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Thursday, April 3, 2025

Spotlight: Excerpt from The Keeper of Lonely Spirits by E.M. Anderson

 


Author:
E.M. Anderson
Publication Date: March 25, 2025
ISBN: 9780778368526
MIRA Hardcover 

For fans of UNDER THE WHISPERING DOOR by T.J. Klune, the sweet comfort of THE VERY SECRET SOCIETY OF IRREGULAR WITCHES is combined with the endearing grump of A MAN CALLED OVE, in this cozy fantasy about an immortal ghost hunter who must forgive himself for his tragic past in order to embrace his found family.
 
In this mesmerizing, wonderfully moving queer cozy fantasy, an immortal ghost hunter must confront his tragic past in order to embrace his found family.
 
Find an angry spirit. Send it on its way before it causes trouble. Leave before anyone learns his name.
 
After over two hundred years, Peter Shaughnessy is ready to die and end this cycle. But thanks to a youthful encounter with one o’ them folk in his native Ireland, he can’t. Instead, he’s cursed to wander eternally far from home, with the ability to see ghosts and talk to plants.
 
Immortality means Peter has lost everyone he’s ever loved. And so he centers his life on the dead—until his wandering brings him to Harrington, Ohio. As he searches for a vengeful spirit, Peter’s drawn into the townsfolk’s lives, homes and troubles. For the first time in over a century, he wants something other than death.
 
But the people of Harrington will die someday. And he won’t.
 
As Harrington buckles under the weight of the supernatural, the ghost hunt pits Peter’s well-being against that of his new friends and the man he’s falling for. If he stays, he risks heartbreak. If he leaves, he risks their lives.

 
Buy Links:
HarperCollins  
Amazon
Barnes & Noble 
Bookshop.org
 

Excerpt:

I

A spirit was lurking in the stairwell of the historic steps on Savannah’s waterfront. 

For months, the steps had been even more treacherous than usual. Not only tourists but folks who had lived in Savannah all their lives had slipped going up or down—skinned knees, scraped hands, laughed nervously and said they must have missed a stair or misjudged the height. A few accused friends of pushing them, but said friends vehemently denied it, accusing the accusers of clumsiness in turn. 

At last, a tourist had broken a leg and threatened to sue the city. Never mind the signs at either end, warning users the steps were historical and therefore not up to code. The signs probably would have prevented the success of such a lawsuit, but the city, tired of complaints, hung caution tape across the stairwell, and closure signs for good measure, and turned their attention to other things. 

Unbeknownst to them, the unassuming old white man standing before the steps in the wee hours of a mild April morning hoped to solve their problem before the sun rose. 

He didn’t look like a ghost-hunter. He was tall and thin, with blue eyes, a hawkish nose, and thin lips that rarely smiled. Just now, a messenger bag was slung over his shoulder. Dressed in flannel, jeans, and work boots, he looked like a farmer—which he wasn’t but had been in his boyhood some two centuries ago. 

Now he was a groundskeeper. At Colonial Park Cemetery for the present, but not for much longer if all went well this morning. 

He thumbed up the brim of his flat cap, contemplating the stairwell and the spirit therein. No corporeal form, but a haze of color and smell and emotion, a rotted greenish brown that smelled like Georgia’s coastal salt marshes but more. The whole stairwell was mucky with fear. Windows rattled in the buildings on either side. 

The groundskeeper glanced down the street, saw no one, lifted the caution tape and stepped under it. 

A cloud of fear enveloped him. Rot oozed on his tongue, a phantom feeling of sludge. When he’d been young and freshly cursed, the spirits’ swell of emotion had overwhelmed him. He’d drowned in it, unable to separate the feelings of the dead from his own. They’d scared him, the feelings. The voices, not that they were precisely voices. For decades, he’d avoided them when he could, ignored them when he couldn’t. Even Jack had never known about them. 

These days, the dead comforted him: company he didn’t fear losing and never got to know too well. The closest to death he ever came. A reason for him to live, if there were a reason when life had been too long already. 

Of course, there was the curse. But the curse wasn’t a reason to live so much as the thing keeping him alive. 

The windows rattled harder. The rusting metal handrail in the center of the steps groaned. 

The groundskeeper sucked in his cheeks, hoping he at last had good information. He’d spotted the spirit right off, soon as he’d visited the east end of River Street, but he’d had a devilish time finding anything out about it. When his usual hunt through libraries and newspapers failed him, he’d resorted to riding around with the tourists on three of Savannah’s many ghost tours. The last had set him on the right track, after two hours on a cramped trolley beside an Ohio teen who never once let up complaining. 

