Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Guten Morgen!

Wie viele von Ihnen sprechen Deutsch? Ich muss und muss keine Übersetzungs-App verwenden, also bitte vergib mir schreckliche Fehler.

Die englische Übersetzung wird unten sein. *** English translation below***

Ich liebe den Namenswechsel von Working Girl zu Diamond Men für diese Serie. Und die Cover sind wunderbar!

Ich freue mich sehr, Working Girl in der 5. Sprache veröffentlicht zu haben! Deutsche ! Mit dem Verleger #MiraTaschenbuch.

Sieben Tage - sieben Prüfungen - sieben unwiderstehliche Männer! Für wen wird Tess sich entscheiden?
Tess‘ einziger Wunsch? Rache! Diamond Enterprises hat ihren Vater ruiniert und sie will es dem Konzern heimzahlen. Deshalb bewirbt sie sich als Assistentin des Firmenbosses. Eine Woche soll sie nun täglich bei einem anderen Chef vorstellen.

Teil 1:
Das erste Bewerbungsgespräch mit dem faszinierenden Mr. Monday, der sie in einem Helikopter entführt, lenkt Tess gefährlich von ihren Vergeltungsplänen ab …

Links kaufen - Buy Links
Die Bücher sind jetzt fertig zum Vorbestellen!

"Herr. Montag "am 30. Oktober und veröffentlichen Sie dann ein E-Book pro Woche. Am 12. Dezember wird der gedruckte Roman erhältlich sein.

Hast du irgendwelche meiner anderen Bücher gelesen? Ich habe ein paar auf Deutsch. Bitte überprüfen Sie mein Amazon-Profil für die Buchliste. Und wie geil es ist, bin ich in einem Buch mit Jill Shalvis und Leslie Kelly!

Bitte besuchen Sie meine Webseite für weitere Informationen und melden Sie sich für meinen Newsletter an! Klick hier

With the publisher #MiraTaschenbuch, Harper Collins Germany. “Mr. Monday” will be released on the 30th of October and then published an e-book per week. On the 12th of December the print novel will be available.

I'm very excited to have Working Girl published in the 5th language! German! I love the name change from #WorkingGirl to #DiamondMen for this series. And the covers are wonderful!

I have a few other books out in German. The covers are above. And how awesome is it I'm in a book with Jill Shalvis and Leslie Kelly!

Please visit my web page for more information and to sign up for my newsletter!

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

First, there was Smolder, then Fire, and now Ignite! Lisa Carlisle's Steamy #PNR

Greetings, all. I'm thrilled to share my new release, Ignite. It's part three of a steamy paranormal romance series. Night Owl Reviews just named book two in the series, Fire, a Top Pick! 
I love this cover. It's perfect. and if you look in the background, you'll see which shifter is featured in this book. 


We all have secrets.
Some so closely guarded for the safety of ourselves—and others…
Lily won’t consider a permanent relationship. When she meets the singer of a rock band at an underground nightclub, she’s disarmed by his sensual voice and mischievous good looks. After an icy introduction, Lily warms up to Nico’s charms.
He’s a computer geek by day, and rock star by night. How could she resist such a combination?
She can’t—but must keep an emotional distance. No one would understand her furry little secret. It could be dangerous. Especially during the full moon.
Yet, she might be the one in danger…
Ignite is the third installment in the Underground Encounters series, set in a club that attracts supernatural creatures. Step into Vamps, a thrilling new world of steamy paranormal romance featuring sexy shifters, thirsty vampires, wicked witches, and gorgeous gargoyles.

Monday, October 16, 2017

Changing of the seasons...more changes?

So in the Midwest, it's finally feeling like fall. I may even have to switch my clothing around, to take out my colder-weather stuff, and pack away my sandals (which makes me sad, because my feet love sandals! Plus my most recent pedicure still looks nice.)  The leaves are just starting to change colors, and media ads are beginning their relentless call for us all to prove we love people by spending lots of money on gifts, gifts, gifts! (Husband is still unemployed, so we're poor, poor, poor!) But don't worry folks, the economy is doing great!

All of which makes me wonder why my newest book still isn't available. I know the industry is in flux...it has been since I was first published seven years ago. But I've already had to change from 2 publishers, both of whom were sold and I didn't want to be part of the furniture that went with the sale. So I looked for promising new publishers...only to have them be sold also. And the one I'm dealing with now, takes FOREVER to get anything to print! So I try to keep upbeat, but I'm getting very frustrated.

No time to write, since now only do I have the 2 jobs, but family is demanding attention. Baby shower next weekend out of town, daughter coming in the following weekend. Babysitting in Michigan for the grandbaby the weekend after that. Not that I'm complaining about seeing people I love, since I love doing that!  But sometimes I have to forcibly remind myself that I'm a writer, since I don't have any minutes to spare out of my days to write!

Hopefully I'll have better news next month. Until then, hugs to all of you, who are also a part of my extended family.

