, while wide spans of concrete bridges lunged out over whitewater rapids in the giant rivers. The green of the pine forest and red bark of the madrone trees hung behind the circus of colors emblazoned on the rider’s jerseys.

Rereading his notes, he grinned. Not bad.

Varano’s Italian Restaurant was packed. Taylor watched the hungry cyclists devouring pasta, salad, bread—anything to help replace the 3,000 or so calories burned since 5:30 this morning.

His eyes followed Signora Varano, the owner of the restaurant. She stood like an anchor amid the teaming bustle and clanging of heavy china and glass. She had dark but graying hair, thick and wiry. Her straight back exuded authority, but her graciousness extended to her guests. Even now, a frown on her lips deepened while her ebony eyes watched the youthful hostess ignoring new customers and rushing others in an attempt to get her job done.

“Maria,” the signora whispered at the frantic girl. “Slow down. Smile. Be courteous.”

The young woman halted and exhaled. “Thank you, Grand Anna.” Then she moved toward the new guests at a slower pace. Giving them a welcoming smile, she invited them to follow her past Taylor’s table to the back of the room. He recognized the pride in the woman’s eyes as she watched her granddaughter learn the ways of the family.

“Taylor.” An auburn-haired beauty waved a hand in front of his face in an attempt to capture his attention. He spun his head back around and focused on the young woman’s perfectly formed features.
A broad grin covered his face and he stood to embrace his most precious treasure. He covered her hands with his. “Asia, you look beautiful.” He continued to hold her hand as she sat opposite him in the red leather booth. “When did you get in?”

“My plane landed on time, but there was a wait at the car-rental agency.” She leaned over the table and kissed him on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you.” She smiled and sat back, tucking a strand of her long, dark hair behind her ear.

Taylor gazed at her. Asia was 26, beautiful and brilliant. She had achieved her master’s degree in architecture and worked for a major architectural firm in Portland. “Who would have thought our careers would land us in the same area,” he said.

“I know. You are usually on the other side of the world. Now we get to spend a few days together.” 
She grinned with pleasure.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“An urban renewal program. It’s a great career boost.”
##
Lisa followed her husband’s stare to the attractive young woman who had just arrived and now spoke with the equally arresting man standing to greet her. She called him Taylor.

A quick glance upward revealed that he was a massive man, nearing 6'4", with silver-streaked dark hair and a vibrant grin. Glimpsing their affectionate embrace, Lisa’s heart caught in her throat. Why should that bother me? The answer pierced her. Life was a constant reminder that Thomas’ interest had faded years ago, along with any tenderness he might have had. Pleasing him was impossible.

Stifling a sigh, she grasped for gratitude. Her dreams were coming true, her vision taking shape. Yet, every inch of forward movement had cost her. For years, she’d endured heated disputes with Thomas to let her take a part-time job. Only his vanity allowed her to succeed. After a colleague remarked about his control problem, Thomas began to flaunt her, “freedom do whatever she pleases.”

Working as a receptionist at the Verina Fields Real Estate Agency had given her a start. Soon, an opportunity had presented itself, allowing her to participate in a much grander scheme than she could have imagined. However, it was a high-risk proposition and the businessman she dealt with caused her stomach to twist in knots. Hoping for the best, she continued to ignore the red flags. 

She gulped her water, eyes darting toward Thomas. Like a mother bear hiding her cub from its murderous father, she remained vigilant in keeping her activities concealed. He monitored her time, scrutinized her comments. Across the table, his eyes studied her. She hid a nervous swallow and smiled at the waitress heading their way.

Their server placed Varano’s famous pasta in front of her, creating the diversion she needed to push away her dark thoughts. She dipped into the lasagna, bringing the hot, stringy cheese to her mouth. The scent of warm garlic butter wafted up from the breadbasket and filled the air.

While Thomas recapped his day, Lisa caught glimpses of Taylor holding the hand of the beautiful woman. Thomas’ voice hindered Lisa from hearing the whole of the conversation drifting from the next table, but her heart quickened when she heard fragments of Asia talking about the work she was doing. This young professional enjoyed the liberty to share her inspiring work with no pretense. Envy gripped Lisa.