This ghost tour was nothing, the teen had said. He’d spent loads of time in the cemetery back home, and it was way scarier. He’d seen ghosts at home. He’d thought they were going to see one on the tour, too, and didn’t their guide have any better ghost stories? 

The groundskeeper, of course, had actually seen several spirits on the tour. But in the absence of anyone under age twelve, he was the only one. As the trolley bumped over the cobbles, tilting alarmingly on the steep ramp down to River Street, the tourists saw the still water, the three-story riverboat Georgia Queen docked alongside the quay, the dark windows of the nineteenth-century storefronts lining the near side of the street. The groundskeeper saw the dead. 

Most ghost tours—most ghost stories—were largely hogwash, but they often contained nuggets of truth. In this case, the guide had told the tragic tale of two tween girls who had disappeared less than a year ago. The police had barely bothered looking for them; the disappearance had never been solved. Their ghosts had allegedly been spotted over a dozen times in the last six months, always on the waterfront: they’d ask strangers for help, only to vanish when people tried to take a closer look. Hogwash—partly. The spirit in the stairwell was a newer one, young and scared, so the groundskeeper had investigated any disappearances reported in Savannah in the past year. In a newspaper article dated nine months back, he’d found a small paragraph mentioning the disappearance of two tween girls and instructing anyone with information to go to the police. Less than a week later, one girl had been found, traumatized but alive, at which point all information about the incident had dried up. The other girl, the groundskeeper reckoned, had never been found and was likely dead. 

What there were of the spirit’s memories fit such a story. It remembered neither life nor death, only the confused terror of its last moments. The clearest glimpse the groundskeeper had gotten was the frightened face of a girl: the one who’d been found. This, then, might well be the girl who hadn’t. 

He’d returned to the waterfront this morning to find out. To send her on, if he could, into whatever awaited in the hereafter, before she did something worse than break a tourist’s leg. 

“Layla Brown,” he said. 

The spirit twisted toward him. He let out a soft breath. Finally. The right name. A name alone often wasn’t enough to calm a spirit, but names had power, his mam had always said. This spirit’s name had been buried nearly as deep as his own: Peter Shaughnessy, a name no one now living knew and the last connection he had—aside from an old pocket watch—to his family and the place he’d been born and raised and cursed. 

“Layla Brown,” he repeated more forcefully. 

The spirit shuddered. The nearest window splintered. 

“Sure, there’s no need for that. Ain’t here to bother you none. Here to help, is all.” 

She hung over him like a storm cloud. His heart stuttered, but he reassured himself that she couldn’t touch him. His messenger bag was filled with iron, salt, yellow flowers, various herbs. 

She could bust a window over his head, though. If she was stronger than he thought, she could whip up a wind that’d send him tumbling down the steps, same as if she’d pushed him herself. 

“Died bad, it seems,” he said softly. “Never found. That right?” The rot soured, her fear tinged with regret. She wasn’t strong enough to take form, but a faint whisper echoed in his ears. Even that much took more power than most ghosts had, but speech took less than corporeality. 

Keisha. 

And he knew what she wanted. 

“They found Keisha,” he said. “Whatever happened to you, she didn’t share in it.” 

The spirit wheeled and shifted. Wind moaned, ruffling his shirt and the caution tape behind him. Images flashed before his eyes like a slideshow. That same frightened face he’d seen before: Keisha. A rough hand gripping a thin wrist. The steps, slick with rain. A sudden burst of pain in her temple, a scream, sneakers squeaking. Then, nothing. 

She was remembering her death. 

The wind howled in the stairwell. The groundskeeper slipped, gripped the shaking handrail. Shivered, blinked the images away before they could overwhelm him. 

“Layla!” he shouted. “Layla Brown!” 

A window shattered. The groundskeeper ducked, hoping the building was empty at this hour. Glass rained on his cap. She’d gripped onto his words about what had happened to her, same as she’d held tight to her fear the past nine months. If he didn’t remind her of something else soon, there’d be no calming her. 

He dug into his messenger bag, searching for the beaded bracelet he’d stashed there yesterday afternoon. He hadn’t wanted to use it, if he didn’t have to, aware of its importance and concerned so small a thing might be destroyed or lost in the confrontation. 

“Layla Brown,” he repeated, more forcefully than ever as the wind threatened to swallow his voice. The caution tape fluttered, ripped itself from its fastenings, and blew away. “Look here.” 

He thrust the bracelet out. 

The wind died. The windows stopped rattling. The handrail stilled. A thin, butter-yellow strand of affection threaded through the greenish brown of the spirit’s fear. 

A new memory emerged. Two girls, younger, maybe ten or so, singing loudly and off-key to a pop song as they braided embroidery floss into friendship bracelets. They shouted out the chorus and fell giggling to the ground, pelting each other with lettered beads. 

