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Are you familiar with Home Depots special buys? These remind me of daily deals. They are usually only available one day and there are significant savings.
The Devil’s Tree
by Susan McCauley
Genre: YA Horror
Kaitlyn didn’t believe
in ghosts—not until one killed her boyfriend and
her best friend. Now she must stop the spirit haunting the Devil’s
Tree, or she could be next.
Seventeen-year-old Kaitlyn wants to escape her drunk mama and her trailer park
home life to enjoy a Saturday night off work. Instead, her boyfriend, Hunter,
convinces her to go with him and their best friends, Dylan and
Keisha, to photograph a desolate tree with an evil past. A terrifying
presence chases them from the tree, killing Hunter and Keisha. Left
alive with Dylan, Kaitlyn must struggle with her unexpected romantic
feelings for him, come to terms with her loss, and face being trapped
in a dead-end town. Kaitlyn is desperate to put the past to rest, but
when their friends’ spirits begin haunting them, she and Dylan have
no choice but to seek help from a Catholic priest and attempt to set
the trapped spirits free.
Reviews:
“
Susan McCauley delivers a poignant and frightening tale of love and
redemption against a backdrop of evil, both supernatural and not.
It’s a fast and exciting read filled with demons, ghosts, and
stolen kisses, and it does an excellent job of reminding us that both
revenge and love can be eternal desires. This is one teens and adults
will both enjoy.” ⎯JG Faherty, multiaward- nominated
author of Hellrider, The Cure, and Cemetery Club
“
Evil is not always the only enemy you should fear . . .
Fast-paced and deftly written, with emotional depth from the darkest
of characters, this is a ghost story to savor.”
⎯Peter Adam Salomon, Bram Stoker Award®
nominated novelist, author of All
Those Broken Angels and Eight
Minutes, Thirty-Two Seconds Add to Goodreads Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo
Susan McCauley was born and raised on the gulf coast of Texas, not far from Houston. She spent several years in Los Angeles, California acting, writing, and teaching college English. In 2002, she moved to London to further explore professional theater. While in London, her stage adaptation of Nikolai Gogol’s “The Nose” was performed at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art’s George Bernard Shaw Theatre; and, scenes from her play The Prisoner: Princess Elizabeth were performed at HMS Tower of London. She returned to the U.S. in 2005. In 2007, she was the line producer of the Emmy Award nominated Civil War short film Now & Forever Yours: Letters to an Old Soldier. She has had short stories published in several anthologies, and her short story, “The Cask,” was made into an award winning short film. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Hunter was crumpled against the broken windshield. I reached forward and tried to touch
him. Something dark and wet and sticky covered his skin. Blood. I started crying again. I
scrabbled for my seat-belt buckle, but couldn’t find it. My hands kept groping.
“Dylan? Keisha?”
Dylan moaned, but didn’t answer.
“We gotta get out of the car.” Away from the fumes. Away from whatever was chasing
us.
There. My shaky fingers brushed the buckle and I pushed. The seat belt released me and I
fell onto the smashed windshield next to Hunter. I let my hand graze his cheek. Still warm.
Ragged breathing. Thank God.
I reached for my door. Pushed. Being upside down, it was jammed shut. I aimed my heel-
less shoed feet toward the passenger-side window and kicked. The glass cracked, but stayed
intact. I kicked again and cleared a space, then I twisted around to face the busted-out window
and looked into the backseat. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”
“Keisha.” Dylan shook her bloody shoulder. “Keisha!” He shook her harder. “She’s not
breathing. Kaitlyn, help me!” Panic laced his voice. The smell of gas grew stronger, mingled
with the metallic scent of blood.
“We’ll go around to the other side of the truck to get them out.” I slithered over broken
glass, sharp against my skin.
Dylan stopped, eyes wide. Wild. “What—what if it’s out there?”
Fear congealed in my veins, and I tried to clear my head. “We don’t have a choice,” I
said, sounding way braver than I felt. “We have to get out. Now.” I pulled myself forward, a few
shards of metal slicing my palms and shredding my knees.
Dylan climbed out after me. Blood smeared his pale face; his normally pristine shirt was
torn and dirty.
I crawled around the mangled wreck to Hunter’s door, but Dylan pushed past me and
grabbed Keisha.