And to find my books, head to my website for more info: http://www.fionamcgier.com

Sunday, October 15, 2017

Taming the Beast

Taming the Beast released just a few days ago.  Its a contemporary twist on Beauty and the Beast.  I really hope you like it.  Last April Terri Brisbin spoke at my local RWA chapter and she stayed with me the night before.  Terri is a wonderful lady.  I had read her Taming the Highlander and loved it.  We talked Beauty and the beast as a trope and we talked over the initial ideas for this story.  So this story is dedicated to her!

The suspicious death of Dante Bartholomew’s wife changed him, especially in the eyes of the residents of St. Giles. They no longer see a successful businessman… only a monster they believe was involved. Dante’s horrific reputation eclipses the truth to the point that he sees no choice but to isolate himself and his heart.

The plan backfires when he meets counselor Beau Clarity and the children he works with. Beau and the kids see beyond the beastly reputation to the beautiful soul inside Dante, and Dante’s cold heart begins to thaw as they slip past his defenses. The warmth and hope Beau brings to Dante’s life helps him see his entire existence—his trials and sorrows—in a brighter light.

But Dante’s secrets could rip happiness from their grasp… especially since someone isn’t above hurting those Dante has grown to love in order to bring him down.

Purchase a Copy

There was a wave of silence as the collective talking came to a stop and all heads turned toward him at the same time. One of the waiters approached, and Dante took a glass of champagne from the tray, thanked him, and continued on through the room. He’d known it would be like this and had been stupid to even bother coming. The town rumor mill had had plenty to feed itself on over the years, and it seemed the stories had gotten bigger with each retelling.

“It will be all right,” Yates said as he came up and stood next to him.

“Do you think I care what these people think?” Dante asked, then drank, emptying half the glass. “God, this stuff is awful.” He set the glass on a nearby tray. “Is there a bar?” He hoped so. Maybe two or three double whiskies would do the trick.

“Yes. It’s in the room off to the side over there.”

Yates seemed exasperated as Dante stomped off to get himself something that would make this night tolerable. There was a line, but it evaporated when people saw him, and he practically walked up to the bar. He ordered and paid for his drinks, placed a nice tip in the jar, and left the room before the whispers could start. For two years he’d stayed away, putting on a brave front, but…. Dante raised the glass to his lips, downed the first of his scotches, and set the glass aside. He held the second one, intending to sip it for a while.

The waves of people seemed to part, and Dante got a glimpse of a brown-haired man with intense blue eyes standing on the other side of the room. His nose was crooked and he was a little gawky. Handsome wasn’t a word that Dante would have used to describe him. He had seen better looking men, but few with the intensity and drive that churned in those blue orbs. His tuxedo looked at least one size too big for him, and his shirt was a little wrinkled. Dante barely noticed. What he saw were those fiery eyes and a pair of lips turned up in a smile as he spoke to the short lady in front of him. Dante had seen plenty of beautiful people, but few of them captured his attention the way this man did.

“Yates,” Dante asked as his lawyer passed nearby, tugging him off his path. “Who is he?” Dante didn’t dare take his gaze off him for fear that he was an illusion and would disappear into the crowd and Dante would never see him again.

“Beau Clarity. He runs one of the programs at the Center. That’s the reason for tonight’s fundraiser. We’re expanding counseling services here, and he runs the program.” Yates brushed something off Dante’s arm.

“How is that possible? He looks like….” Words escaped him. An angel, or maybe it was the devil himself in an ill-fitting suit but with a nose and face that stopped Dante in his tracks. Beau chuckled and then laughed, adding to the glitter of the evening with the joy in his eyes.

Andrew grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived throughout the country and traveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and works in information systems for a large corporation.

Andrew’s hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing)  He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving partner. Andrew currently lives in beautiful, historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Coming in November, A Western Thriller: The Ghost of Victor Frank

"Okay Harry," Benny grimaced when the contents spilled on his hand. Grinding his teeth until it hurt, Benny shot a scowl toward the doorway where Harry had disappeared. Dirty spittoons, dirty lanterns. That's all he did was clean. What did they think he was, a woman?

The sun beat down on like an iron skillet, sizzling the earth, only one bird sang his lovely tune, a mocking bird, Benny noticed silently. The streets of Del Rio, Texas were quiet. Unusually so for this time of day.

Benny Gates was unaware of the beautiful day as he sat on the boardwalk right outside the Silver Spur Saloon. He was brooding again, his shoulders slumped making him appear shorter than he really was. With a mop of dirty blonde hair, and clear blue eyes, he might have been handsome if he carried himself better. But he continued to carry the nastiness of the world on his shoulders.

They'd called him a dim-wit this morning, mocking him. Yesterday Johnny Hatfield and Clay Roberts had teased him as he tried to keep the bar and spittoons clean for Harry the bartender. Johnny and Clay were Privates for the army, and they often frequented the bar. And every time they came to town they gave Benny a hard time. For one thing Benny's clothes were all tattered and torn, and his shoes were worn out and flapped when he walked.

"One of these days though…. I'll make them all sit up and take notice of Benny Gates." Benny mumbled out of the side of his mouth.