The bracelet in the groundskeeper’s hand was grubbier now. The embroidery floss was fraying; the lettering on one of the beads had worn away. But it was still legible. 

Best friends 4ever. 

Keisha Adeyemi had tied it to a fence post during the candlelight vigil for Layla Brown held outside their middle school not two days ago. 

“Keisha’s all right,” the groundskeeper said. “Newspaper didn’t say much but that she’d been found, but she left that for you.” 

The spirit softened. The rotten fearful smell lessened, the feeling of sludge on his tongue with it. He breathed deep. Used to it, he was, after dealing with the dead for so long, but it was a relief nonetheless when they calmed down. 

“She’s all right,” he repeated. “But you been scaring people— hurt some of ’em, too. Aye, you have.” 

She rattled a window, not as vigorously as before, annoyed with the accusation. She’d never hurt anyone in her life, she insisted. 

“In life, maybe not. Now you have. Best for you and everyone else if you let go of all that fear and move on, now you know Keisha’s all right.” 

The handrail groaned, swaying back and forth. The nearest support rattled, then ripped out of the ground, bending the rail and leaving a crack behind. For a moment, he thought he was losing her again. 

Then the shaking stopped. 

Eyeing the ghost, the groundskeeper bent to examine the crack. Wedged into the stone was a friendship bracelet matching the one in his hand. More of the lettering was worn away; the braiding was frayed and broken. The groundskeeper plucked it carefully from the stone with a handkerchief, like it was made of diamonds and pearls instead of embroidery floss and plastic beads. The spirit sighed around him. 

“This one’s yours, is it?” She confirmed it. He hesitated. “You understand,” he said, “likely they won’t find who done this to you even if I send it along.” 

She agreed, going gray like the Spanish moss draping Savannah’s many live oaks. Not scared, now. Just sad and regretful, wishing she weren’t dead. 

The groundskeeper ignored that particular wish. His own wants, to the extent he allowed himself any, tended the opposite way. He empathized with the dead, understood them. But he envied them, too. 

“No helping that, now. I’ll make sure whoever you want to have it gets it. Promise. But you got to let go. All right?” 

She twisted over the twin bracelets in his hands, faintly yellow again. Glad to know her friend was okay, if nothing else. 

He wished he could do more for her. Spirits of children were his least favorites. Not because of the spirits themselves—they were no worse, nor better, than any others. He just didn’t like knowing how young they’d died, and so often terribly. 

“Tell me about Keisha,” he said. 

She didn’t speak, of course. Instead, she shared memories. Two girls on the swing set, daring each other to jump off the higher they flew. Painting each other’s nails in a bright purple bedroom. Holding hands, skipping home from school in the rain. In every memory, both of them, together. 

The groundskeeper’s insides twisted. It’d been a long time since he’d been that close with anyone. He said nothing, did nothing, merely stood as silent witness to the ghost’s memories of the friend she was leaving behind. 

The spirit glowed softly gold, shimmering like morning mist. 

As the memories faded, she faded alongside them, until at last she winked out. 

The stairwell was dark and empty, the air clear. Layla Brown’s fear had gone along with her. 

The groundskeeper breathed deep, feeling like a weight had lifted off him. For a moment, he was satisfied. Another spirit sent on, at peace now, he hoped. Living folks saved further trouble, even if none of them realized it. 

Then he looked at the bent handrail, the busted support, the shattered glass, and he sighed. Easier to deal with a haunting’s aftermath when the spirit was confined to a cemetery, where there was less to destroy and destruction could more easily be explained by natural phenomenon. 

He stuck the support back in the stone and reattached the rail, swept the glass to the side. He found the caution tape a ways down the street. Best he could, he hung it back across the stairwell’s entrance before trudging uphill and uptown to tie the two friendship bracelets back on the fence by the school.


Excerpted from THE KEEPER OF LONELY SPIRITS by E.M. Anderson. Copyright © 2025 by E.M. Anderson. Published by MIRA, an imprint of HTP/HarperCollins.



Author Bio: 


E.M. Anderson (she/they) is a queer, neurodivergent writer and the author of The Remarkable Retirement of Edna Fisher. Her work has appeared in SJ Whitby’s Awakenings: A Cute Mutants Anthology, Wyldblood Press's From the Depths: A Fantasy Anthology, and Dark Horses: The Magazine of Weird Fiction. They have two master’s degrees and a feral passion for trees, birds, pole fitness, and Uncle Iroh. You can find them on Instagram, BlueSky, and Tumblr at @elizmanderson.

Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Release Blitz: Excerpt from Ranger by Aubree Valentine

 


Pregnant with their second child, Fallon Addington is mourning the loss of her husband, Kevin, while trying to maintain the ranch he loved. When Kevin’s best friend, Beckett Ivan, shows up on her doorstep, insisting on giving her a hand, Fallon is determined to avoid him at all costs—that is until she sees past what’s on the surface and realizes that Beckett needs her more than he’s let on. They say time heals all wounds but when Beckett’s time stateside is up, will Fallon be in for another broken heart? Readers who enjoy Yellowstone and Heartland will fall in love with Ranger by Aubree Valentine, a small-town, second-chance romance.
 

Add to Goodreads Here!

 
Buy Now At Your Favorite Retailers!
 
A war-torn soldier and heartbroken widow.
Beckett Ivan has seen things that most people cannot even begin to imagine.
He’s lost friends that were more like family, and he’s witnessed unspeakable things happen to innocent people.
With a broken spirit, he’s headed back to Indiana, where his best friend’s widow is alone.
He promised Kevin that if he made it back home, he’d see to it that she was taken care of, and that’s what he intends to do.
What he hadn’t planned on was falling in love…
Fallon Addington was mourning the greatest loss of her lifetime. While trying to help maintain the ranch her late husband loved so much.
Pregnant with their second child, she’s barely got the energy to keep it together most days—that is until Kevin's best friend, Beckett, shows up on her doorstep, insisting on giving her a hand.
A daily reminder of all Kevin was, Fallon is determined to avoid the soldier who’s taken up residence in the barn loft.
All too soon though, she begins to see past what’s on the surface and realizes that Beckett needs her more than he’s let on.
With a little help from her favorite horse, Ranger, the two are forced to work through their grief together.
They say time heals all wounds but what happens when Beckett’s time stateside is up? Is Fallon in for another heartache or does fate have different plans for the man who’s taught her how to love again?
Readers who like Yellowstone and Heartland will enjoy this second chance at love story featuring a headstrong widow and the soldier who captures her heart in an unexpected way. Their story is one filled with it's fair share of heartbreak and triumphant beauty.
 
 
 
Excerpt
Copyright 2025, Aubree Valentine
 
Beckett’s tires squealed as he pulled up in front of the hospital entrance. His best friend’s wife was in labor.
And Kevin wasn’t here to see it.
That all too familiar grief hit him again.
Fuck.
It didn’t help that he’d been stumbling around awkwardly ever since their encounter that knocked him so far off kilter that he couldn’t remember which way was up.
He jumped out of his truck and tossed the keys to the hospital Valet.
“Sir!” the valet called after him.
“My..she’s…in labor!” Beckett yelled back, not slowing down. 
“You’ll need this,” the Valet caught up to him and handed him a key tag that he’d need to claim his truck later.
“Thanks,” he grumbled back.
The older lady at the security desk took longer than he would have liked to take his license and give him a pass that would allow him onto the Labor and Delivery floor.
He skipped the elevators and took the stairs instead, ignoring the pain in his knee with every step he climbed.
Following the instructions from the lady in the lobby, he pressed the badge to the scanner near the door. As soon as they opened enough for him to slip through he did.
Kevin’s family greeted him with warm smiles and excited hugs.
“Where’s Garrison?” he asked, looking around the room.
“Still in school. Aiden’s going to pick him up and keep an eye on him until Fallon’s ready for visitors,” William, Kevin’s father, answered.
Beckett nodded, trying to catch his breath.
“Have a seat, son,” Neville, Kevin’s grandfather, said as he patted him on the back. “We’re going to be here a while.”
He sat and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees to catch his breath. “Did anyone call Fallon’s parents?”
Harriett shook her head. “She asked us not to.”
Beckett snorted. He didn’t blame her. Fallon’s mother was a handful on a good day. And a bitch if she was having a bad day. The woman had been a complete nightmare when she was in town for Kevin’s funeral. So much so that Fallon kicked her out after she decided to pick a fight about Garrison, calling the boy a spoiled brat.
He’d never hit a woman, or his elders. But he might make an exception for that one.
“Lindsey said you’ve been helping out Fallon while she’s on bedrest. Taking care of Garrison, making sure the kid gets to school and everything,” William said, nonchalantly.
“Yeah, I…I um…” Did they know about what happened two weeks ago, too? “I had some things I needed to take care of today. Lindsey was on the way over with lunch so Fallon said she would be fine when I left the house to go run errands. I wouldn’t have left her otherwise,” he explained,  suddenly feeling the need to defend himself.
He probably could have tapped out all together after what happened but who else could be there for her?
All of the Addingtons had full-time jobs and a ranch to tend to.
Fallon’s parents were out of the question.
That left Beckett to suck it the fuck up and keep his promises…and stop thinking about the way Fallon came undone.
“Hey. You don’t need to defend yourself. Lindsey was with her. I was merely going to thank you for taking care of her,” William told Beckett. “It’s not easy for her to ask for help. Kevin used to tell us that all the time. We’re glad you’ve stuck around and she’s got someone in her corner.”
He sighed in relief. “Thanks, William. I appreciate that. I owe Kevin, and Fallon, a lot.”
“Pretty sure you wiped the slate on any debts you owed them a long time ago,” Neville chuckled.
Garrett stayed quiet but eyed him with a knowing glance.
“Listen, Beckett,” Neville cleared his throat. “There’s something that Fallon mentioned…”
Before he could finish his sentence, Lindsey walked into the waiting room.
Beckett was the first one to notice her and immediately jumped out of his seat. “How is she?”
Lindsay grinned. “Almost ready to push, but she’s asking for you.”
“Me?” Beckett looked around to gauge everyone’s reaction. No one protested or scowled.
William stood and clapped him on the back, “If she’s asking for you, then you better get going.

