What Heals the Heart Book Tour & Giveaway

What Heals the Heart Cowbird Creek Book 1 by Karen A. Wyle Genre: Western Historical Romance

Joshua Gibbs survived the Civil War, building on his wartime experiences to become a small town doctor. And if he wakes from nightmares more often than he would like, only his dog Major is there to know it. Then two newcomers arrive in Cowbird Creek: Clara Brook, a plain-speaking and yet enigmatic farmer’s daughter, and Freida Blum, an elderly Jewish widow from New York. Freida knows just what Joshua needs: a bride. But it shouldn’t be Clara Brook! Joshua tries everything he can think of to discourage Freida’s efforts, including a wager: if he can find Freida a husband, she’ll stop trying to find him a wife. Will either matchmaker succeed? Or is it Clara, despite her own scars, who can heal the doctor’s troubled heart? Add to GoodreadsAmazon * B&N

Karen A. Wyle was born a Connecticut Yankee, but eventually settled in Bloomington, Indiana, home of Indiana University. She now considers herself a Hoosier. Wyle’s childhood ambition was to be the youngest ever published novelist. While writing her first novel at age 10, she was mortified to learn that some British upstart had beaten her to the goal at age 9. Wyle is an appellate attorney, photographer, political junkie, and mother of two daughters. Her voice is the product of almost five decades of reading both literary and genre fiction. It is no doubt also influenced, although she hopes not fatally tainted, by her years of law practice. Her personal history has led her to focus on often-intertwined themes of family, communication, the impossibility of controlling events, and the persistence of unfinished business. Author Links Website * Blog * Facebook * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads * Smashwords * Newsletter

Excerpt from Chapter 2 of
What Heals the Heart
“Boot blacking, coffee, cornmeal, flour, soap. Put it on your tab?”
“Thank you kindly.” The suggestion would, in fact, save him some embarrassment. His patients had lately
been paying in roast chickens, bacon, cream, potatoes, even horseshoes — all welcome and useful items, but it
left him short of coin.
“And you’ve got a letter.”
This would take some juggling. Joshua picked up the envelope first, opening it and extracting the letter,
tucking the envelope into his vest and laying the letter on the counter. Next, he grabbed the sack full of
supplies in his left hand and picked up the letter in his right. That left him without a way to tip his hat, so he
nodded his goodbye and walked out, glancing at the letter as he went. Major, idling in the street, jumped up to
follow.
Joshua knew he had not been a satisfactory correspondent. The last letter to his mother in which he had
mentioned anything of actual importance had been the letter he sent on his way west, trying to explain why he
had felt compelled to leave his family and his home so far behind. Even as he sent that letter on its way, he had
known it would fail in its mission. What he had been unable to say to her face, he had been equally unable to
put into words on paper. Either would have required that he call to mind, and then stain her memory forever
by recounting, the life he had lived as a soldier and a medic. Without that understanding, how could she
understand how unreal and hollow the civilized life of Philadelphia had become for him?
His mother still wrote every two weeks, however, and he’d been awaiting her latest for several days. Now he
saw what had kept her busy. His middle sister’s baby had come — except it was twins! A boy and a girl. He
could imagine his younger and oldest sisters knitting madly to deal with the surprise.
As for his father — what? He was writing a book?
Joshua had been paying just enough attention to where he was going that he didn’t trip on the planks in the
street or walk in front of any horses. But not enough, it turned out, to avoid walking smack into someone. He
started backward, dropping his sack, and stammered apologies, while Major added to the confusion by circling
the scene and barking loudly.
His victim, Joshua realized, was the tall green-eyed woman he had seen in the street the day he first met Mrs.
Blum. She had managed to stay on her feet and now stooped to help him retrieve his groceries, whisking them
away from Major’s investigative sniffing. Her hands looked strong, with long fingers; it took her almost no
time to fill his sack again. She stood up, neither smiling nor frowning, and handed him the sack. “I hope that
isn’t bad news in your hand.”
He tried to pull himself together enough to answer her. “Uh, no, not bad news. Just news. Babies. Two of
them. That is, my sister just had twins.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Congratulations to your sister! I’m sure she’ll cope splendidly.”
An interesting way to put it. Was she speaking from experience, and if so, her own or someone else’s?
Manners! What would his mother — or for that matter, Freida Blum — say? “I beg your pardon. I’m Joshua
Gibbs.”
The woman tilted her head slightly and nodded in what might, unlikely as it seemed, be approval. “The doctor.
I’ve heard of you. People speak well of you.”

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