Benny went inside. Not that he wanted to, but he had work to do. A half-drunk Indian played a wicked piano filling Benny with disgust, he'd heard every tune. Music didn't interest him, neither did drinking. He'd had a lifetime of both. The saloon had been his home all his life, a disgusting home, Benny determined. He hated it. He hated everything at the moment. He hated Johnny and Clay, he hated the army, but most of all…he hated his mother.

He hated saloons too. He hated the people inside them. Saloons were nasty, stinky, and filled with the rotten apples of Del Rio. He wished they were dead. He wished half the town were dead. So many had called him ugly names and poked fun at him for years on end. He'd been known as the bastard child of Del Rio. Every day was the same, it never got better like some told him it would.
He breathed deep and the stench of rot-gut whiskey and long ago chewed tobacco permeated the air.
He put his hand on the bar he'd cleaned only an hour ago and already, slopped whiskey, dirty hands, dust from cowhand's clothes, and spilled tobacco formed a paste on top of it.
Two saloon girls got up and moved around a poker table. Their hands were everywhere, touching, feeling, making themselves known to the men. Benny grimaced. This was his private hell. He was born to it, and it looked as though he'd die here, unless he done something about it.

The mirror that hung behind the bar was smeared with dust and smoke until no one could truly see much out of it.

"I'll show them. I'll fix them good." Benny mumbled.

He sat contemplating how he would even all the scores.

For years, he'd taken ridicule, snide remarks, people laughing at him. And why?
His mother, that was why. His mother had been a saloon girl all her life, and as of late she hobbled about the bar with her thick mask of make-up and drooping white shoulders. The times she'd went up those stairs with ugly, dirty cowboys were too numerous to count. Benny didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about her. They made fun of her too. No one knew who Benny's father was, even his mother. Perhaps that was the biggest problem, he was the bastard of some unknown cowboy drifter, and the laughing stock of Del Rio.
With no education, he'd still managed to learn to count with the cards of a gambler. Decent young girls didn't look at him, but they giggled at him behind his back. He didn't understand what was so different about him?

Disgust and anger roiled inside his body, festering like a sore. But this sore never healed. It wouldn't heal until he did something about it, and he had plans to do just that. He'd thought it up some time ago, but soon they would all be sorry how they treated him. Very soon.

Two strangers rode up and hobbled their horses in front of the saloon. Benny stared at them as they came through the swinging doors. They didn't look much different than the cowboys who hung out in the saloon, except they were cleaner, and they were strangers. When Benny was younger, he might have given these two the benefit of the doubt, but not anymore. Anyone who sought out a saloon was the same to Benny.

The one thing Benny did was observe people, filing away the information on each new person he met, to refer to at another time.

He studied these two. One was a Mexican and the other was white. They both wore guns though and looked as though they knew how to use them. Benny squirmed a little. He had them pegged as gunfighters, just the way they walked and carried themselves told him they could handle their firearms.

He eyed them for a long minute, but they paid little attention to him.
He listened as they were greeted by an old friend, Chocko.

"Antonio, I have not seen you for years. Where have you been, my friend?" 
Chocko asked his friend. Chocko was a tall Mexican, with a big sombrero and a perfectly manicured mustache. He had slicked back black hair and eyes that could pierce any target. But his smile was genuine and aimed at this Antonio and his companion with interest.

"Lots of places my friend. Let me introduce you to John T. he used to be a Texas Ranger."

"Used to?" Chocko questioned quickly.

"Yeah, he's just a Sheriff now, and I'm worse, I'm his deputy." Antonio smiled.

Chocko snickered. "I didn't know you could quit the Rangers?"

"Sort of retired…" John T. smiled.

"Say, aren't you two the ones that got that crazy fella, Victor Frank?" Chocko asked buying a round of beers for his friends.

Antonio bowed his head, and John T. looked away, "Yeah, we're the ones." Antonio's voice lowered.

It wasn't so much what he said as how he said it that had Chocko speechless for a moment. Benny paid close attention. The tension in the room mounted for a moment.

"Everybody is talkin' about that.  He was one mean hombre. Even the Rangers wouldn’t mess with him, I'm told. Said you got him in an Indian camp and nearly wiped out the whole bunch…"

"Yes, my friend, but we don't talk about it much…" Antonio said lowly. "It is not a good thing to remember."

Chocko's smile disappeared. "Why not. He was one bad hombre, eh? I would think you would brag of such of feat. He was a killer of women, no doubt he deserved to die…"

John T. turned his drink up and swallowed it down, slamming the glass on the bar. Antonio leaned on the bar and looked out the door.

Chocko saw their gazes disappear out the swinging doors.

"I do not understand, he was a bad hombre, wasn't he?" Chocko twisted his head and stared at the two of them.

John T. nodded, "Yeah, he was."

"Then why so sad…?" Chocko hit Antonio on the back and laughed.

Antonio gripped his beer tightly. "It was like killing a mad dog, Chocko. There is no honor in killing a mad dog, you are simply putting him out of his misery." 
Antonio explained. "That's what we did, put him out of his misery."