 

 
About Aubree Valentine


Aubree Valentine is a masterful storyteller who weaves tales of passion, heartbreak, and happily-ever-afters that leave readers swooning and coming back for more. A hopeless romantic at heart, Aubree channels her boundless imagination and appreciation for the complexities of romance into every book she writes. Her characters are as real as they are irresistible—flawed, relatable, and unforgettable—taking readers on journeys filled with sizzling chemistry, emotional twists, and moments that tug at the heartstrings. Whether it’s a steamy small-town romance or a friends-to-lovers tale, Aubree’s stories always promise: love, laughter and happily ever after. When she’s not penning her next novel, Aubree can be found binge-reading romance novels, borrowing her husband’s power tools for some over the top project, or spending quality time with her family and their fur babies. Connect with Aubree Valentine on social media, through her website, or sign up for her newsletter to stay up-to-date on new releases, exclusive content, and behind-the-scenes glimpses into her writing
 
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Monday, March 31, 2025

Review: The Two of Us by Lori Foster & Maisey Yates

Author: Lori Foster & Maisey Yates
Publisher: Kensington
Date of publication: March 2025

There’s nothing like the unconditional love of a rescue dog and their ability to bring people together as these meant-to-be-couples are about to find out in these brand-new sweet and romantic tales from bestselling authors Lori Foster and Maisey Yates.

The Odd Couple * LORI FOSTER
Ford Caruso agrees to an unusual favor—playing the part of new boyfriend for his adamantly single, irresistibly sexy neighbor Skye Fairchild, whose clueless ex refuses to accept his fate. But as Skye starts dropping by to use Ford’s pool, and even plan dates, the charade begins to feel satisfyingly real, complete with choosing rescue dogs together—a giant mutt and a fierce little chihuahua who adore each other. From one odd couple to another, some things are destined . . .
 
Force of Nature * MAISEY YATES
Rescuing animals is in Lydia Clay’s blood, so when a mournful old cattle dog named Hank shows up at the shelter, she knows exactly where to take to cattle rancher Remington Lane, her brother’s hot, and usually grumpy, best friend. Hank belonged to Remy’s estranged father, which is one strike against him, but when Lydia offers to help the man ease into dog ownership, he can’t say no. And as he and Lydia work together, it looks like an old dog can actually teach this brooding cattleman some heart-warming new tricks . . .

The Two of Us is the latest benefit book out by Lori Foster and Maisey Yates.  It contains two of the sweetest stories.  Of the two, "The Odd Couple" was most definitely my favorite.  I loved watching Ford and Skye fall for each other.  Ford was set in his routine of sales and friends when his neighbor asks for a favor. Skye wasn't looking for a relationship, she just needed someone to deal with her ex.  Add in two adorable dogs and you have a love match.  Ford's friends were a lot of fun.  I will have to seek out the other benefit stories that they are featured in to find out how they found their happy endings.  

"Force of Nature" was a sweet friends to lovers story.  It was a little slow for me but at least is was short.  Because they had history their love story was very smooth.  I was happy that Remy didn't stay too in his doubt and finally realize he was good enough for Lydia.  There is something for everyone in this anthology. I highly recommend it.





Thursday, March 27, 2025

Review: Run, Little Bunny by Serena Pier

Author: Serena Pier

Audible: https://bit.ly/41yUevn 
Amazon: https://bit.ly/3EYMBp4 
Apple: https://bit.ly/4kzlHVf 

 
Narrated by: Corvin King and Nikki Grey
 
Easter isn’t exactly the hottest of holidays—nevertheless, it took a giant bunny costume for Anna Clark to finally notice the perfect guy who’s been right under her nose this whole time.
 