Whoosh. A strange sucking wind whipped my hair into my mouth. Salt and blood and
smoke.
I grabbed Dylan under his arms and yanked him backwards. Hard. We both fell, the pain
of the concrete exploding up my tailbone and into my spine.
Boom!
“Hunter!” I screamed and lurched forward, the heat searing my face. My gut twisting in
agony. I crawled toward the twisted, burning heap that had been Hunter’s pride and joy. Tears
burned a cut on my face. My legs ached as I dragged them across the ground.
Then Dylan’s arms were around me. Solid. Real. Alive.
Sirens blared in the distance. Someone must’ve seen. Must’ve called. They were coming.
But they were too late. We were all too late.
A Fresh Restart
by Chelsea Falin
Genre: Contemporary Romance
A sweet contemporary friends-to-lovers romance novella with a
strong dose
of second chance at love and a sweet HEA. No cliffhangers.
(Heat Level: 2 flames.)
Josette Miller and Walker Anderson grew up together in small-
town, Dade City, Florida.
Inseparable during their youth, Josette dreamed of growing up and
moving away. When she left ten years ago, Josette didn’t know how
Walker really felt about her.
But Dade City just wasn’t the same with Josette, and Walker left
shortly after,
regretting he’d never told Josette how he felt. In a twist of fate,
Josette and Walker find themselves moving home within months of each
other. They aren’t kids, anymore, and the attraction this time
around is mutual. Maybe a “Fresh Restart” is just what they
needed to get their happily ever after.
Add to Goodreads Amazon * B&N
Chelsea Falin is the 25 year old independent author of well over ten titles. She began writing with intents to publish in 2006, at age 16, and finally published in 2009, at age 19. Chelsea writes in a variety of genres, including but not limited to: romance, young adult, comedy, cooking, poetry, and dramatic fiction. Professionally, Chelsea is also a freelance blog/article writer, web designer, and book blogger. In her personal life, Chelsea is the mother of a six year old daughter. In her free time, she enjoys reading, writing, fishing, hiking, biking, traveling, and spending time with her friends or family. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads
Walker stretched his back. As his arms reached high up over his head and slightly
back, he let out a great sigh. It’d been a long day already, and the sun was only reaching it’s
noon zenith. He sighed.
“Son? Where are you at?” Walker could hear his father’s voice from near the front of
the old home. He walked towards the sound slowly, ready to sit a minute. He only needed a
minute.
“Here, Daddy. What’s up?” His father shook his head and his gray hair reflected
sunlight.
“Do you ever stop working?” Walker smirked as he father chuckled. “I know there’s
a lot to do, but it doesn’t all have to be done in a week.”
“Yeah, I know it doesn’t. I just want to get it done. It’ll be hanging over my head if I
don’t.” Walker sighed as he looked at the property and house. He shook his head in a way he
knew was an exact imitation of his father. “Still so much to do…” The house hadn’t even
been touched yet. After half a week of ten-hour days, the yard only looked slightly better.
“Yeah, I know.” Walker watched his Daddy’s face grimace. “It’s a damn shame,
really. This place used to be so nice. You remember?”
Walker smiled. “Yeah, Daddy, I do.”
Walker thought about the many weekends he’d spent here growing up. His
grandparents had always kept the property maintained and the home sparkling, no matter that
it had always been no more than a small two-room shack they’d built on over the years.
Walker snorted as he thought about how he and his little brother Dusty had snuck over that
dilapidated fence in the back to go play with the Miller kids. Suddenly, he laughed out loud
so hard tears ran down his face.
His father was looking at him with an eyebrow raised. “What’s so funny, son? You
getting loopy from heat exhaustion or something?”
Walker shook his head. “Daddy, do you remember when Rose was brand new and she
came home? Dusty and I tried to sneak her over the fence to show the Miller kids?” Walker
choked on his laughter. “The look on Momma’s face! My God! I’ll never forget that!”
Daddy started laughing, too. “I don’t know what the hell y’all were thinking, but I
should of known then your sister would have more sense than any of y’all.”
“Hey, whose making all that racket?” A stern voice called out from behind them.