"Si…. I understand that." Chocko nodded to the bartender for a refill. "So, what are you doing here?" Chocko quickly changed the subject when he saw they were both withdrawn from this conversation.

John T. stood up straight now, "We're here to pick up a prisoner."

"Sorrels?" Chocko cocked his head at him.

"That's the one." Antonio nodded.

"He has a big mouth, and a fast gun, but he is trash." Chocko said with disgust. "He says he accidentally killed the woman who ran out of the bank, while he was robbing it."

"Was it an accident?" Antonio questioned.

"There were no eye witnesses. She was the only one in the bank accept the teller at the time. No one knows, but…he shot her in the back…"

Antonio pushed his hat back from his head. "Didn't the teller see it?"

"Nope, they killed him too."

"Why do we always end up with the no-accounts?" Antonio sighed.

John T. snickered. "Just lucky I guess…"

"Too bad they can't hang him here?" Antonio said.

"And, why can't we?" Chocko laughed.

"He's wanted on a previous charge over in Austin, seems he killed a politician up there during another robbery." John T. informed him.

"So, you are from Austin?"

Antonio shook his head, "No Chocko, but since we are so famous for killing Victor Frank, they sent us to pick up this Sorrels. It seems they consider him a very dangerous hombre."

"You will ruin their plans then…" Chocko pointed to a table of men who seemed bent on getting drunk.

"Who are they?" Antonio looked toward the table with interest.

"Friends and family of the lady he killed. They will not be so happy about you taking him."

John T. and Antonio glanced at each other. "That's too bad." John T. shot the men at the table a quick glance.

Antonio glanced around the bar. "So, what do you do now, Chocko?"

"I work for Don Pedro, on his ranch. I am foreman there."

"Foreman, well, you are moving up in the world."

Chocko smiled a brilliant smile, "Si…"

"What are you doin' in town then?"

"Don Pedro is making arrangements with the buyers, we will soon move the herd north to the railroad." Chocko said.

"I guess he's got a pretty big spread now." Antonio thought about it.

"Si, very big. Thanks to God we do not have to take them to Kansas any longer." Chocko said.

"Yeah, I guess the days of the big cattle drives are over now." John T. added.

"Yeah," Chocko nodded. "You know, I kind of miss it. Sleeping out under the stars, listening to the cattle low at night. It was peaceful."

"Yeah but how about the storms, the rain, the up all night with a stampede? Bet you don't miss that do ya?" John T. smiled.

"No senor, I do not miss that…" Chocko laughed.

Benny came strolling around them, he shot Chocko a quick glance then went to tie his apron on and sweep the floor. He kept his head down, and seemed bent on not looking at anyone.

All the time they talked, he swept, but John T. noticed how Benny kept getting closer and seemed to be listening to every word.

When John T. caught Benny staring, Benny moved away quickly.

"Who's that?" John T. asked.

Chocko shot Benny a quick glance, "Aw…that is Benny, he's a little short on brains, but he's harmless. He keeps this place clean. He's sort of belligerent, as they say."

John T. glanced again at the young man.

"He doesn't look like he likes you Chocko." Antonio observed.

Benny edged up to them. "What does belligerent mean?"

Chocko laughed and shook his head. "Never mind Benny."

"No…you called me belligerent…what does that mean?"

"Means you got a bad attitude." Chocko narrowed his focus on the young man. 
"Now go back to your work, Benny. This doesn't concern you."

"I don't like bein' called names. Every day I take it, from the men from Camp Hudson, and Ft. Clark. Well, I'm tired of taking it. Take it back, Chocko." Benny yelled.

"Settle down pardner, he meant no harm." Antonio got between them.
Benny bristled. "Stay out of this mister…"

"You're taking offense awfully easy kid." John T. studied him carefully.

"I'm gonna get a gun and shoot you Chocko. I'm gonna shoot you dead. You hear me?" Benny hollered and ran out the door.

Chocko turned back to the bar, swallowed another whiskey and eyeballed his friends. "That is one strange kid. He's never happy. Never knows a joke when he hears one.  He's gonna get himself killed one of these days. He's got so much hate stored up, Lord help us if it ever comes out."

"Does he always threaten to shoot people?" John T. asked, still watching the swinging door.

"No, but he's all talk." Chocko laughed. "Benny doesn't like anyone."

"I can believe that?" John T. said, his eyes darting around the room.

Chocko shrugged seeming uncomfortable talking about the kid. "Perhaps we should talk of him another time…"

John T. nodded, "Well, we've had our drink, we better get on over to the jail. We got a long ride ahead of us."

Antonio paid for the last drink and nodded. "Good seein' you again, Chocko, take care."

"Adios my friends." Chocko tipped his hat to them.

But just as they would have walked outside, Benny came charging in with a six-shooter in his hand and aimed it at Chocko.

John T. reacted as he always did.

"I'm gonna kill you dead, Chocko…" Benny raised his gun.

John T. shot the gun out his hand and walked toward the kid who was stumbling to the floor and blabbering about his bleeding hand.