After a playful encounter at Lake Geneva’s annual Easter egg hunt, Anna finds herself flirting with a mysterious man in a bunny mask at High Five, the local bar in her Wisconsin hometown. But when she discovers the bunny is none other than Chad Braun—a regular at the restaurant where she works—everything changes.
 
Chad’s always kept his distance, hesitant because Anna’s barely twenty-two and he's thirty-four. But behind the safety of the mask, he gives in to their undeniable connection. Soon, their flirtatious dares and witty exchanges take them on an unexpected journey filled with sparks, laughter, and chemistry.
 
Run Little Bunny is a fun, steamy novella about finding love in unexpected places and embracing the thrill of new possibilities
 
(This is Book #4 in the interconnected High Five Novella series. While it's encouraged to read Santa’s Coming, Cupid’s Shot, and Shamrock Kisses, each book stands alone.)



My thoughts:

  Run, Little Bunny is the 4th novella in the High Five Novella series.  Out of the 4 I have read, this one is unfortunately my least favorite.  I thought the first half of the story was adorable.  I was enjoying watching Anna and Chad flirt with each other.  Then the story got really weird and I was not into it.  I'm not really into dark romances and having this adorable coupe talk about and act out kidnapping and pretend almost rape scenarios was creepy and not my taste.  I mean I guess it made sense since Ann was into that type of romance, but I'm not.  The mask was weird too.  This one just wasn't for me.




 About the author:

Writing under the pen name Serena Pier is a wine lover, coffee snob, and wife. With Midwestern roots, her stories are primarily set in and around Chicago. Serena is deeply fascinated by power dynamics; her stories always explore unequal social status.
 
Connect with Serena
Website: https://www.serenapier.com/ 
Goodreads: https://bit.ly/4jSF23h 
Amazon: https://bit.ly/41e1UmG 
Instagram: instagram.com/serenapierwrites 
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@serenapierwrites

Wednesday, March 26, 2025

Blog Tour: Review of Murder in the Appalachians by Susan Furlong

Murder in the Appalachians by Susan Furlong Banner

MURDER IN THE APPALACHIANS

by Susan Furlong

March 17 - April 25, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Murder in the Appalachians by Susan Furlong

On the run in the mountains…
with a killer on their trail.

After unearthing secrets from her late brother’s police notebook, journalist Emma Hayes discovers his death was no accident—he was murdered. Only someone doesn’t want Emma to find out the connection to the cold case her brother was investigating…and they’ll kill to keep it that way. Now Emma must rely on local ER doctor Logan Greer to help her stay alive and follow a trail of elusive evidence. But as they unravel a conspiracy, they realize that the killer could be anyone hiding in the mountains…

Book Details:

Genre: Love Inspired Suspense - Romantic Suspense
Published by: Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense
Publication Date: April 1, 2025
Number of Pages: 206
ISBN: 9781335980533 (ISBN10: 1335980539)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Harlequin

 My thoughts:

Murder in the Appalachians is an action packed mystery with a sweet romance in it as well.  Emma is convinced that her brother's death had more behind it than the police were letting on. Logan, the doctor who literally saved her, knew he had to help her find the truth. There were so much action in this that it was hard to put the book down.  I wanted to know what happened next.  The mystery was hard to figure out and I loved that.  Emma and Logan were perfect for each other.  They both were able to both get closure in multiple ways.  I also loved Logan's relationship with his sister Rachel.  I highly recommend this one.



Author Bio:

Susan Furlong

Susan Furlong grew up in North Dakota where she spent long winters at her local library scouring the shelves for mysteries to read. Now, she lives in Illinois with her husband and children and writes mysteries of all types. She has over a dozen published novels and her work has earned a spot in the New York Times list of top crime fiction books of the year. When not writing, she volunteers at her church and spends time hiking and fishing.

Catch Up With Susan Furlong:

www.SusanFurlong.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @SusanFurlongAuthor
Instagram - @susanfurlong
Threads - @susanfurlong
X - @Furlong_Sue
Facebook - @SusanFurlongAuthor
Pinterest - @S_FurlongAuthor

 

 

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Sunday, March 23, 2025

Spotlight: Excerpt from One in a Million by Beverly Kendall

 


Author:
Beverley Kendall
Publication Date: March 18, 2025
ISBN: 9781525830327
Format: Trade Paperback
Publisher: Harlequin Trade Publishing / Canary Street Press
Price $18.99

She's got everything planned--including when she'll have kids. Until something completely unplanned turns her world upside down.
World-famous Whitney "Sahara" Richardson is at the top of her game. With four Grammys, an Oscar nod, and a billion-dollar clothing line, her career is skyrocketing. Even her headline-grabbing dating life is looking up. And if everything goes as planned, marriage and children are just a few years away--and they will come in that order.
That is...until a mix-up at the fertility clinic where her eggs are stored puts the cart before the horse. Oops. Whitney suddenly has a daughter...whose biological father is reluctant to share her.
One in a Million is a fun celebrity rom-com with the poignancy of Abby Jimenez and a modern twist on "surprise baby" for fans of Jasmine Guillory.
 