Walker turned, his body tensing through his shoulders as it did when he was
frightened or angry. He wasn’t sure which he felt right now. Walker listened to the sound of
clumping boots for a long minute before a Chestnut brown head moved towards them, stray
hairs flying everywhere. Bright green eyes glinted mischievously in a darkly tanned face
sitting above a tall, lanky body.
“Damnit, Gunner!”
Gunner laughed as he reached Walker and gave him a tight one-armed hug, slapping
him on the back. “I heard you were back in town, you old rascal. Couldn’t quite believe it
until I heard all of that hee-hawing. I’d know that laugh anywhere.”
Walker shook his head. “Yeah, I’m back in town. I’m fixing this old place up,
actually.”
Gunner raised an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm.”
Gunner glanced at his daddy. “Hi, Mr. Anderson. How are you?” Gunner reached out
and shook the older man’s hand.
“I’m just fine, Gunner. Thanks for asking.” Daddy sighed. “I’m actually going to
head home. It was nice seeing you… and, Walker, be sure to make it home for supper. You
know your Momma will pitch a fit if you don’t.” Gunner smiled and nodded in response.
Gunner grinned, eyes twinkling even more mischievously than usual. “Know who
else is back in town?” Walker shook his head. “Josette.”
Walker grinned stupidly, despite his best efforts not to. “Oh yeah? How long is she
stayin’ this time?”
“Permanently.” Gunner continued, “Momma left her and Charlene the house, and
Josette only just decided to stick around. Take care of things. Said she needed another fresh
start, even if it was in an old place.”
The Other Side of Dusk
The Eilan Water Trilogy Book 1
by Cherime MacFarlane
Genre: Historical Romance
The Romans are already there in force. The Antonine Wall stretches from
the firth of Clyde to the firth of Forth. While the Romans pursue conquest on a grand scale, the Scotti
are infiltrating Pictish territory slowly.
Ualan’s people are a mix of Pict and Scott. They face the Romans on one
hand and the Picts on the other. Their hold is tenuous. Things take a terrible turn when Ualan’s someone
kills his mother and sells him into slavery to a Roman woman.
She needs a stud, a young one who won’t challenge the master. Her life
depends
on producing an heir. Ualan hates her and all she stands for. Her plot backfires when an old soldier
mentors the boy. He helps Ualan escape with their son. At home, his troubles are far from over. War with
his Pictish kin looms, and the master seeks the child he declares is his, not Ualan’s.
“A story of kinship, hard men and a constant readiness to face conflict are
key ingredients in this superb story. The romantic interludes are painted with a deft hand and given the
story, I would credit the sexual scenes as ‘hot’, rather than ‘cozy and heartwarming’.5 stars
A tale of the twilight of the Roman Empire. Aed’s dreams of Muirne fill his
heart with yearning. She is his desire, all he hopes for. Sending the message alerted her father and
uncle, but he and Muirne did not part as lovers. He thought to give her hope that he would return. Curse
the land. Curse his kin, she is his heart’s wish. Muirne believes Aed. Come spring, he will come. While
she waits, Muirne must thwart her father and uncle’s plans and avoid her cousin. Grainne’s seduction of
Aed should have earned her a slit throat. Muirne must wait on Aed. All hinges on his ability to evade his
uncle and cousins, snatch Muirne and avoid Grainne. Ualan agreed to go with the bard on a raid to take
the woman from her kin. The two young men set off in a skin boat for Eire. They need a band of warriors
and have only themselves and a determined woman who waits in Eire.Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Smashwords * BookBub
A Wanderer’s Dream
The Eilan Water Trilogy Book 3
She is a prisoner here, but still in the north, far from the fat trader her father
would have bargained her away to. Since she manipulated Aed into bringing her along, she cannot
complain. Things are not as bad as they could be for Grainne until Ualan takes steps to keep her from
his father. Insisting she become the Roman’s woman, Ualan forces them together against all
advice.Roman by citizenship, Berber by birth, smith by choice, Aghilas has exchanged one master for
another. Ualan gave him no choice. Die or submit, he became Ualan’s man. Forced to take Grainne as
his woman, Aghilas is angry and
frustrated.
The Picts of Corda are an ever-present threat. Torcuil, chief of the mixed
band
of Scotti and Pict fears all-out war. While he spirits away more settlers from
Eire, Ualan is in charge of Eilan Water. The chief of the small band hopes more
warriors will equate with victory. Two smiths should help increase the weapons
of war for they will need them.