"You shot me! You shot me!" Benny cried in stunned confusion.

"Better be glad he didn't kill you." Antonio glanced down at the flustered kid.

"He shot my gun hand…." Benny shouted. "Aren't you gonna do something about it?"

"Nope!" Chocko bent over him.

John T. stared down at the kid and shook his head. "I shot your gun hand on purpose kid. It will be awhile before that heals up, and you probably won't be handling a gun with it again. Mabye that will keep you out of trouble. At least I hope it will."

"I'll come after you! I swear it! I'll kill you, mister."

John T. turned to look over his shoulder as he headed out the door. "You can try, kid, but I wouldn't advice it."

Chocko nodded to his friends.

As John T. and Antonio walked out of the saloon, John T. glanced back at Chocko and waved. But John T. got another glance at Benny too and something unnerved him about the kid. Just like it had Chocko.

"Something wrong my friend?" Antonio asked as they strode toward the jail.

"That Benny…does he remind you of anyone?"

Antonio glanced back over his shoulder and saw Benny staring out the swinging doors at them. "He's just a kid."

"A kid with a real chip on his shoulder. You wouldn't think a kid would be like that, would you? I'm thinking that Benny and Victor Frank might have had a few things in common…"

Antonio looked again, but Benny had disappeared.

"He probably went to see a doctor," John T. surmised quickly.

Antonio studied his friend. "There will never be another Victor Frank!"

The way he said that had John T. staring at him.

"Don't be so sure, Antonio. The kid hasn't been physically abused, but he sure is nursing a grudge or two. I wouldn't be surprised to find him on our trail. Like Chocko said, he's a little short of brains."

"With a bad gun hand?" Antonio frowned.

"He's got a different kind of problem Antonio, he's been emotionally battered, just as bad as someone whipping you all the time. After a while it festers like a sore and he's picking at the sore right now. We haven't seen the last of that kid…mark my words."\

Antonio made the sign of the cross, "Madre mia, not another…."

John T. shrugged. "I could be wrong, but I got a gut feeling…"

Shrugging away the eerie feelings, they sauntered over to the jail to meet the Sheriff, Sam Jones.

The office was musty smelling. Worn sets of guns were hanging on the wall just inside the door. Several cells were filled.

The Sheriff, a tall lean man of about fifty stood up and regarded them with curious intent as they introduced themselves.

"I heard about you boys. Got that Frank guy, didn't you?" Sam spit his chaw in the spittoon by his desk.

"Yeah, seems everyone has heard about that." Antonio muttered noting the Sheriff's dead accuracy in the spittoon.

"Well, it's big news boys. He was a tough one. No one wanted to go after him. And I can't say as I blame them. You fellas here to pick up Charlie Sorrels, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Got official papers from the governor for you." John T. answered as he took a chair in front of the Sheriff's desk and handed him the papers. "Hear he shot a woman during a bank hold up?"

"Sure did, killed her, shot her in the back, and he killed the teller too." The Sheriff nodded.

"Did you get the others?"

"Killed one, and the others got away."

"No witnesses?"

"Nope…but that won't stop a hanging party that I figure will happen this afternoon after a few of the boys get liquored up." The Sheriff said as he glanced at the cell. "They been nursing a real grudge over at the saloon all mornin'. Nothin' worse than a bunch of drunks wantin' to hang someone. Even if he does deserve it."

The Sheriff looked over their papers and laid it down on his desk.
Sorrels was sleeping, they all noticed.

"Then I guess we better wake him up and get going. Don't want you to have to worry over a mob." John T. said glancing at the cell once more.

"Better keep the cuffs on him, he's a mean one." The Sheriff said as he went to get the prisoner.

Sorrels moved on the bunk when the keys rattled to the cell, then he peered over his shoulder. "What's goin' on, Sheriff?"

"You're leaving Sorrels."

"What? Why?" Sorrels stood up, and John T. and Antonio saw that Sorrels looked well over six foot, with long dark shaggy hair and mean black eyes.
"You want a fair trial?" The Sheriff asked him.

"Sure, I do…"

"Then you'll go with them."

"Who the hell are they?"

"They are lawmen, that's all you need to know, now let's move. You better get your butt out of here if you want to live Sorrels. That lady you shot in the back, she had lots of friends and family here. They are out to hang you. So, we're getting rid of you now."

"You'd let them hang me Sheriff?" Sorrels asked.

"I ain't got but one deputy, and he was injured in the robbery. How long you think I could hold out, alone?" The Sheriff asked him.

"What makes you think those two can handle it?"

"Well for one they were sent by the governor himself. One of them was a Texas Ranger, the other one killed Victor Frank. I think they can handle you Sorrels." The Sheriff cackled.

"Victor Frank? That maniac?"


Sorrels looked John T. and Antonio over good, then as they led the way to the horses, he walked between them. He had a scowl on his face, but John T. gave him the benefit of the doubt, since they woke him from a deep sleep.

"Thanks boys, and good luck." Jones called to them.