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Excerpt:


Myles Redmond was annoyed.

Scratch that. He was more than annoyed. He was pissed and currently doing his best not to glare at the woman sitting in the chair next to him.

Dear God, he’d never resented anyone more in his life, and the fact that he was married to her made the nightmare they were living through one hundred times worse.

It would be fair to say their three-year marriage hovered on the brink of failure, and the outcome of this meeting might be what sent it plunging to its demise.

Myles clenched his jaw as he regarded Holly, taking in her unsmiling face and rigid posture. His wife’s beauty turned heads everywhere they went but had failed to turn his since she’d demanded the DNA test.

“Would you stop looking at me like that?” Holly huffed, cutting a pair of ice-blue eyes at him. She sniffed and abruptly looked away, her chin notched a fraction higher as she presented him with her profile. “Whether you want to admit it or not, we’re doing the right thing.” 

She’d worn a light blue dress for the occasion. As if she hadn’t made her hopes for the outcome of the meeting clear enough. Blue was her lucky color. Her long manicured nails kept up a rhythmic tapping on the wooden arm of her chair.

“And what exactly is that?” he asked, his tone like shards of glass.

Exasperated, she rolled her eyes and flicked a wavy lock of platinum-blond hair over her shoulder. “God, I hate when you’re like this. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I can’t believe you don’t want to know who she belongs to.” She addressed the empty desk in front of them more than she did him.

She,” he stressed through gritted teeth, “has a name. Her name is Haylee, and she is our daughter.” His voice was low and controlled while he seethed inside. It didn’t matter what the DNA results revealed. Haylee was their child. After all they’d—she’d gone through to have her, how could she say otherwise? That was the thing he couldn’t understand. His part had been easy. Hers had not—as she’d frequently reminded him.

Holly huffed out a sound of deep frustration, her narrowed gaze taking a glancing stab at his face. “She’s not ours, Myles, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why you refuse to accept it. It’s as obvious as the nose on my face that she belongs to another couple.”

“She’s ours.” He was the only father Haylee had ever known, and no test was going to change that.

“I’m sure her biological parents will have something to say about that.” His wife had made up her mind and refused to be swayed.

Recognizing the pointlessness of arguing with her, Myles kept his mouth shut and averted his gaze. These days, it was impossible to look at her without feeling a profound sense of betrayal…and anger—so much anger. Feelings far removed from how he’d felt the day they’d exchanged their wedding vows.

“Myles, they have as much a right to know as we do. Wouldn’t you want to know if you were in their place?” Holly said, her voice cajoling, indicating a switch of tactics. Good cop, bad cop, meet Holly the Bully and Holly the Sweet-Talker, the same woman employing two tried-and-true methods to get her way.

Well, it’s not going to work this time.

The office door behind them opened, and Dr. Kelly Franklin walked in, saving him from more of his wife’s attempts to convince him her motivation was altruism, not selfishness.

Small in stature at barely over five feet and clad in a white lab coat, Dr. Kelly had brown shoulder-length hair and carried herself with the confidence of the framed Harvard MD degree hanging on the wall.

“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Redmond. Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.”

The doctor’s greeting was warm and respectful. More importantly, she didn’t sound as if she was about to plunge a knife into his heart. That said, it was clear she hadn’t come bearing tidings of joy either.

Myles made a move to stand, but she stayed the act of male courtesy—ingrained in him by his father—by motioning for him to remain seated.

Quelling his instincts, he subsided back into his chair and watched as she quickly took hers behind the desk.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

She was nervous but doing her best not to show it. As a former defense attorney, Myles had learned to pick up on the subtleties of body language. She hadn’t blinked once since she’d greeted them, and the distinct tapping sound that began shortly after she sat down was her nervously tapping her shoe on the floor. Holly’s hands were on her lap.

“We were early,” Myles said. Fifteen minutes, to be precise. Because this was important. The rest of his life hinged on what she was about to tell them. Despite vowing to himself that he’d remain calm, he felt tenser than ever.