Meet Cherime MacFarlane, Award Winning, Best-Selling Author. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done-that life. Historical Romance, Contemporary Romance, Science Fiction Fantasy, Paranormal and Inspirational novels, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, Fantasy Anthologies, Short Stories, and Mystery. The Other Side of Dusk, historical romance, was a finalist in the McGrath house awards of 2017. Website * Facebook * Twitter * BookBub * Amazon * Goodreads * Smashwords Two $15 gift cards and Ebooks of the first two in the series!
In the corrie, Sorcha lay with her head supported on Ualan’s left arm. As he leaned over her, his
fingers traced her eyebrows and trailed down to Sorcha’s ear. With her eyes closed, she luxuriated in
Ualan’s touch.
A wave of warm breath was the first indication Sorcha had of the kiss which settled on her mouth.
Slowly, he withdrew, and when her neck arched upward, Ualan buried his face in the hollow of her throat.
His tongue licked across the tops of her breasts. Sorcha couldn’t contain the sigh. His lips nibbled at
the soft skin; it was almost too much. Sorcha found one of his braids and tugged on his head.
When Ualan’s eyes met hers, they held a wicked gleam in the blue depths. He licked his lips. “Yur ah
most tasty morsel. Are ye going tae end this torment soon and allow me tae declare ye mine?”
Ualan deliberately threw one leg over her and pressed against her hip. The man wanted her to know
how hard he was and what he wished to do next. But there were other things she needed to learn.
“Ye’ve never said aught about tha woman who bore Taog.”
The question had come up before, but Ualan did not want to open the pot. He stiffened and lay his
head back down on her chest. “Are ye never going tae let that one lie?”
“I’m nae trying tae open old wounds. Surely ye ken why I need tae hear this.”
Ualan turned away from her. He sat up, pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped both arms around
them. After huffing out a breath, the man looked down at her.
The smile vanished, and his eyes were distant. “Aye. But I’ve never…”
Without finishing what he might have said, Ualan turned away and put his chin on his knees. Sorcha
wiggled close, put her hand under his leine and stroked his bare skin. “I ken.”
“Nae,” he growled out. “Ye have nae idea what ye ask.”
Sorcha pulled her hand away and sat up. “Then ye must tell me. This thing will be ah wall between
us until ‘tis torn down. How can I be yur woman unless I ken all? I’m nae an empty-headed dolt.”
She rose from the grass and dusted off her clothing. “Come now. Walk me back. But ye are tae think
on it. Until ye tell me all of it, there’s nae point in going further.”
As he rose from the ground, Ualan took hold of Sorcha’s forearm and pulled her against him. “Ye are
far tae hard of head. Give way. I’ll tell ye; it will take time. I’ve said naught to anyone. Afore I do, there
will be things I ask of ye.”
His whole body was rigid. “Assurances mayhap?”
“Aye.”
“Well, be sure of this, I’ve nae found another lad I wanted. Let’s go back. ‘Tis getting late. Taog
needs his supper, as does his da.”
“His da is hungry for something other than food. One hard-head of ah woman is going tae cause my
balls tae swell and mayhap burst.”
Ualan was trying to lighten the mood. Sorcha decided to allow it. It seemed he had endured enough
this evening. She felt grateful Ualan did not insist and attempt to take what she withheld. “Poor man! Sore
put upon are ye? Perhaps we should forgo ah walk tomorrow. Were yur sack tae burst, how might ye
walk?”
“Ye are ah mean wench. A bit heartless and somewhat cruel in tha bargain.”
“And Ualan is ah bairn, and ah grasping one at that.” Sorcha pulled away from him and took off at a
run down the trail. Ualan stayed right behind her. He could catch her if it pleased him. But didn’t do so
until they were almost to the clearing.
Ualan pulled her into his embrace, put both hands on her bottom and held Sorcha tight against him.
“Dinnae drive me tae far up ah tree. If I lose my mind, it will be yur fault.”
With a grin, Sorcha ran her finger over his lips. “If ye lose it, then I will help ye find tha thing. Now,
let be. Get yur laddie and go along. ‘Tis late.”
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