John T. nodded, Antonio tipped his hat.

It would be a long ride to Austin. They were sitting on the outskirts of Del Rio, Texas, a small southwestern town.

"Say, I thought they called this San Felipe del Rio?" John T. squinted in the morning sun that kept hiding behind a big dark cloud.

"They did until we got a post office, they shortened it to Del Rio so there'd be no misunderstanding about San Felipe de Austin."

"A post office huh?"

"The military needed it." Jones laughed.

John T. and Antonio smiled at each other and nodded to the Sheriff.

"You give us no trouble on this trip and we'll put it in our report." John T. told Sorrels once he was sure he was in his saddle alright. He'd handcuffed him so he could hold the reins, but Antonio had to help him get up in the saddle.

"And what good will that do?" Sorrels asked.

"It could have some bearing. When your relatives read of it, it might give them some peace of mind."

"Don’t give me no hogwash about how you'll speak up for me or how my family will feel. My folks are dead, got a brother somewhere, but I don't know where. And he wouldn't care. I killed a woman, they'll hang me sure." Sorrels narrowed his gaze on John T.

John T. was weary and in no mood. "You are right, you have absolutely no hope. You are gonna hang, Sorrels."

"Then why didn't you just leave me there." Sorrels pointed back to Del Rio.

"Because there, you'd be hung by a mob, which might end up killing someone else. If you hang by a court, no one gets hurt but you."

"You got a big heart Sheriff." Sorrels swore under his breath at them.

John T. shrugged. "No one said you wouldn't get a fair trail."

"Little good that will do me."

"Maybe, but it'll make the rest of us feel better." John T. assured him.

"What the hell do you care, Sheriff?" Sorrels glanced at him.

"I care about justice, and justice will be served. Besides you made another big mistake Sorrels."

"Yeah, what?"

"You shot a politician. He died. So, Austin has the right to hang you first. And that's where you are headed. It's really not over the woman, although I never met a politician yet that I liked."

"You the sheriff there?"

"Nope, Round Rock…"

"You got to get me there, first!" Sorrels told them.

"We will…"

Antonio watched the entire play between John T. and Sorrels. John T. shot Antonio a glance, when he stared at him too long. "You're awfully quiet, something eating you?"

"Not exactly, you just seem a little edgy for some reason." Antonio said not looking directly at him.

"I am edgy. I got a kid back there that wants vengeance, a man here that is gonna hang, and a lot of miles in between, and a lot of heavy looking clouds. And part of his gang wasn't caught. I'm hungry and it's getting chilly and the sun hasn't gone down yet. And that cloud looks like a gully-washer for sure."

Antonio smiled to himself. "Don't worry, I got your back, John T."

"Just make sure you don't get your own head blown off." John T. told him.

"I won't, 'cause you got my back." Antonio laughed.

John T. had to smile at that. He wasn't sure what he'd do without Antonio. He sure didn't want to find out.

Friday, October 13, 2017

Why is Friday the 13th so Unlucky with @AuthorNicMorgan #Fridaythe13th\

Welcome to Sweet N Sexy Divas. I'm your tour host for today and every month on the 13th, Nicole Morgan. So sit back, relax, maybe even prop up your feet and enjoy your visit! 

Happy Friday the 13th everyone! Normally we stick to the romance aspect of books and all that relates to, but seeing as today is such a spooky and superstitious day I had to step outside the box and delve into that topic which makes us cringe. 

Why is Friday the 13th such a bad day though? Who came up with this? Well, according to folklorists, there is no written evidence for a "Friday the 13th" superstition before the 19th century. According to Wikipedia, the earliest known documented reference in English occurs in Henry Sutherland Edwards' 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossini, who died on a Friday 13th. 

He [Rossini] was surrounded to the last by admiring friends; and if it be true that, like so many Italians, he regarded Fridays as an unlucky day and thirteen as an unlucky number, it is remarkable that on Friday 13th of November he passed away.

One theory states that it is a modern amalgamation of two older superstitions: that 13 is an unlucky number and that Friday is an unlucky day.

In numerology, the number twelve is considered the number of divine organizational arrangement or chronological completeness, as reflected in the twelve months of the year, twelve hours of the clock day, the twelve deities of Olympus, twelve tribes of Israel, twelve Apostles of Jesus, the 12 successors of Muhammad in Shia Islam, twelve signs of the Zodiac, the 12 years of the Buddhist cycle, etc., whereas the number thirteen was considered irregular, transgressing this completeness. There is also a superstition, thought by some to derive from the Last Supper or a Norse myth, that having thirteen people seated at a table results in the death of one of the diners.

Friday has been considered an unlucky day at least since the 14th century's The Canterbury Tales, and many other professions have regarded Friday as an unlucky day to undertake journeys or begin new projects.

One author, noting that references are all but nonexistent before 1907 but frequently seen thereafter, has argued that its popularity derives from the publication that year of Thomas W. Lawson's popular novel Friday, the Thirteenth, in which an unscrupulous broker takes advantage of the superstition to create a Wall Street panic on a Friday the 13th.