So what? I’m doing what I want. Still, frustration tugged at her lips. She acted behind the scenes, away from the opportunity for others to know her mind and talents. Through the years, Thomas had painted a demeaning portrait of her with their friends. His comments chipped at her self-confidence, but she was proving her worth, week by week.

The blond waitress refilled their water glasses while Thomas related the vivid details of a crash. “We were streaking down the mountain, hit a hairpin turn and, bang, right in front of us lay a downed rider. The guy must have skidded on the gravel. He was in a world of hurt. Our whole group braked, slid our tails back and dodged any way we could.”

Lisa’s head jerked upward as Taylor stepped to their table. “Please excuse my interruption. I’m Steven Taylor from USA Cycle Magazine.” He held out his hand to Thomas.

Lisa studied the face of the stranger. He was attractive—not pretty like a GQ guy, but strong and solid. His manner suggested sophistication, yet he was casual and disarming. Dark lashes highlighted his deep brown eyes, while his large bone structure accentuated his broad nose and ample lips. He glanced at her and she concealed her eyes with a tilt of her head.

Taylor continued. “I overheard your reference to the crash today and am very interested in interviewing you. Could we set up a time to talk?”

Thomas was exuberant as he shook the big man’s hand. “I am Dr. Thomas Richard. I’ll be riding during the day, but we’ll be back here tomorrow night for dinner. Will that work for you?”
“Tomorrow night would be great, if it’s not too imposing on your company.” Taylor’s eyes moved to Lisa.

Her mouth opened to respond, but Thomas cut in. “Not at all. This is my wife, she’ll be fine with it.”
Taylor didn’t acknowledge him. Realizing he was waiting for her response, Lisa answered with a hasty smile, “I’d be pleased to have you and your guest join us.” She glanced over at Asia.


“I’m sorry,” Asia spoke to the group, “but tomorrow I have business to manage, so he’s on his own.”
Thomas looked back at Taylor, “Well then, does 6:00 suit you, Steven?”

“I’ll be here and, please, call me Taylor.” He sat back down with Asia and continued their conversation.
Thomas finished his meal and headed outside to recount the day’s events with his friend and two flirtatious women riders. Lisa glared at him and finished eating alone.

Twenty minutes later, the server brought the check to the table. Lisa glanced out the front window, took out her credit card, and paid the bill. Catching Taylor’s stare, her face reddened. None of this had missed his notice. His eyes searched her face, threatening to expose the mixture of emotions lodged there.

She bristled. What was he looking for? She didn’t need anyone exploring the complexities of her life. Jerking her eyes downward, she left the restaurant, but could feel his gaze follow her. Instantly, she regretted tomorrow’s dinner arrangements.

She drove their tan truck the twenty miles down to the valley with Thomas’ expensive road bike anchored in the back. His animated talk died down as the effects of an eighty-mile ride at altitude drained his body of its last bit of energy.

The curving mountain road soothed her tension. In the distance beyond Bella Vista, she recognized the small cluster of lights that belonged to the town of Tangle Grove. Her heart lifted.

Her thoughts were her own now and she reflected on how far her dream had come. Her family had helped settle this area and played a major part in the history of Tangle Grove. She wanted to be a part of the town’s development into the charming place that befitted its heritage. Thanks to the involvement of the Montebelli Corporation, she could participate in an important way—if the corporation lived up to its promises.

Thomas snorted in his sleep and she jumped. Resentment swelled. He hated anything to do with her family heritage or Tangle Grove. “Just wait,” she whispered under her breath. Tomorrow would be a landmark day in her career. At 9:00 a.m., she would see a miniature model of her dreams—the embodiment of six years of hard work.

Through careful plotting, secrecy, and, unfortunately, lies, she had succeeded in concealing her involvement from Thomas. She gripped the wheel tighter. Even thinking about her ventures this close to him felt precarious. This project was all she had. At any moment, his discovery could lead to her emotional, and financial, sabotage.