For a beat, her brown eyes bounced between them. Then she blinked and said, “The DNA test confirmed that—”

“She isn’t ours, is she?” Holly asked, cutting the doctor off midsentence.

Myles turned and narrowed his eyes at his wife. Why not put up a billboard? I don’t want her. Give her to someone else.

As far as he was concerned, Holly had checked out of motherhood and their marriage before she packed her bags and took off to San Diego to stay with her mother after telling him she needed space.

What kind of parent needed “space” three weeks after the birth of her daughter?

His wife, that was who.

Look, he got it. They had hired a surrogate, so Holly didn’t get to bond with Haylee the way mothers usually did, but she’d known that from the outset. They’d both gone into this with their eyes wide open…and then some. Furthermore, parents didn’t walk away just because their child didn’t turn out the way they wanted or expected. That wasn’t the way parenting worked.

At the end of the day, though, he had to face some hard truths. He was just as much to blame for what was happening. While he might be successful in other parts of his life—he was a loving father, son, brother, and uncle and a loyal friend, and had been elected president of the California Bar Association two terms in a row—he sucked when it came to romantic relationships. 

How did he know?

Because he already had one failed marriage under his belt, and it looked like he was coasting for divorce number two. In sports terms, he’d soon be 0-2.

Dr. Franklin tentatively cleared her throat before continuing. “Unfortunately, your case is a little more complicated.”

“Complicated? What does that mean? Either she’s ours or she’s not.” She turned and looked at him as if expecting him to echo her demand for clarity. “Although I think it’s obvious she can’t be.” The latter she muttered as an aside meant to be heard—just in case the good doctor didn’t know where she stood on the matter.

Myles’s jaw locked. According to his wife—who’d gone from being the top-producing female real estate agent in Southern California to self-ascribed geneticist—Haylee couldn’t be the product of two white, blue-eyed parents. If she has a drop of Nordic ancestry in her, I’m the Queen of England, Holly had said in reference to her parents’ Swedish heritage and Haylee’s slightly darker complexion, dark brown curly hair, and brown eyes.

Never mind that he was a quarter Sicilian on his mother’s side, and his hair was dark and wavy. In her summation of their daughter’s parentage, it was clear Holly hadn’t factored his genes into the equation.

“Would you mind elaborating?” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Dr. Franklin inhaled and treated them to another unblinking stare. “It means that you’re right. There was a problem, but not what I assumed. The error occurred during the egg selection portion of the fertilization stage, not the implantation stage.”

For the first time since they walked into the office, Holly appeared genuinely confused. “Are you saying that—” She broke off, as if unable or unwilling to give voice to whatever conclusion she’d drawn in her mind. Unusual for her. 

The doctor met Holly’s puzzled stare. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you aren’t your daughter’s biological mother.” Her gaze then shifted to him. “However, you are her biological father.”

Holly’s gasp cracked the air like a thunderclap. The deafening silence that followed was just as loud.

Myles was too stunned to speak, his heart pounding so loud in his ears that, for a few moments, it drowned out all possible thought or comprehension.

“No, no. That can’t be right.” Holly turned to him, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

If he could speak, he didn’t know what he would say, given the state of his mind. Completely blown.

The doctor’s composure—which had remained relatively calm thus far—began to show cracks. Based partly on the dates on her diploma, he guessed Dr. Franklin was in her early forties, but the depth of the lines now bracketing her mouth and fanning out from her eyes spoke of the toll this must be taking on her and made her look years older.

Swallowing visibly, she continued. “We had the test run by two different labs. The results are the same.”

Accompanying his wife’s cry of dismay came the realization that his claim to his daughter was as solid as any father’s could be. Haylee was his. Relief began to seep into every part of his being. Seconds later, it washed over him in a flood. He could breathe again.

Dr. Franklin regarded them, self-reproach stamped all over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I don’t know how this happened. It’s never happened to us before. But I promise to get to the bottom of it and do whatever it takes to make this right.”

Coming into the meeting, Myles had prepared himself for only two possibilities. Either Haylee was biologically theirs, or she wasn’t. And in the latter’s case, he’d been fully prepared to fight to keep her even if his marriage would be one of the casualties of any battle he’d have to wage.

The one thing he never imagined was discovering he had a baby…with a woman he’d never laid eyes on.


Excerpted from ONE IN A MILLION by Beverley Kendall. Copyright © 2025 by Beverley Kendall. Published by Canary Street Press, an imprint of HTP/HarperCollins.





Author Bio:
 
BEVERLEY KENDALL has published over ten contemporary and historical romance novels. She also manages the romance review blog, Smitten by Books (smittenbybooks.com). Bev writes full-time while raising her son as a single mother. Both dual citizens of the US and Canada, they currently call Atlanta home.