Records of the superstition are rarely found before the 20th century, when it became extremely common. The connection between the Friday the 13th superstition and the Knights Templar was popularized in Dan Brown's 2003 novel The Da Vinci Code and in John J. Robinson's 1989 work Born in Blood: The Lost Secrets of Freemasonry. On Friday, 13 October 1307, hundreds of the Knights Templar were arrested in France, an action apparently motivated financially and undertaken by the efficient royal bureaucracy to increase the prestige of the crown. Philip IV was the force behind this ruthless move, but it has also tarnished the historical reputation of Clement V. From the very day of Clement V's coronation, the king falsely charged the Templars with heresy, immorality and abuses, and the scruples of the Pope were compromised by a growing sense that the burgeoning French State might not wait for the Church, but would proceed independently. However, experts agree that this is a relatively recent correlation, and most likely a modern-day invention.

Now these are all valid reasons why today we still continue to perpetuate the superstition, but personally I have my own superstitions which relate to this day. Which is exactly why tonight I will be MIA and my tushy will be firmly planted in front of the television watching one of my favorite horror maniac, Jason Vorhees. That's right. You heard me. My superstition is that not a single Friday the 13th can pass without watching at least one of the popular horror flicks which gave hockey masks an all new meaning. 

So, Happy Friday the 13th everyone! And keep your hands off of my popcorn! ;)

Thank You for joining me today! I'll see you all next month on the 13th. Have a great month and remember to be SWEET and SEXY

Nicole Morgan is an author of erotic romance novels, which more often than not have a suspenseful back story. Erotic romance mixed with good old-fashioned whodunit. While she's written everything from contemporary to paranormal her leading men will more than likely be wearing a uniform of some kind. From military to police officers, she has a love for writing about those who protect and serve. From her very first novel about Navy SEALs to her more recent releases you will be sure to find a few twists and turns you were not expecting.

She is a proud member of the Romance Books 4 Us Gold Authors and also one of the Sweet N Sexy Divas.  

Find out more about Nicole and her books by visiting her websiteblogGoogle + PageTwitterFacebook and her Yahoo Group, Nicole’s Think Tank.

Until next month lovies ~ Nic 

Thursday, October 12, 2017

This Magic Moment #TinaDonahueBooks #PassionateRomanceForEveryTaste

Even though I've written every freaking genre around, except for heavy-duty scifi (you know the kind, where you need a science book to follow the plot), my fave is romantic comedy. Cut my teeth on it, and those books were my first pubbed - in print no less.

However, I also enjoy paranormal romance and decided to combine the two. What did I get? An erotic paranormal-romantic comedy series Taming the Beast.

Book one, Freeing the Beast, is releasing October 17. It was a blast to write: sexy, fun, and oh-so romantic.

Series Blurb:

Magic has never been as sexy or as fun. In New Orleans’ French Quarter From Crud to Stud is the makeover service for supernatural beings who want to tame their beasts so they can date mortal babes. Owned by a half-witch and staffed by a good fairy, a reformed female demon, and a voodoo priestess—among others—the place is always hopping. There’s moonlight therapy for weres, aversion therapy to keep vamps from sinking their fangs in anyone’s neck, and no end of spells, potions, and treatments. These ladies definitely put the boys through their paces. But it’s not all work as they search for their one true love. Their journeys aren’t easy, but they’re definitely magical.

Freeing the Beast Blurb:

No more Mr. Nice Guy.

For Becca Salt being a witch isn’t all magic. Too curvy and lonely, she spends her nights running a makeover service for demons, vamps, weres, and zombies who want to project a more human, normal side. Their goal? To get the babes without the authorities hunting them down like rabid dogs. Once Becca suppresses the worst of their beast, they’re on the hunt and gone.

Dating has been a definite bitch for Eric Diletto. Although he’s hot and hung, he’s also one of Cupid’s descendants. A god born to believe in courtship, courtesy, and all that other junk. Tired of women dumping him for the bad boys, Eric hires Becca to release his inner beast. Grrrr.

Two potions later, they’re crawling all over each other. With Eric’s newfound dominance, he’s definitely the man. And the god who intends to take Becca here, there, and everywhere. Who said sorcery and love wasn’t fun?

Warning: A witchdoctor’s nightmare. Contains potions with weird side effects, a sorceress with limited magical skills and a yearning heart, plus a minor god who wants to get down and dirty. Bad, bad boy.


She fingered her top. “What are you?” He wasn’t a demon or a vamp. However, a were or other shifter wasn’t implausible. “Exactly what?”

“I’m Eric. Di-let-to.”

He’d pronounced his last name ultra slow, as though that should mean something to her.

It wasn’t ringing a bell. “Okay.”

“No, it’s not. I haven’t always gone by Eric. I changed my first name when I was twelve. Got tired of having to fight the other kids, you know?”

Becca did. She’d had her own scuffles when anyone had dared call her fat. Compassion and tenderness for him mingled with her building lust. “Tell me your real first name. Please.”

He sagged to the sofa. “You’ll laugh.”

“Never.” She hurried around her desk.

He leaned away from her.

Becca stopped. No way did she want him to feel more unglued than he already was or to make a fool of herself by being too forward. “I don’t make fun. I don’t bully. I had enough of that when I was a child to know how much it hurts.”

He nodded sympathetically. “The other kids made fun of your hair, huh?”

“No.” She curled her upper lip. “There’s something wrong with my hair?”

He held up his hands in appeasement. “Not at all. I really like the color and the way you wear it.” He gestured to his own head to demonstrate her bob and bangs. “It’s great.”

Sure, and Santa Claus is a card-carrying Communist. “The other kids made fun of my weight.” There, she’d said it. Little need to pretend there wasn’t a four-ton elephant in the room.

“Really?” He took her in, loitering on her ample cleavage and curvy hips. “I don’t see how. You’re perfect. Most women today are too skinny.”

Honesty shone on his face.

Becca liked that and what he’d said. “What’s your real first name?”

He lay on the sofa, arm draped over his eyes. He looked like a patient unwilling to confess his innermost thoughts to a shrink.

“Come on.” She used her gentlest tone. “We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what the problem is. It can’t be that bad.”

“Wanna bet? My real first name is Eros.”

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Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Level of Expectation

Beginning authors frequently believe they will sell many books. That is rare. Despite intense marketing efforts, sales numbers for initial novels are generally not exceptional. I only say that to tamp down the level of expectation. I am on novel #10 now, and none have broken any records for wonderful sales. In fact, I figure I write novels for about one cent per hour. This is not a business in which most of us can make a living. So, for most of us, writing is done for our own pleasure, not to enrich ourselves or our publishers. Publishers take a risk on every author they accept. They invest time in editing and cover art. Nothing is free, and nothing is risk free. Therefore, when a publisher accepts a new author, it is a statement of faith that they believe the author has the potential to sell at least as many books as it takes to pay the editor and cover artist. That is encouraging. There is also the possibility that, someday, a book will make a splash on the book market…but the odds are not good.

All that said, I will say that my latest book could be one that will make a splash. It is the only book I have written that had nearly 100 orders before the book was printed. I have the physical books now, and am in the process of collecting for each sale and book distribution. This is new for me, and I hope I don’t botch up anything. I am also inserting a letter in each book asking the recipient, if he or she enjoyed the book, to please review it on Amazon.

The reviews I have so far are outstanding. Only one has been posted on Amazon so far, but several people have contacted me with flattering words. I hope there are many readers over time. Even though new authors, like myself, write for pleasure, it would be great to be recognized for the work it takes to put something in print as well.

Here’s the back cover blurb for the new book. Try it. You’ll love it (it’s on Amazon under my name, James L. Hatch).

"Ordinary People; Extraordinary Lives" chronicles the struggles of Harold Whittington and his brother, Otto, from birth through the Great Depression and on to WW II. Otto joined the Army and subsequently endured the surrender of Bataan and the Bataan Death March. During Otto’s 3.5 years as a Japanese POW, he was a slave conscript for building roads in the Philippines. Few POWs survived that duty. Later, after a harrowing trip from the Philippines to Japan on a “Death Ship,” Otto was a slave in the Japanese steel mills. Somehow Otto survived two near beheadings, beriberi, malnutrition, malaria, and torture—and twice the steel mills where he labored were targeted for nuclear destruction. Otto could hear the B-29 circling overhead; only the weather spared him. While Otto struggled through severe torture and sickness, Harold joined the Navy and searched for Otto throughout the Pacific theater whenever his supply ship put into port. After the second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, Otto escaped the POW camp and made his way to a small POW collection point outside Manila. His exit from Japan was also remarkable because the aircraft just ahead of his exploded about 100 feet off the end of the runway. Harold subsequently located his brother in Manila, although, after years of torture, Otto did not recognize him. Harold and Otto returned to the USA after the war. Otto became an attorney and Harold became a professor of sociology at Temple Junior College. The incredible lives of these men, fraught with daunting labor, terror, and pain, serves as a poignant example of why they, and others like them, are called “The Greatest Generation.”

James L. Hatch    

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Nico's Curse by Jennifer Kacey

Smashwords – http://goo.gl/K6SCSy
Are Café - http://goo.gl/EXgJgm
Print – Amazon - http://goo.gl/kSCycu
Print – Createspace - http://goo.gl/u091tO

 Trapped in a lonely prison is where he’ll stay until he finds love in more than just a dream.

Domenico was cursed six long years ago by a witch determined to teach him a lesson. A lesson in life, loss, and understanding that to love is to put someone first…always.
His only escape from his beautiful prison is a dating site called Crossroads. He can choose only one woman a year to contact. One woman to convince, in nothing more than a week, that he’s worthy of her love. But there’s a catch. She must fall asleep during a video chat so he can crawl through his laptop into her world. Then all bets are off.
His curse becomes his salvation when his beautiful submissive Rose is nothing but a dream away.

Decadently Yours,
Jennifer Kacey


Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.